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 4 wit AND WISDOM OF SYDNEY SMITH. ; ; ; , 
 
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WHEN WIT IS COMBINED WITH SENSE AND INFORMATION; WHEN IT 
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 PLE; WHEN IT IS IN THE HANDS OF A MAN WHO CAN USE IT AND DESPISE 
 IT, WHO CAN BE WITTY AND SOMETHING MUCH BETTER THAN WITTY, 
 WHO LOVES HONOUR, JUSTICE, DECENCY, GOOD-NATURE, MORALITY AND 
 RELIGION, TEN THOUSAND TIMES BETTER THAN WIT 5—WIT IS THEN A 
 
 BEAUTIFUL AND DELIGHTFUL PART OF OUR NATURE. 
 
 SYDNEY SMITH. 
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WITAND WISDOM 
 
 OF THE 
 
 REV. SYDNEY SMITH 
 
 BEING 
 
 SELECTIONS FROM HIS WRITINGS 
 
 AND PASSAGES OF HIS 
 
 LETTERS AND TABLE-TALK 
 
 WITH A BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR AND NOTES 
 
 By EVERT A. DUYCKINCK 
 
 
 
 REDFIELD 
 34 BEEKMAN STREET, NEW YORK 
 
 1856 
 

 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, 
 
 += By J. 8, REDFIELD, 
 me in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States, in gad for the Southern ; 
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 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 THE chief writings of the Rev. Sypney SMITH are inclu- 
 ded in the original English editions in eight octavo volumes. 
 These are his “ Two Volumes of Sermons,” 1809; the col- 
 lection of his ‘ Works” (embracing articles from the 
 Edinburgh Review, the Plymley Letters, and other papers), 
 4 vols, 1839-40 ; a posthumous volume, ‘‘ Sermons preached 
 at St.Paul’s,” &c., 1846; “ Klementary Sketches of Moral 
 Philosophy, delivered at the Royal Institution,” published 
 in 1850. To these are to be added “ Letters on American 
 Debts,” 1843; “ A Fragment on the Irish Roman Catholic 
 Church,” 1845; ‘ Letters on Railway Management,” and 
 other topics, to the Morning Chronicle; Articles in the 
 Edinburgh Review not collected in his “ Works ;”’ numerous 
 Sketches and Hssays printed in the “ Memoirs,” by his 
 daughter, Lady Holland; and the extensive series of 
 “Letters,” edited by Mrs. Austin. These have mainly 
 
 furnished the material of the present volume. In the 
 
6 « ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 preparation of the Table-Talk, Memoir, and Notes, many 
 collateral sources have been drawn upon. 
 
 Several of Sydney Smith’s Writings, will here be found 
 given entire; while the selection generally presents the 
 most characteristic passages of his “ Wit and Wisdom” 
 from the whole. Numerous Miscellanies of much interest, 
 are included which are not to be met with in any previous 
 American collection of the author’s works. 
 
 New York, May 20, 1856. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Miser TCAY, MEMOTR: 6 han) 9) Aol a nel ee 
 PASSAGES FROM THE EDINBURGH REVIEW .... . 
 SKETCHES OF MORAL PHILOSOPHY . .. .. . « .« 
 WASCAGES PROM BERMONS «0. 60 ne eh 6 es es 
 DETAR) CXETCHES . fc. oe is bie 6 oo 
 PASSAGES FROM PETER PLYMLEY LETTERS .... . 
 SRDS TEE TIR GS Sos nan mca a pd wha oe!) UREN Ae 
 LETTERS TO ARCHDEACON SINGLETON... .. .°. . 
 MemremerOm BAIDWAYS 29 6°55 ce. «ie See als 
 PMTITERS ON AMERICAN DEBTS... . . + « » «8 6 
 A FRAGMENT ON THE IRISH ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH 
 LETTER ON THE CHARACTER OF SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF FRANCIS HORNER. . .. . . - 
 PASSAGES FROM LETTERS . . eer, A 
 
 TABLE TALK—ANECDOTES. . Oo eis UO Steet Bo 
 
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BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR. 
 
 SyDNEY SmITH* was born at Woodford, Essex, in the vicin- 
 ity of London, June 3, 1771, of a respectable family in the mid- 
 dle class of English society. His parents, as will commonly be 
 found with the immediate ancestors of those who have risen to 
 eminence in the world, were persons of marked character. Rob- 
 ert Smith, the father, was a man of curious talents and impulses, 
 with a passion for foreign travel, and a mania, not a little destruc- 
 tive to his finances, for building and altering country-houses in vari- 
 ous parts of England. He married a lady of beauty and accom- 
 plishments, Miss Olier, of Huguenot birth, her father having been 
 one of the refugees driven to England in the great expatriation 
 consequent on the bigoted tyranny of Louis XIV. This infusion 
 of French blood was afterward called to mind to account for 
 certain peculiarities of disposition, the humours and the mercurial 
 vivacity, associated with strength of purpose, of their son, the 
 subject of the present memoir. 
 
 * The union of the honourable name. of Sydney with the generic patro- 
 nymic Smith, which has been illustrated by several distinguished personages, 
 would appear to have been adopted in this extensive family from the mar- 
 riage, in the seventeenth century, of Sir Thomas Smythe, created Viscount 
 Strangford, with a niece of Sir Philip Sydney. It was one of the jests and 
 humours of the Rev. Sydney Smith’s life, to confound himself and be con- 
 founded with his contemporary, the British admiral, Sir Sidney Smith. 
 George Sydney Smythe, the member of the short-lived Young England party 
 
 who published a volumes of poems, ‘‘ Historic Fancies,” is another instance 
 
 of the association of these names. 
 1* 
 
a? 
 
 7! 
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 “ : ~ - e 4 
 10 : FAMILY HISTORY. 
 a . . . 
 
 Five children were the fruit of the marriage, four sons and a 
 daughter: all of them, we are told, “ remarkable for their tal- 
 ents."* , 
 
 ~The eldest of the family, one year the senior of his brother 
 Sydney, was Robert, known amongst his contemporaries in the 
 London society of wits and statesmen, from a familiar handling of 
 his Christian name at school, as Bobus Smith. Educated at Eton, 
 he there, at the age of eighteen, was associated with the future 
 statesman George Canning, and the fastidious, fine poet, and fin- 
 ished classical scholar of after life, John Hookham Frere, in the 
 composition of the Microcosm. This periodical, of the prolific 
 family of the Spectator, appeared in forty weekly numbers be- 
 
 * Memoir of the Rev. Sydney Smith, by his daughter, Lady Holland, 
 Am. ed. p. 13. We take the first opportunity to notice the sentiment, pro- 
 priety, and faithfulness which characterize this filial work. It furnishes ample 
 materials for a knowledge of the man, particularly in his domestic and social 
 relations. The development of his fortunes and position in the world is of 
 especial biographical value. 
 
 Immediately after the death of Sydney Smith, the material for the Memoir 
 was begun to be collected by his widow, who was about intrusting the work 
 to the poet Moore, when his broken health defeated the plan. Mrs. Sydney 
 then requested her friend Mrs. Sarah Austin, the accomplished German trans- 
 lator, to undertake the narrative and edit the Letters which had been brought 
 together. Ill health limited Mrs. Austin’s subsequent performance of the 
 work to the Selection from the Correspondence which constitutes the second 
 volume of the Memoirs. 
 
 Much as the genius of the biographer of Sheridan and Byron is to be re- 
 spected, and with every consideration of the feeling with which he would 
 have entered on the “life,” in its political, social, and personal aspects, it is a 
 matter for congratulation that the Memoirs have fallen into female hands. Wo- 
 man alone could have interpreted so gracefully and truly the kindly virtues of 
 the man. His keen, consistent, brilliant writings need no particular exhibi- 
 tion of his political and public life. They speak for themselves. Mrs. 
 Austin, in her preface finds another appropriate reason for the participation 
 of the sex in the work: in gratitude for what Sydney Smith had accom- 
 plished, by his arguments, for female education. ‘‘ Within our times,” she 
 remarks, “‘no man has done so much to obtain for women toleration for the 
 exercise of their understandings, and for the culture of their talents, as 
 Sydney Smith.” Mrs. Jameson, in her “ Ethical Fragments,” makes a similar 
 acknowledgment: ‘‘See what he has done for humanity, for society, for lib- 
 erty, for truth —for us women!” 
 
 7 
 
. 
 
 a 
 
 -BOBUS SMITH. ‘ A 
 
 . 
 
 tween November, 1786, and July of the following year. Nine 
 of its papers, chiefly grave studies of history or serious reflections, 
 are set-down to Robert Smith. He was, also, joint author with 
 
 Canning, of one of the essays. Leaving Eton, he became a 
 
 student of King’s College, Cambridge, where he distinguished 
 himself by the excellence of his Latin verses, amongst which 
 were some admired compositions after the manner of Lucretius on 
 the systems of Plato, Descartes and Newton.* He received his 
 degree of Master of Arts, in 1797, and was the same year called 
 to the bar by the Honourable Society of Lincoln’s Inn. It was 
 also the year of his marriage to Miss Caroline Vernon, daughter 
 of Richard Vernon and Lady Ossory, aunt of Lord Lansdowne. 
 The ceremony was performed by Sydney Smith, then a needy 
 
 * A number of Robert Smith’s Latin compositions are preserved in the 
 Muse Etonenses, where we find this elegant Latin version of the exquisite 
 Danae of Simonides. 
 
 EX SIMONIDE. 
 
 “‘Ventus quum fremeret, superque cymbam 
 Horrentis furor immineret unde, 
 Non siccis Danaé genis puellum 
 Circumfusa suum, ‘ Miselle,’ dixit, 
 ‘O que sustineo! sopore dulci 
 Dum tu solveris, insciaque dormis 
 Securus requie ; neque has per undas 
 Iiletabile, luce sub maligna, 
 Formidas iter ; impetumque fluctts 
 Supra czesariem tuam profundam 
 Nil curas salientis (ipse molli 
 Porrectus tunicé, venustus infans) 
 Nec venti fremitum. Sed o miselle, 
 Si mecum poteras dolere, saltem 
 Junxisses lacrymas meis querelis. 
 Dormi, care puer! gravesque fluctus, 
 Dormite ! 0 utinam mei Dolores 
 Dormirent simul! o Pater Deorum, 
 Cassum hoc consilium sit et quod ultra 
 (Forte audacius) oro, tu parentis 
 é: 2, Ultorem puerum, supreme, serves.” 
 . Some fine and eloquent Latin lines on Death, found in his desk, after his 
 decease, are printed in Lady Holland’s Memoir. 
 
 * 
 
* 
 
 - 
 
 12 BOBUS SMITH. 
 
 young curate, who wrote in a letter to his mother: “The mar- 
 riage took place in the library at Bowood, and all I can tell you 
 of it is, that he cried, she cried, and I cried.”* This alliance was 
 afterward of use in the introduction of Sydney to the leading 
 whig families. 
 
 Robert became highly esteemed as a barrister, and was sent to. 
 India with the profitable appointment of Advocate-General of 
 Bengal. Light years of official duty, performed to the admiration 
 of the natives, secured to him a considerable fortune,f with which 
 he returned to London, in 1812. He soon after entered the 
 House of Commons, as member for Grantham ; but, notwithstand- 
 ing his acute argumentative turn is said to have failed in his 
 maiden speech.{ He spoke seldom and briefly afterward, during’ 
 his extended parliamentary career; while his talents were exerted 
 as a valuable business member of committees. In 1818, he con- 
 tested, unsuccessfully, the city. of Lincoln; but carried that place 
 in the election of 1820, finally, retiring from Parliament at the 
 dissolution in 1826. ‘The concluding period of his life was passed 
 in lettered and social ease and in retirement. His sympathies 
 were intimately associated with those of his. brother Sydney. 
 The death of one followed closely that of the other. Robert sur- 
 vived the canon of St. Paul’s but a fortnight. Thirty years 
 
 * Lady Holland’s Memoir, 4th Eng. ed., p. 14. 
 
 + His personal estate was sworn, at his death, in 1845, as not exceeding 
 £180,000. 
 
 t De Quincey his a curious reminiscence of this circumstance in his Essay 
 on Dr. Parr, to be found at page 137 of vol. II., of “Essays on Philosophi- 
 eal Writers and other Men of Letters,” published by Ticknor and Fields. 
 Sydney Smith, who wrote of his brother Robert about this time, as “a capi- 
 tal personage; full of sense, genius, dignity, virtue, and wit,” addressed to 
 him, in his manly, courageous way, a felicitous letter on this subject, in 
 which personal chagrin and disappointment are smothered under kindness, 
 and a genuine solicitude. ‘‘ Whether,” he writes, “you turn out a consum- 
 mate orator or not, will neither increase nor diminish my admiration for your 
 talents, or my respect for your character; but when a man is strong, it is 
 
 pleasant to make that strength respected; and you will be happier for it, if 
 you can do so, as I have no doubt you will soon.” (Letter 93 in Mrs. 
 
 . Austin’s Collection, March 17, 1813.) 
 
BOBUS SMITH. 13 
 
 before, when the former had been attacked by a serious illness, 
 Sydney wrote to him, “ Dear Bobus, pray take care of yourself. 
 We shall both be a brown infragrant powder in thirty or forty 
 years. » Let us contrive to last out for the same, or nearly the 
 same time. - Weary will the latter half of my pilgrimage be, if 
 you leave me in the lurch.”* 
 
 Robert was a man of high honour and integrity. Those who 
 knew him intimately spoke in strong terms of his wit and powers 
 of mind. Moore tells us, in his Diary, of his agreeable qualities, 
 and of his being ranked, in his best time, by some people, superior 
 to Sydney.t The remark is not unusual in such cases. Friend- 
 ship readily exaggerates a question of capacity; but the execution 
 must decide. As the ability to succeed with the public in exhibi- 
 tions of mental power generally brings the desire along with it, it 
 may, in most instances be taken for granted—certainly with the 
 healthiest of developments—that all is claimed from the world 
 which can be enforced. ‘There is sometimes, perhaps, in imputing 
 these extraordinary merits to the less-known brothers of eminent 
 authors a compensation to self-love for the honours which are 
 erudgingly paid to acknowledged attainments. 
 
 The testimonies, however, to the intellectual strength and charm 
 of polished conversation of Robert Smith are not to be discredited. 
 Dr. Parr bestowed upon him, while both were living, a Latin 
 inscription, in his famous lapidary style, written in the presentation 
 copy of a book. He commended his fertile and skilful Latinity ; 
 his strong, manly, vehement mode of pleading, free from captious- 
 ness or cunning, and, when the occasion demanded, even magnificent 
 and splendid; his integrity and humanity in the regulation of life; 
 his greatness of mind in public affairs.| Sir James Mackintosh 
 
 * Lady Holland’s Memoir, p. 361. 
 
 t Diary, March 13, 1833. 
 
 t The inscription is given.in the Gentleman’s Magazine for April, 1845, 
 p- 441. Dr. Parr, in the enumeration of college worthies, in a note to his 
 Spital Sermon, pays this compliment to Robert Smith, r7 dxpiGeia, at detvorfrt, 
 kat peyadoroereix eddoxtpotvros.—(Parr’s Works, ii. 543.) 
 
<2 > ee 
 
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 14. ey".  BOBUS SMITH. 
 
 bears witness, in his Diary, to the eclat of his legal career in 
 India, and to his social qualities. “ His fame,” he records, “among 
 the natives is greater than that of any pundit since the days of 
 Menu;” and again: “I hear from Bobus; always mezxry and 
 always kind. Long live Bobus!” The sincere strength of ex- 
 pression of his conversation was held in esteem. “ Bobus’s lan- 
 guage,” said Canning, “is the essence of English.” His old friend, 
 
 Lord Carlisle, remarks, in a careful memorial in the Gentleman’s 
 
 Magazine: “There was much in him of the sturdy Saxon, com- 
 bined with the refined and thoroughly finished scholar. No one was 
 ever so clear of all frippery, and the only thing for which he prob- 
 ably felt no toleration, was a prig.”* Rogers, the poet and fas- 
 tidious critic of society, pronounced Sir James Mackintosh, Mal- 
 thus, and Bobus Smith, the three acutest men with whom he was 
 ever acquainted.— The sound mind was enclosed in a fair body, 
 as we learn from a pleasant anecdote related by Lady Holland. 
 “When Talleyrand,” she writes, “was an emigrant in England, 
 he was on very intimate terms with Robert Smith. The conver- 
 sation turned on the beauty often transmitted from parents to their 
 children. My uncle, who was singularly handsome (indeed, I 
 think I have seldom seen a finer specimen of manly beauty, or a 
 countenance more expressive of the high moral qualities he pos- 
 sessed), perhaps, with a little youthful vanity, spoke of the great 
 beauty of his mother, on which Talleyrand, with a shrug and a 
 sly disparaging look at his fine face, as if he saw nothing to 
 admire, exclaimed, ‘ Ah, mon ami, c’était donc apparemment mon- 
 sieur votre pére qui n’était pas bien.’” 
 
 The younger brothers of Sydney were Cecil and Courtenay. 
 The former was educated with Robert at Eton, the latter with 
 Sydney at Winchester. Both were fitted out for India. Cour- 
 tenay gained distinction there in the Judiciary as Supreme Judge 
 of the Adawlut Court at Calcutta. He was also a good oriental 
 
 * Obituary, Gentleman’s Magazine, April, 1845. 
 + Dyce’s Recollections of the Table Talk of Samuel Rogers, p. 194. 
 
F 
 
 BOYHOOD. 15 
 
 scholar. Having accumulated a large fortune, he returned to. Eng- 
 land late in life and died suddenly in London, in 1843, at the age 
 of sixty-nine. | 
 
 Maria, the only sister lived unmarried.. She died in 1816 at 
 her father’s residence at Bath. Delicate in constitution, ill health 
 did not obscure the good temper and amiability of her disposition. 
 Her brother Sydney spoke of her as one whom he would have 
 cultivated as a friend, if nature had not given her to him as a 
 relative. 
 
 Robert Smith, the father, lived to an advanced age. His son 
 Sydney, visited him, at his residence at Bishop’s Lydiard in Somer- 
 setshire, in 1821. A letter to Jeffrey has this picture of the old 
 man :—“ TJ have travelled all across the country. with my family, 
 to see my father, now eighty-two years of age. I wish, at such an 
 age, you, and all like you, may have as much enjoyment of life ; 
 more, you can hardly have at any age. My father is one of the 
 very few people I have ever seen improved by age. He is be- 
 come careless, indulgent, and anacreontic.” 
 
 The mother of Sydney Smith died many years earlier at the 
 beginning of the century. In feeble health, she devoted herself, in 
 the absence of her husband, to the care of her children; wrote 
 letters to her sons at Winchester which the school-boys “ gathered 
 round to hear read aloud ;” lived to see Robert and Sydney married, 
 and left to her descendants a pathetic memory of her grace, and 
 virtues. 
 
 The boyhood of Sydney Smith was passed at school at South- 
 ampton and Winchester. At the celebrated foundation of William 
 of Wykeham he acquired a good classical education and became 
 the leader of the school, entitling himself by his position to a 
 scholarship and afterward a fellowship at New College, Oxford. 
 But though he was thus indebted to Winchester for an early and 
 important move in life, his impression of the habits and conduct of 
 the place fastened upon him a permanent dislike to that boasted 
 
 institution of learning, and manliness, the English public school. 
 
16 WINCHESTER SCHOOL. 
 
 Years after, in an article in the Edinburgh Review, he wrote 
 against the cruel and oppressive system of fagging pursued in-such 
 
 places; the false notion of hardening youth by exposing it to 
 
 privations which were positive evils, under plea of inuring to hard- 
 ships which there was little probability of meeting in after-life ; 
 the heartless exposure to premature vice and the almost inevitable 
 neglect of instruction, with so great a number of pupils.* As 
 captain of the school, Sydney was of course an adept in the 
 composition of Latin verses, one of the chief benefits of which was 
 the inexhaustible subject of ridicule it afforded to him through life. 
 The brothers Sydney and Courtenay were such proficients at Win- 
 chester, that a round robin was sent up by the pupils to the effect 
 that it was useless to contend for the prizes as the Smiths always 
 gained them. Another anecdote places the young Sydney in a 
 picturesque light. A visiter of distinction came to the school and 
 found him reading Virgil under a tree while his schoolfellows 
 
 * Though learning and academic honours seem readily to have been ac- 
 quired at these institutions by the members of the Smith family, their personal 
 experience was by no means favourable. “Even in old age,” says his daughter 
 of her father Sydney, “‘I have heard him speak with horrour of the misery of 
 the years he spent at Winchester. He suffered there many years of misery 
 and positive starvation.” Courtenay was compelled by ill usage to run. away 
 twice from the same school. Ata later day Sydney’s son Douglas became 
 King’s scholar at Westminster. When he was sent to the school in 1820 his 
 father writes to a lady correspondent: ‘‘ Douglas is gone to school; not with 
 a light heart, for the first year of Westminster in College is severe —an in- 
 
 _tensé system of tyranny, of which the English are very fond, and think it fits 
 a boy for the world; but the world, bad as it is, has nothing half so bad.” 
 “The hardships and cruelties Douglas suffered as a junior boy from his 
 master,” his mother tells us, “were such as at one time very nearly to compel 
 us to remove him from the school. He was taken home for a short period, to 
 recover from his bruises and restore his eye. His first act, on becoming 
 captain himself, was to endeavour to ameliorate the condition of the juniors, 
 and to obtain additional comforts for them from the head master.” 
 
 Rogers tells us in illustration of the system (Dyce’s Table Talk) that 
 ‘‘when Lord Holland was a school-boy, he was forced, as a fag, to toast bread 
 with his fingers for the breakfast of another boy. Lord H.’s mother sent him 
 a toasting-fork. His fagger broke it over his head, and still compelled him 
 to prepare the toast in the old way. In consequence of this his fingers suf- 
 fered so much that they always retained a withered appearance.” 
 
€ 
 
 “COLLEGE CAREER. 17 
 
 were at play. He took the book from the boy’s hand, patted his 
 head, uttered the words: “Clever boy! clever boy! that is the 
 way to conquer the world,” and clinched the encouraging aphorism 
 
 with the gift of a shilling. The encomium and prophecy are said 
 
 to have produced a strong impression on the youthful scholar.* 
 
 A brief interval was passed by Sydney between Winchester and 
 Oxford. . He was for six months in a boarding-school in France, 
 at Mont Villiers in Normandy, where he acquired a familiar know- 
 ledge of the language, which he ever afterward retained, and saw 
 something of the troubled scenes of the French Revolution. Plain 
 Sydney, for obvious prudential reasons, became “Le Citoyen 
 Smit” affiliated member of the Club of Jacobins of Mont Villiers. 
 At New College, Oxford, his career, of which little has been told 
 the public, was one of industry and its rewards. He was safe, 
 in his constitutional temperance and sense of independence, from 
 the usual temptations to dissipation and expense. He received 
 his degree of Bachelor of Arts, Oct. 10, 1792, and that of Master 
 of Arts exactly four years later. He secured his fellowship at the 
 earliest moment, with its perquisite of a hundred pounds a year, 
 out of which he managed to support himself and magnanimously 
 pay a debt of thirty pounds which his brother Courtenay had con- 
 tracted at Westminster school. | 
 
 The world was now before Sydney for the choice of a profession. 
 
 . His father at one time meditated sending him in the track of his 
 
 brothers to the East, in the mercantile lme as supercargo to. 
 China; the youth himself naturally thought of carrying his powers 
 of mind, well suited to the profession, to the bar; his father settled 
 the matter by choosing for him the church. Sydney, who was a 
 practical optimist, acquiesced and was installed in 1794 as a humble 
 curate in the parish of Netheravon near Amesbury in the middle 
 of Salisbury Plain. His parochial domain was limited to a few 
 cottagers and farmers, relieved by the Sunday dinner with the 
 parish squire, Mr. Hicks Beach, who fortunately apprehended 
 * Lady Holland’s Memoir, p. 19. 
 
18 PUTS INTO EDINBURGH. 
 
 the sagacity and education of his visiter, “took a fancy” to him, 
 and at the close of a second year engaged him as teacher to his 
 eldest son.* A course at the university of Weimar was deter- 
 mined upon; but the wars of the continent put an end to the plan: 
 and, “in stress of politics,” as Sydney Smith himself has related, 
 “he put into Edinburgh.” This was in 1797. 
 
 The incidents of Sydney Smith’s domestic life with his Pay at 
 Edinburgh are happily related in his correspondence with the 
 family of Mr. Beach. t He took lodgings in an excellent quarter 
 of the town and kept up a bachelor’s establishment with his pupil 
 Michael and a German courier, Mithoffer, the companion of the 
 journey. All sorts of domestic difficulties were encountered. He 
 conquered the susceptibility of his housemaid and kept her in his 
 service, safe from the attacks of “seven sweethearts ;” went to 
 market himself till Mithoffer became a better “judge of meat ;” 
 failed lamentably in a joint attempt with cook and courier to 
 “make a pie;” laid in beef in the salting tub and “ looked into the 
 family affairs like a fat old lady of forty.” At the coming on of 
 winter the female owner of the premises attempted to raise the 
 rent. Sydney resisted the imposition and held his ground notwith- 
 standing the landlady called him “a Levite, a scourge of human 
 nature and an extortioner,” and ordered him out “ instantly, bag 
 and baggage, without beat of drum or colours flying.” 
 
 Judging from the candid reports sent home, which by no means 
 _exhibit the usual flattery of such relations, Sydney Smith was a 
 
 * Mr. Hicks Beach at one time represented Cirencester in Parliament. 
 Cobbett, in his Rural Rides in the Counties of England, gives an account of a 
 visit in 1826 to Netheravon. He speaks of the valley of the Avon in which 
 the village is situated as of great beauty —and the population as haying de- 
 teriorated. ‘“‘ There is a church, large enough to hold a thousand or two of 
 people, and the whole parish contains only three hundred and fifty souls, 
 men, women, and children. This Netheravon was formerly a great lordship, 
 and in the parish there were three considerable mansion-houses, besides the 
 one near the church.” 
 
 + The letters of Sydney Smith, chiefly addressed to Mrs. Beach appear in 
 the later English editions of Lady Holland’s Memoir. 
 
EXCURSION TO THE HIGHLANDS. 19 
 
 faithful guardian. While he stimulated mental exertion and 
 exacted personal respect he was, no doubt, a very agreeable one. 
 His admirable art of conveying information, must have made in- 
 struction very much a pastime. The tuition was moreover relieved 
 by summer excursions in the Highlands and Wales, and winter ad- 
 vances into the attractive circles of Edinburgh society. 
 
 A passage of the Highland experiences is characteristic in 
 its double consciousness of sublimity and inconvenience. “ He 
 knows not the earth,” Sydney writes, “ who has only seen it swell- 
 ing into the moderate elevation, or sinking to the gentle descent of 
 southern hills and valleys. He has never trod on the margin of 
 the fearful precipice, journeyed over the silent wilderness, and 
 gazed at the torrent hiding itself in the profound glen. He has 
 never viewed Nature but as she is associated with human indus- 
 try; and is unacquainted with large tracts of the earth from which 
 the care of man can hope for no return; which seem never to 
 have been quickened with the principle of vegetation, or to have 
 participated in the bounties of Him whose providence is over ail. 
 This we have seen in the Highlands; but we have mortified the 
 body in gratifying the mind. We have been forced to associate 
 oat-cakes and whiskey with rocks and waterfalls, and humble in a 
 dirty room the conceptions we indulged in a romantic glen.” 
 
 Edinburgh society was then on the verge of a new intellectual 
 development. It was rich in honour and promise. ‘Taking the 
 year of Sydney Smith’s arrival for a glance at its celebrities, we 
 find Jeffrey, his future intimate and associate in friendship and 
 letters, at the age of twenty-four, recently entered at the bar, fresh 
 from his energetic, youthful studies, and the invigorating, mental 
 exercises of the Speculative Society. Brougham, a young man, 
 just entered at the Speculative, was laying the foundation of his 
 great public career. Walter Scott, the mention of whose name 
 gives a glow to the time, was twenty-six, an advocate—his head 
 filled with as yet undeveloped studies of romantic history, which 
 was all living reality in the heart of the young lover at the feet of 
 
20 EDINBURGH SOCIETY. 
 
 the future Lady Scott. Francis Horner, one of the youngest 
 members of the whig circle of the town, destined to become honour- 
 ably distinguished in a brief, public career, was that year absent 
 from his native place, polishing off in England the asperities of his 
 native dialect. Sydney Smith, attracted to him by his personal 
 worth and liberal politics, sought his acquaintance on his return, 
 and formed a noble friendship interrupted only by death. John 
 Allen who, not long after, was recommended by Sydney Smith 
 to Lord Holland as his travelling-companion in Spain, whose his- 
 torical studies and personal qualities secured for him a forty 
 years’ residence at Holland House, was a physician and reform 
 politician, at the age of twenty-seven; highly distinguished for 
 his Edinburgh Lectures on the Animal Economy.* Lord Webb 
 Seymour, brother of the Duke of Somerset, attracted by the oppor- 
 tunities of study afforded by the University, came from Christ 
 Church, Oxford, to Edinburgh about the same time. He was then 
 at the age of twenty, a young man of singular worth of character, 
 and distinguished by conscientious application to the mathematical 
 and metaphysical sciences, which, had he possessed more vivacious 
 powers of mind, would have doubtless produced some lasting lite- 
 
 rary monument for the world. Before he had completed the - 
 
 studies, which, indeed, would have been life long with one of his 
 tastes and temper, he fell into ill health and died at Edinburgh, 
 * Allen, who frequently figures in the Sydney Smith Letters, was one of 
 
 those useful students whose conversation is more productive to the world 
 than their writings. He assisted Lord Holland in his historical speeches, and 
 
 was a great authority at Holland House on matters of physical and moral 
 
 science, politics and metaphysics. Lord Brougham, in his “ British States- 
 men,” speaks of his ‘‘ combination of general views with details of fact,” with 
 warm admiration. He published an article in the Edinburgh Review for 
 June, 1816, on the Constitution of Parliament, which was highly spoken of 
 by Mackintosh. He wrote the Life of Fox in the Encyclopedia Britannica ; 
 “ An Inquiry into the Rise and Growth of the Royal Prerogative in Eng- 
 land,” “A Vindication of the Independence of Scotland,” and a reply to 
 Lingard, whose history he had reviewed in the Edinburgh. He was made 
 Master of Dulwich College. He died in 1843, at the age of seventy-three, 
 leaving property of about seven or eight thousand pounds. 
 
 Ee 
 
EDINBURGH SOCIETY. 21 
 
 which he had continued to make his home, at the age of forty-two, 
 in 1819. He was the intimate friend of Horner, and an important 
 member of the youthful society from England which had then 
 gathered in the Scottish metropolis.* Dugald Stewart was at that 
 time in the full enjoyment of his great reputation, at once popular 
 and profound, in his lectures and books, at the University and 
 with the public. Thomas Brown, his successor in the chair of 
 Moral Philosophy, uniting much: of the poetical with more of the 
 philosophic mind, was a keen, sensitive youth of twenty, already 
 becoming distinguished by his scientific attainments. Smith after- 
 ward recalled the Sunday dinner.in Edinburgh with this intimate 
 friend; and added the eulogy: “He was a Lake-poet, a profound 
 metaphysician, and one of the most virtuous men that ever 
 lived.” John Murray, afterward Lord Murray, eminent in politi- 
 cal and judicial life, was one of the early esteemed companions of 
 Sydney Smith; a friendship which lasted tothe end. John Thom- 
 son, subsequently known to the world as one of the most learned 
 physicians of his day, was also on Sydney’s select list of intimates. 
 Another early acquaintance was Charles Hope, afterward Lord 
 ’ President of the Court of Session, whose judicial eloquence and 
 weight of character are celebrated in the eulogy of Lockhart.t 
 The sweet, Scottish poet, and zealous. oriental scholar, John Ley- 
 den, remarkable in the annals of self-educated men, had come up 
 to Edinburgh from the wilds of Roxburghshire, was detected by 
 Scott as a poet, appreciated by Smith, and not long after ‘liberally 
 aided out of the narrow income of the latter, with a handsome con- 
 tribution of forty pounds to his outfit for India. There he per- 
 ished, a devotee to science, leaving a few verses, still admired, as 
 the Ode to an Indian Gold Coin, the memorial of his toil and sen- 
 
 * Biographical notice of Lord Webb Seymour, by Henry Hallam, in the 
 Appendix to vol. i. of the Memoirs of Horner; a carefully-elaborated com- 
 position which Lord Cockburn, in his Life of Jeffrey, characterizes as ‘‘ one 
 of the best portraits of a character in writing that exists.” 
 
 t Letter to Sir George Philips, Feb. 28, 1836. 
 
 t Peter’s Letters to his Kinsfolk, ii. 102. 
 
22 THOMAS CAMPBELL. 
 
 sibility. It was at this season, too, that Thomas Campbell, having 
 established himself in Edinburgh the year of Smith’s arrival, pub- 
 lished, in 1799, the first edition of his Pleasures of Hope, a lite- 
 rary advent of mark in the annals of that metropolis. We do not 
 hear of any particular intimacy at the time between Campbell and 
 Smith, but they must have been well acquainted. In a list of the 
 Friday Club which grew up at Edinburgh, about the time Smith 
 left for London, both his name and Campbell’s are among the 
 members.* When Campbell went to London, Sydney Smith did 
 him some “kind offices,’ and in later life they met on pleasant 
 terms as brother wits.| Amongst the older members of the soci- 
 ety, Playfair, Professor of Mathematics at-the University was in 
 the maturity of his powers, ripening at the close of middle life. Of 
 an elder generation, Dr. Hugh Blair, an octogenarian, was ap- 
 proaching the term of his prolonged career. Henry Mackenzie, 
 whose extended existence brought down almost to the present day 
 the literary association of a century ago, was then warm in the es- 
 
 * Cockburn’s Life of Jeffrey, i. 119. 
 
 + Campbell, in a letter, Jan. 1808 (Beattie’s Life and Letters of Campbell, 
 i. 485), says: “ Off I marched [from his first dinner at Holland House] with 
 Sydney Smith; Sydney is an excellent subject—but he too has done me 
 some kind offices, and that is enough to produce a most green-eyed jealousy 
 in my noble and heroic disposition! I was determined I should make as 
 many good jokes, and speak as much as himself; and so I did, for though I 
 was dressed at the dinner-table much like a barber’s clerk, I arrogated greatly, 
 talked quizzically, metaphorically; Sydney said a few good things, I said 
 many! Saul slew his thousands, David his tens of thousands.” Thirty 
 years later, when Campbell was sixty, there is an entry in his Diary of a 
 street rencontre with Sydney Smith, a passing glimpse of these Venerable 
 wits :—‘‘ June 16, 1838 —I met Sydney Smith the other day. ‘Campbell,’ 
 he said, ‘we met last, two years ago, in Fleet street; and, as you may re- 
 member, we got into a violent argument, but-were separated by a wagon, 
 and have never met since. Let us have out that argument now. Do you 
 recollect the subject? ‘No,’ I said; ‘I have clean forgotten the subject; 
 but I remember that I was in the right and that you were violent and in the 
 wrong!’ I had scarcely uttered these words when-a violent shower came on. 
 I took refuge in a shop, and he in a cab. He parted with a proud threat that 
 he would renew the argument the next time we met. ‘ Very well,’ I said; 
 ‘but you sha’n’t get off again, either in a wagon or a cab.’ ” 
 
MARRIAGE. 3 23 
 
 teem of a new generation of the admirers of the Man of Feeling 
 and Julia de Roubigné. He was a genial, bustling man, who put 
 his melancholy in his books and gave his mirth to his friends. 
 
 Such was the society into which the young Sydney Smith was — 
 introduced —a society abounding in intellectual activity, living. on 
 its acquired honours in British literature, teeming with elements of 
 further progress. It was remarked that, in after-life, while the 
 genial humourist indulged his wit freely —after the example of 
 Dr. Samuel Johnson—at the expense of Scottish characteristics 
 of manners and conversation, and the peculiarities of some of his 
 intimates, he looked back upon this time with respect and affection. 
 It is at least a proof that he had been well received. His poy- 
 erty, united with his susceptible nature, might readily have made 
 him sensitive in the matter. 
 
 He passed five years at Edinburgh, at the end of the second 
 making a short visit to London, to marry a lady to whom he had 
 been engaged some time before, Miss Catherine Amelia Pybus, 
 an intimate -friend of his sister. The connection was a most 
 happy one, enduring through nearly half a century, supported 
 by many virtues and felicities. It may be mentioned, for the 
 consolation of those who enter upon married life under similar 
 difficulties, that this union, though approved of by the lady’s 
 mother, was violently opposed by her brother, Mr. Charles Pybus, 
 a member of Parliament, and commissioner of the treasury in 
 Pitt’s administration.* A poor curate, the tutor to the son of a 
 
 * Charles Small Pybus acquired some literary notoriety at the beginning 
 of the century, from the publication (in 1800) of a peculiarly ill-timed poem, 
 entitled ‘‘ The Sovereign; Addressed to his Imperial Majesty Paul, Emperor 
 of all the Russias.” It was a enlogy of the Emperor as a member of the 
 coalition against France; but, unhappily, at the time of publication, Paul 
 broke off from the alliance, and appeared in all his hideous insanity to the 
 English public. Mr. Pybus’ mode of publication, too, was unfortunate. 
 He issued his flat heroic couplets in a folio of sixty pages, with his own por- 
 trait prefixed —at the price of a guinea. The Gentleman’s Magazine (Sep- 
 tember, 1800) gave it a brief and significant notice: ‘ Unfortunate cxperi- 
 ence has shown, that the subject of this poem was unhappily chosen. What 
 
yi . CHARLES SMALL PYBUS. 
 
 country squire, was probably no very lofty object in the consid- 
 eration of a family alliance. Mr. Pybus did not see the poten- 
 tialities of the future Edinburgh Reviewer, popular London 
 preacher, caustic political essayist, brilliant wit of Holland House, 
 canon of St. Paul’s, who might have had a bishopric, but who 
 could not fail, as an author, of being read and admired wherever 
 the English literature of the nineteenth century was known. It 
 is not to the credit of Mr. Pybus, once Lord of the Admiralty, 
 that he failed ‘to set greater store by what was more immediately 
 within his view, the generous, warm-hearted soul of his brother- 
 in-law. 
 
 His wife brought Sydney a small property, which he honourably 
 
 can we say more on this delicate subject?” The ‘‘ Sovereign” was squibbed 
 in a travesty, ‘‘ The Mince Pye, an Heroic Epistle,” in 4to. (Monthly Review 
 XXxiv., 421). Porson reviewed ‘‘ The Sovereign” in a pungent critique in the 
 Monthly Review (xxxiii., 378, December, 1800): ‘‘ The happy alliteration 
 resulting from the title, ‘A Poem to Paul by the Poet Pybus,’ reminds us of 
 a Latin work, entitled, ‘Pugna porcorum per Publium Porcium, poetam.’ 
 Though this work is addressed to the Emperor Paul, it is, with inimitable 
 dexterity, dedicated to our own king.” On first looking into this magnificent 
 production, Porson (Kidd’s Tracts and Miscellaneous Criticisms, quoted in 
 Barker’s Lit. Anecdotes) is said to have sung :— 
 And when the pie was opened, 
 The birds began to sing, 
 And is not this a dainty dish 
 To set before the Kine ?” 
 
 Pybus has also a share in an epigram by Porson, of which three more or 
 less correct versions are given, in Notes and Queries (xi., 263, xii., 53). 
 The best is that in Dyce’s Porsoniana :— 
 
 Poetis nos leetamur tribus, 
 Pye, Petro Pindar, parvo Pybus: 
 St ulterius ire pergis, 
 
 - Adde his Sir James Bland Burges. 
 
 Pye was the well-known laureate before Southey. His Alfred; an Epic 
 Poem, in six books, is now almost forgotten. . Burges wrote The Birth and 
 Triumph of Love, and Richard the First, an Epic, the tenth book of which, 
 Byron asserted he had read at’ Malta, in the lining of a trunk. ‘If any one 
 doubts it,” he added, “TI shall buy a portmanteau to quote from.” Burges 
 had ashare in another Epic, The Exodiad, written in association with the 
 dramatist Cumberland. 
 
 Pybus died unmarried, in 1810, at the age of forty-four. 
 
PROJECTS THE EDINBURGH REVIEW. ~~. 25 
 
 secured to her and his children; his own contribution to the 
 family settlement being six small, well-worn silver teaspoons. 
 Throwing these into his wife’s lap, he exclaimed, in his riotous 
 fun, “There, Kate, you lucky girl, I give you all my fortune!” 
 He had, however, his profession to look to; while his friend, Mr. 
 Beach, of whose second son he had now charge, made him a 
 liberal payment of seven hundred and fifty pounds.* ‘That his 
 talents in the pulpit at this period gave him strong claims to 
 attention is witnessed by a passage in the journal of Francis 
 Horner, who tells us, that after passing the forenoon of April 26, 
 1801, with Lord Webb, in a five-hours’ study of Bacon’s De Aug- 
 mentis Scientiarum, the two friends “went afterward to hear 
 Sydney Smith preach, who delivered a most admirable sermon on — 
 the true religion of practical justice and benevolence, as distin- 
 guished from ceremonial devotion, from fanaticism, and from the- 
 ology. It was forcibly distinguished by that liberality of senti- 
 ment, and that boldness of eloquence, which do so much credit to 
 Smith’s talents. I may add, that the popularity of his style does 
 equal honour to the audience to whom it is addressed, or, at least, 
 to that diffusion of liberal opinions and knowledge, to which the 
 members of so mixed an audience are indebted for the fashion and 
 temper of their sentiments.” 
 
 The great event of Sydney Smith’s northern residence was 
 the commencement of the Edinburgh Review. He has given so 
 graphic an account of this, in his peculiar manner, in the Preface 
 to his collected writings, that his biographers will er be 
 compelled to repeat the passage :— 
 
 “The principles of the French Revolution were then fully 
 afloat, and it is impossible to conceive a more violent and agitated 
 state of society. Among the first persons with whom I became 
 acquainted were, Lord Jeffrey, Lord Murray (late Lord-Advocate 
 for Scotland), and Lord Brougham; all of them maintaining 
 
 * Lady Holland’s Memoir, fourth Eng. ed. i., 52. 
 
 t+ Memoir and Correspondence of Francis Horner i., 157. 
 2 
 
26 ASSOCIATES IN THE REVIEW. 
 
 opinions upon political subjects a little too liberal for the dynasty 
 of Dundas, then exercising supreme power over the northern 
 division of the island. 
 
 “ One day we happened to meet in the eighth or ninth story or flat 
 in Buccleugh-place, the elevated residence of the then Mr. Jeffrey. 
 I proposed that we should set up a Review; this was acceded to 
 with acclamation. I was appointed editor, and remained long 
 enough in Edinburgh to edit the first number of the Edinburgh 
 Review. The motto I proposed for the review was, 
 
 “<¢ Tenuit musam meditamur avena.’ . 
 ““« We cultivate literature upon a little oatmeal.’ 
 
 But this was too near the truth to be admitted, and so we took our 
 present grave motto from Publius Syrus, of whom none of us had, 
 I am sure, ever read a single line; and so began what has since 
 turned out to be a very important and able journal.”* 
 
 Jeffrey wrote a more circumstantial account of the origin of the 
 Review, in a letter to Mr. Robert Chambers, which corroborates 
 this statement. It was not, however, quite the extempore under- 
 taking which might be inferred from the language in which Sydney 
 Smith lightly speaks of his apparently off-hand proposition. ‘There 
 were “serious consultations” about it, we are told by Jeffrey, which 
 “were attended by Sydney Smith, Horner, Dr. Thomas Brown, 
 Lord Murray, and some of them, also by Lord Webb Seymour, 
 Dr. John Thomson and Thomas Thomson.” Smith and Jeffrey 
 were the leaders of the set; they had the best capacity for, and 
 took the largest share in, the enterprise, and it was probably due 
 to the superior hopefulness of the former, united with his consti- 
 tutional energy, that the work was undertaken at all. Jeffrey, 
 whose habit of mind was to be, as his biographer, Lord Cockburn, 
 has given the description, “generally in a state of lively, argu- 
 mentative despair,” croaked dismally over the affair, before the 
 
 * Preface to Works of the Rev. Sydney Smith. Longmans, 1839. 
 
JEFFREY. OE 
 
 first: number was out of the press-room.* Sydney, through all 
 difficulties, seems to have held to the opinion, that if conducted 
 fairly and with discretion the success was certain. 
 
 When Jeffrey collected his Contributions to the Review for pub- 
 lication in 1844, he dedicated them to Sydney Smith, as “ the origi- 
 nal projector of the Edinburgh Review.” To Jeffrey who brought 
 considerable experience as a trained reviewer to the work, belongs 
 the honour of having written the first article—a discussion of 
 the share borne by the French philosophers in producing their 
 great national Revolution—thus striking at once into the main 
 question of the troubled times. For thirty-eight years he con- 
 tinued to contribute to it compositions, distinguished at once by 
 subtlety and enthusiasm; opening to the public stores of acute, 
 philosophical. thinking ; and widening this influence by disclosing 
 novel methods of criticism and historical description, for a new 
 school of writers. He was the prince of modern reviewers; full, 
 ready, ingenious, expert, rational and eloquent. Readers of the 
 present day owe him a monument for originating and developing 
 
 * There is a letter from Jeffrey to Horner, giving a lively account of the 
 various dispositions of the parties to the undertaking, dated April, 1802; the 
 Review appearing the following November: ‘We are in a miserable state of 
 backwardness, you must know, and haye been giving some symptoms of 
 despondency..... Something is done, however, and a good deal, I hope, 
 is doing. Smith has gone through more than half his task. So has Hamil- 
 ton (Alexander, afterward Professor of Sanscrit at Hayleybury). Allen 
 has made some progress: and Murray (John A., afterward Lord Murray) 
 and myself, I believe, have studied our parts, and tuned our instruments ; 
 and are almost ready to begin. On the other hand Thomson (Dr. John) is 
 sick. Brown (Dr. Thomas, the metaphysician) has engaged for nothing but 
 Miss Baillie’s Plays; and Timothy (Thomas Thomson, the lawyer) has en- 
 gaged for nothing, but professed it to be his opinion, the other day, that he 
 would never put pen to paper in our cause. Brougham must have a sen- 
 tence to himself; and I am afraid you will not think it a pleasant one. You 
 remember how cheerfully he approved of our plan at first, and agreed to give 
 us an article or two without hesitation. Three or four days ago I proposed 
 two or three books that I thought would suit him; he answered, with perfect 
 good humour, that he had changed his view of our plan a little, and rather 
 thought, now, that he should decline to have any connection with it.”—Hor- 
 ner’s Correspondence, i. 186. 4 
 
. 
 . 
 
 28 FIRST NUMBER OF THE REVIEW. 
 
 that intellectual luxury, the speculative, appreciative, picturesque 
 Article—a profound and entertaining compound of metaphysics, 
 biography, history and eriticism of the highest gusto. 
 
 The momentum of Jeffrey increased as he proceeded, his treat- 
 ment growing more easy, varied and commanding ; Smith struck his 
 peculiar vein at the outset. The latter wrote seven articles for the 
 first number of the Edinburgh. His first paragraph was a famous 
 description of Dr. Parr’s wig, humourously turned into a quiz 
 on the arrangement of his text and notes. A few pages further 
 on he despatched, in two or three sentences of witty drollery, an 
 Anniversary Sermon before the Humane Society, by a Doctor in 
 Divinity. There are also some grave words of counsel adminis- 
 tered to Dr. Rennell, Master of the Temple, for his aptness “to 
 put on the appearance of a holy bully, an evangelical swaggerer, 
 as if he could carry his point against infidelity by big words and 
 strong abuse, and kick and cuff men into Christians.” A Mr. 
 John Bowles is also pungently rebuked for his vulgar style of 
 writing on the affairs of France. In fine, there is proof in this 
 very first number, of that moral courage, and of most of those 
 brilliant powers of thought and expression which, for nearly half 
 a century after, were the delight of Smith’s intimates among the 
 brightest and most cultivated men of England. His style appears 
 to have been fully formed: nor is it any marvel, as, with the 
 favourable natural disposition which he inherited, he had been a 
 precocious youth in his studies; had been well disciplined at Ox- 
 ford ; since sluggish fortune had afforded him opportunity for med- 
 itation on the silent desert of Salisbury Plain, and the habit of 
 teaching had brought all his faculties promptly to the surface; and 
 he had, moreover, enjoyed, for several years, the sharp contests of 
 the Edinburgh wits, to give the keenest edge to his understanding. 
 In October, 1802, the date of the first, publication of the Edin- 
 burgh Review, he was in his thirty-second year, a mature age for 
 his work. His contributions to the first three volumes were nu- 
 merous; they were then intermitted, for a time, till they were 
 
Ss ae o> 
 
 hae 
 
 LEAVES EDINBURGH. 29 
 
 vigorously resumed in 1807, and continued, with little interruption, 
 for the next twenty years. There were occasional conflicts between 
 Sydney’s humourous style and the editor’s more sober judgment ; 
 but, happily for the Review, and for posterity, the wit had pretty 
 much his own way, in spite of the snubbing. “I think,” Smith 
 writes, in 1807, to Jeffrey, “you have spoilt many of my jokes ;” 
 and we find the humourist, even after he had established a reputa- 
 tion, restricted “ on the subject of raillery.”* 
 
 The prospects of the Review did not, at the outset, promise a 
 fortune to the contributors and projectors. Indeed, at the com- 
 mencement, the literary services rendered to it were voluntary and 
 unpaid. It was only after some consideration, and the abandon- 
 ment of false notions on the subject, that it was found essential to 
 establish the work on a sound mercantile basis, with a paid editor, 
 and paid writers. In this period of indecision, with the purse 
 held aloof, and with the fortunes of the Review yet to make, 
 Sydney Smith, whose profitable pupils had now outgrown his 
 services, taking counsel from his wife, resolved to carry his talents 
 to London, as the best mart of intellect and literature, doubtless 
 looking for a better field for his pulpit oratory, with better chances 
 of church promotion than the scant episcopacy of Scotland af- 
 forded. He had preached frequently in the Edinburgh chapel, the 
 assistant of its regular occupant, Bishop Sandford, with success, 
 and had published a first collection of “Six Sermons,”f with 
 a striking preface, commenting freely on the not uncommon leth- 
 argy, and other defects of the pulpit. He took with him, from 
 Edinburgh, in addition, a respectable knowledge of medicine, 
 acquired by attending the hospitals—sufficient, at least, to enrich 
 his vocabulary with anatomical and other professional terms, occa- 
 sionally employed in his writings with felicity; and practical 
 enough to alleviate the imaginary or real ailments of his country 
 parishioners. He became quite fond of the practice in an amateur 
 
 * Letter to Jeffrey, March 17, 1822. 
 { Six Sermons. Edinburgh, 1800. 12mo. 
 
30 SIR THOMAS BERNARD. 
 
 way, stirring up wit with his prescriptions, and playing a merry 
 jingle with his pestle. 
 
 Arriving in London, he at first occupied a small house in 
 Doughty street, Russell Square, which he chose, we are told, for 
 the legal society of the neighbourhood. His habits of mind quali- 
 fied him to enjoy the best points of the profession. Romilly and 
 Mackintosh were among his acquaintances at the time, and he 
 rapidly found his way into the brilliant circle of wits and diners- 
 out who centred about Holland House. The family alliance of 
 his brother facilitated this social connection, which common political 
 views and congenial powers of mind firmly cemented. Among 
 the wits and statesmen who have gathered in those historical halls, 
 sacred to literature and freedom, in the group of Lansdowne, 
 
 ors Russell, Horner, Mackintosh, Allen, Sharp, Rogers, Moore, Lut- 
 5A trell, Dudley, and all that gifted race of beings, the figure of 
 Sydney Smith will always be remembered. 
 
 But the brilliant young divine had something else to attend to, 
 at this time, besides forming distinguished friendships. A narrow 
 purse had to be expanded and filled, to meet the wants of an 
 increasing family, which now included a son and daughter; Saba 
 (his recent biographer, Lady Holland), born at Edinburgh, and 
 Douglas. He applied himself to his profession, preaching several 
 occasional sermons, one of which, before a company of volunteers 
 when a French invasion seemed imminent, attracted some attention 
 from the public. He was soon recommended by the friendship 
 of Sir Thomas Bernard,* to an evening preachership at the 
 
 * This eminent philanthropist was the son of Sir Francis Bernard, the 
 Colonial Governor of New Jersey and Massachusetts. He was an Alumnus 
 of Harvard College, of the class of 1767. Returning to England, he was 
 called to the bar in 178), by the Society of the Middle Temple. Having 
 become wealthy by marriage, and the practice of his profession, he devoted 
 himself to measures of philanthropy. In 1795, he was elected treasurer of 
 the Foundling Hospital, and adopted Count Rumford’s plans for economy in 
 food and fuel. He projected the Society for Bettering the Condition of the 
 Poor, and was one of the originators, in 1799, of the Royal Institution, in- 
 tended for the “improvement of the means of industry and domestic comfort 
 
CONTEST WITH A RECTOR. ou 
 
 Foundling Hospital, worth fifty pounds a year, which was an im- 
 portant addition to his limited income. An effort made by him- 
 self to secure another position was less successful. A friend who 
 was the owner of a chapel, at that time occupied by a congregation 
 of Swedenborgians, offered the lease of the building to Sydney 
 Smith. To secure the privilege of preaching in it, it was neces- 
 sary to obtain the consent of the rector of the Parish. The letters 
 addressed him on the occasion by Smith, afford the clearest proof 
 of the necessity and poverty to which he was at this time reduced. 
 His pride stooped to a plea for the admissibility of his talents and 
 virtues to such a post, while he ingeniously complimented the 
 rector, and warded off the objection to a divided interest, by 
 reminding him that the mere surplus of his over-crowded church 
 would fill the few seats of the chapel, which would, moreover, thus 
 be rescued from what both must consider the vulgar and injurious: 
 doctrines of the New Jerusalemites. The rector saw in the pro- 
 posal violation of church precedents, danger to the parochial estab- 
 lishment, and may have been naturally disinclined to admit a rival 
 near his throne. He refused the application. Sydney, who 
 thought it a grievance that any ranter might preach, as a matter 
 of course, where a well-educated clergyman, with the noblest inten- 
 tion, could not gain admission, plied him with pleas and arguments ; 
 but without avail. The rector was determined to protect his 
 parochial interests; and the more admirably the applicant argued, 
 the more danger was probably seen in the request. Annoyed by~ 
 the correspondence, the dignitary took refuge in an affectation of 
 Christian submission to the logic of his opponent. Considering 
 the position of the parties, the doctor in power and the curate in 
 
 among the poor,” as well as ‘‘the advancement of taste and science.” Care 
 of the chimney sweepers, a Free Chapel in the neighbourhood of the Seven 
 Dials, Hospitals, the British Institution for the Fine Arts, the Alfred Club, 
 were among his spirited and benevolent projects and labours. Besides his 
 Philanthropic Reports, he wrote a little volume, Spurinna; or, the Comforts 
 of Old Age, with Biographical Illustrations. He died in 1818, at the age of 
 sixty-eight. A memoir of Bernard, written by his nephew, the Rey James 
 Baker, was published the next year. 3 
 
yA CHAPEL PREACHING. 
 
 poverty, it is but a pitiable illustration of the “pride which apes 
 humility,” which is presented by a sentence of his closing letter. 
 “T hope never to be offended, sir,’ he writes, “at the freedom of 
 any who are so kind as to teach me to know myself; and the in- 
 consistency of my letter to you, which you are so good as to point 
 out, is, alas! an addition to the many inconsistencies of which, I 
 fear, I have been too often guilty through life.” 
 
 In an article in the Edinburgh Review, Sydney Smith subse- 
 quently argued the general question of the allowance of free com- 
 petition of preachers within the parishes, with an express allusion 
 to his own case. He saw, in the deprivation, a great loss of pecu- 
 liar talents and efficiency to church interests, and admitted, as well, 
 the improbability of gaining his point. “We hope nobody,” he 
 writes, “will rate our sagacity so very low, as to imagine we have 
 much hope that any measure of the kind will ever be adopted. 
 All establishments die of dignity. They are too proud to think 
 themselves ill, and to take a little physic.”* 
 
 Besides the poorly-paid duty at the Foundling Hospital, a 
 favourite resort of the Londoners, for its excellent music, and the 
 neat display of its charities, Sydney Smith also secured a morning 
 preachership at Berkeley Chapel, where his genius and’ emphasis 
 soon succeeded in covering empty benches with a flock of intelli- 
 gent hearers. He afterward alternated this service with a similar 
 duty at Fitzroy Chapel, with equal acceptability to the public. 
 
 The character of these pulpit discourses, may be judged of 
 by the “Two Volumes of Sermons” which he published under 
 that title, at the close of this, his first London period, in 1809. 
 They are terse in expression, marked generally by strength, pro- 
 priety and dignity. ‘There is underneath, rather than lying on the 
 surface, a vein of genuine feeling. The occasional discourses for 
 public charities are manly, vigorous appeals; full of sympathy for 
 human infirmity, and confident reliance on Christian duty. En- 
 forced by the preacher's full sonorous tones, their popular effect may 
 
 * Article on Toleration. Ed. Rey., Feb., 1811. _ 
 
SERMONS. 33 
 
 readily be accounted for. They have, what may be remarked 
 attending all superior minds, an air, a voice of authority. 
 
 Though setting out with the zeal of a reformer in the pulpit, 
 Sydney Smith really attempted little innovation upon its habitual 
 practice. His published sermons have nothing special to distin- 
 guish them from many others of their class. He probably found, 
 on experiment, that there was little room for originality in com- 
 positions of necessity circumscribed by various limitations; and 
 had the good sense to recognise the boundary. In the Church of 
 England, the admirable liturgy leaves little to be asked of the 
 sermon. Sydney Smith was content that the Church should be 
 her own expounder in matters of doctrine; and directed his atten- 
 tion to the practical religious obligations of life. His sermons, 
 subsequently preached at St. Paul’s, and to his country congrega- 
 tions, of which a volume was published after his death,* are grave 
 and earnest, instinct with the solemnities of life and death. 
 
 * Sermons Preached at St. Paul’s Cathedral, the Foundling Hospital, and 
 several churches in London; together with others addressed to a country con- 
 gregation, by the late Rey. Sydney Smith, Canon Residentiary of St. Paul’s 
 Cathedral. London, 1846. Two of the sermons in this collection, “On the 
 Excellence of the Christian Gospel,” and “On the Necessity of Prayer,” 
 were freely borrowed from Dr. Barrow. The usage of the English pulpit 
 would seem to allow some liberty in this particular. Sydney Smith himself 
 tells us, in one of his letters (No. 545 in the collection) that he preached 
 Dr. Channing’s sermon on war in St. Paul’s Cathedral: ‘I thought I could 
 not write anything half so good, so I preached Channing.” Channing’s 
 direct, manly self-reliance pleased him, the pith of his style, and his separa- 
 tion of great moral themes from disabling exceptions. ‘These qualities are 
 all to be observed as belonging to Sydney Smith himself. 
 
 The Christian Observer for June, 1846, makes a grave representation of 
 Sydney Smith’s obligation to Barrow. The publication, it should be remem- 
 bered, was not an act of Smith but of his executors. A similar negligence 
 occurred in the posthumous publication of the sermons of the American 
 Bishop Ravenscroft, one of the most esteemed divines of the Protestant 
 Episcopal Church. Sydney Smith, but little indebted to the books of 
 others for the honours of his writings, cannot be supposed to have practised 
 any wilful deception to heighten his reputation. Writing of the imputation 
 of receiving attention for articles in the Edinburgh Review not from his pen, 
 he says: ‘I should have considered myself the lowest of created beings to 
 have disguised myself in another man’s wit and sense, and to have received 
 
 o* 
 
34 LECTURES ON MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 If the world was indebted to the residence of Sydney Smith at 
 Edinburgh for the establishment of the Review, and the series of 
 brilliant articles with which he followed up its first successes, 
 London was also immediately a gainer by the courses of lectures 
 on Moral Philosophy, which he delivered during three succes- 
 sive seasons, upon his arrival in the great metropolis. These 
 popular discourses, as well on abstract as familiar topics, were 
 doubtless suggested by his attendance upon the thoughtful and 
 stimulating lectures of Dugald Stewart, his intimacy with the 
 Scottish ratiocinators generally, and with the original and inquiring 
 Thomas Brown. But if he was under obligations to these men 
 for the choice of subject, and a certain speculative habit in the 
 technical portions of his course, there was a wide field lying all 
 around these intellectual barriers which he made entirely his own. 
 This was in what may be called the practical moralities of his text 
 —the quick, genial, kindly introspection with which he penetrated 
 to the heart of his subject, and brought to the world noble and 
 charitable thoughts, full of liberality of opinion, zeal for virtue 
 and human sympathy with his kind. The term moral philosophy 
 truly characterizes them; for their subtle niceties of the intellect, 
 their keen distinctions, and rapid play of wit, are subordinate to 
 their healthy sentiment, and a certain ardent perception of the 
 beautiful. 
 
 There were twenty-seven lectures, in all, before the Royal In- 
 stitution. Sydney Smith was led to undertake them by the pro- 
 posals and encouragement of his friend Sir Thomas Bernard, who 
 
 a reward to which I was not entitled.” After this we may conclude that, in 
 preaching the sermons of Barrow or Channing, he was doing nothing con- 
 sidered out of the way or dishonourable in the English Church. In this 
 respect he would appear to have followed the practice of the chaplain so 
 judiciously chosen by Sir Roger de Coverley, who, upon being asked of a 
 Saturday night, who preached on the morrow, replied the Bishop of St. 
 Asaph in the morning, and Dr. South in the afternoon. Another important 
 qualification insisted upon by the good knight was possessed by the Reverend 
 Sydney in perfection. He had ‘a good aspect and a clear voice.” (Spectator, 
 No. 106.) 
 
POPULAR SUCCESS. 35 
 
 had been associated a few years before with the American Count 
 Rumford, in the foundation of the society. The success was 
 immediate. An audience assembled, composed of the most in- 
 telligent society of the metropolis, large in numbers for a popular 
 lecturer in London even at the present day, numbering six to eight 
 hundred persons. This, though far below that of the company on 
 any distinguished occasion of the kind in New York or Boston, of 
 late years, was held to be an immense achievement. Ladies and 
 philosophers were alike entrapped into admiration. A long time 
 after, the lecturer, who was accustomed to speak lightly of the per- 
 formance as a matter of literature, remembered with pleasure the 
 brilliant result. ‘Toward the close of his life he was applied to by 
 Dr. Whewell for some information on the subject discussed, when 
 he replied, “ My lectures are gone to the dogs and are utterly for- 
 gotten. I knew nothing of moral philosophy, but I was thoroughly 
 aware that I wanted two hundred pounds to furnish my house. 
 The success, however, was prodigious; all Albemarle street blocked 
 up with carriages, and such an uproar as I never remember to 
 have been excited by any other literary imposture.”* His friend 
 Horner, who was in London, writes to Lady Mackintosh, at Bom- 
 bay, that there were but two topics in London that winter, the 
 young Roscius and the lectures of “the Right Reverend, our 
 Bishop of Mickleham,” which, as we learn from Lady Holland’s 
 Memoir was a familiar title given to Sydney Smith, from the seat 
 of Conversation Sharp’s cottage in Surrey, where the friendly cir- 
 cle frequently met.t It was something, in the popular way, to en- 
 
 * Letter to Dr. Whewell, April 8, 1843. Memoirs, ii. 456. 
 
 + Richard Sharp was distinguished in the conversational circles of the me- 
 tropolis. Hence his sobriquet. His forte lay in metaphysics. There is 
 an anecdote of Rogers having proposed to him some question of this kind, 
 when he somewhat discourteously replied, “‘ There are only two men in Eng- 
 land [probably Mackintosh and Bobus Smith] with whom I ever talk on 
 metaphysics,” (Dyce’s Table-Talk of Rogers.) Sharp was a careful, re- 
 fined writer, His single volume, “Letters and Essays in Prose and Verse,” 
 
 is the book of a scholar —thoughtful and polished. He was from 1806 till 
 1820 in Parliament. He died in 1835, at the age of seventy-six, leaving a, 
 
36 LETTER TO WHEWELL. 
 
 - mm 
 
 joy a fashionable mania at the same time with Master Betty who 
 reaped that season, from his first London engagements, no less 
 than eight thousand pounds.* The literary journal which gives us 
 an account of the latter with a portrait of the triumphant prodigy, 
 has not a word of the lecturer at the Royal Institution. We re- 
 member how, not many years since, disappointment and chagrin at 
 _ the success of Tom Thumb ended the career of the artist Hay- 
 s don. Sydney Smith was made of other stuff. Had his fortune 
 been different, had Roscius carried away his audience, the lectu- 
 rer would have consoled himself with his own philosophy, laughed 
 at the folly of the town, and kept his head on his shoulders for a 
 more lucky time. 
 
 Sydney Smith, following the definition of Moral Philosophy in 
 use in the Scottish Universities where he had found it compre- 
 hending mental philosophy as well, ran over the history of ancient 
 and modern theories, discussed the faculties of the mind, laws of 
 conception, the memory, imagination, judgment; the theories of 
 the beautiful and the sublime; the escaping essences of wit and 
 humour; the qualities and methods of the more direct moral affec- 
 tions; the practical conduct of the understanding, and the every- 
 day virtues of life. “Every week,” he writes, in the letter to Dr. 
 Whewell, which we have cited, “I had a new theory about con- 
 ception and perception; and supported by a natural manner, a 
 torrent of words, and an impudence scarcely credible in this pru- 
 dent age. Still, in justice to myself, I must say there were some 
 good things in them. But good and bad are all gone.” He did 
 not publish them at the time or afterward. Resorting to them as 
 a quarry, he drew forth some passages on education for his arti- 
 
 fortune of a quarter of a million sterling, which he acquired in business, as a 
 
 wholesale hatter. There is a pleasing anecdote of Grattan in connection with 
 
 Sharp’s seat at Mickleham. In the old age of the Irish statesman, Horner 
 
 took him down there on a visit, in the spring, ‘on purpose to hear the night- 
 
 ingales, for he loves music like an Italian, and the country like a true-born 
 
 Englishman.” (Horner Correspondence, May, 1816 ii. 355.) . 
 * European Magazine, xlvii. 374, 
 
MERITS OF THE LECTURES. 3T 
 
 cles in the Edinburgh Review, destroyed many of the remaining 
 pages, and would have burnt the whole had not his wife interposed 
 and saved the mutilated manuscripts for posthumous publication. 
 Enough fortunately survived to fill an octavo of four hundred 
 pages, which was published in London, in 1850.* Though incom- 
 plete as a view of mental science, it is not without considerable 
 merit on that score. It is a mine of pleasantries and subtleties, of 
 
 sound thinking in eloquent terms, of description and sentiment, of 
 human nature and natural history, of quips and cranks, familiar- 3 
 
 ities and profundities, theories of morality, equally below the 
 clouds and above the earth. The style was well adapted to the pur- 
 poses of the popular lecturer with whom it is a necessity to mix 
 entertainment with instruction; though there are few who can 
 equal Sydney Smith in a laughing course of morals and meta- 
 
 physics. 
 The house, situated in Orchard street, was furnished with the pro- 
 ceeds, and Sydney Smith continued to occupy it during his early 
 
 * Elementary Sketches of Moral Philosophy, delivered at the Royal Insti- 
 tution, in the years 1804, 1805, and 1806, by the late Rev. Sydney Smith, 
 M.A. London: Longmans, 1850, 8vo. pp. 424. 
 
 +t Henry Rogers, the metaphysician, author of the essay on ‘ Reason and 
 Faith,” in an article in the Edinburgh Review says of the Lectures :—“ Inex- 
 haustible vivacity and variety of illustration, one would, of course, expect 
 from such a mind; but this is far from being all. The sound judgment and 
 discrimination with which he often treats very difficult topics — the equilib- 
 rium of mind which he maintains when discussing those on which his own 
 idiosyneracy might be supposed to have led him astray—of which an in- 
 stance is seen in his temperate estimate of the value of wit and humour — the 
 union of independence and modesty with which he canvasses the opinions of 
 those from whom he differs —the comprehensiveness of many of his specula- 
 tions and the ingenuity of others —the masterly ease and perspicuity with 
 which even abstruse thoughts are expressed, and the frequently original, and 
 sometimes profound remarks on human nature, to which he gives utterance 
 —remarks hardly to be expected from any young metaphysician, and least 
 of all from one of so lively and mercurial a temperament— all render these 
 lectures very profitable as well as very pleasant reading; and show conclu- 
 sively that the author might, if he had pleased, have acquired no mean repu- 
 tation as an expositor of the very arduous branch of science to which they 
 relate.” (Ed. Rev. April, 1850.) 
 
 4 
 
388 CLUB LIFE. 
 
 residence in London. Thesketchers of his biography have dwelt 
 with pleasure upon his mode of living at this time. With an in- 
 creasing family, his means were narrow and required the practice 
 of rigid economy. Still he supported his family with honour, and 
 enjoyed, in their essentials, the delights of English hospitality. 
 Costly entertainments he could not, and, what was more to the pur- 
 pose of virtuous independence, would not give; but he encouraged 
 a weekly meeting of friends at his house by the entertainment of 
 a frugal supper, and when such men as Horner, Mackintosh, 
 Romilly, Luttrell, Lord Holland, and others of that stamp, came, 
 each guest, as Goldsmith says in the Retaliation, brought the best 
 dish in himself. We are not to suppose, however, that the com- 
 pany ever went away hungry or thirsty. We find him, too, 
 member of a weekly dining “ King of Clubs,” where the intellect 
 justified the name. There never was a time in his life, apparently, 
 when the social powers of Smith were not in requisition. He was 
 eminently what Dr. Johnson said Sir John Hawkins was not, a 
 clubable man. In after-life, in London, he became a member of 
 Johnson’s own famous Literary Club. Pity that no Boswell bore 
 him company in these resorts !* } . 
 When, in those early London days, the host made his way on 
 foot to the dinner parties of the wealthy, he neutralized the as- 
 tonishment of the lackeys in the hall, as he released his grimed 
 overshoes, by his humourous remarks on the occasion. Far prefer- 
 able was this cheerful encounter with the world, this adroit turn- 
 ing of its conventionalities, this healthy share in its activity, to the 
 
 * The King of Clubs was founded about the end of the last century by a 
 party at Sir James Mackintosh’s house consisting of himself and Mr. Rogers, 
 Mr. Sharp, Mr. Robert Smith (who gave the name to the club) Mr. Scarlett 
 and Mr. John Allen. To these original members were afterward added the 
 names of many of the most distinguished men of the time, amongst others, 
 Lords Lansdowne, Holland, Brougham, Cooper,.King and Selkirk; Messrs. 
 Porson, Romilly, Payne Knight, Horner, Bryan Edwards, Sydney Smith, 
 Dumont, Jeffrey, Smithson, Tennant, Whishaw, Alexander Baring, Luttrell, 
 Blake, Hallam, Ricardo, Hoppner. Mr. Windham was to be balloted for on 
 the Saturday succeeding his lamented death. The King of Clubs came to a 
 sudden dissolution in the year 1824.—Life of Sir James Mackintosh, i. 137. 
 
SOCIAL INCONVENIENCES. 39 
 
 too frequent morosity which repines at the unequal distribution of 
 fortune, and eats its heart (a much inferior banquet to a good din- 
 ner) in solitude. Sydney Smith, by virtue of his clerical profes- 
 sion, the family connection with Lord Holland, his talents, had a 
 just right of entry into the best London society. That he enjoyed 
 its privileges without paying for them the price exacted from Moore 
 and Theodore Hook is to be set down to the courage and good 
 sense of his nature. ‘That it did not cost him an effort to overcome 
 the inequality of fortune between him and his wealthy friends, “in 
 a country,” where, as he insisted, “poverty is infamous,”* is wit- 
 nessed by a remark he let fall in after-life, when he had tasted the 
 emoluments of church preferment. “Moralists tell you of the 
 evils of wealth and station, and the happiness of poverty. I have 
 been very poor the greatest part of my life, and have borne it as 
 well, I believe, as most people, but I can safely say that I have 
 been happier every guinea I have gained. I well remember when 
 Mrs. Sydney and I were young, in London, with no.other equipage 
 than my umbrella, when we went out to dinner in a hackney 
 coach, when the rattling step was let down, and the proud, pow- 
 dered red plushes grinned, and her gown was fringed with straw, 
 how the iron entered into my soul.” There was but a short period 
 in Sydney Smith’s life, however, in which he is to be looked upon 
 as a very poor man, though for a considerable period he remained 
 a very ill-rewarded one. In the first years of his London resi- 
 dence, when he was making his way, he was assisted by a hun- 
 dred pounds a year from his brother; but his chapel preaching 
 and lecturing provided him the means of a limited independence. 
 A turn in politics, on the death of Pitt, brought Smith’s friends, 
 the Whigs, into office in 1806, and the prompt efforts of Lord, or 
 rather, Lady Holland, secured him a slice of church patronage 
 from the Chancellor, Lord Erskine,{ in the living of Foston-le-Clay, 
 
 * First letter to Archdeacon Singleton. + Lady Holland’s memoir, p. 200. 
 
 { Smith went to thank Erskine for the appointment. ‘‘ Oh,” said Erskine, 
 “don’t thank me, Mr. Smith. I gave you the living because Lady Holland 
 
40. PLYMLEY LETTERS. 
 
 = 
 a 
 
 in Yorkshire, a parish embracing a small, rude farmer population, 
 
 “some eleven miles from York. It seems to have been a sinecure 
 when it was presented, since at that time there had not been a 
 resident clergyman for a hundred and fifty years, and Smith, 
 through the indulgence of his diocesan Archbishop Markham, and 
 by virtue of his preachership at the Foundling, enjoyed the first 
 year or two of his incumbency quietly in London, while a curate 
 performed the duty for him at the north. 
 
 The year 1807 gave birth to the Letters on the Subject of the 
 Catholics, to my Brother Abraham, who lives in the Oountry, by 
 Peter Plymley. They were ten in number, and followed in quick 
 succession, disturbing not a little the equanimity of the ministry 
 of Canning and Perceval, by their sharp, pungent attacks, while 
 strengthening the cause of liberal reform by their enormous popu- 
 lar success.* Though published anonymously, they who knew 
 Sydney Smith knew Peter Plymley. No more caustic wit had 
 been expended on politics since the productions of Swift. Peter 
 Plymley’s object was to rescue the claims of the Irish Catholics 
 from the vast mass of prejudice, unsound political economy, and 
 false reasoning which, as he justly thought, overlaid justice and 
 
 judgment in the minds of well-disposed but bigoted and unthinking 
 
 Englishmen. ‘The vehicle chosen for the discussion, a series of 
 expostulatory letters on the affairs of the day, addressed by a man 
 of the world to a clergyman in the country, gave the author an 
 opportunity to play off his knowledge of clerical habitudes, and 
 the peculiar idiosyncracies of the Establishment. The main scope 
 
 insisted on my doing so: and if she had desired me to give it to the devil, he 
 must have had it.”—Dyce’s Table Talk of Rogers. 
 
 * “The Government of that day,” says Sydney Smith, in the preface to 
 his writings, “took great pains to find out the author; all that they could find 
 was, that they were brought to Mr. Budd, the publisher, by the Earl of 
 Lauderdale. Somehow or another, it came to be conjectured that I was that 
 author: I have always denied it; but, finding that I denied it in vain, I have 
 thought it might be as well to include the Letters in this Collection: they had 
 an immense circulation at the time, and I think above twenty thousand copies 
 were sold.” 
 
TOLERATION. 41 
 
 of his arguments was expediency; the practical effect of collie 
 ing wrongs, which would throw the population of Ireland into 
 the arms of the French; and, on the other hand, the practical 
 effect of freedom, and free intercourse in repressing differences, 
 the chief nutriment of which was oppression. Wit, irony, logic, 
 the author’s peculiar weapons of the argumentum ad hominem, and 
 the reductio ad absurdum, are freely employed in illustration of 
 these views. Though the letters have lost some of their interest 
 since the local absurdities of the day which they refuted have 
 been forgotten, they remain the completest exhibition of the 
 author’s powers, in his favourite method of conquering prejudice, 
 and substituting perennial wit and wisdom for darkness and error. 
 Lessons of universal interest in religious toleration may still be 
 learnt by the world, from this partisan skirmish in behalf of a 
 cause which has since been nobly established in England. 
 
 Smith further assisted the question in this year, by a sermon on 
 Toleration, preached before the influential audience, chiefly of 
 barristers, at the Temple church. It was, also, printed at the 
 time, and is included in his collection of sermons of 1809. Fol- 
 lowing the outline of Paley, he defines in it the essentials of a 
 
 Church establishment: “An order of men set apart for the minis- 
 
 terial office ; a regular provision made for them; and a particular 
 
 creed containing the articles of their faith.” His maintenance of — 
 
 these points though they probably fell short of the views of the 
 High-Church party, go beyond what would be asserted in America. 
 Indeed, it would be a sorry fact in the world’s history, if America 
 had not fully disproved what he chose to anticipate of the fate of 
 Christianity in this hemisphere: “ Homely and coarse,” he some- 
 what gratuitously interpolates in this discourse, “as these principles 
 may appear, to many speculative men, they are the only ones by 
 which the existence of any religion can be secured to the com- 
 munity ; and we have now too much reason to believe that the 
 system of greater latitude, attempted naturally enough in the new 
 world, will end fatally for the Christian religion, and for good 
 
42 THE CATHOLIC QUESTION. 
 
 practical morality.” Sydney Smith was a valiant man when he 
 offended his friends and brother churchmen by his plea for the 
 Catholics; but he himself here needs the mantle of indulgence 
 cast by the poet over the “fears of the brave and follies of the 
 wise.” His main positions are, that the Roman Church is to be 
 judged, not by its past history, but its present conduct; that the 
 Established Church of England, with a proper respect for its 
 powers and advantages, should be magnanimous to those who 
 differ from it, should prove its superiority by charity, and maintain 
 the lesson of his text from St. Paul, that “God is not the author 
 of confusion, but of peace, in all the churches.” 
 
 At the same time he enforced his views.of the Catholic Ques- 
 tion by an article in the Edinburgh Review,* in which he separ- 
 ated the historical causes of the disaffection of Ireland growing 
 out of the political conquest, and those attributable to religious 
 hostilities —assigning a slight proportional weight to the latter. 
 To these views he held till the close of his life. Thirty-two years 
 later he wrote, in reviving this article, in reference to agitations 
 which survived Catholic emancipation: “It is now only difficult 
 to tranquillize Ireland, before it was impossible. As to. the dan- 
 ger from Catholic doctrines, I must leave such apprehensions to 
 the respectable anility of these realms.”f One of the latest and 
 most vigorous of Sydney Smith’s productions was devoted to this 
 cause. Among his papers, after his death, was found an unfin- 
 ished pamphlet, that “startling and matchless Fragment,” as 
 Jeffrey called it, which was published in 1845, with the tithe, A 
 Fragment on the Irish Roman Catholic Church. None of his ear- 
 lier writings surpass it in wit and felicity of illustration. Every 
 sentence is a jest or an epigram worthy the fame of a Pascal or a 
 Swift. It is an advocacy of the appropriation of the Irish tithes 
 by the state, to the regular payment of the Roman Catholic clergy, 
 as an effective cure of the prevalent wrangling and disaffection — 
 the O’Connellism of the time. Upon that arch-agitator himself, 
 
 * July, 1807. 9 t Works, Ist ed., i. 84. ; 
 
HESLINGTON. 43 
 
 he bestows some memorable counsel, not the less wisdom for the 
 humour in which it is sheathed. He also recommends the estab- 
 lishment of diplomatic relations with the Roman Pontift.* 
 
 To return from this continuous sketch of Sydney Smith’s literary 
 efforts in the cause of Catholic Emancipation, to the year 1808. By 
 a new residence bill, clerical incumbents were compelled to build or 
 restore and inhabit the parsonage houses, which, under the preva- 
 lent absenteeism, had very numerously gone to decay throughout 
 England. The parochial establishment of Foston-le-Clay, though 
 with capabilities of improved fortune to its new possessor, was 
 one of the least inviting for a restoration or a residence. The 
 parsonage, bounded by a foalyard and a churchyard, was simply 
 a kitchen with a room above it, ready to tumble upon the occupant. 
 Sydney Smith surveyed the premises, the shambling hovel and 
 three hundred acres of glebe land without tithe, to be farmed by 
 himself, and hesitated. ‘To gain time for consideration, and to 
 effect, if possible, an exchange, he secured from the archbishop, Dr. 
 Vernon Harcourt, a respite of three years, during which he estab- 
 
 _ lished himself at Heslington, a village in the immediate vicinity of 
 York. The proceeds of his two volumes of sermons, and a loan 
 from his brother Robert of about five hundred pounds, assisted his 
 removal from London to the north in the summer of 1809. 
 Heslington mitigated the descent from London to Foston, or, in 
 Smith’s words, “the change from the aurelia to the erub state.” With 
 the resources of York at his elbow, he lived in comparative retire- 
 ment, visiting his parish, concocting plans of study, reading much, 
 writing for the Edinburgh Review and familiarizing himself with 
 - the occupations of his farm land. In truth, though the society of 
 
 * Sydney Smith also prepared an account of English misrule in Ireland 
 from the earliest date of English possession, which Lady Holland tells us, 
 “formed so fearful a picture that he hesitated to give it to the world when 
 done.” It still exists in manuscript. Macaulay, who was consulted on its 
 publication as a posthumous work, by Mrs. Sydney Smith, recommended its 
 suppression His letter is given in Lady Holland’s Memoir. 
 
 + To Lady Holland, June 24, 1809. 
 
44 RESOURCES. 
 
 London was the natural home of his talents, he liked the practical 
 demands of his new life, the management of crops and cattle and 
 peasants, the contrivances of building and the regulation of his 
 parish. The loss of London society to an already established 
 diner-out, who watched with eagerness the political and social 
 movements of the day, was a privation; but these things had 
 brought with them something of satiety, and they were relin- 
 quished cheerfully, as he expresses it in a letter to Jeffrey, “for 
 more quiet, more leisure, less expense and more space for his 
 children,”* while he adds, “Mrs. Sydney is delighted with her 
 rustication. She has suffered all the evils of London, and enjoyed 
 none of its goods.” In his philosophical way he writes the next 
 year to Lady Holland: “I am not leading precisely the life I 
 should choose, but that which (all things considered as well as I 
 could consider them) appeared to me the most eligible. I am re- 
 solved, therefore, to like it, and to reconcile myself to it; which is 
 more manly than to feign myself above it, and to send up com 
 
 plaints by the post, of being thrown away, and being desolate, and 
 such like trash. ...... If, with a pleasant wife, three children, a 
 good house and farm, many books, and many friends, who wish 
 me well, I cannot be happy, I am a very silly, foolish fellow, and 
 what becomes of me is of very little consequence. I have, at least, 
 this chance of doing well in Yorkshire, that I am heartily tired of 
 London.”t “Instead of being unamused by trifles,” he writes to 
 Jeffrey, drawing on his fund of happiness, “I am, as I well knew 
 I should be, amused by them a great deal too much; I feel an un- 
 governable interest about my horses, or my pigs, or my plants; I 
 am forced, and always was forced, to task myself up into an inter- 
 est for any higher objects.”{ Of his reading, he tells Jeffrey that, 
 “having scarcely looked at a book for five years, I am rather 
 hungry.”|| Burke, Homer, Suetonius, Godwin’s Enquirer, agricul- 
 
 * York, Nov. 20, 1808. 
 1 To Lady Holland, Heslington, Sept. 9, 1809. 
 
 + To Jeffrey, Heslington, Sept. 3, 1809. 
 || To Jeffrey, Heslington, 1810. 
 
OXFORD EDUCATION. 45 
 
 tural matters, and “a great deal of Adam Smith,” were thrown in 
 to fill the vacuum. “I am,” he writes to his friend John Murray, 
 the lawyer of Edinburgh, “reading Locke in my old age, never 
 having read him thoroughly in my youth: a fine, satisfactory sort 
 of fellow, but very long-winded.”* ‘These transition years at Hes- 
 lington supplied to the Edinburgh Review a series of articles 
 on Education of Women, Public Schools and the Universities, a 
 Vindication of Fox’s Historical Work, an account of the Walche- 
 ren Expedition, and a paper on Indian affairs. “I am about,” he 
 writes to Lady Holland, “to open the subject of classical learning, 
 in the Review, from which, by some accident or other, it has 
 hitherto abstained. It will give great offence, and therefore be 
 more fit for this journal, the genius of which seems to consist in 
 stroking the animal the contrary way to that which the hair lies.” 
 
 The Edinburgh Review united its forces against the Oxford 
 system of education. ‘The University was attacked in several 
 articles by various writers, on the score of its devotion to Aristotle, 
 the inefficiency of its press, particularly in an edition of Strabo, 
 and the excessive employment of its students in the minutie of 
 Latin and Greek. The general assault was made by Sydney 
 Smith. The University was compelled to defend itself; and its 
 renowned champion, Edward Copleston, Provost of Oriel, after- 
 ward Bishop of Llandaff, published “A Reply to the Calumnies 
 of the Edinburgh Review against Oxford.” This was met in the 
 Edinburgh by an article evidently proceeding from the three 
 authors of the original remarks on Aristotle, the edition of Strabo, 
 and Professional Education. “A Second Reply to the Edinburgh 
 Review,” also from the pen of Copleston, commenting on the triple 
 article, closed the controversy.f Sydney Smith, always an excel- 
 
 * To John Murray, Heslington, Dec. 6, 1811. 
 
 + The Edinburgh Review articles alluded to are an Analysis of Laplace’s 
 Mechanique Celeste, in its concluding pages, January, 1808; the Oxford 
 Edition of Strabo, Jan. 1809; Edgeworth’s Professional Education, Oct. 
 1809; Calumnies against Oxford, April, 1810. Copleston’s publications are 
 entitled, ‘‘A Reply to the Calumnies of the Edinburgh Review against Ox- 
 
46 GUESTS AT HESLINGTON. 
 
 lent partisan skirmisher, with enough of the philosopher in his 
 generalizations, and of the jury lawyer in the skill of his manage- 
 ment of points, held the ear of the public on the question. In the 
 edition of his writings, the paper on Professional Education is one 
 of the most complete, and certainly not the least brilliant of his 
 essays. The exclusive pedantry of Oxford was fair game for a 
 satirist; the attack, since grown familiar, and followed by various 
 degrees of reform, was then a novelty; it was something to invade 
 the dignity of the ancient University, and compel it to a defence: 
 the public was entertained, and Sydney Smith had his revenge 
 upon the Busbys of his school-boy days for their infliction of longs 
 and shorts. It was a capital subject of mirth with him, of which 
 he never tired. ‘The reply to Copleston was not over-delicate in 
 its choice of terms. It was, in fact, a specimen of the old Edin- 
 burgh swagger, relieved by some excellent passes of humour. 
 
 While thus continuing his literary pursuits, Sydney Smith was 
 not altogether cut off from politics and society. In sympathy with 
 the times he projected “ Common Sense for 1810,” a pamphlet which 
 it is to be regretted he never accomplished as it would doubtless 
 have formed a brilliant companion to the Plymley Letters. He 
 paid visits to Lord Grey, whom he greatly admired, at Howick, 
 and made flying journeys to London and Holland House. Rom- 
 illy, Mackintosh, Horner, and others, visited him—among the rest, 
 Jeffrey, “who came with an American gentleman, Mr. Simond, 
 and his niece, Miss Wilkes. We little suspected,” adds Lady Hol- 
 land, “that this lady, great niece to the agitator Wilkes, was so 
 soon after to become Mrs. Jeffrey.* 
 ford, containing an Account of Studies pursued in that University,” and 
 “A Second Reply to the Edinburgh Review,” both in 1810. The Quarterly 
 Review for August, 1810, reviews the whole discussion. 
 
 * “About the close of 1810, Mons. Simond, a French gentleman, who had 
 left his country early in the revolution, came with his wife and a niece to visit 
 some friends in Edinburgh, where they remained some weeks. Madame Si- 
 mond was a sister of Charles Wilkes, Esq., banker in New York, a nephew of 
 
 the famous John ; and the niece was Miss Charlotte Wilkes, a daughter of 
 this Charles. It was during this visit, I believe, that she and Jeffrey first 
 
BUILDING AT FOSTON. AT 
 
 Having given up all hopes of exchanging his undesirable living 
 of Foston, he commenced the reconstruction of the parsonage- 
 house. His account of the proceedings is too characteristic to be 
 given in other terms than his own. “ All my efforts for an ex- 
 change having failed, I asked and obtained from my friend the 
 Archbishop another year to build in. And I then set my shoul- 
 der to the wheel in good earnest; sent for an architect ; he produ- 
 ced plans which would have ruined me. I made him my bow: ‘ You 
 build for glory, sir; I, for use.’ I returned him his plans, with 
 five-and-twenty pounds, and sat down in my thinking-chair, and in 
 a few hours Mrs. Sydney and I concocted a plan which has pro- 
 duced what I call the model of parsonage-houses. 
 
 “T then took to horse to provide bricks and timber; was advised 
 to make my own bricks, of my own clay; of course, when the 
 kiln was opened, all bad; mounted my horse again, and in twenty- 
 _ four hours had bought thousands of bricks and tons of timber. Was 
 advised by neighbouring gentlemen to employ oxen: bought four 
 —Tug and Lug, Hawl and Crawl; but Tug and Lug took to 
 fainting, and required buckets of sal-volatile, and Hawl and Crawl 
 to lie down in the mud. So I did as I ought to have done at first 
 —took the advice of the farmer instead of the gentleman; sold my 
 oxen, bought a team of horses, and at last, in spite of a frost which 
 delayed me six weeks, in spite of walls running down with wet, in 
 spite of the advice and remonstrances of friends who predicted our 
 death, in spite of an infant of six months old, who had never been 
 out of the house, I landed my family in my new house nine months 
 after laying the first stone, on the 20th of March; and performed 
 
 met.”’— Cockburn’s Life of Jeffrey, i.168, where an account of the great re- 
 viewer’s subsequent visit to America, in the midst of the war in 1813, and of 
 his marriage to the lady in America, is given. Louis Simond published sey- 
 eral books of travel, highly esteemed for their political and economical social 
 studies. His ‘‘ Journal of a Tour and Residence in Great Britain in 1810- 
 11,” appeared, translated from the French, in 1816. In 1822 he published his 
 “Travels in Switzerland,” performed 1817-18-19. ‘Travels in Italy and 
 Sicily appeared at Paris in 1827. He passed the latter years of his life at 
 Geneva, where he died in July, 1831. 
 
48 THE IMMORTAL. 
 
 my promise to the letter to the Archbishop, by issuing forth at 
 midnight with a lantern tc meet the last cart, with the cook and 
 the cat, which had stuck in the mud, and fairly established them 
 before twelve o’clock at night in the new parsonage-house—a feat, 
 taking ignorance, inexperience, and poverty, into consideration, 
 requiring, I assure you, no small degree of energy. 
 
 “Tt made me a very poor man for many years, but I never re- 
 pented it. I turned schoolmaster, to educate my son, as I could 
 not afford to send him to school. Mrs. Sydney turned school- 
 mistress, to educate my girls, as I could not afford a governess. I 
 - turned farmer, as I could not let my land. A man-servant was 
 too expensive; so I caught up a little garden-girl, made like a 
 milestone, christened her Bunch, put a napkin in her hand, and 
 made her my butler. The girls taught her to read, Mrs. Sydney, 
 to wait, and I undertook her morals ; Bunch became the best but- 
 ler in the county. 
 
 “T had little furniture, so I bought a cart-load of deals; took a 
 carpenter (who came to me for parish relief, called Jack Robinson), 
 with a face like a full-moon, into my service; established him in a 
 barn, and said, ‘ Jack, furnish my house.’ You see the result! 
 
 “ At last it was suggested that a carriage was much wanted in 
 the establishment; after diligent search, I discovered in the back 
 settlements of a York coachmaker an ancient green chariot, sup- 
 posed to have been the earliest invention of the kind. I brought 
 it home in triumph tomy admiring family. Being somewhat dilap- 
 idated, the village tailor lined it, the village blacksmith repaired it; 
 nay (but for Mrs. Sydney’s earnest entreaties), we believe the vil- 
 lage painter would have exercised his genius upon the exterior; 
 it escaped this danger, however, and the result was wonderful. 
 Each year added to its charms: it grew younger and younger; a 
 new wheel, a new spring; I christened it the Jmmortal; it was 
 known all over the neighbourhood; the village boys cheered it, 
 and the village dogs barked at it; but ‘ Faber mez fortuna’ was 
 my motto, and we had no false shame. 
 
THE FLITTING. 49 
 
 “ Added to all these domestic cares, I was village parson, village 
 doctor, village comforter, village magistrate, and Edinburgh Re- 
 viewer; so-you see I had not much time left on my hands to re- 
 gret London. + 
 
 “ My house was considered the ugliest in the county, but all ad- 
 mitted it was one of the most comfortable; and we did not die, as 
 our friends had predicted, of the damp walls of the parsonage.” 
 
 The establishment, with its farm appurtenances, into which Syd- 
 ney Smith thus inducted himself, cost him some four thousand pounds 
 in all, and of course seriously hampered his fortunes during his . 
 protracted, involuntary, though not unhappy residence. The in- 
 come of Foston was five hundred pounds; increased for the last 
 two or three years to eight hundred.* 
 
 Lady Holland, with a woman’s feeling for the details of do- 
 mestic life, has given a genial sketch of this new flitting —it 
 was in the spring of 1814—-with the accessories of character and 
 homely incident. 
 
 “Tt was a cold, bright March day, with a biting east wind. The 
 beds we left in the morning had to be packed up and slept on at 
 night ; wagon after wagon of furniture poured in every minute ; 
 the roads were so cut up that the carriage could not reach the 
 door; and my mother lost her shoe in the mud, which was ankle- 
 deep, while bringing her infant up to the house in her arms. 
 
 “ But oh, the shout of joy as we entered and took possession !— 
 the first time in our lives that we had inhabited a house of our 
 own. How we admired it, ugly as it was! With what pride my 
 dear father welcomed us, and took us from room to room; old 
 Molly Mills, the milk-woman, who had had charge of the house, 
 grinning with delight in the background. We thought it a palace ; 
 yet the drawing-room had no door, the bare plaster walls ran down 
 with wet, the windows were like ground-glass, from the moisture 
 which had to be wiped up several times a day by the housemaid. 
 No carpets, no chairs, nothing unpacked; rough men bringing in 
 
 * First Letter to Archdeacon Singleton. 
 ° 3 
 
” 50 ee . ANNIE KAY. 
 
 rougher packages at every moment. But then was the time to 
 behold my father! 
 body, cared for everybody, encouraged everybody, kept everybody 
 in good humour. How he exerted himself! how his loud, rich 
 voice might be heard in all directions, ordering, arranging, explain- 
 ing, till the household storm gradually subsided! Each half-hour 
 improved our condition; fires blazed in every room; at last we 
 all sat down to our tea, spread by ourselves on a huge package be- 
 
 fore the drawing-room fire, sitting on boxes round it; and retired 
 “to sleep on our beds placed on the floor—the happiest, merriest, 
 and busiest family in Christendom. In a few days, under my 
 father’s active exertions, everything was arranged with tolerable 
 comfort in the little household, and it began to assume its wonted 
 
 amidst the confusion, he thought for every- 
 
 
 
 appearance. 
 
 “Tn speaking of the establishment of Foston, Annie Kay must 
 not be forgotten. She entered our service at nineteen years of 
 age, but possessing a degree of sense and lady-like feeling not often 
 found in her situation of life—first as nurse, then as lady’s-maid, 
 then housekeeper, apothecary’s boy, factotum, and friend. All who 
 have been much at Foston or Combe Florey know Annie Kay ; 
 she was called into consultation on every family event, and proved 
 herself a worthy oracle. Her counsels were delivered in the softest 
 voice, with the sweetest smile, and in the broadest Yorkshire. She. 
 ended by nursing her old master through his long and painful ill- 
 ness, night and day; she was with him at his death; she followed 
 him to his grave; she was remembered in his will; she survived 
 him but two years, which she spent in my mother’s house ; and, 
 after her long and faithful service of thirty years, was buried by 
 my mother in the same cemetery as her master, respected and 
 lamented by all his family, as the most faithful of servants and 
 friends. 
 
 “So much for the interior of the establishment. Out-of-doors 
 reigned Molly Mills —cow, pig, poultry, garden, and post-woman ; 
 with her short red petticoat, her legs like millposts, her high 
 
oS ee 
 
 ° 2 
 
 MUSTER SMITH. «es. 51 
 
 cheek-bones red and shrivelled like winter apples ; a perfect speci- 
 men of a ‘yeowoman;’ a sort of kindred spirit, too ; for she was 
 the wit of the village, and delighted in a crack with her master, 
 when she could get it. She was as important in her vocation as 
 Annie Kay in hers; and Molly here, and Molly there, might be 
 heard in every direction. Molly was always merry, willing, active, 
 and true as gold; she had little book-learning, but enough to 
 bring up two fine athletic sons, as honest as herself; though, unlike 
 her, they were never seen to smile, but were as solemn as ‘two 
 owls, and would not have said a civil thing to save their lives. 
 They ruled the farm. Add to these the pet donkey, Bitty, already 
 introduced to the public; a tame fawn, at last dismissed for eating 
 the maid’s clothes, which he preferred to any other diet; and a 
 lame goose, condemned at last to be roasted for eating all the fruit 
 in the garden; together with Bunch and Jack Robinson—and 
 you have the establishment.” 
 
 An anecdote of Smith’s first visit to Foston, preserved by Lady 
 Holland, is a good index of his character at all times, and of his 
 subsequent position in the village. ‘The house and grounds pre- 
 sented the most forbidding appearance. ‘To shed light upon the 
 scene: “The clerk, the most important man in the village, was 
 summoned; a man who had numbered eighty years, looking, with 
 his long gray hair, his threadbare coat, deep wrinkles, stooping 
 gait, and crutch-stick, more ancient than the parsonage-house. He 
 looked at my father for some time from under his gray, shaggy 
 eyebrows, and held a long conversation with him, in which the old 
 clerk showed that age had not quenched the natural shrewdness 
 of the Yorkshireman. At last, after a pause, he said, striking his 
 crutch-stick on the ground, ‘Muster Smith, it often stroikes moy 
 moind, that people as comes frae London is such fools. . . . But 
 you, he said (giving him a nudge with his stick), ‘I see you are 
 no fool.’” The foraging accommodations of the parish were once 
 feelingly described by Sydney Smith: “My living in Yorkshire 
 was so far out of the way, that it was actually twelve miles from 
 
52 FOSTON LIFE. 
 
 alemon.” In his jesting way, he said, “ When I began to thump 
 the cushion of my pulpit, on first coming to Foston, as is my wont 
 when I preach, the accumulated dust of a hundred and fifty years 
 made such a cloud, that for some minutes I lost sight of my con- 
 gregation.” 
 
 Sydney Smith was forty-three when he began his residence at 
 Foston. He remained there fourteen years, until his appointment, 
 by Lord Chancellor Lyndhurst, to a vacant stall at Bristol. They 
 were years of some privation, which was overcome by economy, 
 and the incumbent’s great mastery of the laws of human happiness. 
 At one time, in a season of the failure of the harvest, the family, 
 with their neighbours, were obliged to dispense with bread, and 
 consume, as best they could, the damaged, sprouted wheat. A 
 malignant fever in the parish was the consequence of this distress, 
 which brought out the medical and humanitary resources of the 
 rector. Courageous in risking life on this, as on similar occasions, 
 he did much to alleviate the general misery. Inability to purchase 
 books at this period, must have been a frequent annoyance. The 
 omniscient Edinburgh Reviewer conscientiously abstained from 
 running in debt for a cyclopedia. His friends, however, and the 
 neighbouring library of Castle Howard, where he enjoyed a warm 
 intimacy with the Earl of Carlisle, in a great measure supplied the 
 deficiency.* 
 
 * The Earl of Carlisle of this period was Frederick (grandfather of the 
 present Earl), the relative and guardian of Lord Byron. The poet dedicated 
 to him his Hours of Idleness, vilified him in his famous satire, and apologized 
 in Childe Harold. Lord.Carlisle wrote tragedies: The Father’s Revenge 
 (which Dr. Johnson and Walpole praised), The Step-Mother, and various 
 Poems. He came to America during the Revolutionary war, fellow-commis- 
 sioner with William Eden (Lord Auckland), and Governor Johnstone, with 
 offers of peace, and was challenged by La Fayette, for terms used in the Ad- 
 dress to Congress, derogatory to France. In Jesse’s ‘ Selwyn and his Contem- 
 poraries,” there are numerous agreeable letters of Carlisle — among them two, 
 written from Philadelphia and New York, with notices of “Mr. Washington,” 
 and the war, which were pleasantly introduced by Mr. Thackeray, in his 
 recent lecture on George HI. Lord Carlisle died in 1825, at the age of 
 seventy-seven. 
 
HOUSEKEEPING HUMOURS. 53 
 
 In the midst of all embarrassments, however, Foston was not 
 an unhappy home. ‘The humours of its lord had full play. He 
 was the hero of domestic life, his resourees—his kindness, his 
 wit, his personal humour, never failing. Numerous anecdotes of 
 this nature are preserved in the narrative of his daughter—the 
 charm of whose work is its thoroughly woman’s picture of the 
 household habits, which, after all, stamp the man. They may be 
 briefly summed up in his art of happiness; his industry, constant 
 self-culture, a curious fondness for the minutiz of the menage, 
 attention to the common duties of life, care of his parishioners, 
 attachment of his servants, and the cement of those noble friend- 
 ships which brought Horner, Mackintosh, Jeffrey, the Hollands, 
 Rogers, to his hospitable home —an inviting baiting-place for these 
 keen appreciators of wit and good-nature, which he characteristi- 
 cally christened the Rector’s Head. 
 
 Within doors he made good taste and original management 
 do the work of wealth in promoting comfort. He contrived cheap 
 decorations for his windows, his ceilings, and his fireplaces, in- 
 geniously brightening his fires by a ventilating aperture. His 
 bed-rooms were placarded with unframed prints, full of elevating 
 suggestions. The arrangements of his store-room and apothe- 
 cary’s shop were among the curiosities of the place. Out of doors 
 his management was quite as peculiar. He oddly economized 
 time in farming his acres, by the use of “a tremendous speaking 
 trumpet” at his door, with the supplement of a spy-glass, to bring 
 the operations under view. His humanity to his cattle was shown 
 in a way said to have been practised by a Duke of Argyle, in 
 alleviating the distressed cuticles of his irritated tenantry. He set 
 up a skeleton machine in the midst of a field, ingeniously arranged 
 for every four-footed creature to rub against, which he called his 
 Universal Scratcher. He carried his household to church, a mile 
 distant from the parsonage, through the miry clay, more success- 
 fully than the family of the Vicar of Wakefield, in the adventure 
 of Blackberry and the pillion, in his old furbished-up carriage, the 
 
54 BUNCH. 
 
 Immortal, drawn by his cart-horse in shafts, and guided by the 
 carter on foot. At the barn-like church fifty persons were, on one 
 occasion, probably an average one, present. | 
 
 The portrait of Bunch, that important portion of the Foston 
 family, is immortal; a sketch from reality equal to the imagina- 
 tion of Dickens. Mrs. Marcet, the author of the Conversations 
 on Political Economy, an old friend of the host, exhibits her in 
 full play :— 
 
 “JT was coming down stairs one morning, when Mr. Smith sud- 
 denly said to Bunch, who was passing, ‘ Bunch, do you like roast 
 duck or boiled chicken?’ Bunch had probably never tasted either 
 the one or the other in her life, but answered, without a moment’s 
 hesitation, ‘ Roast duck, please, sir, and disappeared. I laughed. 
 ‘You may laugh,’ said he, ‘but you have no idea of the labour it 
 has cost me to give her that decision of character. ‘The Yorkshire 
 peasantry are the quickest and shrewdest in the world, but you 
 can never get a direct answer from them; if you ask them even 
 their own names, they always scratch their heads, and say, ‘A’s 
 sur ai don’t knaw, sir; but I have brought Bunch to such perfec- 
 tion, that she never hesitates now on any subject, however difficult. 
 I am very strict with her. Would you like to hear her repeat 
 her crimes? She has them by heart, and repeats them every day.’ 
 ‘Come here, Bunch? calling out to her, ‘come and repeat your 
 crimes to Mrs. Marcet ;’ and Bunch, a clean, fair, squat, tidy little 
 girl, about ten or twelve years of age, quite as a matter of course, 
 as grave as a judge, without the least hesitation, and with a loud 
 voice, began. to repeat: ‘ Plate-snatching, gravy-spilling, door- 
 slamming, blue-bottle-fly-catching, and courtesy-bobbing.’ ‘ Ex- 
 plain to Mrs. Marcet what blue-bottle-fly-catching is.’ ‘ Standing, 
 with my mouth open and not attending, sir” ‘And what is court- 
 esy-bobbing?” ‘Courtesying to the centre of the earth, please, 
 sir” ‘Good girl! now you may go.” ‘She makes a capital 
 waiter, I assure you; on state occasions Jack Robinson, my car- 
 penter, takes off his apron and waits too, and does pretty well, but 
 
GILDED PILLS. 55 
 
 he sometimes naturally makes a mistake and sticks a gimlet into 
 the bread instead of a fork.’” 
 
 Mrs. Marcet also supplies to the “ Memoir” some pleasing anee- 
 dotes of those medical traits, the foundation of which had been 
 laid at Edinburgh. Sydney is taking her the rounds of his Fos- 
 ton parsonage :-— 
 
 “¢ But I came up to speak to Annie Kay. Where is Annie 
 Kay? Ring the bell for Annie Kay.’ Kay appeared. ‘ Bring 
 me my medicine-book, Annie Kay. Kay is my apothecary’s boy, 
 and makes up my medicines.’ Kay appears with the book. ‘I 
 am a great doctor; would you like to hear some of my medicines ?” 
 ‘Oh yes, Mr. Sydney.’ ‘There is the gentlejog, a pleasure to 
 take it—the Bull-dog, for more serious cases— Peter’s puke— 
 Heart’s delight, the comfort of all the old women in the village — 
 Rub-a-dub, a capital embrocation— Dead-stop, settles the matter 
 at once— Up-with-it-then needs no explanation ; and so on. 
 Now, Annie Kay, give Mrs. Spratt a bottle of Rub-a-dub; and to 
 Mr. Coles a dose of Dead-stop and twenty drops of laudanum.’ 
 
 “<’'This is the house to be ill in, turning to us; ‘indeed every- 
 body who comes is expected to take a little something ; I consider | 
 it a delicate compliment when my guests have a slight illness here. 
 We have contrivances for everything. Have you seen my patent 
 armour? No? Annie Kay bring my patentarmour. Now, look 
 here: if you have a stiff-neck or swelled-tace, here is this sweet 
 case of tin filled with hot water, and covered with flannel, to put 
 round your neck, and you are well directly. Likewise, a patent 
 tin shoulder, in case of rheumatism. There you see a stomach- 
 tin, the greatest comfort in life; and lastly, here is a tin slipper, 
 to be filled with hot water, which you can sit with in the drawing- 
 room, should you come in chilled, without wetting your feet. 
 Come and see my apothecary’s shop.’ “ 
 
 “ We all went down stairs, and entered a room filled entirely on 
 one side with medicines, and on the other with every description 
 ot groceries and household or agricultural necessaries; in the 
 
56 LOBSTER SAUCE. 
 
 centre, a large chest, forming a table, and divided into compart- 
 ments for soap, candles, salt, and sugar. 
 “¢ Flere you see,’ said he, ‘every human want before you :— 
 
 «‘*¢ Man wants but little here below, 
 As beef, veal, mutton, pork, lamb, venison show ;’ 
 
 spreading out his arms to exhibit everything, and laughing.” 
 
 Sydney Smith wrote a great deal about prisons and prisoners, 
 crimes and penalties, and justice’s justice. It is of positive value 
 that we have this account of his own management in matters of 
 rural police as a Justice of the Peace :— 
 
 “He set vigorously to work to study Blackstone, and made 
 himself master of as much law as possible, instead of blundering 
 on, as many of his neighbours were content to do. Partly by this 
 knowledge, partly by his good-humour, he gained a considerable 
 influence in the quorum, which used to meet once a fortnight at 
 the little inn, called the Lobster-house; and the people used to 
 say they were ‘going to geta little of Mr. Smith’s lobster-sauce.’ 
 By dint of his powerful voice, and a little wooden hammer, he 
 prevailed on Bob and Betty to speak one at a time; he always 
 tried, and often succeeded, in turning foes into friends. Having a 
 » horror of the Game laws, then in full force, and knowing, as he 
 states in his speech on the Reform Bill, that for every ten pheas- 
 ants which fluttered in the wood one English peasant was rotting 
 in jail, he was always secretly on the side of the poacher (much 
 ‘to the indignation of his fellow-magistrates, who in a poacher saw 
 a monster of iniquity), and always contrived, if possible, to let 
 him escape, rather than commit him to jail, with the certainty of 
 his returning to the world an accomplished villain. He endeay- 
 oured to avoid exercising his function as magistrate in his own 
 village when possible, as he wished to be at peace with all his 
 parishioners. 
 
 “Young delinquents he never could bear to commit; but read 
 them a severe lecture, and in extreme cases called out, ‘John, 
 
VISITS FRANCE. 57 
 
 bring me my private gallows!’ which infallibly brought the little 
 urchins weeping on their knees, and, ‘Oh! for God’s sake, your 
 honour, pray forgive us!’ and his honour used graciously to pardon 
 them for this time, and delay the arrival of the private gallows, 
 and seldom had occasion to repeat the threat.”* 
 
 Such was the life at Foston, the poverty of a scholar and a coun- 
 try clergyman, supported by self-respect. His independence led 
 him to make many sacrifices, but he had no hesitation in honour- 
 ably accepting a favour. He received a hundred a year from his 
 brother Robert, to support his son Douglas at Westminster school; 
 but “ Aunt Mary,” an old lady, dying not long after, and unexpect- 
 edly leaving him a moderate legacy, he at once released his brother 
 from the obligation.t Other accessions of prosperity followed, those 
 affluent rills which the river is sure to meet with if its course be 
 long continued. ‘The neighbouring living of Londesborough, va- 
 cant for a short time, was added to his resources by the Earl of 
 Carlisle, in 1825, which enabled him to visit Paris the next year. 
 
 The three weeks’ journey, as it is recorded in daily letters 
 to Mrs. Sydney Smith, supplies one of the most delightful and 
 amusing portions of his always profitable and entertaining corres- 
 pondence. It is full of the novelty, the gusto and enjoyment of 
 the Englishman’s or American’s first pleasant impressions of the 
 Continent, when everything appears gayer, brighter, better than 
 ever before, and the senses are feasted by the brilliant theatrical 
 display. Sydney Smith had a happy temperment, never above 
 being surprised and delighted. From the moment of his crossing 
 the channel his latent Gallic blood is all of a tingle. Calais is full 
 of fine sensations. ‘The bedroom at Dessein’s is superb, and so is 
 
 * Lady Holland’s Memoir, p. 150. 
 
 Tt To the Countess Grey, Foston, Nov. 21, 1821 :— An old aunt has died 
 and left me an estate in London; this puts me a little at my ease, and will, 
 in some degree save.me from the hitherto necessary, but unpleasant practice 
 of making sixpence perform the functions and assume the importance of a 
 shilling. 
 
 “Part of my little estate is the Guildhall Coffee-house, in King street, Cheap- 
 side. I mean to give a ball there. Will you come?” 
 
 3% 
 * 
 
* 
 
 58 ¢ FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 
 
 the dinner. “I wish you could see me,” he writes, with a hus- 
 band’s and a child’s delight, to Mrs. Sydney, “with my wood fire 
 and my little bed-room and fine sitting-room.” The streets please 
 him “exceedingly.” Calais “is quite another world, and full of the 
 greatest entertainment.” As for the propriety and civility of the 
 people, “I have not seen,” he says, “a cobbler who is not better 
 bred than an English gentleman.” Everything is better than in 
 
 2 
 
 England. The tea is better, the cookery “admirable ;” and after 
 a day’s surfeit on the raree show, he throws himself to profound 
 slumber “on a charming bed.” One thing only is wantine—the 
 presence of Mrs. Sydney and the family. They are well re- 
 membered. “You shall all see France; I am resolved upon that;” 
 and again, “I most sincerely hope, one day or another, to conduct 
 you all over it; the thought of doing so is one of my greatest 
 pleasures in travelling.” Paris, at which he arrives in a day or 
 two, is great, but perhaps not quite equal to Calais. Under the in- 
 fluence of those rose-coloured first impressions, a hovel at the sea- 
 board rivals a palace at Versailles, and a signboard a masterpiece 
 at the Louvre. How many thousand Americans have been so over- 
 come, on arriving at Havre, after a sea-voyage, by the raree show, 
 and how human, caustic, witty, Sydney Smith appears in writing 
 down all this nonsensical delusion —this capital trick of the Gallic 
 puppets and scenery. At Paris we see the same process. Sydney 
 takes lodgings in the Rue St. Honoré:—*“ My sitting-room is su- 
 perb; my bed-room, close to it, very good; there is a balcony 
 which looks upon the street. * * Iam exeeedingly pleased 
 with everything I have seen at the hotel, and it will be, I think, 
 [to Mrs. Sydney] here we shall lodge.” Rather too fast this. The 
 next letter has an amendment, with an apology for undue haste in 
 locating the future air-castle—“of course, my opinions, from my 
 imperfect information, are likely to change every day; but at pres- 
 ent I am inclined to think that I ought to have gone, and that we 
 will go, to the Boulevards.” Then comes a course of dinners, under 
 the auspices of the Holland family; talk, gossip, and visits. The 
 
CELEBRITIES. 59 
 
 wonder becomes less wonderful, and admiration, still kept up, is 
 here and there chilled by criticism. First impressions need re- 
 vision. A confession of the dinner table has a wider application 
 out-of-doors than its admirable individual lessons within. “I dined 
 with Lord Holland; there was at table Barras, the Ex-Director, 
 in whose countenance I immediately discovered all the signs of 
 blood and cruelty which distinguished his conduct. I found out, 
 however, at the end of dinner, that it was not Barras, but M. de 
 Barente, an historian and man of letters, who, I believe, has never 
 killed anything greater than a flea.” Sir Sidney Smith, the Ad- 
 miral, was then in Paris, and there is some pleasant confusion be- 
 tween the two celebrities. The clerical Sydney meets Talleyrand, 
 Humboldt and Cuvier; sees Mars and Talma at the theatre, at- 
 tends the opera; finds Charles X. growing very old since he dined 
 with him at the Duke of Buccleugh’s, in Scotland, and acting very 
 foolishly in his government, which leads to the prophecy, soon to 
 be fulfilled; that “if this man lives, another revolution is inevit- 
 able. .The local pictures are exquisite. “It is curious to see in 
 what little apartments a French savant lives; you find him at his 
 books, covered with snuff, with a little dog that bites your legs.” 
 “The Parisians are very fond of adorning their public fountains: 
 sometimes water pours forth from a rock, sometimes trickles from 
 the jaws of a serpent. The dull and prosaic English turn a brass 
 cock or pull out a plug. What a nation!’ He finally leaves 
 France, having purchased for himself the coat-of-arms of a French 
 peer, on a seal, which took his fancy, as he professed, for family 
 use,* a “ Cuisinier Bourgeois,” and some rolls of French paper, to 
 
 * Smith was fond of joking on this subject, as on all others, for that mat- 
 ter. Lady Holland has the following aneedote of Combe Florey, some years 
 later :—‘‘ He was writing one morning in his favourite bay-window, when a 
 pompous little man, in rusty black, was ushered in. ‘May I ask what pro- 
 cures me the honour of this visit ?’ said my father. ‘Oh,’ said the little man, 
 ‘I am compounding a history of the distinguished families in Somersetshire, 
 and have called to obtain the Smith arms.’ ‘I regret, sir,’ said my father, 
 
 ‘not to ke able to contribute to so valuable a work; but the Smiths never 
 had any arms, and haye invariably sealed their letters with their thumbs,’ ” 
 
60 BRISTOL. 
 
 add a cheap magnificence to the humble Foston. So closed this 
 charming episode in the life of the north country Rector. It may 
 be here added that Sydney Smith did carry out his good intention 
 of taking Mrs. Sydney to Paris. The visit came off in the autumn 
 of 1835. Dessein’s hotel, at Calais, was still magnificent ; Rouen 
 afforded a glowing sensation ; gentlemen and ladies in blouses and 
 caps were as common on the streets as before; the cookery of 
 Paris had a nicer appreciation from a palate which had been much 
 cultivated by London dinners in the interval :—“I shall not easily,” 
 he writes to Lady Grey, “forget a matelote at the Rocher de 
 Cancale and almond tart at Montreuil, or a poulet a la Tartare, at 
 Grignon’s. These are impressions which no change in future life 
 can obliterate.”* Sydney Smith crossed the channel once more in 
 1837, to visit Holland, but the gout was then the companion of his 
 journey, and the rose-coloured atmosphere had vanished. Worldly 
 prosperity had advanced, but youth had receded. 
 
 In the beginning of 1828, his youngest daughter was mar- 
 ried at York, and in the same month of January, he received 
 the prebendal stall at Bristol, intelligence of which was grace- 
 fully communicated to him by Lady Lyndhurst. Thither he 
 at once removed, and inaugurated his labours by preaching a 
 sermon before the startled mayor and corporation, in the Ca- 
 thedral, on the fifth of November, Guy Faux’s day, in support of : 
 
 religious toleration, particularly in reference to the Catholics. ~ 
 
 * Sydney Smith was not an epicure, in the vulgar sense of the word; but 
 he was undoubtedly something of the gourmet. He knew the value of flavours 
 and sauces to life. He seasoned his curate’s dish of potatoes, on Salisbury 
 Plain, with ketchup ; studied, as we see, the mysteries of taste in Paris, and 
 on one occasion (recorded by Dyce, in the Table Talk of Rogers) rose in a 
 bravura of fancy to the declaration that “his idea of heaven was eating foie 
 gras to the sound of trumpets!” Smith wrote well on temperance, and 
 practised it. Fine sayings like these, however, the immortal salad receipt, 
 and records of innumerable ‘‘dinings out,” in the Memoirs and Letters, will 
 render his memory fragrant in the traditions of gastronomy. 
 
 + He thus mentions it in a letter to Lord Holland, Bristol, Nov. 5, 1828 :— 
 “My par Lorp Horranp, To- day I have preached an honest sermon [5th 
 
> 
 
 CANON OF ST. PAUL’S. 61 
 
 It is published in his works, and remains a plain, simple, sin- 
 cere assertion in the words of its title, of “Those Rules of Chris- 
 tian Charity, by which our Opinions of other Sects should be 
 formed.” The Bristol preferment brought with it a living, and 
 Foston-le-Clay was exchanged for the more euphonious Combe 
 Florey, situated in a scene of natural beauty, near Taunton ; 
 in Smith’s own description, “a most parsonic parsonage, like those 
 described in novels.” ‘This increase of prosperity was darkened by 
 the death of his son Douglas, in 1829—a sorrow which accompanied 
 the father through life. In his note book of the time, he writes, 
 “April 14th, My beloved son Douglas died, aged twenty-four. 
 Alas! alas!” And afterward: “So ends this year of my life—a 
 the first 
 great misfortune of my life, and one which I shall never forget.” 
 
 
 
 year of sorrow, from the loss of my beloved son Douglas 
 
 Lady Holland adds the touching trait, “in his last hours he often 
 called his youngest son by the name of Douglas.” 
 
 A year after, his friend Lord Grey having become minister, 
 Sydney Smith’s cathedral stall at Bristol was exchanged for a 
 similar but more profitable post in London, and he became Canon 
 Residentiary of St. Paul’s.* Combe Florey he still continued to 
 hold, and thus, between town and country, “dining with the rich 
 in London, and physicking the poor in the country, passing from 
 
 the sauces of Dives to the sores of Lazarus,”t he continued his 
 
 > 
 
 clerical career through life. 
 
 of November] before the Mayor and Corporation, in the Cathedral—the 
 most protestant Corporation in England! They stared at me with all their 
 eyes. Several of them could not keep the turtle on their stomachs.” 
 
 * 'The following letter to his friend, Mrs. Meynell, records the event :— 
 
 “SAVILLE Row, September, 1831. 
 
 “My Dear G., I am just stepping into the carriage to be installed by the 
 Bishop, but can not lose a post in thanking you. It is, I believe, a very good 
 thing, and puts me at my ease for life. I asked for nothing—never did any 
 thing shabby to procure preferment. These are pleasing recollections. My 
 pleasure is greatly increased by the congratulations of good and excellent 
 friends like yourself. God bless you! “SypNEY SMITH.” 
 
 | Letter to M. Eugene Robin. Memoir, ii. 497. 
 
62 COUNTRY PARISHIONERS. 
 
 Nor were his duties at either place neglected: He became a 
 most zealous guardian of the church property and affairs at St. 
 Paul’s, superintending building accounts and expenses toilfully and 
 skilfully ; and preaching in his turn, to the close of his life, with 
 dignity and eloquence; while in the summer months, at Combe 
 Florey, his heart expanded among his parishioners, whom he at- 
 tended with faithful tenderness ; entering into their circumstances, 
 and, what is so rare in the world with persons of superior station, 
 surveying, with heartfelt sympathy, the cares and enjoyments of 
 life on a lower level. Hodge had always, in Sydney Smith, a 
 friend, who understood him, and when it was threatened that 
 Hodge’s beer would be cut off by meddling licensers, or Hodge was 
 in danger from the game laws, he had, in his clerical visiter, a use- 
 ful protector. Sydney Smith’s Advice to Parishioners is worthy 
 of the philanthropy, humanity, and good-humoured shrewdness of 
 Poor Richard. For Franklin, indeed, Smith entertained a gener- 
 ous admiration, and the manners of the two sages were, in many 
 things, not unlike. 
 
 To the domestic sketches of Foston, must be added, as a pend- 
 ant, this pencilling, by Lady Holland, of “glorified” Combe 
 Florey :—“TI long to give some sketches of these breakfasts, and 
 the mode of life at Combe Florey, where there were often as- 
 sembled guests that would have made any table agreeable any- 
 where ; but it would be difficult to convey an adequate idea of the 
 beauty, gayety, and happiness of the scene in which they took 
 place, or the charm that he infused into the society assembled 
 round his breakfast-table. The room, an oblong, was, as I have 
 already described, surrounded on three sides by books, and ended 
 in a bay-window, opening into the garden: not brown, dark, dull- 
 looking volumes, but all in the brightest bindings; for he carried 
 his system of furnishing for gayety even to the dress of his books. 
 
 “He would come down into this long, low room in the morning 
 like a ‘ giant refreshed to run his course,’ bright and happy as the 
 scene around him. ‘Thank God for Combe Florey!’ he would 
 
GLORIFIED CUMBE FLOREY. 63 
 
 exclaim, throwing himself in his red arm-chair, and looking around; 
 ‘T feel like a bridegroom in the honeymoon. And in truth I 
 doubt if ever bridegroom felt so joyous, or at least made others 
 feel so joyous, as he did on these occasions. ‘Ring the bell, 
 Saba; the usual refrain, by-the-by, in every pause, for he con- 
 trived to keep every body actively employed around him, and no- 
 body ever objected to be so employed. ‘ Ring the bell, Saba.’ En- 
 
 
 
 ter the servant, D——. ‘D , glorify the room.’ This meant 
 _that the three Venetian windows of the bay were to be flung open, 
 displaying the garden on every side, and letting in a blaze of sun- 
 shine and flowers. D 
 
 
 
 glorifies the room with the utmost 
 gravity, and departs. ‘ You would not believe it, he said, ‘ to look 
 at him now, but D 
 or did quake ; his brother quakes still: but D- is now thorough- 
 
 
 
 is a reformed Quaker. Yes, he quaked, 
 
 
 
 ly orthodox. I should not like to be a Dissenter in his way; he is 
 to be one of my vergers at St. Paul’s some day. Lady B 
 
 
 
 calls them my virgins. She asked me the other day, ‘ Pray, Mr. 
 Smith, is it true that you walk down St. Paul’s with three virgins 
 holding silver pokers before you?’ I shook my head, and looked 
 very grave, and bid her come and see. Some enemy of the Church, 
 some Dissenter, had clearly been misleading her.’ 
 
 “<¢'There now,’ sitting down at the breakfast-table, ‘take a lesson 
 of economy. You never breakfasted in a parsonage before, did you? 
 There, you see my china is all white, so if broken can always be 
 renewed ; the same with my plates at dinner: did you observe my 
 plates? every one a different pattern, some of them sweet articles ; 
 it was a pleasure to dine upon such a plate as I had last night. It 
 is true, Mrs. Sydney, who is a great herald, is shocked because 
 some of them have the arms of a royal duke or a knight of the 
 garter on them, but that does not signify to me. My plan is to 
 go into a china shop and bid them show me every plate they 
 have which does not cost more than half a crown; you see the 
 result.’ ” 
 
 Smith’s London life, at his residence in Charles street, appears 
 
hey 
 
 ~ > 
 
 64 . LONDON RESIDENCE. 
 
 to have been attended by “all that should accompany old age, 
 honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,” but some faces, alas, were 
 missing. ~ Mackintosh, whose memory he fondly cherished, was no 
 ~ Tonger living, and others had fallen in the race. He gained, however, 
 ‘the alliance of Dr. Holland,* who married his daughter Saba, in 
 
 EY 1884, and new faces came to cheer him in his home-circle. 
 
 - = 
 
 The fifteen years assigned to the Canon of St. Paul’s, bore rich 
 
 fruits of his preceding culture and discipline. He had ceased 
 contributing to the Edinburgh Review, having penned his last 
 article—it was on the Catholic Question—in 1827. He now 
 thought it decorous that a Church dignitary should appear openly 
 to the world in his writings, and not shelter himself under the 
 anonymous. His pen, however, was not idle, and he stood forth 
 still, as ever, in pamphlets and letters to the newspapers, a 
 champion ‘of liberal interests, and of the rights of his order. 
 _» Having been thrown, upon his first arrival at Bristol, in 1830, into 
 the midst of the violent agitations of the times, he met the crisis 
 by his practical earnest advice to the uninstructed laboring classes, 
 and his more resolute warnings to the exclusive politicians. To 
 enlighten the poor on the value of machinery, which they were 
 bent upon destroying, he published several cheap tracts, entitled 
 “ Letters to Swing ;” while at county Reform meetings at Taunton, 
 he levelled several most vigorous speeches at the pressing evils of 
 the representative system. In one of these occurs his now world 
 renowned introduction of Mrs. Partington. 
 
 The most notable of all Sydney Smith’s writings on the affairs 
 of the Establishment, were his three Letters addressed to Arch- 
 deacon Singleton, the first of which appeared in 1837, and the 
 
 * Sir Henry Holland, eminent for his literary and philosophical, as well as 
 professional attainments. He took his degree of M. D. at Edinburgh, in 1809. 
 In the summer of 1810 he visited Iceland, in company with Sir George Mac- 
 kenzie, to whose book of travels in the island he contributed the Preliminary 
 Dissertation and the article on Education and Literature. His ‘‘ Travels in 
 the Ionian Isles, Albania, Thessaly, Macedonia, &c., during the years 1812 
 and 1813,” were received with favour on their publication in 1819. 
 
CATHEDRAL LETTERS. : 65 
 
 others at intervals of about a year. They relate to the affairs of 
 the Whig Ecclesiastical Commission, then sitting, and chiefly to its 
 attempted invasions of Cathedral endowments and patronage. It 
 was proposed, among other things, to assist the revenues of the 
 poorer clergy, by taking from a number of the larger benefices 
 
 pecuniary advantages, to form a fund for the augmentation of — 
 
 small livings. The prebendal stalls of St. Paul’s, in particular, 
 were exposed to the shears of the projected bill. ‘They were to 
 be diminished in number, and their emoluments curtailed. Sydney 
 Smith came forth resolutely to the rescue. As it was a commis- 
 sion of Bishops in which Deans and Chapters were not repre- 
 sented, and as Episcopal revenues were not to be touched, the 
 Bishops were made to feel the full force of his wit and argument. 
 There is some very plain talk addressed to the Bishop of London, 
 the learned Blomfield, whose passion for government is made to 
 
 appear a virtue in excess. “ Here it is,” Smith exclaims, citing a : 
 charge of rashness against the Bishop’s classical emendations, 
 
 “qualis ab incepto. He begins with Adschylus, and ends with the 
 Church of England; begins with profane, and ends with holy in- 
 novations—scratching out old readings which every commentator 
 had sanctioned, abolishing ecclesiastical dignities which every re- 
 former had spared ; thrusting an anapzest into a verse which will not 
 bear it ; and intruding a Canon into a Cathedral which does not want 
 it.” The handling of the Bishop of Gloucester, Dr. Monk, who 
 threw into the discussion an attack upon Sydney Smith, as “a scof- 
 fer and jester,” is excessively severe, retorting personality for per- 
 sonality. There is avery neat example of mingled satire and eulo- 
 gy in a page on Lord Melbourne. In these papers, too, occurs the 
 celebrated description of Lord John Russell: “There is not a better 
 man in England; but his worst failure is, that he is utterly ignor- 
 ant of all moral fear; there is nothing he would not undertake. 
 I believe he would perform the operation for the stone— build 
 St. Peter’s—or assume (with or without ten minutes’ notice), the 
 command of the Channel Fleet; and no one would discover, by 
 
 wo: 
 
66 CHAPTER RIGHTS. 
 
 his manner, that the patient had died—the Church tumbled down 
 —and the Channel Fleet been knocked to atoms.” 
 
 The main argument of the Letters, which shows the Canon 
 something of a conservative in the plurality interest, is that the 
 reform would be unjust and injurious to the Church. It would 
 interfere with vested rights, and, though it might tend to equalize 
 the incomes of the clergy, the majority of them would remain very 
 small—the individual gain would be trifling, while the great pecu- 
 niary and social rewards of the Church would be destroyed. The 
 English Establishment, he argued, is, upon the whole, poor, but its 
 character is maintained in a country where wealth is essential to 
 secure respect by its high prizes. As in the profession of the bar, 
 many are induced to enter it, and encounter every early privation 
 with the hope of attaining its splendid positions ; which also attract 
 many persons of independent incomes, who thus supply the gen- 
 eral deficiency of means. Destroy these glitterimg emoluments, 
 and the ground will be occupied by inferior men, low, badly edu- 7 
 cated, and fanatical. “You will have a set of ranting, raving 
 Pastors, who will wage war against all the innocent pleasures of 
 life, vie with each other in extravagance of zeal, and plague your 
 heart out with their nonsense and absurdity: cribbage must be 
 played in caverns, and sixpenny whist take refuge in the howling 
 wilderness. In this way low men, doomed to hopeless poverty, 
 and galled by contempt, will endeavour to force themselves into 
 station and significance.” 
 
 The Chapter rights were gallantly and successfully defended 
 from behind the entrenchments of St. Paul’s, with many a dashing 
 sortie and skirmish—without any particular delicacy as to the 
 weapon or its stroke—with the Bishops. That his friends, the 
 Whigs, suffered from the force of his logic was but a proof of his 
 independent character. It was no desertion of his political prin- 
 ciples, but evidence of his constancy to what he had always re- 
 garded as the practical welfare of the Church; while he had, 
 shortly after, an opportunity of proving to the world how little he 
 
LIVING OF EDMONTON. 67 
 
 was guided, in this defence, by his private pecuniary interests. A 
 perquisite of the Chapter of St. Paul’s, the living of Edmonton, 
 ' worth seven hundred pounds a year, fell to his share, on the death 
 of his associate, Mr. Tate. According to the usage in such mat- 
 ters, it was expected that he would turn the emolument to his own 
 advantage. He generously conferred the whole on the son of the 
 late incumbent. The incident is so characteristically narrated by 
 him, in a letter addressed to his wife, that it would be injustice to 
 the reader not to present the scene in his own words: “I went 
 over, yesterday, to the Tates at Edmonton. The family consists 
 of three delicate daughters, an aunt, the old lady, and her son, 
 then curate of Edmonton; the old lady was in bed. I found there 
 a physician, an old friend of Tate’s, attending them from friend- 
 ship, who had come from London for that purpose. They were 
 in daily expectation of being turned out from house and curacy. 
 . . - I began by inquiring the character of their servant; then 
 turned the conversation upon their affairs, and expressed a hope 
 the Chapter might ultimately do something for them. I then said, 
 ‘It is my duty to state to you (they were all assembled) that I 
 have given away the living of Edmonton; and have written to 
 our Chapter clerk this morning, to mention the person to whom I 
 have given it; and I must also tell you, that I am sure he will 
 appoint his curate. (A general silence and dejection.) It is a 
 very odd coincidence,’ I added, ‘ that the gentleman I have selected 
 is a namesake of this family; his name is Tate. Have you any 
 relations of that name? ‘No, we have not.’ ‘And, by a more 
 singular coincidence, his name is Thomas Tate; in short,’ I added, 
 ‘there is no use in mincing the matter, you are vicar of Edmonton.’ 
 They all burst into tears. It flung me, also, into a great agitation 
 of tears, and I wept and groaned for a long time. Then I rose, 
 and said I thought it was very likely to end in their keeping a 
 buggy, at which we all laughed as violently. 
 
 “The poor old lady, who was sleeping in a garret because she 
 could not bear to enter into the room lately inhabited by her 
 
68 THE BALLOT. 
 
 husband, sent for me and kissed me, sobbing with a thousand 
 emotions. The charitable physician wept too. . . . I never passed 
 so remarkable a morning, nor was more deeply impressed with 
 the sufferings of human life, and never felt more thoroughly the 
 happiness of doing good.” 
 
 A pamphlet on the Ballot was the most important of Sydney 
 Smith’s later productions. It appeared in 1839, when the subject 
 was much agitated by the liberals. He opposed its introduction 
 with his usual ingenuity and pertinacity of argument, considering 
 it ineffective in reaching the evil, interference with the freedom 
 of voting, it was set forth to cure. He regards it as inimical to 
 moral courage, a foe to just responsibility and good example ; 
 citing, with unction, a reply of John Randolph, at a dinner-party 
 in London, to the question whether ballot prevailed in his state of 
 Virginia. “I scarcely believe,” replied the American orator, “ we 
 have such a fool in all Virginia, as to mention, even, the vote by 
 ballot ; and I do not hesitate to say, that the adoption of the ballot 
 would make any nation a nation of scoundrels, if it did not find 
 them so.” “John Randolph,” continues Sydney Smith, “was 
 right; he felt that it was not necessary that a people should be 
 false in order’to be free ; universal hypocrisy would be the conse- 
 quence of ballot; we should soon say, on deliberation, what David 
 only asserted in his haste, that all men were liars.” It is curious 
 to note the matter-of-fact way in which it is taken for granted, 
 that the landlord will, in some way, control his tenants. In Amer- 
 ica, where the ballot, though generally prevalent, is not universal, 
 he asserts, “it is nearly a dead letter; no protection is wanted : if 
 the ballot protects any one it is the master, not the man.” One 
 of the difficulties urged, in the use of the ballot, is its defeat of 
 a reliable system of registration, by which contested returns might 
 be settled. At the close of the essay, the argument of which rests, 
 as usual with him, greatly on local expediency, he expresses his 
 
 distrust of what he regarded as a concomitant of the measure in 
 
 4 
 
 England, the demand for universal suffrage. 
 

 
aia 
 
 as eo A wo Les Fie : av bls 
 
 pengecker 47 
 Af apes oh a 
 Lp), 0 ee oe ee 
 
 h ee 3 oy ; 
 WH Lf ES Ei coe. 
 a Sonnet, fe ' 2 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
% ps 
 BREAKING UP. 73 
 
 and ae at the age of seventy-two, inherited one third of an 
 estate. of a hundred thousand pounds. ee: . 
 Sydney Smith had now arrived at that period of life, in which 
 in general, there is little for a man to do but to fold his robes about 
 him and leave the stage with decorum. Though retaining his fac- 
 ulties to the last with unabated mental vigour, the premonitions of 
 disease warned him of the grave. “I am going slowly,” he writes 
 to a friend in 1836, “down the hill of life. One evil in old age 
 ds, that as your time is come, you think every little illness is the 
 beginning of the end. When a man expects to be arrested, every 
 » knock at the door is an alarm.” The gout paid him several such 
 * domiciliary visits before the final summons. He was not what is 
 called a martyr to the disease, but he felt its sting. He jests on 
 the subject in his correspondence with his friend and fellow-victim, 
 Sir George Philips,* and bears up bravely under the infliction. In 
 the history of suffering, pain has been no unfrequent stimulant of 
 wit. ‘The season before his death he said “I feel so weak, both 
 in body and mind, that I verily believe, if the knife were put into my 
 ™ hand, I should not have strength or energy enough to stick it into 
 a Dissenter.” Under the last regimen of his physician, he said to” 
 his friend General Fox, “ Ah, Charles! I wish I were allowed 
 even the wing of a roasted butterfly.” Such things had once set 
 the table on the roar. The jest cost more now. 
 It is pleasant to note how kindly the old humourist carries 
 himself to the last in his letters to his female friends. ‘The novels 
 » of Dickens, for which he had a genuine appreciation, were among 
 his latest enjoyments. The infirmities of age, with intermissions 
 
 -“* A more benevolent man,” says Haydon, in his Diary, ‘“‘ never lived 
 than Sir George Philips.”” He advanced five hundred guineas to the artist 
 for his picture of Christ in the Garden. Smith visited Philips at his seat near 
 Manchester, when the host revelled in his guest’s humour. ‘“‘ He was inces- 
 santly stimulating him to attack him,” says Lady Holland, ‘“ which my father 
 certainly did most vigorously ; yet I believe no one present enjoyed these at- 
 tacks more than Sir George himself, who laughed at them almost to exhaus- 
 tion.” Philips died in 1847, at the age of eighty-one. 
 
74 THE END. 
 
 of comfort, crept steadily on, and in October, 1844, a last attack, 
 an affection of water on the chest, consequent on disease of the 
 heart, seized its victim in the country at Combe Florey. He was 
 removed to town, was attended by his beloved son-in-law, Dr. 
 Holland, and by his nurse, Annie Kay, who had been with him 
 since the old days at Foston. Earl Grey sent him messages of 
 sympathy from his own death-bed. In one of his last hours the 
 wonted fire of the preacher of St. Paul’s burst forth in the recita- 
 tion of a touching and eloquent passage from his sermon on 
 Riches. “One evening,” his daughter, Lady Holland, tells us, 
 “when the room was half darkened, and he had been resting long 
 in silence, and I thought him asleep, he suddenly burst forth, in a 
 voice so strong and full that it startled us—‘ We talk of human 
 life as a journey, but how variously is that journey performed ! 
 There are some who come forth girt, and shod, and mantled, 
 to walk on velvet lawns and smooth terraces, where every gale 
 is arrested, and every beam is tempered. There are others 
 who walk on the Alpine path of life, against driving misery, 
 and through stormy sorrows, over sharp afflictions; walk with 
 bare feet, and naked breast, jaded, mangled, and chilled’” But 
 these inequalities of life were now over. He had arrived at the 
 common level of mortality. The end had come. He calmly 
 met death the 22d of February, 1845. His remains were laid in 
 the cemetery of Kensal Green. The tomb upon which his epitaph 
 is written has also an inscription to the memory of his son Douglas ; 
 and there, too, rests all that was mortal of his wife who soon fol- 
 lowed him to the grave.* 
 In person, Sydney Smith, as he has been described to us by 
 those who knew him, was of the medium height; plethoric in habit 
 though of great activity, of a dense brown complexion, a dark ex- 
 
 * 
 
 ” | 
 
 * Sydney | Smith’s personal property was sworn under £80,000. His wife, 
 for whom liberal provision was made, was sole executrix of his will. There 
 was a legacy of £30,000 to his son Wyndham, and his servants were men- 
 
 tioned i in several bequests. 
 
 < 
 
-, 
 org 
 
 ORIGINAL PORTRAIT. | 75 
 
 pressive eye, an open countenance, indicative of shrewdness, hu- 
 mour, and benevolence. There is a look, too, in the English en- 
 graved portraits, of a thoughtful seriousness. A certain heaviness 
 in his figure was neutralized by constitutional vivacity. His 
 “sense, wit, and clumsiness,” said a college companion, gave “the 
 idea of an Athenian carter.” He once sat to his friend, Gilbert 
 Stuart Newton, for an abbot, in a painting. 
 
 Newton made a portrait of Smith, representing him in the later 
 period of: life when all his faculties were mellowed and refined. 
 It was while in attendance upon the artist for this picture, on a 
 warm day, that the wit remarked he would prefer to take off his 
 flesh and sit in his. bones!* After Newton’s death the portrait 
 was brought to America by his widow. In 1847, a copy was 
 made from it for Captain E. E. Morgan, by Miss Ann Leslie, sis- 
 ter of the well-known artist. Not long after, the original was de- 
 stroyed by fire. The copy has been kindly lent to us by its owner, 
 and the engraving placed as the frontispiece to the i le 
 is made after it. = 
 
 The practical, sound, every-day, working character of Sydney 
 Smith’s life, is its greatest lesson. He united in a rare manner 
 
 * The jest, a thing not uncommon with humourists, seems to have done 
 duty on another occasion. We have this report of it among various scraps 
 of conversation, in Lady Holland’s Memoir (p. 238), with the pleasant addi- 
 tion of Mrs. Jackson’s wonderment :— 
 
 “Nothing amuses me more than to observe the utter watt of perception 
 of a joke in some minds. Mrs. Jackson called the other any, and spoke of 
 the oppressive heat of last week. ‘Heat, ma’am!’ I said, ‘it was so dreadful 
 here, that I found there was nothing left for it but to take off my flesh and 
 sit in my bones.’ ‘'Take off your flesh and sit in your bones, sir! Oh! Mr. 
 Smith! how could you do that? she exclaimed, with the wéboat gravity. 
 ‘Nothing more easy, ma’am; come and see next time.’ But she ordered her 
 carriage, and evidently chougit it a very unorthodox proceeding.” 
 
 There is another anecdote of Newton’s studio. The artist was engaged i in 
 painting a portrait of Moore, which the poet took Smith, from a breakfast 
 with Rogers, to see. ‘Couldn’t you contrive,” said Sydney, in his grave 
 manner to Newton, “ to throw into his face somewhat of a stronger expres: 
 
 a bomety to the Church Establishment?” (Moore’s Diary, May 27, 1826. 5.) 
 
 a 
 
 Pay 
 
 + 
 
76 CHARACTERISTICS. 
 
 the virtues of the optimist and the reformer. An ardent devotee 
 of human happiness, he did not destroy life to improve it; nor did 
 he ever cease to oppose evils in the way of its prosperity. While 
 he appears taking his ease in that great inn, the world, enjoying 
 himself and communicating pleasure to others, he is quarrelling 
 with all sorts of injustice in high places ; contending for the peasant 
 and the labourer ; advocating the rights of accused criminals, with 
 a word for poor chimney-sweeps; reading lessons to squires, par- 
 liament men and bishops; battling for religious and political free- 
 dom. He fought a long fight with dullness, pedantry, prejudice, 
 private and political interest, and came off conqueror. His honest 
 laugh rang through the whole field. An instinctive genius, the 
 inspiration of common sense, was his weapon. He had an advan- 
 tage of position too in favour of his wit and his reforms in fighting 
 under the protection and in defence of the established Church ; for - 
 the best reformer is not all reformer. He must have some point of 
 support, or how can he wage war with success? Where can he de- 
 posit the fruits of victory? There are noisy reformers who cut 
 themselves loose from all positive institutions, and, like the poets’ 
 “cats in air-pumps,” attempt subsistence in a vacuum. Sydney 
 Smith was not one of these empty whims. 
 
 The most genial and conciliatory, he was the most independent 
 of men. His independence was, with his other virtues, of a prac- 
 tical character ; alike above obsequiousness, indolence and churlish- 
 ness. He had a just knowledge of the respect due his faculties 
 and attainments, of his claims upon the society to which he be- 
 longed, his party and his church. On proper occasions he asserted 
 them in a manly way; when they were not acknowledged he bore 
 the loss philosophically, and even sported with his misfortunes. 
 There was no misanthropy in his disposition. 
 
 In the art of getting on in the world, he was certainly not indif- 
 ferent to the main chance, while his life affords an illustration of 
 the benevolence of men of moderate means. During a consider- 
 able part of his career in narrow circumstances, and compelled to 
 
INDEPENDENCE. TT 
 
 economy, whether selling his wife’s jewels, preaching at chapels, 
 lecturing, reviewing, eking out a curate’s humbleness by drafts on 
 humour and imagination, he is constantly doing liberal acts; a man 
 of charity and beneficence; bestowing free-will offermgs from a 
 life of self-denial and honourable industry ; contributions which a 
 generous nature extorted from a stock almost* too small for home 
 necessities. 
 
 Independence of opinion and of fortune he valued most highly, 
 and pursued steadily and successfully, the one for the other, the 
 inferior for the superior. In the wisdom of Burns the poet’s 
 manly Epistle, he “ assiduously waited” upon Fortune and gathered 
 wealth— 
 
 ‘Not for to hide it in a hedge, 
 Nor for a train attendant, 
 But for the glorious privilege 
 Of being independent.” 
 
 He had the courage in a luxurious, artificial society, where weak 
 men are crushed by conventionalisms, of appearing what he was 
 and spending no more than he could afford. An instance of 
 his business punctilio in pecuniary obligations occurs in one of his 
 letters to his early friend Mr. Beach. The latter had a small sum 
 of money left in his hands on settlement with his son’s tutor. Mr. 
 Beach credits the account with five per cent. interest. Sydney in- 
 sists positively that it mast be but four, and will be under no obli- 
 gation for any more.* 
 
 His personal independence was shown in many instances during 
 the period of his alliance with a political party out of office; an 
 association unfriendly to his clerical advancement. In a less pub- 
 lic light it was exhibited in the manly freedom of his intercourse 
 with his friends. His wit spared none of their absurdities. His 
 letters, frequently models of courtesy and compliment, are always 
 frank and truthful. 
 
 This resolute self-possession, though based on brave, natural 
 
 * Fourth English edition of the Memoirs, i. 109. 
 
78 HOPEFULNESS. 
 
 qualities, and developed with freedom, was also an affair of convic- 
 tion and the will. Bashfulness is one of the last qualities which 
 would be assigned to Sydney Smith, but we read that he was shy 
 even in his early manhood. His acuteness of mind, however, soon 
 corrected the evil. He first discovered, he says, “ that all mankind 
 were not solely employed in observing him, as all young people 
 think, and that shamming was of no use, the world being very 
 clear-sighted, and soon estimating a man at his just value. This 
 cured me, and I determined to be natural, and let the world find 
 me out.’”* 
 
 Subsidiary to this personal courage was his hopeful way of look- 
 ing at the world. He was always practising and inculcating the 
 disposition. “Some very excellent people,” he said, “tell you 
 they dare not hope. To me it seems much more impious to dare 
 to despair.” He had an excellent rule for the happiness and wis- 
 dom of life as to the future, not to look too far into it for inevita- 
 ble though probably distant disaster. “Take short views, hope for 
 the best, and trust in God.”t Inclined by temperament to antici- 
 pate coming evils—for our wit, spite of his many jests, was a 
 serious man—he resisted the atrabilious tendency, and avoided 
 drawing drafts on the misery of futurity. “Never,” he said, 
 “give way to melancholy; nothing encroaches more: I fight 
 against it vigorously. One great remedy is, to take short views of 
 life. Are you happy now? Are you likely to remain so till this 
 evening ? or next week? or next month? or next year? Then 
 why destroy present happiness by a distant misery, which may 
 never come at all, or you may never live to see it ? for every sub- 
 stantial grief has twenty shadows, and most of them shadows of 
 your own making.” It was said of the happy nature of Oliver 
 Goldsmith that he had a knack at hoping: with Sydney Smith it 
 was a principle. Cheerfulness he made an art. He liked house- 
 hold illuminations of a good English coal fire, “the living thing,” 
 he said, “in a dead room,” abundance of lights, flowers on his 
 
 * Mem. i. 77, 324. t Th. 1167; 217. 
 
AN ANECDOTE. 79 
 
 table, prints and pictures on his walls. He was no connoisseur 
 in the latter, and if he had been, could not have afforded the grati- 
 fication of the taste, but he made poor and cheap pictures do the 
 work of good ones by filling up the gap between with his sport and 
 imagination. 
 
 There is a highly characteristic anecdote of the man, illustrating 
 his habitual regard to human happiness, and his frequent solicitude 
 for the natural welfare of children. ‘The story is thus told by his 
 daughter, Lady Holland: “ One of his little children, then in delicate 
 health, had for some time been in the habit of waking suddenly every 
 evening; sobbing, anticipating the death of parents, and all the 
 sorrows of life, almost before life had begun. He could not bear. 
 this unnatural union of childhood and sorrow, and for a long pe- 
 riod, I have heard my mother say, each evening found him, at the 
 waking of his child, with a toy, a picture-book, a bunch of grapes, 
 or a joyous tale, mixed with a little strengthening advice and the 
 tenderest caresses, till the habit was broken, and the child woke to 
 joy and not to sorrow.” 
 
 The intellectual habits of Sydney Smith were those of a quick, 
 keen, sensitive nature, prompt to receive impressions, apt to 
 decide upon them, cautious of its convictions, never driven at 
 random. Impatient of restraint, ardent and vivacious, he was re- 
 markable for his self-knowledge, and the discriminating use of his 
 powers. He did not over-estimate them or under-estimate them ; 
 he knew precisely what he could do; the weight of the projectile, 
 the momentum, the effect. 
 
 His habits of reading were somewhat peculiar. He read many 
 books, and was content, on principle, to secure the best use of his 
 faculties, to remain ignorant of many others. He was constantly 
 looking into his stock of knowledge and strengthening his defences 
 on the weak points. In this way he laid up a large store of prac- 
 tical, working information. THis directness and vivacity of mind 
 led him at once to the essential points of a subject. He plucked 
 out the heart of a series of volumes, in a morning. The happy 
 
80 STYLE. 
 
 result may be seen in his reviews, in the Edinburgh, of books of 
 travels —his favourite reading. 
 
 He wrote rapidly, making few corrections, a proof of his exact 
 discipline of mind, for his writings have that conciseness which 
 may be supposed to have required frequent revision. His hand- 
 writing, a sign of his impatience, was villainously bad. He de- 
 scribed it, in a letter to a gentleman who wished to borrow one of 
 his sermons: “ I would send it to you with pleasure, but my wri- 
 ting is as if a swarm of ants, escaping from an ink-bottle, had walked 
 over a sheet of paper without wiping their legs.”* It is amusing 
 to notice his lectures to Jeffrey, on his cacography, which may be 
 attributed to a similar restlessness of mind. _ 
 
 The clearness and purity of his style are noticeable. It is direct, 
 forcible, manly English; brief without obscurity ; rich without any 
 extravagance of ornament; the unaffected language of a gentleman 
 and ascholar. It has a constant tendency to the aphorism—the ripe 
 fruit hanging on the tree of knowledge—noticeable in the writings 
 of the higher order of men of genius; the great dramatists, the 
 poets generally, Bacon, Burke, Franklin, Landor, and indeed 
 most of the classic authors who pass current in the world in quo- 
 tation. Wit, indeed, of all the faculties, is the most rapid and 
 powerful condenser; it puts volumes into apophthegms; has a 
 patent for proverbs; contracts an essay to an aphorism; bottles 
 an argument in a jest. 
 
 Unless where peculiar Latinized expressions or technical terms 
 are intentionally introduced for their witty effect, Smith’s language 
 is of the purest Saxon. His method is very direct. His meaning 
 
 ~ reaches us pure of all superfluities and pruned of all tediousness. 
 It is a style, too, which is essentially his own, a reflex of his keen, 
 impulsive, straight-forward character. In his first published ser- 
 mons he has been charged with imitating the efforts of Jeremy 
 Taylor and others of the old divines; but this transfusion, which 
 appears very slightly, is rather a beauty. When he advanced into 
 
 * Memoirs, i. 174. 
 
COLLOQUIAL WIT. 81 
 
 the conflict of life he borrowed no weapons from others, but relied 
 on his own manly vigour. His style,-consequently, is inimitable. 
 It is capable of no transpositions or changes. The same meaning 
 can be conveyed only in the same words. ‘They are those pictur- 
 esque, truthful words; ready, inevitable to a man of genius; coy 
 of their presence to the dullard. 
 
 The most pervading characteristic of Sydney Smith’s writings 
 is his wit; wit blended with the genial humour of the man. = It 
 breathes from him as the very atmosphere of his nature. 
 
 Lord John Russell, in the preface to one of the volumes of his 
 Memoirs of the poet Moore, has happily discriminated the pecu- 
 liarities of this omnipresent faculty, as it was developed in society. 
 “ There are,” he says, “two kinds of colloquial wit, which equally 
 contribute to fame, though not equally to agreeable conversation. 
 The one is like a rocket in a dark air, which shoots at once into 
 the sky, and is the more surprising from the previous silence and 
 gloom; the other is like that kind of firework which blazes and 
 bursts out in every direction, exploding at one moment, and shin- 
 ing brilliantly at-another, eccentric in its course, and changing its 
 shape and colour to many forms and many hues. Or, as a dinner 
 is set out with two kinds of champagne, so these two kinds of wit, 
 the still and the sparkling, are to be found in good company. 
 Sheridan and Talleyrand were among the best examples of the 
 first. Hare* (as I have heard) and Sydney Smith were brilliant 
 instances of the second. Hare I knew only by tradition, but with 
 Sydney Smith I long lived intimately. His great delight was to 
 produce a succession of ludicrous images: these followed each . 
 other with a rapidity that scarcely left time to laugh; he himself 
 
 * James Hare, the intimate of Charles James Fox and his circle, the friend 
 and correspondent of Selwyn. Few passages of his wit survive his personal 
 memory. Jesse (Selwyn and his contemporaries, iii. 285) gives the following 
 neat specimen: ‘‘ He was one day conversing with General Fitzpatrick, when 
 the latter affected to discredit the report of General Burgoyne having been 
 defeated at Saratoga. “Perhaps you may be right in your opinion,” said 
 Hare, ‘but take it from me as a flying rumour.” 
 
 ‘ 4* 
 
< 82 VEIN OF HUMOUR. 
 
 laughing loudest and with more enjoyment than any one. This 
 electric contact of mirth came and went with the occasion; it can- 
 not be repeated or reproduced. Anything would give occasion to 
 it. For instance, having seen in the newspapers that Sir Aineas 
 Mackintosh* was come to town, he drew such a ludicrous carica- 
 ture of Sir 7Eneas and Lady Dido, for the amusement of their 
 namesake, that Sir James Mackintosh rolled on the floor in fits of 
 laughter, and Sydney Smith, striding across him, exclaimed, 
 ‘Ruat Justitia! His powers of fun were at the same time united 
 with the strongest and most practical common sense. So that 
 while he laughed away seriousness at one minute, he destroyed in 
 the next some rooted prejudice which had braved for a thousand 
 years the battle of reason and the breeze of ridicule. ‘The letters 
 of Peter Plymley bear the greatest likeness to his conversation ; 
 the description of Mr. Isaac Hawkins Brown dining at the Court 
 of Naples in a volcano coat with lava buttons, and the comparison 
 
 
 
 of Mx. Canning to a large blue-bottle fly with its parasites, most 
 resemble the pictures he raised up in social conversation. It may 
 be averred for certain that in this style he has never been equalled, 
 and I do not suppose he will ever be surpassed.” 
 
 In the occasional passages of Moore’s Diary in which Sydney 
 Smith is mentioned, always under agreeable circumstances, there are 
 numerous instances of this peculiar vein of humour, “ huddling jest 
 upon jest with impossible conveyance,” the sagacity apparently ~ 
 not inspiring the wit, but the extravagance giving birth to the 
 wisdom. At a breakfast at Rogers’s, “Smith, full of comicality 
 and fancy, kept us all in roars of laughter. In talking of the 
 stories about dram-drinkers catching fire, pursued the idea in every 
 possible shape. The inconvenience of a man coming too near the 
 candle when he was speaking, ‘Sir, your observation has caught 
 
 * Twenty-third laird of the Mackintoshes of that ilk, was created a Baronet 
 in 1812. He died in the sixty-ninth year of his age, in 1820, when the Bar- 
 onetcy became extinct. ‘He was a gentleman of the greatest worth,” says 
 his obituary in the Gentleman’s Magazine. 
 
 + Preface to the Sixth Volume of Memoirs of Thomas Moore, pp. xii—xiv. 
 
WITTY EXTRAVAGANCE. 838 : 
 
 fire.’ ‘Thenimagined a person breaking into a blaze in the pul- 
 pit; the engines called to put him out; no water to be had, the 
 man. at the waterworks being a Unitarian or an Atheist.” This 
 was mostly pure fun. On the same occasion, one of his apparently 
 ludicrous sayings displayed a keen wit, with matter for profound 
 thought, when he said of some one ——“ He has no command over his 
 understanding ; it is always getting between his legs and tripping 
 him up.”* Another instance of this humourous amplification in his 
 table talk, which is happily related in Lady Holland’s Memoir, 
 brings the very man before us, “in his habit as he lived :’— 
 “Some one mentioned that a young Scotchman, who had been 
 lately in the neighbourhood, was about to marry an Irish widow, 
 double his age and of considerable dimensions. ‘Going to marry 
 her! he exclaimed, bursting out laughing; ‘going to marry her! 
 impossible! you mean a part of her; he could not marry her all 
 himself. It would be a case, not of bigamy, but trigamy ; the ie 
 _ bourhood or the magistrates should interfere. ‘There is enough of — __ 
 
 her to furnish wives for a whole parish. One man marry her! it 
 is monstrous. You might people a colony with her; or give an 
 assembly with her; or perhaps take your morning’s walk round 
 her, always provided there were frequent resting-places, and you 
 were in rude health. I once was rash enough to try walking 
 round her before breakfast, but only got half-way and gave it up 
 exhausted. Or you might read the Riot Act and disperse her; in 
 short, you might do anything with her but marry her.’ ‘Oh, Mr. 
 Sydney ? said a young lady, recovering from the general laugh, 
 ‘did you make all that yourself? ‘Yes, Lucy,’ throwing himself 
 baek in his chair and shaking with laughter, ‘all myself, child; all 
 my own thunder. Do you think, when I am about to make a joke, 
 I send for my neighbours C. and G., or consult the clerk and 
 church-wardens upon it? But let us go into the garden ;’ and, all 
 laughing till we cried, without hats or bonnets, we sallied forth 
 out of his glorified window into the garden.” 
 
 * Moore’s Diary, May 27, 1826. + Memoir, i. 304-5. 
 
nt OF ‘ia KINDLY JESTS. 
 
 _- The best proof of the kindliness of Sydney Smith’s wit is, that 
 it did not offend the friends upon whom it was played off. It was 
 truthful without bitterness: its playful brightness cleared the at- 
 
 _mosphere, but the bolt never scathed. His jests upon Jeffrey, the 
 
 2 
 
 “maximus minimus,” were incessant, but they did not interrupt 
 mutual friendship and esteem. The strongest recognition of the 
 kindliness which underlay the mirth, is in a compliment paid by 
 _ the Earl of Dudley, whose eccentricities, based on physical in- 
 firmity, might have excused sensitiveness. When Smith took leave 
 - of him, on going from London to Yorkshire, Dudley said, “ You 
 have been laughing at me constantly, Sydney, for the last seven 
 years, and yet, in all that time, you never said a single thing to me 
 that I wished unsaid.” The fact is, that the humour of Sydney 
 Smith was a relief from the usual social impertinences, the chief 
 ingredient of which is malevolence, which pass,-in society, under 
 the name of wit. Take away the malignity, the spite, the per- 
 versions, the irreligion, the indecorum of most witty sayings, and 
 how small a residuum is left. There was nothing of the slow, 
 stealthy approach of the sarcastic, biting sayer of “good things” 
 in Sydney Smith. His jests were in a rollicking vein of extrav- 
 aganza. The tendency of this humour is to license, but Smith’s 
 conversation was innocent. Moore, who had the best opportunity. 
 of knowing the range of Smith’s social moods, says, “in his gayest 
 flights, though boisterous, he is never vulgar.”* Rogers described 
 _ his style to the life: “Whenever the conversation is getting dull, 
 he throws in some touch which makes it rebound and rise again e 
 as light as ever. There is this difference between Luttrell and 
 Smith: after Luttrell, you remember what good things he said— 
 after Smith, you remember how much you laughed.” 
 
 * Diary, March 13, 1833. : 
 
 + Moore’s Diary, April 10, 1823. On the same occasion Moore writes: 
 “Smith particularly amusing. Have rather held out against’ him hitherto ; 
 but this day he conquered me; and I am now his victim, in the laughing way, 
 for life. His imagination of a duel between two doctors, with oil of Croton 
 on the tips of their fingers, trying to touch each other’s lips, highly Indi- 
 crous,”’ 
 
* | 
 
 ~~ 
 
 a, yor Be 
 
 WISDOM OF THE WIT. r, 85 ¥ 
 
 In his own Essay on Wit, Smith fearlessly quoted the moulti- 
 farious and exhaustive definition of Barrow. He may be tried 
 on each of its counts, and be found honourably guilty of perpe- 
 trating every jest enumerated in the indictment. The “ pat allu- 
 sion to a known story,” is exemplified in the case of memorable 
 Mrs. Partington; the “forging an apposite tale,” in the passage 
 from the Synod of Dort and the story of “the Village ;’ while the 
 “dress of humourous expression,” the “odd similitude,” the “bold 
 scheme of speech,” the “tart irony,” the “lusty hyperbole,” the 
 “acute nonsense,” were peculiarly Sydney Smith’s own. The 
 reductio ad absurdum was his favourite method. He gave his : 
 fish line, and swam it to death. He well knew how “affinity of 
 sound and words and phrases” enriched expression, and practised 
 the art in his style, but the perversion of these things in puns he 
 despised. We have noticed only two instances in all his wri- 
 tings.* 
 
 If the form of his wit indicated something of levity, its spirit 
 was sound and earnest. There was a grave thought always at the 
 bottom. This has given his writings a permanent value, while 
 brilliant contemporary reputations have fluttered and died. On 
 this point an acute critic, Mrs. Jameson, remarks— and her testi- 
 mony may be taken for the greater value, since she complains, 
 
 : that “her nature feels the want of the artistic and imaginative in 
 his ‘nature”— that “the wit of Sydney Smith almost always in- 
 volved a thought worth remembering for its own sake, as well as 
 _ worth remembering for its brilliant vehicle: the value of ten thou- 
 
 sand pounds sterling of sense concentrated into a cut and polished 
 diamond. It is not true, as I have heard it said,” she continues, 
 
 “that after leaving the society of Sydney Smith, you only remem- 
 ».bered how much you had laughed, not the good things at which 
 
 * One of Napoleon, in 1798, ‘Ireland safe; and Buonaparte embayed in 
 Egypt; that is, surrounded by Beys!” The other, in a note to the Countess 
 Grey: ‘If any one bearing the name of Grey comes this way (to Combe 
 
 Florey), send him to us: Lam Grey-men-iverous !” 
 
Sor 4 LETTERS. 
 
 you had laughed. Few men—wits by profession—ever said so 
 many memorable things as those recorded of Sydney Smith.”* 
 
 The Letters of Sydney Smith have little pretension in their 
 form as epistolary compositions; but they are rare specimens of a 
 rare class; ranking, for their terseness and witty flavour, with the 
 notes and “notelets” of Charles Lamb. They are generally brief, 
 never attempt any regular or didactic exposition of a subject, but 
 contain, in virtue of their epigrammatic truthfulness—to say 
 nothing of the constant entertainment— profitable matter of gen- 
 eral wisdom and information of the men and affairs of his day, to 
 take their place with the published correspondence of the greatest 
 of his contemporaries. In a few lines he settles a moral question, 
 draws the portrait of a public man, pleasantly corrects a defect, or 
 rallies the spirits of a friend. He wrote often to Jeffrey, and to 
 John Murray ; less frequently to Allen, Lord Holland, Earl Grey, 
 and in the latter part of his life exchanged a gouty correspondence 
 with Sir George Philips, and wrote warm complimentary notes to 
 Dickens. But most of his letters are addressed to ladies; to Lady 
 Holland, to Mrs, Meynell, to Miss Georgiana Harcourt, daughter 
 of the Archbishop of York, the Countess Grey, Lady Mary 
 Bennett, and others. Playful and sincerely affectionate, they are 
 the perfection of ingenious flattery, the sweetness of the adulation 
 being taken off by the humourous extravagance. 
 
 A paragraph is due to Holland House, a seat sacred in the his- 
 tory of Letters, the centre of the important social, literary, and 
 political circle with which Sydney Smith revolved during the 
 ereater part of his life. Its traditions go back to the early years 
 of the seventeenth century, when it was built by Sir Walter 
 Cope.f The grounds had belonged to the noble family of the De 
 
 * Common-Place Book of Thoughts, Memories and Fancies, p. 49. 
 
 + There is a pleasant account of the historical incidents connected with 
 Holland House, in two papers by Leigh Hunt, in Nos. 204 and 205 of House- 
 hold Words. ; 
 
HOLLAND HOUSE. - 87 
 
 Vere’s since the Conquest. The house was bequeathed by Cope 
 to his son-in-law, Henry Rich, first Earl of Holland, a son of the 
 first Earl of Warwick. Rich wasa gallant man, a favourite at the 
 court of Charles I. In the beginning of the civil war he sided with 
 the Parliament, then took up arms for the King— was taken pris- 
 oner and executed in 1648. Fairfax, the Parliamentary general, 
 next occupied the mansion; when, as tradition goes, it was privy 
 to the deliberations of Cromwell. After the Restoration it had 
 various occupants, Pope’s “downright Shippen” among them. 
 Before establishing himself at Kensington, King William, as we 
 learn, from Macaulay’s History, thought of the House as a resi- 
 dence, and occupied it a few weeks.* The second Earl of Hol- 
 land, the elder branch of his family failing, united the titles of 
 Warwick and Holland. Marriage with the widow of his son, the 
 Countess of Warwick, in 1716, made Addison an inmate of 
 Holland House. The poet passed there the last three years of his 
 life, not very happily, as Johnson would have us infer, who repre- 
 sents him as a slave to the rank of the Countess. He gained new 
 titles of his own to honour; however, at the time, for it was in the 
 second year of his marriage that he was made Secretary of State. 
 There is a doubtful story of his meditating Spectators in the 
 library, refreshed by a bottle of wine at either end of the room. 
 This, if it occurred at all, must have been before his marriage, 
 since the Spectator closed with the year 1714. It was in a cham- 
 ber of Holland House that the death scene occurred, when 
 Addison called to him his step-son, the young Earl of Warwick, to 
 “see how a Christian can die.”. The family of the Earls of Hol- 
 land becoming extinct, in 1759, the house became, soon after, by 
 purchase, the property of Henry Fox, the crafty politician of the 
 Walpole era, who was created Lord Holland, the first of the 
 present line. His father was Sir Stephen Fox, who, from being 
 a chorister boy at Salisbury Cathedral, was called to an inferior 
 situation at court, attended Charles II. in exile, and on_ his return 
 
 * Chapter xi., vol. iii. 
 
»~ de 
 - 
 
 * 
 
 ; 88 LORD HOLLAND. 
 
 secured an honourable fortune by his financial skill and integrity. 
 “In a word,” says Evelyn, in his Diary, “never was man more 
 fortunate than Sir Stephen; he is a handsome person, virtuous, 
 and very religious.”* He was seventy-six years old when he 
 married a second time, and became the father of Henry Fox. A 
 
 «son of the latter, Stephen Fox, was the second Lord Holland, elder 
 
 brother of Charles James Fox. Stephen Fox died young, and 
 left the title to the late Lord Holland, who restored the literary 
 
 _ prestige of the house, not only by his own writings, but by his 
 
 Spats ronage of merit. His liberal parliamentary career is matter 
 of Back history. His chief writings are, Lives of Lope de 
 y ga and Guillem de Castro, a translation of three Spanish come- 
 ” dies and of a Canto of the Orlando Furioso, the Preface to Fox’s 
 History of James II., for the copyright of which Murray paid the 
 magnificent sum of four thousand pounds, the Prefaces to his edi- 
 tions, from the original MSS., of Earl Waldegrave’s Memoirs, and 
 Horace Walpole’s Last Ten Years of the Reign of George IL, 
 and posthumous Recollections of Foreign Courts, and Memoirs of 
 the Whig party. He was a clever writer of occasional verses. 
 His couplet to the poet Rogers, affixed to a garden-seat in the 
 grounds of Holland House, is very neat :— 
 “Here Rogers sat; and here for ever dwell 
 To me, those Pleasures that he sang so well.” 
 The lines which were found on his dressing-table at his death, 
 are as finely conceived :— 
 
 a 
 
 “Nephew of Fox and friend of Grey — 
 Enough my meed of fame, 
 If those who deigned to observe me say 
 
 I injured neither name.” 
 ‘The amiable character of Lord Holland, no less than his intellec- 
 tual characteristics, endeared him to Sydney Smith. Lady Holland 
 celebrates their conversation :—* short, varied, interspersed with 
 wit, illustration and anecdote on both sides; the perfection of so- 
 
 * Diary, September, 6, 1680. 
 
LADY HOLLAND. to 
 
 cial intercourse, a sort of mental dram-drinking, rare as it was 
 delightful.”* 
 
 An important position in the literary annals of Holland House 
 belongs to Lady Holland. She was the daughter and heir of 
 Richard Vassall and the divorced wife of Sir Godtrey Webster. 
 Lord Holland, previous to his marriage to her, in 1797, paid to 
 her husband six thousand pounds damages in a criminal action. 
 He took, at the marriage, the name of Vassall. Lady Holland 
 had talent, knew how to shine among the wits, be fascinating «and 
 influential, was often a warm friend, while her domineering patron- 
 
 age appears at times to have been ‘sufficiently offensive. — Tt is 
 curious to note Sydney Smith’s recognition of a Hollandophobia ae 
 
 visiting all new guests at the house. The poet Campbell, at the 
 age of thirty, went there with dread. “Lady Holland,” he writes 
 to a friend, “is a formidable woman. She is cleverer, by several 
 degrees, than Buonaparte.” Rogers told a characteristic story of 
 her manner :—“ When Lady Holland wanted to get rid of a fop, 
 she used to say, ‘I beg your pardon, but I wish you would sit a 
 little further off; there is something on your handkerchief which I 
 don’t quite like” ”t Very unlike this was Sydney Smith’s descrip- 
 tion of the kind and intellectual Miss Fox, Lord Holland’s sister :— 
 “Oh, she is perfection: she always gives me the idea of an aged 
 angel.” 
 
 Byron gave some caustic touches to the literary set at Holland 
 House, in his English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, with a cutting 
 glance at “My lady.” There are some instances of her rule in Rogers’ 
 - Table Talk,{ and an occasional glimpse, in Moore’s Diary, of her 
 
 * Memoirs, i. 78. 
 
 + Dyce’s Table Talk, p. 273. 
 
 + Take one for the sake of the adroitly-turned compliment at the close :— 
 “Lord Holland never ventured to ask any one to dinner (not even me, whom 
 he had known so long and so intimately) without previously consulting Lady 
 H. Shortly before his death I called at Holland House, and found only Lady 
 H. within. As Iwas coming out I met Lord Holland, who said, ‘ Well, do 
 
 you return to dinner” I answered, ‘No; I have not been invited.’ Perhaps 
 this deference to Lady H. was not to be regretted; for Lord Holland was so 
 
 Po | 
 
 i 
 
90 GARDEN SCENE. 
 
 “rather bravura mood.” A Sunday garden scene, in that record, 
 is picturesque: “Breakfasted with Rogers. Went out to Holland 
 House. The levee there of a Sunday always delightful. My 
 Lord on his stock-still pony, taking exercise, as he thinks: and 
 my Lady in her whiskey, surrounded by savans. ‘There were to- 
 day Sydney Smith, Brougham, Jeffrey, &c. Sydney Smith 
 praised my ‘Byron,’ the first book of mine (or indeed any one 
 else’s) I ever heard him give a good word to; seemed to do it, 
 too, with sincerity.”* Elsewhere Moore chronicles Lord Holland 
 at breakfast “in his gouty chair, but with a face as gay and shin- 
 ing as that of a schoolboy.” He has a happy look in Leslie’s pic- 
 ture of the Library at Holland House, where he is introduced 
 with full lengths of Lady Holland and their constant companion, 
 Allen ; who appears as well filled out in person and beneficent in 
 countenance as his Lordship. 
 
 There are some very pleasant glimpses of Holland House in 
 Sydney Smith’s Letters. Writing to Lady Holland, he says :—“I 
 am sure it is better for Lord Holland and you to be at Holland 
 House, because you both hate exercise (as every person of sense 
 does), and you must be put in situations where it can be easily 
 and pleasantly taken. Even Allen gets some exercise at Hol- 
 land House, for Horner, Sheridan, and Lord Lauderdale take 
 him out on the gravel-walk, to milk him for bullion, Spain, Amer- 
 ica, and India; whereas, in London, he is milked in that stall be- 
 low stairs.” f Pa oe et 
 
 In another letter to Lady Holland, without date, Allen reap- 
 pears :—“ I know nothing more agreeable than a dinner at Holland 
 House; but it must not begin at ten in the morning, and last till 
 six. I should be incapable, for the last four hours, of laughing at ° 
 Lord Holland’s jokes, eating Raffaelle’s cakes, or repelling Mr. 
 Allen’s attacks upon the church.” 
 
 hospitable and good-natured, that, had he been left to himself, he would have 
 had a crowd at his table daily.”,—(Dyce’s Recollections, p. 275.) 
 
 * Moore’s Diary, May 2, 1830. 
 
 + Heslington, April 21, 1810. 
 
MACAULAY’S TRIBUTE. 91 
 
 Allen’s chemistry and opinions were always a resource for Syd- 
 ney Smith. Moore has one of these occasions; dining at Holland 
 House, he enters in his Diary :—* Sydney Smith very comical 
 about the remedy that Lady Holland is going to use for the book- 
 worm, which is making great ravages in the library. She is about 
 to have them washed with some mercurial preparation ; and Smith 
 says it is Davy’s opinion that the air will become charged with the 
 mercury, and that the whole family will be salivated. ‘I shall see 
 Allen,’ says Smith, ‘some day, with his tongue hanging out, speech- 
 less, and shall take the opportunity to stick a few principles into 
 bin! ?* 
 
 The finest tribute to the literary glories of Holland House, under 
 the long reign of its late master, is in an article on Lord Holland, 
 by Macaulay, in the Edinburgh Review for July, 1841— where, in 
 most musical periods, are painted the reminiscences of “a few 
 old men” visiting the locality on which the great city is so rapidly 
 encroaching. “ With peculiar fondness they will recall that ven- 
 erable chamber, in which all the antique gravity of a college library 
 was so singularly blended with all that female grace and wit could 
 devise to embellish a drawing-room. They will recollect, not un- 
 moved, those shelves, loaded with the varied learning of many 
 lands and many ages; those portraits in which were preserved the 
 features of the best and wisest Englishmen of two generations. 
 They will recollect how many men who have guided the politics 
 
 of Europe 2 ave moved great assemblies by reason and 
 
 
 
 eloquence a tha ave put life into bronze or canvass, or who have 
 left to posterity things so written as it shall not willingly let them 
 die — were there mixed with all that was loveliest and gayest in the 
 society of the most splendid of capitals. ‘They will remember the 
 singular character which belonged to that circle, im which every 
 talent and accomplishment, every art and science, had its place. 
 They will remember how the last debate was discussed in one 
 
 corner, and the last comedy of Scribe in another; while Wilkie 
 
 * Diary, April 6, 1823. 
 

 
 92 CLIQUES. 
 
 _ gazed with modest admiration on Reynolds’ Baretti; while Mack- 
 
 intosh turned over Thomas Aquinas, to verify a quotation; while 
 Talleyrand related his conversations with Barras at the Luxem- 
 burg, or his ride with Lannes over the field of Austerlitz. They 
 will remember, above all, the grace—and the kindness, far more 
 admirable than grace—with which the princely hospitality of that 
 
 ancient mansion was dispensed.” 
 
 Whilst honouring these associations of Sydney Smith’s manly 
 and noble friendships, it is but justice to the society of his age, to 
 remind the reader, that there were brilliant thinkers and writers 
 outside of the charmed circle and visiting list of Holland House, 
 of whose existence we are scarcely reminded in the letters and 
 conversations of this clever divine. ‘“ We should never discover,” 
 remarks the North American Review, “from this chronicle that 
 Coleridge also talked, Carlyle reasoned, Lamb jested, Hazlitt 
 criticised, and Shelley and Keats sang in those days. Within the 
 sensible zone of English life, as that term is usually understood, 
 Sydney lived. His scope was within the ‘Whig ranks in politics, 
 and the Established Church pale in religion. The iron horizon of 
 caste is the framework of this attractive picture.”* 
 
 It is to be noticed also, in this connection, how little Smith’s 
 reputation was promoted by the arts of the press of the present 
 day. His associates avoided mere literary notoriety. The Edin- 
 burgh Review was anonymous, and it was only in his latter days, 
 when he wrote, occasionally, to the newspapers, and his “ works” 
 
 *N. A. Rey. Jan., 1856. An appreciative view of the essential personal char- 
 acter of Sydney Smith, by Mr. H. T. Tuckerman. ‘The list of omissions might 
 be enlarged by many honoured names. It is not to be supposed, however, that 
 Smith was or would have been insensible to the merit of the great authors just 
 named, or that the “‘ Chronicle” tells the whole story of his tastes and acquisi- 
 tions. Preoccupied with his own duties, he was slow or indifferent in making 
 new acquaintances. In 1848, ten years after Carlyle had published his Sartor 
 Resartus, and three years after the publication of his French Revolution, 
 Smith writes to a lady friend: “I have not read Carlyle, though I have got 
 him on my list. Iam rather curious about him.” But had any man ever 
 nobler friends, or did any ever honour such friends more ? 
 
 FA . 
 ae - 
 
: _ 
 ; a a ¥ 
 
 CONTEMPORARY NOTICES. 93 
 
 had been collected, that Sydney Smith’s name was much before aes 
 the public. There are few early notices of him by his brother = 
 authors. 
 
 Byron has an allusion in “ English Bards and Scotch Review- 
 ers,” to “Smug Sydney,” and in his sixteenth Canto of Don Juan, 
 in the description of the banquet :— 
 
 “And lo! upon that day it came to pass, 
 I sat next that o’erwhelming son of heaven, 
 The very powerful parson, Peter Pith, 
 The loudest wit I e’er was deafened with. 
 
 “T knew him in his livelier London days, 
 A brilliant diner-out, though but a curate; 
 And not joke he cut but earned its praise, 
 Until preferment, coming at a sure rate, 
 (O Providence! how wondrous are thy ways ! 
 Who would suppose thy gifts sometimes obdurate ?} 
 Gave him, to lay the devil who looks o’er Lincoln, 
 A fat fen vicarage, and nought to think on. 
 
 “His jokes were sermons, and his sermons jokes ; 
 But both were thrown away amongst the fens ; 
 For wit hath no great friend in aguish folks. 
 No longer ready ears and short-hand pens 
 Imbibed the gay bon-mot, or happy hoax : 
 The poor priest was reduced to common sense, 
 Or to coarse efforts very loud and long, 
 -To hammer a hoarse laugh from the thick throng.” “ 
 
 Moore compliments him in some verses written about 1840, 
 entitled, “The Triumphs of Farce.” 
 
 * And still let us laugh, preach the world as it may, 
 Where the cream of the joke is, the swarm will soon follow; 
 Heroics are very fine things in their way, 
 But the laugh, at the long-run, will carry it hollow. 
 
 “Yes, Jocus! gay god, whom the Gentiles supplied, ~ 
 And whose worship not even among Christians declines ; 
 In our senates thou’st languished, since Sheridan died, , 
 But Sydney still keeps thee alive in our shrines. 
 
 “Rare Sydney! thrice honoured the stall where he sits, 
 And be his every honour he deigneth to climb at! 
 Had England a hierarchy formed all of wits, 
 Whom, but Sydney, would England proclaim as it primate ? 
 
 ia 
 to. ail 
 
~*~. ath ts 
 * 
 
 94 NO SPORTSMAN. 
 
 ‘And long may he flourish, frank, merry, and brave, 
 A Horace to feast with, a Pascal to read! 
 While he laughs, all is safe; but, when Sydney grows grave, 
 We shall then think the Church is in danger indeed.” 
 
 There are one or two notices of Smith in the Woctes Ambrosi- 
 ane, where his old Edinburgh friends took good care of him. 
 Tickler pronounces him “a formidable enemy to pomposity and 
 pretension. No man can wear a big wig comfortably in his pres- 
 ence; the absurdity of such enormous fizzle is felt; and the dig- 
 nitary would fain exchange all that horsehair for a few scattered 
 locks of another animal.” ‘To which Christopher North sagely 
 replies, “He would make a lively interlocutor at a Noctes.” 
 Sydney is introduced again, in 1831, when there was talk of 
 making him a Bishop. North thinks that, at the first vacancy, he 
 should be made Dean of St. Patrick’s, as a witty successor, of 
 course, of Swift. ‘Tickler suggests, that we should then have the 
 charges in rhyme, e. g.:— 
 
 “Reverend brethren, fish not, shoot not, 
 Reel not, quadrille not, fiddle not, flute not, 
 But of all things, it is my devoutest desire, sirs, 
 That the parson on Sunday should dine with the Squire, sirs.* 
 
 In 1838, there was a lively notice of “the Reverend Sydney 
 Smith,” in Fraser’s “Gallery of Literary Characters,” with a 
 
 * Smith, by the way, was himself no sportsman. When he settled in the 
 country he formed a resolution never to shoot, and gave these conclusive 
 reasons: ‘First, because I found, on trying at Lord Grey’s, that the birds 
 seemed to consider the muzzle of my gun as their safest position; secondly, 
 because I never could help shutting my eyes when I fired my gun, so was not 
 likely to improve ; and thirdly, because, if you do shoot, the squire and the 
 poacher both consider you as their natural enemy, and I thought it more 
 clerical to be at peace with both.” (Lady Holland’s Memoir, p. 133.) He 
 was quite too careless a rider for the chase, and had far too little patience for 
 the angle. Dancing seems to have had a peculiar effect upon him. When 
 his pupil was under his charge at Edinburgh, he wrote to Mrs. Beach: 
 “Michael takes a lesson in dancing every day. I get him, now and then, to 
 show me a step or two. I cannot bear the repetition of this spectacle every 
 day, as it never fails to throw me into a fit of laughing little short of suffoca- 
 tion.” (Memoir, 4th Eng. ed., p. 25.) Of theatres, oratorios and the like, 
 he was always impatient. 
 
beeen 
 poae 
 
 GRAVITY AND LICENSE. 95 
 
 wicked caricature, by Maclise, which, however, taken with the 
 other engraved portraits, may help, materially, to a knowledge of 
 the personal appearance of the man. 
 
 Much has been said concerning the irreverence of Sydney Smith, 
 and his incapacity, in consequence of the social freedom, the license 
 of the intellect, which he indulged in, to discharge the sober duties 
 of the Church. As there is, apparently, some colour for this objec- 
 tion, it may be worth while to look into its nature. It is undoubtedly 
 right that a clergyman should be required to make some sacrifices 
 of matters allowable enough in themselves, to sustain the distinct 
 professional character of his calling. The world exacts some- 
 thing from the lawyer, the physician, and the merchant, on this 
 point. ‘These classes are bound under various social penalties, 
 to sustain, to a certain extent, a conventional propriety and deco- 
 rum. ‘The pleader is expected by his client to be calm and col- 
 lected, and play no mountebank tricks in court. A physician who 
 indulges in any great levity of manner should not be disappointed 
 at the slender list of his patients. ‘The great merchant is a grave 
 man, for he is intrusted with the millions of other people, and pecu- 
 niary responsibility of this kind must needs occupy his attention 
 seriously. In a higher degree and to a greater extent, the voca- 
 tion of the divine demands and inspires solemnity. There is, how- 
 ever, parallel with all these requirements, a natural, healthy, free 
 development of the individual man. Gravity is a good thing in 
 its place, but it may be asked for in excess. ‘The cheap gravity 
 of the fool, whose stagnant countenance is the index of the un- 
 stirred mind within, may be purchased in every market ; and very 
 frequently finds purchasers who pay dear for the commodity. 
 Gravity may be the cloak of hypocrisy; it is a garment easily 
 made up, and its wear deceives many. Get the genuine article, 
 and it is invaluable. “There is,’ says Doctor South, “the silence 
 of an Archimedes in the study of a problem, and the stillness of a 
 sow at her wash.” Lest we confound exhibitions so diverse, we 
 
96 WIT AND CHARACTER. 
 
 must look underneath to the elements of character. ‘The man, 
 after all, is the basis of the worth, and as it is upon the develop- 
 ment of what Nature has implanted, care must be taken not to 
 thwart or defeat her movements. She, the mighty mother, will 
 assert herself rightfully, and overrule or be revenged upon the 
 conventionalisms. If your grave lawyer does not possess liveliness 
 or quickness of mind, he will not see promptly into your case, or 
 will hazard it where readiness is required, in the brief, dramatic 
 action of the court. The physician should have great vivacity of 
 perception, for he has frequently but a moment to choose between 
 life and death. ‘The merchant needs a nimble understanding, else 
 his staid formulas of trade will leave him in poverty. Is it any 
 ground of objection with an intelligent mind, that the lawyer is a 
 man of humour, that he makes an excellent after-dinner speech, 
 that he enjoys a dramatic entertainment; that the physician con- 
 trasts the pretensions of intellect with his knowledge of physical 
 necessities, and laughs loudly and frequently over the incongruities 
 brought to his knowledge; or that the merchant, out of his count- 
 ing-house, makes himself as jocose and agreeable as it is possible 
 for him to be? ‘To state the objection is to refute it. How is the 
 case, then, different with a clergyman? Does wit incapacitate him 
 for the work of a Christian minister? Because he may be said, 
 unlike the lawyer, physician, or merchant, to be always practising 
 - his profession, is he, on that account, never to relax the muscles 
 of his face, or shake the midriff of his neighbour by laughter-com- 
 pelling jest? An Apostle has borne his testimony against dullness 
 in conyersation, by recommending that speech be seasoned with 
 salt. No one can reasonably question the good gifts of wit and 
 humour, in their beneficence to one in the clerical relation, or in 
 any other. It becomes, then, a question of degree, when Sydney 
 Smith is arraigned as too great a jester for the pulpit. But how 
 can this question of moderation be decided? Who shall set the 
 limit where wit transcends decorum and commences to be anti- 
 clerical? If one jest or a dozen are permissible, why not twenty 
 
CLERICAL WITS. 97 
 
 or thirty? Or, is it to be regulated by time? If the latter, the 
 standard is unequal, for your Sydney Smith will let off a hundred 
 witticisms while your dullard is feebly labouring at one, and 
 voluble nonsense will triumph when wise meditation is silenced. 
 At what precise moment must the wrinkled grin be smoothed down 
 into the platitude of propriety? Is the sin in the strength of the 
 article? Isa smile orthodox, and is a laugh heretical? May a 
 good man, without violation of his goodness, cause his companion 
 to shake in his chair, with gentle titillations, while it becomes sin- 
 ful to inflict the acuter displays of wit, the inextinguishable laughter 
 of the immortals. Gentle dullness, we know on good poetical 
 authority, ever loves a joke, but must all jokes be conformed to 
 the standard of dullness? “ You are always aiming at wit,” said 
 some one of the class of objectors to Charles Lamb. “It is better, 
 at any rate,” was the retort, “than always aiming at dullness.” It 
 was in reference to the same race of critics that the eminent divine, 
 Dr. Samuel Clarke, being once engaged in a game of romps, seeing 
 a mere formalist approaching, exclaimed, “ Let us give over, there’s 
 a fool coming.” The common sense of the world sets any objec- 
 tion at rest. Practically, we have never known any one to possess 
 wit and despise it. On the contrary, we have seen very pious 
 clergymen exult at the perpetration of very feeble jokes. We have 
 observed them also, at a loss for a witticism, run to the Bible for a 
 text. Indeed, they frequently fall into the error of a familiar and 
 irreverent use of Scripture texts in conversation and on pub- 
 lic occasions, from lack of that very culture of wit and literature 
 which would place other and more appropriate weapons at their 
 disposal. 
 
 There were clerical wits before Smith in the English Church ; 
 Latimer, with his rough, homely, vigorous way; the quaint hu- 
 mourist, Dr. Thomas Fuller, the Church historian, whose incessant 
 quips and cranks were always subservient to his much reading and 
 a sound, healthy understanding; Echard, whose “ Letters on the 
 
 Grounds and Occasions of the Contempt of the Clergy,” were the 
 - 5 
 
98 SERIOUSNESS. 
 
 godfathers of Sydney Smith’s papers on clerical topics; the rich, 
 mellow wit of South, in his pure-toned, eloquent discourses; the 
 scornful mood of Swift; the pulpit attitudinarianism of Sterne. 
 Some of the sermons of these men must have tempted the laughter 
 of their congregations; a natural tribute to honest convictions of 
 truth which would seldom be tolerated within modern church walls. 
 Much might be said in defence of the pulpit wit of South, and his 
 example might be commended as a resource to preachers who can- 
 not afford, at this time of day, to lose a single potent instrument 
 of arousing the susceptibility of their hearers. Sydney Smith, 
 however, does not ask this vindication or indulgence. His pub- 
 lished sermons are as solemn, as free from unseemly jesting, as 
 those of the gravest and dullest of his brethren. He drew the line 
 distinctly between levity and sanctity; never confounding the 
 choir of St. Paul’s with the dining-room of Holland House. His 
 friend, Mrs. Austin, when she first heard him preach at the Lon- 
 don Cathedral, confesses that she had “some misgivings as to the 
 effect which that well-known face and voice, ever associated with 
 wit and mirth, might have upon her, even in the sacred place. 
 Never (she adds) were misgivings more quickly and entirely dis- 
 sipated. ‘The moment he appeared in the pulpit, all the weight of 
 his duty, all the authority of his office, were written on his counte- 
 nance; and without a particle of affectation (of which he was in- 
 capable), his whole demeanor bespoke the gravity of his purpose.”* 
 This was the habitual effect of his ministerial duties, and it might 
 have been looked for. Nor was this gravity confined to the pul- 
 pit. After leaving one of Rogers’ breakfasts, with Sydney, Moore 
 tells us, “I found him (as I have often done before) change at 
 once from the gay, uproarious way, into as solemn, grave, and 
 austere.a person as any bench of judges or bishops could supply: 
 this I rather think his natural character.” The topics of these 
 wits were not always the lightest, as another striking entry in 
 Moore’s Diary witnesses. It was in London, in June, 1831:— 
 * Memoir, p. 273. + Moore’s Diary, May 27, 1826. 
 
 Me 
 
THE CLERICAL CHARACTER. 99 
 
 “Walked with Sydney Smith; told me his age; turned sixty. 
 Asked me how I felt about dying. Answered that if my mind 
 was but at ease about the comfort of those I left behind, I should 
 leave the world without much regret, having passed a very happy 
 life, and enjoyed (as much, perhaps, as ever man did yet) all that 
 is enjoyable in it; the only single thing I have had to complain of 
 being want of money. I could, therefore, die with the same words 
 that Jortin died, ‘I have had enough of everything.’” What the 
 reply of the divine was we are not informed. 
 
 True wit is a precious commodity, the distillation of a generous, 
 richly-gifted nature, and such a disposition must be founded on 
 seriousness. There is a light, frivolous wit, a melancholy, scoffing 
 wit; but these do not belong to the nature to which we allude. 
 We hold it to be utterly impossible that a man should possess the 
 honest mirth of Sydney Smith and be insensible to the gravities 
 of life; that he should penetrate to the heart of social abuses, of 
 conventionalisms, of cant of every kind with a loving eye to the 
 real welfare of his race, and should want at the same time sym- 
 pathy with sadness, tears for grief, or a sacred regard for religious 
 obligations. 
 
 What is thus true between man and man does not become false 
 when a clergyman is the subject. It is only where a low, injuri- 
 ous view of the clerical character is taken, that there can be any 
 misconception of the matter. It is as absurd to say that a minis- 
 ter of any religious denomination shall not laugh, and that loudly 
 and frequently too, if he please, because his duty is to worship and 
 to pray, as it would be to forbid a hhealthy-lunged layman joining 
 in the litanies of the church on account of his gay temperament, 
 and his faculty of enjoying himself prodigiously at festive enter- 
 tainments. ae . 
 
 There is a popular delusion among good men on the matter. 
 The clergyman, whatever his natural disposition may be, is expected 
 by many people, not accustomed to get to the heart of a subject, to 
 wear always the externals of piety and to relax nothing from the 
 
 nd 
 “2 
 
om Se glee a ae 
 100 USES OF es ‘ha 
 
 rigours of a ghastly white cravat, an unbending, facial muscle, and 
 a stolid, glazed eye. There is consequently a struggle of nature 
 against him. Humanity keeps at a distance from him; and hu- 
 manity, in the end, will have the advantage over him ; for it is too 
 much for any one man or any set of men. Ifa clergyman assumes 
 a conventional dress and manner, he invites and is pretty sure to 
 receive from the world a conventional treatment. A thousand so- 
 cial hypocrisies start up to meet him. His sanctities are admitted 
 as a matter of fashion; it is respectable to speak well of the cloth, 
 as it is termed, but how is the influence of the man within the gar- 
 ment abated! In another way, also occasional and too frequent 
 injury is sustained. Professional decorum, once established, be- 
 comes a mask which it is easier to wear than to challenge the re- 
 wards of holiness by practising rigorously its duties; the genial, 
 active life of mental and personal industry, of courage, liberality, 
 and honour; mingling freely with the world, at once in it and 
 above it; the true friendship of publicans and sinners, of the poor 
 and the contemned. 
 
 It is to be considered, in illustration of these remarks, in the 
 case of Sydney Smith, how greatly his wit enlarged his influence 
 with the world in the cause of truth ; how it pointed and feathered 
 the arrows which were to carry conviction to dull understandings ; 
 how it was constantly and uniformly exerted in levelling oppres- 
 sion and injustice ; how much it added to the power of the great 
 practical reformer. We may add that it sometimes gave him an 
 authority in rebuking infidelity itself, where a heavier weapon 
 would have failed. Ata dinner once at Holland House he met a 
 French savant who took it upon himself to annoy the best disposed 
 of the company by a variety of free-thinking speculations. He 
 ended by avowing himself a materialist. “ Very good soup this,” 
 struck in Mr. Smith. “ Oui, Monsieur, c’est excellente.” “ Pray, 
 sir,” was the retort which for that time and place was worth a 
 library of argument, “do you believe in a cook ?””* 
 
 * Memoir of Rey. Richard Barham, p. 105. 
 
ae ae 
 ~- ANTI-INFIDELITY. 101 
 
 The Rey. Sydney Smith was sound at heart on this subject. 
 When he saw some signs of unseemly levity, as he thought, in an 
 article* in the Edinburgh Review, he wrote to the editor, Jeffrey, 
 rebuking the license as injurious, by its indiscretion, and rendering 
 it “perilous to a clergyman in particular to be concerned in the 
 Review.” Ten years later he wrote again to Jeffrey —“ TI must 
 beg the favour of you to be explicit on one point. Do you mean to 
 take care that the Review shall not profess or encourage infidel 
 principles? Unless this is the case I must absolutely give up 
 all thoughts of connecting myself with it.” 
 
 Sydney Smith must thus be absolved from the charge of employ- 
 ing his wit to the injury of sound religious principle. As a matter 
 of taste he sometimes, it must be admitted, pushed his jest to an 
 extremity with professional ecclesiastical arrangements, and, in a 
 few instances, as in his description of Rogers’ dining-room, with 
 “a blaze of light above, and below nothing but darkness and 
 gnashing of teeth,”’{ may be rebuked by the censure of Dr. 
 
 * Tt was an article in the Review for Jan., 1808, making sport of a heavy 
 and absurd epic poem, by Charles Hoyle, of Cambridge, on the departure of 
 the Israelites from Egypt, entitled Exodus, an example of the not uncommon 
 delusion of crude imitators of Homer and Milton. The article follows one 
 of Sydney Smith on Methodism, which at least to those who winced under 
 it, would appear far more reprehensible than speaking lightly of Pharaoh and 
 the jugglers of his court. Smith’s objection to the latter article showed 
 his sensitiveness as a wit as well as his sense of the proprieties. ‘The ley- 
 ities,” he says, “‘are ponderous and vulgar, as well as indiscreet.” Scripture 
 was one thing in the eyes of Sydney Smith, and the Methodism of the begin- 
 ning of the century quite another. His treatment of what he considered the 
 eccentricities of the latter was vigorous and unsparing. In reading his reply 
 to Mr. John Styles, who ventured a retort, we feel that it is “‘excellent to 
 have a giant’s strength,” and perhaps, “‘tyrannous to use it like a giant.” 
 
 7 Letter 141. 
 
 t Dyce’s Table Talk of Rogers. Rogers arrays the poetical authorities 
 on the distribution of light, in a note to his ‘‘ Epistle to a Friend,” citing 
 Homer, Lucretius, Virgil, Leonardo da Vinci, and Milton. A Quarterly 
 Reviewer remarks upon this: ‘‘ There are few precepts of taste that are not 
 practised in Mr. Rogers’ establishment, as well as recommended in his works ; 
 but he has hit upon a novel and ingenious mode of lighting a dining-room. 
 Lamps above, or candles on the table, there are none; all the light is reflected 
 
 se 
 
 4” 
 
“cee 
 Poem : 
 pute » 
 
 102 PROFESSIONAL JESTING. 
 
 Johnson on the employment of “idle and indecent applications of 
 sentences taken from the Scriptures; a mode of merriment which 
 a good man dreads for its profaneness, and a witty man disdains 
 for its easiness and vulgarity.”* Another is readily pardonable, 
 the oft-mentioned reply to Landseer’s request that he should sit to 
 him for his picture—“ Is thy servant a dog that he should do this 
 thing?” There is another of the same class attributed to him on 
 receiving, at the time of the Pennsylvania grievance, a visiter who 
 congratulated him on his happy circumstances. “ Yes,” said 
 Sydney, in the words of St. Paul, “I would that you were almost 
 and altogether such as I am, except these bonds.” Sydney Smith, 
 however, appears seldom to have transgressed in this direction. 
 The defence of a friendly writer on this subject must be admitted 
 in his favour. “Some of the happiest jests of Smith were ecclesi- 
 astical. But such sallies were too professional to be profane. 
 They seemed to rebound upon himself, or they played about his 
 order: they certainly scorched nothing. If there was satire in 
 them, it was directed only at hypocrisy or corruption. If he could 
 lightly touch the terrene and external part of religion—its secular- 
 ized institutions —its drowsy dignitaries ; he paid lowliest obeisance 
 (wherever he could discern it) to its heavenly spirit. He could 
 play with the tassel of his cushion; never with the leaves of his 
 Bible.” F 
 
 In one or two instances there is a freedom of expression in- 
 dulged in by Sydney Smith, allowable perhaps, among the liberties 
 of social life of Europe, where conversation and literature are less 
 
 by Titians, Reynolds, &c., from lamps projecting out of the frames of the 
 pictures and screened from the company.” (Quar. Rey., lv., 457.) 
 
 * Life of Pope. The witty Dr. Thomas Fuller had anticipated Johnson in 
 this remark. In the chapter “Of Jesting,” in his Holy State, he says: “Jest 
 not with the two-edged sword of God’s word. Will nothing please thee to 
 wash thy hands in but the font? or to drink healths in but the church chalice 2 
 And know, the whole art is learnt at the first admission, and profane jests 
 will come without calling.” 
 
 t An admirable article on the Life of Sydney Smith in the British Quar- 
 terly Review for July, 1855. | 
 
CHARACTERISTICS. 108 
 restricted in these respects than in America. Addressing Lady 
 Holland in 1811 in a note, in a reply to an invitation to dinner, 
 his witticism seems bold as addressed to a lady; satirical person- 
 ally, considering the antecedents of his honourable hostess :— 
 
 “How very odd, dear Lady Holland, to ask me to dine with 
 you on Sunday, the 9th, when I am coming to stay with you from 
 the 5th to the 12th! It is like giving a gentleman an assignation 
 for Wednesday, when you are going to marry him on the pre- 
 ceding Sunday—an attempt to combine the stimulus of gallantry 
 with the security of connubial relations. I do not propose to be 
 guilty of the slightest infidelity to you while I am at Holland 
 House, except you dine in town; and then it will not be infidelity, 
 but spirited recrimination. Ever the sincere and affectionate 
 friend of Lady Holland.” 
 
 These, however, if pressed as defects, would be but slight 
 blemishes in a lifetime passed in kindliness,* charity, truthfulness 
 and honour. If his wit or humour occasionally appear in excess 
 in his memoirs, it is to be remembered how largely these relaxa- 
 tions of his life have been chronicled, and that all the while he 
 was pursuing a serious, noble, useful career. The jests of Sydney 
 Smith should be passed to his credit, as supererogatory gifts to the 
 world, contributed after he had performed the usual duties of a 
 valuable man. Men of worth and integrity are always to be hon- 
 oured, but how little would we give for the table-talk of most of 
 them, in comparison with that of this ingenious social benefactor. 
 
 Sydney Smith was not, indeed, a profound spiritualist; he was 
 
 * 'There is a rare instance of forbearance for a wit, which comes to light in 
 one of Sydney Smith’s letters to Lady Holland, in 1839: “I have written 
 against one of the cleverest pamphlets I ever read, which I think would 
 cover and him with ridicule. At least it made me laugh very much in 
 reading it; and there I stood, with the printer’s devil, and the real devil close 
 to me; and then I said, ‘ After all, this is very funny, and very well written, 
 but it will give great pain to people who have been very kind and good to 
 me through life; and what can I do to show my sense of that kindness, 
 if it is not by flinging this pamphlet into the fire” So I flung it in, and 
 there was anend! My sense of ill-usage remains, of course, the same.” 
 
 
 
 
 
‘hy. _ 
 
 104 ' THE HUMOURIST. 
 
 F 
 
 not a great philosopher; there have been deeper thinkers, more 
 earnest divines. He was a dogmatist from his impulses and posi- 
 tion in society. Fortunately his nature was broad and liberal, and 
 his lot was cast among whigs and reformers. He was for expe- 
 diency ; but his expediency implied courage for the right and true. 
 It was not vulgar temporizing, but an enlarged conformity to the 
 well-being of society. 
 
 It is for few to round the outer circle, broken as is it, of human 
 excellence. Sydney Smith, like most of the best of men, was but 
 a parcel man. But how complete within his limits, how perfect 
 in his segment! He took a healthy view of life, as it must prac- 
 tically come home to the greater part of the world; saw its neces- 
 sities, and complied with its duties, while he embroidered this 
 plainness with his delightful humours. 
 
 Such men should be cultivated at the present day from their 
 rarity, for modern Jevelling is not favourable to their growth. They 
 enlarge the freedom of life, add to its faculties as well as its enjoy- 
 ments, clear the intellectual and warm the moral atmosphere. 
 Characters there are enough, excrescences on society, oddities, in 
 the sense of perversions of human nature, anomalous churl 
 crude, hard-hearted and repulsive; but there are few such iNlus- 
 trations of the kindly powers of life as this brave humourist —the 
 man of generous humour and humours. -" 
 

 
A®. 
 
 PASSAGES FROM THE EDINBURGH REVIEW. 
 
 DR. PARR’S SPITAL SERMON.* 
 
 WHOEVER has had the good fortune to see Dr. Parr’s wig, 
 must have observed, that while it trespasses a little on the orthodox 
 magnitude of perukes in the anterior parts, it scorns even Episco- 
 pal limits behind, and swells out into boundless convexity of frizz, 
 the peya Oavya of barbers, and the terror of the literary world. 
 After the manner of his wig, the doctor has constructed his ser- 
 mon, giving us a discourse of no common length, and subjoining 
 an immeasurable mass of notes, which appear to concern every 
 learned man, and almost every unlearned man since the beginning 
 
 of the world.T 
 * * * * * * co * 
 
 The style is such as to give a general impression of heaviness 
 to the whole sermon. The Doctor is never simple and natural for 
 a single instant. Everything smells of the rhetorician. He never 
 appears to forget himself, or to be hurried by his subject into 
 obvious language. Every expression seems to be the result of 
 artifice and intention; and as to the worthy dedicatees, the Lord- 
 Mayor and Aldermen, unless the sermon be done into English by 
 a person of honour, they may, perhaps, be flattered by the Doc- 
 tor’s politeness, but they can never be much edified by his meaning. 
 
 * Ed. Rey., Oct., 1802. Spital Sermon, preached at Christ Church upon 
 Faster-Tuesday, April 15, 1800. Tio which are added, Notes by Samuel 
 Parr, LL.D. 
 
 { In the edition of Parr’s Works, the sermon occupies fifty pages of pica 
 text; the notes fill two hundred and twelve in brevier, 
 
108 A PRANCING INDENTURE. 
 
 Dr. Parr seems to think that eloquence consists, not in exuberance 
 of beautiful images—not in simple and sublime conceptions —not 
 in the feelings of the passions; but in a studious arrrangement of 
 sonorous, exotic, and sesquipedal words: a very ancient error, 
 which corrupts the style of young, and wearies the patience of 
 sensible men. In some of his combinations of words the Doctor 
 is singularly unhappy. We have the din of superficial cavillers, 
 the prancings of giddy ostentation, flattering vanity, hissing scorn, 
 dank clod, &c., &c., &c. The following intrusion of a technical 
 word into a pathetic description renders the whole passage almost 
 ludicrous :— 
 
 “Within a few days, mute was the tongue that uttered these celestial 
 sounds, and the hand which signed your indenture lay cold and motionless in 
 the dark and dreary chambers of death.” . 
 
 Dr. Parr, in speaking of the indentures of the hospital, a sub- 
 ject (as we should have thought) little calculated for rhetorical 
 panegyric, says of them :— 
 
 “‘Tf the writer of whom I am speaking had perused, as I have, your in- 
 dentures, and your rules, he would have found in them seriousness without 
 austerity, earnestness without extravagance, good sense without the trickeries 
 of art, good language without the trappings of rhetoric, and the firmness of 
 conscious worth, rather than the prancings of giddy ostentation.” 
 
 The latter member of this eloge would not be wholly unintel- 
 ligible, if applied to a spirited coach-horse ; but we have never yet 
 witnessed the phenomenon of a prancing indenture. 
 
 DR. LANGFORD’S ANNIVERSARY SERMON OF THE ROYAL HU- 
 MANE SOCIETY.* 
 
 AN accident which happened to the gentleman engaged in re- 
 viewing this sermon proves, in the most striking manner, the im- 
 portance of this charity for restoring to life persons in whom the 
 vital power is suspended. He was discovered, with Dr. Langford’s 
 discourse lying open before him, in a state of the most profound 
 sleep ; from which he could not, by any means, be awakened for a 
 great length of time. By attending, however, to the rules pre- 
 scribed by the Humane Society, flinging in the smoke of tobacco, 
 
 * Anniversary Sermon of the Royal Humane Society. By W. Langford, 
 D.T. Ed. Rev. Oct. 1802. 
 
TRAVELLERS. 109 
 
 applying hot flannels, and carefully removing the discourse itself 
 to a great distance, the critic was restored to his disconsolate 
 brothers. 
 
 The only account he could give of himself was, that he remem- 
 bers reading on, regularly, till he came to the following pathetic 
 description of a drowned tradesman; beyond which he recollects 
 nothing. 
 
 ** But to the individual himself, as a man, let us add the interruption to all 
 the temporal business in which his interest was engaged. ‘To him indeed, 
 ‘now apparently lost, the world is as nothing: but it seldom happens, that 
 man can live for himself alone: society parcels out its concerns in various 
 connections ; and from one head issue waters which run down in many chan- 
 nels. The spring being suddenly cut off, what confusion must follow in the 
 streams which have flowed from its source? It may be, that all the expecta- 
 tions reasonably raised of approaching prosperity, to those who have embark- 
 ed in the same occupation, may at once disappear; and the important inter- 
 change of commercial faith be broken off, before it could be brought to any 
 advantageous conclusion.” 
 
 This extract will suffice for the style of the sermon. ‘The char- 
 ity itself is above all praise. 
 
 BOOKS OF TRAVEL.T 
 
 OF all the species of travels, that which has moral observation 
 for its object is the most liable to error, and has the greatest diffi- 
 culties to overcome, before it can arrive at excellence. Stones, 
 and roots, and leaves, are subjects which may exercise the under- 
 standing without rousing the passions. A mineralogical traveller 
 will hardly fall fouler upon the granite and the feldspar of other 
 countries than his own; a botanist will not conceal its non-descripts ; 
 and an agricultural tourist will faithfully detail the average crop 
 per acre; but the traveller who observes on the manners, habits, 
 and institutions of other countries, must have emancipated his mind 
 from the extensive and powerful dominions of association, must 
 have extineuished the agreeable and deceitful feelings of national 
 vanity, and cultivated that patient humility which builds general 
 inferences only upon the repetition of individual facts. Everything 
 
 + From a review of “ Lettres sur Angleterre. Par J. Fievée.” Ed. Rev, 
 April, 1803. 
 
me: 
 
 e. 
 
 110 CAUSES OF ERROR. 
 
 he sees shocks some passion or flatters it; and he is perpetually 
 seduced to distort facts, so as to render them agreeable to his sys- 
 tem and his feelings! Books of travels are now published in such 
 vast abundance, that it may not be useless, perhaps, to state a few 
 of the reasons why their valne so Pubes be happens to be in the 
 inverse ratio of their number. 
 
 1st. Travels are bad, from a want of opportunity for observation 
 in those who write them. If the sides of a building are to be 
 measured, and the number of its windows to be counted, a very 
 short space of time may suffice for these operations; but to gain 
 such a knowledge of their prevalent opinions and propensities, as 
 will enable a stranger to comprehend (what, is commonly called) 
 the genius of people, requires a long residence among them, a 
 familiar acquaintance with their language, and an easy circulation 
 among their various societies. The society into which a transient 
 stranger gains the most easy access in any country, is not often that 
 which ought to stamp the national character ; and no criterion can 
 be more fallible, in a people so reserved and inaccessible as the 
 British, who (even when they open their doors to letters of intro- 
 duction) cannot for years overcome the awkward timidity of their 
 nature. ‘The same expressions are of so different a value in differ- 
 ent countries, the same actions proceed from such different causes, 
 and produce such different effects, that a judgment of foreign nations, 
 founded on rapid observation, is almost certainly a mere tissue of 
 ludicrous and disgraceful mistakes; and yet a residence of a month 
 or two seems to entitle a traveller to present the world with a pic- 
 ture of manners in London, Paris, or Vienna, and even to dogma- 
 tize upon the political, religious, and legal institutions, as if it were 
 one and the same thing to speak of adstract effects of such institu- 
 tions, and of their effects combined with all the peculiar circum- | 
 stances in which any nation may be placed. 
 
 2dly. An affectation of quickness in observation, an intuitive 
 glance that requires only a moment, and a part, to judge of a per- 
 petuity, and a whole. The late Mr. Petion, who was sent over in- 
 to this country to acquire a knowledge of our criminal law, is said 
 to have declared himself thoroughly informed upon the subject af- 
 ter remaining precisely two-and-thirty minutes in the Old Bailey. 
 
 3dly. The tendency to found observation on a system, rather 
 
7 Poe 
 ~~ 
 =, ; : 
 
 A CEYLONESE DUTCHMAN. 111 
 
 than a system upon observation. The fact is, there are very few 
 original eyes and ears. The great mass see and hear as they are 
 directed by others, and bring back from a residence in foreign 
 countries nothing but the vague and customary notions concerning 
 it, which are carried and brought back for half a century, without 
 verification or change. The most ordinary shape in which this 
 tendency to prejudge makes its appearance among travellers, is by 
 a disposition to exalt, or, a still more absurd disposition to depre- 
 ciate their native country. They are incapable of considering a 
 foreign people but under one single point of view—the relation in 
 which they stand to their own; and the whole narrative is fre- 
 quently nothing more than a mere triumph of national vanity, or 
 the ostentation of superiority to so common a failing. 
 
 INHABITANTS OF CEYLON.* 
 
 CEYLON is now inhabited by the English; the remains of the 
 Dutch and Portuguese, the Cinglese or natives, subject to the do- 
 minion of the Europeans; the Candians, subject to the king of 
 their own name; and the Vaddahs, or wild men, subject to no 
 power. A Ceylonese Dutchman is a coarse, grotesque species of 
 animal, whose native apathy and phlegm is animated only by the 
 insolence of a colonial tyrant: his principal amusement appears to 
 consist in smoking; but his pipe, according to Mr. Percival’s ac- 
 count, is so seldom out of his mouth, that his smoking appears to 
 be almost as much a necessary function of animal life as his breath- 
 ing. His day is eked out with gin, ceremonious visits, and prodi- 
 gious quantities of gross food, dripping with oil and butter; his mind, 
 just able to reach from one meal to another, is incapable of further 
 exertion; and, after the panting and deglutition of a long-protract- 
 ed dinner, reposes on the sweet expectation that, in a few hours, 
 the carnivorous toil will be renewed. He lives only to digest, and, 
 while the organs of gluttony perform their office, he has not a 
 wish beyond; and is the happy man which Horace describes :— 
 
 
 
 in seipso totus, teres, atque rotundus. 
 The descendants of the Portuguese differ materially from the 
 
 * From a review of “An Account of the Island of Ceylon, by Robert Per- 
 eival.” Ed. Rev., April, 1803. 
 
112 MALAYS. 
 
 Moors, Malabars, and other Mahometans. Their great object is 
 to show the world they are Europeans and Christians. Unfortu- 
 nately, their ideas of Christianity are so imperfect, that the only 
 mode they can hit upon of displaying their faith, is by wearing hats 
 and breeches, and by these habiliments they consider themselves 
 as showing a proper degree of contempt, on various parts of the 
 body, toward Mahomet and Buddha. ‘They are lazy, treacherous, 
 effeminate, and passionate to excess; and are, in fact, a locomotive 
 and animated farrago of the bad qualities of all tongues, people, and 
 nations on the face of the earth. 
 
 The Malays, whom we forgot before to enumerate, form a very 
 considerable portion of the inhabitants of Ceylon. Their original 
 empire lies in the peninsula of Malacca, from whence they have ex- 
 tended themselves over Java, Sumatra, the Moluccas, and a vast 
 number of other islands in the peninsula of India. It has been 
 many years customary for the Dutch to bring them to Ceylon, for 
 the purpose of carrying on various branches of trade and manufac~ 
 ture, and in order also to employ them as soldiers and servants 
 The Malays are the most vindictive and ferocious of living beings. 
 They set little or no value on their own existence, in the prosecu- 
 tion of their odious passions; and having thus broken the great tie 
 which renders man a being capable of being governed, ané fit for 
 society, they are a constant source of terror to all those who have 
 any kind of connection or relation with them. A Malay servant, 
 from the apprehension excited by his vindictive disposition, often 
 becomes the master of his master. It is as dangerous to dismiss 
 him as to punish him; and the rightful despot, in order to avoid 
 assassination, is almost compelled to exchange characters with his 
 slave. It is singular, however, that the Malay, incapable of sub- 
 mission on any other occasion, and ever ready to avenge insult 
 with death, submits to the severest military discipline with the ut- 
 most resignation and meekness. ‘The truth is, obedience to his 
 officers forms part of his religious creed; and the same man who 
 would repay the most insignificant insult with death, will submit 
 to be lacerated at the halbert with the patience of a martyr. This 
 is truly a tremendous people! When assassins and blood-hounds 
 will fall into rank and file, and the most furious savages submit 
 (with no diminution of their ferocity) to the science and discipline 
 of war, they only want a Malay Buonaparte to lead them to the 
 
 £ 
 
MADAME DE STAEL. 1138 
 conquest of the world. Our curiosity has always been very highly 
 excited by the accounts of this singular people; and we cannot 
 help thinking that, one day or another, when they are more full 
 of opium than usual, they will run a muck from Cape Comorin to 
 the Caspian. 
 
 MADAME DE STAEL’S DELPHINE.* 
 
 Tuts dismal trash, which has nearly dislocated the jaws of every 
 critic among us with gaping, has so alarmed Buonaparte, that he 
 has seized the whole impression, sent Madame de Staél out of 
 Paris, and, for aught we know, sleeps in a night-cap of steel and 
 dagger-proof blankets. To us it appears rather an attack upon 
 the Ten Commandments than the government of Buonaparte, and 
 calculated not so much to enforce the rights of the Bourbons, as the 
 benefits of adultery, murder, and a great number of other vices, 
 which have been, some how or other, strangely neglected in this 
 country, and too much so (according to the apparent opinion of 
 Madame de Staél) even in France. 
 
 It happens, however, fortunately enough, that her book is as 
 dull as it could have been if her intentions had been good ; for wit, 
 dexterity, and the pleasant energies of the mind, seldom rank 
 themselves on the side of virtue and social order; while vice is’ 
 spiritual, eloquent, and alert, ever choice in expression, happy in 
 allusion, and judicious in arrangement. 
 
 The story is simply this :—Delphine, a rich young widow, pre- 
 sents her cousin, Matilda de Vernon, with a considerable estate, in 
 order to enable her to marry Leonce Mondeville. To this action 
 she is excited by the arts and the intrigues of Madame de Vernon, 
 a hackneyed Parisian lady, who hopes, by this marriage, to be 
 able to discharge her numerous and pressing debts. Leonce, who, 
 like all other heroes of novels, has fine limbs and fine qualities, 
 comes to Paris—dislikes Matilda—falls in love with Delphine, 
 Delphine with him; and they are upon the eve of jilting poor Ma- 
 tilda, when, from some false reports spread abroad respecting the 
 character of Delphine (which are aggravated by her own impru- 
 dences, and by the artifices of Madame de Vernon), Leonce, not in 
 
 * Delphine. By Madame de Stael Holstein. London, Mawman. 6 vols. 
 12mo. Ed. Rey., April, 1803. 
 
 A 
 
114 DELPHINE. 
 
 a fit of honesty, but of revenge, marries the lady whom he«came to 
 marry. Soon after, Madame de Vernon dies— discovers the arti- 
 fices by which she had prevented the union of Leonce and Del- 
 phine—and then, after this catastrophe, which ought to have 
 terminated the novel, come two long volumes of complaint and 
 despair. Delphine becomes a nun—runs away from the nunnery 
 with Leonce, who is taken by some French soldiers, upon the 
 supposition that he has been serving in the French emigrant army 
 against his country—is shot, and upon his dead body falls Del- 
 phine, as dead as he. 
 
 Making every allowance for reading this book in a translation, 
 and in a very bad translation, we cannot but deem it a heavy per- 
 formance. The incidents are vulgar; the characters vulgar, too, 
 except those of Delphine and Madame de Vernon. Madame de 
 Staél has not the artifice to hide what is coming. In travelling 
 through a flat country, or a flat book, we see our road before us 
 for half the distance we are going. ‘There.are no agreeable sinu- 
 osities, and no speculations whether we are to ascend next, or 
 descend ; what new sight we are to enjoy, or to which side we are 
 to bend. Leonce is robbed and half-murdered; the apothecary 
 of the place is certain he will not live; we were absolutely certam 
 that he would live, and could predict to an hour the time of his 
 recovery. In the same manner we could have prophesied every 
 event of the book a whole volume before its occurrence. 
 
 This novel is a perfect Alexandrian. The last two volumes 
 are redundant, and drag their wounded length: it should certainly 
 have terminated where the interest ceases, at the death of Madame 
 de Vernon; but, instead of this, the scene-shifters come and pick 
 up the dead bodies, wash the stage, sweep it, and do everything 
 which the timely fall of the curtain should have excluded from the 
 sight, and left to the imagination of the audience. We humbly 
 apprehend, that young gentlemen do not, in general, make their 
 tutors the confidants of their passion; at least we can find no rule 
 of that kind laid down either by Miss Hamilton or Miss Edge- 
 worth, in their treatises on education. ‘The tutor of Leonce is Mr. 
 Barton, a grave old gentleman, in a peruke and snuff-coloured 
 clothes. Instead of writing to this solemn personage about second 
 causes, the ten categories, and the eternal fitness of things, the 
 young lover raves to him, for whole pages, about the white neck 
 
TALLEYRAND. 115 
 
 and auburn hair of Lis Delphine; and, shame to tell! the liquorish 
 old pedagogue seems to think these amorous ebullitions the pleas- 
 antest sort of writing in usum Delphini that he has yet met with. 
 
 By altering one word, and making only one false quantity,* we 
 shall change the rule of Horace to 
 
 ‘Nec febris intersit nisi dignus vindice nodus 
 Inciderit.””» —— 
 
 Delphine and Leonce have eight very bad typhus fevers between 
 them, besides hemoptoe, hemorrhage, deliquium animi, singultus, 
 hysteria, and feminet ululatus, or screams innumerable. Now, 
 that there should be a reasonable allowance of sickness in every 
 novel, we are willing to admit, and will cheerfully permit the hero- 
 ine to be once given over, and at the point of death; but we cannot 
 consent that the interest which ought to be excited by the feelings 
 of the mind should be transferred to the sufferings of the body, and 
 a crisis of perspiration be substituted for a crisis of passion. Let 
 us see difficulties overcome, if our approbation is required; we 
 cannot grant it to such cheap and sterile artifices as these. 
 
 The characters in this novel are all said to be drawn from real 
 life; and the persons for whom they are intended are loudly whis- 
 pered at Paris. Most of them we have forgotten; but Delphine 
 is said to be intended for the authoress, and A/adame de Vernon 
 (by a slight sexual metamorphosis) for Talleyrand, minister of the 
 French republic for foreign affairs.— As this lady (once the friend 
 of the authoress) may probably exercise a considerable influence 
 over the destinies of this country, we shall endeavour to make our 
 readers a little better acquainted with her; but we must first re- 
 mind them that she was once a bishop, a higher dignity in the 
 church than was ever attained by any of her sex since the days 
 of Pope Joan; and that though she swindles Delphine out of her 
 estate with a considerable degree of address, her .dexterity some- 
 
 * Perhaps a fault of all others which the English are least disposed to par- 
 don. A young man who, on a public occasion, makes a false quantity at the 
 outset of life, can seldom or never get over it.—Awuthor’s Note. 
 
 + Madame de Staél, on meeting Talleyrand at an evening party after the 
 publication of this book, was addressed by the ci-devant Bishop with ‘‘ HA, 
 Madame, on dit que nous sommes tous les deux dans votre livre deguisés en 
 femmes.” 
 
Bae 
 
 116 IMMORALITY OF A BOOK. 
 
 times fails her, as in the memorable instance of the American com- 
 missioners. Madame de Staél gives the following description of 
 this pastoral metropolitan female : 
 
 “Though she is at least forty, she still appears charming even among the 
 young and beautiful of her own sex. The paleness of her complexion, the 
 slight relaxation of her features, indicate the languor of indisposition, and not 
 the decay of years ; the easy negligence of her dress accords with this impres- 
 sion. Every one concludes, that when her health is recovered, and she dresses 
 with more care, she must be completely beautiful: this change, however, 
 never happens, but it is always expected; and that is sufficient to make the 
 imagination still add something more to the natural effect of her charms.”— 
 (yay D.21.) 
 
 Nothing can be more execrable than the manner in which this 
 book is translated. The bookseller has employed one of our 
 countrymen for that purpose, who appears to have been very lately 
 caught. The contrast between the passionate exclamations of 
 Madame de Staél, and the barbarous vulgarities of poor Sawney, 
 produces a mighty ludicrous effect. One of the heroes, a man of 
 high fastidious temper, exclaims in a letter to Delphine, “ I cannot 
 endure this Paris; I have met with ever so many people, whom 
 my soul abhors.” And the accomplished and enraptured Leonce 
 terminates one of his letters thus; “ Adieu! Adieu, my dearest 
 Delphine! IL will give you a call to-morrow.” We doubt if 
 Grub street ever imported from Caledonia a more abominable 
 translator. 
 
 We admit the character of Madame de Vernon to be drawn 
 with considerable skill. There are occasional traits of eloquence 
 and pathos in this novel, and very many of those observations upon 
 manners and character, which are totally out of. the reach of all 
 who have not lived long in the world, and observed it well. 
 
 The immorality of any book (in our estimation) is to be deter- 
 mined by the general impression it leaves on those minds, whose 
 principles, not yet ossified, are capable of affording a less powerful 
 defence to its influence. The most dangerous effect that any fic- 
 titious character can produce, is when two or three of its popular 
 vices are varnished over with everything that is captivating and 
 gracious in the exterior, and ennobled by association with splendid 
 virtues; this apology will be more sure of its effect, if the faults 
 are not against nature, but against society. The aversion to mur- 
 der and cruelty could not perhaps be so overcome; but a regard 
 
CHARACTERS. $17 
 
 to the sanctity of marriage vows, to the sacred and sensitive deli- 
 
 cacy of the female character, and to numberless restrictions impor- 
 tant to the well-being of our species, may easily be relax d by this 
 subtle and voluptuous confusion of good and evil. It is in vain to 
 say the fable evinces, in the last act, that vice is productive of mis- 
 ery. We may decorate a villain with graces and felicities for nine 
 volumes and hang him in the last page. This is not teaching vir- 
 tue, but gilding the gallows, and raising up splendid associations 
 in favour of being hanged.~ In such a union of the amiable and 
 the vicious (especially if the vices are such, to the commission of 
 which there is no want of natural disposition), the vice will not de- 
 grade the man, but the man will ennoble the vice. We shall wish 
 to be him we admire, 7m spite of his vices, and, if the novel be well 
 written, even in consequence of his vice. There exists, through the 
 whole of this novel, a show of exquisite sensibility to the evils 
 which individuals suffer by the inflexible rules of virtue prescribed 
 by society, and an eager disposition to apologize for particular 
 transgressions. Such doctrine is not confined to Madame de Staél; 
 an Arcadian cant is gaining fast upon Spartan gravity; and the 
 happiness diffused, and the beautiful order established in society, by 
 this unbending discipline, are wholly swallowed up in compassion 
 for the unfortunate and interesting individual. Either the excep- 
 tions or the rule must be given up: every highwayman who thrusts 
 his pistol into a chaise-window has met with unforeseen misfor- 
 tunes; and every loose matron who flies into the arms of her 
 Greville was compelled to marry an old man whom she detested, 
 by an avaricious and unfeeling father. The passions want not ac- 
 celerating, but retarding machinery. This fatal and foolish sophis- 
 try has power enough over every heart, not to need the aid of 
 fine composition, and well-contrived incident—auxiliaries which 
 Madame de Staél intended to bring forward in the cause, though 
 she has fortunately not succeeded. 
 
 M. de Serbellone is received as a guest into the house of M. 
 d’Ervins, whose wife he debauches as a recompense for his hospi- 
 tality. Is it possible to be disgusted with ingratitude and injustice, 
 when united to such an assemblage of talents and virtues as this 
 man of paper possesses? Was there ever a more delightful, fas- 
 cinating adultress than Madame d’Ervins is intended to be? ora 
 povero cornuto less capable of exciting compassion than her hus- 
 
“2 ; oz *y 
 
 * ae A 
 118 THE LESSON OF DELPHINE. 
 
 
 
 band? The morality of all this is the old morality of Farquhar, 
 Vanburgh, and Congreve—that every witty man may transgress 
 the seventh commandment, which was never meant for the protec- 
 tion of husbands who labour under the incapacity of making repar- 
 tees. In Matilda, religion is always as unamiable as dissimulation 
 is graceful in Madame de Vernon, and imprudence generous in 
 Delphine. This said Delphine, with her fine auburn hair, and her 
 beautiful blue or green eyes (we forget which), cheats her cousin 
 Matilda out of her lover, alienates the affections of her husband, 
 and keeps a sort of assignation house for Serbellone and his chére 
 amie, justifying herself by the most touching complaints against 
 the rigour of the world, and using the customary phrases, union 
 of souls, married in the eye of heaven, &ce., &c., &e., and such 
 like diction, the types of which Mr. Lane, of the Minerva Press, 
 very prudently keeps ready composed, in order to facilitate the 
 printing of the Adventures of Captain C and Miss F ‘ 
 and other interesting stories, of which he, the said inimitable Mr. 
 Lane, of the Minerva Press, well knows these sentiments must 
 make a part. Another perilous absurdity which this useful pro- 
 duction tends to cherish, is the common notion, that contempt of 
 rule and order is a proof of greatness of mind. Delphine is 
 everywhere a great spirit struggling with the shackles imposed 
 upon her, in common with the little world around her; and it is 
 managed so that her contempt of restrictions shall always appear 
 to flow from the extent, variety, and splendour of her talents. 
 The vulgarity of this heroism ought, in some degree, to diminish 
 its value. Mr. Colquhoun, in his Police of the Metropolis, reck- 
 ons up above forty thousand heroines of this species, most of whom, 
 we dare to say, have, at one time or another, reasoned like the sen- 
 timental Delphine about the judgments of the world. 
 
 To conclude—Our general opinion of this book is, that it is 
 calculated to shed a mild lustre over adultery; by gentle and con- 
 venient gradation, to destroy the modesty and the caution of 
 women; to facilitate the acquisition of easy vices, and encumber 
 the difficulty of virtue. What a wretched qualification of this 
 censure to add, that the badness of the principles is alone corrected 
 by the badness of the style, and that this celebrated lady would 
 have been very guilty, if she had not been very dull! 
 
 
 
 
 
. my, 
 SMALL-TOOTH COMBS. 119 
 
 USE OF RIDIC E.* 
 
 WE are a good deal amused, indeed, with the extreme disrelish 
 which Mr. John Stylesf exhibits to the humour and pleasantry 
 with which he admits the Methodists to have been attacked; but 
 Mr. John Styles should remember, that it is not the practice with 
 destroyers of vermin to allow the little victims a veto upon the 
 weapons used against them. If this were otherwise, we should 
 have one set of vermin banishing small-tooth combs; another 
 protesting against mouse-traps: a third prohibiting the finger and 
 thumb ; a fourth exclaiming against the intolerable infamy of using 
 soap and water. It is impossible, however, to listen to such pleas. 
 They must all be caught, killed, and cracked, in the manner, and 
 by the instruments which are found most efficacious to their de- 
 struction; and the more they cry out, the greater, plainly, is the 
 skill used against them. We are convinced a little laughter will 
 do them more harm than all the arguments in the world. Such 
 men as the author before us, cannot understand when they are out- 
 argued; but he has given us a specimen, from his irritability, that 
 he fully comprehends when he has become the object of universal 
 contempt and derision. We agree with him, that ridicule is not 
 exactly the weapon to be used in matters of religion; but the use 
 of it is excusable, when there is no other which can make fools 
 tremble. 
 
 * From an article on ‘‘ Methodism.” Ed. Rev., 1809. 
 
 + Strictures on two Critiques in the Edinburgh Review, on the Subject of 
 Methodism and Missions; with Remarks on the Influence of Reviews, in 
 general, on Morals and Happiness. By John Styles. 8vo. London, 1809. 
 
 + Smith repeats the ‘‘small-tooth comb” illustration in his handling of Dr. 
 Monk, Bishop of Gloucester, in the Third Letter to Archdeacon Single- 
 ton. Mr. Styles was again the subject of a literary agitation in 1839, when, 
 having become the Rev. John Styles, D.D., he published, under the aus- 
 pices of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, a prize Es- 
 say entitled, “The Animal Creation, its Claims on our Humanity Stated 
 and Enforced.” The tract was replied to in ‘‘A Pamphlet, dedicated to 
 the Noblemen, Gentlemen, and Sportsmen of England, Ireland, and Scot- 
 land,” by the Hon. Grantley Fitzhardinge Berkeley, M. P. The subject is 
 roughly reviewed in an article, ‘‘Sydney Smith, John Styles, and Grantley 
 Berkeley,” in Fraser’s Magazine, August, 1839. The Rey. Dr. Styles was 
 a dissenting clergyman of note, the author of various published discourses 
 of an occasional character. He also published a Life of David Brainerd, and 
 a Family Bible, with illustrative notes, in two volumes quarto. 
 
120 AUTHORS AND THE ARK. ~ 
 
 4 
 eye SF 
 
 ANTEDILUVIAN AUTHORSHIP.* 
 
 THERE are occasionally, in Philopatris, a great vigour of style 
 and felicity of expression. His display of classical learning is 
 quite unrivalled—his reading various and good; and we may 
 observe, at intervals, a talent for wit, of which he might have 
 availed himself to excellent purpose, had it been compatible with 
 ee dignified style in which he generally conveys his sentiments. 
 ith all these excellent qualities of head and heart, we have sel- 
 - dom met with a writer more full of faults than Philopatris. There 
 _is an event recorded in the Bible, which men who write books 
 _ should keep constantly in their remembrance. It is there set 
 
 _ forth, that many centuries ago, the earth was covered with a great 
 flood, by which the whole of the human race, with the exception 
 of one family, were destroyed. It appears also, that from thence, a 
 
 reat alteration was made in the longevity of mankind, who, from a 
 ee of seven or eight hundred years, which they enjoyed before 
 the flood, were confined to their present period of seventy or eighty 
 years. This epoch in the history of man gave birth to the twofold 
 division of the antediluvian and postdiluvian style of writing, the 
 latter of which naturally contracted itself into those inferior limits 
 which were better accommodated to the abridged duration of human 
 life and literary labour. Now, to forget this event—to write with- 
 out the fear of the deluge before his eyes, and to handle a subject 
 as if mankind could lounge over a pamphlet for ten years, as before 
 their submersion—is to be guilty of the most grievous error into 
 which a writer can possibly fall The author of this book should 
 call in the aid of some brilliant pencil, and cause the distressing 
 scenes of the deluge to be portrayed in the most lively colours for 
 his use. He should gaze at Noah and be brief. The ark should 
 constantly remind him of the little time there is left for reading ; 
 and he should learn, as they did in the ark, to crowd a great deal 
 of matter into a very little compass. 
 
 * From a review of Characters of the late Charles James Fox, by Philo- 
 patris Varvicensis (Dr. Parr). Ed. Rev., 1809. 
 
 + Macaulay has borrowed this illustration. In a review (Ed. Rev., 1832) 
 of Nares’ Memoirs of Lord Burghley, he has: “ Sucha book might, before the 
 deluge, have been considered as light reading by Hilpa and Shalum. But, 
 unhappily, the life of man is now three score years and ten: and we cannot 
 
 but think it somewhat unfair in Dr. Nares to demand from us so large a por- 
 tion of so short an existence.” 
 
_ ‘THE ANCIENT LANGUAGES. ” 121 
 
 # eS 
 ENGLISH CLASSICAL eDUgtON.* 
 
 THERE are two questions which grow out of this subject: Ist, 
 How far is any sort of classical education useful? 2d, How far 
 is that particular classical education adopted in this country useful ? 
 
 Latin and Greek are, in the first place, useful, as they inure 
 children to intellectual difficulties, and make the life of a young 
 student what it ought to be, a life of considerable labour. We do 
 not, of course, mean to confine this praise exclusively to the study 
 of Latin and Greek; or to suppose that other difficulties might 
 not be found which it would be useful to overcome: but though 
 Latin and Greek have this merit in common with many arts and 
 sciences, still they have it; and, if they do nothing else, they at 
 least secure a solid and vigorous application at a period of life 
 which materially influences all other periods. 
 
 To go through the grammar of one language thoroughly is of 
 great use for the mastery of every other grammar; because there 
 obtains, through all languages, a certain analogy to each other in. 
 their grammatical construction. Latin and Greek have now 
 mixed themselves etymologically with all the languages of modern 
 Europe—and with none more than our own; so that it is neces- 
 sary to read these two tongues for other objects than themselves. 
 
 The two ancient languages are, as mere inventions —as pieces of 
 mechanism —incomparably more beautiful than any of the modern 
 languages of Europe: their mode of signifying time and case by 
 terminations, instead of auxiliary verbs and particles, would of 
 itself stamp their superiority. Add to this, the copiousness of the 
 Greek language, with the fancy, majesty, and harmony of its com- 
 pounds; and there are quite sufficient reasons why the classics 
 should be studied for the beauties of language. Compared to 
 them, merely as vehicles of thought and passion, all modern. lan- 
 guages are dull, ill-contrived, and barbarous. 
 
 That a great part of the Scriptures has come down to us in the 
 Greek language, is of itself a reason, if all others were wanting, 
 why education should be planned so as to produce a supply of 
 Greek scholars. ’ 
 
 The cultivation of style is very justly made a part of education. 
 
 * From an article “ Professional Education.” Ed. Rev., Oct., 1809. 
 
 6 
 
 
 
122 TOO MUCH LATIN AND GREEK. 
 
 Everything which is written is meant either to please or to instruct. 
 The second object it is difficult to effect, without attending to the 
 first; and the cultivation of style is the acquisition of those rules 
 and literary habits which sagacity anticipates, or experience shows, 
 to be the most effectual means of pleasing. Those works are the 
 best which have longest stood the test of time, and pleased the 
 greatest number of exercised minds. Whatever, therefore, our 
 conjectures may be, we cannot be so sure that the best modern 
 writers can afford us as good models as the ancients ;—we cannot 
 be certain that they will live through the revolutions of the world, 
 and continue to please in every climate—under every species of 
 government—through every stage of civilization. ‘The moderns 
 have been well taught by their masters ; but the time is hardly yet 
 come when the necessity for such instruction no longer exists. 
 We may still borrow descriptive power from Tacitus; dignified 
 perspicuity from Livy; simplicity from Cesar; and from Homer 
 some portion of that light and heat which, dispersed into ten thou- 
 sand channels, has filled the world with bright images and illustri- 
 ous thoughts. Let the cultivator of modern literature addict him- 
 self to the purest models of taste which France, Italy, and Eng- 
 land could supply, he might still learn from Virgil to be majestic, 
 and from Tibullus to be tender; he might not yet look upon the 
 face of nature as Theocritus saw it; nor might he reach those 
 springs of pathos with which Euripides softened the hearts of his 
 audience. In short, it appears to us, that there are so many excel- 
 lent reasons why a certain number of scholars should be kept up 
 in this and in every civilized country, that we should consider 
 every system of education from which classical education was ex- 
 cluded, as radically erroneous and completely absurd. = * 
 That vast advantages, then, may be derived from classical learn- 
 ing, there can be no doubt. The advantages which are derived 
 from classical learning by the English manner of teaching, involve 
 another and a very different question ; and we will venture to say, 
 that there never was a more complete instance in any country of 
 such extravagant and overacted attachment to any branch of 
 knowledge as that which obtains in this country with regard to 
 classical knowledge. A young Englishman goes to school at six 
 or seven years old; and he remains in a course of education till 
 twenty-three or twenty-four years of age. In all that time, his 
 
LATIN VERSES. 123 
 
 sole and exclusive occupation is learning Latin and Greek :* he 
 has scarcely a notion that there is any other kind of excellence ; 
 and the great system of facts with which he is the most perfectly 
 acquainted, are the intrigues of the heathen gods: with whom Pan 
 slept?—with whom Jupiter?—whom Apollo ravished? These 
 facts the English youth get by heart the moment they quit the 
 nursery ; and are most sedulously and industriously instructed in 
 them till the best and most active part of life is passed away. 
 Now, this long career of classical learning, we may, if we please, 
 denominate a foundation ; but it is a foundation so far above ground, 
 that there is absolutely no room to put anything upon it. If you 
 occupy a man with one thing till he is twenty-four years of age, 
 you have exhausted all his leisure time: he is called into the world, 
 and compelled to act; or is surrounded with pleasures, and thinks 
 and reads no more. If you have neglected to put other things in 
 him, they will never get in afterward ;—if you have fed him only 
 with words, he will remain a narrow and limited being to the end 
 of his existence. . 
 
 The bias given to men’s minds is so strong, that it is no uncom- 
 mon thing to meet with Englishmen, whom, but for their gray 
 hairs and wrinkles, we might easily mistake for schoolboys. Their 
 talk is of Latin verses; and it is quite clear, if men’s ages are to 
 be dated from the state of their mental progress, that such men are 
 eighteen years of age, and not.a day older. Their minds have 
 been so completely possessed by exaggerated notions of classical 
 learning, that they have not been able, in the great school of the 
 world; to form any other notion of real greatness. Attend, too, to 
 the public feelings—look to all the terms of applause. A learned 
 man!—a scholar!—a man of erudition! Upon whom are these 
 epithets of approbation bestowed? Are they given to men ac- 
 quainted with the science of government? thoroughly masters of 
 the geographical and commercial relations of Europe? to men who 
 know the properties of bodies, and their action upon each other ? 
 No: this is not learning? it is chemistry or political ecconomy — 
 not learning. The distinguishing abstract term, the epithet of 
 scholar, is reserved for him who writes on the C#olic reduplication, 
 
 * Unless he goes to the University of Cambridge ; and then classics occupy 
 
 him entirely for about ten years ; and divide him with mathematics for four or 
 five more. ; 
 
ate 
 
 ia 
 124 . MEANS AND ENDS. ry 
 and is familiar with the Sylburgian method of arranging defectives 
 
 in@ and wt. The picture which a young Englishman, addicted to 
 the pursuit of knowledge, draws—his beau ideal of human nature 
 
 —his top and consummation of man’s powers—is a knowledge of 
 
 the Greek language. His object is not to reason, to imagine, or 
 to invent; but to conjugate, decline, and derive. The situations 
 of imaginary glory which he draws for himself, are the detection 
 of an anapzest in the wrong place, or the restoration of a dative 
 
 « 
 
 case which Cranzius had passed over, and the never-dying Ernesti — 
 
 failed to observe. Ifa young classic of this kind were to meet the 
 
 greatest chemist or the greatest mechanician, or the most profound 
 
 political economist of his time, in company with the greatest Greek 
 scholar, would the slightest comparison between them ever come 
 across his mind ?— would he ever dream that such men as Adam 
 Smith or Lavoisier were equal in dignity of understanding to, or 
 of the same utility as, Bentley and Heyne? We are inclined to 
 think, that the feeling excited would be a good deal like that which 
 was expressed by Dr. George about the praises of the great King 
 of Prussia, who entertained considerable doubt whether the King, 
 with all his victories, knew how to conjugate a Greek verb in pt. 
 Another misfortune of classical learning, as taught in England, 
 is, that scholars have come, in process of time, and from the effects 
 of association, to love the instrument better than the end ;—not the 
 luxury which the difficulty encloses, but the difficulty ;—not the 
 filbert, but the shell ;—not what may be read in Greek, but Greek 
 itself. It is not so much the man who has mastered the wisdom 
 of the ancients, that is valued, as he who displays his knowledge 
 of the vehicle in which that wisdom is conveyed. The glory is to 
 show I am a scholar. The good sense and ingenuity I may gain 
 by my acquaintance with ancient authors is matter of opinion; but 
 if I bestow an immensity of pains upon a point of accent or quan- 
 tity, this is something positive; I establish my pretensions to the 
 name of a scholar, and gain the credit of learning, while I sacrifice 
 all its utility. . 
 Another evil in the present system of classical education is the 
 
 extraordinary perfection which is aimed at in teaching those lan- ~ 
 
 guages; a needless perfection; am accuracy which is sought for 
 in nothing else. ‘There are few boys who remain to the age of 
 eighteen or nineteen at a public school, without making above ten 
 
. EXCESS OF THE PURSUIT. " 135 
 
 thousand Latin verses ;—a greater number than is contained in the 
 -Aimeid: and after he has made this quantity of verses ina dead 
 language, unless the poet should happen to be a very weak man 
 
 '_ indeed, he never makes another as long as he lives. It may be 
 
 urged, and it is urged, that this is of use in teaching the delicacies 
 of the language. No doubt it is of use for this purpose, if we put 
 out of view the immense time and trouble sacrificed in gaining 
 these little delicacies. It would be of use that we should go on till 
 fitty years of age making Latin verses, if the price of a whole life 
 were not too much to pay for it. We effect our object; but we do 
 ‘it at the price of something greater than our object. And whence 
 comes it, that the expenditure of life and labour is totally put out 
 of the calculation, when Latin and Greek are to be attained? In 
 every other occupation, the question is fairly stated between the 
 attainment, and the time employed in the pursuit ;—— but, in classical 
 learning, it seems to be sufficient if the least possible good is gained 
 by the greatest possible exertion; if the end is anything, and the 
 means everything. It is of some importance to speak and write 
 French; and innumerable delicacies would be gained by writing 
 ten thousand French verses: but it makes no part of our education 
 to write French poetry. It is of some importance that there should 
 be good botanists ; but no botanist can repeat, by heart, the names 
 of all the plants in the known world; nor is any astronomer ac- 
 quainted with the appellation and magnitude of every star in the 
 map of the heavens. The only department of human knowledge 
 in which there can be no excess, no arithmetic, no balance of profit 
 and loss, is classical learning. 
 
 _ The prodigious honour in which Latin verses are held at public 
 schools, is surely the most absurd of all absurd distinctions. You 
 rest all reputation upon doing that which is a natural gift, and 
 which no labour can attain. If a lad won’t learn the words of a 
 language, his degradation in the school is a very natural punish- 
 ment for his disobedience, or his indolence; but it would be as 
 reasonable to expect that all boys should be witty, or beautiful, as 
 that they should be poets. In either case, it would be to make an 
 accidental, unattainable, and not a very important gift of nature, 
 the only, or the principal, test of merit. This is the reason why 
 boys, who make a very considerable figure at school, so very often 
 make no figure in the world;—and why other lads, who are 
 
126 3 WORKS OF IMAGINATION. 
 S 
 
 passed over without notice, turn out to be valuable, important 
 men. The test established in the world is widely different from 
 that established in a place which is presumed to be a preparation 
 for the world; and the head of a public school, who is.a perfect 
 miracle to his contemporaries, finds himself shrink into absolute in- 
 significance, because he has nothing else to command respect or 
 regard, but a talent for fugitive poetry in a dead language. 
 
 The present state of classical education cultivates the imagina- 
 tion a great deal too much, and other habits of mind a great deal 
 too little, and trains up many young men in a Style of elegant 
 imbecility, utterly unworthy of the talents with which nature has 
 endowed them. It may be said, there are profound investigations, 
 and subjects quite powerful enough for any understanding, to be 
 met with in classical literature. So there are; but no man likes 
 to add the difficulties of a language to the difficulties of a subject; 
 and to study metaphysics, morals, and politics in Greek, when the 
 Greek alone is study enough without them. In all foreign lan- 
 guages, the most popular works are works of imagination. Even 
 in the French language, which we know so well, for one serious 
 work which has any currency in this country, we have twenty 
 which are mere works of imagination. This is still more true in 
 classical literature ; because what their poets and orators have left 
 us, is of infinitely greater value than the remains of their philoso- 
 phy; for, as society advances, men think more accurately and 
 deeply, and imagine more tamely; works of reasoning advance, 
 and works of fancy decay. So that the matter of fact is, that a 
 classical scholar of twenty-three or twenty-four years of age, is a 
 man principally conversant with works of imagination. His feel- 
 ings are quick, his fancy lively, and his taste good. ‘Talents for 
 speculation and original inquiry he has none; nor has he formed 
 the invaluable habit of pushing things up to their first principles, or 
 of collecting dry and unamusing facts as the materials of reasoning. 
 All the solid and masculine parts of his understanding are left 
 wholly without cultivation; he hates the pain of thinking, and sus- 
 pects every man whose boldness and originality call upon him to 
 defend his opinions and prove his assertions. 
 
 A very curious argument is sometimes employed in justification 
 of the learned minutiz to which all young men are doomed, what- 
 ever be their propensities in future life. What are you to do with 
 
JUSTICE TO HUMAN LIFE. 127 
 
 a young man up to the age of seventeen? Just as if there was 
 such a want of difficulties to overcome, and of important tastes to 
 inspire, that from the mere necessity of doing something, and the 
 impossibility of doing anything else, you were driven to the expe- 
 dient of metre and poetry; as if a young. man within that period 
 might not acquire the modern languages, modern history, experi- 
 mental philosophy, geography, chronology, and a considerable 
 share of mathematics; as if the memory of things were not more 
 agreeable and more profitable than the memory of words. 
 
 The great objection is, that we are not making the most of 
 human life, when we constitute such an extensive, and such minute 
 classical erudition, an indispensable article in education. Up toa 
 certain point we would educate every young man in Latin and 
 Greek; but to a point far short of that to which this species of 
 education is now carried. Afterward, we would grant to classical 
 erudition as high honours as to every other department of knowl- 
 edge, but not higher. We would place it upon a footing with 
 many other objects of study; but allow it no superiority. Good 
 scholars would be as certainly produced by these means as good 
 chemists, astronomers, and mathematicians are now produced, 
 without any direct provision whatsoever for their production. 
 Why are we to trust to the diversity of human tastes, and the 
 varieties of human ambition in everything else, and distrust it in 
 classics alone? The passion for language is just as strong as any 
 other literary passion. ‘There are very good Persian and Arabic 
 scholars in this country. Large heaps of trash have been dug up 
 from Sanscrit ruins. We have seen, in our own times, a clergy- 
 man of the University of Oxford complimenting their majesties in 
 Coptic and Syropheenician verses; and yet we doubt whether 
 there will be a sufficient avidity in literary men to get at the beau- 
 ties of the finest writers which the world has yet seen; and 
 though the Bagvat Gheeta has (as can be proved) met with human 
 beings to translate, and other human beings to read it, we think 
 that, in order to secure an attention to Homer and Virgil, we must 
 catch up every man—whether he is to be a clergyman or a duke 
 —begin with him at six years of age, and never quit him till he 
 is twenty; making him conjugate and decline for life and death; 
 and so teaching him to estimate his progress in real wisdom as he 
 can scan the verses of the Greek tragedians. 
 
i a 
 
 ion | 
 - 
 
 4 
 : wt 
 
 128 DESTRUCTION OF TALENT. 
 
 The English clergy, in whose hands education entirely rests, 
 bring up the first young men of the country as if they were all to 
 keep grammar-schools in little country-towns; and a nobleman, 
 upon whose knowledge and liberality the honour and welfare of 
 his country may depend, is diligently worried, for half his life, 
 with the small pedantry of longs and shorts. There is a timid 
 and absurd apprehension, on the part of ecclesiastical tutors, of 
 letting out the minds of youth upon difficult and important sub- 
 jects. They fancy that mental exertion must end in religious 
 skepticism; and, to preserve the principles of their pupils, they 
 confine them fo the safe and elegant imbecility of classical learning. 
 A genuine Oxford tutor would shudder to hear his young men 
 disputing upon moral and political truth, forming and pulling down 
 theories, and indulging in all the boldness of youthful discussion. 
 He would augur nothing from it but impiety to God and treason 
 to kings. And yet, who vilifies both more than the holy poltroon 
 who carefully averts from them the searching eye of reason, and 
 who knows no better method of teaching the highest duties, than 
 by extirpating the finest qualities and habits of the mind? If our 
 religion is a fable the sooner it is exploded the better. If our 
 government is bad, it should be amended. But we have no doubt 
 of the truth of the one, or of the excellence of the other; and 
 are convinced that both will be placed on a firmer basis in propor- 
 tion as the minds of men are more trained to the investigation of 
 truth. At present, we act with the minds of our young men as 
 the Dutch did with their exuberant spices. An infinite quantity 
 of talent is annually destroyed in the universities of England by 
 the miserable jealousy and littleness of ecclesiastical instructors. 
 It is in vain to say we have produced great men under this system. 
 We have produced great men under all systems. Every Englishman 
 must pass half his life in learning Latin and Greek; and classical 
 learning is supposed to have produced the talents which it has not ° 
 been able to extinguish. It is scarcely possible to prevent great 
 men from rising up under any system of education, however bad. 
 Teach men demonology or astrology, and you will still have a 
 certain portion of original genius, in spite of these or any other 
 branches of ignorance and folly. 
 
 There is a delusive sort of splendour in a vast body of men 
 pursuing one object, and thoroughly obtaining it; and yet, though 
 
: aa’ 2 
 ores OF SCIENCE. | 129 8 
 
 ot 
 
 it be very splendid, it is far from being useful. Classical literature 
 is the great object at Oxford. Many minds so employed have pro- 
 duced many works and much fame in that department ; but if all 
 liberal arts and sciences useful to human life had been taught there 
 —if some had dedicated themselves to chemistry, some to mathe- 
 matics, some to experimental philosophy —and if every attainment 
 had been honoured in the mixed ratio of its difficulty and utility 
 —the system of such a University would have been much more 
 valuable, but the splendour of its name something less. 
 
 When a University has been doing useless things for a long 
 time, it appears at first degrading to them to be useful. A set of 
 lectures upon political economy would be discouraged in Oxford,* 
 probably despised, probably not permitted. To discuss the enclo- 
 sure of commons, and to dwell upon imports and exports—te 
 come so near to common life, would seem to be undignified and 
 contemptible. In the same manner, the Parr or the Bentley of 
 his day, would be scandalized in a University to be put on a level 
 with the discoverer of a neutral salt; and yet, what other measure 
 is there of dignity in intellectual labour, but usefulness and diffi- 
 culty? And what ought the term University to mean, but a place 
 where every science is taught which is liberal, and at the same 
 time useful to mankind? Nothing would so much tend to bring 
 classical literature within proper bounds, as a steady and invariable 
 appeal to these tests in our appreciation of all human knowledge. 
 The puffed-up pedant would collapse into his proper size, and the 
 maker of verses, and the rememberer of words, would soon assume 
 that station which is the lot of those who go up unbidden to the 
 upper places of the feast. 
 
 We should be sorry if what we have said should appear too 
 contemptuous toward classical learning, which we most sincerely 
 hope will always be held in great honour in this country, though 
 we certainly do not wish to it that exclusive honour which it at 
 present enjoys. <A great classical scholar is an ornament, and an 
 important acquisition to his country; but, in a place of education, 
 we would give to all knowledge an equal chance for distinction ; 
 and would trust to the varieties of human disposition that every 
 science worth cultivation would be cultivated. Looking always to 
 real utility as our guide, we should see, with equal pleasure, a 
 
 * They have since been established. 
 G* 
 
130 OBJECTS OF EDUCATION. 
 
 studious and inquisitive mind arranging the productions of nature, 
 investigating the qualities of bodies, or mastering the difficulties 
 of the learned languages. We should not care whether he were 
 chemist, naturalist, or scholar; because we know it to be as neces- 
 sary that matter should be studied, and subdued to the use of man, 
 as that taste should be gratified, and imagination inflamed. 
 
 In those who were destined for the church, we would un- 
 doubtedly encourage classical learning more than in any other 
 body of men; but if we had to do with a young man going out 
 into public life, we would exhort him to contemn, or at least not to 
 affect, the reputation of a great scholar, but to educate himself for 
 the offices of civil life. He should learn what the constitution of 
 his country really was— how it had grown into its present state— 
 the perils that had threatened it—the malignity that had attacked 
 it—the courage that had fought for it, and the wisdom that had 
 made it great. We would bring strongly before his mind the 
 characters of those Englishmen who have been the steady friends 
 of the public happiness; and by their examples, would breathe 
 into him a pure public taste which should keep him untainted in 
 all the vicissitudes of political fortune. We would teach him to 
 burst through the well-paid, and the pernicious cant of indiscrimi- 
 nate loyalty; and to know his sovereign only as he discharged 
 those duties, and displayed those qualities, for which the blood and 
 the treasure of his people are confided to his hands. We should 
 deem it of the utmost importance that his attention was directed 
 to the true principles of legislation — what effect laws can produce 
 upon opinions, and opinions upon laws—what subjects.are fit for 
 legislative interference, and when men may be left to the manage- 
 ment of their own interests. ‘The mischief occasioned by bad 
 laws, and the perplexity which arises from numerous laws—the 
 causes of national wealth—the relations of foreign trade—the 
 encouragement of manufactures and agriculture—the fictitious 
 wealth occasioned by paper credit—the laws of population—the 
 management of poverty and mendicity—the use and abuse of 
 monopoly—the theory of taxation—the consequences of the 
 public debt. ‘These are some of the subjects, and some of the 
 branches of civil education to which we would turn the minds of 
 future judges, future senators, and future noblemen. After the 
 first period of life had been given up to the cultivation of the 
 
; vi: 
 REPLICATION OF A REVIEWER. _. 131 
 
 classics, and the reasoning powers were now beginning to evolve 
 themselves, these are some of the propensities in study which we 
 would endeavour to-inspire. Great knowledge, at such a period 
 of life, we could not convey; but we might fix a decided taste for 
 its acquisition, and a strong disposition to respect it in others. 
 The formation of some great scholars we should certainly pre- 
 vent, and hinder many from learning what, in a few years, they 
 would necessarily forget; but this loss would be well repaid —if 
 we could show the future rulers of the country that thought and 
 labour which it requires to make a nation happy—or if we could 
 inspire them with that love of public virtue, which, after religion, 
 we most solemnly believe to be the brightest ornament of the mind 
 of man. 
 
 {The discussion which grew out of ‘the preceding and other articles in the 
 Edinburgh Review, has been already noticed (Memoir ante p. 45). The 
 reader may be interested in a few passages of Smith’s reply to the strictures 
 of Copleston. They are taken from the article, ‘‘Calumnies Against Ox- 
 ford.” Ed. Rev., April, 1810.] 
 
 REPLY TO COPLESTON. 
 
 Come we next to the third mould or crucible into which this 
 Oxford gentleman has poured his melted lead,—viz. his reply to 
 our more general observations on the use and abuse of classical 
 learning, and on the undue importance assigned to it in English 
 education; and as this part of his work is more remarkable than 
 the rest for its ostentatious dullness, and its gross departure from 
 the language and manners of a gentleman, we must be excused for 
 bestowing on it a little more of our time than we are in the habit 
 of wasting on such men and such things....... 
 
 Admitting that a young man, though occupied in ae coutine 
 verbal ‘difficulties, has acquired the same real knowledge as if his 
 path had been completely without obstruction— what is all this 
 to the purpose? Our objection is not, that classical knowledge 
 is not a good, but that it is not the only good. We contend that 
 all young men need not be made great classical scholars; that 
 some may be allowed to deviate into mathematical knowledge — 
 some into chemistry, some into natural philosophy—some into po- 
 litical economy —some into modern languages; that all these oc- 
 cupations, though not, perhaps, superior in importance to classical 
 
132 CRANZIUS AND ERNESTI. 
 
 erudition, are not inferior to it; that we are making only one 
 article, when we ought to be making many ; ‘that the sole occupa- 
 tion of all young Englishmen, educated at Oxford, is to become 
 Latin and Greek scholars. Of the verses so much admired, and 
 so indiscreetly quoted by this gentleman, we shall only say, 
 
 Tale tuum nobis carmen, divine poeta, 
 Quale sopor. 
 
 The encomiast should remember, that his Bee model was remark- 
 ably careful of committing himself in print: and again and again 
 we warn our author to beware of opportunities ; they will, one day 
 or another, prove his ruin. 
 
 We did not say that poetry only is read in classical education ; 
 but that the most valuable works which the ancients have left us, 
 are their works of fancy; that these are, beyond all comparison, 
 more read than their works either of history or philosophy; and 
 that this, joined, to the horrible absurdity of verse-making, does 
 (where classical education does not end in downright pedantry) 
 often make it a mere cultivation of the imagination at the expense 
 of every other faculty. Sometimes, indeed, as in the melancholy 
 instance before us, this price is paid for imagination, and the arti- 
 cle never delivered. 
 
 Shocked and alarmed as this monk, or rather let us say, this 
 nun, is with the mention of the amours of Pan and Jupiter—we 
 must still maintain, that the loves of the heathen gods and god- 
 desses are the principal subjects by which the attention of young 
 men is engaged in the first years of education. We are sorry to 
 call up a blush into the face of this sly tutor; but the fact is as we 
 state it. 
 
 The observations of this writer are, like children’s cradles —fa- 
 miliar to old women—sometimes empty —sometimes full of noisy ~ 
 imbecility—and often lulling to sleep. There never, perhaps, 
 was a more striking instance of silly and contemptible pedantry, 
 
 than the long, dull and serious answer which he has taken the. 
 
 trouble to make to our joke about Cranzius, and the ZEyrnesti. 
 What can it possibly signify, whether we used the name of one 
 ereat fool, or of another great fool? *Let this writer put his own 
 name to his productions, and it shall take the place of Cranzius in 
 our next edition....... 
 
 One who passes for a great man in a little place, generally 
 
A BARNDOOR FOWL. 138 
 
 makes himself very ridiculous when he ventures out of it. Nothing 
 ean exceed the pomp and trash of this gentleman’ s observations ; 
 they can only proceed from the habit of livin with third-rate per- 
 sons; from possessing the right of compelling ‘boys to listen to 
 him; and from making a very cruel use of this privilege. More 
 equal company could never have made him an able man; but they 
 would soon have persuaded him to hold his tongue. That there is 
 something in this gentleman, we do not deny ; but he does not ap- 
 pear to us to have the slightest conception how very little that 
 something is, nor in what his moderate talents consist. He is 
 evidently intended for a plain, plodding, everyday personage —to 
 do no foolish things—and to say no wise ones—to walk in the 
 cart-harness that is prepared for him—and to step into every com- 
 monplace notion that prevails in the times in which he happens 
 to exist. If he would hold his tongue, and carefully avoid all op- 
 portunities of making a display, he is just the description of person 
 to enjoy a very great reputation among those whose good opinion 
 is not worth having. Unfortunately, he must pretend to liberality 
 —to wit—to eloquence—and to fine writing. He must show his 
 brother-tutors that he is not afraid of Edinburgh Reviewers. If 
 he returns rolled in the mud, broken-headed, and bellowing with 
 pain, who has he but himself to blame ? 
 
 He who has seen a barn-door fowl flying—and only he—can 
 form some conception of this tutor’s eloquence. With his neck 
 and hinder parts brought into a line—with loud screams, and all 
 the agony of feathered fatness—the ponderous little glutton flaps 
 himself up into the air, and, soaring four feet above the level of 
 our earth, falls dull and breathless on his native dunghill. Of these 
 sublime excursions, let the following suffice as specimens : 
 
 
 
 “There are emotions which eloquence can raise, and which lead to loftier 
 thoughts, and nobler aspirings, than commonly spring up in the private in- 
 tercourse of men: when the latent flame of genius has been kindled by some 
 transient ray, shot perhaps at random, and aimed least where it took the 
 greatest effect, but which has set all the kindred sparks that lay there, in 
 such a heat and stir as that no torpid indolence, or low, earthy-rooted cares, 
 shall ever again smother or keep them down. From this high lineage may 
 spring a never-failing race; few, indeed, but more illustrious because they are 
 few, through whom the royal blood of philosophy shall descend,” &c. &c. pp. 
 148, 149. | 
 
 “We want not men who are clipped and espaliered into any form which the 
 
134 UTILITY OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 whim of the gardener may dictate, or the narrow limits of his parterre re- 
 quire. Let our saplings take their full spread, and send forth their vigorous 
 shoots in all the boldness and variety of nature. Their luxuriance must be 
 pruned ; their distortions rectified ; the rust and canker and caterpillar of vice 
 carefully kept from them; we must dig round them, and water them, and re- 
 plenish the exhaustion of the soil by continual dressing.” p, 157. 
 
 One more, and we have done for ever. 
 
 ‘“‘ That finished offspring of genius starts not, like Minerva, from the head of 
 Jupiter, perfect at once in stature, and clad in complete armour; but is the 
 produce of slow birth, and often of a hard delivery; the tender nursling of 
 many an infant year —the pupil of a severe school, formed and chastened by 
 a persevering discipline.” p. 129. 
 
 We question if mere natural dullness, unaided by punch, ever 
 before produced such writing as this..... se 
 
 We have already shown, how very imperfectly this gentleman 
 understands his own silly art of verbal criticism; but when he 
 comes upon subjects of real importance, nothing can well exceed 
 the awkwardness of his movements ;—he is like a coach-horse on 
 the trottoir—his feet don’t seem made to stand on such places. 
 The objections which he makes to the science of chemistry, are 
 really curious —that it raises and multiplies the means of subsis- 
 tence, and terminates merely in the bodily wants of man: in other 
 words —donum rationis divinitus datum in usus humani generis 
 impendit. And what, we should be glad to know, is the main ob- 
 ject of most branches of human knowledge, if it be not to minister 
 to the bodily wants of man? What is the utility of mathematics, 
 but as they are brought to bear upon navigation, astronomy, me- 
 chanics, and so upon bodily wants? What is the object of medi- 
 cine?—what of anatomy?—what greater purposes have law 
 and politics in view, but to consult our bodily wants—to protect 
 those who minister to them—and to arrange the conflicting inter- 
 ests and pretensions which these wants occasion? Here is an ex- 
 act instance of the mischief of verbal studies. This man has been 
 so long engaged in trifles which have the most remote and faint 
 connection with human affairs, that a science appears to him abso- 
 lutely undignified and degrading, because it ministers to the bodily 
 wants of mankind—as if one of the greatest objects of human 
 wisdom had not at all times been to turn the properties of matter 
 to the use.of man: and then he asks, if ministration to bodily wants 
 is the test of merit in any science, and a reason for its reception in 
 
CHEMISTRY. tea 
 
 places of education, why the mechanical arts are excluded? But, 
 need this man—need any man—need any boy who has been 
 baptized and breeched, be told, that any single mechanical art is 
 less honoured than chemistry, only because it is less useful, and at 
 the same time less difficult ?—or, in other words, that every branch 
 of human knowledge is estimated, not by its utility alone, but in 
 the mixed ratio of its utility and its difficulty; and that it is this very 
 method of deciding upon merit, that renders the publication before 
 us so utterly contemptible as it is? 
 
 It is impossible to follow this gentleman into all the ditches into 
 which he tumbles, or through all the sloughs in which he wades. 
 The critic must go on noticing only those effusions of dullness 
 which are the most prominent— Summa papavera carpens. 
 
 We are quite convinced this instructor confounds together the 
 chemist of the shops and the philosophical chemist: he may be as- 
 sured, however (whatever he may hear to the contrary), that they 
 are two distinct classes of persons; and that there are actually 
 many ingenious persons engaged in investigating the properties of 
 bodies, who never sold a mercurial powder or an ounce of glauber 
 salts in their lives. By way of exercise, we would wish this writer 
 to reflect, fasting, upon the alteration produced in human affairs by 
 glass and by gunpowder— and then to consider whether chemistry 
 is solely occupied with the bodily wants of mankind, and with the 
 improvement of manufactures; and though we are aware that his 
 first guess will be, that the invention of these two substances has 
 made it more easy to drink port wine, and to kill partridges, yet we 
 can assure him, they have produced effects of still greater impor- 
 tance to mankind. We are not indulging in any pleasantry for the 
 mere sake of misleading him, but honestly stating the plain truth. 
 
 The moment an envious pedant sees anything written with 
 pleasantry, he comforts himself that it must be superficial. Whe- 
 ther the Reviewer is or is not considered as a superficial person 
 by competent judges, he neither knows nor cares; but says what 
 he has to say after his own manner —always confident, that, what- 
 ever he may be, he shall be found out, and classed as he deserves. 
 The Oxford tutor may very possibly have given a just account of 
 him; but his reasons for that judgment are certainly wrong: for 
 it is by no means impossible to be entertaining and instructive at 
 the same time; and the readers of this pamphlet (if any) can 
 
136 MEN AND WOMEN. 
 
 never doubt, after such a specimen, how easy it is to be, in one 
 
 small produetion, both very frivolous and very tiresome. ...... 
 We had almost forgotten to state, that this author’s substitutes 
 for lectures in moral philosophy, are sermons delivered from the 
 University pulpit. He appears totally ignorant of what the terms 
 moral philosophy mean. But enough of him and of his ignorance. 
 We leave him now to his longs and shorts. 
 I nunc, et versus tecum meditare canoros. 
 
 
 
 FEMALE EDUCATION.* 
 
 A GREAT deal has been said of the original difference of capa- 
 city between men and women; as if women were more quick, and 
 men more judicious—as if women were more remarkable for 
 delicacy of association, and men for stronger powers of attention. 
 All this, we confess, appears to us very fanciful. That there is a 
 difference in the understandings of the men and the women we 
 every day meet with, everybody, we suppose, must perceive; but 
 there is none surely which may not be accounted for by the dif- 
 ference of circumstances in which they have been placed, without 
 referring to any conjectural difference of original conformation of 
 mind. As long as boys and girls run about in the dirt, and trundle 
 hoops together, they are both precisely alike. If you catch up 
 one half of these creatures, and train them to a particular set of 
 actions and opinions, and the other half to a perfectly opposite set, 
 of course their understandings will differ, as one or the other sort 
 of occupations has called this or that talent into action. There is 
 surely no occasion to go into any deeper or more abstruse reason- 
 ing, in order to explain so very simple a phenomenon. ‘Taking it, 
 then, for granted, that nature has been as bountiful of understand- 
 ing to one sex as the other, it is incumbent on us to consider what 
 are the principal objections commonly made against the communi- 
 cation of a greater share of knowledge to women than commonly 
 falls to their lot at present: for though it may be doubted whether 
 women should learn all that men learn, the immense disparity 
 which now exists between their knowledge we should hardly think 
 could admit of any rational defence. It is not easy to imagine 
 that there can be any just cause why a woman of forty should be 
 
 * Ed. Rey., Jan., 1810. 
 
 %; 
 
LEISURE OF THE SEXES, 187 
 
 more ignorant than a boy of twelve years of age. If there be 
 any good at all in female ignorance, this (to use a very colloquial 
 phrase) is surely too much of a good thing. 
 
 Something in this question must depend, no doubt, upon the 
 leisure which either sex enjoys for the cultivation of their under- 
 standings :—and we can not help thinking, that women have fully 
 as much, if not more, idle time upon their hands than men. 
 Women are excluded from all the serious business of the world; 
 men are lawyers, physicians, clergymen, apothecaries, and justices 
 of the peace—sources of exertion which consume a great deal 
 more time than producing and suckling children; so that, if the 
 thing is a thing that ought to be done—if the attainments of litera- 
 ture are objects really worthy the attention of females, they can 
 not plead the want of leisure as an excuse for indolence and neg- 
 lect. ‘The lawyer who passes his day in exasperating the bicker- 
 ings of Roe and Doe, is. certainly as much engaged as his lady 
 who has the whole of the morning before her to correct the chil- 
 dren and pay the bills. The apothecary, who rushes from an act 
 of phlebotomy in the western parts of the town to insinuate a bolus 
 in the east, is surely as completely absorbed as that fortunate fe- 
 male who is darning the garment, or preparing the repast of her 
 ZEsculapius at home; and, in every degree and situation of life, it 
 seems that men must necessarily be exposed to more serious de- 
 mands upon their time and attention than can possibly be the case 
 with respect to the other sex. We are speaking always of the 
 fair demands which ought to be made upon the time and attention 
 of women; for, as the matter now stands, the time of women is 
 considered as worth nothing at all. Daughters are kept to occu- 
 pations in sewing, patching, mantua-making, and mending, by 
 which it is impossible they can earn tenpence a day. The intel- 
 lectual improvement of women is considered to be of such subordi- 
 nate importance, that twenty pounds paid for needlework would 
 give to a whole family leisure to acquire a fund of real knowledge. 
 They are kept with nimble fingers and vacant understandings till 
 the season for improvement is utterly passed away, and all chance 
 of forming more important habits completely lost. We do not 
 therefore say that women have more leisure than men, if it be 
 necessary that they should lead the life of artisans; but we make 
 this assertion only upon the supposition, that it is of some impor- 
 
ge OS INS a Se > ee ie eae a 
 ie Fs SEE ee na le a eo 
 
 - 
 
 138 PEDANTRY. 
 
 tance women should be instructed; and that many ordinary occu- 
 pations, for which a little money will find a better substitute, should 
 be sacrificed to this consideration. 
 
 We bar, in this discussion, any objection which proceeds from 
 the mere novelty of teaching women more than they are already 
 taught. It may be useless that their education should be improved, 
 or it may be pernicious; and these are the fair grounds on which 
 the question may be argued. But those who cannot bring their 
 minds to consider such an unusual extension of knowledge, without 
 connecting with it some sensation of the ludicrous, should remem- 
 ber that, in the progress from absolute ignorance, there is a period 
 when cultivation of the mind is new to every rank and description of 
 persons. A century ago, who would have believed that country 
 gentlemen could be brought to read and spell with the ease and 
 accuracy which we now so frequently remark—or supposed that 
 they could be carried up even to the elements of ancient and mod- 
 ern history? Nothing is more common, or more stupid, than to 
 take the actual for the possible —to believe that all which is, is all 
 which can be; first to laugh at every proposed deviation from 
 practice as impossible—then, when it is carried into effect, to be 
 astonished that it did not take place before. 
 
 It is said, that the effect of knowledge is to make women pe- 
 dantic and affected; and that nothing can be more offensive than 
 to see a woman stepping out of the natural modesty of her sex to 
 make an ostentatious display of her literary attainments. This 
 may be true enough; but the answer is so trite and obvious, that 
 we are almost ashamed to make it. All affectation and display 
 proceed from the supposition of possessing something better than 
 the rest of the world possesses. Nobody is vain of possessing two 
 legs and two arms ;—because that is the precise quantity of either 
 sort of limb which everybody possesses. Who ever heard a lady 
 boast that she understood French ?—for no other reason, that we 
 know of, but because everybody in these days does understand 
 French ; and though there may be some disgrace in being ignorant 
 of that language, there is little or no merit in its acquisition. ~ Dif- 
 fuse knowledge generally among women, and you will at once cure 
 the conceit which knowledge occasions while it is rare. Vanity 
 and conceit we shall of course witness in men and women as long 
 as the world endures: but by multiplying the attainments upon 
 
 
 
FORCE OF NATURE. 139 
 
 which these feelings are founded, you increase the difficulty of in- 
 dulging them, and render them much more tolerable, by making 
 them the proofs of a much higher merit. When learning ceases 
 to be uncommon among women, learned women will cease to be 
 affected. 
 
 A great many of the lesser and more obscure duties of life ne- 
 cessarily devolve upon the female sex. The arrangement of all 
 household matters, and the care of children in their early infancy, 
 must of course depend upon them. Now, there is a very general 
 notion, that the moment you put the education of women upon a 
 better footing than it is at present, at that moment there will be an 
 end of all domestic economy ; and that, if you once suffer women 
 to eat of the tree of knowledge, the rest ofthe family will very 
 soon be reduced to the same kind of aerial and unsatisfactory diet. 
 These, and all such opinions, are referable to one great and com- 
 mon cause of error; that man does everything, and that nature 
 does nothing; and that everything we see is referable to positive 
 institution rather than to original feeling. Can anything, for ex- 
 ample, be more perfectly absurd than to suppose that the care and 
 perpetual solicitude which a mother feels for her children depend 
 upon her ignorance of Greek and mathematics ; and that she would 
 desert an infant for a quadratic equation? We seem to imagine 
 that we can break in pieces the solemn institutions of nature, by the 
 little laws of a boarding-school; and that the existence of the hu- 
 man race depends upon teaching women a little more or a little 
 less ;—that Cimmerian ignorance can aid parental affection, or the 
 circle of arts and sciences produce its destruction. In the same 
 manner, we forget the principles upon which the love of order, ar- 
 rangement, and all the arts of economy depend. They depend not 
 upon ignorance nor idleness ; but upon the poverty, confusion, and 
 ruin which would ensue for neglecting them. Add to these prin- 
 ciples, the love of what is beautiful and magnificent, and the vanity 
 of display ;—and there can surely be no reasonable doubt but that 
 the order and economy of private life is amply secured from the 
 perilous inroads of knowledge. 
 
 We would fain know, too, if knowledge is to produce such bane- 
 ful effects upon the material and the household virtues, why this 
 influence has not already been felt? Women are much better edu- 
 cated now than they were a century ago; but they are by no means 
 
gee 2 ee 
 
 we 
 i 
 “— * 
 ‘> « 
 
 (Fx 
 
 140 SIMPLE PLEASURES. _ 
 
 less remarkable for attention to the arrangements of their house- 
 hold, or less inclined to discharge the offices of parental affection. 
 It would be very easy to show, that the same objection has been 
 made at all times to every improvement in the education of both 
 sexes, and all ranks—and been as uniformly and completely refu- 
 ted by experience. <A great part of the objections made to the 
 education of women, are rather objections made to human nature 
 than to the female sex: for it is surely true, that knowledge, where 
 it produces any bad effects at all, does as much mischief to one 
 sex as to the other—and gives birth to fully as much arrogance, 
 inattention to common affairs, and eccentricity among men, as it 
 does among women. But it by no means follows, that you get rid 
 of vanity and self-conceit because you get rid of learning. Self- 
 complacency can never want an excuse ; and the best way to make 
 it more tolerable, and more useful, is to give to it as high and as 
 dignified an object as possible. But at all events it is unfair to 
 bring forward against a part of the world an objection which is 
 equally powerful against the whole. When foolish women think 
 they have any distinction, they are apt to be proud of it; so are 
 foolish men. But we appeal to any one who has lived with culti- 
 vated persons of either sex, whether he has not witnessed as much 
 pedantry, as much wrongheadedness, as much arrogance, and cer- 
 tainly a great deal more rudeness, produced by learning in men, 
 than in women; therefore, we should make the accusation general 
 —or dismiss it altogether; though, with respect to pedantry, the 
 learned are certainly a little unfortunate, that so very emphatic a 
 word, which is occasionally applicable to all men embarked eagerly 
 in any pursuit, should be reserved exclusively for them: for, as 
 pedantry is an ostentatious obtrusion of knowledge, in which those 
 who hear us cannot sympathize, it is a fault of which soldiers, 
 sailors, sportsmen, gamesters, cultivators, and all men engaged in a 
 particular occupation, are quite as guilty as scholars ; but they have 
 the good fortune to have the vice only of pedantry—while schol- 
 ars have both the vice and the name for it too. 
 
 Some persons are apt to contrast the acquisition of important 
 knowledge with what they call simple pleasures; and deem it 
 more becoming that a woman should educate flowers, make friend- 
 ships with birds, and pick up plants, than enter into more difficult 
 and fatiguing studies. If a woman have no taste and genius for 
 
‘- we oe, 
 
 . 
 
 te a A 
 EDUCATION OF WOMEN. 141 
 eT 
 
 higher occupations, let her engage in these to be sure rather than 
 remain destitute of any pursuit. But why are we necessarily to 
 doom a girl, whatever be her taste or her capacity, to one unvaried 
 line of petty and frivolous occupation? If she be full of strong 
 sense and elevated curiosity, can there be any reason why she 
 should be diluted and enfeebled down to a mere culler of simples, 
 and fancier of birds— why books of history and reasoning are to 
 be torn out of her hand, and why she is to be sent, like a but- 
 terfly, to hover over the idle flowers of the field? Such amuse- 
 ments are innocent to those whom they can occupy; but they are 
 not innocent to those who have too powerful understandings to be 
 occupied by them. Light broths and fruits are innocent food only 
 to weak or to infant stomachs; but they are poison to that organ 
 in its perfect and mature state. But the great charm appears to 
 be in the word s¢mplicity — simple pleasure ! If by a simple pleasure 
 is meant an innocent pleasure, the observation is best answered by 
 showing, that the pleasure which results from the acquisition of 
 important knowledge is quite as innocent as any pleasure whatever : 
 but if by a simple pleasure is meant one, the cause of which can 
 be easily analyzed, or which does not last long, or which in itself 
 is very faint, then simple pleasures seem to be very nearly synon- 
 ymous with small pleasures: and if the simplicity were to be a 
 little increased, the pleasure would vanish altogether. | 
 
 As it is impossible that every man should have industry or activ- 
 ity sufficient to avail himself of the advantages of education, it 
 is natural that men who are ignorant themselves, should view, 
 with some degree of jealousy and alarm, any proposal for improv- 
 ing the education of women. But such men may depend upon it, 
 however the system of female education may be exalted, that there 
 will never be wanting a due proportion of failures; and that after 
 parents, guardians, and preceptors, have done all in their power to 
 make everybody wise, there will still be a plentiful supply of wo- 
 men who have taken special care to remain otherwise; and they 
 may rest assured, if the utter extinction of ignorance and folly be 
 the evil they dread, that their interests will always be effectually 
 protected, in spite of every exertion to the contrary. 
 
 We must in candour allow that those women who begin will 
 have something more to overcome than may probably hereafter be 
 the case. We cannot deny the jealousy which exists among pom- 
 
142 IGNORANCE. 
 
 pous and foolish men respecting the education of women. There 
 is a class of pedants who would be cut short in the estimation of 
 the world a whole cubit if it were generally known that a young 
 lady of eighteen could be taught to decline the tenses of the mid- 
 dle voice, or acquaint herself with the Holic varieties of that 
 celebrated language. Then women have, of course, all ignorant 
 men for enemies to their instruction, who being bound (as they 
 think), in point of sex, to know more, are not well pleased, in point 
 of fact, to know less. But, among men of sense and liberal polite- 
 ness, a woman who has successfully cultivated her mind, without 
 diminishing the gentleness and propriety of her manners, is always 
 sure to meet with a respect and attention bonds upon en- 
 thusiasm. 
 
 There is in either sex a strong and permanent disposition to 
 appear agreeable to the other: and this is the fair answer to those 
 
 _ who are fond of supposing, that a higher degree of knowledge 
 
 would make women rather the rivals than the companions of men. 
 Presupposing such a desire to please, it seems much more proba- 
 ble, that a common pursuit should be a fresh source of interest 
 than a cause of contention. Indeed, to suppose that any mode of 
 education can create a general jealousy and rivalry between the 
 sexes, is so very ridiculous, that it requires only to be stated in 
 order to be refuted. The same desire of pleasing secures all that 
 delicacy and reserve which are of such inestimable value to 
 women. We are quite astonished, in hearing men converse on 
 such subjects, to find them attributing such beautiful effects to 
 ignorance. It would appear, from the tenor of such objections, 
 that ignorance had been the great civilizer of the world. Women 
 are delicate and refined only because they are ignorant; they 
 manage their household, only because they are ignorant; they 
 attend to their children, only because they know no better. Now, 
 we must really confess, we have all our lives been so ignorant as 
 not to know the value of ignorance. We have always attributed 
 the modesty and the refined manners of women, to their being 
 well taught in moral and religious duty—to the hazardous :situa- 
 tion in which they are placed—to that perpetual vigilance which 
 it is their duty to exercise over thought, word, and action—and to 
 that cultivation of the mild virtues, which those who cultivate the 
 stern and magnanimous virtues expect at their hands. After all, 
 
 7 
 
> 
 
 DUTIES OF WOMEN. 148 
 
 let it be remembered, we are. not saying there are no objections to 
 the diffusion of knowledge among the female sex. We would not 
 hazard such a proposition respecting anything; but we are saying, 
 that, upon the whole, it is the best method of employing time; and 
 that there are fewer objections to it than to any other method. 
 There are, perhaps, fifty thousand females in Great Britain who 
 are exempted by circumstances from all necessary labour: but 
 every human being must do something with their existence; and 
 the pursuit of knowledge is, upon the whole, the most innocent, 
 the most dignified, and the most useful method of filling up that 
 idleness, of which there is always so large a portion in nations far 
 advanced in civilization. Let any man reflect, too, upon the soli- 
 tary situation in which women are placed—the ill-treatment to | 
 which they are sometimes exposed, and which they must endure 
 in silence, and without the power of complaining—and he must 
 feel convinced that the happiness of a woman will be materially 
 increased in proportion as education has given to her the habit and 
 the means of drawing her resources from herself. 3 
 There are a few common phrases in circulation, respecting the 
 duties of women, to which we wish to pay some degree of atten- 
 tion, because they are rather inimical to those opinions which we 
 have advanced on this subject. Indeed, independently of this, 
 there is nothing which requires more vigilance than the current 
 phrases of the day, of which there are always some resorted to in 
 every dispute, and from the sovereign authority of which it is 
 often vain to make any appeal. “The true theatre for a woman 
 is the sick-chamber ;’—“ Nothing so honourable to a woman as 
 not to be spoken of at all.’ These two phrases, the delight of 
 Noodledom, are grown into common-places upon the subject; and 
 are not unfrequently employed to extinguish that love of know]l- 
 edge in women, which, in our humble opinion, it is of so much 
 importance to cherish. Nothing, certainly, is so ornamental and 
 delightful in women as the benevolent affections; but time cannot 
 be filled up, and life employed, with high and impassioned virtues. 
 Some of these feelings are of rare occurrence—all of short dura- 
 tion—or nature would sink under them. A scene of distress and 
 anguish is an occasion where the finest qualities of the female 
 mind may be displayed; but it is a monstrous exaggeration to tell 
 women that they are born only for scenes of distress and anguish. 
 
144 NOTORIETY. 
 
 Nurse father, mother, sister, and brother, if they want it; it would 
 be a violation of the plainest duties to neglect them. But, when 
 we are talking of the common occupations of life, do not let us 
 mistake the accidents for the occupations; when we are arguing 
 how the twenty-three hours of the day are to be filled up, it is idle 
 to tell us of those feelings and agitations above the level of com- 
 mon existence, which may employ the remaining hour. Com- 
 passion, and every other virtue, are the great objects we all ought 
 to have in view; but no man (and no woman) can fill up the 
 twenty-four hours by acts of virtue. But one is a lawyer, and the 
 other a ploughman, and the third a merchant; and then, acts of 
 goodness, and intervals of compassion and fine feeling, are scat- 
 tered up and down the common occupations of life. We know 
 women are to be compassionate ; but they cannot be compassionate 
 from eight o’clock in the morning till twelve at night: and what 
 are they to do in the interval? This is the only question we have 
 been putting all along, and is all that can be meant by literary 
 education. 
 
 Then, again, as to the notoriety which is incurred by literature. 
 The cultivation of knowledge is a very distinct thing from its 
 publication; nor does it follow that a woman is to become an 
 author merely because she has talent enough for it. We do not 
 wish a lady to write books—to defend and reply—to squabble 
 about the tomb of Achilles, or the plain of Troy—any more than 
 we wish her to dance at the opera, to play at a public concert, or 
 to put pictures in the exhibition, because she has learned music, 
 dancing, and drawing. ‘The great use of her knowledge will be 
 that it contributes to her private happiness. She may make it 
 public: but it is not the principal object which the friends of female 
 education have in view. Among men, the few who write bear no 
 comparison to the many who read. We hear most of the former, 
 indeed, because they are, in general, the most ostentatious part of 
 literary men; but there are innumerable persons who, without 
 ever laying themselves before the public, have made use of litera-_ 
 ture to add to the strength of their understandings, and to improve 
 the happiness of their lives. After all, it may be an evil for ladies 
 to be talked of: but we really think those ladies who are talked 
 of only as Mrs. Marcet, Mrs. Somerville, and Miss Martineau, are 
 
HAPPINESS AT STAKE. 145 
 
 talked of, may bear their misfortunes with a very great degree of 
 Christian patience. | 
 
 Their exemption from all the necessary business of life is one 
 of the most powerful motives for the improvement of education in 
 women. Lawyers and physicians have in their professions a con- 
 stant motive to exertion; if you neglect their education, they must, 
 in a certain degree, educate themselves by their commerce with 
 the world: they must learn caution, accuracy, and judgment, 
 because they must incur responsibility. But if you neglect to 
 educate the mind of a woman, by the speculative difficulties which 
 occur in literature, it can never be educated at all: if you do not 
 effectually rouse it by education, it must remain for ever languid. 
 Uneducated men may escape intellectual degradation ; uneducated 
 women cannot. They have nothing to do; and if they come un- 
 taught from the schools of education, they will never be instructed 
 in the school of events. 
 
 Women have not their livelihood to gain by knowledge; and 
 that is one motive for relaxing all those efforts which are made in 
 the education of men. They certainly have not; but they have 
 happiness to gain, to which knowledge leads as probably as it does 
 to profit; and that is a reason against mistaken indulgence. 
 Besides, we conceive the labour and fatigue of accomplishments 
 to be quite equal to the labour and fatigue of knowledge; and 
 that it takes quite as many years to be charming as it does to be 
 learned. . 
 
 Another difference of the sexes is, that women are attended to, 
 and men attend. All acts of courtesy and politeness originate 
 from the one sex, and are received by the other. We can see no 
 sort of reason, in this diversity of condition, for giving to women 
 a trifling and insignificant education; but we see in it a very pow- 
 erful reasen for strengthening their judgment, and inspiring them 
 with the habit of employing time usefully. We admit many 
 striking differences in the situation of the two sexes, and many 
 striking differences of understanding, proceeding from the different 
 circumstances in which they are placed: but there is not a single 
 difference of this kind which does not afford a new argument for 
 making the education of women better than it is. They have 
 nothing serious to do; is that a reason why they should be brought 
 
 7 
 
Ps sy 
 a + 
 
 i>” gS SOLID ATTAINMENTS. , 
 wt ats 
 
 up to do nothing but what is trifling? They are exposed to 
 greater dangers; is that a reason why their faculties are to be pur- 
 posely and industr iously weakened? ‘They are to form the char- 
 acters of fature men} is that a cause why their own characters are 
 to be broken and frittered down as they now are? In short, there 
 is not a single trait in that diversity of circumstances, in which the 
 two sexes are placed, that does not decidedly prove the magnitude 
 of the error we commit in neglecting (as we do neglect) the edu- 
 cation of women. 
 
 If the objections against the better education of women could 
 be overruled, one of the great advantages that would ensue would 
 be the extinction of innumerable follies. A decided and prevailing 
 taste for one or another mode of education there must be. A 
 century past, it was for housewifery—now it is for accomplish- 
 ments. The object now is, to make women artists—to give them 
 an excellence in drawing, music, painting, and dancing—of which, 
 persons who make these pursuits the occupation of their lives, we 6 
 derive from them their subsistence, need not be ashamed. - Now, 
 
 one great evil of all this is, that it does not last. If the whole of life 
 
 were an Olympic game— if we could go on feasting and dancing 
 to the end—this might do; but it is in truth merely a® provision _- 
 for the little interval between coming into life, and settling in it; ay 
 
 while it leaves a long and dreary expanse behind, devoid both of: 
 
 dignity and cheerfulness. No mother, no woman who has passed 
 over the few first years of life, sings, or dances, or draws; or plays 
 upon musical instruments. These are merely means for displaying’ 
 the grace and vivacity of youth, which every woman gives up, as 
 
 she gives up the dress and manners of eighteen; she has no wish 
 to retain them; or, if she has, she is driven out of them by diame- 
 ter and derision. The system of female education, as it now 
 stands, aims only at embellishing a few years of life, which are in 
 themselves so full of grace and happiness, that they hardly want 
 it; and then leaves the rest of existence a miserable prey to idle 
 insignificance. No woman of understanding and reflection can 
 possibly conceive she is doing justice to her chilies by such kind 
 of education. The object is, to give to children resources that 
 will endure as long as life endures— habits that time will amelior- 
 ate, not destroy —occupations that will render sickness tolerable, 
 solitude pleasant, age venerable, life more dignified and useful, and 
 
 
 
cod 
 
 ~ , “tt * 
 
 <= 
 
 4 ACCOMPLISHMENTS. ¥ 147 
 a 
 
 therefore death less terrible: and the compensation which is offered 
 for the omission of all this, is a short-lived blaze—a little tem- 
 porary effect, which has no other consequence than,to deprive the 
 remainder of life of all taste and relish. There may be women 
 who have a taste for the fine arts, and who evince a decided talent 
 for drawing, or for music. In that case, there can be no objection 
 to the cultivation of these arts; but the error is, to make such 
 things the grand and universal object—to insist upon it that every 
 woman is to sing, and draw, and dance—with nature, or against 
 nature—to bind her apprentice to some accomplishment, and if 
 she cannot succeed in oil or water-colours, to prefer gilding, var- 
 nishing, burnishing, box-making, to real solid improvement in taste, 
 knowledge, and understanding. 
 
 A great deal is said in favour of the social nature of the fine 
 arts. Music gives pleasure to others. Drawing is an art, the 
 amusement of which does not centre in him who exercises it, but it 
 
 is diffused among the rest of the world. This is true; but there is 
 
 nothing, after all, so social as a cultivated mind. We do not mean 
 to speak. slightingly of the fine arts, or to depreciate the good hu- 
 mour with which they are sometimes exhibited ; but we appeal to 
 any man, -whether a Aittle spirited” and sensible conversation— 
 
 _ displaying, modestly, useful acquirements— and evincing rational 
 
 curiosity, is not well worth the highest exertions of musical or 
 
 graphical skill. A woman of accomplishments may entertain those 
 ‘who have the pleasure of knowing her for half an hour with great 
 
 brilliancy ; but a mind full of ideas, and with that elastic spring 
 which the love of knowledge only can convey, is a perpetual 
 source of exhilaration and amusement to all that come within its 
 reach ;—not collecting its force into single and insulated achieve- 
 ments, like the efforts made in the fine arts— but diffusing, equally 
 over the whole of existence, a calm pleasure—better loved as it is 
 
 ‘longer felt—and suitable to every variety and every period of 
 ‘ life. ‘Therefore, instead of hanging the understanding of a woman 
 
 upon walls, or hearing it vibrate upon strings—instead of seeing 
 it in clouds, or hearing it in the wind, we would make it the first 
 spring and ornament of society, by enriching it with attainments 
 upon which alone such power depends. 
 
 If the education of women were improved, the education of 
 men would be improved also. Let any one consider (in order to 
 
148 FORMATION OF CHARACTER. 
 
 bring the matter more home by an individual instance) of what im- 
 mense importance to society it is, whether a nobleman of first-rate for- 
 tune and distinction is well or ill brought up ;— whata taste and fash- 
 ion he may inspire for private and for political vice !—and what 
 misery and mischief he may produce to the thousand human beings 
 who are dependent on him! A country contains no such curse 
 within its bosom. Youth, wealth, high rank, and vice, form a 
 combination which baffles all remonstrance and beats down all 
 opposition. A man of high rank who combines these qualifica- 
 tions for corruption, is almost the master of the manners of the 
 age, and has the public happiness within his grasp. But the most 
 beautiful possession which a country can have is a noble and rich 
 man, who loves virtue and knowledge ;— who without being feeble 
 or fanatical is pious—and who without being factious is firm and 
 independent ;—who, in his political life, is an equitable mediator 
 between king and people ; and in his civil life, a firm promoter of 
 all which can shed a lustre upon his country, or promote the peace 
 and order of the world. But if these objects are of the importance 
 which we attribute to them, the education of women must be 
 important, as the formation of character for the first seven or eight 
 years of life seems to depend almost entirely upon them. It is 
 certainly in the power of a sensible and well-educated mother to 
 inspire, within that period,*such tastes and propensities as shall 
 nearly decide the destiny of the future man; and this is done, not 
 only by the intentional exertions of the mother, but by the gradual 
 and insensible imitation of the child; for there is something ex- 
 tremely contagious in greatness and rectitude of thinking, even at 
 that age; and the character of the mother with whom he passes his 
 early infancy, is always an event of the utmost importance to the 
 child. A merely accomplished woman cannot infuse her tastes 
 into the minds of her sons; and, if she could, nothing could be 
 more unfortunate than her success. Besides, when her accom- 
 plishments are given up, she has nothing left for it but to amuse 
 herself in the best way she can; and, becoming entirely frivolous, 
 either declines altogether the fatigue of attending to her children, 
 or, attending to them, has neither talents nor knowledge to succeed ; 
 and, therefore, here is a plain and fair answer to those who ask 
 so triumphantly, why should a woman dedicate herself to this 
 branch of knowledge? or why should she be attached to such 
 
 
 
EXERCISE OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 149 
 
 science ?— Because, by having gained information on these points, — 
 she may inspire her son with valuable tastes, which may abide by 
 him through life, and carry him up to all the sublimities of knowledge ; 
 because she cannot lay the foundation of a great character, if she 
 is absorbed in frivolous amusements, nor inspire her child with 
 noble desires, when along course of trifling has destroyed the little 
 talents which were left by a bad education. 
 
 It is of great importance to a country, that there should be 
 as many understandings as possible actively employed within it. 
 Mankind are much happier for the discovery of barometers, ther- 
 mometers, steam-engines, and all the innumerable inventions in the 
 arts and sciences. We are every day and every hour reaping the 
 benefit of such talent and ingenuity. The same observation is 
 true of such works as those of Dryden, Pope, Milton, and Shake- 
 speare. Mankind are much happier that such individuals have 
 lived and written; they add every day to the stock of public 
 enjoyment—and perpetually gladden and embellish life. Now, 
 the number of those who exercise their understandings to any good 
 purpose, is exactly in proportion to those who exercise it at all; 
 but, as the matter stands at present, half the talent in the universe 
 runs to waste, and is totally unprofitable. It would have been 
 almost as well for the world, hitherto, that women, instead of pos- 
 sessing the capacities they do at present, should have been born 
 wholly destitute of wit, genius, and every other attribute of mind, 
 of which men make so eminent a use: and the ideas of use and 
 possession are so united together, that, because it has been the 
 custom in almost all countries to give to women a different and 
 a worse education than to men, the notion has obtained that they 
 do not possess faculties which they do not cultivate. Just as, in 
 breaking up a common, it is sometimes very difficult to make the 
 poor believe it will carry corn, merely because they have been 
 hitherto accustomed to see it produce nothing but weeds and ‘grass 
 —they very naturally mistake present condition for general na- 
 ture. So completely have the talents of women been kept down, 
 that there is scarcely a single work, either of reason or imagination, 
 written by a woman, which is in general circulation either in the 
 English, French, or Italian literature ;—scarcely one that has 
 crept even into the ranks of our minor poets. 
 
 If the possession of excellent talents is not a conclusive reason 
 
150 PLEASURES OF CONVERSATION. 
 
 why they should be improved, it at least amounts to a very strong 
 presumption; and, if it can be shown that women may be trained 
 to reason and imagine as well as men, the strongest reasons are 
 certainly necessary to show us why we should not avail ourselves 
 of such rich gifts of nature ; and we have a right to call for a clear 
 statement of those perils which make it necessary that such talents 
 should be totally extinguished, or, at most, very partially drawn 
 out. The burthen of proof does not lie with those who say, increase 
 the quantity of talent in any country as much as possible—for 
 such a proposition is in conformity with every man’s feelings; but 
 it lies with those who say, take care to keep that understanding 
 weak and trifling, which nature has made capable of becoming 
 strong and powerful. The paradox is with them, not with us. In 
 all human reasoning, knowledge must be taken for a good, till it 
 can be shown to be an evil. But now, nature makes to us rich 
 and magnificent presents; and we say to her— You are too luxu- 
 riant and munificent— we must keep you under, and prune you; 
 —we have talents enough in the other half of the creation ;—and, 
 if you will not stupify and enfeeble the minds of women to our hands, 
 we ourselves must expose them to a narcotic process, and educate 
 away that fatal redundance with which the world is afflicted, and 
 the order of sublunary things deranged. 
 
 One of the greatest pleasures of life is conversation ;— and the 
 pleasures of conversation are of course enhanced by every increase 
 of knowledge: not that we should meet together to talk of alkalies 
 and angles, or to add to our stock of history and philology— 
 though a little of these things is no bad ingredient in conversation; 
 but let the subject be what it may, there is always a prodigious 
 difference between the conversation of those who have been well 
 educated and of those who have not enjoyed this advantage. Edu- 
 cation gives fecundity of thought, copiousness of illustration, quick- 
 ness, vigour, fancy, words, images and illustrations—it decorates 
 every common thing, and gives the power of trifling without being 
 undignified and absurd. The subjects themselves may not be 
 wanted, upon which the talents of an educated man have been ex- 
 ercised ; but there is always a demand: for those talents which his 
 education has rendered strong and quick. Now, really, nothing 
 can be further from our intention than to say anything rude and 
 unpleasant; but we must be excused for observing, that it is not 
 
PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE. 156 
 
 now a very common thing to be interested by the variety and ex- 
 tent of female knowledge, but. it is a very common thing to lament, 
 that the finest faculties in the world have been confined to trifles 
 utterly unworthy of their richness and their strength. 
 
 The pursuit of knowledge is the most innocent and interesting 
 occupation which can be given to the female sex; nor can here 
 be a better method of checking a spirit of dissipation than by dif- 
 fusing a taste for literature. The true way to attack vice, is by 
 setting up something else against it. Give to women, in early 
 youth, something to acquire, of sufficient interest and importance 
 to command the application of their mature faculties, and to excite 
 their perseverance in future life;—teach them that happiness is 
 to be derived from the acquisition of knowledge, as well as the 
 gratification of vanity ; and you will raise up amuch more formid- 
 able barrier against dissipation than a host of invectives and ex- 
 hortations can supply. 
 
 It sometimes happens that an unfortunate man: gets drunk with 
 very bad wine—not to gratify his palate, but to forget his cares: 
 he does not set any value on what he receives, but on account of 
 what it excludes— it keeps out something worse than itself. Now, 
 though it were denied that the acquisition of serious knowledge is 
 of itself important to a woman, still it prevents a taste for silly and 
 pernicious works of imagination; it keeps away the horrid trash 
 of novels; and; in lieu of that eagerness for emotion and adven- 
 ture which books of that sort inspire, promotes a calm and steady 
 temperament of mind. 
 
 A man who deseryes such a piece of good fortune, may general- 
 ly find an excellent companion for all vicissitudes of his life; but 
 it is not so easy to find a companion for his understanding, who 
 has similar pursuits with himself, or who can comprehend the pleas- 
 ure he derives from them. We really can see no reason why it 
 should not be otherwise; nor comprehend how the pleasures of 
 domestic life can be promoted by diminishing the number of sub- 
 jects in which persons who are to spend their lives together take 
 a common interest. ~ 
 
 One of the most agreeable consequences of knowledge is oie 
 respect and importance which it communicates to old age. Men 
 rise in character often as they increase in years ;—they are vene- 
 rable from what they have acquired, and pleasing from what they 
 
152 RESPECT IN AGE. 
 
 can impart. If they outlive their faculties, the mere frame itself 
 is respected for what it once contained; but women (such is their 
 unfortunate style of education) hazard everything upon one cast 
 of the die ;—-when youth is gone, all is gone. No human creature 
 gives his admiration for nothing ; either the eye must be charmed, 
 or the understanding gratified. A woman must talk wisely or look 
 well. Every human being must put up with the coldest civility, 
 who has neither the charms of youth nor the wisdom of age. 
 Neither is there the slightest commiseration for decayed accomplish- 
 ments ;——no man mourns over the fragments of a dancer, or drops 
 a tear on the relics of musical skill. They are flowers destined to 
 perish ; but the decay of great talents is always the subject of solemn 
 pity ; and, even when their last memorial is over, their ruins and 
 vestiges are regarded with pious affection. 
 
 There is no connection between the ignorance in which women 
 are kept, and the preservation of moral and religious principle; 
 and yet certainly there is, in the minds of some timid and respec- 
 table persons, a vague, indefinite dread of knowledge, as if it were 
 capable of producing these effects. It might almost be supposed, 
 from the dread which the propagation of knowledge has excited, 
 that there was some great secret which was to be kept in impene- 
 trable obscurity—that all moral rules were a species of delusion 
 and imposture, the detection of which, by the improvement of the 
 understanding, would be attended with the most fatal consequences 
 to all, and particularly to women. If we could possibly under- 
 stand what these great secrets were, we might perhaps be disposed 
 to concur in their preservation ; but believing that all the salutary 
 rules which are imposed on women are the result of true wisdom, 
 and productive of the greatest happiness, we can not understand 
 how they are to become less sensible of this truth in proportion as 
 their power of discovering truth in general is increased, and the 
 habit of viewing questions with accuracy and comprehension es- 
 tablished by education. ‘There are men, indeed, who are always 
 exclaiming against every species of power, because it is connected 
 with danger: their dread of abuses is so much stronger than their 
 admiration of uses, that they would cheerfully give up the use of 
 fire, gunpowder, and printing, to be freed from robbers, incendia- 
 ries, and libels. It is true, that every increase of knowledge may 
 possibly render depravity more depraved, as well as it may in- 
 
SUMMING UP. 158 
 
 crease the strength of virtue. It is in itself only power; and its 
 value depends on its application. But, trust to the natural love of 
 good where there is no temptation to be bad—it operates nowhere 
 more forcibly than in education. No man, whether he be tutor, 
 guardian, or friend, ever contents himself with infusing the mere 
 ability to acquire; but giving the power, he gives with it a taste 
 for the wise and rational exercise of that power; so that an edu- 
 cated person is not only one with stronger and better faculties than 
 others, but with a more useful propensity—a disposition better 
 cultivated—and associations of a higher and more important 
 class. 
 
 In short, and to recapitulate the main points upon which we 
 have insisted: Why the disproportion in knowledge between the 
 two sexes should be so great, when the inequality in natural talents 
 is so small; or why the understanding of women should be lavish- 
 ed upon trifles, when nature has made it capable of better and 
 higher things, we profess ourselves not able to understand. The 
 affectation charged upon female knowledge is best cured by making 
 that knowledge more general: and the economy devolved upon 
 women is best secured by the ruin, disgrace, and inconvenience 
 which proceed from neglecting it. For the care of children, 
 nature has made a direct and powerful provision; and the gentle- 
 ness and elegance of women is the natural consequence of that de- 
 sire to please, which is productive of the greatest part of civiliza- 
 tion and refinement, and which rests upon a foundation too deep to 
 be shaken by any such modifications in education as we have pro- 
 posed. If you educate women to attend to dignified and important 
 subjects, you are multiplying beyond measure the chances of 
 human improvement, by preparing and medicating those early im- 
 pressions, which always come from the mother; and which, in a 
 great majority of instances, are quite decisive of character and 
 genius. Nor is it only in the business of education that women 
 would influence the destiny of men. If women knew more, men 
 must learn more—for ignorance would then be shameful—and it 
 would become the fashion to be instructed. The instruction of 
 women improves the stock of national talents, and employs more 
 minds for the instruction and amusement of the world ;—it in- 
 creases the pleasures of society, by multiplying the topics upon 
 which the two sexes take a common interest; and makes marriage 
 
 . - = 
 
 
 
We 
 
 154 SCHOOL TYRANNY. 
 
 
 
 an intercourse of understanding as well as of affection, by giving “ s 
 
 dignity and importance to the female character. ‘The education of 
 women favours public morals; it provides for every season of life, 
 as well as for the brightest and the best; and leaves a woman, 
 when she is stricken by the hand of time, not as she now is, desti- 
 tute of everything, and neglected by all; but with the full power 
 and the splendid attractions of knowledge —diffusing the elegant 
 pleasures of polite literature, and receiving the just homage of 
 learned and accomplished men. 
 
 BOYISH HARDSHIPS AT SCHOOL.* 
 
 WE are convinced that those young people will turn out to be. 
 the best men, who have been guarded most effectually in their 
 childhood, from every species of useless vexation ; and experienced, 
 in the greatest degree, the blessings of a wise and rational indul- 
 gence. But even if these effects upon future character are not 
 produced, still, four or five years in childhood make a very con- 
 siderable period of human existence; and it is by no means a 
 trifling consideration whether they are passed happily or unhap- 
 pily. The wretchedness of school tyranny is trifling enough to a 
 man who only contemplates it in ease of body and tranquillity of 
 mind, through the medium of twenty intervening years; but it is 
 quite as real, and quite as acute while it lasts, as any of the suf- 
 ferings of mature life: and the utility of these sufferings, or the 
 price paid in compensation for them, should be clearly made out 
 to a conscientious parent before he consents to expose his children 
 to them. 
 
 MADAME D’EPINAY.—HER FRIENDSHIP WITH ROUSSEAU.T 
 
 THERE used to be in Paris, under the ancient regime, a few 
 women of brilliant talents, who violated all the common duties of 
 life, and gave very pleasant little suppers. Among these supped 
 and sinned Madame d’Epinay—the friend and companion of 
 Rousseau, Diderot, Grimm, Holbach, and many other literary per- 
 
 * From an article on Public Schools. Ed. Rev., August, 1 + 
 + Memoires et Correspondence de Madame d’Epinay. 3 Is. 8vo. Ed. 
 Review, Dec., 1818. oil 
 
 
 
 al 
 & 
 
 a 
 
ye 
 Pick 
 . fod 
 
 MADAME D’EPINAY. 155 
 
 ‘ sons of distinction of that period. Her principal lover was Grimm; 
 with whom was deposited, written in feigned names, the history of 
 her life. Grimm died — his secretary sold the history —the feigned 
 names have been exchanged for the real ones—and her works 
 ow appear abridged in three volumes octavo. 
 
 Madame d’Epinay, though far from an immaculate character, 
 has something to say in palliation of her irregularities. Her hus- 
 band behaved abominably ; and alienated, by a series of the most 
 brutal injuries, an attachment which seems to have been very ar- 
 dent and sincere, and which, with better treatment, would probably 
 have been lasting. For, in all her aberrations, Mad. d’Epinay 
 seems to have had a tendency to be constant. Though extremely 
 young when separated from her husband, she indulged herself with 
 but two lovers for the rest of her life;—to the first of whom she 
 seems to have been perfectly faithful, till he left her at the end of 
 ten or twelve years ;— and to Grimm, by whom he was succeeded, 
 she appears to have given no rival till the day of her death. The 
 account of the life she led, both with her husband and her lovers, 
 brings upon the scene a great variety of French characters, and 
 lays open very completely the interior of French life and manners. 
 - But there are some letters and passages which ought not to have 
 
 been published; which a sense of common decency and morality 
 
 ought to have suppressed ; and which, we feel assured, would never 
 have seen the light in this country. re 
 
 A French woman seems almost always to have wanted the fla- 
 vour of prohibition, as a necessary condiment to human life. The 
 provided husband was rejected, and the forbidden husband. intro- 
 duced in ambiguous light, through posterns and secret partitions. 
 
 It was not the union to one man that was objected to—for they 
 
 dedicated themselves with a constancy which the most household 
 
 and parturient woman in England could .not exceed ;—but the 
 thing wanted was the wrong man, the gentleman without the ring 
 
 —the master unsworn to at the altar—the person unconsecrated 
 
 by priests — 
 
 “Oh! let me taste thee unexcised by kings.” 
 * * = % # % % 
 
 
 
 
 
 The friendship of Madame d’Epinay with Rousseau proceeded 
 to a great degree of intimacy. She admired his genius, and provided 
 him with Miia and coats; and, at last, was so far deluded by his de- 
 
i "Re oop: 
 156 LOCAL MORALS. 
 
 clamations about the country, as to fit him up a little hermit cot- 
 tage, where there were a great many birds, and a great many 
 ‘ 2 and flowers—and where Rousseau was, as might have been 
 fe xpected, supremely miserable. His friends from Paris did not 
 ae see him. The postman, the butcher, and the baker, hate 
 omantic scenery; duchesses and marchionesses were no longer 
 mud to scramble for him. Among the real inhabitants of the 
 country, the reputation of reading and thinking is fatal to charac- 
 ter; and Jean Jacques cursed his own successful eloquence which 
 » had sent him from the suppers and flattery of Paris, to smell 
 daffodils, watch sparrows, or project idle saliva into the passing 
 stream. Very few men who have gratified, and are gratifying 
 their vanity in a great metropolis, are qualified to quit it. Few 
 have the plain sense to perceive that they must soon inevitably be 
 forgotten —or the fortitude to bear it when they are. They repre- 
 sent to themselves imaginary scenes of deploring friends and dis- 
 pirited companies—but the ocean might as well regret the drops 
 exhaled by the sunbeams. Life goes on; and whether the absent 
 have retired into a cottage or a grave, is much the same thing.— 
 In London, as in law, de non apparentibus, et non existentibus 
 eadem est ratio. 
 
 “’ 
 
 * 
 - 
 
 LOCAL ENGLISH MORALS.* 
 
 Tuis is very well, considering that seventy years ago, we had 
 scarcely a foot of land in India. But English morals are quite 
 local. Under the meridian of Greenwich, and between the 50th 
 and 58th degrees of latitude, we are an upright, humane, and just 
 people. Between the 6th and 10th degrees of western longitude, 
 we are tyrants and oppressors. On the other side of the Cape, we 
 are ambitious and unprincipled conquerors :—just as the same 
 animal is woolly in one country, hairy in another, and something 
 between both in a third. 
 
 r — SEES 
 . A HINT TO TRAVELLERS.T 
 * A TRAVELLER who passes through countries little known, should 
 ” © “tell us how such countries are cultivated —how they are governed 
 “- : * From ‘a review of St. Heude’s Voyage up the Persian Gulf. ont Re- 
 view, July, 1819. 
 7.2 | From the same. 
 
CONQUERORS. 157 
 
 —what is the face of nature— what is the state of the useful arts 
 —what is the degree of knowledge which exists there. Every 
 reader will be glad to learn these things, or some of them: but. 
 few, we imagine, will care to know whether he had a lean horse at 
 this stage, or a fat horse at another—whether his supper at any 
 given village was milk without eggs, or eggs without milk. <A 
 little gossip and a few adventures, are very well; but a book of — 
 gossip and adventures, especially when related without wit or dis- 
 cretion, had better not be. 
 
 , USE OF CONQUERORS.* 
 
 Norutné in this world is created in vain: lions, tigers, conquer- 
 ors, have their use. Ambitious monarchs, who are the curse of 
 civilized nations, are the civilizers of savage people. With a num- 
 ber of little independent hordes, civilization is impossible. They 
 must have a common interest before there can be peace; and be 
 directed by one will, before there can be order. .When mankind 
 are prevented from daily quarrelling and fighting, they first begin 
 to improve ; and all this, we are afraid, is only to be accomplished, 
 in the first instance, by some great conqueror. We sympathize, 
 therefore, with the victories of the King of Ashantee—and feel 
 ourselves, for the first time, in love with military glory. ‘The ex- 
 Emperor of the French would, at Coomassie, Dogwumba, or Inta, 
 be an eminent benefactor to the human race. 
 
 > 
 
 ? 
 
 NATURE AT BOTANY BAY.T 
 
 Botany Bay is situated ina fine climate, rather Asiatic than 
 European— with a great variety of temperature — but favourable, 
 on the whole, to health and life. It, conjointly with Van Diemen’s 
 Land, produces coal in great abundance, fossil salt, slate, lime, 
 plumbago, potter’s clay; iron; white, yellow and brilliant topazes; 
 alum and copper. These are all the important fossil productions” 
 which have been hitherto discovered; but the epidermis of the 
 country has ag as yet been scratched; and it is most probable 
 
 * From a Leiber of Mission from Cape Coast Castle to Ashantee. By T. 
 
 Edward Bowdich. Ed. Rey., Oct., 1819. 
 7 Att, * Botany Bay.” Ed. Rev., July, 1819. 
 
 > 
 
= 
 158 BOTANY BAY. 
 
 that the immense mountains which divide the eastern and western 
 settlements, Bathurst and Sydney, must abound with every species 
 of mineral wealth. The harbours are admirable; and the whole 
 world, perhaps, cannot produce two such as those of Port Jackson 
 and Derwent. The former of these is land-locked for fourteen 
 miles in length, and of the most irregular form; its soundings 
 are more than suflicient for the largest ships; and all the navies 
 of the world might ride in safety within it. In the harbour of 
 Derwent there is a road-stead forty-eight miles in length, com- 
 pletely land-locked ;—varying in breadth from eight to two miles 
 —in depth from thirty to four fathoms—and affording the best 
 anchorage the whole way. 
 
 The mean heat, during the three summer months, December, 
 January, and February, is about 80° at noon. The heat which 
 such a degree of the thermometer would seem to indicate, is con- 
 siderably tempered by the sea-breeze, which blows with consider- 
 able force from nine in the morning till seven in the evening. The 
 three autumn months are March, April, and May, in which the 
 thermometer varies from 55° at night to 75° at noon. The three 
 winter months are June, July, and August. During this interval, 
 the mornings and evenings are very chilly, and the nights exces- 
 sively cold; hoar-frosts are frequent; ice, half an inch thick, is 
 found twenty miles from the coast; the mean temperature at day- 
 light is from 40° to 45°, and at noon, from 55° to 60°. In the 
 three months of spring, the thermometer varies from 60° to 70°. 
 The climate to the westward of the mountains is colder. Heavy 
 falls of snow take place during the winter; the frosts are more se- 
 vere, and the winters of longer duration. All the seasons are 
 much more distinctly marked, and resemble much more those of 
 this country. 
 
 Such is the climate of Botany Bay; and, in this remote part 
 of the earth, Nature (having made horses, oxen, ducks, geese, oaks, 
 elms, and all regular and useful productions for the rest of the 
 world), seems determined to have a bit of play, and to amuse her- 
 self as she pleases. Accordingly, she makes cherries with the 
 stone on the outside ; and a monstrous animal, as tall as a grena- 
 dier, with the head of a rabbit, a tail as big as a bed-post, hopping 
 along at the rate of five hops to a mile, with three or four young 
 kangaroos looking out of its false uterus to see what is passing. 
 
CLIMBING BOYS. 159 
 
 Then comes a quadruped as big as a large cat, with eyes, col- 
 our and skin of a mole, and the bill and web-feet of a duck — puz- 
 zling Dr. Shaw, and rendering the latter half of his life miserable, 
 from his utter inability to determine whether it was a bird or a 
 beast. Add to this a parrot, with the legs of a sea-gull; a skate 
 with the head of a shark; and a bird of such monstrous dimen- 
 sions, that a side bone of it will dine three real carnivorous En- 
 glishmen ;—together with many other productions that agitate Sir 
 Joseph, and fill him with mingled emotions of distress and delight. 
 
 CHIMNEY - SWEEPERS.* 
 
 AN excellent and well-arranged dinner is a most pleasing oc- 
 currence, and a great triumph of civilized life. It is not only the 
 descending morsel and the enveloping sauce — but the rank, wealth, 
 wit and beauty, which surround the-meats—the learned manage- 
 ment of light and heat—the silent and rapid services of the at- 
 tendants—the smiling and sedulous host, proffering gusts and 
 relishes—the exotic bottles—the embossed plate—the pleasant 
 remarks—the handsome dresses—the cunning artifices in fruit 
 and farina! The hour of dinner, in short, includes everything of 
 sensual and intellectual gratification which a great nation glories in 
 producing. 
 
 In the midst of all this, who knows that the kitchen chimney 
 caught fire half an hour before dinner!—and that a voor little 
 wretch, of six or seven years old, was sent up in the midst of the 
 flames to put it out? We could not, previous to reading this evi- 
 dence, have formed a conception of the miseries of these poor 
 wretches, or that there should exist, in a civilized country, a class of 
 human beings destined to such extreme and varied distress..... ve 
 
 We have been thus particular in stating the case of the chim- 
 ney-sweepers, and in founding it upon the basis of facts, that we 
 may make an answer to those profligate persons who are always 
 ready to fling an air of ridicule upon the labours of humanity, 
 because they are desirous that what they have not virtue to do 
 themselves, should appear to be foolish and romantic when done 
 by others. A still higher degree of depravity than this, is to want 
 every sort of compassion for human misery, when it is accompanied 
 
 * Ed. Rev., Oct., 1819. 
 
ai he Bae Pe. 
 
 160 CASTLEREAGH. oe i- 
 Pay 2% vet cae” Ey 
 
 
 
 by filth, poverty and ionorance—to regulate humanity by the in- 
 come tax, and to deem the bodily wretchedness and the dirty tears 
 of the poor a fit subject for pleasantry and contempt. We should 
 have been loath to believe that such deep-seated and disgusting 
 _ immorality existed in these days; but the notice of it is forced 
 upon us. Nor must we pass over a set of marvellously weak gen- 
 tlemen who discover democracy and revolution in every effort to 
 improve the condition of the lower orders, and to take off a little 
 of the load of misery from those points where it presses the hard- 
 est. Such are the men into whose hearts Mrs. Fry has struck the 
 deepest terror—who abhor Mr. Bentham and his penitentiary ; 
 Mr. Bennet and his hulks; Sir James Mackintosh and his bloodless 
 assizes; Mr. Tuke and his sweeping machines—and every other 
 human being who is great and good enough to sacrifice his quiet 
 to his love for his fellow-creatures. Certainly we admit that hu- 
 manity is sometimes the veil of ambition or of faction; but we 
 have no doubt that there are a great many excellent persons to 
 whom it is misery to see misery, and pleasure to lessen it; and who, 
 by calling the public attention to the worst» cases, and by giving 
 birth to judicious legislative enactments for their improvement, 
 have made, and are making the world somewhat happier than they 
 found it. Upon these principles we join hands with the friends of 
 the chimney-sweepers, and most heartily wish for the diminution 
 of their numbers and the limitation of their trade. 
 : CASTLEREAGH, CANNING, AND GRATTAN.* 
 
 THERE are two eminent Irishmen now in the House of Com- 
 mons, Lord Castlereagh and Mr. Canning, who will subscribe to 
 the justness of every syllable we have said upon this subject; and 
 who have it in their power, by making it the condition of their 
 remaining in office, to liberate their native country and raise it to 
 its just rank among the nations of the earth. Yet the court buys 
 them over, year after year, by the pomp and perquisites of office, 
 and year after year they come into the House of Commons, feeling 
 deeply and describing powerfully, the injuries of five millions of 
 their countrymen—and continue members of a government that 
 inflicts those evils, under the pitiful delusion that it is not a cabinet 
 question—as if the scratchings and quarrellings of kings and 
 
 * The conclusion of an Article on Ireland. Ed. Rev., Nov., 1820. 
 
161 
 
 
 
 queens could alone feat politicians, together in indissoluble unity, 
 while the fate and fortune of one third of the empire might be 
 complimented away from one minister to another, without the 
 smallest breach in their cabinet alliance. Politicians, at least 
 honest politicians, should be very flexible and accommodating in 
 little things, very rigid and inflexible in great things. And is this 
 not a great thing? Who has painted it in finer and more com- 
 manding eloquence than Mr. Canning? Who has taken a more 
 sensible and statesmanlike view of our miserable and cruel policy 
 than Lord Castlereagh? You would think, to hear them, that the 
 same planet could not contain them and the oppressors of their 
 country —perhaps not the same solar system. Yet for money, 
 claret and patronage, they lend their countenance, assistance, and 
 friendship, to the ministers who are the stern and inflexible ene- 
 mies to the emancipation of Ireland! 
 
 Thank God that all is not profligacy and corruption in the his- 
 tory of that devoted people—and that the name of Irishman does 
 not always carry with it the idea of the oppressor or the oppressed 
 —the plunderer or the plundered—the tyrant or the slave. Great 
 men hallow a whole people and lift up all who live in their time. 
 What Irishman does not feel proud that he has lived in the days 
 of Grarran? who has not turned to him for comfort, from the false 
 friends and open enemies of Ireland? who did not remember him 
 in the days of its burnings, and wastings, and murders? No 
 government ever dismayed him—the world could not bribe him 
 —he thought only of Ireland—lived for no other object—dedi- 
 cated to her his beautiful fancy, his elegant wit, his manly courage 
 and all the splendour of his astonishing eloquence. He was so 
 born and so gifted, that poetry, forensic skill, elegant literature 
 and all the highest attainments of human genius, were within his 
 reach; but he thought the noblest occupation of a man was to 
 make other men happy and free; and in that straight line he went 
 on for fifty years, without one side-look, without one yielding 
 thought, without one motive in his heart which he might not have 
 laid open to the view of God and man. He is gone!—but there 
 is not a single day of his honest life of which every good Irishman 
 would not be more proud, than of the whole political existence of 
 his countrymen—the annual deserters and betrayers of their 
 native land. : 
 
162. ANCESTORS AND CONTEMPORARIES. 
 
 JOHN BULL’S CHARITY SUBSCRIPTIONS.* 
 
 Tue English are a calm, reflecting people; they will give time 
 and money when they are convinced; but they love dates, names, 
 and certificates. In the midst of the most heart-rending narratives, 
 Bull requires the day of the month, the year of our Lord, the 
 name of the parish and the countersign of three or four respecta- 
 ble householders. After these affecting circumstances, he can no 
 longer hold out; but gives way to the kindness of his nature— 
 putts, blubbers, and subscribes. 
 
 WISDOM OF OUR ANCESTORS.T 
 
 Our Wise Ancestors—the Wisdom of our Ancestors—the Wis- 
 dom of Ages— Venerable Antiquity— Wisdom of Old Times.— 
 This mischievous and absurd fallacy springs from the grossest 
 perversion of the meaning of words. Experience is certainly the 
 mother of wisdom, and the old have, of course, a greater experi- 
 ence than the young; but the question is, who are the old? and 
 who are the young? Of individuals living at the same period, 
 the oldest has, of course, the greatest experience; but among 
 generations of men the reverse of this is true. ‘Those who come 
 first (our ancestors), are the young people, and have the least 
 experience. We have added to their experience the experience 
 of many centuries; and, therefore, as far as experience goes, are 
 wiser, and more capable of forming an opinion than they were. 
 The real feeling should be, not can we be so presumptuous as to 
 put our opinions in opposition to those of our ancestors? but can 
 such young, ignorant, inexperienced persons as our ancestors neces- 
 sarily were, be expected to have understood a subject as well as 
 those who have seen so much more, lived so much longer, and 
 enjoyed the experience of so many centuries? All this cant, then, 
 about our ancestors is merely an abuse of words, by transferring 
 phrases true of contemporary men to succeeding ages. Whereas 
 (as we have before observed) of living men the oldest has, ceteris 
 paribus, the most experience; of generations, the oldest has, 
 
 * Prisons. Ed. Rev., Feb., 1822. 
 +t From a Review of The Book of Fallacies: from Unfinished Papers of 
 Jeremy Bentham. Bya Friend. Ed. Rey., Aug., 1825. - 
 
THE GOOD OLD TIMES. 163 
 
 ceteris paribus, the least experience. Our ancestors, up to the 
 Conquest, were children in arms; chubby boys in the time of 
 Edward the First; striplings under Elizabeth; men in the reign of 
 Queen Anne; and we only are the white-bearded, silver-headed 
 ancients, who have treasured up, and are prepared to profit by, all 
 the experience which human life can supply. We are not disputing 
 with our ancestors the palm of talent, in which they may or may 
 not be our superiors, but the palm of experience, in which it is 
 utterly impossible they can be our superiors. And yet, whenever 
 the chancellor comes forward to protect some abuse, or to oppose 
 some plan which has the increase of human happiness for its 
 object, his first appeal is always to the wisdom of our ancestors ; 
 and he himself, and many noble lords who vote with him, are, to 
 this hour, persuaded that all alterations and amendments on their 
 devices are an unblushing controversy between youthful temerity 
 and mature experience!—and so, in truth, they are—only that 
 much-loved magistrate mistakes the young for the old and the old 
 for the young—and is guilty of that very sin against experience 
 which he attributes to the lovers of innovation. 
 
 We cannot, of course, be supposed to maintain that our ances- 
 tors wanted wisdom, or that they were necessarily mistaken in~ 
 their institutions, because their means of information were more 
 limited than ours. But we do confidently maintain, that when we 
 find it expedient to change anything which our ancestors have 
 enacted, we are the experienced persons, and not they. The 
 quantity of talent is always varying in any great nation. To say 
 that we are more or less able than our ancestors, is an assertion 
 that requires to be explained. All the able men of all ages, who 
 have ever lived in England, probably possessed, if taken alto- 
 gether, more intellect than all the able men now in England can 
 boast of. But if authority must be resorted to rather than reason, 
 the question is, What was the wisdom of that single age which 
 enacted the law, compared with the wisdom of the age which 
 proposes to alter it? What are the eminent men of one and the 
 other period? If you say that our ancestors were wiser than us, 
 mention your date and year. If the splendour of names is equal, 
 are the circumstances the same? If the circumstances are the 
 same, we have a superiority of experience, of which the difference 
 between the two periods is the measure. It is necessary to insist 
 
¥ 
 
 164 NOODLE’S ORATION. 
 
 upon this; for upon. sacks of wool, and on benches forensic, sit 
 grave men, and agricolous persons in the Commons, crying out, 
 “ Ancestors, Ancestors! hodie non! Saxons, Danes, save us! 
 Fiddlefrig, help us! Howel, Ethelwolf, protect us.” Any cover 
 for nonsense—any veil for trash—any pretext for repelling the 
 innovations of conscience and of duty ! 
 
 NOODLE’S ORATION. * 
 
 Tue whole of these fallacies may be gathered together in a 
 little oration, which we will denominate the Noodle’s Oration. 
 
 “ What would our ancestors say to this, sir? How does this 
 measure tally with their institutions? How does it agree with their 
 experience? Are we to put the wisdom of yesterday in compe- 
 tition with the wisdom of centuries? (Hear, hear!) Is beardless 
 youth to show no respect-for the decisions of mature age? (Loud 
 cries of hear! hear!) If this measure be right, would it have 
 escaped the wisdom of those Saxon progenitors to whom we are 
 indebted for so many of our best political institutions? Would 
 the Dane have passed it over? Would the Norman have rejected 
 it? Would such a notable discovery have been reserved for these 
 modern and degenerate times? Besides, sir, if the measure itself 
 is good, I ask the honourable gentleman if this is the time for 
 carrying it into execution— whether, in fact, a more unfortunate 
 period could have been selected than that which he has chosen ? 
 If this were an ordinary measure, I should not oppose it with so 
 much vehemence ; but, sir, it calls in question the wisdom of an 
 irrevocable law —of a law passed at the memorable period of the 
 Revolution. What right have we, sir, to break down this firm 
 column, on which the great men of that age stamped a character 
 of eternity? Are not all authorities against this measure, Pitt, 
 Fox, Cicero, and the Attorney and Solicitor General? The pro- 
 position is new, sir; it is the first time it was ever heard in this 
 house. Iam not prepared sir—this house is not prepared — to 
 receive it. The measure implies a distrust of his majesty’s gov- 
 ernment; their disapproval is sufficient to warrant opposition. 
 Precaution only is requisite where danger is apprehended. Here 
 the high character of the individuals in question is a sufficient 
 
 * From the same. 
 
NOODLE ON REFORM. | 165 
 
 guarantee against any ground of alarm. Give not, then, your 
 sanction to this measure; for whatever be its character, if you do 
 give your sanction to it, the same man by whom this is proposed, 
 will propose to you others to which it will be impossible to give 
 your consent. I care very little, sir, for the ostensible measure ; 
 but what is there behind? What are the honourable gentleman’s 
 future schemes? If we pass this bill, what fresh concessions may 
 he not require? What further degradation is he planning for his 
 country? Talk of evil and inconvenience, sir! look to other coun- 
 tries —study other aggregations and societies of men, and then see 
 whether the laws of this country demand a remedy, or deserve a 
 panegyric. Was the honourable gentleman (let me ask him) 
 always of this way of thinking? Do I not remember when he 
 was the advocate in this house of very opposite opinions? I not 
 only quarrel with his present sentiments, sir, but I declare very 
 frankly I do not like the party with which he acts. If his own 
 motives were as pure as possible, they cannot but suffer contami- 
 nation from those with whom he is politically associated. ‘This 
 measure may be a boon to the constitution, but I will accept no 
 favour to the constitution from such hands (Loud cries of hear! 
 hear!) I profess myself, sir, an honest and upright member of 
 the British Parliament, and I am not afraid to profess myself an 
 enemy to all change, and all innovation. Iam satisfied with things 
 as they are; and it will be my pride and pleasure to hand down 
 this country to my children as I received it from those who prece- 
 ded me. The honourable gentleman pretends to justify the sever- 
 ity with which he has attacked the noble lord who presides in the 
 Court of Chancery. But I say such attacks are pregnant with 
 mischief to government itself. Oppose ministers, you oppose 
 government; disgrace ministers, you disgrace government; bring 
 ministers into contempt, you bring government into contempt; and 
 anarchy and civil war are the consequences. Besides, sir, the 
 measure is unnecessary. Nobody complains of disorder in that 
 shape in which it is the aim of your measure to propose a remedy 
 to it. ‘The business is one of the greatest importance; there is 
 need of the greatest caution and circumspection. Do not let us be 
 precipitate, sir; it is impossible to foresee all consequences. Every- 
 thing should be gradual; the example of a neighbouring nation 
 should fill us with alarm! The honourable gentleman has taxed 
 
 o 
 
> ® 
 ’ ¢ .’ 
 166 CHARLES WATERTON. 
 
 me with illiberality, sir. I deny the charge. I hate innovation, 
 but I love improvement. Iam an enemy to the corruption of 
 government, but I defend its influence. JI dread reform, but I 
 dread it only when it is intemperate. I consider the liberty of the 
 press as the great palladium of the constitution; but at the same 
 time, I hold the licentiousness of the press in the greatest abhor- 
 rence. Nobody is more conscious than I am of the splendid abil- 
 ities of the honourable mover, but I tell him at once, his scheme 
 is too good to be practicable. It savours of Utopia. It looks well 
 in theory, but it won’t do in practice. It will not do, I repeat, sir, 
 in practice ; and so the advocates of the measure will find, if, un- 
 fortunately, it should find its way through Parliament. ( Cheers.) 
 The source of that corruption to which the honourable member 
 alludes is in the minds of the people; so rank and extensive is that 
 corruption, that no political reform can have any effect in remov- 
 ing it. Instead of reforming others—§instead of reforming the 
 state, the constitution, and everything that is most excellent, let 
 each man reform himself! let him look at home, he will find there 
 enough to do, without looking abroad, and aiming at what is out 
 of his power. (Loud cheers.) And now, sir, as it is frequently 
 the custom in this house to end with a quotation, and as the gen- 
 tleman who preceded me in the debate has anticipated me in my 
 favourite quotation of the ‘Strong pull and the long pull) I shall. 
 end with the memorable words of the assembled Barons — WVolu- 
 mus leges Angle mutarc.” "oad 
 
 MR. WATERTON AND HIS WANDERINGS.* 
 
 Mr. WarteERTON is a Roman Catholic gentleman of Yorkshire, 
 of good fortune, who, instead of passing his life at balls and assem- 
 blies, has preferred living with Indians and monkeys in the forests 
 of Guiana. He appears in early life to have been seized with an 
 unconquerable aversion to Piccadilly, and to that train of meteo-» 
 rological questions and answers, which forms the great staple of po- 
 
 * Wanderings in South America, the North-West of the United States, 
 and the Antilles, in the years 1812, 1816, 1820, and 1824; with Original In- 
 structions for the perfect Preservation of Birds, &e., for Cabinets of Natural 
 History. By Charles Waterton, Esq. London. Mawman. 4to. 1825 
 Ed. Rev., Feb., 1826. 
 
okt 
 GUIANA, 2°" 167 
 
 lite English conversation. From a dislike to the regular form of 
 a journal, he throws his travels into detached pieces, which he, 
 rather affectedly, calls W sneer sate of which we shall pro- | 
 ceed to give some account. 
 
 His first Wandering was in the year 1812, through the wilds of 
 Demerara and Essequibo, a part of c?-devant Dutch Guiana, in 
 South America. The sun exhausted him by day, the musquitoes 
 bit him by night: but on went Mr. Charles Waterton! 
 
 The first thing which strikes us in this extraordinary chronicle, 
 is the genuine zeal and inexhaustible delight with which all the 
 barbarous countries he visits are described. He seems to love the 
 forests, the tigers, and the apes ;—to be rejoiced that he is the 
 only man there; that he has left his species far away; and is at 
 last in the midst of his blessed baboons! THe writes with a con- 
 siderable degree of force and vigour; and contrives to infuse into 
 his reader that admiration of the great works, and undisturbed 
 scenes of nature, which animates his style, and has influenced his 
 life and practice. There is something, too, to be highly respected 
 and praised in the conduct of a country-gentleman, who, instead 
 of exhausting life in the chase, has dedicated a considerable por- 
 tion of it to the pursuit of knowledge. There are so many temp- 
 tations to complete idleness in the life of a country-gentleman, so 
 many examples of it, and so much loss to the community from it, 
 that every exception from the practice is deserving of great praise. 
 Some country-gentlemen must remain to do the business of their 
 counties; but, in general, there are many more than are wanted ; 
 and, generally speaking also, they are a class who should be stim- 
 ulated to greater exertions. Sir Joseph Banks, a squire of large 
 fortune in Lincolnshire, might have given up his existence to 
 double-barrelled guns and persecutions of poachers —and all the 
 benefits derived from his wealth, industry, and personal exertion in 
 the cause of science, would have been lost to the community. 
 
 Mr. Waterton complains, that the trees of Guiana are not more 
 - than six yards in circumference —a magnitude in trees which it is 
 not easy for a Scotch imagination to reach. Among these, pre- 
 eminent in height rises the mora—upon whose top branches, when 
 naked by age, or dried by accident, is perched the toucan, too hige 
 for the gun of the fowler;—around this are the green heart, 
 famous for hardness ; the tough hackea; the ducalabali, surpassing 
 
168 DEMERARA. 
 
 mahogany ; the ebony and letter-wood, exceeding the most beauti- 
 ful woods of the Old World; the locust-tree, yielding copal; azd 
 the hayawa and olou trees, furnishing sweet-smelling resin. Upon 
 the top of the mora grows the fig-tree. The bush-rope joins tree 
 and tree, so as to render the forest impervious, as, descending from 
 on high, it takes root as soon as its extremity touches the ground, 
 and appears like shrouds and stays supporting the mainmast of a 
 line-of-battle ship. 
 
 Demerara yields to no country in the world in her birds. ‘The 
 mud is flaming with the scarlet curlew. At sunset, the pelicans 
 return from the sea to the courada trees. Among the flowers are 
 the humming-birds. The columbine, gallinaceous, and passerine 
 tribes people the fruit-trees. At the close of day, the vampires, or 
 winged bats, suck the blood of the traveller, and cool him by the 
 flap of their wings. Nor has nature forgotten to amuse herself 
 here in the composition of snakes:—the camoudi has been killed 
 from thirty to forty feet long; he does not act by venom, but by 
 size and convolution. The Spaniards affirm that he grows to the 
 length of eighty feet, and that he will swallow a bull; but Span- 
 iards love the superlative. There is a whipsnake of a beautiful 
 green. The labarri snake of a dirty brown, who kills you in a 
 few minutes. Every lovely colour under heaven is lavished upon 
 the counachouchi, the most venomous of reptiles, and known by 
 name of the bush-master. Man and beast, says Mr. Waterton, fly 
 before him, and allow him to pursue an undisputed path...... 
 
 One of the strange and fanciful objects of Mr. Waterton’s jour- 
 ney was, to obtain a better knowledge of the composition and na- 
 ture of the Wourali poison, the ingredient with which the Indians 
 poison their arrows. In the wilds of Essequibo, far away from 
 any European settlements, there is a tribe of Indians known by 
 the name of Macoushi. The Wourali poison is used by all the 
 South American savages, betwixt the Amazon and the Oroonoque ; 
 but the Macoushi Indians manufacture it with the greatest skill, 
 and of the greatest strength. A.vine grows in the forest called 
 Wourali; and from this vine, together with a good deal of nonsense 
 and absurdity, the poison is prepared. When a native of Macou- 
 shia goes in quest of feathered game, he seldom carries his bow 
 and arrows. It is the blow-pipe he then uses. The reed grows 
 to an amazing length, as the part the Indians use is from 10 to 11 
 
THE WOURALI POISON. 169 
 
 feet long, and no tapering can be perceived, one end being as thick 
 as another ; nor is there the slightest appearance of a knot or joint. 
 The end which is applied to the mouth is tied round with a small 
 silk grass cord. The arrow is from nine to ten inches long; it is 
 made out of the leaf of a palm-tree, and pointed as sharp as a 
 needle: about an inch of the pointed end is poisoned: the other 
 end is burnt to make it still harder; and wild cotton is put round 
 it for an inch and a half. The quiver holds from 500 to 600 ar- 
 rows, is from 12 to 14 inches long, and in shape like a dice-box. 
 With a quiver of these poisoned arrows over his shoulder, and his 
 blow-pipe in his hand, the Indian stalks into the forest in quest of 
 his feathered game. ..... 
 
 Being a Wourali poison fancier, Mr. Waterton has recorded 
 several instances of the power of his favourite drug. A sloth 
 poisoned by it went gently to sleep, and died! a large ox, weigh- 
 ing one thousand pounds, was shot with three arrows; the poison 
 took effect in four minutes, and in twenty-five minutes he was 
 dead. ‘The death seems to be very gentle; and resembles more a 
 quiet apoplexy, brought on by hearing a long story, than and 
 other kind of death. If an Indian happen to be wounded with 
 one of these arrows, he considers it as certain death. We have 
 reason to congratulate ourselves, that our method of terminating 
 disputes is by sword and pistol, and not by these medicated pins; 
 which, we presume, will become the weapons of gentlemen in the 
 new republics of South America. 
 
 The second journey of Mr. Waterton, in the year 1816, was to 
 Pernambuco, in the southern hemisphere, on the coast of Brazil, 
 and from thence he proceeds to Cayenne. His plan was to have 
 ascended the Amazon from Para, and got into the Rio Negro, and 
 from thence to have returned toward the source of the Essequibo, 
 in order to examine the Crystal Mountains, and to look once more 
 for Lake Parima, or the White Sea; but on arriving at Cayenne, 
 he found that to beat up the Amazon would be long and tedious ; 
 he left Cayenne, therefore in an American ship for Paramaribo, 
 went through the interior to Coryntin, stopped a few days at New 
 Amsterdam, and proceeded to Demerara. 
 
 ‘Leave behind you,” he says to the traveller, ‘‘ your high-seasoned dishes, 
 
 your wines, and your delicacies , carry nothing but what is necessary for 
 your own comfort, and the object in view, and depend upon the skill of an 
 
 CF 
 4 <b 
 
170 THE CAMPANERO. 
 
 Indian, or your own, for fish and game. A sheet, about twelve feet long, 
 ten wide, painted, and with loop- Aiins on each side, will be of great service: 
 in a few minutes you can suspend it betwixt two trees in the shape of a roof. 
 Under this, in your hammock, you may defy the pelting shower, and sleep 
 heedless of the dews of night. <A hat, a shirt, and a light pair of trowsers, 
 
 will be all the raiment you require. Custom will soon teach you to tread - 
 lightly and barefoot on the little inequalities of the ground and show you 
 
 how to pass on, unwounded amid the mantling briars.” 
 
 Snakes are certainly an annoyance; but the snake, though high- 
 
 spirited, is not quarrelsome; he considers his fangs to be given for 
 defence, and not for annoyance, and never inflicts a wing but to 
 defend existence. If you tread upon him, he puts you to death 
 
 for your clumsiness, merely because he does not understand what. 
 your clumsiness means; and certainly a snake, who feels. fourteen - 
 
 or fifteen stone stamping upon his tail, has little time for reflection, 
 
 and may be allowed to be poisonous and peevish. American tigers” 
 
 generally run away—from which several respectable gentlemen 
 in Parliament inferred, in the American war, that American 
 soldiers would run away also! 
 
 The description of the birds is very animated and interesting ; 
 but how far does the gentle reader imagine the campanero may 
 be heard, whose size is that of a jay? Perhaps 800 yards. Poor 
 innocent, ignorant reader! unconscious of what nature has done in 
 the forests of Cayenne, and measuring the force of tropical intona- 
 tion by the sounds of a Scotch duck! The campanero may be 
 heard three miles!—this single little bird being more powerful 
 than the belfry of a cathedral, ringing for a new dean—just ap- 
 pointed on account of shabby politics, small understanding, and 
 good family ! 
 
 “The fifth species is the celebrated campanero of the Spaniards, called 
 dara by the Indians, and bell-bird by the English. He is about the size of 
 the jay. His plumage is white as snow. On his forehead rises a spiral tube 
 nearly three inches long. It is jet black, dotted all over with small white 
 feathers. It has a communication with the palate, and when filled with air, 
 looks like a spire; when empty, it becomes pendulous. His note is loud and 
 clear, like the sound of a bell, and may be heard at the distance of three 
 miles. In the midst of these extensive wilds, generally on the dried top of 
 an aged mora, almost out of gun reach, you will see the campanero. No 
 sound or song from any of the winged inhabitants of the forest, not even the 
 clearly pronounced ‘ Whip-poor-Will,’ from the goatsucker, causes such as- 
 tenishment as the toll of the campanero. 4 
 
 “With many of the feathered race he pays the common tribute of a morn- 
 
 « 
 
WHIP-POOR-WILL. 1T# 
 
 ing and an evening song ; and even when the meridian sun has shut in silence 
 
 the mouths of almost the whole of animated nature, the campanero still 
 
 cheers the forest. You hear his toll, and then a pause for a minute, then 
 another toll, and then a pause again, and then a toll, and again a pause.” 
 
 ~ It is impossible to contradict a gentleman who has been in the 
 forests of Cayenne; but we are determined, as soon as a campa- 
 
 -nero is brought to England, to make him toll in a public place, 
 and have the distance measured. The toucan has an enormous 
 ’ pill, makes a noise like a puppy-dog, and lays his eggs in hollow 
 trees. How astonishing are the freaks and fancies of nature! To 
 what pur pose, we say, is a bird placed in the woods of Cayenne, 
 witha bill a yard long, making a noise like a puppy-dog, and 
 laying eggs in hollow trees? The toucans, to be sure, might 
 _ retort, to” what purpose were gentlemen in Bond street created ? 
 au what purpose were certain foolish, prating members of Parlia- 
 ment created —pestering the House of Commons with their igno- 
 rance and folly, and impeding the business of the country? There 
 is no end of such questions. So we will not enter into the meta- 
 physics of the toucan. The houtou ranks high in beauty; his 
 whole body is green, his wings and tail blue; his crown is of black 
 and blue; he makes no nest, but rears his young in the sand. 
 
 There is no end to the extraordinary noises of the forest of 
 Cayenne. The woodpecker, in striking against the tree with his 
 bill, makes a sound so loud, that Mr. Waterton says it reminds 
 you more of a wood-cutter than a bird. While lying in your ham- 
 mock, you hear the goatsucker lamenting like one in deep distress 
 —a stranger would take it for a Weir murdered by Thurtell. 
 
 “« Suppose yourself in hopeless sorrow, begin with a high loud note, and 
 pronounce, ‘ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha,’ each note lower and lower, till the last 
 is scarcely heard, pausing a moment or two betwixt every note, and you will 
 have some idea of the moaning of the largest goatsucker in Demerara.” 
 
 ' One species,of the goatsucker cries, “ Who are you? who are 
 you?” Another exclaims, “ Work away, work away.” A third, 
 “ Willy come go, Willy come go.” <A fourth, “ Whip poor Will, 
 whip poor Will.” It is very flattering to us that they should all 
 speak Hnglish !—though we cannot much commend the elegance 
 of their selections. The Indians never destroy these birds, be- 
 lieving them to be the servants of Jumbo, the African devil. 
 
 _ Great travellers are very fond of triumphing over civilized life ; 
 » and*Mr. Waterton does not omit the opportunity of remarking, 
 
 ~ 
 
- 
 
 S472 ~s SIR JOSEPH BANKS. 
 
 that nobody ever stopped him in the forests of Cayenne to ask 
 him for his license, or to inquire if he had a hundred a year, or 
 to take away his gun, or to dispute. the limits of a manor, or to 
 threaten him with a tropical justice of the peace.. We hope, 
 however, that i in this point we are on the eve of improvement. 
 Mr. Peel, who is a man of high character and principles, may 
 depend upon it that the time is come for his interference, and that 
 it will be a loss of reputation to him not to interfere. If any one 
 else can d will carry an alteration through Parliament, there is 
 on : that the hand of government should appear; but some 
 hand must-appear. The common people are becoming ferocious, 
 and the perdricide criminals are more numerous than the violators 
 
 of all the branches of the Decalogue. 
 
 “The king of the vultures is very handsome, and seems to be the only 
 bird which claims regal honours from a surrounding tribe. It is a fact beyond 
 all dispute, that when the scent of carrion has drawn together hundreds 
 of the common vultures, they all retire from the carcass as soon as the king 
 of the vultures makes his appearance. When his majesty has satisfied the 
 cravings of his royal stomach with the choicest bits from the most stinking 
 and corrupted parts, he generally retires to a neighbouring tree, and then the 
 common vultures return in crowds to gobble down his leavings. ‘The In- 
 dians, as well as the whites, have observed this; for when one of them, who 
 has learned a little English, sees the king, and wishes you to have a proper 
 notion of the bird, he says, ‘There is the governor of the carrion crows.’ 
 
 ‘Now, the Indians have never heard of a personage in Demerara higher 
 than that of governor; and the colonists, through a common mistake, call 
 the vultures carrion crows. Hence the Indian, in order to express the do- 
 minion of this bird over the common vultures, tells you he is governor of the 
 carrion crows. The Spaniards have also observed it, for, through all the 
 Spanish Main, he is called Rey de Zamuros, king of the vultures.” 
 
 
 
 This, we think, explains satisfactorily the origin of kingly gov- 
 ernment. As men have “learnt from the dog the physic of the 
 field,” they may probably have learnt from the vulture those high 
 lessons of policy upon which, in Europe, we suppose the whole 
 happiness of society, and the very existence of the human race, 
 to depend. 
 
 Just before his third journey, Mr. Waterton takes leave of Sir 
 Joseph Banks, and speaks of him with affectionate regret. “TI 
 saw,” says Mr. W., “with sorrow, that death was going to rob us 
 of him. We talked of stuffing quadrupeds; I agreed that the lips 
 and nose ought to be cut off, and stuffed with wax.” This is the 
 
 way great naturalists take an eternal farewell of each other! 
 . 
 
7 77) 
 
 * 
 
 THE SLOTH. :° T73ae 
 
 Upon stuffing animals, however, we have a word to say. © Mr. 
 Waterton has placed at the head of his book the picture of what 
 he is pleased to consider a nondescript species of monkey, © In this 
 exhibition our author is surel y abusing his stuffing talents, and 
 laughing at the public. It is clearly the head of a master i in chan- 
 cery whom we have often seen backing in the’ House of Com- 
 mons after he has delivered his message. - foolish thus to 
 trifle with science and natural history. Mr. Waterton gives an 
 interesting account of the sloth, an animal of which he appears to 
 be fond, and whose habits he has studied with peculia - atter 
 
 
 
 “Some years ago I kept a sloth in my room for several months. I often 
 took him out of the house and placed him upon the ground, in order to have 
 an opportunity of observing his motions. If the ground were rough, he 
 would pull himself forward, by means of his fore legs, at a pretty good pace; 
 and he invariably shaped his course toward the nearest tree, But if I put 
 him upon a smooth and well-trodden part of the road, he appeared to be in 
 trouble and distress: his favourite abode was the back of a chair; and after 
 getting all his legs in a line upon the topmost part of it, he would ee there 
 for hours together, and often, with a low and inward cry, would seem to in- 
 vite me to take notice of him.” 
 
 The sloth, in its wild state, spends its life in trees, and never 
 leaves them but from force or accident. The eagle to the sky, the 
 mole to the ground, the sloth to the tree ; but what is most extra- 
 ordinary, he lives not wpon the branches, but wnder them. He 
 moves suspended, rests suspended, sleeps suspended, and passes 
 his life in suspense —like a young clergyman distantly related to a 
 bishop. Strings of ants may be observed, says our good traveller, 
 a mile long, each carrying in its mouth a green leaf the size of a 
 sixpence! he does not say whether this is a loyal procession, like 
 Oak-apple Day, or for what purpose these leaves are carried; but 
 it appears, while they are carrying the leaves, that three sorts of 
 ant-bears are busy in eating them. The habits of the largest of 
 these three animals are curious, and to us new. We recommend 
 the account to the attention of the reader. 
 
 “‘He is chiefly found in the inmost recesses of the forest, and seems partial 
 to the low and swampy parts near creeks, where the Trooly tree grows. 
 There he goes up and down in quest of ants, of which there is never the 
 least scarcity ; so that he soon obtains a sufficient supply of food, with very 
 little trouble. He can not travel fast; man is superior to him in speed. 
 
 Without swiftness to enable him to escape from his enemies, without teeth, 
 the possession of which would assist him in self defence, and without the 
 
 . u 
 
174 THE VAMPIRE. 
 
 power of burrowing in the ground, by which he might conceal himself from 
 his pursuers, he still is capable of ranging through these wilds in perfect safe- 
 ty, nor does he fear the fatal pressure of the serpent’s fold, or the teeth of the 
 famished jaguar. Nature has formed his fore-legs wonderfully thick, and 
 strong, and muscular, and armed his feet with three tremendous sharp and 
 crooked claws. Whenever he seizes an animal with these formidable weap- 
 ons, he hugs it close to his body and keeps it there till it dies through pres- 
 sure, or through want of food. Nor does the ant-bear, in the meantime, suf- 
 fer much from loss of aliment, as it is a well-known fact, that he can go 
 longer without food than perhaps any other animal, except the land tortoise. 
 His skin is of a texture that perfectly resists the bite of a dog ; his hinder 
 parts are protected by thick and shaggy hair, while his immense tail is large 
 enough to cover his whole body. 
 
 “The Indians have a great dread of coming in contact with the ant-bear; 
 and, after disabling him in the chase, never think of approaching him till he 
 be quite dead.” " 
 
 The vampire measures about twenty-six inches from wing to 
 wing. ‘There are two species, large and small. ‘The large suck 
 men, and the smaller, birds. .Mr. W. saw some fowls which had 
 been sucked the night before, and they were scarcely able to walk. 
 
 ““Some years ago I went to the river Paumaron with a Scotch gentleman, 
 by name Tarbet. We hung our hammocks in the thatched loft of a planter’s 
 house. Next morning I heard this gentleman muttering in his hammock, 
 and now and then letting fall an imprecation or two, just about the time 
 he ought to have been saying his morning prayers. ‘What is the matter, 
 sir? said I, softly; ‘is anything amiss ?—‘ What’s the matter? answered 
 he, surlily; ‘why, the vampires have been sucking me to death.’ As soon 
 us there was light enough, I went to his hammock, and saw it much stained 
 with blood. ‘There,’ said he, thrusting his foot out of the hammock, ‘see 
 how these infernal imps have been drawing my life’s blood.’ On examining 
 his foot, I found the vampire had tapped his great toe: there was a wound 
 somewhat less than that made by a leech; the blood was still oozing from it; 
 I conjectured he might have lost from ten to twelve ounces of blood. Whilst 
 examining it, 1 think I put him into a worse humour, by remarking, that a 
 European surgeon would not have been so generous as to have blooded him 
 without making a charge. He looked up in my face, but did not say a word: 
 I saw he was of opinion that I had better have spared this piece of ill-timed 
 levity.” 
 
 The story which follows this account is vulgar, unworthy of 
 Mr. Waterton, and should have been omitted. 
 
 Every animal has its enemies. ‘The land-tortoise has two ene- 
 mies, man and the boa-constrictor. The natural defence of the land- 
 tortoise is to draw himself up in his shell, and to remain quiet. In 
 
 this state, the tiger, however famished, can do nothing with him, 
 
 ee 
 
INSECTS OF THE TROPICS. 175 
 
 for the shell is too strong for the stroke of his paw. Man, how- 
 ever, takes him home and roasts him—and the boa-constrictor 
 swallows him whole, shell and all, and consumes him slowly in the 
 interior, as the Court of Chancery does a great estate. ‘ 
 
 The danger seems to be much less with snakes and wild beasts, 
 if you conduct yourself like a gentleman, and are not abruptly in- 
 trusive. If you will pass on gently, you may walk unhurt within 
 a yard of the Labairi snake, who would put you to death if you 
 rushed upon him. The taguan knocks you.down with a blow of 
 his paw, if suddenly interrupted, but,will run away, if you will give 
 him time to do so. In short, most animals.look upon man as a 
 very ugly customer; and, unless sorely pressed for food, or from 
 fear of their own safety, are not fond of attacking-him. Mr. Wat- 
 erton, though much given to sentiment, made a Labairi snake bite 
 itself, but no bad consequences ensued—nor would any bad con- 
 sequences ensue, if a court-martial were to order a sinful soldier 
 to give himself a thousand lashes. ‘It is barely possible that the 
 snake had some faint idea of whom and what he was biting. 
 
 Insects are the curse of tropical climates. The béte rouge lays 
 the foundation of a tremendous ulcer. In a moment you are coy- 
 ered with ticks. Chigoes bury themselves in your flesh, and hatch a 
 large colony of young chigoes in a few hours. They will not live to- 
 gether, but every chigoe sets up a separate ulcer, and has his own 
 private portion of pus. Flies get entry into your mouth, into your 
 eyes, into your nose; you eat flies, drink flies, and breathe flies. 
 Lizards, cockroaches, and snakes, get into the bed; ants eat up 
 the books; scorpions sting you on the foot. Everything bites, 
 stings, or bruises; every second of your-existence you are wound- 
 ed by some piece of animal life that nobody has ever seen before, 
 except Swammerdam and Meriam. An insect with eleven legs is 
 swimming in your teacup, a nondescript with nine wings is strug- 
 gling in the small beer, or a caterpillar with several dozen eyes in 
 his belly is hastening over the bread and butter! All nature is 
 alive, and seems to be gathering all her entomological hosts to eat 
 you up, as you are standing, out of your coat, waistcoat, and 
 breeches. Such are the tropics. All this reconciles us to our 
 dews, fogs, vapours, and drizzle —to our apothecaries rushing about 
 with gargles and tinctures—to our old, British, constitutional 
 coughs, sore throats, aud swelled faces....... 
 
176 GRANBY. ane? * 
 
 Now, what shall we say, after all, of Mr. Waterton? That he 
 has spent a great part of his life in wandering in the wild scenes 
 he describes, and that he describes them with entertaining zeal and 
 real feeling. His stories draw largely sometimes on our faith: 
 but a man who lives in the woods of Cayenne must do many odd 
 things, and see many odd things—things utterly unknown to the 
 dwellers in Hackney and Highgate. We do not want to rein up 
 Mr. Waterton too tightly — because we are convinced he goes best 
 with his head free. But a little less of apostrophe, and some faint 
 suspicion of his own powers of humour, would improve this gentle- 
 man’s style. As it is, he has a considerable talent at describing. 
 He abounds with good feeling; and has written a very entertain- 
 ing book, which hurries the reader out of his European parlour, 
 into the heart of tropical forests, and gives, over the rules and the 
 cultivation of the civilized parts of the earth, a momentary superi- 
 ority to the freedom of the savage, and the wild beauties of nature. 
 We honestly recommend the book to our readers: it is well worth 
 the perusal. 
 
 GRANBY.* 
 
 THERE is nothing more amusing in the spectacles of the present 
 day, than to see the Sir Johns and Sir Thomases of the House of 
 Commons struck aghast by the useful science and wise novelties 
 of Mr. Huskisson and the chancellor of the exchequer. Treason, 
 Disaffection, Atheism, Republicanism, and Socinianism—the great 
 guns in the Noodle’s park of artillery, they cannot bring to 
 bear upon these gentlemen. Even to charge with a regiment 
 of ancestors, is not quite so efficacious as it used to be; and all 
 that remains, therefore, is to rail against Peter M‘Culloch and 
 Political Economy! In the meantime, day after day, down goes 
 one piece of nonsense or another. ‘The most approved trash, 
 and the most trusty clamours, are found to be utterly powerless. 
 Two-penny taunts and trumpery truisms have lost their destructive 
 omnipotence: and the exhausted commonplace-man, and the afflict- 
 ed fool, moan over the ashes of Imbecility, and strew flowers on 
 the urn of Ignorance! General Elliot found the London tailors in a 
 
 * Granby. A Novel in Three Volumes. London, Colburn, 1826. Ed. 
 Rev., Feb., 1826. 
 
fg 
 * 
 
 = A NOVEL. 77 
 
 state of mutiny, and he raised from them a regiment of light cay- 
 alry, which distinguished itself in a very striking manner at the 
 battle of Minden. In humble imitation of this example, we shall 
 avail ourselves of the present political disaffection and unsatisfac- 
 tory idleness of many men of rank and consequence, to request 
 their attention to the Novel of Granby— written, as we have heard, 
 by a young gentleman of the name of Lister ;* and from which we 
 have derived a considerable deal of pleasure and entertainment. 
 The main question as to a novel is—did it amuse? Were you 
 surprised at dinner coming so soon? did you mistake eleven for 
 ten, and twelve for eleven? were you too late to dress? and did 
 you sit up beyond the usual hour? If a novel produces these 
 effects, it is good; if it does not—story, language, love, scandal 
 itself, cannot save it. It is only meant to please, and it must do 
 that, or it does nothing. Now Granby seems to us to answer this 
 test extremely well; it produces unpunctuality, makes the reader 
 too late for dinner, impatient of contradiction, and inattentive — 
 even if a bishop is making an observation, or a gentleman lately 
 from the Pyramids, or the Upper Cataracts, is let loose upon the 
 drawing-room. ‘The objection, indeed, to these compositions, when 
 they are well done, is, that it is impossible to do anything, or -per- 
 form any human duty, while we are engaged in them. Who can 
 read Mr. Hallam’s Middle Ages, or extract the root of an impos- 
 sible quantity, or draw up a bond, when he is in the middle of Mr. 
 Trebeck and Lady Charlotte Duncan? How can the boy’s lesson 
 be heard, about the Jove-nourished Achilles, or his six .miserable 
 verses upon Dido. be corrected, when Henry Granby and Mr. 
 Courtenay are both making love to Miss Jermyn? Common life 
 palls in the middle of these artificial scenes. All is emotion when 
 the book is open—all dull, flat, and feeble, when it is shut. 
 Granby, a young man of no profession, living with an old uncle 
 in the country, falls in love with Miss Jermyn, and Miss Jermyn 
 with him; but Sir Thomas and Lady Jermyn, as the young gen- 
 * This is the gentJeman who now keeps the keys of Life and Death, the 
 Janitor of the world.—Author’s Note. Thomas Henry Lister, 1801-1842, held 
 the office of Registrar-General of Births, Deaths and Marriages. Besides 
 Granby, Mr. Lister published Herbert Lacy, a Novel; Epicharis, an Histori- 
 cal Tragedy, performed in 1829, at Drury Lane; the Life and Administration 
 of Edward, First Earl of Clarendon, and other writings. He was brother-in- 
 
 law of Lord John Russell. 
 Qe 
 
7 , _ 
 
 178 POWER OF A NOVELIST. 
 
 tleman is not rich, having discovered by long living in the world, 
 and patient observation of its ways, that young people are com- 
 monly Malthus-proof and have children, and that young and old 
 must eat, very naturally do what they can to discourage the union. 
 The young people, however, both go to town—meet at balls— 
 flutter, blush, look and cannot speak—speak and cannot look— 
 suspect, misinterpret, are sad and mad, peevish and jealous, fond 
 and foolish; but the passion, after all, seems less near to its ac- 
 complishment at the end of the season than the beginning. The 
 uncle of Granby, however, dies, and leaves to his nephew a state- 
 ment, accompanied with the requisite proofs—that Mr. Tyrrel, the 
 supposed son of Lord Malton, is illegitimate, and that he, Granby, 
 is the heir to Lord Malton’s fortune. The second volume is now 
 far advanced, and it is time for Lord Malton to die. Accord- 
 ingly Mr. Lister very judiciously despatches him; Granby inherits 
 the estate —his virtues (for what shows off virtue like land?) are 
 discovered by the Jermyns—and they marry in the last act. 
 
 Upon this slender story, the author has succeeded in making a 
 very agreeable and interesting novel; and he has succeeded, we 
 think, chiefly, by the very easy and natural picture of manners, as 
 they really exist among the upper classes; by the description of 
 new characters, judiciously drawn and faithfully preserved; and 
 by the introduction of many striking and well-managed incidents ; 
 and we are particularly struck throughout the whole with the dis- 
 cretion and good sense of the author. He is never nimious; there 
 is nothing in excess; there is a good deal of fancy and a great deal 
 of spirit at work, but a directing and superintending judgment 
 rarely ‘quits hims%).s\. 4 
 
 Tremendous is the power of a novelist! If four or five men 
 are in a room, and show a disposition to break the peace, no human 
 magistrate (not even Mr. Justice Bayley) could do more than 
 bind them over to keep the peace, and commit them if they re- 
 fused. But the writer of the novel stands with a pen in his hand, 
 and can run any of them through the body —can knock down any 
 one individual, and keep the others upon their legs; or, like the 
 last scene in the first tragedy written by a young man of genius, 
 can put them all to death. Now, an author’ possessing such extra- 
 ordinary privileges, should not have allowed Mr. Tyrrel to strike 
 Granby. This is ill-managed; particularly as Granby does not 
 
 
 
 - 
 
INNS. ; 179 
 
 return the blow, or turn him out of the house. Nobody should 
 suffer his hero to have a black eye, or to be pulled by the nose. 
 The Iliad would never have come down to these times if Aga- 
 memnon had given Achilles a box on the ear. We should have 
 trembled for the Atne.d, if any Tyrian nobleman had kicked the 
 pious Atneas in the 4th book. -Aineas may have deserved it; but 
 he could not have founded the Roman empire after so distressing 
 an accident. 
 
 PUBLIC-HOUSES AND DRINKING. * 
 
 Wauart the poor shall drink—how they shall drink it—in pint 
 cups or quart mugs— hot or cold—in the morning or the evening 
 —whether the Three Pigeons shall be shut up, and the Shoulder 
 of Mutton be opened— whether the Black Horse shall continue to 
 swing in the air—or the White Horse, with animated crest and 
 tail, no longer portend spirits within: all these great questions 
 depend upon little clumps of squires and parsons gathered together 
 in alehouses in the month of September—so portentous to publi- 
 cans and partridges, to sots and sportsmen, to guzzling and. game. 
 
 “T am by no means a friend to the multiplication of public- 
 houses,” says a plump perdricide gentleman in loose mud-coloured 
 gaiters, bottle-green jacket and brass buttons. Perhaps not; but 
 you are a friend to the multiplication of inns. You are well aware, 
 that in your journeys to Buxton, Harrowgate, and Bath, the com- 
 petition of inns keeps down the price of your four post-horses, and 
 secures for you and yours the most reverential awe, from Boots 
 upward to the crafty proprietor himself of the house of enter- 
 tainment. From what other cause the sudden and overwhelming 
 tumult at the Dragon?— Why the agonizing cry of first inn! 
 Why is cake and jelly pushed in at the window? Why are four 
 eyeless, footless, legless horses, rapidly circumscribed by breeching 
 and bearing-reins? Why are you whisked off, amid the smiles of 
 sallow waiters, before the landlord has had time to communicate to 
 you the sad state of turnips in the neighbourhood? Look now a 
 little to the right as you proceed down the main street, and you 
 will behold the sign of the Star and Garter. Make your bow to 
 
 * From an article on the “Licensing of Ale-Houses.” — Ed. Rey. Sep., 1826, 
 
+ 
 
 ia 
 } 
 
 ® 
 
 180° WINE-DRINKERS AND ALE-DRINKERS. 
 
 the landlord, for to him you are indebted for the gratification of 
 your wishes, and the activity of your movements. His waiters 
 are as sallow, his vertebre are as flexible — his first turns as 
 prompt and decisive. Woe to the Dragon if he slumbers and 
 sleeps! Woe to the Star if it does not glitter! Each publican 
 keeps the other in a state of vigilant civility; and the traveller 
 rolls along to his journey’s end, lolling on the cushion of com- 
 petition! Why not therefore extend the benefit of this principle 
 to the poor villager or the needy traveller —which produces so 
 many comforts to the landed and substantial Justice ? 
 
 There are two alehouses in the village, the Red Horse and the 
 Dun Cow. Is it common sense to suppose that these two publi- 
 cans are not desirous of gaining customers from each other ?— 
 and that the means they take are not precisely the same as those 
 of important inns — by procuring good articles, and retailing them 
 with civility and attention? We really do not mean to accuse 
 English magistrates of ill nature, for in general there is a good 
 deal of kindness and consideration among them; but they do not 
 drink ale, and are apt to forget the importance of ale to the com- 
 mon people. When wine-drinkers regulate the liquor and comfort 
 of ale-drinkers, it is much as if carnivorous animals should regu- 
 late the food of graminivorous animals —as if a lion should cater 
 for an ox, or a coach-horse order dinner for a leopard. There is 
 no natural capacity or incitement to do the thing well—no power 
 
 in the lion to distinguish between clover and cow-thistles — no 
 
 disposition in the coach-horse to discriminate between the succu- 
 lence of a young kid, and the distressing dryness of a superannua- 
 ted cow. The want of sympathy is a source of inattention, and a 
 cause of evil. | 
 
 The immense importance of a pint of ale to a common person 
 should never be overlooked; nor should a good-natured Justice 
 forget that he is acting for Liliputians, whose pains and pleasures 
 lie in a very narrow compass, and are but too apt to be treated 
 with neglect and contempt by their superiors. About ten or eleven 
 o'clock in the morning, perhaps, the first faint, shadowy vision of 
 a future pint of beer dawns on the fancy of the ploughman. Far, 
 very far is it from being fully developed. Sometimes the idea is 
 rejected, sometimes it is fostered. At one time he is almost fixed 
 on the Red Horse; but the blazing fire and sedulous kindness of 
 
é oh. 
 
 ~ 
 THE DUN COW. 181 
 
 the landlady of the Dun Cow shake him, and his soul labours! 
 Heavy is the ploughed land—dark, dreary, and wet ‘the day. 
 His purpose is at last fixed for beer! Threepence is put down for 
 the vigour of ale, one penny for the stupefaction of tobacco !—and 
 these are the joys and holidays of millions, the greatest pleasure 
 and relaxation which it is in the power of fortune to bestow ; and 
 these are the amusements and holidays which a wise and parental 
 Legislature should not despise or hastily extinguish, but, on the 
 contrary, protect with every regulation which prudence and mor- 
 ality would in any degree permit. We must beg leave to go into 
 the Dun Cow with the poor man; and we beg our readers to come 
 in fora moment with us. Hodge finds a very good fire, a very 
 good-natured landlady, who has some obliging expressions for every- 
 body, a clean bench, and some very good ale— and all this produ- 
 ced-by the competition with the opposite alehouse; but for which, 
 he must have put up with any treatment, and any refreshment the 
 unopposed landlord might have chosen to place before him. Is 
 Hodge not sensible that his landlady is obliging, and his ale good? 
 How can it be supposed that the common people have not the same 
 distinctions and niceties in their homely pleasures as the upper 
 classes have in their luxuries? Why should they not have? Why 
 should they not be indulged in it? Why should they be debarred 
 from all benefit of that principle of competition, which is the only 
 method by which such advantages are secured, or can ever be 
 secured, to any class of mankind?—-the method to which the 
 upper classes, wherever their own pleasures are concerned, always 
 have recourse. The licensers of public-houses are so sensible of 
 this, that, where there is only one inn, nothing is more common 
 than to substitute, and make exertions to set up another, and this 
 by gentlemen who are by no means friendly to the multiplication 
 of alehouses....... 
 
 Public-houses are not only the inns of the travelling poor, but 
 they are the cellars and parlours of the stationary poor. A gen- 
 tleman has his own public-house, locked up in a square brick bin, 
 London Particular — Chalier 1802 — Carbonell 1803 — Sir John’s 
 present of Hock at my marriage: bought at the Duke’s sale— Kast 
 India Madeira — Lafitte — Noyau —Mareschino. Such are the 
 domestic resources of him who is to regulate the potations of the 
 labourer. And away goes this subterraneous bacchanalian, greedy 
 
 oe. 
 
 4 
 
 et 
 
182 PRIVATE CELLARS AND PUBLIC-HOUSES. 
 
 of the grape, with his feet wrapped up in flannel, to increase, on 
 the licensing day, the difficulties of obtaining a pot of beer to the 
 lower orders of mankind !— and believes, as all men do when 
 they are deciding upon other persons’ pleasures, that he is actu- 
 ated by the highest sense of duty, and the deengit consideration 
 for the welfare of the lower orders.* ...... 
 
 In an advanced state of civilization there must be also an ad- 
 vanced state of misery. In the low public-houses of great cities, 
 very wretched and very criminal persons are huddled together in 
 great masses. But is a man to die supperless in a ditch because 
 he is not rich, or even because he is not innocent? A pauper or 
 a felon is not to be driven into despair, and turned into a wild 
 beast. Such men must be; and such men must eat and sleep; and 
 if laws are wise, and police vigilant, we do not conceive it to be any 
 evil that the haunts of such men are known, and in some degree 
 subject to inspection. What is meant by respectable public-houses, 
 are houses where all the customers are rich and opulent. But 
 _ewho will take in the refuse of mankind, if monopoly allows him 
 to choose better customers? There is no end to this mischievous 
 meddling with the natural arrangements of society. It would be 
 just as wise to set magistrates to digest for mankind, as to fix for 
 them in what proportion any particular class of their wants shall 
 be supplied. But there are excellent men who would place the 
 moon under the care of magistrates, in order to improve travel- 
 
 * In an article on Botany Bay, Ed. Rey., July, 1819, Sydney Smith has 
 this parallel passage on the Consumption of Spirits: ‘‘ There has been in all 
 governments a great deal of absurd canting about the consumption of spirits. 
 We believe the best plan is to let people drink what they like, and wear what 
 they like; to make no sumptuary laws either for the belly or the back. In 
 the first place laws against rum and rum-water are made by men who change 
 a wet coat for a dry one whenever they choose, and who do not often work 
 up to their knees in mud and water; and, in the next place, if this stimulus 
 did all the mischief it is thought to do by the wise men of claret, its cheap- 
 ness and plenty would rather lessen than increase the avidity with which it is 
 at present sought for. Again, human life is subject to such manifold wretch- 
 edness, that all nations have invented a something liquid and solid, to produce 
 a brief oblivion. Poppies, barley, grasses, sugar, pepper, and a thousand 
 other things, have been squeezed, pressed, pounded and purified to produce 
 this temporary happiness. Noblemen and members of Parliament have large 
 cellars full of sealed bottles, to enable them the better to endure the wretched- 
 
 ness of life. The poor man seeks the same end by expending three half 
 pence in gin; —but no moralist can endure the idea of gin.” 
 
© GHOSTS. 183 
 
 ling, and make things safe and comfortable. An enhancement of 
 the evil is, that no reason is given for the rejection or adoption. 
 The Magistrates have only to preserve the most impenetrable se- 
 crecy —to say only No, or Yes, and the affair is at an end. No . 
 court can interfere, no superior authority question. Hunger and 
 thirst, or wantonness and riot, are inflicted upon a parish or a dis- 
 trict for a whole year, without the possibility of complaint, or the 
 hope of redress. ‘Their Worships were in the gout, and they re- 
 fused. Their Worships were mellow, and they gave leave. God 
 bless their Worships!—and then, what would happen if small 
 public-houses were shut? Would villany cease? Are there no 
 other means by which the bad could congregate? Is there so fool- 
 ish a person, either in or out of the Commission,as to believe that 
 burglary and larceny would be put an end to, by the want of a 
 place in which the plan for such deeds could be talked over and 
 arranged ? 
 
 7 
 
 NO-POPERY OUTCRY OF 1827.* > 
 
 Few men consider the historical view which will be taken of 
 present events. The bubbles of last year; the fishing for half 
 crowns in Vigo Bay; the Milk Muffin and Crumpet Companies ; 
 the Apple, Pear and Plum Associations ; the National Gooseberry 
 and Current Company; will all be remembered as instances of 
 that partial madness to which society is occasionally exposed. 
 What will be said of all the intolerable trash which is issued forth 
 _at public meetings of No Popery? The follies of one century are 
 scarcely credible in that which succeeds it. A grandmamma of 
 1827 is as wise as a very wise man of 1727. If the world lasts 
 till 1927, the grandmammas of that period will be far wiser than 
 the tip-top No-Popery men of this day. That this childish non- 
 sense will have got out of the drawing-room, there can be no 
 doubt. It will most probably have passed through the steward’s 
 room—and butler’s pantry, into the kitchen. This is the case 
 with ghosts. They no longer loll on couches and sip tea; but are 
 down on their knees scrubbing with the scullion—or stand sweat- 
 ing, and basting with the cook. Mrs. Abigail turns up her nose 
 at them, and the housekeeper declares for flesh and blood, and will 
 have none of their company. .... 
 
 * Article ‘“ Catholics,” Ed. Rey., 1827. 
 
ss 
 = 
 184 "AMERICA. 
 
 We conclude with a few words of advice to the different oppo- 
 nents of the Catholic Question. 
 
 To the No-Popery fool. 
 
 You are made use of by men who laugh at you, and despise 
 you for your folly and ignorance; and who, the moment -it suits 
 their purpose, will consent to emancipation of the Catholics, and 
 leave you to roar and bellow No-Popery! to vacancy and the moon. 
 
 To the No-Popery rogue. 
 
 A shameful and scandalous game, to sport with the serious in- 
 terests of the country, in order to gain some increase of public 
 power ! . 
 To the honest No-Popery people. 
 
 We respect you very sincerely—but are astonished at your 
 existence. 
 
 To the base. 
 
 Sweet children of turpitude, beware! the old anti-popery peo- 
 ple are fast perishing away. Take heed that you are not surprised 
 by an emancipating king or an emancipating administration. Leave 
 alocus penitentie /—prepare a place for retreat— get ready your 
 equivocations and denials. ‘The dreadful day may yet come when 
 liberality may lead to place and power. We understand these mat- 
 ters here. Itis the safest to be moderately base —to be flexible in 
 shame, and to be always ready for what is generous, good, and just, 
 when anything is to be gained by virtue. 
 
 To the Catholies. 
 
 Wait. Do not add to your miseries by a mad and desperate 
 rebellion. Persevere in civil exertions, and concede all you can 
 concede. All great alterations in human affairs are produced by 
 compromise. 
 
 AMERICA. 
 CHEAPNESS OF GOVERNMENT—UNIVERSAL SUFFRAGE—CAUCUS.* 
 
 One of the great advantages of the American government is its 
 cheapness. ‘The American king has about five thousand pounds 
 
 * This and the following passages are from the article “America,” Ed. 
 Rey., Dec., 1818. 
 
¢ | . 
 CAUCUS. 185 
 
 sterling per annum, the vice-king one thousand pounds sterling. 
 They hire their Lord Liverpool at about a thousand per annum, 
 and their Lord Sidmouth (a good bargain) at the same sum. Their 
 Mr. Crokers are inexpressibly reasonable—somewhere about the 
 price of an English doorkeeper, or bearer of a mace. Life, how- 
 ever, seems to go on very well, in spite of these low salaries, and the 
 purposes of government to be very fairly answered. Whatever 
 may be the evils of universal suffrage in other countries, they 
 have not yet been felt in America; and one thing at least is estab- 
 lished by her experience, that this institution is not necessarily 
 followed by those tumults, the dread of which excites so much 
 apprehension in this country. In the most democratic states, 
 where the payment of direct taxes is the only qualification of a 
 voter, the elections are carried on with the utmost tranquillity ; 
 and the whole business, by taking votes in each parish or section, 
 concluded all over the state in a single day. <A great deal is said 
 by Fearon* about Caucus, the cant word of the Americans for the 
 committees and party meetings in which the business of the elec- 
 tions is prepared—the influence of which he seems to consider as 
 prejudicial. To us, however, it appears to be nothing more than 
 the natural, fair, and unavoidable influence which talent, popularity 
 and activity always must have upon such occasions. What other 
 influence can the leading characters of the democratic party in 
 Congress possibly possess? Bribery is entirely out of the ques- 
 tion—equally so is the influence of family and fortune. What, 
 then, can they do, with their caucus or without it, but recommend ? 
 And what charge is it against the American government to say, 
 that those members of whom the people have the highest opinion 
 meet together to consult whom they shall recommend for president, 
 and that their recommendation is successful in their different 
 states? Could any friend to good order wish other means to be 
 employed, or other results to follow? No statesman can wish to 
 exclude influence, but only bad influence; not the influence of 
 sense and character, but the influence of money and punch. 
 
 * Henry Bradshaw Fearon, who came to America in 1817, to report on the 
 prospect for emigrants from England. He published ‘‘A Narrative of a 
 Journey of Five Thousand Miles through the Eastern and Western States of 
 
 America,” 
 
 ot 4 
 
186 COURT OF CHANCERY. 
 
 THE JUDGE, THE TAILOR, AND THE BARBER. 
 
 Tue Americans, we believe, are the first persons who have dis- 
 carded the tailor in the administration of justice, and his auxiliary 
 the barber—two persons of endless importance in the codes and 
 pandects of Europe. A judge administers justice, without a calorific 
 wig and particoloured gown, in a coat and pantaloons. He is 
 obeyed, however; and life and property are not badly protected in 
 the United States. We shall be denounced by the laureate as 
 atheists and jacobins; but we must say, that we have doubts 
 whether one atom of useful influence is added to men in impor- 
 tant situations by any colour, quantity, or configuration of cloth 
 and hair. The true progress of refinement, we conceive, is to dis- 
 card all the mountebank drapery of barbarous ages. One row of 
 gold and fur falls off after another from the robe of power, and is 
 picked up and worn by the parish beadle and the exhibitor of wild 
 beasts. Meantime, the afflicted wiseacre mourns over equality of 
 garment; and wotteth not of two men, whose doublets have cost 
 alike, how one shall command and the other obey. 
 
 CHEAPNESS OF LAW. 
 
 Tue dress of lawyers, however, is, at all events, of less impor- 
 tance than their charges. Law is cheap in America: in England, 
 it is better, in a mere pecuniary point of view, to give up forty 
 pounds than to contend for it in a court of common law. It costs 
 that sum in England to win a cause ; and, in the court of equity, it is 
 better to abandon five hundred or a thousand pounds, than to con- 
 tend for it. We mean to say nothing disrespectful of the Chancel- 
 lor— who is an upright judge, a very great lawyer, and zealous to 
 do all he can; but we believe the Court of Chancery to be in a 
 state which imperiously requires legislative correction. We do not 
 accuse it of any malversation, but of a complication, formality, en- 
 tanglement, and delay, which the life, the wealth, and the patience 
 of man cannot endure. How such a subject comes not to have 
 been taken up in the House of Commons, we are wholly at a loss 
 to conceive. We feel for climbing boys as much as anybody can 
 do; but what is a climbing boy in a chimney to a full-grown suitor 
 in the Master’s office. And whence comes it, in the midst of ten 
 thousand compassions and charities, that no Wilberforce, or Sister 
 
TAXES, 187 
 
 Fry, has started up for the suitors in Chancery? and why, in the 
 name of these afflicted and attorney-worn people, are there united 
 in their judge three or four offices, any one of which is sufficient 
 to occupy the whole time of a very able and active man. 
 
 LITERATURE. 
 
 LITERATURE the Americans have none—no native literature, 
 we mean. It is all imported. They had a Franklin, indeed; and 
 may afford to live for half a century on his fame. There is, or 
 was, a Mr. Dwight, who wrote some poems; and his baptismal 
 name was Timothy. There is also a small account of Virginia, by 
 Jefferson, and an epic by Joel Barlow; and some pieces of pleas- 
 antry by Mr. Irving. But why should the Americans write 
 books, when a six weeks’ passage brings them, in their own tongue, 
 our sense, science, and genius, in bales and hogsheads? Prairies, 
 steamboats, grist-mills, are their natural objects for centuries to 
 come. ‘Then, when they have got to the Pacific Ocean—epic 
 poems, plays, pleasures of memory, and all the elegant gratifica- 
 tions of an ancient people, who have tamed the wild earth, and set 
 down to amuse themselves. —This is the natural march of human 
 affairs. 
 
 MILITARY GLORY AND TAXES.* 
 
 Davin Porter and Stephen Decatur are very brave men; but 
 they will prove an unspeakable misfortune to their country, if they 
 inflame Jonathan into a love of naval glory, and inspire him with 
 any other love of war than that which is founded upon a deter- 
 mination not to submit to serious insult and injury. 
 
 We can inform Jonathan what are the inevitable consequences 
 of being too fond of glory: —'TAxeEs upon every article which en- 
 ters into the mouth, or covers the back, or is placed under the foot— 
 taxes upon everything which it is pleasant to see, hear, feel, smell, 
 or taste—taxes upon warmth, light, and locomotion—taxes on 
 everything on earth, and the waters under the earth—on everything 
 that comes from abroad, or is grown at home—taxes on the raw 
 material—taxes on every fresh value that is added to it by the in- 
 
 * This and the following passages are from the article ‘“ America,” Ed. 
 Rey., Jan., 1820. 
 

 
 ts 
 
 188 THE LAND OF JONATHAN. x 
 | eA PP; 
 dustry of man — taxes Othe sauce which pampers man’s appetite, 
 and the drug that restores him to health—on the ermine which 
 decorates the judge, and the rope which hangs the criminal—on 
 the poor man’s salt, and the rich man’s spice—on the brass nails 
 of the coffin, and the ribbons of the bride—at bed or board, couch- 
 ant or levant, we must pay.—The school-boy whips his taxed top 
 —the beardless youth manages his taxed horse, with a taxed bridle, 
 on a taxed road:—and the dying Englishman, pouring his medi- 
 cine, which has paid 7 per cent., into a spoon that has paid 15 per 
 cent., flings himself back upon his chintz bed. which has paid 22 
 per cent., and expires in the arms of an apothecary, who has paid 
 a license of a hundred pounds for the privilege of putting him to 
 death. His whole property is then immediately taxed from 2 to 10 
 per cent. Besides the probate, large fees are demanded for bury- 
 ing him in the chancel; his virtues are handed down to posterity 
 on taxed marble ; and he is then gathered to his fathers, to be taxed 
 no more. In addition to all this, the habit of dealing with large 
 sums will make the government avaricious and profuse; and the 
 system itself will infallibly generate the base vermin of spies and 
 informers, and a still more pestilent race of political tools and re- 
 tainers of the meanest and most odious description ;—while the 
 prodigious patronage which the collecting of this splendid revenue 
 will throw into the hands of government, will invest it with so vast 
 an influence, and hold out such means and temptations to corrup- 
 tion, as all the virtue and public spirit, even of republicans, will 
 
 be unable to resist. 
 
 WHO READS AN AMERICAN BOOK ?* 
 
 Sucu is the land of Jonathan —and thus has it been governed. 
 In his honest endeavours to better his situation, and in his manly ~ 
 purpose of resisting injury and insult we most cordially sympa~ 
 thize. We hope he will always continue to watch and suspect his 
 government as he now does—remembering that it is the constant 
 
 * This is the famous passage which has been the peg,to hang many weari- 
 some dissertations upon. Not needed to excite rapid American invention, it 
 has become simply an historical landmark, from which to date extensive na- 
 tional achievements. Its questions in politics, art, science, literature, are an 
 index to American triumphs. 
 
ae RETROSPECT. | 189 
 
 tendency of those intrusted with power conceive that they en- 
 joy it by their own merits, and for their own use, and not by dele- 
 gation, and for the benefit of others. Thus far we are the friends 
 and admirers of Jonathan. But he must not grow vain and am- 
 bitious ; or allow himself to be dazzled by that galaxy of epithets 
 by which his orators and newspaper scribblers endeavour to per- 
 suade their supporters that they are the greatest, the most refined, 
 the most enlightened and most moral people upon earth. The 
 effect of this is unspeakably ludicrous on this side of the Atlantic 
 —and, even on the other, we shall imagine, must be rather humili- 
 ating to the reasonable part of the population. The Americans are 
 a brave, industrious, and acute people; but they have, -hitherto, 
 given no indications of genius, and made no approaches to the 
 heroic, either in their morality or character. They are but a re- 
 cent offset, indeed, from England; and should make it their chief 
 boast, for many generations to come, that they are sprung from the 
 same race with Bacon and Shakespeare and Newton. Considering 
 their numbers, indeed, and the favourable circumstances in which 
 they have been placed, they have yet done marvellously little to 
 assert the honour of such a descent, or to show that their English 
 blood has been exalted or refined by their republican training and 
 institutions. Their Franklins and Washingtons, and all the other 
 sages and heroes of their Revolution, were born and bred subjects 
 of the King of England—and not among the freest or most valued 
 of his subjects. And since the period of their separation, a far 
 greater proportion of their statesmen and artists and political wri- 
 ters have been foreigners than ever occurred before in the history 
 of any civilized and educated people. During the thirty or forty 
 years of their independence, they have done absolutely nothing for 
 the Sciences, for the Arts, for Literature, or even for the states- 
 man-like studies of Politics or Political Economy. Confining our- 
 selves to our own country, and to the period that has elapsed since 
 they had an independent existence, we would ask, where are their 
 Foxes, their Burkes, their Sheridans, their Windhams, their Hor- 
 ners, their Wilberforces?—Where their Arkwrights, their Watts, 
 their Davys ?—their Robertsons, Blairs, Smiths, Stewarts, Paleys, 
 and Malthuses ?—their Porsons, Parrs, Burneys, or Blomfields? 
 —their Scotts, Rogers’s, Campbells, Byrons, Moores, or Crabbes? 
 —their Siddons’s, Kembles, Keans, or O’Neils ?—their Wilkies, 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 ry ae . 
 7. 7 . 
 
 190 WHO READS AN AMERICAN BOOK ? 
 
 Lawrences, Chantrys ?—or their parallels to the hundred other 
 names that have spread themselves over the world from our little 
 island in the course of the last thirty years, and blest or delighted 
 mankind by their works, inventions, or examples? In so far as 
 we know, there is no such parallel to be produced from the whole 
 annals of this self-adulating race. In the four quarters of the 
 globe, who reads an American book ? or goes to an American play ? 
 or looks at an American picture or statue? What does the world 
 yet owe to American physicians or surgeons? What new sub- 
 stances have their chemists discovered ? or what old ones have they 
 analyzed? What new constellations have been discovered by the 
 telescopes of Americans ? What have they done in the mathemat- 
 ics? Who drinks out of American glasses? or eats from American 
 plates? or wears American coats or gowns? or sleeps in American 
 blankets? Finally, under which of the old tyrannical governments 
 of Europe is every sixth man a slave, whom his fellow-creatures 
 may buy and sell and torture ? 
 
 When these questions are fairly and favourably answered, their 
 laudatory epithets may be allowed: but till that can be done, we 
 would seriously advise them to keep clear of superlatives. 
 
 “~~ 
 
 RELIGIOUS LIBERTY. * 
 
 THERE is aset of miserable persons in England, who are dread- 
 fully afraid of America and everything American— whose great 
 delight is to see that country ridiculed and vilified—and who 
 appear to imagine that all the abuses which exist in this country 
 acquire additional vigour and chance of duration from every book 
 of travels which pours forth its venom and falsehood on the United 
 States. We shall from time to time call the attention of the public 
 - to this subject, not from any party spirit, but because we love 
 truth, and praise excellence wherever we find it; and because 
 we think the example of America will in many instances tend to 
 open the eyes of Englishmen to their true interests. 
 
 The economy of. America is a great and important object for 
 our imitation. The salary of Mr. Bagot, our late embassador, was, 
 we believe, rather higher than that of the President of the United 
 
 * This and the following passages are from article ‘“‘ America. ”—Ed. Rey. 
 July 1824. . 
 
 
 
+ J 
 wai 
 
 RELIGIOUS LIBERTY. 191 
 
 States. ‘The vice-president receives rather less than the second 
 clerk of the House of Commons; and all salaries, civil and military, 
 are upon the same scale; and yet no country is better served than 
 America! Mr. Hume has at last persuaded the English people 
 to look a little into their accounts,.and to see how sadly they are 
 plundered. But we ought to suspend our contempt for America, 
 and consider whether we have not a very momentous lesson to 
 learn from this wise and cautious people on the subject of economy. 
 A lesson upon the importance of religious toleration, we are 
 determined, it would seem, not to learn—either from America, 
 or from any other quarter of the globe. The High Sheriff of 
 New York, last year, wasa Jew.* It was with the utmost difficulty 
 that a bill was carried this year to allow the first Duke of England 
 to carry a gold stick before the king—because he was a Catholic! 
 —and yet we think ourselves entitled to indulge in impertinent 
 sneers at America—as if civilization did not depend more upon 
 making wise laws for the promotion of human happiness, than in 
 having good inns, and post-horses, and civil waiters. The cireum- 
 stances of the Dissenters’ marriage bill are such as would excite 
 the contempt of a Choctaw or Cherokee, if he could be brought to 
 understand them. <A certain class of Dissenters beg they may not 
 be compelled to say that they marry in the name of the Trinity, 
 because they do not believe in the Trinity. Never mind, say the 
 corruptionists, you must go on saying you marry in the name of 
 the Trinity, whether you believe in it or not. We know that such 
 a protestation from you will be false: but, unless you make it, your 
 wives shall be concubines, and your children illegitimate. Is it 
 possible to conceive a greater or more useless tyranny than this ? 
 In fact, it is hardly possible for any nation to show a greater 
 superiority over another than the Americans, in this particular, | 
 have done over this country. They have fairly and completely, 
 and probably for ever, extinguished that. spirit of religious perse- 
 cution which has been the employment and the curse of mankind 
 for four or five centuries; not only that persecution which im- 
 prisons and scourges for religious opinions, but the tyranny of 
 incapacitation, which, by disqualifying from civil offices, and cutting 
 * The late M. M. Noah. It was objected to his election that a Jew would 
 
 thus come to have the hanging of Christians. ‘‘ Pretty Christians,” replied 
 Noah, ‘‘ to need hanging !”’ 
 
 
 
: ' 
 
 & 
 .* 
 . 
 2, 
 
 
 
 
 
 leit 
 ~ 
 * 
 
 
 
 192 POLITICAL UNION. 
 
 a man off from the lawful objects of ambition, endeavours to strangle 
 religious freedom in silence, and to enjoy all the advantages, with- 
 out the blood, and noise, and fire of persecution. What passes in 
 the mind of one mean blockhead is the general history of all per- 
 secution. “This man pretends to know better than me—TI cannot 
 subdue him by argument: but I will take care he shall never 
 be mayor or alderman of the town in which he lives; I will never 
 consent to the repeal of the test act or to Catholic emancipation ; 
 I will teach the fellow to differ from me in religious opinions !” 
 So says the Episcopalian to the Catholic—and so the Catholic 
 says to the Protestant. But the wisdom of America keeps them 
 all down—secures to them all their just rights—gives to each 
 of them their separate pews, and bells, and steeples—makes them 
 all aldermen in their turns—and quietly extinguishes the fagots 
 which each is preparing for the combustion of the other. Nor is 
 this indifference to religious subjects in the American people, but 
 pure civilization — a thorough comprehension of what is best cal- 
 culated to secure the public happiness and peace —and a determi- 
 nation that this happiness and peace shall not be violated by the 
 insolence of any human being, in the garb, and under the sanction, 
 of religion. In this particular, the Americans are at the head of 
 all the nations of the world: and at the same time they are, espe- 
 cially in the Eastern and Midland States, so far from being indiffer- 
 ent on subjects of religion, that they may be most justly character- 
 _jzed as a very religious people: but they are devout without being 
 injust (the great problem in religion) ; a higher proof of civili- 
 zation than painted tea-cups, water-proof leather, or broadcloth at 
 . two guineas a yard. 
 
 AMERICAN UNION. 
 
 . THovuecuH America is a confederation of republics, they are in 
 many cases much more amalgamated than the various parts of 
 Great Britain. Ifa citizen of the United States can make a shoe, 
 he is at liberty to make a shoe anywhere between Lake Ontario 
 and New Orleans—he may sole on the Mississippi—heel on the 
 Missouri— measure Mr. Birkbeck on the little Wabash, or take 
 (which our best politicians do not find an easy matter) the length 
 of Mr. Monroe’s foot on the banks of the Potomac. But wo to the 
 
. LYNCH-LAW. 193 
 
 cobbler, who, having made Hessian boots for the Alderman of 
 Newcastle, should venture to invest with these coriaceous integu- 
 ments the leg of a liege subject at York. A yellow ant in a nest 
 of red ants—a butcher’s dog in a fox-kennel—a mouse in a bee- 
 hive—all feel the effects of untimely intrusion ;—but far prefer- 
 able their fate to that of the misguided artisan, who, misled by six- 
 penny histories of England, and conceiving his country to have 
 been united at the Heptarchy, goes forth from his native town to 
 stitch freely within the sea-girt limits of Albion. Him the mayor, 
 him the alderman, him the recorder, him the quarter sessions 
 would worry. Him the justices before trial would long to get into 
 the treadmill; and would much lament that, by a recent act, they 
 could not do so, even with the intruding tradesman’s consent; but 
 the moment he was tried, they would push him in with redoubled 
 energy, and leave him to tread himself into a conviction of the 
 barbarous institutions of his corporation-divided country. | 
 
 a 
 
 e. JUDGE LYNCH. ‘. 
 a> 
 
 In all new and distant’ settlements the forms of law must, of 
 course, be very limited. No justice’s warrant is current in the 
 Dismal Swamp ; constables are exceedingly puzzled in the neigh- 
 bourhood of the Mississippi; and there is no treadmill, either/before 
 or after trial, on the Little Wabash. The consequence of this is, 
 that the settlers take the law into their own hands, and give notice . 
 to a justice-proof delinquent to quit the territory —if this notice & 
 disobeyed, they assemble and whip the culprit, and this failing, on 
 the second visit they cut off his ears. In short, Captain Rock has — 
 his descendants in America. Mankind cannot live together with- 
 out some approximation to justice; and if the actual government 
 will not govern well, or cannot govern well, is too wicked or too 
 weak to do so—then men prefer Rock to anarchy. 
 
 : 
 
 SUMMARY. 
 
 AMERICA seems, on the whole, to be a country possessing vast 
 advantages, and little inconveniences; they have a cheap govern- 
 ment, and bad roads; they pay no tithes, and have stage-coaches 
 without springs. They have no poor laws and no monopolies— 
 
 9 
 
it”. : 2 , 5 . hy | 
 
 194. SLAVERY. 
 
 
 
 
 but their inns are inconvenient, and si, a are teased with 
 
 questions. ‘They have no collections in the fine arts; but ‘they | 
 have no lord-chancellor, and they can go to law without absolute - 
 
 ruin. They cannot make Latin verses, but they expend immense 
 sums in the education of the poor. In all this the balance is pro- 
 digiously in their favour: but then comes the great disgrace and 
 danger of America—the existence of slavery, which if not timous- 
 ly corrected, will one day entail (and ought to entail) a bloody 
 servile war upon the Americans—which will separate America 
 
 into slave states and states disclaiming slavery, and which remains 
 
 at present as the foulest blot in the moral character of that people. 
 
 A high-spirited nation, who cannot endure the slightest act of — 
 
 foreign aggression and who revolt at the very shadow of domestic 
 tyranny — beat with cart-whips and bind with chains, and murder 
 for the merest trifles, wretched human beings who are of a more 
 
 dusky colour than themselves; and have recently admitted into. 
 their Union a new State, with the express permission of ingraft- « 
 
 ing this atrocious wickedness into their constitution! No one can 
 admire the simple wisdom and manly firmness of the Americans 
 more than we do, or more despise the pitiful propensity which 
 exists among government-runners to vent their small spite af their 
 character; but on the subject of slavery, the conduct of ‘America 
 
 is, and has been, most reprehensible. It is impossible to speak 
 
 of it with too much indignation and contempt; but for it, we should 
 look forward with unqualified pleasure to such a wa of freedom, 
 and such a magnificent spectacle of human rae te 9" 
 
 * Smith previously expressed this sentiment. in a letter to J oh ey (Foston 
 Noy. 23, 1818), who appears to have been suspicious. of his friend’s levity and 
 satire in handling the Americans in the Review : —“‘ My dear. J effrey, [entirely 
 agree with you respecting the Americans, and ‘believe that I am to the full 
 as much a Philo-Yankeeist as you are. Idoubt if there ever was an instance 
 
 of anew people conducting their affairs with so much wisdom, ov if. there» 
 
 ever was such an extensive scene of human happiness and prosperity. How- 
 ever, you could not know that such were my opinions 5, or if you did, ‘you 
 might imagine - enone sacrifice them to effect ; and in either ge 2 your "catl- 
 tion was proper.” a Pe 
 
 
 
ae FOOD OF THE MIND. P 3 
 s a. - > 
 
 > “; - 
 - - . 
 +»? a. % 
 
 
 
 SKETCHES OF MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 SUPPLIES FOR THE MIND.* 
 
 - ‘THe first thing to be done in conducting the understanding is 
 precisely the same as in conducting the body—to give it regular 
 and copious supplies of food, to prevent that atrophy and maras- 
 » © mus of mind, which comes on from giving it no new ideas.» It is 
 » a mistake equally fatal to the memory, the imagination, the powers 
 of reasoning, and to every faculty of the mind, to think too early 
 that we can live upon our stock of understanding —that it is time 
 . to leave off business, and make use of the acquisitions we have 
 already ,made, without troubling ourselves any further to add to 
 them. It,is no more possible for an idle man to keep together a 
 _ certain stock of knowledge, than it is possible to keep together a 
 stock of ice.exposed to.the meridian sun. Every day destroys a ~ 
 fact, a relation, or an inference; and the only method of preserving 
 the ‘bulk and-value of the shit is by constantly adding to it. 
 
 4% + > ‘ : sae “ . 
 , wet oF Miken AND GENIUS. 
 + 
 
 
 
 : 
 
 THE prevailing idea with young people has been, the incom- 
 patibility of labour and genius ; ; and, therefore, from the fear of 
 
 _ From the Peote on Geonduct of the Understanding, Part I. This 
 
 and the following selections embrace nearly the whole of the author’s two 
 
 . lectures ‘on the subject. They are here presented in paragraphs for conve- 
 
 nience and for better effect ; the passages being, in fact, short essays on the 
 
 separate topics. ‘The sequence has been piece ves though little importance 
 
 +.” was attached to that by the lecturer who-commences with the remark: ‘ As 
 
 the general. object of “mny lecture will be to guard against the most ordinary 
 
 i”. ‘and flagrant. errors | committed in the conduct of the understanding, and as [ 
 
 . see. 2S use in preserving? any order in their enumeration, I shall put them 
 down only i in the “— in gg eee happen to occur to me.” 
 
 ie * * 
 
196 NO EXCELLENCE WITHOUT LABOUR. 
 
 being thought dull, they have thought it necessary to remain ignor- 
 ant. I have seen, at school and at college, a great many young 
 men completely destroyed by having been so wnfortunate as to 
 produce an excellent copy of verses. Their genius being now 
 established, alt that remained for them to do was, to act up to the 
 dignity of the character; and, as this dignity consisted in reading 
 nothing new, in forgetting what they had already read, and in 
 pretending to be acquainted with all subjects, by a sort of off-hand 
 exertion of talents, they soon collapsed into the most frivolous and 
 insignificant of men. “ When we have had continually before us,” 
 says Sir Joshua Reynolds, “the great works of art, to impregnate 
 our minds with kindred ideas, we are then, and not till then, fit to 
 produce something of the same species. We behold all about us 
 with the eyes of those penetrating observers whose works we con- 
 template ; and our minds, accustomed to think the thoughts of the 
 noblest and brightest intellects, are prepared for the discovery and 
 selection of all that is great and noble in nature. The greatest 
 natural genius cannot subsist on its own stock: he who resolves 
 never to ransack any mind but his own, will be soon reduced from 
 mere barrenness to the poorest of all imitations ; he will be obliged 
 to imitate himself, and to repeat what he has before repeated. 
 When we know the subject designed by such men, it will never be 
 difficult to guess what kind of work is to be produced.” ‘There is 
 but one method, and that is hard labour; and a man who will not 
 pay that price for distinction, had better at once dedicate himself 
 to the pursuits of the fox—or sport with the tangles of Nezra’s 
 hair—or talk of bullocks, and glory in the goad! There are 
 many modes of being frivolous, and not a few of being useful; 
 there is but one mode of being intellectually great. 
 
 It would be an extremely profitable thing to draw up a short 
 and well-authenticated account of the habits of study of the most 
 celebrated writers with whose style of literary industry we happen 
 to be most acquainted. It would go very far to destroy the absurd 
 and pernicious association of genius and idleness, by showing them 
 that the greatest poets, orators, statesmen, and historians—men 
 of the most brilliant and imposing talents—have actually laboured 
 as hard as the makers of dictionaries and the arrangers of indexes ; 
 and that the most obvious reason why they have been superior to 
 other men is, that they have taken more pains than other men. 
 
. 
 
 THE BEST COMPANY. 197 
 
 Gibbon was in his study every morning, winter and summer, at 
 six o’clock; Mr. Burke was the most laborious and indefatigable 
 of human beings; Leibnitz was never out of his library; Pascal 
 killed himself by study; Cicero narrowly escaped death by the 
 same cause; Milton was .at his books with as much regularity as a 
 merchant or an attorney — he had mastered all the knowledge of his 
 time; sohad Homer. Raffaelle lived but thirty-seven years; and 
 in that short space carried the art so far beyond what it had before 
 reached, that he appears to stand alone as a model to his successors. 
 There are instances to the contrary ; but, generally speaking, the life 
 of all truly great men has been a life of intense and incessant labour. 
 They have commonly passed the first half of life in the gross dark- 
 ness of indigent humility—overlooked, mistaken, contemned, by 
 weaker men—thinking while others slept, reading while others 
 rioted, feeling something within them that told them they should 
 not always be kept down among the dregs of the world; and then, 
 when their time was come, and some little accident has given them 
 their first occasion, they have burst out into the light and glory of 
 public life, rich with the spoils of time, and mighty in all the la- 
 bours and struggles of the mind. ‘Then do the multitude cry out 
 “a miracle of genius!” Yes, he zs a miracle of genius, because 
 he is a miracle of labour; because, instead of trusting to the 
 resources of his own single mind, he has ransacked a thousand 
 minds ; because he makes use ‘of the accumulated wisdom of ages, 
 and takes as his point of departure the very last line and boundary 
 to which science has advanced; because it has ever been the 
 object of his life to assist every intellectual gift of nature, however 
 munificent, and however splendid, with every resource that art 
 could suggest, and every attention diligence could bestow. 
 
 AFFECTATIONS OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 Ir we are to read, it is a very important rule in the conduct 
 of the understanding, that we should accustom the mind to keep 
 the best company, by introducing it only to the best books. 
 But there is a sort of vanity some men have, of talking of, and 
 reading, obscure half-forgotten authors, because it passes as a 
 matter of course, that he who quotes authors which are so little 
 read, must be completely and thoroughly acquainted with those 
 
198 LITERARY FOPPERY. 
 
 authors which are in every man’s mouth. For instance, it is very 
 common to quote Shakespeare; but it makes a sort of stare to 
 quote Massinger. I have very little credit for being well ac- 
 quainted with Virgil; but if I quote Silius Italicus, I may stand 
 some chance of being reckoned a great scholar. In short, who- 
 ever wishes to strike out of the great road, and to make a short 
 cut to fame, let him neglect Homer, and Virgil, and Horace, and 
 Ariosto, and Milton, and, instead of these, read and talk of Fracas- 
 torius, Sannazarius, Lorenzini, Pastorini, and the thirty-six primary 
 sonneteers of Bettinelli; let him neglect everything which the 
 suffrage of ages has made venerable and grand, and dig out of 
 their graves a set of decayed scribblers, whom the silent verdict 
 of the public has fairly condemned to everlasting oblivion. If he 
 complain of the injustice with which they have been treated, and 
 call for a new trial with loud and importunate clamour, though I 
 am afraid he will not make much progress in the estimation of men 
 of sense, he will be sure to make some noise in the crowd, and to 
 be dubbed a man of very curious and extraordinary erudition. 
 
 Then there is another piece of foppery which is to be cautiously 
 guarded against—the foppery of universality—of knowing all 
 sciences and excelling in all arts—chemistry, mathematics, algebra, 
 dancing, history, reasoning, riding, fencing, Low Dutch, High 
 Dutch, natural philosophy, and enough Spanish to talk about Lope 
 de Vega: in short, the modern precept of education very often is, 
 “Take the Admirable Crichton for your model; I would have you 
 ignorant of nothing!” Now my advice, on the contrary, is, to 
 have the courage to be ignorant of a great number of things, in 
 order to avoid the calamity of being ignorant of everything. I 
 would exact of a young man a pledge that he would never read 
 Lope de Vega; he should pawn to me his honour to abstain from 
 Bettinelli, and his thirty-five original sonneteers; and I would 
 exact from him the most rigid securities that I was never to hear 
 anything about that race of penny poets who lived in the reigns 
 of Cosmo and Lorenzo di Medici. 
 
 I know a gentleman of the law who has a thorough knowledge 
 of fortifications, and whose acquaintance with bastions, and coun- 
 terscarps, and parallels, is perfectly astonishing. How impossible 
 it is for any man not professionally engaged in such pursuits to 
 evince a thorough acquaintance with them, without lowering him- 
 
LOVE OF TRUTH. 199 
 
 self in the estimation of every man of understanding who hears 
 him! How thoroughly aware must all such men be, that the time 
 dedicated to such idle knowledge has been lost to the perfection 
 of those mental habits, any one of which is better than the most 
 
 We do not want readers, for the number of readers seems to be 
 very much upon the increase, and mere readers are very often the 
 most idle of human beings. There is a sort of feeling of getting 
 through a book—of getting enough out of it, perhaps, for the 
 purpose of conversation—which is the great cause of this imper- 
 fect reading, and the forgetfulness which is the consequence of it: 
 whereas the ambition of a man of parts should be, not to know 
 books, but things ; not to show other men that he has read Locke, 
 and Montesquieu, and Beccaria, and Dumont, but to show them 
 that he knows the subjects on which Locke and Becearia and 
 Dumont have written. It is no more necessary that a man should 
 remember the different dinners and suppers which have made him 
 healthy, than the different books which have made him wise. Let 
 us see the result of good food in a strong body, and the result of 
 great reading in a full and powerful mind. 
 
 
 
 ATTACHMENT TO TRUTH. 
 
 A SINCERE attachment to truth, moral and scientific, is a habit 
 which cures a thousand little infirmities of mind, and is as honour- 
 able to a man who possesses it, in point of character, as it is profit- 
 able in point of improvement. There is nothing more beautiful in 
 science than to hear any man candidly owning his ignorance. It 
 is so little the habit of men who cultivate knowledge to do so—they 
 so often have recourse to subterfuge, nonsense, or hypothesis, rather 
 than to a plain, manly declaration, either that they themselves do 
 not understand the subject, or that the subject is not understood — 
 that it is really quite refreshing to witness such instances of philo- 
 sophical candour, and it creates an ¢mmediate prepossession in fa- 
 vour of the person in whom it is observed. ¥ 
 
 ABUSE OF WORDS. 
 
 Next to this we have the abuse of words, and the fallacy of as- 
 sociations ; compared with which all other modes of misconducting 
 
swe 
 F. . 
 200 USE OF WORDS. 
 
 - the understanding are insignificant and trivial. What do you mean 
 by what you say? Are you prepared to give a clear account of 
 words which you use so positively, and by the help of which you 
 form opinions that you seem resolved to maintain at all hazards? 
 Perhaps I should astonish many persons by putting to them such 
 sort of questions:—Do you know what is meant by the word 
 nature? Have you definite notions of justice? How do you 
 explain the word chance? What is virtue? Men are every day 
 framing the rashest propositions on such sort of subjects, and pre- 
 pared to kill and to die in their defence. They never, for a single 
 instant, doubt of the meaning of that, which was embarrassing to 
 Locke, and in which Leibnitz and Descartes were never able to 
 agree. Ten thousand people have been burned before now, or 
 hanged, for one proposition. The proposition had no meaning. 
 Looked into and examined in these days, it is absolute nonsense. 
 A man quits his country in disgust at some supposed violation of . 
 its liberties, sells his estates, and settles in America. Twenty 
 years afterward, it occurs to him, that he had never reflected upon 
 the meaning of the word; that he has packed up his goods and 
 changed his country for a sound. 
 
 Fortitude, justice, and candour, are very necessary instruments 
 of happiness; but they require time and exertion. ‘The instru- 
 ments I am now proposing to you you must not despise—gram- 
 mar, definition, and interpretation —instruments which overturn 
 the horrible tyranny of adjectives and substantives, and free the 
 mind from the chains of that logocracy in which it is so frequently 
 enslaved. Now have the goodness to observe what I mean. If 
 you choose to quarrel with your eldest son, do it; if you are de- 
 termined to be disgusted with the world, and to go and live in 
 Westmoreland, do so; if you are resolved to quit your country, 
 and settle in America, go!—only, when you have settled the 
 reasons upon which you take one or the other of these steps, have 
 the goodness to examine whether the words in which those reasons 
 are contained have really any distinct meaning; and if you find 
 they have not, embrace your first-born, forget America, unloose 
 your packages, and remain where you are! 
 
 There are men who suffer certain barren generalities to get the 
 better of their understandings, by which they try all their opinions, 
 and make them their perpetual standards of right and wrong: as 
 
 ver es an 
 
- ~ , 
 - 
 : 9: 
 
 ts 9 » 4 
 -* 'TIMIDITY. 201 
 
 thus — Let us beware of novelty ; The excesses of the people are 
 always to be feared: or these contrary maxims—that there isa — 
 natural tendency in all governments to encroach upon the.liberties 
 of the people; or that everything modern is probably an improve- 
 ment of antiquity. Now what can the use be of sawing about a 
 set of maxims to which there are a aoe eee set of antagonist 
 maxims? For of what use is it to tell me that governors have a 
 tendency to encroach upon the liberties of the people? and is that 
 a reason why you should throw yourself systematically in opposi- 
 tion to the government? What you say is very true; what you 
 do is very foolish. For is there not another maxim quite as true, 
 that the excesses of the people are to be guarded against? and 
 does not one evil @ priori require your attention as well as another ? 
 The business is, to determine, at any one particular period of af- 
 fairs, which is in danger of being weakened, and to act according- 
 ly, like an honest and courageous man; not to lie like a dead 
 weight at one end of the beam, without the smallest recollection 
 there is any other, and that the equilibrium will be violated alike 
 whichever extreme shall preponderate. In the same manner, a 
 thing is not good because it is new, or good because it is old ;— 
 there is no end of retorting such equally true principles: but it is 
 good because it is fit for the purpose for which it was intended, and 
 bad because it is not. 
 
 COURAGE IN THE USE OF TALENT.” 
 
 A GREAT deal of talent is lost to the world for the want of 
 a little courage. Every day sends to their graves a number of 
 obscure men who have only remained obscure because their timid- 
 ity has prevented them from making a first effort; and who, if 
 they could only have been induced to begin, would in all proba- 
 bility have gone great lengths in the career of fame. The fact is, 
 that in order to do anything in this world worth doing, we must 
 not stand shivering on the bank, and thinking of the cold and the 
 danger, but jump in and scramble through as well as we can. It 
 will not do to be perpetually calculating risks, and adjusting nice 
 chances: it did all very well before the Flood, when a man could 
 consult his friends upon an intended publication for a hundred and 
 fifty years, and then live to see its success for six or seven centu- 
 
 Q* 
 
202 a FASTIDIOUSNESS. 
 ie 
 
 ries afterward; but at present a man waits, and doubts, and hesi- 
 tates, and consults his brother, and his uncle, and his first cousins, 
 and his particular friends, till one fine day he finds that he is sixty- 
 five years of age—that he has lost so much time in consulting first 
 cousins and particular friends, that he has no more time left to 
 follow their advice. ‘There is such little time for over-squeamish- 
 
 -at present, the opportunity so easily slips away, the very 
 period of life at which a man chooses to venture, 7f ever, is so con- 
 fined, that it is no bad rule to preach up the necessity, in such 
 instances, of a little violence done to the feelings, and of efforts 
 made in defiance of strict and sober calculation. 
 
 With respect to that fastidiousness which disturbs the right con- 
 duct of the understanding, it must be observed that there are two 
 modes of judging of anything: one, by the test of what has actu- 
 ally been done in-the same way before ; the other, by what we can 
 conceive may be done in that way. Now this latter method of 
 mere imaginary excellence can hardly be a just criterion, because 
 it may be in fact impossible to reduce to practice what it is per- 
 fectly easy to conceive: no man, before he has tried, can tell how 
 difficult it is to manage prejudice, jealousy, and delicacy, and to 
 overcome all that friction which the world opposes to speculation. 
 Therefore, the fair practical rule seems to be, to compare any ex- 
 ertion, by all similar exertions which have preceded it, and to al- 
 low merit to any one who has improved, or, at least, who has not 
 deteriorated the standard of excellence, in his own department of 
 knowledge. Fastidious men are always judging by the other 
 standard ; and, as the rest of the understanding cannot fill up in a 
 century what the imagination can sketch out in a moment, they 
 are always in a state of perpetual disappointment, and their con- 
 versation one uniform tenor of blame. At the same time that I say 
 this, I beg leave to lift up both my hands against that pernicious 
 facility of temper, in the estimation of which everything is charming 
 and delightful. Among the smaller duties of life I hardly know 
 any one more important than that of not praising where praise is 
 not due. Reputation i is one of the prizes for which men contend: 
 “it is,’ as Mr. Burke calls it, “the cheap defence and ornament of 
 nations, and the nurse of manly exertions ;” it produces more la- 
 bour and more talent than twice the wealth of a country could ever 
 rear up. It is the coin of genius; and it is the imperious duty of 
 
ARGUMENT. 203 
 
 every man to bestow it with the most scrupulous justice and the 
 wisest economy. 
 
 HABIT OF DISCUSSION. 
 
 I am about to recommend a practice in the conduct of the 
 understanding which I dare say will be strongly objected to, by 
 many men of the world who may overhear it, and that is, the 
 practice of arguing, or, if that be a word in bad repute, of dis- 
 cussing. But then I have many limitations to add to such recom- 
 mendation. It is as unfair to compel a man to discuss with you, 
 who can not play the game, or does not like it, as it would be to 
 compel a person to play at chess with you under similar circum- 
 stances: neither is such a sort of exercise of the mind suitable to 
 the rapidity and equal division of general conversation. Such sort 
 of practices are, of course, as ill-bred and as absurd as it would be 
 to pull out a grammar and dictionary in a general society, and to 
 prosecute the study of a language. But when two men meet 
 together who love truth, and discuss any difficult point with good 
 nature and a respect for each other’s understandings, it always 
 imparts a high degree of steadiness and certainty to our know- 
 ledge; or, what is nearly of equal value, and certainly of greater 
 difficulty, it convinces us of our ignorance. It is an exercise 
 grossly abused by those who have recourse to it, and is very apt 
 to degenerate into a habit of perpetual contradiction, which is the 
 most tiresome and most disgusting in all the catalogue of imbecili- 
 ties. It is an exercise which timid men dread—from which ir- 
 ritable men ought to abstain; but which, in my humble opinion, 
 advances a man, who is calm enough for it, and strong enough for 
 it, far beyond any other method of employing the mind. Indeed, 
 a promptitude to discuss, is so far a proof of a sound mind, that, 
 whenever we feel pain and alarm at our opinions being called in 
 question, it is almost a certain sign, that they have been taken up 
 without examination, or that the reasons which once determined 
 our judgment have vanished away. ™ 
 
 I direct these observations only to those who are capable of 
 discussing; for there are many who have not, the quickness and 
 the presence of mind necessary for it, and who, in consequence, 
 must be compelled to yield their opinions to the last speaker. 
 
ie. 
 ae 
 ros 
 
 ¥ 
 
 204 USE OF OTHERS. 
 
 ~ 
 
 And there is no question, that it is far preferable to remain under 
 the influence of moderate errors, than to be bandied about for the 
 whole of life from one opinion to another, at the pleasure, and for 
 the sport of superior intelligence. 
 But other men’s understandings are to be made use of, in the 
 conduct of your own, in many other methods than in that of dis- 
 cussion. Lord Bacon says, that to enter into the kingdom of know- 
 ledge, we must put on the spirit of little children; and if he means 
 that we are to submit to be taught by whoever can, or will teach 
 us, it is a habit of mind which leads to very rapid improvement ; 
 because a person who possesses it is always putting himself ina 
 train to correct his prejudices, and dissolve his unphilosophical as- 
 sociations. The truth is, that most men want knowledge, not for 
 itself, but for the superiority which knowledge confers; and the 
 means they employ to secure this superiority, are as wrong as the 
 ultimate object, for no man can ever end with being superior, who 
 will not begin with being inferior. The readiest way of founding 
 that empire of talent and knowledge which is the mistaken end 
 such men propose to themselves of knowledge, is, patiently to gather 
 
 from every understanding that will impart them, the materials of _ 
 your future power and importance. There are some sayings in” 
 
 our language about merit being always united with modesty, &c. 
 
 (I suppose because they both begin with an m, for alliteration has 
 a great power over proverbs, and proverbs over public opinion) ; 
 but I fancy that in the majority of instances, the fact is directly 
 the reverse—that talents aud arrogance are commonly united, 
 and that most clever young men of eighteen or nineteen believe 
 themselves to be about the level of Demosthenes, or Virgil, or the 
 Admirable Crichton, or John Duke of Marlborough: but whatever 
 the fact be with respect to modesty, and omitting all the popularity 
 and policy of modesty, I am sure modesty ¢s a part of talent; that 
 a certain tendency to hear what others have to say, and to give it 
 its due weight and: importance, is quite as valuable as it is ami- 
 able; that it is a vast promoter of knowledge; and that the con- 
 trary habit of general contempt, is a very dangerous practice in 
 the conduct of the understanding. It exists, I am afraid, com- 
 monly in the minds of able men, but they would be much better 
 without it. 
 
 a 
 
 vn 
 
j 
 
 hat” 
 > 
 
 SUBTILTIES. 205 
 
 SKEPTICISM. 
 
 As for general skepticism, the only way to avoid it is, to 
 seize on some first principles arbitrarily, and not to quit them. 
 Take as few as you can help—about a tenth part of what Dr. 
 Reid has taken will suffice—but take some,.and proceed to build 
 upon them. As I have before mentioned, the leading principle 
 of Descartes’ philosophy was, Cogito, ergo sum—*“TI think, there- 
 fore I exist ;’ and having laid this foundation-stone, he built an 
 enormous building, the ruins of which lie scattered up and down 
 among the sciences in disordéred glory and venerable confusion. 
 Some of his disciples, however, could never get a single step 
 farther ;— they admitted their own existence, but could never 
 deduce any one single truth from it. One might almost wish that 
 these gentlemen had disencumbered themselves of this their only 
 idea, by running down steep places, or walking very far into pro- 
 found ponds, rather than that they should exhibit such a spectacle 
 of stupidity and perversion. 
 
 Such sort of questions as the credibility of memory, and per- 
 sonal identity, are not merely innocent subtilties. I admit it is 
 quite impossible in practice to disbelieve either the one or the 
 other: but they excite a suspicion of the perfect uncertainty of 
 
 ‘all knowledge; and they often keep young men hesitating and 
 
 quibbling about the rudiments of all knowledge, instead of push- 
 ing on their inquiries with cheerfulness and vigour. Iam sure I 
 am not stating an ideal evil; but I know from actual experience, 
 that many understandings have been retarded for years in their 
 prosecution of solid and valuable knowledge, because they could 
 see no evidence for first principles, and were unable to prove that 
 which, by the very meaning of the expression must be incapable 
 of all proof. ‘They considered the whole as an unstable and un- 
 philosophical fabric, and contracted either an indifference to, or 
 contempt for truth. And if you choose to call all knowledge hy- 
 pothetical, because first principles are arbitrarily assumed, you 
 certainly may call it so, if you please; but then I only contend 
 that it does quite as well as if it were not hypothetical, because 
 all the various errors agree perfectly well together, and produce 
 that happiness which is the end of knowledge. 
 
206 THE ROUND MAN IN THE ROUND HOLE. 
 
 THE RIGHT MAN IN THE RIGHT PLACE. 
 
 It is a very wise rule in the conduct of the understanding, to 
 acquire early a correct notion of your own peculiar constitution 
 of mind, and to become well acquainted, as a physician would say, 
 with your tdiosyncrasy. Are you an acute man, and see sharply 
 for small distances? or are you a comprehensive man, and able to 
 take in wide and extensive views into your mind? Does your 
 mind turn its ideas into wit? or are you apt to take a common- 
 sense view of the objects presented to you? Have you an exu- 
 berant imagination, or a correct judgment? Are you quick, or 
 slow? accurate, or hasty? a great reader, or a great thinker? It 
 is a prodigious point gained if any man can find out where his 
 powers lie, and what are his deficiencies—if he can contrive to 
 ascertain what Nature intended him for: and such are the changes 
 and chances of the world, and so difficult is it to ascertain our own 
 understandings, or those of others, that most things are done by 
 persons who could have done something else better. If you 
 choose to represent the various parts in life by holes upon a table, 
 of different shapes—some circular, some triangular, some square, 
 some oblong—and the persons acting these parts by bits of wood 
 of similar shapes, we shall generally find that the triangular person 
 has got into the square hole, the oblong into the triangular, and 
 a square person has squeezed himself into the round hole. The 
 officer and the office, the doer and the thing done, seldom fit so 
 exactly, that we can say they were almost made for each other. 
 
 REWARDS OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 But while I am descanting so minutely upon the conduct of 
 the understanding, and the best modes of acquiring knowledge, 
 some men may be disposed to ask, “ Why conduct my under- 
 standing with such endless care? and what is the use of so much 
 knowledge?” What is the use of so much knowledge ?— what is 
 the use of so much life?—what are we to do with the seventy 
 years of existence allotted to us?—and how are we to live them 
 out to the last? I solemnly declare that, but for the love of 
 knowledge, I should consider the life of the meanest hedger and 
 ditcher, as preferable to that of the greatest and richest man here 
 
WAYS OF WISDOM. 207 
 
 present: for the fire of our minds is like the fire which the Persians 
 burn in the mountains —it flames night and day, and is immortal, 
 and not to be quenched! Upon something it must act and feed — 
 upon the pure spirit of knowledge, or upon the foul dregs of pol- 
 luting passions. ‘Therefore, when I say, in conducting your under- 
 standing, love knowledge with a great love, with a vehement love, 
 with a love coeval with life, what do I say, but love innocence — 
 love virtue —love purity of conduct—love that which, if you are 
 rich and great, will sanctify the blind fortune which has made you 
 so, and make men call it justice—love that which, if you are 
 poor, will render your poverty respectable, and make the proudest 
 feel it unjust to laugh at the meanness of your fortunes—love that 
 which will comfort you, adorn you, and never quit you— which 
 will open to you the kingdom of thought, and all the boundless 
 regions of conception, as an asylum against the cruelty, the in- 
 justice, and the pain, that may be your lot in the outer world — 
 that which will make your motives habitually great and honour- 
 able, and light up in an instant a thousand noble disdains at the 
 very thought of meanness and of fraud! Therefore, if any young 
 man here have embarked his life in pursuit of Knowledge, let him 
 go on without doubting or fearing the event;—Jlet him not be in- 
 timidated by the cheerless beginnings of knowledge, by the dark- 
 ness from which she springs, by the difficulties which hover 
 around her, by the wretched habitations in which she dwells, by 
 the want and sorrow which sometimes journey in her train; but 
 let him ever follow her as the Angel that guards him, and as the 
 Genius of his life. She will bring him out at last into the light 
 of day, and exhibit him to the world comprehensive in acquire- 
 ments, fertile in resources, rich in imagination, strong in reasoning, 
 prudent and powerful above his fellows, in all the relations and in 
 all the offices of life. 
 
 EMULATION. * 
 
 OnE of the best methods of rendering study agreeable is to live 
 with able men, and to suffer all those pangs of inferiority, which 
 the want of knowledge always inflicts. Nothing short of some 
 
 * This passage and the following, are from the second Lecture on the Con- 
 duct of the Understanding. 
 
208 EARNEST STUDY: 
 
 such powerful motive, can drive a young person in the full pos- 
 session of health and bodily activity, to such an unnatural and such 
 an unobvious mode of passing his life as study. But this is the 
 way that intellectual greatness often begins. The trophies of Mil- 
 tiades drive away sleep. A young man sees the honour in which 
 knowledge is held by his fellow-creatures ; and he surrenders every 
 present gratification, that he may gain them. ‘The honour in 
 which living genius is held, the trophies by which it is adorned 
 after life, it receives and enjoys from the feelings of men— not 
 from their sense of duty: but men never obey this feeling without 
 discharging the first of all duties, without securing the rise and 
 growth of genius, and increasing the dignity of our nature, by 
 enlarging the dominion of mind. No eminent man was ever yet 
 rewarded in vain ; no breath of praise was ever idly lavished upon 
 him; it has never yet been idle and foolish to rear up splendid 
 monuments to his name: the rumour of these things impels young 
 minds to the noblest exertions, creates in them an empire over 
 present passions, inures them to the severest toils, determines 
 them to live only for the use of others, and to leave a great and 
 lasting memorial behind them. 
 
 HEARTY READING. 
 
 BesipeE the shame of inferiority, and the love of reputation, 
 curiosity is a passion very favourable to the love of study and a 
 passion very susceptible of increase by cultivation. Sound travels 
 so many feet in a second; and light travels so many feet in a 
 second. Nothing more probable: but you do not care how light 
 and sound travel. Very likely: but make yourself care; get up, 
 shake yourself well, pretend to care, make believe to care, and 
 very soon you will care, and care so much, that you will sit for 
 hours thinking about light and sound, and be extremely angry 
 with any one who interrupts you in your pursuits; and tolerate 
 no other conversation but about light and sound; and catch your- 
 self plaguing everybody to death who approaches you, with the 
 discussion of these subjects. I am sure that a man ought to read 
 as he would grasp a nettle : — do it lightly, and you get molested ; 
 grasp it with all your strength, and you feel none of its asperities. 
 There is nothing so horrible as languid study ; when you sit look- 
 
“*y 
 
 THE STUDENT LIFE. 209 
 
 ing at the clock, wishing the time was over, or that somebody 
 would call on you and put you out of your misery. The only 
 way to read with any efficacy, is to read so heartily, that dinner- 
 times comes two hours before you expected it. To sit with your 
 Livy before you, and hear the geese cackling that saved the cap- 
 itol; and to see with your own eyes the Carthaginian sutlers 
 gathering up the rings of the Roman knights after the battle of 
 Cannz, and heaping them into bushels; and to be so intimately 
 present at the actions you are reading of, that when anybody 
 knocks at the door, it will take you two or three seconds to de- 
 termine whether you are in your own study, or in the plains of 
 Lombardy, looking at. Hannibal’s weather-beaten face, and admir- 
 ing the splendour of his single eye ; — this is the only kind of study 
 which is not tiresome ; and almost the only kind which is not use- 
 less: this is the knowledge which gets into the system, and which 
 aman carries about and uses like his limbs, without perceiving 
 that is it extraneous, weighty, or inconvenient. 
 
 HABITS OF STUDY. 
 
 To study successfully, the body must be healthy, the mind at 
 ease, and time managed with great economy. Persons who study 
 many hours in the day, should perhaps, have two separate pursuits 
 going on at the same time —one for one part of the day, and the 
 other for the other; and these of as opposite a nature as possible, 
 —as Euclid and Ariosto; Locke and Homer; Hartley on Man, 
 and Voyages round the Globe; that the mind may be refreshed 
 by change, and all the bad effects of lassitude avoided. There 
 is one piece of advice, in a life of study, which I think no one 
 will object to; and that is, every now and then to be completely 
 idle —to do nothing at all: indeed, this part of a life of study is 
 commonly considered as so decidedly superior to the rest, that it 
 has almost obtained an exclusive preference over those other parts 
 of the system, with which I wish to see it connected. 
 
 It has been often asked whether a man should study at stated 
 intervals, or as the fit seizes him, and as he finds himself disposed 
 to study. To this I answer, that where a man can trust himself, 
 rules are superfluous. If his inclinations lead him to a fair share 
 of exertion, he had much better trust to his inclinations alone ; 
 
210 ART OF THINKING. 
 
 where they do not, they must be controlled by rules. It is just the 
 same with sleep; and with everything else. Sleep as much as 
 you please, if your inclination lead you only to sleep as much as 
 is convenient; if not, make rules. ‘The system in everything 
 ought to be—do as you please—so long as you please to do 
 what is right. Upon these principles, every man must see how 
 far he may trust to his inclinations, before he takes away their nat- 
 ural liberty. I confess, however, it has never fallen to my lot to 
 see many persons who could be trusted ; and the method, I believe, 
 in which most great men have gone to work, is by regular and 
 systematic industry. 
 
 A little hard thinking will supply the place of a great deal of 
 reading; and an hour or two spent in this manner sometimes lead 
 you to conclusions which it would require a volume to establish. 
 The mind advances in its train of thought, as a restiff colt pro- 
 ceeds on the road in which you wish to guide him; he is always 
 running to one side or the other, and deviating from the proper 
 path, to which it is your affair to bring him back. I have asked 
 several men what passes in their minds when they are thinking ; 
 and I never could find any man who could think for two minutes 
 together. Everybody has seemed to admit that it was a perpet- 
 ual deviation from a particular path, and a perpetual return to it; 
 which, imperfect as the operation is, is the only method in which 
 we can operate with our minds to carry on any process of thought. 
 It takes some time to throw the mind into an attitude of thought, 
 or into any attitude; though the power of doing this, and, in gen- 
 eral, of thinking, is amazingly increased by habit. We acquire, at 
 length, a greater command over our associations, and are better 
 enabled to pursue one object, unmoved by all the other thoughts 
 which cross it in every direction. 
 
 One of the best modes of improving in the art of thinking, is, to 
 think over some subject, before you read upon it; and then to ob- 
 serve after what manner it has occurred to the mind of some great 
 master. You will then observe whether you have been too rash 
 or too timid; what you have omitted, and in what you have ex- 
 ceeded; and by this process you will insensibly catch a great man- 
 ner of viewing a question. It is right in study, not only to think 
 when any extraordinary incident provokes you to think, but from 
 time to time to review what has passed; to dwell upon it, and to 
 
ws. 
 
 WRITING AND REFLECTION. Al bi 
 
 see what trains of thought voluntarily-present themselves to your 
 mind. It is a most superior habit of some minds, to refer all the 
 particular truths which strike them, to other truths more general: 
 so that their knowledge is beautifully methodized: and the general 
 truth at any time suggests all the particular exemplifications; or 
 any particular exemplification, at once leads to the general truth. 
 This kind of understanding has an immense and decided superior- 
 ity over those confused heads in which one fact is piled upon an- 
 other, without the least attempt at classification and arrangement. 
 Some men always read with a pen in their hand, and commit to 
 paper any new thought which strikes them; others trust to chance 
 for its reappearance. Which of these is the best method in the 
 conduct of the understanding, must, I should suppose, depend a 
 great deal upon the particular understanding in question. Some 
 men can do nothing without preparation; others, little with it: 
 some are fountains, some reservoirs. My very humble and limited 
 experience goes to convince me, that it is a very useless practice ; 
 that men seldom read again what they have committed to paper, 
 nor remember what they have so committed one iota the better for 
 their additional trouble: on the contrary, I believe it has a direct 
 tendency to destroy the promptitude and tenacity of memory, by 
 diminishing the vigour of present attention, and seducing the mind 
 to depend upon future reference: at least, such is the effect I have 
 uniformly found it to produce upon myself; and the same remark 
 has been frequently made to me by other persons, of their own 
 habits of study. I am by no means contending against the utility 
 and expediency of writing; on the contrary, J am convinced there 
 can be no very great accuracy of mind without it. I am only an- 
 imadverting upon that exaggerated use of it, which disunites the 
 mind from the body: renders the understanding no longer portable, 
 but leaves a man’s wit and talents neatly written out in his com- 
 monplace book, and safely locked up in the bottom drawer of 
 his bureau. This is the abuse of writing. The use of it, I pre- 
 sume, is, to give perspicuity and accuracy; to fix a habitation for, 
 and to confer a name upon, our ideas, so that they may be con- 
 sidered and reconsidered themselves, and in their arrangement. 
 Every man is extremely liable to be deceived in his reflections, 
 till he has habituated himself to putting his thoughts upon paper, 
 and perceived, from such a process, how often propositions that ap- 
 
* 
 
 - 
 
 212 BOOKS AND CONVERSATION. 
 
 peared, before such development, to be almost demonstrable, have 
 vanished into nonsense when a clearer light has been thrown upon 
 them. I should presume, also, that much writing must teach a 
 good order and method in the disposition of our reasonings ; be- 
 cause the connection of any one part with the whole, will be made 
 so much more evident than it can be before it is put into visible 
 sions. Writing, also, must teach a much more accurate use of lan- 
 guage. In conversation, any language almost will do; that is, great 
 indulgence is extended to the language of talkers, because a talker 
 is at hand to explain himself, and his looks and gestures are a sort 
 of comment upon his words, and help to interpret them: but as a 
 writer has no such auxiliary language to communicate his ideas, 
 and no power of re-explaining them when once clothed in language, 
 he has nothing to depend upon but a steady and careful use of 
 terms. 
 
 CONVERSATION. 
 
 THE advantage conversation has over all the other modes of im- 
 proving the mind, is, that it is more natural and more interesting. A 
 book has no eyes, and ears, and feelings; the best are apt'every now 
 and then to become a little languid; whereas, a living book walks 
 about, and varies his conversation and manner, and prevents you 
 from going to sleep. ‘There is certainly a great evil in this, as 
 well as a good; for the interest between a man and his living folio, 
 becomes sometimes a little too keen, and in the competition for 
 victory they become a little too animated toward, and sometimes 
 exasperated against, each other; whereas, a man and his book 
 generally keep the peace with tolerable success; and if they dis- 
 agree, the man shuts his book, and tosses it into a corner of the 
 room, which it might not be quite so safe or easy to do with a liv- 
 ing folio. It is an inconvenience in a book, that you can not ask 
 questions ; there is no explanation; and a man is less guarded in 
 conversation than in a book, and tells you with more honesty the 
 little niceties and exceptions of his opinions; whereas, in a book, 
 as his opinions are canvassed where they cannot be explained 
 and defended, he often overstates a point for fear of being misun- 
 derstood; but then, on the contrary, almost every man talks a 
 great deal better in his books, with more sense, more information, 
 
INDIVIDUAL TALENT. . 2a 
 
 and more reflection than he can possibly do in his conversation, 
 because he has more time. 
 
 ALLOWANCE FOR INDIVIDUAL PECULIARITIES. § — 
 
 Ir is a great thing toward making right judgments, if a man 
 know what allowance to make for himself; and what discount 
 should habitually be given to his opinions, according as he is old 
 or young, French or English, clergyman or layman, rich or poor, 
 torpid or fiery, healthy or ill, sorrowful or gay. All these various 
 circumstances are perpetually communicating to the objects about 
 them a colour which is not their true colour! whereas wisdom is 
 of no age, nation, profession, or temperament; and is neither sor- 
 rowful nor sad. A man must have some particular qualities, and 
 be affected by some particular circumstances; but the object is, to 
 discover what they are, and habitually to allow for them. 
 
 STICK TO YOUR GENIUS. 
 
 THERE is one circumstance I would preach up, morning, noon, 
 and night, to young persons for the management of their under- 
 standing. Whatever you are from nature, keep to it; never desert 
 your own line of talent. If Providence only intended you to write 
 “posies for rings, or mottoes for twelfth-cakes, keep to posies and 
 mottoes ; a good motto for a twelfth-cake is more respectable than 
 a villanous epic poem in twelve books. Be what nature intended 
 you for, and you will succeed; be anything else, and you will be 
 ten thousand times worse than nothing. 
 
 USES OF WIT. 
 
 Ir black and white men live together, the consequence is, that, 
 unless great care be taken, they quarrel and fight. There is nearly 
 as strong a disposition in men of opposite minds to despise each 
 other. A grave man cannot conceive what is the use of wit in 
 society ; a person who takes a strong common-sense view of a sub- 
 ject, is for pushing out by the head and shoulders an ingenious 
 theorist, who catches at the lightest and faintest analogies; and 
 another man, who scents the ridiculous from afar, will hold no 
 
Oy2l4 ECONOMY OF INTELLECT.  «. 
 
 commerce with him who tastes exquisitely the fine feelings of the 
 heart, and is alive to nothing else; whereas talent. is talent, and 
 mind is mind, in all its branches! Wit gives to life one of its best 
 flavours ; common sense leads to immediate action, and gives so- 
 ciety its daily motion; large and comprehensive views, its annual 
 rotation ; ridicule chastises folly and impudence, and keeps men in 
 their proper sphere; subtlety seizes hold of the fine threads of 
 truth; analogy darts away to the most sublime discoveries; feel- 
 ing paints all the exquisite passions of man’s soul, and rewards 
 him by a thousand inward visitations for the sorrows that come 
 from without. God made it all! It is allgood! We must despise 
 no sort of talent; they all have their separate duties and uses; all, 
 the happiness of man for their object; they all improve, exalt, and 
 gladden life. | 
 
 CAUTION. 
 
 CavTION, though it must be considered as something very dif- 
 ferent from talent, is no mean aid to every species of talent. As 
 some men are so skilful in economy, that they will do as much with 
 a hundred pounds as another will do with two, so there are a 
 species of men, who have a wonderful management of their under- 
 standings, and will make as great a show, and enjoy as much con- 
 sideration, with a certain quantity of understanding, as others will 
 do with the double of their portion; and this by watching times 
 and persons; by taking strong positions, and never fighting but 
 ftom the vantage ground, and with great disparity of numbers; 
 in short, by risking nothing, and by a perpetual and systematic 
 attention to the security of reputation. Such rigid economy—by 
 laying out every shilling at compound interest—very often accu- 
 mulates a large stock of fame, where the original capital has been 
 very inconsiderable ; and, of course, may command any degree of 
 opulence, where it sets out from great beginnings, and is united 
 with real genius. or the want of this caution, there is an habit- 
 ual levity sometimes fixes itself upon the minds of able men, and 
 a certain manner of viewing and discussing all questions in a frivo- 
 lous mocking manner, as if they had looked through all human 
 knowledge, and found in it nothing but what they could easily 
 master, and were entitled to despise. Of all mistakes the greatest, to” 
 
 * 
 
a PS 
 } REPAIR OF FAILURE, 2168 
 
 live and to think life of no consequence ; to fritter away the powers 
 of the understanding, merely to make others believe that you pos- 
 sess them in a more eminent degree; and gradually to diminish 
 your interest in human affairs, from an affected air of superiority, 
 to which neither yourself nor any human being can possibly be en- 
 titled. It is a beautiful mark of a healthy and right understand- 
 ing, when a man is serious and attentive to all great questions ; 
 when you observe him, with modesty and attention, adding gradu- 
 ally to his conviction and knowledge on such topics; not repulsed 
 by his own previous mistakes, not disgusted by the mistakes of 
 others, but in spite of violence and error, believing that there is, 
 somewhere or other, moderation and truth—and that to seek that 
 truth with diligence, with seriousness, and with constancy, is one of 
 the highest and best objects for which a man can live. 
 
 Some men get early disgusted with the task of improvement, 
 and the cultivation of the mind, from some excesses which they 
 have committed, and mistakes into which they have been betrayed, 
 at the beginning of life. They abuse the whole art of navigation, 
 because they have stuck upon a shoal; whereas, the business is, 
 to refit, careen, and set out a second time. The navigation is very 
 difficult ; few of us get through it at first, without some rubs and 
 lossos—which the world are always ready enough to forgive, 
 where they are honestly confessed, and diligently repaired. It 
 would, indeed, be a piteous case, if a young man were pinioned 
 down through life to the first nonsense he happens to write or talk; 
 and the world are, to do them justice, sufficiently ready to release 
 them from such obligation; but what they do not forgive is, that 
 juvenile enthusiasm and error, which ends in mature profligacy ; 
 which begins with mistaking what is right, and ends with denying 
 that there is any right at all: which leaps from partial confi- 
 dence to universal skepticism ; which says, “ There is no such thing 
 as true religion and rational liberty, because I have been a furious 
 zealot, or a seditious demagogue.” Such men should be taught 
 that wickedness is never an atonement for mistake; and they should 
 be held out as a lesson to the young, that unless they are contented 
 to form their opinions modestly, they will too often be induced to 
 abandon them entirely. 
 
 _ There is something extremely fascinating in quickness; and 
 - most men are desirous of appearing quick. The great rule for be- 
 
216 SEARCH AFTER TRUTH. 
 
 coming so, is, by not attempting to appear quicker than you really 
 are; by resolving to understand yourself and others, and to know 
 ‘what you mean, and what they mean, before you speak or answer. 
 Every man must submit to be slow before he is quick ; and insig- 
 nificant before he is important. 
 
 PLEASURES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 THE too early struggle against the pain of obscurity, corrupts no 
 small share of understandings. Well and happily has that man 
 conducted his understanding, who has learned to derive from the 
 exercise of it, regular occupation and rational delight ; who, after 
 having overcome the first pain of application, and acquired a habit 
 of looking inwardly upon his own mind, perceives that every day 
 is multiplying the relations, confirming the accuracy, and augment- 
 ing the number of his ideas; who feels that he is rising in the 
 scale of intellectual beings, gathering new strength with every 
 difficulty which he subdues, and enjoying to-day as his pleasure, 
 that which yesterday he laboured at as his toil. ‘There are many 
 consolations in the mind of such a man, which no common life can 
 ever afford; and many enjoyments which it has not to give! Itis 
 not the mere cry of moralists, and the flourish of rhetoricians ; but 
 it is noble to seek truth, and it is beautiful to find it. It is the an- 
 cient feeling of the human heart, that knowledge is better than 
 riches ; and it is deeply and sacredly true! ‘To mark the course of 
 human passions as they have flowed on in the ages that are past; 
 to see why nations have risen, and why they have fallen; to speak 
 of heat, and light, and the winds; to know what man has discov- 
 ered in the heavens above, and in the earth beneath; to hear the 
 chemist unfold the marvellous properties that the Creator has 
 locked up in a speck of earth; to be told that*there are worlds so 
 distant from our sun, that the quickness of light travelling from the 
 world’s er reation, has never yet reached us, to wander in the crea- 
 tions of poetry, and grow warm again, with that eloquence which | 
 swayed the democracies of the old world; to go up with great 
 reasoners to the First Cause of all, and to perceive in the midst 
 of all this dissolution and decay, and cruel separation, that there zs 
 one thing unchangeable, indestructible, and everlasting ;—it is 
 worth while in the days of our youth to strive hard for this great 
 
WIT. 217 
 
 discipline ; to pass sleepless nights for it, to give up to it laborious 
 days; to spurn for it present pleasures; to endure for it afflicting 
 poverty; to wade for it through darkness, and sorrow, and con- 
 tempt, as the great spirits of the world have done in all ages and 
 all times. 
 
 I appeal to the experience of any man who is in the habit of 
 exercising his mind vigorously and well, whether there is not a 
 satisfaction in it, which tells him he has been acting up to one of 
 the great objects of his existence? The end of nature has been 
 answered: his faculties have done that which they were created to 
 do —not languidly occupied upon trifles—not enervated by sensual 
 gratification, but exercised in that toil which is so congenial to 
 their nature, and so worthy of their strength. <A life of knowledge 
 is not often a life of injury and crime. Whom does such a man 
 oppress ? with whose happiness does he interfere? whom does his 
 ambition destroy, and whom does his fraud deceive? In the pur- 
 suit of science he injures no man, and in the acquisition he does 
 good to all. A man who dedicates his life to knowledge, becomes 
 habituated to pleasure which carries with it no reproach: and there 
 is one security that he will never love that pleasure which is paid 
 for by anguish of heart— his pleasures are all cheap, all dignified, 
 and all innocent; and, as far as any human being can expect per- 
 manence in this changing scene, he has secured a happiness which 
 no malignity of fortune can ever take away, but which must cleave 
 to him while he lives—ameliorating every good and diminishing 
 every evil of his existence. 
 
 ESSENTIALS OF WIT.* 
 
 To begin at the beginning of this discussion, it is plain that wit 
 concerns itself with the relations which subsist between our ideas: 
 and the first observation which occurs to any man turning his at- 
 tention to this subject is,.that it cannot, of course, concern itself 
 with all the relations which subsist between all our ideas; for then 
 every proposition would be witty ;—The rain wets me through— 
 Butter is spread upon bread—would be propositions replete with 
 
 * This and the following passages are from Lectures on Wit and Humour, 
 Part I. 
 10 
 
o18 SURPRISE. 
 
 r irth ; and the moment the mind observed the plastic and diffusi- 
 ble nature of butter, and the excellence of bread as a substratum, 
 i would become enchanted with this flash of facetiousness. ‘There- 
 fore, the first limit to be affixed to that observation of relations, 
 waich produces the feeling of wit, is, that they must be relations 
 which exci e surprise. If you tell me that all men must die, I 
 am very little struck with what you say, because it is not an asser- 
 tion very remarkable for its novelty; but if you were to say that 
 man was like a time-glass—that both must run out, and both ren- 
 dr up their dust, I should listen to you with more attention, be- 
 cause I should feel something like surprise at the sudden relation 
 you had struck out between two such apparently dissimilar ideas 
 as a man and a time-glass. 
 
 Surprise is so essential an ingredient of wit, that no wit will 
 bear repetition—at least the original electrical feeling produced 
 by any piece of wit can never be renewed. ‘There is a sober sort 
 o* approbation succeeds at hearing it the second time, which is as 
 different from its original rapid, pungent volatility, as a bottle of 
 cuampagne that has been open three days is, from one that has 
 at that very instant emerged from the darkness of the cellar. To 
 hear that the top of Mont Blanc is like an umbrella, though the 
 re'ation be new to me, is not sufficient to excite surprise; the idea 
 is so very obvious, it is so much within the reach of the most ordi- 
 nary understandings, that I can derive no sort of pleasure from 
 the comparison. ‘The relation discovered, must be something re- 
 mote from all the common tracks and sheep-walks made in the 
 mind; it must not be a comparison of colour with colour, and fig- 
 uve with figure, or any comparison which, though individually 
 new, is specifically stale, and to which the mind has been in the 
 habit of making many similar; but it must be something removed 
 from common apprehension, distant from the ordinary haunts of 
 thought — things which are never brought together in the common 
 events of life, and in which the mind has discovered relations by 
 its own subtilty and quickness. 
 
 Now, then, the point we have arrived at, at present, in building 
 up our definition of wit, is, that it is the discovery of those relations 
 in ideas which are calculated to excite surprise. But a great deal 
 must be taken away from this account of wit before it is sufficiently 
 accurate; for, in the first place, there must be no feeling or convic- 
 
 
 
RELATION BETWEEN IDEAS. 219 
 
 tion of the wélity of the relation so discovered. If you go to see 
 a large cotton-mill, the manner in which the large water-wheel. be- 
 low works the little parts of _ tHeésmachinery seven stories high, the 
 relation which « » bears to another, is extremely surprising to a 
 person unaccustomed to mechanics ; but, instead of Reeling as you 
 feel at a piece of wit, you are absorbed in the contemplation of the 
 utility and “importance of such relations —there is a sort of rational 
 approbation mingled with your surprise, which makes the whole 
 feeling very different from that of wit. At the same time, if we 
 attend very accurately to our feelings, we shall perceive that the 
 discovery of any surprising relation whatever, produces some slight 
 sensation of wit. When first the manner in which a steam-engine 
 opens and shuts its own valves is explained to me, or when I at 
 first perceive the ingenious and complicated contrivances of any 
 piece of machinery, the surprise that I feel at the discovery of 
 these connections has always something in it which resembles the 
 feeling of wit, though that is very soon extinguished by others of 
 a very different nature. Children, who view the different parts 
 of a machine not so much with any notions of its utility, feel some- 
 thing still more like the sensation of wit when first they perceive 
 the effect which one part produces upon another. Show a child 
 of six years old, that, by moving the treadle of a knife-grinder’s 
 machine, you make the large wheel turn round, or that by pressing 
 the spring of a repeating-watch you make the watch strike, and 
 you probably raise up a feeling in the child’s mind precisely simi- 
 lar to that of wit. There is a mode of teaching children geography 
 by disjointed parts of a wooden map, which they fit together. I 
 have no doubt that the child, in finding the kingdom or republic 
 which fits into a great hole in the wooden sea, feels exactly the 
 sensation of wit. Every one must remember that fitting the in- 
 viting projection of Crim Tartary into the Black Sea was one of 
 the greatest delights of their childhood; and almost all children 
 are sure to scream with pleasure at the discovery. 
 
 The relation between ideas which excite surprise, in order to be 
 witty, must not excite any feeling of the beautiful. “The good 
 man,” says a Hindoo epigram, “goes not upon enmity, but rewards 
 with kindness the very being who injures him. So the sandal- 
 wood, while it is felling, imparts to the edge of the axe its aromatic 
 flavour.” Now here is a relation which would be witty if it were 
 
 
 
7 2. 
 
 220 WIT AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 not beautiful: the relation discovered betwixt the falling sandal- 
 wood, and the returning good for evil, is a new relation which 
 excites surprise ; but the mere surprise at the relation, is swallowed 
 up by the contemplation of the moral beauty of the thought, which 
 throws the mind into a more solemn and elevated mood than is 
 compatible with the feeling of wit. 
 
 It would not be a difficult thing to do (and if the limits of my 
 lecture allowed I would do it), to select from Cowley and Waller 
 a suite of passages, in order to show the effect of the beautiful in 
 destroying the feeling of wit, and vice versa. First, I would take 
 a passage purely witty, in which the mind merely contemplated 
 the singular and surprising relation of the ideas: next, a passage 
 where the admixture of some beautiful sentiment—the excitation 
 of some slight moral feeling—arrested the mind from the con- 
 templation of the relation between the ideas; then, a passage in 
 which the beautiful overpowered still more the facetious, till, at 
 last, it was totally destroyed. 
 
 If the relation between the ideas, to produce wit, must not be 
 mingled with the beautiful, still less must they be so with the 
 sublime. In that beautiful passage in Mr. Campbell’s poem of 
 “ Lochiel,” the wizard repeats these verses— which were in every 
 one’s mouth when first the poem was written :— 
 
 *‘Lochiel! Lochiel! though my eyes I should seal, 
 Man can not keep secret what God would reveal 
 ’Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, 
 And coming events cast their shadows before.” 
 
 ” 
 
 Now this comparison of the dark uncertain sort of prescience of 
 future events implied by the gift of second sight, and the notice of 
 an approaching solid body by the previous approach of its shadow, 
 contains a new and striking relation ; but it is not wiéty, nor would 
 it ever have been considered as witty, if expressed in a more con- 
 cise manner, and with the rapidity of ‘conversation, because it in- 
 spires feelings of a much higher cast than those of wit, and, 
 instead of suffering the mind to dwell upon the mere relation of 
 ideas, fills it with a sort of mysterious awe, and gives an air of 
 sublimity to the fabulous power of prediction. Every one knows 
 the Latin line on the miracle at the marriage-supper in Cana of 
 Galilee—on the conversion of water into wine. The poet says, 
 
‘ 
 - 
 
 THE SUBLIME. 221 
 
 *¢ The modest water saw its God, and blushed !’’* 
 
 Now, in my mind, that sublimity which some persons discover in 
 this passage is destroyed by its wit; it appears to me witty, and 
 not sublime. I have no great feelings excited by it, and can per- 
 fectly well stop to consider the mere relation of ideas. I hope I 
 need not add, that the line, ¢f ¢¢ produce the effect of a witty con- 
 ceit, and not of a sublime image, is perfectly misplaced and trrev- 
 erent: the ttent, however, of the poet, was undoubtedly to be 
 serious. In the same manner, whenever the mind is not left to 
 the mere surprise excited by the relation of ideas, but when that 
 relation excites any powerful emotion—as those of the sublime 
 and beautiful, or any high passion—as anger or pity, or any train 
 of reflections upon the utility of the relations, the feeling of wit is 
 always diminished or destroyed. It seems to be occasioned by 
 those relations of ideas which excite surprise, and surprise alone. 
 Whenever relations excite any other strong feeling as well as 
 surprise, the wit is either destroyed, diminished, or the two co- 
 existent feelings of wit and the other emotion may, by careful 
 reflection, be distinguished from each other. I may be very 
 wrong (for these subjects are extremely difficult), but I know no 
 single passage in any author which is at once beautiful and witty, 
 or sublime and witty. I know innumerable passages which are 
 intended to be beautiful or sublime, and which are merely witty ; 
 and I know many passages in which the relation of ideas is very 
 new and surprising, and which are not witty because they are 
 beautiful and sublime. Lastly, when the effect of wit is height- 
 ened by strong sense and useful truth, we may perceive in the 
 mind what part of the pleasure arises from the mere relation of 
 ideas, what from the utility of the precept; and many instances 
 might be produced, where the importance and utility of the thing 
 said, prevent the mind from contemplating the mere relation, and 
 considering it as wit. For example: in that apophthegm of Roche- 
 foucault, that hypocrisy is a homage which vice renders to virtue, 
 the image is witty, but all attention to the mere wit is swallowed 
 
 
 
 * Campbell (Specimens of British Poets) assigns the Latin line to Cra- 
 shaw :— , 
 ' “Viympha pudica Deum vidit et erubuit.” 
 The conceit had been previously employed by Vida. It is traced by a writer 
 in Notes and Queries. Oct. 16, 1852. 
 
ve — 
 ¥; 
 
 aye 
 
 222, he INSTANCES OF WIT. 
 up in the justness and value of the observation. So that I think 
 I have some colour for saying, that wit is produced by those rela- 
 tions between ideas which excite surprise, and surprise only. 
 Observe, I am only defining the causes of a certain feeling in the 
 mind called wit; I can no more define the feeling itself, than I can 
 define the flavour of venison. We all seem to partake of one 
 and the other, with a very great degree of satisfaction; but why 
 each feeling 7s what it is, and nothing else, I am sure I cannot 
 pretend to determine. 
 
 Louis XIV. was exceedingly molested by the solicitations of a 
 
 general officer at the levée, and cried out, loud enough to be over-_ 
 
 heard, “That gentleman is the most troublesome officer in the 
 whole army.” “ Your Majesty’s enemies have said the same thing 
 more than once,” was the answer. The wit of this answer consists 
 in the sudden relation discovered in his assent to the King’s invec- 
 tive and his own defence. By admitting the King’s observation, 
 he seems, at first sight, to be subscribing to the imputation against 
 him; whereas, in reality, he effaces it by this very means. A 
 sudden relation is discovered where none was suspected. Voltaire, 
 in speaking of the effect of epithets in weakening style, said, that 
 the adjectives were the greatest enemies of the substantives, 
 though they agreed in gender, number, and in cases. Here, again, 
 it is very obvious that a relation is discovered which, upon first 
 observation, does not appear to exist. ‘These instances may be 
 multiplied to any extent. A gentleman at Paris, who lived very 
 unhappily with his wife, used, for twenty years together, to pass 
 his evenings at the house of another lady, who was very agreeable, 
 and drew together a pleasant society. His wife died; and his 
 friends all advised him to marry the lady in whose society he had 
 found so much pleasure. He said, no, he certainly should not, for 
 that, if he married her, he should not know where to spend his 
 evenings. Here we are suddenly surprised with the idea that the 
 method proposed of securing his comfort may possibly prove the 
 most, effectual method of destroying it. At least, to enjoy the 
 pleasantry of the reply, we view it through his mode of thinking, 
 who had not been very fortunate in the connection established by 
 his first marriage. I have, in consequence of the definition I have 
 printed of wit in the cards of the Institution, passed one of the 
 most polemical weeks that ever I remember to have spent in my 
 
2 _ = ban 
 * +s 
 
 RELATIONS BETWEEN FACTS. ats 
 life. I think, however, that if my words are understood in their 
 fair sense, I am not wrong. -I have said, surprising relations be 
 tween ideas—not between facts. The difference is very great. 
 A man may tell me he sees a fiery meteor on the surface of the 
 sea: he has no merit in the discovery —it is no extraordinary act 
 of mind in him—any one who has eyes can ascertain this relation 
 of facts as well, if it really exist; but to discover a surprising 
 relation in ¢deas, is an act of power in the discoverer, in which, if 
 his wit be good, he exceeds the greater part of mankind: so that 
 the very terms I have adopted, imply comparison and superiority 
 of mind. The discovery of any relation of ideas exciting pure 
 surprise involves the notion of such superiority, and enhances the 
 surprise. ‘To discover relations between facts exciting pure sur- 
 prise, involves the notion of no such superiority; for any man 
 - could ascertain that a calf had two heads if it had two heads: 
 therefore, I again repeat, let any man show me that which is an 
 acknowledged proof of wit, and I believe I could analyze the pleas- 
 ure experienced from it into surprise, partly occasioned by the 
 unexpected relation established, partly by the display of talent in 
 discovering it; and, putting this position synthetically, I would 
 say, whenever there is a superior act of intelligence in discovering 
 a relation between ideas, which relation excites surprise, and no 
 other high emotion, the mind will have the feeling of wit. Why 
 is it not witty to find a gold watch and seals hanging upon a hedge? 
 Because it is a mere relation of facts discovered without any effort 
 of mind, and not (as I have said in my definition), a relation of 
 ideas. Why is it not witty to discover the relation between the 
 moon and the tides? Because it raises other notions than those of 
 mere surprise. Why are not all the extravagant relations in 
 Garagantua witty? Because they are merely odd and extrava- 
 gant; and mere oddity and extravagance is too easy to excite sur- 
 prise. Why is it witty, in one of Addison’s plays,* where the 
 undertaker reproves one of his mourners for laughing at a funeral, 
 and says to him, “ You rascal, you! I have been raising your 
 wages for these two years past, upon condition that you should 
 
 * Not Addison, but Steele, in the comedy of ‘The Funeral: or, Grief A-La- 
 Mode,” where Sable addresses one of his men: “Did not I give you ten, then 
 fifteen, now twenty shillings a week, to be sorrowful? and the more I give 
 
 you, I think, the gladder you are.” 
 
y 2 
 
 a, © 
 ‘ 
 
 994 WIT CULTIVABLE. 
 
 appear more sorrowful, and the higher wages you receive the 
 happier you look!” Here is a relation between ideas, the dis- 
 covery of which implies superior intelligence, and excites no other 
 emotion than surprise. 
 
 WIT A CULTIVABLE FACULTY. 
 
 Ir is imagined ‘that wit is a sort of inexplicable visitation, that 
 it comes and goes with the rapidity of lightning, and that it is quite 
 as unattainable as beauty or just proportion. I am so much of a 
 contrary way of thinking,: that I am-convinced a man might sit 
 down as systematically, and as successfully to the study of wit, 
 as he might to the study of mathematics: and I would answer for 
 it, that, by giving up only six hours a day to being witty, he 
 should come on prodigiously before midsummer, so that his friends 
 should hardly know him again. For what is there to hinder the 
 mind from gradually acquiring a habit of attending to the lighter 
 relations of ideas in which wit consists? Punning grows upon 
 everybody, and punning is the wit of words. I do not mean, to 
 say that it is so easy to acquire a habit of discovering new relations 
 in ideas as in words, but the difficulty is not so much greater as to 
 render it insuperable to habit. One man is unquestionably much 
 better calculated for it by nature than another: but association, 
 which gradually makes a bad speaker a good one, might give a 
 man wit who had it not, if any man chose to be so absurd as to 
 sit down to acquire it. 
 
 PUNS. 
 
 I have mentioned puns. They are, I believe, what I have 
 denominated them—the wit of words. The are exactly the same 
 to words which wit is to ideas, and consist in the sudden discovery 
 of relations in language. A pun, to be perfect in its kind, should 
 contain two distinct meanings; the one common and obvious; the 
 other, more remote: and in the notice which the mind takes of the 
 relation between these two sets of words, and in the surprise which 
 that relation excites, the pleasure of a pun consists. Miss Hamil- 
 ton, in her book on Education, mentions the instance of a boy so 
 very neglectful, that he could never be brought to read the word 
 patriarchs ; but whenever he met with it he always pronounced it 
 
PUNNING. 225, 
 
 partridges. A friend of the writer observed to her, that it could 
 hardly be considered as a mere piece of negligence, for it appeared 
 to him that the boy, in calling them partridges, was making game 
 of the patriarchs. Now here are two distinct meanings contained 
 in the same phrase: for to make game of the patriarchs is to laugh 
 at them; or to make game of them is, by a very extravagant and 
 laughable sort of ignorance of words, to rank them among pheasants, 
 partridges, and other such delicacies, which the law takes under its 
 protection and calls game; and the whole pleasure derived from 
 this pun consists in the sudden discovery that two such different 
 meanings are referable to one form of expression. I have very 
 little to say about puns; they are in very bad repute and so they 
 ought to be. The wit of language is so miserably inferior to the 
 wit of ideas, that it is very deservedly driven out of good com- 
 pany. Sometimes, indeed, a pun makes its appearance which seems 
 for a moment to redeem its species; but we must not be deceived 
 by them; it is a radically bad race of wit. By unremitting per- 
 secution, it has been at last got under, and driven into cloisters, 
 —from whence it must never again be suffered to emerge into the 
 light of the world. One invaluable blessing produced by the ban- 
 ishment of punning is, an immediate reduction of the number of 
 wits. It is a wit of so low an order, and in which some sort 
 of progress is so easily made, that the number of those endowed 
 with the gift of wit would be nearly equal to those endowed with 
 the gift of speech. The condition of putting together ideas in 
 order to be witty operates much in the same salutary manner as 
 the condition of finding rhymes in poetry ;——it reduces the num- 
 ber of performers to those who have vigour enough to overcome 
 incipient difficulties, and makes a sort of provision that that which ° 
 need not be done at all, should be done well whenever it 7s done. 
 For we may observe, that mankind are always more fastidious 
 about that which is pleasing, than they are about that which is 
 useful. A commonplace piece of morality is much more easily 
 pardoned than a commonplace piece of poetry or of wit; because 
 it is absolutely necessary for the well-being of society that the 
 rules of morality should be frequently repeated and enforced ; 
 and though in any individual instance the thing may be badly done, 
 the sacred necessity of the practice itself, atones in some degree 
 for the individual failure; but as there is no absolute necessity 
 10* 
 
S.. 
 
 «te 
 . an 
 “* 
 
 “ al 
 Ex & 
 ba 
 
 en? 
 
 226 ABOVE RIDICULE. 
 
 that men should be either wits or poets, we are less inclined to 
 tolerate their mediocrity in superfluities. If a man have or- 
 dinary chairs and tables, no one notices it; but if he stick vulgar 
 gaudy pictures on his walls, which he need not have at all, every 
 one laughs at . 4 for his folly. 
 
 A SARCASM. 
 
 A sarcasm (which is another species of wit) generally consists 
 in the obliquity of the invective. It must not be direct assertion, 
 but something established by inference and analogy ;— something 
 which the mind does not at first perceive, but in the discovery of 
 which it experiences the pleasure of surprise. A true sarcasm is 
 like a sword-stick —it appears, at first sight, to be much more in- 
 nocent than it really i is, till, all of a sudden, there leaps something 
 out of it—sharp, and deadly, and incisive-— which makes you 
 tremble and recoil. 
 
 SUPERIORITY TO RIDICULE. 
 
 I xnow of no principle which it is of more importance to fix in 
 the minds of young people than that of the most determined resist- 
 ance to the encroachments of ridicule. Give up to the world, 
 and to the ridicule with which the world enforces its dominion, 
 every trifling question of manner and appearance: it is to toss 
 courage and firmness to the winds, to combat with the mass upon 
 such subjects as these. But learn from the earliest days to inure 
 your principles against the perils of ridicule: you can no more 
 exercise your reason, if you live in the constant dread of laughter, 
 than you can enjoy your life, if you are in the constant terror of 
 death. If you think it right to differ from the times, and to make 
 a stand for any valuable point of morals, do it, however rustic, 
 however antiquated, however pedantic, it may appear;—do it, 
 not for inselence, but servously and grandly—as a man who wore 
 a soul of his own in his bosom, and did not wait» till it was 
 breathed into him by the breath of fashion. Let men call you 
 mean, if you know you are just; hypocritical, if you are honestly 
 religious; pusillanimous, if you feel that you are firm: resistance 
 soon converts unprincipled wit into sincere respect; and no after- 
 
 
 
HUMOUR. 297 
 
 time can tear from you those feelings which every man carries 
 within him who has made a noble and successful exertion in a 
 virtuous cause. ni: 
 
 NATURE OF HUMOUR.* 
 
 / > 
 
 Hosses defines laughter to be “a sudden old, arising from 
 a sudden conception of some eminency in ourselves, by comparison 
 with infirmity of others, or our own former infirmity.” By in- 
 Jirmity he must mean, I presume, marked and decided inferiority, 
 whether accidental and momentary, or natural and permanent. 
 He cannot, of course, mean by it, what we usually denominate in- 
 firmity of body or mind; for it must be obvious, at the first mo- 
 ment, that humour has a much wider range than this. If we were 
 to see a little man walking in the streets with a hat half as big as 
 an umbrella, we should laugh; and that laughter certainly could 
 not be ascribed to the infirmities either of his body or mind: for 
 his diminutive figure, without his disproportionate hat, I shall sup- 
 pose by hypothesis, to be such as would excite no laughter at all; 
 —and, indeed, an extraordinary large man, with a hat such as is 
 worn by boys of twelve years old, would be an object quite as 
 ludicrous. 
 
 Taking, therefore, the language of Hobbes to mean the sudden 
 discovery of any inferiority, it will be very easy to show that 
 such is not the explanation of that laughter excited by humour: 
 for I may discover suddenly that a person has lost half-a-crown— 
 or, that his tooth aches—or, that his house is not so well built, or 
 his coat not so well made, as mine; and yet none of these dis- 
 coveries give me the slightest sensation of the humourous. If it 
 be suggested that these proofs of inferiority are very slight, the 
 theory of Hobbes is still more weakened, by recurring to greater 
 instances of inferiority: for the sudden information that any one 
 of my acquaintance has broken his leg, or is completely ruined in 
 his fortunes, has decidedly very little of humour in it ;—at least it 
 is not very customary to be thrown into paroxysms of laughter 
 by such sort of intelligence, It is clear, then, that there are 
 many instances of the sudden discovery of inferiorities and infirm- 
 
 * This passage and the following are from.the Lecture on Wit and Hu- 
 mour, Part IT. ' 
 
228 aa. INCONGRUITY. 
 
 ities in others, which excite no laughter; and, therefore, pride is 
 not the explanation of laughter excited by the humourous. It is 
 true, the object of laughter is always inferior to us; but then. the 
 converse is not true—that every one who is inferior to us is an 
 object of laughter: therefore, as some inferiority is ridiculous, and 
 other inferiority not ridiculous, we must, in order to explain the 
 nature of the humourous, endeavour to discover the discriminating 
 cause. 
 
 This discriminating cause is incongruity, or the conjunction of 
 objects and circumstances not usually combined—and the con- 
 junction of which is either useless, or what in the common estima- 
 tion. of men would be considered as rather troublesome, and not to 
 be desired. To see a young officer of eighteen years of age come 
 into company in full uniform, and with such a wig as is worn by 
 grave and respectable clergymen advanced in years, would make 
 every body laugh, because it certainly is a very unusual combina- 
 tion of objects, and such as would not atone for its novelty by any 
 particular purpose of utility to which it was subservient. It is a 
 complete instance of incongruity. Add ten years to the age of 
 this incongruous officer, the incongruity would be very faintly 
 diminished ;—make him eighty years of age, and a celebrated 
 military character of the last reign, and the incongruity almost 
 entirely vanishes: I am not sure that we should not be rather 
 more disposed to respect the peculiarity than to laugh at it. As 
 you increase the incongruity, you increase the humour; as you 
 diminish it, you diminish the humour. If a tradesman of a cor- 
 pulent and respectable appearance, with habiliments somewhat 
 ostentatious, were to slide down gently into the mud, and decor- 
 ate a pea-green coat, I am afraid we should all have the barbarity 
 to laugh. If his hat and wig, like treacherous servants, were to 
 desert their falling master, it certainly would not diminish our 
 propensity to laugh; but if he were to fall into a violent passion, 
 and abuse everybody about him, nobody could possibly resist the 
 incongruity of a pea-green tradesman, very respectable, sitting in 
 the mud, and threatening all the passers-by with the effects of his 
 wrath. Here, every incident heightens the humour of the scene: 
 —the gayety of his tunic, the general respectability of his ap- 
 pearance, the rills of muddy water which trickle down his cheeks, 
 and the harmless violence of his rage! But if, instead of this, we 
 
REPETITION. ws. 229 
 
 were to observe a dustman falling into the mud, it would hardly 
 attract any attention, because the opposition of ideas is so trifling, 
 and the incongruity so slight. 
 
 Surprise is as essential to humour as it is to wit. In going into 
 a foreign country for the first time, we are exceedingly struck 
 with the absurd appearance of some of the ordinary characters we 
 meet with: a very short time, however, completely reconciles us 
 to the phenomena of French abbés and French postilions, and all 
 the variety of figures so remote from those we are accustomed to, 
 and which surprise us so much at our first acquaintance with that 
 country. I do not mean to say, either of one class of the ridicu- 
 lous or of the other, that perfect novelty is absolutely a necessary 
 ingredient to the production of any degree of pleasure, but that the 
 pleasure arising from humour diminishes, as the surprise diminish- 
 es; it is less at the second exhibition of any piece of humour than 
 at the first, less at the third than the second, till at last it becomes 
 trite and disgusting. A piece of humour will, however, always 
 bear repetition much better than a piece of wit; because, as hu- 
 mour depends in some degree on manner, there will probably al- 
 ways be in that manner, something sufficiently different from what 
 it was before, to prevent the disagreeable effects of complete same- 
 ness. If I say a good thing to-day, and repeat it again to-morrow 
 in another company, the flash of to-day is as much like the flash of 
 to-morrow as the flash of one musket is like the flash of another ; but 
 if I tell a humourous story, there are a thousand little diversities 
 in my voice, manner, language, and gestures, which make it rather 
 a different thing from what it was before, and infuse a tinge of 
 novelty into the repeated narrative. 
 
 It is by no means, however, sufficient, to say of humour, that it 
 is incongruity which excites surprise; the same limits are neces- 
 sary here which I have before affixed to wit—it must excite sur- 
 prise, and nothing but surprise; for the moment it calls into action 
 any other high and impetuous emotion, all sense of the humourous 
 is immediately at an end. For, to return again to our friend 
 dressed in green, whom we left in the mud—suppose, instead of 
 a common, innocent tumble, he had experienced a very severe 
 fall, and we discovered that he had broken a limb; our laughter 
 is immediately extinguished, and converted into a lively feeling of 
 compassion. The incongruity is precisely as great as it was be- 
 
930 SUBJECTS FOR HUMOUR. 
 
 fore; but as it has excited another feeling not compatible with the 
 ridiculous, all mixture of the humourous is at end. 
 
 The sense of the humourous is as incompatible with tenderness 
 and respect as with compassion. No man would laugh to see a 
 little child fall; and he would be shocked to see such an accident 
 happen to an old man, or a woman, or to his father! It is an odd 
 case to put, but I should like to know if any man living could have 
 laughed if he had seen Sir Isaac Newton rolling in the mud? I 
 believe that not only Senior Wranglers and Senior Optimi would 
 have run to his assistance, but that dustmen, and carmen, and 
 coal-heavers would have run and picked him up, and set him to 
 rights. It is a beautiful thing to observe the boundaries which 
 nature has affixed to the ridiculous, and to notice how soon it is 
 swallowed up by the more illustrious feelings of our minds. 
 Where is the heart so hard that could bear to see the awkward 
 resources and contrivances of the poor turned into ridicule? 
 Who could laugh at the fractured, ruined body of a soldier? 
 Who is so wicked as to amuse himself with the infirmities of ex- 
 treme old age? or to find subject for humour in the weakness of 
 a perishing, dissolving body? Who is there that does not feel 
 himself disposed to overlook the little peculiarities of the truly 
 great and wise, and to throw a veil over that ridicule which they 
 have redeemed by the magnitude of their talents, and the splendour 
 of their virtues? Who ever thinks of turning into ridicule our 
 great and ardent hope of a world to come? Whenever the man 
 of humour meddles with these things, he is astonished to find, that. 
 in all the great feelings of their nature the mass of mankind al- 
 ways think and act aright ;—that they are ready enough to laugh 
 —but that they are quite as ready to drive away with indignation 
 and contempt, the light fool who comes with the feather of wit to 
 crumble the bulwarks of truth, and to beat down the Temples of 
 God ! 
 
 So, then, this turns out to be the nature of humour; that it is 
 incongruity which creates surprise, and only surprise. Try the 
 most notorious and classical instances of humour by this rule, and 
 you will find it succeed. If you find incongruities which create 
 surprise and are not humourous, it is always, I believe, because 
 they are accompanied with some other feeling—emotion, or an 
 interesting train of thought, beside surprise. ind an incon- 
 
$ BUFFOONERY. 231 
 
 eruity which creates surprise, and surprise only, and, if it be not 
 humourous, I am, what I very often am, completely wrong; and 
 this theory is what theories very often are, unfounded in fact. 
 
 Most men, I observe, are of opinion that humour is entirely 
 confined to character ;—and if you choose to confine the word hu- 
 mour to those instances of the ridiculous which are excited by 
 character, you may do so if you please—this is not worth con- 
 tending. All that I wish to show is, that this species of feeling is 
 produced by something beside character; and if you allow it to 
 be the same feeling, I am satisfied, and you may call it by what 
 name you please. One of the most laughable scenes I ever saw 
 in my life was, the complete overturning of a very large table, 
 with all the dinner upon it—which I believe one or two gentlemen 
 in this room remember as well as myself. What of character is 
 there in seeing a roasted turkey sprawling on the floor? or ducks 
 lying in different parts of the room, covered with trembling frag- 
 ments of jelly? It is impossible to avoid laughing at such ab- 
 surdities, because the incongruities they involve are so very great; 
 though they have no more to do with character than they have 
 with chemistry. A thousand little circumstances happen every 
 day which excite violent laughter, but have no sort of reference to 
 character. The laughter is excited by throwing inanimate objects 
 into strange and incongruous positions. Now, I am quite unable, 
 by attending to what passes in my own mind, to say, that these 
 classes of sensations are not alike: they may differ in degree, for 
 the incongruous observed of things living, is always more striking 
 than the incongruous observed in things inanimate; but there ¢s 
 an incongruous not observable in character, which produces the 
 feeling of humour. “ 
 
 BUFFOONERY AND ITS ASSOCIATES. 
 
 BUFFOONERY is voluntary incongruity. To play the. buffoon, 
 is to counterfeit some peculiarity incongruous enough to excite 
 laughter: not incongruities of mind, for this is a humour of a 
 higher class, and constitutes comic acting; but incongruities of 
 bod y —imitating a drunken man, or a clown, or a person with a 
 hunched back, or puffing out the cheeks as the lower sort of 
 comic actors do open the stage. Buffoonery is general in its imi- 
 
pir Wo IRISH BULLS. 
 
 tations; mimicry is particular, and seizes on the incongruous in 
 individual characters. I think we must say, that mimicry is al- 
 ways employed upon defects: a good voice, a gentleman-like ap- 
 pearance, and rational, agreeable manners, can never be the sub- 
 ject of mimicry ;—they may be exactly represented and imitated, 
 but nobody would call this mimicry, as the word always means 
 the representation of defects. Parody is the adaptation of the 
 same thoughts to other subjects. Burlesque is that species of 
 parody, or adaptation of thoughts to other subjects, which is in- 
 tended to make the original ridiculous. Pope has parodied several 
 Odes of Horace; Johnson has parodied Juvenal; Cervantes has 
 burlesqued the old romances. 
 
 BULLS. 
 
 A BULL—which must by no means be passed over in this re- 
 capitulation of the family of wit and humour—a bull is exactly 
 the counterpart of a witticism: for as wit discovers real relations 
 that are not apparent, bulls admit apparent relations that are not 
 real. The pleasure arising from bulls, proceeds from our surprise 
 at suddenly discovering two things to be dissimilar in which a 
 resemblance might have been suspected. ‘The same doctrine will 
 apply to wit and bulls in action. Practical wit discovers connec- 
 tion or relation between actions, in which duller understandings 
 discover none; and practical bulls originate from an apparent 
 relation between two actions which more correct understandings 
 immediately perceive to have none at all. In the late rebellion 
 in Ireland, the rebels, who had conceived a high degree of indig- 
 nation against some great banker, passed a resolution that they 
 would burn his notes ;— which they accordingly did, with great 
 assiduity ; forgetting, that in burning his notes they were destroy- 
 ing his debts, and that for every note which went into the flames, 
 a correspondent value went into the banker’s pocket. A gentle- 
 man, in speaking of a nobleman’s wife, of great rank and fortune, 
 lamented very much that she had no children. A medical gentle- 
 man who was present observed, that to have no children was a 
 great misfortune, but he thought he had remarked it was heredi- 
 tary in some families. ‘Take any instances of this branch of the 
 
DANGERS OF WIT. 988 
 
 ridiculous, and you will always find an apparent relation of ideas 
 leading to a complete inconsistency. 
 
 CHARADES. 
 
 I sHALL say nothing of charades, and such sorts of unpardon- 
 able trumpery: if charades are made at all, they should be made 
 without benefit of clergy, the offender should instantly be hurried 
 off to execution, and be cut off in the middle of his dullness, with- 
 out being allowed to explain to the executioner why his first is 
 like his second, or what is the resemblance between his fourth and 
 his ninth. 
 
 DANGERS AND ADVANTAGES OF WIT. 
 
 I wisn, after all I have said about wit and humour, I could sat- 
 sify myself of their good effects upon the character and disposition; 
 but I am convinced the probable tendency of both is, to corrupt 
 the understanding and the heart. I am not speaking of wit where 
 it is kept down by more serious qualities of mind, and thrown into 
 the background of the picture; but where it stands out boldly and 
 emphatically, and is evidently the master quality in any particular 
 mind. Professed wits, though they are generally courted for the 
 amusement they afford, are seldom respected for the qualities they 
 possess. The habit of seeing things in a witty point of view, in- 
 creases and makes incursions from its own proper regions, upon 
 principles and opinions which are ever held sacred by the wise 
 and good. A witty man is a dramatic performer; in process of 
 time, he can no more exist without applause, than he can exist 
 without air; if his audience be small, or if they are inattentive, or 
 if a new wit defrauds him of any portion of his admiration, it is all 
 over with him—he sickens, and is extinguished. ‘The applauses 
 of the theatre on which he performs are so essential to him that 
 he must obtain them at the expense of decency, friendship, and 
 good feeling. It must always be probable, too, that a mere wit is 
 a person of light and frivolous understanding. His business is not to 
 discover relations of ideas that are useful, and have a real influence 
 upon life, but to discover the more trifling relations which are only 
 amusing; he never looks at things with the naked eye of common 
 
di 
 
 934 AN EXTRAORDINARY MAN. 
 
 sense, but is always gazing at the world through a Claude Lor- 
 raine glass — discovering a thousand appearances which are created 
 only by the instrument of inspection, and covering every object 
 with factitious and unnatural colours. In short, the character of a 
 mere wit it is impossible to consider as very amiable, very respec- 
 table, or very safe. So far the world, in judging of wit where it 
 has swallowed up all other qualities, judge aright; but I doubt if 
 they are sufficiently indulgent to this faculty where it exists in a 
 lesser degree, and as one out of many other ingredients of the un- 
 derstanding. There is an association in men’s minds between dull- 
 ness and wisdom, amusement and folly, which has a very powerful 
 influence in decision upon character, and is not overcome without 
 considerable difficulty. The reason is, that the owtward signs of a 
 dull man and a wise man are the same, and so are the outward 
 signs of a frivolous man and a witty man; and we are not to ex- 
 pect that the majority will be disposed to look to much more than 
 the outward sign. I believe the fact to be, that wit is very seldom 
 the only eminent quality which resides in the mind of any man; it 
 is commonly accompanied by many other talents of every descrip- 
 tion, and ought to be considered as a strong evidence of a fertile 
 and superior understanding. Almost all the great poets, orators, 
 and statesmen of all times have been witty. Cesar, Alexander, 
 Aristotle, Descartes, and Lord Bacon, were witty men; so were 
 Cicero, Shakespeare, Demosthenes, Boileau, Pope, Dryden, Fon- 
 tenelle, Jonson, Waller, Cowley, Solon, Socrates, Dr. Johnson, and 
 almost every man who has made a distinguished figure in the 
 House of Commons. I have talked of the danger of wit; I do not 
 mean by that to enter into commonplace declamation against facul- 
 ties because they are dangerous ;—wit is dangerous, eloquence is 
 dangerous, a talent for observation is dangerous, every thing is 
 dangerous that has efficacy and vigour for its characteristics ; 
 nothing is safe but mediocrity. The business is, in conducting the 
 understanding well, to risk something; to aim at uniting things 
 that are commonly incompatible. The meaning of an extraordinary 
 man is, that he is eight men, not one man; that he has as much 
 wit as if he had no sense, and as much sense as if he had no wit; 
 that his conduct is as judicious as if he were the dullest of human 
 beings, and his imagination as brilliant as if he were irretrievably 
 ruined. But when wit is combined with sense and information; 
 
ras SUBLIMITY. 235 
 
 ? Gee 
 when it is softened by benevolence, and restrained by strong prin- 
 ciple; when it is in the hands of a man who can use it and despise 
 it, who can be witty and something much etter than witty, who 
 loves honour, justice, decency, good nature, morality, and religion, 
 ten thousand times better than wit;—-wit is then a beautiful and 
 delightful part of our nature. ‘There is no more interesting spec- 
 tacle than to see the effects of wit upon the different characters of 
 men; than to observe it expanding caution, relaxing dignity, un- 
 freezing coldness—teaching age, and care, and pain, to smile— 
 extorting reluctant gleams of pleasure from melancholy, and charm- 
 ing even the pangs of grief. It is pleasant to observe how it pen- 
 etrates through the coldness and awkwardness of society, gradually 
 bringing men nearer together, and, like the combined force of wine 
 and oil, giving every man a glad heart and a shining countenance. 
 Genuine and innocent wit like this, is surely the flavour of the 
 mind! Man could direct his ways by plain reason, and support 
 his life by tasteless food; but God has given us wit, and flavour, 
 and brightness, and laughter, and perfumes, to enliven the days of 
 man’s pilgrimage, and to “charm his pained steps over the burning 
 marle.” 
 
 INHERENT SUBLIMITY.* 
 
 Ir is very true what Mr. Alison says, that “there are many 
 sensations universally called sublime, which association may make 
 otherwise.” I admit readily, that a fortuitous connection of 
 thought can make it otherwise than sublime; but the question is, 
 Did it receive from nature the character of sublime? does any 
 thing receive from nature the character of sublime, or the char- 
 acter of beautiful? and would anything perpetually display, and 
 constantly preserve such a character, if no accident intervened to 
 raise up a contrary association? Certainty on such subjects can 
 not be attained; but I, for one, strongly believe in the affirmative 
 of the question—that Nature speaks to the mind of man imme- 
 diately in beautiful and sublime language; that she astonishes him 
 with magnitude, appals him with darkness, cheers him with splen- 
 dour, soothes him with harmony, captivates him with emotion, en- 
 chants him with fame ; she never intended man should walk among 
 
 * From the Essay on Taste. 
 
236 TASTE. 
 
 _ her flowers, and her fields, and her streams, unmoved; nor did 
 
 ee Sehe rear the strength of the hills in vain, or mean that we should 
 
 look with a stupid heart on the wild glory of the torrent, bursting 
 from the darkness of the forest, and dashing over the crumbling 
 rock. I would as soon deny hardness, or softness, or figure, to be 
 qualities of matter, as I would deny beauty or sublimity to belong 
 to its qualities. 
 
 Every man is as good a judge of a question like this, as the 
 ablest metaphysician. Walk in the fields in one of the mornings 
 of May, and if you carry with you a mind: unpolluted with harm, 
 watch how it is impressed. You are delighted with the beauty of 
 colours; are not those colours beautiful? You breathe vegetable 
 fragrance; is not that fragrance grateful? You see the sun rising 
 from behind a mountain, and the heavens painted with light; is 
 not that renewal of the light of the morning sublime? You reject 
 all obvious reasons, and say that these things are beautiful and 
 sublime because the accidents of life have made them so;—I say 
 they are beautiful and sublime, BECAUSE GOD HAS MADE THEM 
 so! that it is the original, indelible character impressed upon them 
 by Him, who has opened these sources of simple pleasure, to calm, 
 perhaps, the perturbations of sense, and to make us love that joy 
 which is purchased without giving pain to another man’s heart, 
 and without entailing reproach upon our own. 
 
 —s 
 
 
 
 CERTAINTY OF TASTE.* 
 
 THE progress of good taste, however, though it is certain and 
 irresistible, is slow. Mistaken pleasantry, false ornament, and 
 affected conceit, perish by the discriminating hand of time, that lifts 
 up from the dust of oblivion, the grand and simple efforts of genius. 
 Title, rank, prejudice, party, artifice, and a thousand disturbing 
 forces, are always at work to confer unmerited fame ; but every re- 
 curring year contributes its remedy to these infringements on jus- 
 tice and good sense. ‘The breath of living acclamation can not 
 reach the ages which are to come: the judges and the judged are 
 no more; passion is extinguished; party is forgotten; and the 
 mild yet inflexible decisions of taste, will receive nothing, as the 
 price of praise, but the solid exertions of superior talent. Justice 
 
 * From the same. 
 
 wa ae 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL. 237 
 
 is pleasant, even when she destroys. It is a grateful homage to 
 common sense, to see those productions hastening to that oblivion, ~ > od 
 in their progress to which they should never have been retarded. * 
 But it is much more pleasant to witness the power of taste in the 
 work of preservation and lasting praise ;—to think that, in these 
 fleeting and evanescent feelings of the beautiful and the sublime, 
 
 men have discovered something as fixed and as positive, as if they 
 were measuring the flow of the tides, or weighing the stones on 
 which they tread ;—to think that there lives not, in the civilized 
 world, a being who knows he has a mind, and who knows not that 
 Virgil and Homer have written, that Raffaelle has painted, and 
 
 that Tully has spoken. Intrenched in these everlasting bulwarks 
 against barbarism, Taste points out to the races of men, as they 
 spring up in the order of time, on what path they shall guide the 
 labours of the human spirit. Here she is safe; hence she never 
 
 can be driven, while one atom of matter clings to another, and till 
 man, with all his wonderful system of feeling and thought, is called 
 away to Him who is the great Author of all that is beautiful, and 
 
 all that is sublime, and all that is good! 
 
 INCENTIVES OF THE BEAUTIFUL.* 
 
 Wuar are half the crimes in the world committed for? What 
 brings into action the best virtues? The desire of possessing. 
 Of possessing what?—not mere money, but every species of the 
 beautiful which money can purchase. A man lies hid in a little, 
 dirty, smoky room for twenty years of his life, and sums up as 
 many columns of figures as would reach round half the earth, if 
 they were laid at length; he gets rich; what does he do with his 
 riches? He buys a large, well-proportioned house: in the ar- 
 rangement of his furniture, he gratifies himself with all the beauty 
 which splendid colours, regular figures, and smooth surfaces, can 
 convey; he has the beauties of variety and association in his 
 grounds: the cup out of which he drinks his tea is adorned with 
 beautiful figures ; the chair in which he sits is covered with smooth, 
 shining leather; his table-cloth is of the most beautiful damask ; 
 mirrors reflect the lights from every quarter of the room; pictures 
 
 * From the Lectures on the Beautiful.—Part II. 
 
238 Biss: SABBATH. 
 
 of the best masters feed his eye with all the beauties of imitation. 
 A million of human creatures are employed in this country in 
 ministering to this feeling of the beautiful. It is only a barbarous, 
 ignorant people that can ever be occupied by the necessaries of 
 lite alone. If to eat, and to drink, and to be warm, were the only 
 passions of our minds, we shouldyall be what the lowest of us all 
 are at this day. The love of the beautiful calls man to fresh 
 exertions, and awakens him to a more noble life; and the glory 
 of it is, that as painters imitate, and poets sing, and statuaries 
 carve, and architects rear up the gorgeous trophies of their skill— 
 as everything becomes beautiful, and orderly, and magnificent — the 
 activity of the mind rises to still greater, and to better objects. 
 The principles of justice are sought out; the powers of the ruler, 
 and the rights of the subject, are fixed; man advances to the 
 enjoyment of rational liberty, and to the establishment of those 
 great moral laws, which God has written in our hearts, to regulate 
 the destinies of the world. 
 
 SONNET ON THE SABBATH.* 
 
 Tue first reason, then, why poetry is beautiful, is, because it 
 describes natural objects, or moral feelings, which are themselves 
 beautiful. For an example, I will read to you a beautiful sonnet 
 of Dr. Leyden’s upon the Sabbath morning, which has never been 
 printed :— 
 
 “With silent awe I hail the sacred morn, 
 Which slowly wakes while all the fields are still ; 
 A soothing calm on every breeze is borne, 
 A graver murmur gurgles from the rill, 
 And Echo answers softer from the hill, 
 And softer sings the linnet from the thorn, 
 The skylark warbles in a tone less shrill. 
 Hail, light serene! hail, sacred Sabbath morn! 
 The rooks float silent by, in airy drove; 
 The sun, a placid yellow lustre shows ; 
 The gales, that lately sighed along the grove, 
 Have hushed their downy wings in dead repose 
 The hov’ring rack of clouds forget to move :— 
 So smiled the day when the first morn arose !” 
 
 
 
 * This and the following passage is from the Lecture on the Beautiful. — 
 Part III. : 
 
HONESTY. 239 
 
 + * 
 
 Now, there is not a single image. introduced into this very beautiful 
 sonnet, which is not of itself beautiful; the soothing calm of the 
 breeze, the noise of the rill, the song of the linnet, ate hovering 
 rack of clouds, and the airy drove 3 rooks floating by, are all 
 objects that would be beautiful in nature, and, of course, are so in 
 poetry. The notion that the whole appearance of the world is 
 more calm and composed on the Sabbath, and that its sanctity is 
 felt in the whole creation, is unusually beautiful and poetical. 
 There is a pleasure in imitation —this is exactly a picture of what 
 a beautiful placid morning is, and we are delighted to see it so 
 well represented. 
 Hee 
 
 ’ a 
 A BEAUTIFUL ACTION. 
 
 A Lonpon merchant, who, I believe, is still alive, while he was. 
 
 staying in the country with a friend, happened to mention that he 
 intended, the next year, to buy a ticket in the lottery; his friend 
 desired he would buy one for him at the same time, which, of 
 course, was very willingly agreed to. The conversation dropped, 
 the ticket never arrived, and the whole affair was entirely forgotten, 
 when the country gentleman received information that the ticket 
 purchased for him by his friend, had come up a prize of twenty 
 
 thousand pounds. Upon his arrival in London, he inquired of his. 
 
 friend where he had put the ticket, and why he had not informed 
 him that it was purchased... “I bought them both the same day, 
 mine and your ticket, and I flung them both into a drawer of my 
 bureau, and I never thought of them afterward.” “ But how do 
 you distinguish one ticket from the other? and why am I the 
 holder of the fortunate ticket, more than you?” “ Why, at the 
 time I put them into the drawer, I put a little mark in ink upon 
 the ticket which I resolved should be yours; and upon re-opening 
 the drawer, I found that the one so marked was the fortunate 
 ticket.” Now this action appears to me perfectly beautiful; it is 
 le beau tdeal in morals, and gives that calm, yet deep emotion of 
 pleasure, which every one so easily receives from the beauty of 
 the exterior world. 
 
 » 
 
240 A SUBLIME EMPEROR. 
 
 AURUNGZEBE.* 
 
 A MIXTURE of wonder and terror almost always excites the 
 feeling of the sublime. Extraordinary power generally excites 
 the feeling of the sublime by these means—by mixing wonder 
 with terror. A person who has never seen anything of the kind 
 but a little boat, would think a sloop of eighty tons a goodly and 
 somewhat of a grand object, if all her sails were set, and she were 
 going gallantly before the wind; but a first-rate man-of-war would 
 sail over such a sloop, and send her to the bottom, without any 
 person on board the man-of-war perceiving that they had encoun- 
 tered any obstacle. Such power is wonderful and terrible —there- 
 fore, sublime. Everybody possessed of power is an object either 
 of awe or sublimity, from a justice of peace up to the Emperor 
 Aurungzebe—an object quite as stupendous as the Alps. He 
 - had thirty-five millions of revenue, in a country where the products 
 of the earth are at least six times as cheap as in England: his em- 
 pire extended over twenty-five degrees of latitude, and as many of 
 longitude: he had put to death above twenty millions of people. I 
 should like to know the man who could have looked at Aurungzebe 
 without feeling him to the end of his limbs, and in every hair of his 
 head! Such emperors are more sublime than cataracts. I think 
 any man would have shivered more at the sight of Aurungzebe, 
 than at the sight of the two rivers which meet at the Blue Moun- 
 tains in America, and, bursting through the whole breadth of the 
 rocks, roll their victorious and united waters to the Eastern Sea. 
 
 SUBLIMITY OF ECONOMY. 
 
 Tam going to say rather an odd thing, but I can not help think- 
 ing that the severe and rigid economy of a man in distress, has 
 something in it very sublime, especially if it be endured for any 
 length of time serenely and in silence. I remember a very stri- 
 king instance of it ina young man, since dead. He was the son of 
 a country curate, who had got him a berth on board a man-of-war, 
 as midshipman. ‘The poor curate made a great effort for his son; 
 fitted him out well with clothes, and gave him fifty pounds in 
 syre The first week, the poor boy lost his chest, clothes, 
 
 7 
 * This and the following passage are from the Lecture on the Sublime. 
 
“INSTINCT. QA 
 
 money, and everything he had in the world. The ship sailed for 
 a foreign station; and his loss was without remedy. He imme- 
 diately quitted his mess, ceased to associate with the other midship- 
 men, who were the sons of gentlemen; and for five years, without 
 mentioning it to his parents—who he: knew could not assist him 
 —or without borrowing a farthing from any human being, without 
 a single murmur or complaint, did that poor lad endure the most 
 abject and degrading poverty, at a period of life when the feelings 
 are most alive to ridicule, and the appetites most prone to indul- 
 gence. Now, I confess I am a mighty advocate for the sublimity 
 of such long and patient endurance. If you can make the world 
 stare and look on, there, you have vanity, or compassion, to sup- 
 port you; but to bury all your wretchedness in your own mind —to 
 resolve that you will have no man’s pity, while you have one effort 
 left to procure his. respect—to harbour no mean thought in the 
 midst of abject poverty, but, at the very time you are surrounded 
 by circumstances of humility and depression, to found a spirit of 
 modest independence upon the consciousness of having always 
 acted well; this is a sublime, which, though it is found in the shade 
 and retirement of life, ought to be held up to the praises of men, 
 and to be looked upon as a noble model for imitation. 
 
 INSTINCT AND TALENT. * 
 
 Att the wonderful instincts of animals, which, in my humble 
 opinion, are proved beyond a doubt, and the belief in which has 
 not decreased with the increase of science and investigation — all 
 these instincts are given them only for the combination or preser- 
 vation of their species. If they had not these instincts, they would 
 be swept off the earth in an instant. This bee, that understands 
 architecture so well, is as stupid as a pebblestone, out of his own 
 particular business of making honey: and, with all his talents, he 
 only exists that boys may eat his labours and poets sing about them. 
 Ut pueris placeas et declamatio fias. A peasant-girl of ten years 
 old puts the whole republic to death with a little smoke; their 
 palaces are turned into candles, and every clergyman’s wife makes 
 mead-wine of the honey; and there is an end of the glory and 
 
 
 
 * This and the following passage are from the Lecture on the Faculties of 
 _ Animals and of Man. 
 11 
 

 
 ~ 949 MIND AND BODY. 4 
 
 wisdom of the bees! Whereas, man has talents that have no sort 
 of reference to his existence ; and without which, his species might 
 remain upon earth in the same safety as if they had them not. 
 The bee works at that particular angle which saves most time ‘A 
 and labour ; and the boasted edifice he is constructing is only for 
 his ege: but Somerset House, and Blenheim, and the Louvre, 
 have nothing to do with breeding. Epic poems, and Apollo Bel- 
 videres, and Venus de Medicis, have nothing to do with living 
 
 » and eating. We might have discovered pig-nuts without the 
 Royal Society, and gathered acorns without reasoning about curves 
 
 of the ninth order. ‘The immense superfluity of talent given to 
 man, which has no bearing upon animal life, which has nothin 
 
 to do with the mere preservation of existence, is one very distin 
 guishing circumstance in’ this comparison. There is no oi 
 animal but man to whom mind appears to be given for any othe 
 purpose than the pr eservation of ody. 
 
 - ~ 
 - | 7 7 
 
 CHANGE a “INSTINCT. 
 
 THE most curious instance of a change of instinct is mentioned 
 by Darwin. The bees carried over to Barbadoes and the Western 
 Isles, ceased to lay up any honey after the first year; as they 
 found it not useful to them. They found the weather so fine and 
 materials for making honey so plentiful, that they quitted their 
 grave, prudent, and mercantile character, became exceedingly 
 profligate and debauched, eat up their capital, resolved to work no 
 more, and amused themselves by flying about the sugar-houses, and 
 stinging the blacks. The fact is, that by putting animals in differ- 
 ent situations, you may change, and even reverse, any of their 
 original propensities. Spallanzani brought up an eagle upon bread 
 and milk, and fed a dove on raw beef. The circumstances by 
 which an animal is surrounded, impel him to do so and so, by the 
 changes they produce in his body and mind. Alter those circum- 
 stances, and he no longer does as he did before. This, instead of 
 disproving the existence of an instinct, only points out the causes 
 on which it depends. . 
 
4 > ‘ * oS a * - y ‘ 7. 
 ‘ STORY OF AN ELEPHANT. 243°. 
 
 2 
 *, 
 a - 
 
 "*ANECDOTE OF AN ELEPHANT. * “ 
 
 Tue artifices of a gentleman pursued by bailiffs, and the artifices 
 _ of an animal pursued for his life, are the same thing—call them — 
 Baby what name you please. Of all animals, the most surprising 
 stories are told of the docility of elephants. The black people, 
 who have the care of them, often go away, leaving them chained 
 to a stake, and place near them their young children, as if under 
 their care: the elephant allows the little creature to crawl as far 
 as its trunk can reach, and then gently takes the young master up, 
 and places him more within his own control. Every one knows 
 the old story of the tailor and the elephant, which, if it be not true, 
 at least shows the opinion the Orientals, who know the animal 
 well, entertain of his sagacity. An eastern tailor to the court 
 “was making a magnificent doublet for a bashaw of nine tails, and 
 covering it, after the manner of eastern doublets, with gold, silver, 
 and every species of metallic magnificence. As he was busying 
 himself on this momentous occasion, there. passed by, to the pools 
 of water, one of the royal Jeph, about the size of a broad- 
 wheeled wagon, rich in ivory teeth, and shaking, with its ponder- 
 ous tread, the tailor’s shop to its remotest thimble. As he passed 
 near the window, the elephant happened to look in; the tailor 
 lifted up his eyes, perceived the proboscis of the elephant near him, 
 _ and, being seized with a fit of facetiousness, pricked the animal 
 with his needle; the mass of matter immediately retired, stalked 
 away to the pool, filled his trunk full of muddy water, and, return- 
 ing to the shop, overwhelmed the artisan and his doublet with the 
 dirty effects of his vengeance. 
 
 SS 
 
 ot 
 LONGEVITY AND WISDOM.* 
 
 . 
 
 THe wisdom of a man is made up of what he observes, and 
 what others observe for him; and of course the sum of what he 
 can acquire must principally depend upon the time in which he can 
 acquire it. All that we add to our knowledge is not an increase, 
 by that exact proportion, of all we possess; because we lose some 
 things, as we gain others; but upon the whole, while the body and 
 mind remain healthy, an active man increases in intelligence, and 
 
 * From the Lecture. on the Faculties of Beasts. 
 
 a 
 » 
 
 
 
% 
 
 244 VALUE. OF LONGEVITY. 
 
 consequently in power. If we lived seven hundred years instead 
 of seventy, we should write better epic poems, build better houses, 
 and invent more complicated mechanism, than we do now. I 
 should question very much if Mr. Milne could build a bridge so 
 well as a gentleman who had engaged in that occupation for seven 
 centuries: and if I had had only two hundred years’ experience in 
 lecturing on moral philosophy, I am well convinced I should do it 
 a little better than I now do. On the contrary, how diminutive 
 and absurd all the efforts of man would have been, if the duration 
 of his life had only been twenty years, and if he had died of old 
 age just at the period when every human -being begins to suspect 
 that he is the wisest and most extraordinary person that ever did 
 exist! I think it is Helvetius who says, he is quite certain we 
 only owe our superiority over the orang-outangs to the greater 
 length of life conceded to us; and that, if our life had been as short 
 as theirs, they would have totally defeated us in the competition 
 for nuts and ripe blackberries. I can hardly agree to this extrav- 
 agant statement; but I think, in a life of twenty years the efforts 
 of the human mind would have been so considerably lowered, that 
 we might probably have thought Helvetius a good philosopher, and 
 admired his skeptical absurdities as some of the greatest efforts of 
 the human understanding. Sir Richard Blackmore would have 
 been our greatest poet; our wit would have been Dutch; our 
 faith, French; the Hottentots would have given us the model for 
 manners, and the Turks for government; and we might probably 
 have been such miserable reasoners respecting the sacred truths 
 of religion, that we should have thought they wanted the support 
 of a puny and childish jealousy of the poor beasts that perish. His 
 gregarious nature is another cause of man’s superiority over all 
 other animals. A lion lies under a hole in a rock; and if any 
 other lion happen to pass by, they fight. Now, whoever gets a 
 habit of lying under a hole in a rock, and fighting with every gen- 
 tleman who passes near him, can not possibly make any progress. 
 Every man’s understanding and acquirements, how great and ex- 
 tensive soever they may appear, are made up from the contribu- 
 tions of his friends and companions. You spend your morning in 
 learning from Hume what happened at particular periods of your 
 own history: you dine where some man tells you what he has ob- 
 served in the East Indies, and another discourses of brown sugar 
 
-. 
 
 SHYNESS. 245 
 and Jamaica. It is from these perpetual rills of knowledge, that 
 you refresh yourself, and become strong and healthy as you are. 
 If lions would consort together, and growl out the observations 
 they have made, about killing sheep and shepherds, the most likely 
 places for catching a calf grazing, and so forth, they could not fail 
 to improve; because they would be actuated by such a wide range 
 of observation, and operating by the joint force of so many minds. 
 It may be said, that the gregarious spirit in man may proceed 
 from his wisdom ; and not his wisdom from his gregarious spirit. 
 This I should doubt. It appears to be an original principle in 
 some animals, and not in others; and is a quality given to some 
 to better their condition, as swiftness or strength is given to 
 others. The tiger lives alone—bulls and cows do not; yet, a 
 tiger is as wise an animal as a bull. A wild boar lives with the 
 herd till he comes of age, which he does at three years, and then 
 quits the herd and lives alone. There is a solitary species of bee, 
 and there is a gregarious bee. Whether an animal should herd 
 or not, seems to be as much a provision of nature, as whether it 
 should crawl, creep, or fly. 
 
 SHYNESS.* 
 
 Tue most curious offspring of shame, is shyness ;—a word al- 
 ways used, I fancy, in a bad sense, to signify misplaced shame ; for 
 a person who felt only diffident, exactly in proportion as he ought, 
 would never be called shy. But a shy person feels more shame, 
 than it is graceful, or proper, he should feel; generally, either from: 
 ignorance or pride. A young man, in making his first entrance 
 into society, is so ignorant as to imagine he is the object of univer- 
 sal attention; and that everything he does is subject to the most 
 rigid criticism. Of course, under such a supposition, he is shy 
 and embarrassed: he regains his ease, as he becomes aware of his 
 insignificance. An excessive jealousy of reputation, is the very 
 frequent parent of shyness, and makes us all afraid of saying and 
 doing, what we might say and do, with the utmost propriety and 
 grace. We are afraid of hazarding anything; and the game 
 stands still, because no man will venture any stake: whereas, the 
 
 * This and the next are from the Lecture of the Evil Affections. 
 
BA 
 
 > 
 
 246 SHAME. 
 
 object of living together, is not security only, but enjoyment. Both 
 objects are promoted by a moderate dread of shame; both de- 
 stroyed by that passion, when it amounts to shyness ;—for a shy 
 person not only feeds pain, and gives pain; but, what is worse, he 
 incurs blame, for a want of that rational and manly confidence, 
 which is so useful to those who possess it, and so pleasant to those 
 who witness it. I am severe against shyness, because it looks 
 like a virtue without being a virtue; and because it gives us false 
 notions of what the rea/ virtue is. IJ admit that it is sometimes an 
 affair of body, rather than of mind ;. that where a person wishes to 
 say what he knows will be received with favour, he cannot com- 
 mand himself enough to do it. But this is merely the effect of 
 habit, where the cause that created the habit has for a moment 
 ceased. When the feelings respecting shame are disciplined by 
 good sense, and commerce with the world, to a fair medium, the 
 body will soon learn to obey the decisions of the understanding. 
 Nor let any young man imagine (however it may flatter the 
 vanity of those who perceive it), that there can be anything worthy 
 of a man, in faltering, and tripping, and stammering, and looking 
 like a fool, and acting like a clown. A silly college pedant be- 
 lieves that this highest of all the virtues, consists in the shame of 
 the body; in losing the ease and possession of a gentleman; in 
 turning red; and tumbling down; in saying this thing, when you 
 mean that; in overturning everybody within your reach, out of 
 pure bashfulness ; and in a general stupidity and ungainliness, and 
 confusion of limb, and thought, and motion. But that dread of 
 shame, which virtue and wisdom teach, is, to act so, from the era- 
 
 dle to the tomb, that no man can cast upon you the shadow of re- . 
 
 proach; not to swerve on this side for wealth, or on that side for 
 favour ; but to go on speaking truly, and acting justly ; no man’s 
 oppressor, and no man’s sycophant and slave. This is the shame 
 of the soul; and these are the blushes of the inward man; which 
 are worth all the distortions of the body, and all the crimson of the 
 face. 
 
 USES OF THE EVIL AFFECTIONS. 
 
 It appears, then, from this enumeration of the ungrateful pas- 
 sions, which lead men to act from feelings of aversion, that they are 
 
 a 
 
of . . % 
 GOOD IN ILL. 247 
 
 all referable to the memory of evil, the actual sensation, the future 
 anticipation of it, or the resentment which any one of these notions 
 is apt to excite. The remembrance of past evils, produces melan- 
 choly : the sensation of present evils, if they be referred to the 
 body, pain; if to the mind, grief. Envy, hatred, and malice, are 
 all modifications of resentment, differing in the causes which have 
 excited that resentment, as well as in the degree in which it is en- 
 tertained. Shame is that particular species of grief, which pro- 
 ceeds from losing the esteem of our fellow-creatures ; fear, the an- 
 ticipation of future evils. This is the catalogue of human miseries 
 and pains ; and it is plain why they have been added to our nature. 
 By the miseries of the body, man is controlled within his proper 
 sphere, and learns what manner of life it was intended he should 
 lead: fear and suspicion are given to guard him from harm: re- 
 sentment, to punish those who inflict it ; and by punishment, to de- 
 ter them. By the pain of inactivity, we are driven to exertion: 
 by the dread of shame, to labour for esteem. But all these preg- 
 nant and productive feelings are poured into the heart of man, not 
 with anything that has the air of human moderation—not with a 
 measure that looks like precision and adjustment — but wildly, lav- 
 ishly, and in excess. Providence only impels; it makes us start 
 up from the earth, and do something; but whether that something 
 shall be good or evil, is the arduous decision which that Provi- 
 dence has left to us. You cannot sit quietly till the torch is held 
 up to your cottage, and the dagger to your throat: if you could, 
 this scene of things would not long be what it now is. The solemn 
 feeling which rises up in you at such times, is as much the work 
 of God, as the splendour of the lightning is his work; but that 
 feeling may degenerate into the fury of a savage, or be disciplined 
 into the rational opposition of a wise and a good man. You must 
 be affected by the distinctions of your fellow-creatures— you can- 
 not help it; but you may envy those distinctions, or you may em- 
 ulate them. The dread of shame may enervate you for every 
 manly exertion, or be the vigilant guardian of purity and inno- 
 cence. In a strong mind, fear grows up into cautious sagacity ; 
 grief, into amiable tenderness. Without the noble toil of moral 
 education, the one is abject cowardice, the other eternal gloom ; 
 therefore, there is the good, and there is the evil! Every man’s 
 destiny is in his own hands. Nature has given us those beginnings, 
 
 
 
248 ¥ HABIT. 
 
 which are the elements of the foulest vices, and the seeds of every 
 “sweet and immortal virtue: but though Nature has given you the 
 liberty to choose, she has terrified you by her punishments, and 
 lured you by her rewards, to choose aright; for she has not only 
 taken care that envy, and cowardice, and melancholy, and revenge, 
 shall carry with them their own curse—but she has rewarded 
 emulation, courage, patience, cheerfulness, and dignity, with that 
 feeling of calm pleasure, which makes it the highest act of human 
 wisdom to labour for their attainment. 
 
 PAST HAPPINESS.* 
 
 Tue memory of past good, and the memory of past evil, are 
 both without a specific name in-our language; though it should 
 seem, that they require one, as much as hope or fear—to which, 
 in point of time, they are contrasted. We all know that present 
 happiness is very materially affected by happiness in prospect: 
 but, perhaps, it is not enough urged as a motive for benev- 
 olence. 
 
 Mankind are always happier for having been happy; so that 
 if you make them happy now, you make them happy twenty 
 years hence by the memory of it. A childhood passed with a 
 due mixture of rational indulgence, under fond: wise parents, 
 diffuses over the whole of life, a feeling of calm pleasure ; and, 
 in extreme old age, is the very last remembrance which time can 
 erase from the mind of man. No enjoyment, however inconsider- 
 able, is confined to the present moment. A man is the happier 
 for life, from having made once an agreeable tour, or lived for 
 any length of time with pleasant people, or enjoyed any consider- 
 able interval of innocent pleasure: and it is most probably the 
 recollection of their past pleasures, which contributes to render 
 old men so inattentive to the scenes before them; and carries 
 them back to a world that is past, and to scenes never to be 
 renewed again. . 
 
 THE FORCE OF HABIT.—HOBBES AND HIS PIPE.T 
 
 Hapits may be divided into active and passive ;—those things 
 which we do by an act of the will, and those things which we 
 
 * From the Lecture on the Benevolent Affections. 
 + From the Lecture on Habit, Part I. 
 
HOBBES AND HIS PIPE. Q49 
 
 suffer by the agency of some external power. I begin with the 
 active habits; and, after stating a few of the most familiar of 
 them, I will shortly analyze the examples, in order to show that 
 they are merely referable to association. It may be as well, per- 
 haps to give a specimen of the life of a man.whose existence was, 
 at last, entirely dependent upon the habits he had contracted: it is 
 a fair picture of the dominion which habit establishes over us, at 
 the close of life. “The professed rule of Mr. Hobbes,” says Dr. 
 White Kennet in his. Memoirs of the Cavendish family, “was to 
 dedicate the morning to exercise, and the evening to study. At 
 his first rismg, he walked out, and climbed up a hill: if the 
 weather was not dry, he made a point of fatiguing himself within 
 doors, so as to perspire; remarking constantly, that an old man 
 had more moisture than heat; and by such motion, heat was to be 
 acquired, and moisture expelled. After this, the philosopher took 
 a very comfortable breakfast, and then went round the lodgings to 
 wait upon the earl, the countess, the children, and any consider- 
 able strangers$ paying some short addresses to all of them. He 
 kept these rounds till about twelve o’clock, when he had a little 
 dinner provided for him, which he eat always by himself, without 
 ceremony. Soon after dinner, he retired to his study, and had his 
 candle, with ten or. twelve pipes of tobacco, laid by him; then, 
 shutting the door, he fell to smoking, thinking, and writing, for 
 several hours. He could never endure to be left in an empty 
 house ; whenever the earl removed, he would go along with him, 
 even to his last stage, from Chatsworth to Hardwick. ‘This was 
 the constant tenor of his life, from which he never varied, no, not 
 a moment, nor an atom.” 
 
 This is the picture of a man whose life appears to have been 
 entirely regulated by the past; who did a thing because he had 
 done it; who, so far as bodily actions were concerned, could 
 hardly be said to have any fresh motives; but was impelled by 
 one regular set of volitions, constantly recurring at fixed periods. 
 Now, take any one of his habits, and examine its progress ; it will 
 afford a natural history of this law of the mind, and will show 
 what circumstances in that law are most worthy of observation. 
 
 He smoked: how did this begin? It might have begun any 
 how. He was staying, perhaps, at some house where smoking 
 was in fashion, and began to smoke out of compliance with the 
 
 La* 
 
Bs ' 
 250 SMOKING, “= 
 
 humours of other persons. At first, he thought it unpleasant; 
 and as all the expirations and inspirations were new and difficult, 
 it required considerable attention; and at the close of the evening 
 he could have distinctly recollected, if he had tried to do so, that 
 his mind had been employed in thinking how he was to manage 
 and manceuvre the pipe. The ‘practice goes on; the disgust 
 vanishes ; much less attention is necessary to smoke well: in a 
 few days the association is formed; the moment the cloth is taken 
 away after supper, the idea of smoking occurs: if any accident 
 
 ~ happen to prevent it, a slight pain is felt in consequence ; it seems 
 
 as if things did not go on in their regular track, and some con- 
 fusion had crept into the arrangements of the evening. As the 
 association goes on, it gathers strength from the circumstances 
 connected with it; from the mirth and conversation with which it 
 is joined: at last, after a lapse of years, we see the philosopher of 
 Malmsbury advanced from one, to one dozen of pipes; so perfect 
 in all the tactics of a smoker, so dexterous in all the manual of 
 his dirty recreation, that he would fill, light, and “smoke out his 
 pipe, without the slightest remembrance of what he had been 
 doing, or the most minute interruption to any immoral, irreligious, 
 or unmathematical track of thought, in which he happened to be 
 engaged: but we must not forget, that though his amusement occu- 
 pied him so little, and was passed over with such a small share of 
 his attention, the want of it would have occupied him so much, 
 that he could have done nothing without it; all his speculations 
 would have been at an end, and without his twelve pipes he might 
 have been a friend to devotion, to freedom, or anything else 
 which, in the customary tenor of his thoughts, he certainly was 
 not. The phenomenon observable here is, that the physical taste 
 lost its effect; that which was nauseous ceased to be so. Next, 
 the habit began with a considerable difficulty of bodily action, and 
 with a full attention of the mind to what was passing. It was not 
 easy to smoke, and the philosopher was compelled to be careful, 
 in order to do it properly ; but as the habit increased, he indulged 
 in it with such little attention of mind or exertion of body, that 
 he did it without knowing he did it. Lastly, any interruption 
 of the habit would have occasioned to him the greatest un- 
 easiness. 
 
hh 
 
 PERIODICAL HABITS. 951 
 
 THE ORBIT OF A HABIT.* 
 
 
 
 
 
 i eriod of time in which a habit renews its action, or (if I 
 may be allowed the expression) the orbit of a habit, is of very dif- 
 ferent dimensions. We may have a habit of shrugging up the 
 shoulders every half-hour; or, of eating three eggs every morning; 
 or, of dining at a club once a month; or, of going down to see a 
 relation once a year: but it is difficult to conceive any habit form- 
 ing itself for a period greater than a year. I can easily conceive 
 that a person who set off on every Ist of June, to pay a visit, 
 might have the force of habit added to his other inducements, and 
 go, partly because he loved the persons, partly because he had 
 done it before; but is it easy to believe that there is a habit of 
 doing anything every other year? or, how very ridiculous it 
 would sound for two persons to say. “We agreed a long time 
 ago to dine together every Bissextile, or leap-year, and it is now 
 grown into a perfect habit!’ This limitation of habits to the 
 period of a year—which I by no means lay any great stress 
 upon, but which has some degree of truth in it— depends 
 somewhat upon the revolution of names and appearances. ‘To 
 do anything the first day of a month, or on one particular day 
 every year, is to strengthen a habit by the recurrence of names 
 or seasons; but if an action be performed every third or fourth 
 year, the same name and the same appearances have occurred, 
 without being connected with the same deed, and therefore the 
 habit is impaired. 
 
 SUPERIORITY TO HABIT. 
 
 MeN aware of the power of habit, escape its influence; and 
 therefore, it is among the most trite principles of education to dis- 
 cover the particular habits to which we are exposed by situation 
 and profession; and, when they are discovered, to resist them. 
 Without any intentional efforts to resist professional habits, they 
 are unconsciously resisted by the magnitude and variety of some 
 men’s minds; and by the liberal pursuits which they contrive to 
 connect with their professions. There is an effect of custom and 
 habit to which we are all extremely indebted, and that is, that it 
 
 * This and the following passages are from the Lectures on Habit, Part IT. 
 
252 ABOVE HABIT. 
 
 regulates everything which nothing else regulates, where there is 
 no propriety, and no duty, to be consulted. ‘The reference is al- 
 ways to habit —in dress, in ceremony, in equipage, in all the cir- 
 cumstances of life, where almost any conduct would be virtuous, a 
 compliance with custom is the only conduct that is wise, anda man 
 of sense is rather pleased that the public legislate for him on points 
 where choice would neither be easy nor useful. It is a strong 
 mark of a good understanding, to allow custom an easy empire on 
 these occasions. It is a much surer mark of talent, that men 
 should rise above the influence of habit, and be better and greater 
 than that to which the circumstances of their lives, or the charac- 
 ter of their age, would appear to doom them. ‘This is the reason 
 why we admire men, who, born in poverty, and accustomed to 
 objects of sense, have been able to conceive the dignity, the value, 
 and the pleasure of intellectual gratification ; who, deviating from 
 every model they had seen, and guided only by their inward light, 
 have steadily, and successfully, pursued the path of virtuous fame. — 
 By this subjugation of habitual thoughts, and escape from habitual 
 objects, Bacon the friar, Czar Peter, Lord Verulam, and all great 
 men, in law and in arts, have preceded the ages in which they 
 lived, and become the beacons of future times. ‘The mass of 
 men, say whatever is said, do whatever is done, think whatever is 
 thought, and can not easily conceive anything greater and better 
 than what is already created. But, in the grossest period of 
 monastic ignorance, Bacon saw that the whole art of war might 
 be changed by the invention of gunpowder; the Czar pulled down 
 a nation habitually victorious, roused and elevated a people habit- 
 ually stupid and depressed: Lord Verulam looked upon his own 
 times with the same cool estrangement from the influence of habit, 
 as if he were contemplating a nation of the ancient world; and 
 was so little imposed upon by the imperfect philosophy which then 
 prevailed, that he effected that entire revolution in physical rea- 
 soning, by which we are all benefited to the present hour. Such 
 victories over present objects —such power of reflecting, where 
 attention is not stimulated by novelties—are generally great 
 triumphs of the human understanding, and decisive proofs of its 
 vigour and excellence, in every individual instance where they 
 are found. Whoever is learned in an ignorant age; whoever is 
 liberal in a bigoted age; whoever is temperate and respectable 
 
$ THE HABIT OF VIRTUE. 258 
 
 in a licentious age; whoever is elegant and enlarged in his views, 
 where his profession chains him down to technical rules and 
 narrow limits; whoever has gained any good which habit opposes, 
 or avoided any evil which habit might induce —that man has 
 vindicated the dignity and the power of his mind, by the fairest of 
 all tests— by doing what the mass of mankind cannot do. 
 
 EFFECT OF HABIT. 
 
 A BEAUTIFUL effect of habit is, that it endows with preternatural 
 strength every quality of the mind or heart which it calls into 
 more than ordinary action. If protection is wanted, men are 
 ready, long habituated to the fear of death. If gentleness and 
 benevolence are wanted to lessen the miseries of life, women are 
 habitually gentle and benevolent. If patient industry, you have 
 it in the laborer, and the mechanic. What but the power of habit, 
 has given to us the advantage of those fine legal understandings, 
 that have gradually formed the system of law in this country ? 
 How are our naval victories gained, but by habitual character, 
 skill, and courage? Whence the effusions of eloquence every day 
 to be witnessed in the senate, but by that intrepidity, self-posses- 
 sion, and command of words and images, which habit only can 
 confer? Fresh, youthful, untaught nature can never do such 
 things as these. It is nature in its manhood, instructed by failure, 
 fortified by precedent, confirmed by success, riveted by habit, and 
 carried to a pitch of glory, by intense adhesion to one object, 
 which, with all the primary efforts of its rude vigour, it never 
 could have reached ; diminishing the pleasure of vice, and strength- 
 ening the hadit of virtue. 
 
 THE PASSIONS. 
 
 THE passions are in morals, what motion is in physics: they 
 create, preserve, and animate; and without them, all would be 
 silence and death. Avarice guides men across the deserts of the 
 ocean ; pride covers the earth with trophies, and mausoleums, and 
 pyramids; love turns men from their savage rudeness ; ambition 
 shakes the very foundations of kingdoms. By the love of glory, 
 weak nations swell into magnitude and strength. Whatever there 
 
954 GREAT PASSIONS. 
 
 is of terrible, whatever there is of beautiful in human events, all 
 that shakes the soul to and fro, and is remembered while thought 
 and flesh cling together—all these have their origin from the pas- 
 sions. As itis only in storms, and when their coming waters are 
 driven up into the air, that we catch a sight of the depths of the 
 sea, it is only in the season of perturbation that we have a glimpse 
 of the real internal nature of man. It is then only, that the might 
 of these eruptions shaking his frame, dissipates all the feeble cov- 
 erings of opinion, and rends in pieces that cobweb veil, with which 
 fashion hides the feelings of the heart. It is then only that 
 Nature speaks her genuine feelings; and, as at the last night of 
 Troy, when Venus illumined the darkness, Atneas saw the gods 
 themselves at work—so may we, when the blaze of passion is 
 flung upon man’s nature, mark in him the signs of a celestial 
 origin, and tremble at the invisible agents of God! 
 
 Look at great men in critical and perilous moments, when every 
 cold and little spirit is extinguished: their passions always bring 
 them out harmless; and at the very moment when they seem to 
 perish, they emerge into greater glory. Alexander, in the midst 
 of his mutinous soldiers; Frederick of Prussia, combating against 
 the armies of three kingdoms; Cortes breaking in pieces the 
 Mexican empire :—their passions led all these great men to fix 
 their attention strongly upon the objects of. their desires; they 
 saw them under aspects unknown to, and unseen by common men, 
 and which enabled them to conceive and execute those hardy en- 
 terprises, deemed rash and foolish, till their wisdom was established 
 by their success. It is in fact the great passions alone which 
 enable men to distinguish between what is difficult and what is 
 impossible: a distinction always confounded by merely sensible 
 men; who do not even suspect the existence of those means, which 
 men of genius employ to effect their object. It is only passion 
 which gives a man that high enthusiasm for his country, and 
 makes him regard it as the only object worthy of human attention ; 
 —an enthusiasm, which to common eyes appears madness and 
 extravagance; but which always creates fresh powers of mind, 
 and commonly insures their ultimate. success. In fact, it is only 
 the great passions, which, tearing us away from the seductions of 
 indolence, endow us with that continuity of attention, to which 
 alone superiority of mind is attached. It is to their passions, 
 
THEIR INFLUENCE. 955 
 
 alone, under the providence of God, that nations must trust, when 
 perils gather thick about them, and their last moments seem to be 
 at hand. The history of the world shows us that men are not to 
 be counted by their numbers, but by the fire and vigour of their 
 passions ; by their deep sense of injury; by their memory of past 
 glory ; by their eagerness for fresh fame; by their clear and steady 
 resolution of ceasing to live, or of achieving a particular object, 
 which, when it is once formed, strikes off a load of manacles and 
 chains, and gives free space to all heavenly and heroic feelings. 
 All great and extraordinary actions come from the heart. There 
 are seasons in human affairs, when qualities fit enough to conduct 
 the common business of life, are feeble and useless; and when 
 men must trust to emotion, for that safety which reason at such 
 times can never give. ‘These are the feelings which led the ten 
 thousand over the Carduchian mountains; these are the feelings 
 by which a handful of Greeks broke in pieces the power of Persia: 
 they have, by turns, humbled Austria, reduced Spain; and in the 
 fens of the Dutch, and on the mountains of the Swiss, defended 
 the happiness, and revenged the oppressions, of man! God calls 
 all the passions out in their keenness and vigour, for the present 
 safety of mankind. Anger and revenge, and the heroic mind, and 
 a readiness to suffer:—all,the secret strength, all the invisible 
 array, of the feelings—all that nature has reserved for the great 
 scenes of the world. For the usual hopes, and the common aids 
 of man, are all gone! Kings have perished, armies are subdued, 
 nations mouldered away! Nothing remains, under God, but. those 
 passions which have often proved the best ministers of his 
 vengeance, and the surest protectors of the world. 
 
256 PREACHING. 
 
 PASSAGES FROM SERMONS. 
 
 OF SERMONS.* 
 
 PREACHING has become a bye-word for long and dull conversa- 
 tion of any kind; and whoever wishes to imply, in any piece of 
 writing, the absence of everything agreeable and inviting, calls it 
 a sermon. 
 
 One reason for this is the bad choice of subjects for the pulpit 
 The clergy are allowed about twenty-six hours every year for the 
 instruction of their fellow-creatures ; and I can not help thinking 
 this short time had better be employed on practical subjects, in ex- 
 plaining and enforcing that conduct which the spirit of Christianity 
 requires, and which mere worldly happiness commonly coincides 
 to recommend. ‘These are the topics nearest the heart, which 
 make us more fit for this and a better world, and do all the good 
 that sermons ever will do. Critical explanations of difficult pas- 
 sages of Scripture, dissertations on the doctrinal and mysterious 
 points of religion, learned investigations of the meaning and accom- 
 plishment of prophecies, do well for publication, but are ungenial 
 to the habits and taste of a.general audience. Of the highest im- 
 portance they are to those who can defend the faith and study it 
 profoundly ; but God forbid it should be necessary to be a scholar, 
 or a critic, in order to be a Christian. To the multitude, whether 
 elegant or vulgar, the result only of erudition, employed for the 
 defence of Christianity, can be of any consequence: with the eru- 
 dition itself they can not meddle, and must be fatigued if they are 
 doomed to hear it. In every congregation there are a certain num- 
 ber whom principle, old age, or sickness, has rendered truly de- 
 
 * From the Preface to the Collection of Sermons, at Edinburgh, 1800, 
 
MORAL DISCOURSES. O57 
 
 vout; but in preaching, as in everything else, the greater number 
 ' of instancés constitute the rule, and the lesser the exception. 
 
 A distinction is set up, with the usual inattention to the meaning 
 of words, between moral and religious subjects of discourse; as if 
 every moral subject must not necessarily be a Christian subject. 
 If Christianity concern itself with our present, as well as our future 
 happiness, how can any virtue, or the doctrine which inculcates it, 
 be considered as foreign to our sacred religion? Has our Saviour 
 forbidden justice — proscribed mercy, benevolence, and good faith ? 
 or, when we state the more sublime motives for their cultivation, 
 which we derive from revelation, why are we not to display the 
 temporal motives also, and to give solidity to elevation by fixing 
 piety upon interest ? 
 
 There is a bad taste in the language of sermons evinced by a 
 constant repetition of the same scriptural phrases, which, perhaps, 
 were used with great judgment two hundred years ago, but are 
 now become so trite that they may, without any great detriment, 
 be exchanged for others. “ Putting off the old man—and putting 
 on the new man,” “The one thing needful,” “The Lord hath set 
 up his candlestick,” “'The armour of righteousness,” etc., ete., etc., 
 ete. The sacred Scriptures are surely abundant enough to afford 
 us the same idea with some novelty of language: we can never be 
 driven, from the penury of these writings, to wear and fritter their 
 holy language into a perfect cant, which passes through the ear 
 without leaving any impression. 
 
 To this cause of the unpopularity of sermons may be added the 
 extremely ungraceful manner in which they are delivered. The 
 English, generally remarkable for doing very good things in a very 
 bad manner, seem to have reserved the maturity and plenitude of 
 their awkwardness for the pulpit. A clergyman clings to his vel- 
 vet cushion with either hand, keeps his eye riveted upon his book, 
 speaks of the ecstasies of joy and fear with a voice and a face 
 which indicate neither, and pinions his body and soul into the same 
 attitude of limb and thought, for fear of being called theatrical and 
 affected. The most intrepid veteran of us all dares no more than 
 wipe his face with his cambric sudarium ;* if, by mischance, his 
 hand slip from its orthodox gripe of the velvet, he -draws it back 
 as from liquid brimstone, or the caustic iron of the law, and atones 
 
 * Classical Latin for a cloth to wipe away perspiration, or, a handkerchief. 
 
 - 
 
258 ELOQUENCE. 
 
 for this indecorum by fresh inflexibility and more rigorous same< 
 ness. Is it wonder, then, that every semi-delirious sectary who 
 pours forth his animated nonsense with the genuine look and voice 
 of passion should gesticulate away the congregation of the most 
 profound and learned divine of the Established Church, and in two 
 Sundays preach him bare to the very sexton? Why are we nat- 
 ural everywhere but in the pulpit? No man expresses warm and 
 animated feelings anywhere else, with his mouth alone, but with 
 his whole body; he articulates with every limb, and talks from 
 head to foot with a thousand voices. Why this holoplexia* on 
 sacred occasions alone? Why call in the aid of paralysis to piety? 
 It is a rule of oratory to balance the style against the subject, and 
 to handle the most sublime truths in the dullest language and the 
 driest manner? Is sin to be taken from men as Eve was from 
 Adam, by casting them into a deep slumber? Or from what pos- 
 sible perversion of common sense are we all to look like field- 
 preachers in Zembla, holy lumps of ice numbed into quiescence, 
 and stagnation, and mumbling? 
 
 It is theatrical to use action, and it is Methodistical to use ac- 
 tion. * 
 
 But we have cherished contempt for sectaries, and persevered 
 in dignified tameness so long, that while we are freezing common 
 sense for large salaries in stately churches, amidst whole acres and 
 furlongs of empty pews, the crowd are feasting on ungrammatical 
 fervour and illiterate animation in the crumbling hovels of Metho- 
 dists. If influence over the imagination can produce these power- 
 ful effects; if this be the chain by which the people are dragged 
 captive at the wheel of enthusiasm, why are we, who are rocked 
 in the cradle of ancient genius, who hold in one hand the book of 
 the wisdom of God, and in the other grasp that eloquence which 
 ruled the Pagan world, why are we never to rouse, to appeal, to 
 inflame, to break through every barrier, up to the very haunts and 
 chambers of the soul? If the vilest interest upon earth can daily 
 call forth all the powers of mind, are we to harangue on public 
 order, and public happiness, to picture a reuniting world, a resur- 
 rection of souls, a rekindling of ancient affections, the dying day 
 of heaven and of earth, and to unveil the throne of God, with a 
 
 * A medical term, indicating a paralysis of the whole body, as opposed to 
 paraplegia or hemiplegia, a palsy of a part. 
 
WARM CHURCHES. 959 
 
 wretched apathy which we neither feel nor show in the most trifling 
 concerns of life? This surely can be neither decency nor piety, 
 but ignorant shame, boyish bashfulness, luxurious indolence, or any- 
 thing but propriety and sense. ‘There is, I grant, something dis- 
 couraging at present to a man of sense in the sarcastical phrase of 
 popular preacher; but I am not entirely without hope that the 
 time may come when energy in the pulpit will be no longer con- 
 sidered as a mark of superficial understanding; when animation 
 and affectation will be separated; when churches will cease (as 
 Swift says) to be public dormitories;* and sleep be no longer 
 looked upon as the most convenient vehicle of good sense. 
 
 I know well that out of ten thousand orators by far the greater 
 number must be bad, or none could be good; but by becoming 
 sensible of the mischief we have done, and are doing, we may all 
 advance a proportional step; the worst may become what the best 
 are, and the best better. 
 
 There is always a want of grandeur in attributing great events 
 to little causes; but this is in some small degree compensated for 
 by truth. I am convinced we should do no great injury to the 
 cause of religion if we remembered the old combination of ear et 
 foct, and kept our churches a littlke warmer. An experienced cler- 
 gyman can pretty well estimate the number of his audience by the 
 indications of a sensible thermometer. The same blighting wind 
 chills piety which is fatal to vegetable life; yet our power of en- 
 countering weather varies with the object of our hardihood; we 
 are very Scythians when pleasure is concerned, and Sybarites 
 when the bell summons us to church. 
 
 No reflecting man can ever wish to adulterate manly piety (the 
 parent of all that is good in the world) with mummery and parade. 
 But we are strange, very strange creatures, and it is better, per- 
 haps, not to place too much confidence in our reason alone. If 
 anything, there is, perhaps, too little pomp and ceremony in our 
 worship, instead of too much. We quarreled with the Roman 
 Catholic church, in a great hurry and a great passion, and furious 
 with spleen; clothed ourselves with sackcloth, because she was 
 
 * Fuller, in his Holy State, has said: “It is a shame when the Church 
 itself is coemeterium, wherein the living sleep above ground, as the dead do 
 beneath.” Swift makes the most of this subject in his witty sermon on 
 Sleeping in Church. 4 
 
° r. 
 ry a 
 ‘het 
 4 
 
 260 EARNESTNESS. 
 
 habited in brocade; rushing, like children, from one extreme to 
 another, and blind to all medium between complication and bar- 
 renness, formality and neglect. J am very glad to find we are 
 calling in, more and more, the aid of music to our service. In 
 London, where it can be commanded, good music has a prodigious 
 effect in filling a church; organs have been put up in various 
 churches in the country, and, as I have been informed, with the 
 best possible effect. Of what value, it may be asked, are auditors 
 who come there from such motives? But our first business seems 
 to be, to bring them there from any motive which is not undigni- 
 fied and ridiculous, and then to keep them there from a good one: 
 those who come for pleasure may remain for prayer. 
 
 Pious and worthy clergymen are ever apt to imagine that man- 
 kind are what they ought to be—to mistake the duty for the fact 
 —to suppose that religion can never weary its votaries—that the 
 same novelty and ornament which are necessary to enforce every 
 temporal doctrine are wholly superfluous in religious admonition ; 
 and that the world at large consider religion as the most important 
 of all concerns, merely because it is so: whereas, if we refer to 
 facts, the very reverse appears to be the case. Every considera- 
 tion influences the mind in a compound ratio of the importance of 
 the effects which it involves, and their proximity. A man who 
 was sure to die a death of torture in ten years would think more 
 of the most trifling gratification or calamity of the day than of his 
 torn flesh and twisted nerves years hence. If we were to read 
 the gazette of a naval victory from the pulpit, we should be daz- 
 zled with the eager eyes of our audience—they would sit through 
 an earthquake to hear us. The cry of a child, the fall of a book, 
 the most trifling occurrence is sufficient to dissipate religious 
 thought, and to introduce a more willing train of ideas: a sparrow 
 fluttering about the church is an antagonist which the most pro- 
 found theologian in Europe is wholly unable to overcome. A 
 clergyman has so little previous disposition to attention in his favour, 
 that, without the utmost efforts, he can neither excite it nor preserve 
 it when excited. Itis his business to awaken mankind by every 
 means in his power, and to show them their true interest. If he 
 despise energy of manner and labour of composition, from a con- 
 viction that his audience are willing, and that his subject alone will 
 support him, he will only add lethargy to languor, and confirm the 
 
CHRISTIAN CHARITY. 261 
 
 drowsiness of his hearers by becoming a great example of sleep 
 himself. 
 
 That many greater causes are at work to undermine religion I 
 seriously believe; but I shall probably be laughed at when I say 
 that warm churches, solemn music, animated preaching upon 
 practical subjects, and a service some little abridged, would be no 
 contemptible seconds to the just, necessary, and innumerable in- 
 _vectives which have been levelled against Rousseau, Voltaire, 
 D’Alembert, and the whole pandemonium of those martyrs to 
 atheism who toiled with such laborious malice, and suffered odium 
 with such inflexible profligacy, for the wretchedness and despair 
 of their fellow-creatures. 
 
 I have merely expressed what appears to me to be the truth in 
 these remarks. I hope I shall not give offence; I am sure I do 
 not mean to doit. Some allowance should be made for the severity 
 of censure when the provident satirist furnishes the raw material 
 for his own art, and commits every fault which he blames. 
 
 AN ILLUSTRATION.* 
 
 THE sun is now fallen in the heavens, and the habitations of 
 men are shaded in gross darkness. That sun is hastening onward 
 to other climates, to carry to all tongues, and people, and nations 
 the splendour of day. What scenes of mad ambition and of 
 bleeding war will it witness in its course. What cruel stripes; 
 what iron bondage of the human race; what debasing superstition ; 
 what foul passions; what thick and dismal ignorance! It will 
 beam upon the savage and sensual Moor; it will lighten the robber 
 of Arabia to his prey; it will glitter on the chains of the poor 
 negro. It will waken the Indian of the ocean to eat the heart of 
 his captive. ‘The bigot Turk will hail it from the summit of his 
 mosque ; it will guide the Brahmin to his wooden gods; but in all 
 its course it will witness perhaps no other spectacle of a free, 
 rational people, gathered together under the influence of Revela- 
 tion, to lighten the load of human misery, and to give of their 
 possessions to the afflicted, and the poor. 
 
 * From a Sermon preached for the Scotch Lying-in Hospital, at Edinburgh. 
 
ee a? 
 +. F 
 
 262 THY SERVANT A MAN. 
 
 TREATMENT OF SERVANTS.* 
 
 UNCHRISTIANLIKE conduct to servants does not always proceed 
 from a bad heart; many are guilty of it who have much of com- 
 passion and goodness in their nature; but it seems to proceed 
 from a notion early imbibed, never effectually checked, and aided 
 ‘by our natural indolence and pride, that a sense of those injuries 
 which are conveyed by manner and expression, is almost exclu- 
 
 sively confined to those whose minds are refined by education, or 
 
 whose condition is ennobled by birth; but in spite of all the ills 
 which poverty can inflict, no human being is base or abject in his 
 own eyes. Without wealth, or beauty, or learning, or fame, nay, 
 without one soul in all the earth that harbours a thought of him, 
 without a place where to lay his head, loathsome from disease, and 
 shunned by men, the poorest outcast has still something for which 
 he cherishes and fosters himself; he has still some one pride in 
 reserve, and you may still make his tears more bitter, and his 
 heart more heavy; do not then take away from men who give you 
 their labour for their bread, those feelings of self-complacency 
 which are dear to all conditions, but doubly dear to this; do not 
 take away that from thy poor brother, which cheers him in his toil, 
 which gives him a light heart, and wipes the sweat from his brow ; 
 and ‘be thou good and kind to him, and speak gentle words to him, 
 for the strength of his youth is thine, and remember there is above 
 .a God, whom thou cannot ask to pardon thy follies, and thy 
 crimes, if thou forgivest not also the trespasses which are done 
 against thee. 
 
 * From a Sermon on the Treatment of Servants. 
 
 +t The Rey. Charles Kingsley, in one of his practical religious discourses, a 
 lecture on “‘'The Country Parish,” after describing the rough-shod benevo- 
 lence of certain tempers in intercourse with the poor, says finely, of the 
 opposite traits in the character of Sydney Smith: “The love and admiration 
 which that truly brave and loving man won from every one, rich or poor, 
 with whom he came in contact, seems to me to have arisen from the one fact, 
 that without, perhaps having any such conscious intention, he treated rich 
 and poor, his own servants, and the noblemen, his guests, alike, and alike 
 courteously, considerately, cheerfully, affectionately —so leaving a blessing, 
 and reaping a blessing, wheresoever he went.”’—Lectures to adie on eee 
 tical Subjects. 
 
*." > ae 
 PLEASURES OF LIGHT. m 263 
 
 THE BLIND.* 
 
 ConsiDER the deplorable union of indigence and blindness, and 
 what manner of life it is from which you are rescuing these un- 
 happy people; the blind man comes out in the morning season to 
 ery aloud for his food; when he hears no longer the feet of men 
 he knows that it is night, and gets him back to the silence and 
 the famine of his cell. Active poverty becomes rich; labour and 
 prudence are rewarded with distinction: the weak of the earth 
 have risen up to be strong; but he is ever dismal, and ever for- 
 saken! The man who comes back to his native city after years 
 of absence, beholds again the same extended hand into which he 
 cast his boyish alms; the self-same spot, the old attitude of sad- 
 ness, the ancient cry of sorrow, the intolerable sight of a human 
 being that has grown old in supplicating a miserable support for a 
 helpless, mutilated frame—such is the life these unfortunate 
 children would lead, had they no friend to appeal to your compas- 
 sion—such are the evils we will continue to remedy, if they ex- 
 perience from you that compassion which their magnitude so amply 
 deserves. : | 
 
 The author of the book of Ecclesiastes has told us that the light 
 is sweet, that it is a pleasant thing for the eyes to behold the sun; 
 the sense of sight is, indeed, the highest bodily privilege, the 
 purest physical pleasure, which man has derived from his Creator: 
 To see that wandering fire, after he has finished his journey 
 through the nations, coming back to us in the eastern heavens; the 
 mountains painted with light; the floating splendour of the sea; 
 the earth waking from deep slumber; the day flowing down the 
 sides of the hills, till it reaches the secret valleys; the little insect 
 recalled to life; the bird trying her wings; man going forth to his 
 labour; each created being moving, thinking, acting, contriving 
 according to the scheme and compass of its nature; by force, by 
 cunning, by reason, by necessity—is it possible to joy in this 
 animated scene and feel no pity for the sons of darkness? for the 
 eyes that will never taste the sweet light? for the poor, clouded in 
 everlasting gloom? If you ask me why they are miserable and 
 dejected, I turn you to the plentiful valleys; to the fields now 
 bringing forth their increase; to the freshness and the flowers of 
 
 * From a Charity Sermon for the Blind, at Edinburgh. 
 
264 TRUTH. 
 
 the earth ; to the endless variety of its colours; to the grace, the 
 symmetry, the shape of all it cherishes, and all it bears; these you 
 have forgotten because you have always enjoyed them; but these 
 are the means by which God Almighty makes man what he is; 
 cheerful, lively, erect; full of enterprise, mutable, glancing from 
 Heaven to earth; prone to labour and to act. Why was not the 
 earth left without form and void? Why was not darkness suffered 
 to remain on the face of the deep? Why did God place lights in 
 the firmament for days, for seasons, for signs, and for years? that 
 he might make man the happiest of beings, that he might give to 
 this his favourite creation a wider scope, a more permanent dura- 
 tion; a richer diversity of joy: this is the reason why the blind 
 are miserable and dejected, because their soul is mutilated and 
 dismembered of its best sense; because they are a laughter and a 
 ruin, and the boys of the streets mock at their stumbling feet; 
 therefore I implore you, by the Son of David, have mercy on the 
 blind: if there is not pity for all sorrows, turn the full and perfect 
 man to meet the inclemeéncy of fate: let not those who have never 
 tasted the pleasures of existence, be assailed by any of its sorrows ; 
 the eyes which are never gladdened by light should never stream 
 with tears.* 
 
 ON TRUTH. 
 
 Upon truth rests all human knowledge: to truth man is indebt- 
 ed for the hourly preservation of his life, and for a perpetual guide 
 to his actions; without truth the affairs of the world could no 
 longer exist, as they now are, than they could if any of the great 
 physical laws of the universe were suspended. As truth is of in- 
 dispensable necessity in the great concerns of the world, it is also 
 of immense importance as it relates to the common and daily inter- 
 course of life. Falsehood must have a direct and powerful ten- 
 dency to disturb the order of human affairs, and to introduce into 
 the bosom of society every gradation and variety of mischief. 
 
 There is a natural tendency in all men to speak the truth, be- 
 cause it is absolutely necessary we should inform ourselves of the 
 truth for the common purposes of existence, and we do not say one 
 
 * “This passage,” Lady Holland remarks, “was greatly admired by 
 Dugald Stewart.” 
 
=r 
 
 A LIAR. 269 
 
 > 
 
 thing while we know another, but for the intereaee of causes 
 which are comparatively infrequent and extraordinary; the first 
 of these which I shall mention is vanity. The vanity of being in- 
 teresting, of exciting curiosity, and escaping from the pain of ob- 
 scurity :— Great part of the mischief done to character, and of 
 those calumnies which ruffle the quiet of life, have their origin in 
 this source....... 
 
 There is a liar, who is not so much a liar from vanity as from 
 warmth of imagination, and levity of understanding; such a man 
 has so thoroughly accustomed his mind to extraordinary combina- 
 tions of circumstances, that he is disgusted with the insipidity of 
 any probable event; the power of changing the whole course of 
 nature is too fascinating for resistance; every moment must pro- 
 duce rare emotions, and stimulate high passions; life must be a 
 series of zests, and relishes, and provocations, and languishing ex- 
 istence be refreshed by daily miracles: In the meantime, the dig- 
 nity of man passes away, the bloom of Heaven is effaced, friends 
 vanish from this degraded liar; he can no longer raise the look 
 of wonder, but is heard in deep, dismal, contemptuous silence ; he 
 is shrunk from and abhorred, and lives to witness a gradual con- 
 spiracy against him of all that is good and honourable, and wise 
 and great. ; 
 
 Fancy and vanity are not the only parents of falsehood—the 
 worst, and the blackest species of it, has its origin in fraud—and, 
 for its object, to obtain some advantage in the common intercourse 
 of life. Though this kind of falsehood is the most pernicious, in its 
 consequences, to the religious character of him who is infected by 
 it; and the most detrimental to the general happiness of society, it 
 requires (from the universal detestation in which it is held), less 
 notice in an investigation of the nature of truth, intended for prac- 
 tical purposes. He whom the dread of universal infamy, the 
 horror of being degraded from his rank in society, the thought 
 of an hereafter will not inspire with the love of truth—who prefers 
 any temporary convenience of a lie, to a broad, safe, and refulgent 
 veracity— that man is too far sunk in the depths of depravity for any 
 religious instruction he can receive in this place —the canker of 
 disease is gone down to the fountains of his blood, and the days of 
 his life are told. 
 
 Truth is sacrificed to a greater variety of causes than the nar- 
 
 12 
 

 
 266 : FAITH. 
 
 row limits of a discourse from the pulpit will allow me to state— 
 it is sacrificed to boasting, to malice, and to all the varieties of 
 
 - hatred —it is sacrificed, also, to that verbal benevolence which de- 
 
 lights in the pleasure of promising, as much as it shrinks from the 
 pain of performing, which abounds in gratuitous sympathy, and has 
 words, and words only, for every human misfortune. 
 
 I have hitherto considered the love of truth on the negative side 
 only, as it indicates what we are not to do—the vices from which 
 we are to abstain; but there is an heroic faith—a courageous 
 love of truth, the truth of the Christian warrior—an unconquer- 
 able love of justice, that would burst the heart in twain, if it had 
 not vent — which makes women men—and men saints —and saints 
 angels. Often it has published its creed from amid the flames— 
 often it has reasoned under the axe, and gathered firmness from 
 a mangled body —often it has rebuked the madness of the people 
 —often it has burst into the chambers of princes, to tear down the 
 veil of falsehood, and to speak of guilt, of sorrow, and of death. 
 Such was the truth which went down with Shadrach to the fiery 
 furnace, and descended with Daniel to the lion’s den. Such was 
 the truth which made the potent Felix tremble at his eloquent 
 captive. Such was the truth which roused the timid Peter to 
 preach Christ crucified before the Sanhedrim of the Jews—and 
 such was the truth which enabled that Christ, whom he did preach, 
 to die the death upon the cross..... 
 
 We shall love truth better if we Fela that falsehood is use- 
 less; and we shall believe falsehood to be useless if we entertain 
 the notion that it is difficult to deceive ; the fact is (and there can 
 be no greater security for well doing than such an opinion), that it 
 is almost impossible to deceive the great variety of talent, informa- 
 tion, and opinion, of which the world is composed. Truth prevails, 
 by the universal combination of all things animate, or inanimate, 
 against falsehood ; for ignorance makes a gross and clumsy fiction ; 
 carelessness omits some feature of a fiction that is ingenious; bad 
 fellowship in fraud betrays the secret; conscience bursts it into 
 atoms ; the subtlety of angry revenge unravels it; mere brute, un- 
 conspiring matter reveals it; death lets in the light of truth; all 
 things teach a wise man the difficulty and bad success of falsehood ; 
 and truth is inculeated by human policy, as well as by Divine 
 command. 
 
RICHES. ‘ 267 
 
 The highest motive to the cultivation of truth, is, that God re- — 
 quires it of us; he requires it of us, because falsehood is contrary - 
 to his nature—because the spirit of man, before it can do hom- 
 age to its Creator, must be purified in the furnace of truth. There 
 is no more noble trial for him who seeks the kingdom of heaven, 
 than to speak the truth; often the truth brings upon him much sor- 
 row; often it threatens him with poverty, with banishment, with 
 hatred, with loss of friends, with miserable old age; but, as one 
 friend loveth another friend the more if they had suffered together 
 in a long sorrow, so the soul of a just man, for all he endures, 
 clings nearer to the truth; he mocks the fury of the people, and 
 laughs at the oppressor’s rod; and if needs be, he sitteth down 
 like Job in the ashes, and God makes his morsel of bread sweeter 
 than the feasts of the liar, and all the banquets of sin. 
 
 ON RICHES. 
 
 Iv is difficult for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God. 
 The first cause to be alleged for this difficulty is, that he wants 
 that important test of his own conduct, which is to be gained from 
 the conduct of his fellow-creatures toward him; he may be going 
 far from the kingdom of God, on the feet of pride, and over the 
 spoils of injustice, without learning, from the averted looks, and 
 the alienated hearts of men, that his ways are the ways of death. 
 Wealth is apt to inspire a kind of awe, which fashions every look, 
 modulates every word, and influences every action; and this, not 
 so much from any view to interest, as from that imposing superi- 
 ority, exercised upon the imagination by prosperous fortune, from 
 which it is extremely difficult for any man to emancipate himself, 
 who has not steadily accustomed his judgment to measure his fel- 
 low-creatures by real, rather than artificial distinctions, and to 
 appeal from the capricious judgments of the world to his own 
 reflections, and to the clear and indisputable precepts of the 
 Gospel. 
 
 The general presumption, indeed, which we are apt to form, is, 
 that the mischief is already done ; that the rich man has been ac- 
 customed to such flattering reception, such gracious falsehoods, 
 and such ingenious deceit, that to treat him justly, is to treat him 
 harshly ; and, to defer to him only in the proportion of his merit, 
 
268 DIVES. 
 
 is a violation of established forms. No man feels it to be his duty 
 to combat with the gigantic errors of the world, and to exalt himself 
 into a champion of righteousness; he leaves the state of society 
 just as he found it, and indolently contributes his quota of deceit, 
 to make the life of a human being a huge falsehood from the 
 cradle to the tomb. It is this which speaks to Dives the false 
 history of his shameless and pampered life;—here it is, in the 
 deceitful mirror of the human face, that he sees the high gifts 
 with which God has endowed him; and here it is, in that mirror, 
 so dreadfully just to guilty poverty, he may come back, after he 
 has trampled on every principle of honour and justice, and see 
 joy, and delight, and unbounded hospitality, and unnumbered 
 friends. Therefore, I say to you, when you enter in among your 
 fellows, in the pomp, and plenitude of wealth—when the meek 
 eye of poverty falls before you— when all men listen to your 
 speech, and the approving smile is ready to break forth on every 
 brow—then keep down your rising heart, and humble yourself 
 before your father who seeth in secret; then fear very greatly 
 for your salvation; then tremble more than Felix trembled; 
 then remember that it is easier for a camel to go through the eye 
 of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of 
 heaven. | 
 
 The second reason why it so difficult for a rich man to enter 
 into. the kingdom of God is, that he loves the kingdom of the 
 world too well. Death is very terrible, says the son of Sirach, to 
 him who lives at ease in his possessions; and in truth the pleas- 
 ure of life does, ina great measure, depend upon the lot which 
 we draw, and the heritage which we enjoy; it may be urged, that 
 a person who knows no other situation, wishes no other; and that 
 the boundary of his experience is the boundary of his desire. 
 This would be true enough if we did not derive our notions of 
 happiness and misery from a wider range of observation than our 
 own destiny can afford; I will not speak of great misfortunes, for 
 such instances prove put too clearly, how much the love of life 
 depends on the enjoyment it affords;—but a man who is the 
 eternal prey of solicitude, wishes for the closing of the scene; a 
 constant, cheerless struggle with little miseries, will dim the sun, 
 and wither the green herb, and taint the fresh wind;—he will 
 ery out, let me depart—he will count his gray hairs with joy, and 
 
 
 
DANGERS OF WEALTH. 269 
 
 one day will seem unto him as many. ‘Those who are not re- 
 minded of the wretchedness of human existence by such reflec- 
 tions as these, who are born to luxury and respect, and sheltered 
 from the various perils of poverty, begin to forget the precarious 
 tenure of worldly enjoyments, and to build sumptuously on the 
 sand; they put their trust (as the Psalmist says) in chariots and 
 horses, and dream they shall live for ever in those palaces which 
 are but the outhouses of the grave. ‘There are very few men, in 
 fact, who are capable of withstanding the constant effect of arti- 
 ficial distinctions ; it is difficult to live upon a throne, and to think 
 of a tomb; it is difficult to be clothed in. splendour, and to re- 
 member we are dust; it is difficult for the rich and the prosperous 
 to keep their hearts as a burning coal upon the altar, and to humble 
 themselves before God as they rise before men. In the mean- 
 time, while pride gathers in the heart, the angel is ever writing in 
 the book, and wrath is ever mantling in the cup; complain not in 
 the season of wo, that you are parched with thirst; ask not for 
 water, as Dives asked, you have a warning which he never had. 
 There stand the ever-memorable words of the text, which break 
 down the stateliness of man, and dissipate the pageantry of the 
 earth ;—thus it is that the few words of a God can make the purple 
 of the world appear less beautiful than the mean garments of a 
 beggar, and striking terror into the hearts of rulers ‘and of ex- 
 archs, turn the banners of dominion to the ensigns of death, and 
 make them shudder at the sceptre which they wield. ‘To-day, 
 you are clothed in fine linen, and fare sumptuously ; in a few and 
 evil years, they shall hew you out a tomb of marble, whiter than 
 snow, and the cunning artifice of the workman shall grave on it 
 weeping angels, and make a delicate image of one fleeing up to 
 heaven, as if it were thee, and shall relate in golden letters, the 
 long story of your honours and your birth—thou fool!! He that 
 dieth by the roadside for the lack of a morsel of bread, God loveth 
 him as well as he loveth thee; and at the gates of heaven, and 
 from the blessed angels, thou shalt learn, that it is easier for a 
 camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to 
 enter into the kingdom of heaven. 
 
 Another fatal effect of great wealth is, that it is apt to harden 
 the heart ; wealth gives power; power produces immediate grati- 
 fication ; the long habit of immediate gratification, an impatience 
 
 # 
 
eed An iel 
 ae 
 
 270 THE JOURNEY OF LIFE, © 
 of unpleasant feelings; a claim to be exempted from the contem- 
 plation of human misery, of everything calculated to inspire 
 gloom, to pollute enjoyment, and protrude a sense of painful 
 duties; the compassion with which prosperous men are born in 
 common with us all, is never cherished by a participation in the 
 common suffering, a share in the general struggle; it wants that 
 sense of the difficulty and wretchedness of existence, by which we 
 obtain the best measure of the sufferings of our fellow-creatures. 
 We talk of human life as a journey, but how variously is that 
 journey performed? there are some who come forth girt, and 
 shod, and mantled, to walk on velvet lawns, and smooth terraces, 
 where every gale is arrested, and every beam is tempered; there 
 are others who walk on the alpine paths of life, against driving 
 misery, and through stormy sorrows; and over sharp afflictions, 
 walk with bare feet and naked breast, jaded, mangled, and chilled. 
 It is easy enough to talk of misfortunes; that they exist, no man 
 can be ignorant; it is not the bare knowledge of them that is 
 wanting, but that pungent, vital commiseration, under the influence 
 of which a man springs up from the comforts of his home, deserts 
 his favourite occupations, toils, invents, investigates, struggles, 
 wades through perplexity, disappointment, and disgust, to save a 
 human being from shame, poverty, and destruction: here then is 
 the jet, and object of our blessed Saviour’s menace; and reason- 
 able enough it is that he who practically withdraws himself from 
 the great Christian community of benevolence, should be cut off 
 from the blessings of Christian reward. If we suffer ourselves to 
 be so infatuated by the enjoyments of this world, as to forget the 
 imperious claims: of affliction, and to render our minds, from the 
 long habit of selfish gratification, incapable of fulfilling the duties 
 we owe to mankind, then let us not repine, that our lot ceases 
 in this world, or that the rich man shall never inherit immortal 
 life. 
 
 As to that confidence and pride of which riches are too often 
 the source, what can the constitution of that mind be, which has 
 formed these notions of Divine wisdom and justice? Was this in- 
 equality of possessions contrived for the more solid establishment 
 of human happiness, that there might be gradation and subordina- 
 tion among men? or was it instituted to give an arbitrary and use- 
 less superiority of one human being over another? Are any 
 
Pa ‘ ‘ 
 et 
 » >. USES OF WEALTH. 271 
 
 duties exacted for the good conferred? or was a rich man only 
 born to sleep quietly, to fare sumptuously, and to be clothed in 
 brave apparel? Has He, who does not create a particle of dust 
 but it has its use, has He, do you imagine, formed one human 
 being merely as a receptable of choice fruits and delicate viands ; 
 and has He stationed a thousand others about him, of the same 
 flesh and blood, that they might pick up the crumbs of his table, 
 and gratify the wishes of his heart? No man is mad enough to 
 acknowledge such an opinion; but many enjoy wealth as if they 
 had no other notion respecting it than that they were to extract 
 from it the greatest enjoyment possible, to eat and drink to-day, 
 and to mock at the threatened death of to-morrow. 
 
 The command of our Saviour to the rich man, was, “ Go thy way 
 quickly, sell all thou hast, divide it among the poor, and take up 
 thy cross and follow me;” but this precept of our blessed Lord, 
 as it was intended only for the interests of the Gospel, and the 
 state of the world at that period, cannot be considered as appli- 
 cable to the present condition of mankind; to preach such exalted 
 doctrine in these latter days, would, I am afraid, at best be use- 
 less; our object is to seek for some fair medium between selfish- 
 ness and enthusiasm. If something of great possessions be dedi- 
 cated to inspire respect, and preserve the gradations of society, a 
 part to the real wants, a little to the ornaments and superfluities 
 of life, a little evento the infirmities of the possessor, how much 
 will remain for the unhappy, who ask only a preference over 
 vicious pleasure, disgraceful excess, and idle ostentation. 
 
 Neither is it to objects only of individual misery, that the ap- 
 plication of wealth is to be confined; whatever has for its object 
 to enlarge human knowledge, or to propagate moral and religious 
 principle; whatever may effect, immediately or remotely, directly 
 or indirectly, the public happiness, may add to the comforts, re- 
 press the crimes, or animate the virtues of social life; to every 
 sacred claim of this nature, the appetite for frivolous pleasure, and 
 the passion for frivolous display, must implicitly yield: if the 
 minutiz of individual charity present an object too inconsiderable 
 for a capacious mind, there are vast asylums for sickness and 
 want, which invite your aid; breathe among their sad inhabitants 
 the spirit of consolation and order, give to them wiser arrange- 
 ments and wider limits, prepare shelter for unborn wretchedness, 
 
gT2 CURE OF PRIDE. 
 
 and medicine for future disease ; give opportunity to talents and 
 scope to goodness; go among the multitude, and see. if can 
 drag from the oblivious heap some child of God, some gift of 
 heaven, whose mind can burst through the secrets of nature, and 
 influence the destiny of man. This is the dignified and religious 
 use of riches, which, when they cherish boyish pride, to minister 
 to selfish pleasure, shall verily doom their possessor to the flames 
 of hell.— But he who knows wherefore God has given him great 
 possessions, he shall die the death of Lazarus, without leading his 
 life, and rest in the bosom of Abraham, though he never stretched 
 forth his wounds to the dogs, nor gathered up the crumbs of the 
 table for his food. 
 
 The best mode of guarding against that indirect flattery, which 
 is always paid to wealth, is to impress the mind with a thorough 
 belief of the fact; and to guard, by increased inward humility, 
 against the danger of corruption from without. The wealthy man 
 who attributes to himself great or good qualities, from what he con- 
 ceives to be the opinion of the world, exposes himself to dangerous 
 errors; on the most important of all subjects, this source of self- 
 judgment is for him most effectually poisoned; he must receive 
 such evidence with the utmost distrust, weigh every circumstance 
 with caution, court animadversion and friendly candour, and cherish 
 the man by whose polished justice his feelings are consulted, while 
 his follies are repressed. 
 
 For the pride which is contracted by the contemplation of little 
 things, there is no better cure than the contemplation of great 
 things. Let a rich man turn from his own pompous littleness, and 
 think of heaven, of eternity, and of salvation; let him think of all 
 the nations that lie dead in the dust, waiting for the trumpet of 
 God; he will smile at his own brief authority, and be as one 
 lifted up to a high eminence, to whom the gorgeous palaces of the 
 world are the specks and atoms of the eye; the great laws of na- 
 ture pursue their eternal course, and heed not the frail distinctions 
 of this life; the fever spares not the rich and the great; the tem- 
 pest does not pass by them; they are racked by pain, they are 
 weakened by disease, they are broken by old age, they are agonized 
 in death like other men, they moulder in the tomb, they differ only 
 from other men in this, that God will call them to a more severe 
 account, that they must come before him with deeds of Christian 
 
ROMILLY. yifes 
 
 charity and acts of righteousness, equal to all the opportunities and 
 blessings whieh they have enjoyed. 
 
 Let the rich man, then, remember, in the midst of his enjoy- 
 ments, by what slight tenure those enjoyments are held. In addi- 
 tion to the common doubt which hangs over the life of all men, 
 fresh perils lie hid in his pleasures, and the very object for which 
 he lives may be the first to terminate his existence. . “ Remember 
 thou art mortal,” was said every day to a great king. So, after 
 the same fashion, I would that a man of great possessions should 
 frequently remember the end of all things, and the long home, and 
 the sleeping-place of a span in breadth; I would have him go 
 from under the gilded dome down to the place where they will 
 gather him to the bones of his fathers; he should tread in the dust 
 of the noble, and trample on the ashes of the proud; I would heap 
 before him sights of woe and images of death and terror; I would 
 break down his stateliness, and humble him before his Redeemer 
 and his Judge. My voice should ever sound in his ears, that it is 
 easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for « 
 rich man to enter into the kingdom of heaven. 
 
 TRIBUTE TO SIR SAMUEL ROMILLY.* 
 
 AND let me ask you, my brethren, we who see the good and 
 great daily perishing before our eyes, what comfort have we but 
 this hope in Christ that we shall meet again? Remember the 
 eminent men who, within the few years last past, have paid the 
 great debt of nature. The earth stripped of its moral grandeur, 
 sunk in its spiritual pride. The melancholy wreck of talents and 
 of wisdom gone, my brethren, when we feel how dear, how valu- 
 able they were to us, when we would have asked of God, on our 
 bended knees, their preservation and their life. Can we live with 
 all that is excellent in human nature, can we study it, can we con- 
 template it, and then lose it, and never hope to see it again ? 
 
 Can we say of any human being, as we may say of that great 
 man who was torn from us in the beginning of this winter, that he 
 acted with vast capacity upon all the great calamities of life; that 
 he came with unblemished purity to restrain iniquity; that, con- 
 
 * From a sermon on Meditation on Death. Romilly, in a fit of temporary 
 insanity, brought on by grief for the death of his wife, committed suicide, 
 
 November 2, 1818. 
 had 19# 
 
ie EDUCATION. 
 
 demning injustice, he was just; that, restraining corruption, he was 
 pure; that those who were provoked to look into the life of a great 
 statesman, found him a good man also, and acknowledged he was 
 ncere, even when they did not believe he was right? Can we 
 say of such a man, with all the career of worldly ambition before 
 him, that he was the friend of the wretched and the poor; that in 
 » midst of vast occupation, he remembered the debtor’s cell, the 
 prisoner 8 ‘dungeon, the last hour of thé law’s victim ; that he medi- 
 tated day and night on wretchedness, weakness, and want? Can 
 we say all this of any human being, and then have him no mofre:in 
 remembrance? When you “die daily,” my brethren; when you 
 remember my text, paint to yourselves the gathering together again 
 of the good and the just. » ee. * 
 Remember that God is to be worshipped, that death is to be 
 met, by such a life as this; remember, in the last hour, that rank, 
 that birth, that wealth, that all earthly things will vanish away, 
 that you will then think only of the wretchedness you have les- 
 sened and the good you have done. 
 
 “* 
 
 POPULAR EDUCATION.* 
 
 First and foremost, I think the new Queen should bend her 
 mind to the very serious consideration of educating the people. 
 Of the importance of this, I think no reasonable doubt can exist; 
 it does not, in its effects, keep pace with the exaggerated expecta- 
 tions of its injudicious advocates, but it presents the best chance of 
 national improvement. 
 
 Reading and writing are mere increase of power. They may 
 be turned, I admit, to a good or a bad purpose; but for several 
 years of his life the child is in your hands, and you may give to 
 that power what bias you please: thou shalt not kill—thou shalt 
 not steal— thou shalt not bear false witness ;—-by how many fables, 
 by how much poetry, by how many beautiful aids of imagination, 
 may not the fine morality of the sacred Scriptures be engraven on 
 the minds of the young? I believe the arm of the assassin may 
 be often stayed by the lessons of his early life. When I see the 
 
 * This and the succeeding passage are from a sermon, preached at St. 
 
 Paul’s on the accession of Victoria, on the Duties of the Queen — from the 
 text, Dan. iv. 31: “ Qh king, thy kingdom is departed from thee.” 
 
< Re 
 TO THE QUEEN. 275 
 
 Po a 
 7 
 a 
 
 village-school, and the tattered scholars, and the aged master or 
 mistress teaching the mechanical art of reading or writing, and 
 thinking that they are teaching that alone, I feel that the aged in- F 
 structor is protecting life, insuring property, fencing the altar, — 
 guarding the throne, giving space and liberty to all the fine powers 
 of man, and lifting him up to his own place in the order of crea- 
 tions 4 ee 
 
 There are, J am sorry to say, many countries in Europe, which 
 have taken the lead of England in the great business of education, 
 and it is a thoroughly commendable and legitimate object of ambi- 
 tion in a sovereign to overtake them. The names, too, of male- 
 factors, and the nature of their crimes, are subjected to the sov- 
 ereign ;—how is it possible that a. sovereign, with the fine feel- 
 ings of youth, and with all the gentleness of her sex, should not 
 ask herself, whether the human being whom she dooms to death, 
 or at least does not rescue from death, has been properly warned 
 in early youth, of the horrors of that crime for which his life is 
 forfeited? “Did he ever receive any education at all?—did a 
 father and mother watch over him ?—was he brought to places of 
 worship ?— was the Word of God explained to him?—was the 
 book of knowledge opened to him?—Or am I, the fountain of 
 mercy, the nursing-mother of my people, to send a forsaken wretch 
 from the streets to the scaffold, and to prevent, by unprincipled 
 cruelty, the evils of unprincipled neglect?” __ 
 
 Many of the objections found against the general education of 
 the people are utterly untenable; where all are educated, educa- 
 tion cannot be a source of distinction and a subject for pride. The 
 great source of labour is want; and as long as the necessities of 
 life call for labour —labour is sure to be supplied. All these fears 
 are foolish and imaginary; the great use and the great importance 
 of education properly conducted, are, that it creates a great bias in 
 favour of virtue and religion, at a period of life when the mind is 
 open to all the impressions which superior wisdom may choose to 
 affix upon it; the sum and mass of these tendencies and inclina- 
 tions make a good and virtuous people, and draw down upon us 
 the blessing and protection of Almighty God. 
 
a 
 > 
 
 . * = 
 276  « ‘CURSE OF Wakes 
 
 oh “WAR. 
 
 A SECOND great object which I hope will be impressed upon 
 the mind of this royal lady is, a rooted horror of war—an earnest 
 and passionate desire to keep her people in a state of. profound 
 peace. The greatest curse which can be entailed upon mankind 
 is a state of war. All the atrocious crimes committed in years of 
 peace—all that is spent in peace by the secret corruptions, or by 
 the thoughtless extravagance of nations, are mere frifles compared 
 with the gigantic evils which stalk over the world in a state of war; 
 God is forgotten in war—every principle of Christian charity 
 trampled upon—human labour destroyed—human industry ex- 
 tinguished ;— you see the son, and the husband, and the brother, 
 dying miserably in distant lands—vyou see the waste of human 
 affections — you see the breaking of human hearts—you hear the 
 shrieks of widows and children after the battkk—and you walk 
 over the mangled bodies of the wounded calling for death. I would 
 say to that royal child, worship God, by loving peace —it is not 
 your humanity to pity a beggar by giving him food and raiment — 
 can do that; that is the charity of the humble, and the unknown 
 —widen you your heart for the more expanded miseries of man- 
 kind—pity the mothers of the peasantry, who see their sons torn 
 away from their families—pity your poor subjects crowded into 
 hospitals, and calling in their last breath, upon their distant coun- 
 try and their young queen— pity the stupid, frantic folly of human 
 beings, who are always ready to tear each other to pieces, and to 
 deluge the earth with each other’s blood; this is your extended 
 humanity —and this the great field of your compassion. Extin- 
 guish in your heart the fiendish love of military glory, from which 
 your sex does not necessarily exempt you, and to which the wick- 
 edness of flatterers may urge you. Say upon your death-bed, “ I 
 have made few orphans in my reign—I have made few widows— 
 my object has been peace. I have used all the weight of my char- 
 acter, and all the power of my situation, to check the irascible 
 passions of mankind, and to turn them to the arts of honest indus- 
 try: this has been the Christianity of my throne, and this the Gos- 
 pel.of my sceptre ; in this way I have striven to worship my Re- 
 deemer and my Judge.” 
 
 I would add (if any addition were wanted as a part of the lesson 
 
 
 
ALL MISERY AND FOLLY. ° .. OTT 
 
 to youthful royalty), the utter folly of all wars of ambition, where 
 the object sought for—if attained at all—is commonly attained at 
 manifold its real value, and often wrested, after short enjoyment, 
 from its possessor, by the combined indignation and just vengeance 
 of the other nations of the world. It is all misery, and folly, and 
 impiety, and cruelty. The atrocities, and horrors, and disgusts of 
 war, have never been half enough insisted upon by the teachers of 
 the people; but the worst of evils and the greatest of follies, have 
 been varnished over with specious names, and the gigantic robbers 
 and murderers of the world have been holden up, for their imita- 
 tion, to the weak eyes of youth. May honest counsellors keep this 
 poison from the mind of the young queen. May she love what 
 God bids, and do what makes men happy! 
 
278 CAUSE OF. UNHAPPINESS. 
 
 ESSAYS AND sae Se 
 hs ae 
 
 PRACTICAL ESSAYS. * 
 “> 
 _HAPpIneEss is not impossible without health, but it is of very 
 *. difficult attainment. I do not mean by health merely an absence 
 ‘ee aot dangerous complaints, but that the body should be in perfect 
 az. ~ tune—full of vigor and | 
 . The longer I live, the more I am convinced that the apothecary 
 ~ is of more importance than Seneca; and that half the unhappiness 
 » in the world proceeds from little stoppages, from a duct choked 
 up, from food pressing in the wrong place, from a vexed duodenum, 
 or an agitated pylorus. 
 
 _. The deception, as practised upon human creatures, is curious 
 -. “and entertaining. My friend sups late; he eats some strong soup, 
 then a lobster, then some tart, and he dilutes these esculent varie- 
 ties with wine. The next day I call upon him. He is going to 
 sell his house in London, and to retire into the country. He is 
 alarmed for his eldest daughter’s health. His expenses are hourly 
 increasing, and nothing but a timely retreat can save him from 
 . ee ruin. All this is the lobster; and when over-excited nature has 
 ~ had time to manage this testaceous encumbrance, the daughter 
 recovers, the finances are in good order, and every rural idea 
 
 effectually excluded from the mind. 
 In the same manner old friendships are destroyed by toasted 
 cheese, and hard salted meat has led to suicide. Unpleasant 
 
 OF THE BODY. 
 
 
 
 * Published in Lady Holland’s Memoir as, ‘‘A few Unfinished Sketches 
 from a Projected Series of ‘ Practical Essays.’” 
 
STUDY THE BODY. 279 
 
 feelings of the body produce correspondent sensations in the mind, 
 and a great scene of wretchedness is sketched out by a morsel of 
 indigestible and misguided food. Of such infinite consequence 
 to happiness is it to study the body! 
 
 I have nothing new to say upon the roanan trent which the 
 body requires. The common rules are the best: exercise without 
 fatigue ; generous living without excess; early rising, and modera- 
 tion in sleeping. These are the apothegms of old women ; but if 
 they are not attended to, happiness becomes so extremely difficult 
 that very few persons can attain to it. In this point of view, the 
 care of the body becomes a subject of elevation and importance. 
 
 A walk in the fields, an hour’s less sleep, may remove all those 
 bodily vexations and disquietudes which are. such formidable 
 enemies to virtue; and may enable the mind to pursue its own 
 resolves without that constant train of temptations to resist,and =~ 
 obstacles to overcome, which it always experiences from the bad. 
 organization of its companion. Johnson says, every mag is a 
 rascal, when he is sick ; meaning, I suppose, that he has no benev- 
 olent dispositions at that period toward his fellow-creatures, but ie 
 that his notions assume a character of greater affinity to his bodily » 
 feelings, and that, feeling pain, he becomes maleyolent ; and if this » 
 
 be true of great diseases, it is true in a less degree of the smaller 
 ailments of the body. » : 
 
 Get up in a morning, walk before breakfast, pass four or five 
 hours of the day in some active employment; then eat and drink 
 overnight, lie in bed till one or two o’clock, saunter away the rest _ 
 of the day in doing nothing !—can any two human beings be more 
 perfectly dissimilar than the same individual under these two dif- 
 ferent systems of corporeal management? and is it not of as great 
 importance toward happiness to pay a minute attention to the body, 
 as it is to study the wisdom of Chrysippus and Crantor ? 
 
 OF OCCUPATION. 
 
 A. g@oop stout bodily machine being provided, we must be act- 
 ively occupied, or there can be little happiness. 
 
 If a good useful occupation be not provided, it is so ungenial to 
 the human mind to do nothing, that men occupy themselves peri- 
 ously, as with gaming; or frivolously, as with walking up and down 
 
| ‘ ae 
 280 * pacuP iON. 
 
 a street at a watering-place, and looking at the passers-by; or 
 malevolently, as by teazing their wives and children. It is im- 
 possible to support, for any length of time, a state of perfect ennwz ; 
 and if you were to shut a man up for any length of time within 
 four walls, without occupation, he would go mad. Tf idleness do 
 not produce vice or malevolence, it commonly produces melancholy: 
 
 A stockbroker or a farmer has no leisure for imaginary wretch- 
 edness; their minds are usually hurried away by the necessity 
 of noticing external objects, and they are guaranteed from that 
 curse of idleness, the eternal disposition to think of themselves. 
 
 If we have no necessary occupation, it becomes extremely 
 difficult to make to ourselves occupations as entirely absorbing as 
 those which necessity imposes. 
 
 The profession which a man makes for himself is seldom more 
 than a half profession, and often leaves the mind in a state of 
 vacancy and inoccupation. We must lash ourselves up, however, 
 as well as we can, to a notion of its great importance; and as the 
 dispensing power is in our own hands, we must be very jealous 
 of remission and of idleness. 
 
 It may seem absurd that a gentleman who does not live by the 
 profits of farming should rise at six o’clock in the morning to look 
 after his farm; or, if botany be his object, that he should voyage 
 to Iceland in pursuit of it. He is the happier however for his 
 eagerness ; his mind is more fully employed, and he is much more 
 effectually guaranteed from all the miseries of ennwz. 
 
 It is asked, if the object can be of such great importance. 
 Perhaps not; but the pursuit 7s. The fox, when caught, is worth 
 nothing: he is followed for the pleasure of the following. 
 
 What is a man to do with his life who has nothing which he 
 must do? It is admitted he must find some employment, but does 
 it signify what that employment is? Is he employed as much for 
 his own happiness in cultivating a flower-garden as in philosophy, 
 literature, or politics? This must depend upon the individual 
 himself, and the circumstances in which he is placed. As far as 
 the mere occupation or exclusion of ennw? goes, this can be settled 
 only by the feelings of the person employed; and if the attention 
 be equally absorbed, in this point of view one occupation is as 
 good as another; but a man who is conscious he was capable of 
 doing great things, and has occupied himself with trifles beneath 
 
am wi 
 FRIENDSHIPS. : 981 
 
 the level of his understanding, is apt to feel envy at the lot of 
 those who have excelled him, and remorse at the misapplication 
 of his own powers; he has not added to the pleasures of occupation 
 the pleasures of benevolence, and so has not made his occupation 
 as agreeable as he might have done, and he has probably not 
 gainéd as much fame and wealth as he might have done if his 
 pursuits had been of a higher nature. For these reasons it seems 
 right that a man should attend to the highest pursuits in which he 
 has any fair chance of excelling ; he is as much occupied, gains more 
 of what is worth gaining, and excludes remorse more effectually, 
 even if he fail, because he is conscious of having made the effort. 
 
 When a very clever man, or a very great man, takes to culti- 
 vating turnips and retiring, it is generally an imposture. The 
 moment men cease to talk of their turnips, they are wretched and 
 full of self-reproach. Let every man be occupied, and occupied 
 in the highest employment of which his nature is eapable, and die 
 with the consciousness that he has done his best !” 
 
 OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Lire is to be fortified by many friendships. To love, and to 
 be loved, is the greatest happiness of existence. If I lived under 
 the burning sun of the equator, it would be a pleasure to me to . 
 think that there were many human beings on the other side of the 
 world who regarded and respected me; I could and would not 
 live if I were alone upon the earth, and cut off from the remem- 
 brance of my fellow-creatures. It is not that a man has occasion 
 often to fall back upon the kindness of his friends; perhaps he 
 may never experience the necessity of doing so; but we are gov- 
 erned by our imaginations, and they stand there as a solid and 
 impregnable bulwark against all the evils of life. 
 
 Friendships should be formed with persons of all ages and 
 conditions, and with both sexes. I have a friend who is a book- 
 seller, to whom I have been very civil, and who would do anything 
 to serve me; and I have two or three small friendships among per- 
 sons in much humbler walks of life, who, I verily believe, would do 
 me a considerable kindness according to their means. It is a great 
 happiness to form a sincere friendship with a woman; but a friend- 
 ship among persons of different sexes rarely or ever takes piace 
 
282 GOOD SPIRITS. 
 
 in this country. The austerity of our manners hardly admits of 
 such a connection—compatible with the most perfect innocence, 
 and a source of the highest possible delight to those who are for- 
 tunate enough to form it. 
 
 Very few friends will bear to be told of their faults; and if 
 done at all, it must be done with infinite management and delicacy ; 
 for if you indulge often in this practice, men think you hate, and 
 avoid you. If the evil is not very alarming, it is better, indeed, 
 to let it alone, and not to turn friendship into a system of lawful 
 and unpunishable impertinence. I am for frank explanations with 
 friends in cases of affronts. They sometimes save a perishing 
 friendship, and even place it on a firmer basis than at first; bat 
 secret discontent must always end badly. 
 
 OF CHEERFULNESS. 
 
 CHEERFULNESS and good spirits depend, in a great degree, upon 
 bodily causes, but much may be done for the promotion of this 
 turn of mind. Persons subject to low spirits should make the 
 rooms in which they live as cheerful as possible; taking care that 
 the paper with which the wall is covered should be of a brilliant, 
 lively colour, hanging up pictures or prints, and covering the 
 chimney-piece with beautiful china. A bay-window looking upon 
 pleasant objects, and, above all, a large fire whenever the weather 
 will permit, are favourable to good spirits, and the tables near 
 should be strewed with books and pamphlets. To this must be 
 added as much eating and drinking as is consistent with health ; 
 and some manual employment for men—as gardening, a carpen- 
 ter’s shop, the turning-lathe, etc. Women have always manual 
 employment enough, and it is a great source of cheerfulness. 
 Fresh air, exercise, occupation, society, and travelling, are powerful 
 remedies. 
 
 Melancholy commonly flies to the future for its aliment, and 
 must be encountered in this sort of artifice, by diminishing the 
 range of our views. I have a large family coming on, my income 
 is diminishing, and I shall fall into pecuniary difficulties. Well! 
 but you are not now in pecuniary difficulties. Your eldest child 
 is only seven years old; it must be two or three years before your 
 family make any additional demands upon your purse. Wait till 
 
FALLACIES. 283 
 
 the time comes. Much may happen in the interval to better your 
 situation; and if nothing does happen, at least enjoy the two or 
 three years of ease and uninterruption which are before you. 
 You are uneasy about your eldest son in India; but it is now 
 June, and, at the earliest, the fleet will not come in till September ; 
 it may bring accounts of his health and prosperity, but at all 
 events there are eight or nine weeks before you can hear news. 
 Why are they to be spent as if you had heard the worst? The 
 habit of taking very short views of human life may be acquired 
 by degrees, and a great sum of happiness is gained by it. It 
 becomes as customary at last to view things on the good side of the 
 question as it was before to despond, and to extract misery from 
 every passing event. 
 
 A firm confidence in an overruling Providence—a remem- 
 brance of the shortness of human life, that it will soon be over 
 and finished—that we scarcely know, unless we could trace the 
 remote consequences of every event, what would be good and 
 what an evil; these are very important topics in that melancholy 
 which proceeds from grief. 
 
 It is wise to state to friends that our spirits are low, to state the 
 cause of the depression, and to hear all that argument or ridicule 
 can suggest for the cure. Melancholy is always the worse for 
 concealment, and many causes of depression are so frivolous, that 
 we are shamed out of them by the mere statement of their existence. 
 
 FALLACIES.* 
 
 Fallacy I[—“ Because I have gone through wt, my son. shall go 
 through tt also.” 
 
 A MAN gets well pommelled at a public school; is subject to 
 every misery and every indignity which seventeen years of age can 
 inflict upon nine and ten; has his eye nearly knocked out, and his 
 clothes stolen and cut to pieces ; and twenty years afterward, when 
 he is a chrysalis, and has forgotten the miseries of his grub state, 
 
 * Lady Holland introduces the “ Fallacies” in her Memoir with the remark 
 of Sydney Smith: “It is astonishing the influence foolish apothegms have 
 upon the mass of mankind, though they are not unfrequently fallacies. Here 
 are a few I amused myself with writing long before Bentham’s book on Fal- 
 lacies.”’ 
 
oT 
 
 r ed an 
 984. INFLICTIONS ON YOUTH. 
 
 is determined to act a manly part in life, and says, “I passed 
 through all that myself, and I am determined my son’ shall pass _ 
 through it as I have done ;” and away goes his bleating progeny 
 to the tyranny and servitude of the long chamber or the large 
 dormitory. It would surely be much more rational to say, “ Be- 
 cause I have passed through it, I am determined my son shall 
 not pass through it; because I was kicked for nothing, and cuffed 
 for nothing, and fagged for everything, I will spare all these 
 miseries to my child.” It is not for any good which may be de- 
 rived from this rough usage; that has not been weighed and 
 considered ; few persons are capable of weighing its effects upon 
 character ; but there is a sort of compensatory and consolatory no- 
 tion, that the present generation (whether useful or not, no matter) 
 are not to come off scot-free, but are to have their share of ill- 
 usage; as if the black eye and bloody nose which Master John 
 Jackson received in 1800, are less black and bloody by the appli- 
 cation of similar violence to similar parts of Master Thomas Jack- 
 son, the son, in 1830. This is not only sad nonsense, but cruel 
 nonsense. The only use to be derived from the recollection of 
 what we have suffered in youth, is a fixed determination to screen 
 those we educate from every evil and inconvenience, from sub- 
 jection to which there are not cogent reasons for submitting. Can 
 anything be more stupid and preposterous than this concealed re- 
 venge upon the rising generation, and latent envy lest they should 
 avail themselves of the improvements time has made, and pass a 
 happier youth than their fathers have done : ? ) 
 
 fallacy II—‘I have said I will do it, and I will do it; I will 
 stick to my word.” 
 
 Tats fallacy proceeds from confounding resolutions with prom- 
 
 a If you have promised to give a man a guinea for a reward, 
 
 ‘to sell him a horse or a field, you must do it; you are dishonest 
 if you do not. But if you have made a resolution to eat no meat 
 for a year, and everybody about you sees that you are doing mis- 
 chief to your constitution, is it any answer to say, you have said 
 so, and you will stick to your word? With whom have you made 
 the contract but with yourself? and if you and yourself, the two 
 contracting parties, agree to break the contract, where is the evil, 
 or who is injured? © it 
 
 *” 
 
7“ i 7 
 -HALF-MEASURES. 285 
 
 Fallacy III—* I object to half-measures—it ts neither one thing 
 
 eft 
 
 nor the other.” oS 
 
 But why should it be either one thing or the other ? why not 
 something between both? Why are half-measures necessarily or 
 probably unwise measures? I am embarrassed in my circum- 
 stances ; one of my plans is, to persevere boldly in the same line 
 of expense, and to trust to the chapter of accidents for some in- 
 crease of fortune; the other is, to retire entirely from the world, 
 and to hide myself in a cottage; but I end with doing neither, and 
 take a middle course of diminished expenditure. J do neither one 
 thing nor the other, but possibly act wiser than if I had done 
 either. I am highly offended by the conduct of an acquaintance ; 
 I neither overlook it entirely nor do I proceed to call him out; I 
 do neither, but show him, by a serious change of manner, that I 
 consider myself to have been ill-treated. I effect my object by 
 half-measures. I cannot agree entirely with the Opposition or the 
 Ministry ; it may very easily happen that my half-measures are 
 wiser than the extremes to which they are opposed. But it isa 
 sort of metaphor which debauches the understanding of foolish 
 people; and when half-measures are mentioned, they have much 
 the same feeling as if they were cheated argained 
 for a whole bushel and received but half. To act in extremes is 
 sometimes wisdom; to avoid them is sometimes wisdom; every 
 measure must be judged of by its own particular circumstances. 
 
 
 
 ¢ 
 = —_————_—— ‘ 
 » 
 
 A NICE PERSON.* 
 
 A NICE person is neither too tall nor too short, looks clean and 
 
 cheerful, has no prominent feature, makes no difficulties, is never — 
 
 misplaced, sits bodkin, is never sae ge affronted, and is void of 
 affectations. " as 
 
 - 
 
 ae 
 
 - 
 
 * Lady Holland gives the following account of this little sketch :—“In the | 
 
 course of the summer [1823] a young friend came to spend a month with us, 
 at Foston, the freshness and originality of whose character both interested 
 and amused my father; he chanced on one occasion to call her ‘a nice per- 
 son.’ ‘Oh, don’t call me “nice,” Mr. Sydney; people only say that where 
 they can say nothing else.’ ‘Why? have you ever reflected what “a nice 
 person” means? ‘No, Mr. Sydney,’ said she, langhing, ‘but I don’t like 
 it.’ ‘ Well, give me pen and ink; I will show you,’ said my father, ‘a defi- 
 nition of a nice person.’ ” 
 
 + 
 
 tal 
 
286 NICETY AND HARDNESS. 
 
 A nice person helps you well at dinner, understands you, is al- 4 
 
 ways gratefully received by young and old, whig and tory, grave 
 and gay. 
 
 There is something in the very air of a nice person which in- 
 spires you with confidence, makes you talk, and talk without fear 
 of malicious misrepresentation; you feel that you are reposing 
 upon a nature which God has made kind, and created for the ben- 
 efit and happiness of society. -It has the effect upon the mind 
 which soft air and a fine climate have upon the body. 
 
 A nice person is clear of little, trumpery passions, acknowledges 
 superiority, delights in talent, shelters humility, pardons adversity, 
 forgives deficiency, respects all men’s rights, never stops the bot- 
 tle, is never long and never wrong, always knows the day of the 
 month, the name of everybody at table, and never gives pain to 
 any human being. 
 
 If anybody is wanted for a party, a nice person is the first 
 thought of; when the child is christened, when the daughter is 
 married —all the joys of life are communicated to nice people; the 
 hand of the dying man is always held out to a nice person.” | 
 
 A nice person never knocks over wine or melted butter, does 
 not tread upon the dog’s foot, or molest the family cat, eats soup 
 without noise, laughs in the right place, and has a watchful and 
 attentive eye. “4 
 
 DEFINITION: OF HARDNESS OF CHARACTER.* 
 
 HARDNESS is a want of minute attention to the feelings of 
 others. It does not proceed from malignity or a carelessness of 
 inflicting pain, but from a want of delicate perception of those 
 little things by which pleasure is conferred or pain excited. 
 
 A hard person thinks he has done enough if he does not speak 
 ill of your relations, your children, or your country; and then, 
 
 with the greatest good-humour and volubility, and with a total in- 
 attention to your individual state and position, gallops over a 
 
 * This was written in 1843, when, in the month of July, “he spent a few 
 days at Nuneham, on a visit to his former diocesan, the Archbishop of York. 
 He met there a large and agreeable party; and a discussion arising on 
 hardness of character, my father, at the request of Miss Georgiana Harcourt, 
 wrote this definition of it.”— Lady Holland’s Memoir, p. 262. ae * ae 
 
 ~ 
 ° 
 
 x A 
 
 oh, 
 
Ae 
 
 thousand fine feelings, and leaves in every step the mark of his 
 
 a 
 
 7? tag 
 a aS - 
 
 A PARISH TRACT. © 287 
 
 hoofs upon your heart. Analyze the conversation of a well-bred 
 man who is clear of the besetting sin of hardness; it is a perpetual 
 homage of polite good-nature. He remembers that you are con- 
 nected with the Church, and he avoids (whatever his opinions 
 may be) the most distant reflections on the Establishment. He 
 knows that you are admired, and he admires you as far as is com- 
 patible with good-breeding. He sees that, though young, you are 
 at the head of a great establishment, and he infuses into his man- 
 ner and conversation that respect which is so pleasing to all who 
 exercise authority. He leaves you in perfect good-humour with 
 yourself, because you perceive how much and how successfully 
 you have been studied. _ 
 
 In the meantime, the gentleman on the other side of you (a 
 highly moral and respectable man) has been crushing little sensi- 
 bilities, and violating little proprieties, and overlooking little dis- 
 criminations ; and, without violating anything which can be called 
 a rule, or committing what can be denominated.a fault, has dis- 
 pleased: and dispirited you, from wanting that fine vision which 
 sees little things, and that delicate touch which handles them, and 
 that. fine sympathy which this superior moral organization always 
 bestows. 
 
 So great an evil in society is hardness, and that want of per- 
 ception of the minute circumstances which occasion pleasure or 
 pain ! 
 
 ADVICE TO PARISHIONERS.* 
 
 Ir you begin stealing a little, you will go on from little to much, 
 and soon become a regular thief; and then you will be hanged, 
 or sent over seas to Botany Bay. And give me leave to tell you, 
 transportation is no joke. Up at five in the morning, dressed in 
 
 * Lady Holland, in her sketches of ‘Life and Conversation at Combe 
 Florey,” introduces this with the following prefatory explanation by Sydney 
 Smith himself: ‘It is lamentable to see how ignorant the poor are. I do not 
 mean of reading and writing, but about the common affairs of life. ‘They are 
 as helpless as children in all ‘difficulties. Nothing would be so useful as some 
 short and cheap book, to instruct them what to do, to whom to go, and to 
 give them a little advice ; I mean mere practical advice. I have begun some- 
 thing o ‘this sort for my parishioners ; here it is.” 
 
 ~~’ M 
 4 4 
 
* 
 « 
 
 = 
 
 288 WET CLOTHES. 
 
 a jacket half blue half yellow, chaise pe to another person like 
 two dogs, a man standing over you with a great stick, weak por- 
 ridge for breakfast, bread and water for dinner, boiled beans for 
 supper, straw to lie upon; and all this for thirty years; and then 
 you are hanged there by order of the governor, without judge or 
 jury. All this is very disagreeable, and you had far better avoid 
 it by making a solemn resolution to take nothing which does not 
 belong to you. 
 
 Never sit in wet clothes. Off with them as soon as you can: 
 no constitution can stand it. Look at Jackson, who lives next 
 door to the blacksmith ; he was the strongest man in the parish. 
 Twenty different times I warned him of his folly in wearing wet 
 clothes. He pulled off his hat and smiled, and was very civil, but 
 clearly seemed to think it all old woman’s nonsense. He is now, 
 as you see, bent double with rheumatism, is living upon parish 
 allowance, and scarcely able to crawl from pillar to post. 
 
 Off with your hat when you meet a gentleman. What does it 
 cost? Gentlemen notice these things, are offended if the civility 
 is not paid, and pleased if it is; and what harm does it do you? 
 When first I came to this parish, Squire Tempest wanted a postil- 
 ion. John Barton was a good, civil fellow; and in thinking over 
 the names of the village, the Squire thought of Barton, remem- 
 bered his constant civility, sent for one of his sons, made him 
 postilion, then coachman, then bailiff, and he now holds a farm 
 under the Squire of £500 per annum. Such things are constantly 
 happening. 
 
 I will have no swearing. There is pleasure in a pint of ale, 
 but what pleasure is there in an oath? A swearer is a low, vul- 
 gar person. Swearing is fit for a tinker or a razor-grinder, not 
 for an honest labourer in my parish. 
 
 I must positively forbid all poaching; it is absolute ruin to 
 yourself and your family. In the end you are sure to be detected 
 —a hare in one pocket and a pheasant in the other. How are 
 you to pay ten pounds? You have not tenpence beforehand in 
 the world. Daniel’s breeches are unpaid for; you have a hole in 
 your hat, and want a new one; your wife, an excellent woman, is 
 about to lie in—and you are, all of a sudden, called upon by the 
 justice to pay ten pounds. I shall never forget the sight of poor 
 Cranford, hurried to Taunton jail; a wife and three daughters on 
 
ae we. 
 — 
 DRUNKENNESS. 289 
 
 their knees to the justice, who was compelled to do his duty, and 
 commit him. The next day, beds, chairs, and clothes, sold, to get 
 the father out of jail. Out of jail he came; but the poor fellow 
 could not bear the sight of his naked cottage, and to see his family 
 pinched with hunger. You know how he ended his days. Was 
 there a dry eye in the churchyard when he was buried? It was 
 a lesson to poachers. It is indeed a desperate and foolish trade. 
 Observe, I am not defending the game-laws, but I am advising 
 you, as long as the game-laws exist, to fear them, and to take care 
 that you and your family are not crushed by them. And then, 
 smart, stout young men hate the gamekeeper, and make it a point 
 of courage and spirit to oppose him. Why? ‘The gamekeeper 
 is paid to protect the game, and he would be a very dishonest man 
 if he did not do his duty. What right have you to bear malice 
 against him for this? After all, the game in justice belongs to the 
 land-owners, who feed it; and not to you, who have no land at 
 all, and can feed nothing. 
 
 I don’t like that red nose, and those blear eyes, and that stupid, 
 downcast look. You are a drunkard. Another pint, and one 
 pint more; a glass of gin and water, rum and milk, cider and 
 pepper, a glass of peppermint, and all the beastly fluids which 
 drunkards pour down their throats. It is very possible to conquer 
 it, if you will but be resolute. I remember a man in Staffordshire 
 who was drunk every day of his life. Every farthing he earned 
 went to the ale-house. One evening he staggered home, and found 
 at a late hour his wife sitting alone, and drowned in tears. He 
 was aman not deficient in natural affections; he appeared to be 
 struck with the wretchedness of the woman, and with some eager- 
 ness asked her why she was crying. “I don’t like to tell you, 
 James,” she said, “ but if I must, I must; and truth is, my children 
 have not touched a morsel of anything this blessed day. As for 
 me, never mind me; I must leave you to guess how it has fared 
 with me. But not one morsel of food could I beg or buy for those 
 children that lie on that bed before you; and I am sure, James, it 
 is better for us all we should die, and to my soul I wish we were 
 dead.” “Dead!” said James, starting up asif a flash of lightning 
 had darted upon him; “dead, Sally! You and Mary and the two 
 young ones dead? - Look ye, my lass, you see what I am now — 
 like a brute. I have wasted your substance — the curse of God 
 
 13 
 
ae 
 
 290 SEDUCTION. 
 
 is upon me —I am drawing near to the pit of destruction — but 
 there’s an end; I feel there’s an end. Give me that glass, wife.” 
 She gave it him with astonishment and fear. He turned it topsy- 
 turvy ; and, striking the table with great violence, and flinging him- 
 self on his knees, made a most solemn and affecting vow to God 
 of repentance and sobriety. From that moment to the day of 
 his death he drank no fermented liquor, but confined himself 
 entirely to tea and waters J never saw so sudden and astonish- 
 ing a change. His looks became healthy, his cottage neat, his 
 children were clad, his wife was happy ; and twenty times the poor 
 man and his, wife, with tears in their eyes, have told me the story, 
 and blessed the evening of the fourteenth of March, the day of 
 James’s restoration, and have shown me the glass he held in his 
 hand when he made the vow of sobriety. It is all nonsense about 
 not being able to work without ale, and gin, and cider, and fer- 
 mented liquors. Do lions and cart-horses drink ale? It is mere 
 habit. If you have good nourishing food, you can do very well 
 without ale. Nobody works harder than the Yorkshire people, and 
 for years together there are many Yorkshire labourers who never 
 taste ale. J have no objection, you will observe, to a moderate 
 use of ale, or any other liquor you can afford to purchase. My 
 objection is, that you cannot afford it; that every penny you spend 
 at the ale-house comes out of the stomachs of the poor children, 
 and strips off the clothes of the wife. 
 
 My dear little Nanny, don’t believe a word he says. He merely 
 means to ruin and deceive you. You have a plain answer to give: 
 “When Iam axed in the church, and the parson has read _ the 
 service, and all about it is written down in the book, then I will 
 listen to your nonsense, and not before.” Am not I a Justice of 
 the Peace? and have not I had a hundred foolish girls brought 
 before me, who have all come with the same story? “ Please, 
 your worship, he is a false man; he promised me marriage over 
 and over again.” I confess I have often wished for the power of 
 hanging these rural lovers. But what use is my wishing? All 
 that can be done with the villain is to make him pay half a crown 
 a week, and you are handed over to the poor-house, and to infamy. 
 Will no example teach you? Look to Mary Willet-—three years 
 ago the handsomest and best girl in the village, now a slattern in 
 
 * A fact. — Author’s Note. 
 
o* 
 
 MR. SWING. 291 
 
 the poor-house! Look at Harriet Dobson, who trusted in the 
 promises of James Harefield’s son, and, after being abandoned by 
 him, went away in despair with a party of soldiers. How can 
 you be such a fool as to surrender your character to the stupid 
 flattery of a ploughboy? If the evening is pleasant, and birds sing, 
 and flowers bloom, is that any reason why you are to forget God’s 
 Word, the happiness of your family, and your own character? 
 What is a woman worth without character? <A profligate carpen- 
 ter or a debauched watchmaker may gain business from his skill; 
 but how is a profligate woman to gain her bread? Who will 
 receive her? 
 But this is enough of my parish advice. 
 
 LETTER TO MR. SWING.* 
 
 THe wool your coat is made of is spun by machinery, and 
 this machinery makes your coat two or three shillings cheaper— _ 
 perhaps six or seven. Your white hat is made by machinery 
 at half price. The coals you burn are pulled out of the pit by 
 machinery, and are sold to you much cheaper than they could be 
 if they were pulled out by hand. You do not complain of these 
 machines, because they do you good, though they throw many 
 artisans out of work. But what right have you to object to 
 fanning machines, which make bread cheaper to the artisans, 
 and to avail yourselves of other machines which make manufac- 
 tures cheaper to you? 
 
 If all machinery were abolished, everything would be so dear 
 that you would be ten times worse off than you now are. Poor 
 people’s cloth would get up to a guineaa yard. Hats could not 
 be sold for less than eighteen shillings. Coals would be three 
 shillings per hundred. It would be quite impossible for a poor 
 man to obtain any comfort. 
 
 If you begin to object to machinery in farming, you may as well 
 
 * Lady Holland, in Memoir, p. 212, says: ‘‘ There were at this time so many 
 mischievous publications circulating among the people, and threatening letters 
 so frequently sent to my father and other gentlemen in the neighbourhood, 
 that he thought it right to endeavour to counteract them, and published some 
 cheap letters for circulation among the poor, called ‘ Letters to Swing,’ of 
 which this from the ‘Taunton Courier’ of Wednesday, Dec. 8th, 1830, has 
 been accidentally preserved.” 
 
292 MAXIMS. 
 
 object to a plough, because it employs fewer men than a spade. 
 You may object to a harrow, because it employs fewer men than 
 arake. You may object even to a spade, because it employs 
 fewer men than fingers and sticks, with which savages scratch the 
 ground in Otaheite. If you expect manufacturers to turn against 
 machinery, look at the consequence. They may succeed, perhaps, 
 in driving machinery out of the town they live in, but they often 
 drive the manufacturer out of the town also. He sets up his 
 trade in some distant part of the country, gets new men, and the 
 disciples of Swing are left to starve in the scene of their violence 
 and folly. In this way the lace manufacture travelled in the 
 time of Ludd, Swing’s grandfather, from Nottingham to Tiverton. 
 Suppose a free importation of corn to be allowed, as it ought to be, 
 and will be. If you will not allow farmers to grow corn here as 
 cheap as they can, more corn will come from America; for every , 
 thrashing-machine that is destroyed, more Americans will be 
 employed, not more Englishmen. 
 
 Swing! Swing! you are a stout fellow, but you are a bad 
 adviser. ‘The law is up, and the Judge is coming. Fifty persons 
 in Kent are already transported, and will see their wives and 
 children no more. Sixty persons will be hanged in Hampshire. 
 There are two hundred for trial in Wiltshire—all scholars of 
 Swing! I am no farmer: I have not a machine bigger than a pep- 
 permill. I am a sincere friend to the poor, and I think every man 
 should live by his labour: but it cuts me to the very heart to see 
 honest husbandmen perishing by that worst of all machines, the 
 gallows—under the guidance of that most fatal of all leaders — 
 
 9? 
 
 Swing! 
 
 MAXIMS AND RULES OF LIFE.* 
 
 REMEMBER that every person, however low, has rights and 
 feelings. In all contentions, let peace be rather your object, than 
 triumph: value triumph only as the means of peace. 
 
 * “These are extracts from such few portions of his diary as have been 
 preserved, written at various times. ‘These slight, unfinished fragments are 
 not, of course, given as specimens of composition; but they are, I think, of 
 great value, as indicating the occupation and direction of his thoughts, and 
 the wholesome training of his mind, in his leisure hours, and in solitude, of 
 
: DIARY. 2938 
 
 Remember that your children, your wife, and your servants, 
 have rights and feelings; treat them as you would treat persons 
 who could turn again. Apply these doctrines to the administration 
 of justice as a magistrate. Rank poisons make good medicines ; 
 error and misfortune may be turned into wisdom and improve- 
 ment. 
 
 Do not attempt to frighten children and inferiors by passion; it 
 does more harm to your own character than it does good to them ; 
 the same thing is better done by firmness and persuasion. 
 
 If you desire the common people to treat you as a gentleman, 
 you must conduct yourself as a gentleman should do to them. 
 
 When you meet with neglect, let it rouse you to exertion, in- 
 stead of mortifying your pride. Set about lessening those defects 
 which expose you to neglect, and improve those excellences which 
 command attention and respect. 
 
 Against general fears, remember how very precarious life is, 
 take what care you will; how short it is, last as long as it ever 
 does. 
 
 Rise early in the morning, not only to avoid self-reproach, but 
 to make the most of the little life that remains; not only to save 
 the hours lost in sleep, but to avoid that languor which is spread 
 over mind and body for the whole of that day in which you have 
 lain late in bed. : 
 
 Passion gets less and less powerful after every defeat. Hus- 
 band energy for the real demand which the dangers of life make 
 upon it. 
 
 Find fault, when you must find fault, in private, if possible ; 
 and some time after the offence, rather than at the time. The 
 blamed are less inclined to resist, when they are blamed without 
 witnesses ; both parties are calmer, and the accused party is struck 
 with the forbearance of the accuser, who has seen the fault, and 
 watched for a private and proper time for mentioning it. 
 
 My son writes me word he is unhappy at school. This makes 
 
 which he seems to have felt the full value for the improvement of his char- 
 acter. In one of his letters to Jeffrey about this period, he says: ‘Living a 
 great deal alone (as I now do) will, I believe, correct me of my faults, for a 
 man can do without his own approbation in much society, but he must make 
 great exertions to gain it when he is alone; without it, I am convinced, soli- 
 tude is not to be endured.’ ””— Lady Holland’s Memoir, p. 113. 
 
994 REFLECTIONS. 
 
 me unhappy; but, Ist. There is much unhappiness in human life: 
 how can school be exempt? 2dly. Boys are apt to take a particular 
 moment of depression for a general feeling, and they are in fact 
 rarely unhappy; at the moment I write, perhaps he is playing 
 about in the highest spirits. 38dly. When he comes to state his 
 grievance, it will probably have vanished, or be so trifling, that it 
 will yield to argument or expostulation. 4thly. At all events, if 
 it is a real evil which makes him unhappy, I must find out what it 
 is, and proceed to act upon it; but I must wait till I can, either in 
 person or by letter, find out what it is. 
 
 Not only is religion calm and tranquil, but it has an extensive 
 atmosphere round it, whose calmness and tranquillity must be pre- 
 served, if you would avoid misrepresentation. 
 
 Not only study that those with whom you live should habitually 
 respect you, but cultivate such manners as will secure the respect 
 of persons with whom you occasionally converse. Keep up the 
 habit of being respected, and do not attempt to be more amusing 
 and agreeable than is consistent with the preservation of respect. 
 
 I am come to the age of seventy; have attained enough reputa- 
 tion to make me somebody: I should not like a vast reputation, it 
 would plague me to death. I hope to care less for the outward 
 world. 
 
 Hope. 
 
 Don’t be too severe upon yourself and your own failings; keep 
 on, don’t faint, be energetic to the last. 
 
 If you wish to keep mind clear and body healthy, abstain from 
 all fermented liquors. 
 
 Fight against sloth, and do all you can to make friends. 
 
 If old age is even a state of suffering, it is a state of superior 
 wisdom, in which man avoids all the rash and foolish things he 
 does in his youth, and which make life dangerous and painful. 
 
 Death must be distinguished from dying, with which it is often 
 confounded. 
 
 Reverence and stand in awe of yourself. 
 
 How Nature delights and amuses us by varying even the char- 
 acter of insects; the ill-nature of the wasp, the sluggishness of the 
 drone, the volatility of the butterfly, the slyness of the bug. 
 
 Take short views, hope for the best, and trust in God. 
 
ail 
 
 PROGRESS OF SOCIETY. 295 
 
 MODERN CHANGES.* 
 
 “The good of ancient times let others state, 
 I think it lucky I was born so late.” 
 
 Mr. Epiror: It is of some importance at what period a man 
 is born. A young man, alive at this period, hardly knows to what 
 improvements of human life he has been introduced: and I would 
 bring before his notice the following eighteen changes which have 
 taken place in England, since I first began to breathe in it the 
 breath of life—a period amounting now to nearly seventy-three 
 years. 
 
 Gas was unknown: I groped about the streets of London in all 
 but the utter darkness of a twinkling oil lamp, under the protection 
 of watchmen, in their grand climacteric, and exposed to every 
 species of depredation and insult. 
 
 I have been nine hours in sailing from Dover to Calais, before 
 the invention of steam. It took me nine hours to go from Taunton 
 to Bath, before the invention of railroads, and I now go, in six 
 hours, from Taunton to London! In going from Taunton to Bath, 
 I suffered between ten thousand and twelve thousand severe 
 contusions, before stone-breaking Macadam was born. 
 
 I paid fifteen pounds, in a single year, for repairs of carriage- 
 springs on the pavement of London; and I now glide, without 
 noise or fracture, on wooden pavements. 
 
 I can walk, by the assistance of the police, from one end of 
 London to the other, without molestation; or, if tired, get into a 
 cheap and active cab, instead of those cottages on wheels, which 
 the hackney-coaches were at the beginning of my life. 
 
 I-had no umbrella! They were little used, and very dear. 
 There were no waterproof hats, and my hat has often been reduced 
 by rains into its primitive pulp. : 
 
 I could not keep my smallclothes in their proper place, for 
 braces were unknown. If I had the gout, there was no colchicum. 
 If I was bilious, there was no calomel. If I was attacked by ague, 
 there was no quinine. There were filthy coffeehouses instead of 
 elegant clubs. Game could not be bought. Quarrels about un- 
 
 * This is published in Longman’s octavo edition of Sydney Smith’s works, 
 It was written for a London newspaper the year before the author’s death. 
 
i 
 
 296 IMPROVEMENTS. 
 
 commuted tithes were endless. ‘The corruption of Parliament, 
 before Reform, infamous. 
 
 There were no banks to receive the savings of the poor. The 
 Poor-Laws were gradually sapping the vitals of the country; and 
 whatever miseries I suffered, I had no post to whisk my complaints, 
 for a single penny, to the remotest corners of the empire; and 
 yet, in spite of all these privations, I lived on quietly, and am now 
 ashamed that I was not more discontented, and utterly surprised 
 that all these changes and inventions did not occur two centuries 
 ago. 
 
 I forgot to add, that as the basket of stage-coaches, in which 
 luggage was then carried, had no springs, your clothes were rubbed 
 all to pieces; and that, even in the best society, one third of the 
 gentlemen, at least, were always drunk. 
 
PETRR PLYMLEY. 297 
 
 PASSAGES FROM PETER PLYMLEY.* 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Dear ApranAm: A worthier and better man than yourself 
 does not exist; but I have always told you, from the time of our 
 boyhood, that you were a bit of a goose. Your parochial affairs 
 are governed with exemplary order and regularity; you are as 
 powerful in the vestry as Mr. Perceval is in the House of Com- 
 mons—and, I must say, with much more reason; nor do I know 
 any church where the faces and smock-frocks of the congregation 
 are so clean, or their eyes so uniformly directed to the preacher. 
 There is another point upon which I will do you ample justice; 
 and that is, that the eyes so directed toward you are wide open; 
 for the rustic has, in general, good principles, though he cannot 
 control his animal habits; and however loud he may snore, his 
 face is perpetually turned toward the fountain of orthodoxy. 
 
 Having done you this act of justice, I shall proceed, according 
 to our ancient intimacy and familiarity, to explain to you my 
 opinions about the Catholics, and to reply to yours. 
 
 In the first place, my sweet Abraham, the Pope is not landed, 
 nor are there any curates sent out after him—nor has he been hid 
 at St. Alban’s by the Dowager:.Lady Spencer—nor dined pri- 
 vately at Holland House—nor been seen near Dropmore.f If 
 these fears exist (which I do not believe), they exist only in the 
 mind of the Chancellor of the Exchequer; they emanate from his 
 zeal for the Protestant interest; and though they reflect the high- 
 
 * “Tetters on the Subject of the Catholics, to My Brother Abraham, who 
 
 lives in the Country.” By Peter Plymley. 
 + The seat of Lord Grenville, who advocated concessions to the Catholics. 
 
 Io" 
 
998 BURNING AND HANGING. 
 
 est honour upon the delicate irritability of his faith, must certainly 
 be considered as more ambiguous proofs of the sanity and vigour 
 of his understanding. By this time, however, the best-informed 
 clergy in the neighbourhood of the metropolis are convinced that 
 the rumour is without foundation ; and, though the Pope is proba- 
 bly hovering about our coast in a fishing smack, it is most likely 
 he will fall a prey to the vigilance of our cruisers; and it is certain | 
 he has not yet polluted the Protestantism of our soil. 
 
 Exactly in the same manner, the story of the wooden gods seized 
 at Charing Cross, by an order from the Foreign Office, turns out 
 to be without the shadow of a foundation; instead of the angels 
 and archangels, mentioned by the informer, nothing was discovered 
 but a wooden image of Lord Mulgrave, going down to Chatham, as 
 a head-peace for the Spanker gun-vessel; it was an exact resem- 
 blance of his lordship in his military uniform; and therefore as 
 little like a god as can well be imagined. 
 
 CATHOLIC AND PROTESTANT PERSECUTIONS. 
 
 I FounND in your letter the usual remarks about fire, fagot, and 
 bloody Mary. Are you aware, my dear priest, that there were as 
 many persons put to death for religious opinions under the mild 
 Elizabeth, as under the bloody Mary? The reign of the former 
 was, to be sure, ten times as long; but I only mention the fact, 
 merely to show you that something depends upon the age in which 
 men live, as well as on their religious opinions. Three hundred 
 years ago, men burned and hanged each other for these opinions. 
 Time has softened Catholic as well as Protestant; they both re- 
 quired it, though each perceives only his own improvement, and is 
 blind to that of the other. We are all the creatures of circum- 
 stances. I know not a kinder and better man than yourself; but you 
 (if you had lived in those times) would certainly have roasted your 
 Catholic; and I promise you, if the first exciter of this religious 
 mob had been as powerful then as he is now, you would soon have 
 been elevated to the mitre. I do not go the length of saying that 
 the world has suffered as much from Protestant as from Catholic 
 persecution ; far from it; but you should remember the Catholics 
 had all the power, when the idea first started up in the world, that 
 there could be two modes of faith; and that it was much more 
 
> 
 
 - BXCLUSIVENESS. 299 
 
 natural that they should attempt to crush this diversity of opinion 
 by great and cruel efforts, than that the Protestants should rage 
 against those who differ from them, when the very basis of their 
 system was complete freedom in all spiritual matters. 
 
 THE CHURCH IN DANGER. 
 
 THE English, I believe, are as truly religious as any nation in 
 Europe; I know no greater blessing; but it carries with it this 
 evil in its train, that any villain who will bawl out “ Z’he church is 
 in danger !” may get a place, and a good pension; and that any 
 administration who will do the same thing, may bring a set of men 
 into power who, at a moment of stationary and passive piety, would 
 be hooted by the very boys in the streets. But it is not all re- 
 ligion; it is, in great part, that narrow and exclusive spirit, which 
 delights to keep the common blessings of sun, and air, and freedom, 
 from other human beings. “ Your religion has always been de- 
 graded; you are in the dust, and I will take care you never rise 
 again. I should enjoy less the possession of an earthly good, by 
 every additional person to whom it was extended.” You may not 
 be aware of it yourself, most reverend Abraham, but you deny their 
 freedom to the Catholics upon the same principle that Sarah your 
 wife refuses to give the receipt for a ham or a gooseberry dump- 
 ling; she values her receipts, not because they secure to her a cer- 
 tain flavour, but because they remind her that her neighbours want 
 it—a feeling laughable in a priestess, shameful in a priest; venial 
 when it withholds the blessings of a ham, tyrannical and execrable 
 when it narrows the boon of religious freedom. 
 
 A GOOD MAN AND BAD MINISTER. 
 
 You spend a great deal of ink about the character of the present 
 Prime Minister. Grant you all that you write; I say, I fear he 
 will ruin Ireland, and pursue a line of policy destructive to the true 
 interest of his country: and then you tell me he is faithful to Mrs. 
 Perceval, and kind to the Master Percevals! These are, undoubt- 
 edly, the first qualifications to be looked to in a time of the most 
 serious public danger; but somehow or another (if public and pri- 
 
 
 
Vi 
 
 300 RELIGIOUS FIGHTING TEST. 
 
 vate virtue must always be incompatible), I should prefer that he 
 destroyed the domestic happiness of Wood or Cockell, owed for 
 the veal of the preceding year, whipped his boys, and saved his 
 country. 
 
 SOLDIERS AND THEOLOGY. 
 
 W2HAT is it the Catholics ask of you?* Do not exclude us from 
 the honours and emoluments of the state, because we worship God 
 in one way, and you worship him in another—in a period of the 
 deepest peace, and the fattest prosperity, this would be a fair re- 
 quest; it should be granted, if Lord Hawkesbury fT had reached 
 Paris, if Mr. Canning’s interpreter had threatened the Senate in 
 an opening speech, or Mr. Perceval explained to them the improve- 
 ments he meant to introduce into the Catholic religion ; but to deny 
 the Irish this justice now, in the present state of Europe, and in 
 the summer months, just as the season for destroying kingdoms is 
 coming on, is (beloved Abraham), whatever you may think of it, 
 little short of positive insanity. | 
 
 Here is a frigate attacked by a corsair of immense strength and 
 size, rigging cut, masts in danger of coming by the board, four feet 
 water in the hold, men dropping off very fast; in this dreadful sit- 
 uation how do you think the captain acts (whose name shall be 
 Perceval)? He calls all hands upon deck ; talks to them of king, 
 country, glory, sweethearts, gin, French prisons, wooden shoes, 
 old England, and hearts of oak; they give three cheers, rush to 
 their guns, and after a tremendous conflict, succeed in beating off 
 the enemy. Nota syllable of all this; this is not the manner in 
 which the honourable commander goes to work; the first thing he 
 does is to secure twenty or thirty of his prime sailors, who happen 
 to be Catholics, to clap them in irons, and set over them a guard 
 of as many Protestants; having taken this admirable method of 
 defending himself against his infidel opponents, he goes upon deck, 
 reminds the sailors, in a very bitter harangue, that they are of 
 different religions; exhorts the Episcopal gunner not to trust to 
 
 * A Catholic Naval and Military Service Bill, allowing Catholics to hold 
 commissions in the army and nayy, was under discussion in Parliament. 
 
 + The “lesser of the two Jenkinsons,”’ soon after (on the death of his fa- 
 
 ther) Lord Liverpool. He was Home Secretary at the date of the Plymley 
 Letters. 
 
THE CLAPHAMITES. 301 
 
 the Presbyterian quarter-master; issues positive orders that the 
 Catholics should be fired at upon the first appearance of discontent ; 
 rushes through blood and brains, examining his men in the cate- 
 chism and thirty-nine articles, and positively forbids every one to 
 sponge or ram who has not taken the sacrament according to the 
 Church of England. Was it right to take out a captain made of 
 excellent British stuff, and to put in such a man as this? Is not 
 he more like a parson, or a talking lawyer, than a thorough-bred 
 seaman? And built as she is of heart of oak, and admirably 
 manned, is it possible, with such a captain, to save this ship from 
 going to the bottom? ~ 
 
 MR. CANNING AND HIS PARASITES. 
 
 Nature descends down to infinite smallness. Mr. Canning has 
 his parasites; and if you take a large buzzing blue-bottle fly, and 
 look at it in a microscope, you may see twenty or thirty little ugly 
 insects crawling about it, which doubtless think their fly to be the 
 bluest, grandest, merriest, most important animal in the universe, 
 and are convinced the world would be at an end if it ceased to 
 buzz. 
 
 SUBSTITUTE THE CLAPHAMITES FOR THE CATHOLICS. 
 
 I apmit there is a vast luxury in selecting a particular set of 
 Christians, and in worrying them as a boy worries a puppy-dog ; 
 it is an amusement in which all the young English are brought up 
 from their earliest days. I like the idea of saying to men who use 
 a different hassock from me, that till they change their hassock, 
 they shall never be colonels, aldermen, or parliament-men. While 
 I am gratifying my personal insolence respecting religious forms, 
 I fondle myself into an idea that I am religious, and that I am do- 
 ing my duty in the most exemplary (as I certainly am in the most 
 easy) way. But then, my good Abraham, this sport, admirable as 
 it is, is become, with respect to the Catholics, a little dangerous ; 
 and if we are not extremely careful in taking the amusement, we 
 shall tumble into the holy water, and be drowned. As it seems 
 necessary to your idea of an established church to have somebody 
 to worry and torment, suppose we were to select for this purpose 
 
302 MR. HAWKINS BROWN. 
 
 William Wilberforce, Esq., and the patent Christians of Clapham.* 
 We shall by this expedient enjoy the same opportunity for cruelty 
 and injustice, without being exposed to the same risks; we will 
 compel them to abjure vital clergymen by a public test, to deny 
 that the said William Wilberforce has any power of working mir- 
 acles, touching for barrenness or any other infirmity, or that he is 
 endowed with any preternatural gift whatever. We will swear 
 them to the doctrine of good works, compel them to preach com- 
 mon sense, and to hear it; to frequent bishops, deans, and other 
 high churchmen; and to appear (once in the quarter at the least) 
 at some melodrame, opera, pantomime, or other light scenical rep- 
 resentation; in short, we will gratify the love of insolence and 
 power; we will enjoy the old orthodox sport of witnessing the im- 
 potent anger of men compelled to submit to civil degradation, or to 
 sacrifice their notions of truth to ours. And all this we may do 
 without the slightest risk, because their numbers are (as yet) not 
 very considerable. Cruelty and injustice must, of course, exist; 
 but why connect them with danger? Why torture a bull-dog 
 when you can get a frog ora rabbit? Iam sure my proposal will 
 meet with the most universal approbation. Do not be apprehen- 
 sive of any opposition from ministers. If it is a case of hatred, we 
 are sure that one man will defend it by the Gospel; if it abridges 
 human freedom, we know that another will find precedents for it 
 in the Revolution. 
 
 MR. ISAAC HAWKINS BROWN. 
 
 TuHeEn comes Mr. Isaac Hawkins Brown (the gentleman who 
 danced so badlyf at the court of Naples), and asks, if it is not an 
 
 * “The Clapham Sect” is the subject of an eloquent article by James 
 Stephen, in the Edinburgh Review for July, 1844. The designation was 
 given to an eminent circle of friends —“‘ men whom the second generation of 
 the Evangelical party acknowledged as their secular chiefs’”—who met at 
 the villas at Clapham, in the neighbourhood of London, occupied by Henry 
 Thornton, William Wilberforce, and Granville Sharpe. Thomas Clarkson, 
 Zachary Macaulay (father of the historian), Mr. Stephen (father of the re- 
 viewer), Isaac Milner, Dean of Carlisle, and Charles Simeon of Cambridge, 
 were honoured members of the society to which Perceval the minister, “ the 
 evangelical Perceval,” as Smith styles him, was also, in a measure, attached. 
 
 + In the third year of his present majesty, and in the thirtieth of his own 
 
SCOTLAND. 3038 
 
 anomaly to educate men in another religion than your own? It 
 certainly is our duty to get rid of error, and above all, of religious 
 error; but this is not to be done per saltwm, or the measure will 
 miscarry, like the queen. It may be very easy to dance away the 
 royal embryo of a great kingdom; but Mr. Hawkins Brown, must 
 look before he leaps, when his object is to crush an opposite sect in 
 religion ; false steps aid the one effect as much as they are fatal to 
 the other; it will require not only the lapse of Mr. Hawkins 
 Brown, but the lapse of centuries, before the absurdities of the 
 Catholic religion are laughed at as much as they deserve to be; 
 but surely, in the meantime, the Catholic religion is better than 
 none; four millions of Catholics are better than four millions of 
 wild beasts ; two hundred priests, educated by our own govern- 
 ment, are better than the same number educated by the man who 
 means to destroy us. 
 
 EXAMPLE OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 Ir the great mass of the people, environed as they are on every 
 side with Jenkinsons, Perceyals, Melvilles, and other perils, were 
 to pray for Divine illumination and aid, what more could Provi- 
 dence in its mercy do than send them the example of Scotland ? 
 For what a length of years was it attempted to compel the Scotch 
 to change their religion? horse, foot, artillery,and armed preben- 
 daries, were sent out after the Presbyterian parsons and their con- 
 eregations. The Percevals of those days called for blood; this 
 call is never made in vain, and blood was shed; but, to the aston- 
 ishment and horror of the Percevals of those days, they could not 
 introduce the Book of Common Prayer, nor prevent that meta- 
 physical people from going to heaven their true way, instead of 
 our true way. With a little oatmeal for food, and a little sulphur 
 for friction, allaying cutaneous irritation with the one hand, and 
 
 age, Mr. Isaac Hawkins Brown, then upon his travels, danced one evening 
 at the court of Naples. His dress was a volcano silk with lava buttons. 
 Whether (as the Neapolitan wits said) he had studied dancing under St. Vi- 
 tus, or whether David, dancing in a linen vest, was his model, is not known; 
 but Mr. Brown danced with such inconceivable alacrity and vigour, that he 
 threw the Queen of Naples into convulsions of laughter, which terminated in 
 a miscarriage, and changed the dynasty of the Neapolitan throne.—Author’s 
 
 Note. 
 
: 
 304 "ENGLAND INVADED. 
 
 holding his Calvinistical Creed in the other, Sawney ran away to 
 his flinty hills, sung his psalm out of tune his own way, and listened 
 to his sermon of two hours long, amid the rough and imposing mel-— 
 ancholy of the tallest thistles. But Sawney brought up his un- 
 breeched offspring in a cordial hatred of his oppressors ; and Scot- 
 land was as much a part of the weakness of England then as 
 Ireland is at this moment. The true and the only remedy was 
 applied; the Scotch were suffered to worship God after their own 
 tiresome manner, without pain, penalty, and privation. No light- 
 nings descended from heaven; the country was not ruined; the 
 world is not yet come to an end; the dignitaries, who foretold all 
 these consequences, are utterly forgotten; and Scotland has ever 
 since been an increasing source of strength to Great Britain. In 
 the six hundredth year of our empire over Ireland, we are making 
 laws to transport a man, if he is found out of his house after 
 eight o’clock at night. That this is necessary, I know too well; 
 - but tell me why it is necessary? It is not necessary in Greece 
 where the Turks are masters. 
 
 ENGLAND IN AN INVASION. 
 
 You cannot imagine, you say, that England will ever be ruined 
 and conquered; and for no other reason that I can find, but be- 
 cause it seems so very odd it should be ruined and conquered. 
 Alas! so reasoned, in their time, the Austrian, Russian, and Prus- 
 sian Plymleys. But the English are brave; so were all these 
 nations. You might get together a hundred thousand men in- 
 dividually brave; but without generals capable of commanding 
 such a machine, it would be as useless as a first-rate man-of-war 
 manned by Oxford clergyman or Parisian shopkeepers. I do not 
 say this to the disparagement of English officers; they have had 
 no means of acquiring experience; but I do say it to create alarm ; 
 for we do not appear, to me, to be half alarmed enough, or to en- 
 tertain that sense of our danger which leads to the most obvious 
 means of self-defence. As for the spirit of the peasantry, in 
 making a gallant defence behind hedge-rows, and through plate- 
 racks and hen-coops, highly as I think of their bravery, I do not 
 know any nation in Europe so likely to be struck with panic as 
 the English; and this from their total unacquaintance with the 
 
at 
 HEROICS. is 805 
 
 ‘science of war. Old wheat and beans blazing for twenty miles 
 round; cart mares shot; sows of Lord Somerville’s* breed run- 
 ning wild over the country; the minister of Ene parish wounded 
 sorely in his hinder parts; Mrs. Plymley in fits; all these scenes 
 of war an Austrian or a Russian has seen RS or four times; but 
 it is now three centuries since an English pig has fallen in a fair 
 battle upon English ground, or a farmhouse been rifled, or a clergy- 
 man’s wife been subjected to any other proposals of love than the 
 connubial endearments of her sleek and orthodox mate. The old 
 edition of Plutarch’s Lives, which lies in the corner of your par- 
 lour window, has contributed to work you up to the most romantic 
 expectations of our Roman behaviour. You are persuaded that 
 Lord Amherst will defend Kew Bridge like Cocles; that some 
 maid of honour will break away from her captivity, and swim over 
 the Thames; that the Duke of York will burn his capitulating 
 hand ; and little Mr. Sturges Bournef give forty years’ purchase for 
 Moulsham Hall, while the French are encamped upon it. I hope 
 we shall witness all this, if the French do come; but, in the mean- 
 time, I am so enchanted with the ordinary English behaviour of 
 these invaluable persons, that I earnestly pray no opportunity may 
 be given them for Roman valour, and for those very un-Roman 
 pensions which they would all, of course, take especial care to 
 claim in consequence. But whatever was our conduct, if every 
 ploughman was as great a hero as he who was called from his oxen 
 to save Rome from her enemies, I should still say, that at such a 
 crisis you want the affections of all your subjects in both islands ; 
 there is no spirit which you must alienate, no heart you must avert ; 
 every man must feel he has a country, and that there is an urgent 
 and pressing cause why he should expose himself to death. 
 
 * John, fifteenth Lord Somerville, 1765-1819. He was eminent for his 
 interest in agricultural affairs, and the author of several publications on those 
 subjects. His family residence was in Somersetshire, but he had a seat on 
 the Tweed, near Abbotsford, where he enjoyed the warm friendship of Sir 
 Walter Scott, who called him, his “master in the art of planting.” Scott 
 edited the family history, ‘‘The Memorie of the Somervilles,’ of which 
 Lockhart says: ‘‘as far as I know, the best of its class in any language.” 
 
 + There is nothing more objectionable in Plymley’s Letters, than the abuse 
 of Mr. Sturges Bourne, who is an honourable, able, and excellent person ; 
 but such are the malevolent effects of party spirit—Aulhor’s Note. Sturges 
 Bourne, the protégé and political friend of Canning, had, at several times, a 
 seat in the cabinet. He died in 1845, at the age of seventy-six. 
 
3806 RED-HAIRED MEN. 
 
 IDLE FEARS OF POPERY. 
 
 As for the enormous wax candles, and superstitious mummeries, 
 and painted jackets of the Catholic priests, I fear them not. Tell 
 me that the. world will return again under the influence of the 
 small-pox; that Lord Castlereagh will hereafter oppose the power 
 of the court; that Lord Howick* and Mr. Grattan will do each 
 of them a mean and dishonourable action; that anybody who has 
 heard Lord Redesdalet speak once will knowingly and willingly 
 hear him again; that Lord Eldon has assented to the fact of two 
 and two making four, without shedding tears, or expressing the 
 smallest doubt or scruple; tell me any other thing absurd or in- 
 credible, but, for the love of common sense, let me hear no more 
 of the danger to be apprehended from the general diffusion of 
 Popery. It is too absurd to be reasoned upon; every man feels 
 it is nonsense when he hears it stated, and so does every man 
 while he is stating it. 
 
 A RED-HAIR DISQUALIFICATION. 
 
 I HAVE often thought, if the wisdom of our ancestors had 
 excluded all persons with red hair from the House of Commons, 
 of the throes and convulsions it would occasion to restore them to 
 their natural rights. What mobs and riots would it produce? To 
 what infinite abuse and obloquy would the capillary patriot be 
 exposed? what wormwood would distil from Mr. Perceval, what 
 froth would drop from Mr. Canning; how (1 will not say my, 
 but our Lord Hawkesbury, for he belongs to us all), how our 
 Lord Hawkesbury would work away about the hair of King 
 William and Lord Somers, and the authors of the great and 
 glorious Revolution; how Lord Eldon would appeal to the 
 Deity and his own virtues, and to the hair of his children: 
 some would say that red-haired men were superstitious; some 
 would prove they were atheists; they would be petitioned against 
 as the friends of slavery, and the advocates for revolt; in short, 
 such a corrupter of the heart and the understanding is the spirit 
 
 * Afterward Earl Grey. 
 
 + John Mitford, Lord Redesdale, brother of Mitford the historian of 
 Greece, was Lord-High-Chancellor of Ireland; raised to the Peerage in 1802. 
 He died in 1830, at the age of eighty-one. 
 
STORY OF A VILLAGE. 307° 
 
 of persecution, that these unfortunate people (conspired against by 
 their fellow-subjects of every complexion), if they did not emigrate 
 to countries where hair of another colour was persecuted, would 
 be driven to the falsehood of perukes, or the hypocrisy of the 
 Tricosian fluid. 
 
 THE CATHOLICS ASKING FOR MORE—AN APOLOGUE. 
 
 -Wnuar amuses me the most is, to hear of the indulgences which 
 the Catholics have received, and their exorbitance in not being 
 satisfied with those indulgences: now if you complain to me that 
 a man is obtrusive and shameless in his requests, and that it is 
 impossible to bring him to reason, I must first of all hear the 
 whole of your conduct toward him; for you may have taken from 
 him so much in the first instance, that, in spite of a long series of 
 restitution, a vast latitude for petition may still remain behind. 
 
 There is a village (no matter where) in which the inhabitants, 
 on one day in the year, sit down to a dinner prepared at the com- 
 mon expense; by an extraordinary piece of tyranny (which Lord 
 Hawkesbury would call the wisdom of the village ancestors), the 
 inhabitants of three of the streets, about a hundred years ago, seized 
 upon the inhabitants of the fourth street, bound them hand and 
 foot, laid them upon their backs, and compelled them to look on 
 while the rest were stuffing themselves with beef and beer; the 
 next year, the inhabitants of the persecuted street (though they 
 contributed an equal quota of the expense) were treated precisely 
 in the same manner. The tyranny grew into a custom; and (as 
 the manner of our nature is) it was considered as the most sacred 
 of all duties to keep these poor fellows without their annual 
 dinner ; the village was so tenacious of this practice, that nothing 
 could induce them to resign it; every enemy to it was looked upon 
 as a disbeliever in Divine Providence, and any nefarious church- 
 warden who wished to succeed in his election had nothing to do 
 but to represent his antagonist as an abolitionist, in order to frus- 
 trate his ambition, endanger his life, and throw the village into a 
 state of the most dreadful commotion. By degrees, however, the 
 obnoxious street grew to be so well-peopled, and its inhabitants so 
 firmly united, that their oppressors, more afraid of injustice, were 
 more disposed to be just. At the next dinner they are unbound, 
 
308 A SHARE OF THE DINNER. —  & 
 
 the year after allowed to sit upright, then a bit of bread and a 
 glass of water; till at last, after a long series of concessions, they 
 are emboldened to ask, in pretty plain terms, that they may be 
 allowed to sit down at the bottom of the table, and to. fill their 
 bellies as well as the rest.. Forthwith a general cry of shame and | 
 scandal: “Ten years ago, were you not laid upon your backs? _ 
 Don’t you remember what a great thing you thought it to get a 
 piece of bread? How thankful you were fo cheese-parings ? 
 
 Have you forgotten that memorable era, when the lord of the 
 
 manor interfered to obtain for you a slice of the public pudding? 
 And now, with an audacity only equalled by your ingratitude, you 
 have the impudence to ‘ask for knives and forks, and to request, 
 
 in terms too plain to be mistaken, that you may sit down to table 
 with the rest, and be indulged even with beef and beer: there are 
 not more than half a dozen dishes which we have reserved for 
 ourselves; the rest has been thrown open to you in the utmost 
 profusion ; you have potatoes, and carrots, suet-dumplings, sops in 
 the pan, and delicious toast and water, in incredible quantities. 
 
 Beef, mutton, lamb, pork, and veal, are ours; and if you were not 
 the most restless and dissatisfied of human beings, you would 
 never think of aspiring to enjoy them.” 
 
 Is not this, my dainty Abraham, the very nonsense, and the very 
 insult, which is talked to and practised upon the Catholics? You 
 are surprised that men who have tasted of partial justice, should 
 ask for perfect justice; that he who has been robbed of coat and 
 cloak will not be contented with the restitution of one of his gar- 
 ments. He would be a very lazy blockhead if he were content, 
 and I (who, though an inhabitant of the village, have preserved, 
 thank God, some sense of justice) most earnestly counsel these 
 half-fed claimants to persevere in their just demands, till they are 
 admitted to a more complete share of a dinner for which they pay 
 as much as the others; and if they see a little attenuated lawyer 
 squabbling at the head of their opponents, let them desire him to 
 empty his pockets, and to pull out all the pieces of duck, fowl, and 
 pudding, which he has filched from the public feast to carry home 
 to his wife and children. 
 
“ae 
 
  \ 
 * 
 
 ee GEORGE CANNING. : 309 
 
 * 
 
 CANNING. 
 
 ~ Dear Asranam: In the correspondence which is passing 
 
 between us, you are perpetually alluding to the foreign secretary ; 
 and in answer to the dangers of Ireland which I am pressing 
 upon your notice, you have nothing to urge but the confidence 
 which you repose in the discretion and ‘sound sense of this gentle- 
 man. * I can only say, that I have listened to him long and often, 
 with the greatest attention; I have used every exertion in my 
 power to take a fair measure of him, and it appears to me impos- 
 sible to hear him upon any arduous topic without perceiving that 
 he is eminently deficient in those solid and serious qualities upon 
 which, and upon which alone, the confidence of a great country 
 can properly repose. He sweats and labours, and works for 
 sense, and Mr. Ellis* seems always to think it is coming, but it 
 does not come; the machine ant draw up what is not to be found 
 in the spring; Providence has made him a light, jesting, para- 
 graph-writing man, and that he will remain to his dying day. 
 When he is jocular he is strong, when he-is serious he is like 
 Samson in a wig; any ordinary person is a match for him; a song, 
 an ironical letter, a burlesque ode, an attack in the newspaper 
 upon Nicoll’s eye, a smart speech of twenty minutes, full of gross 
 misrepresentations and clever turns, excellent language, a spirited 
 manner, lucky quotation, success in provoking dull men, some half 
 information picked up in Pall Mall in the morning; these are your 
 friend’s natural weapons; all these things he can do; here I allow 
 him to be truly great; nay, I will be just, and go still farther, if 
 he would confine himself to these things, and consider the facete 
 and the playful to be the basis of his character, he would, for that 
 species of man, be universally regarded as a person of a very good 
 understanding; call him a legislator, a reasoner, and the conductor 
 of the affairs of a great nation, and it seems to me as absurd as if 
 a butterfly were to teach bees to make honey. That he is an ex- 
 traordinary writer of small poetry, and a diner-out of the highest 
 lustre, I do most readily admit. After George Selwyn, and per- 
 haps Tickell,f there has. been no such man for this half century. 
 
 * George Ellis, Editor of the Karly English Poets and Metrical Romances, 
 an associate of Canning in the poetry of the Anti-Jacobin, and his warm 
 friend through life. 
 
 + Richard Tickell is less known than Selwyn to readers of the present 
 
310 VIGOUR, 
 
 
 
 The foreign secretary is a gentleman, a respectable as well as a_ 
 highly agreeable man in private life; but you may as well feed me - 
 with decayed potatoes as console me for the miseries of Ireland by _ 
 the resources of his sense and his discretion. It is only the public ~ 
 situation which this gentleman holds which entitles me or induces 
 
 me to say so much about him. He is a fly in amber; nobody cares 
 about the fly: the only question is, How the devil did it get there? 
 Nor do I attack him from the love of glory, but from the love of 
 utility, as a burgomaster hunts a rat ina Dutch dyke, for fear it 
 should flood a province.* = ‘2 
 
 é 
 
 % 
 
 <= 
 
 VIGOUR IN IRELAND. a, 7 
 I cannot describe the Fro and disgust whith I felt at 
 hearing Mr. Perceval call upon the then ministry for measures of 
 vigour in Ireland. If I lived at Hampstead upon stewed meats - 
 and claret; if I walked to church every Sunday before eleven 2 
 young gentlemen of my own begetting, with their faces washed, 
 and their hair pleasingly combed; if the Almighty had blessed | 
 me with every earthly comfort—how awfully would I pause be-— 
 
 day. He was brother-in-law of Richard Brinsley Sheridan and the ‘grandson 
 of Addison’s friend and associate in the Spectator. He was patronized by 
 Lord North, wrote “ Anticipation,” a parody on the speeches at the opening 
 of Parliament and a satire of the opposition, some other squibs of the kind, 
 and two plays which have given him a niche in the Biographia Dramatica. 
 
 * Set a wit to catch a wit! This character of Canning seems scant meas- 
 ure from the mirthful Plymley. The ‘fly’ was destined for a more precious 
 bit of amber in the national annals. But no one will be content with history 
 or biography in a single political skirmish. Canning’s witty effusions were 
 freely scattered in society. The chief monument of them which remains are 
 his brilliant contributions with his old friend of the microcosm, Frere, and 
 others, to the poetry of the Anti-Jacobin. Sydney Smith, by the way, in a 
 passage from the Edinburgh Review (ante p. 160) speaks of Canning as an 
 Irishman. He was of Irish parentage and “accidentally,” as he himself said, 
 born in London. His father, however, at the time of his marriage had been 
 a number of years a resident in the British metropolis, where among other oc- 
 cupations he had sustained with some ability the part of a literary adven- 
 turer. He wrote poems and a political pamphlet, “On the Connection be- 
 tween Great Britain and her American Colonies,” in the ‘‘ general manner” 
 of which Mr. Robert Bell finds traces of ‘‘a curious resemblance to some pe- 
 culiarities in the style of George Canning the son.” — (Life of Canning, 
 
 chapter i.) %? 
 
ae 
 PT, am 
  e 
 
 SLOTH. 311 
 
 fore I sent forth the flame and the sword over the cabins of the 
 poor, brave, generous, open-hearted peasants of Ireland! How 
 easy it is to shed human blood—how easy it is to persuade our- 
 selves that it is our duty to do so—and that the decision has cost 
 us a severe struggle—how much, in all ages, have wounds and 
 shrieks and tears been the cheap vulgar resources of the rulers of 
 mankind — how difficult and how noble it is to govern in kindness, 
 and to found an empire upon the everlasting basis of justice and 
 affection !— But what do men call vigour? To let loose hussars 
 ~ and to bring up artillery, to govern with lighted matches, and to 
 cut, and push, and prime—lI call this, not vigour, but the sloth of 
 cruelty and ignorance. ‘The vigour I love consists in finding out 
 wherein subjects are aggrieved, in relieving them, in studying the 
 temper and genius of a people, i in consulting their prejudices, in 
 selecting proper persons to lead and manage them, in the labori- 
 ous, watchful, and difficult task of increasing public happiness by 
 allaying each particular discontent. In this way Hoche pacified 
 La Vendée—and in this way only will Ireland ever be subdued. 
 But this, in the eyes of Mr. Perceval, is imbecility and meanness ; 
 houses are not broken open— women are not insulted — the 
 people seem all to be happy; they are not rode over by horses, 
 and cut by whips. Do you call this vigour?—Is this govern- 
 ment ? 
 
 * GOD SAVE THE KING. 
 
 Do not imagine, by these observations, that Iam not loyal; 
 without joining in the common cant of the best of kitigs, I respect 
 the king most sincerely as a good man. His religion is better 
 than the religion of Mr. Perceval, his old morality very superior 
 to the old morality of Mr. Canning, and I am quite certain he has 
 a safer understanding than both of them put together. Loyalty, 
 within the bounds of reason and moderation, is one of the great 
 instruments of English happiness; but the love of the king may 
 easily become more strong than the love of the kingdom, and we 
 may lose sight of the public welfare in our exaggerated admiration 
 of him who is appointed to reign only for its promotion and sup- 
 port. I detest Jacobinism; and if I am doomed to be a slave at 
 all, I would rather be the slave of aking than a cobler. God 
 
WF 
 
 oLZ CONQUEST AND CONSTIPATION. 
 
 save the king, you say, warms your heart like the sound of a 
 trumpet. I cannot make use of so violent a metaphor; but I am 
 delighted to hear it, when it is the cry of genuine affection; I am 
 delighted to hear it, when they hail not only the individual man, 
 but the outward and living sign of all English blessings. - These 
 are noble feelings, and the heart of every good man must go with 
 them ; but God save the king, in these times, too often means God 
 save my pension and my place, God give my sisters an allowance 
 out of the privy purse—make me clerk of the irons, let me 
 survey the meltings, let me live upon the fruits of other men’s 
 industry, and fatten upon the plunder of the public. 
 
 MEDICAL STATESMANSHIP. 
 
 WHAT is it possible to say to such a man as the gentleman of 
 Hampstead, who really believes it feasible to convert the four 
 million Irish Catholics to the Protestant religion, and considers 
 this as the best remedy for the disturbed state of Ireland? It is 
 not possible to answer such a man with arguments ; we must come 
 out against him with beads, and a cowl, and push him into a 
 hermitage. It is really such trash, that it is an abuse of the priv- 
 ilege of reasoning to reply to it. Such a project is well worthy 
 the statesman who would bring the French to reason by keeping 
 them without rhubarb, and exhibit to mankind the awful spectacle 
 of a nation deprived of neutral salts. This is not the dream of 
 a wild apothecary indulging in his own opium; this is not the 
 distempered fancy of a pounder of drugs, delirious from small- 
 ness of profits; but it is the sober, deliberate, and systematic scheme 
 of a man to whom the public safety is intrusted, and whose 
 appointment is considered by many as a masterpiece of political 
 sagacity. What a sublime thought, that no purge can now be 
 taken between the Weser and the Garonne; that the bustling 
 pestle is still, the canorous mortar mute, and the bowels of mankind 
 locked up for fourteen degrees of latitnde! When, I should be 
 curious to know, were all the powers of crudity and flatulence 
 fully explained to his majesty’s ministers? At what period was 
 this great plan of conquest and constipation fully developed? In 
 whose mind was the idea of destroying the pride and the plasters 
 of France first engendered? Without castor oil they might, for 
 
_ De hie 
 BOURBON AND BOLUS. 318 
 
 some months, to be sure, have carried on a lingering war; but can 
 they do without bark? Will the people live under a government 
 where antimonial powders cannot be procured? Will they bear 
 the loss of mercury? “There’s the rub.’ Depend upon it, the 
 absence of the materia medica will soon bring them to their senses, 
 and the ery of Bourbon and bolus burst forth from the Baltic to 
 the Mediterranean.* 
 
 * Napier, in his History of the War in the Peninsula (book xiv.) says 
 of Perceval’s administration: ‘‘ Narrow, harsh, factious, and oa in 
 
 
 
 
 everything relating to public matters, this man’s career was one 0: nixed. 
 evil. His bigotry taught him to oppress Ireland, but his religion did not de- 
 ter him from passing a law to prevent the introduction of medicines into 
 France during a pestilence.” A fnrther discussion of Perceval’s “ Jesuit’s 
 Bark Bill,” with citations of contemporary orators and writers —strengthen- 
 ing Smith’s attack — will be found among Napier’s appendices. 
 
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# AN APOLOGUE. 
 
 REFORM SPEECHES. 
 
 A COUNTRY PROSPEROUS IN SPITE OF POLITICAL EVILS.* 
 
 Tuey tell you, gentlemen, that you have grown rich and power- 
 ful with these rotten boroughs, and that it would be madness to 
 part with them, or to alter a constitution which had produced such 
 happy effects. There happens, gentlemen, to live near my par- 
 sonage, a labouring man of very superior character and under- 
 standing to his fellow-labourers ; and who has made such good use 
 of that superiority, that he has saved what is (for his station in life) 
 a very considerable sum of money, and if his existence is extended 
 to the common period, he will die rich. It happens, however, that 
 he is (and long has been) troubled with violent stomachic pains, 
 for which he has hitherto obtained no relief, and which really are 
 the bane and torment of his life. Now, if my excellent labourer 
 were to send for a physician, and to consult him respecting this 
 malady, would it not be very singular language if our doctor were 
 to say to him, “ My good friend, you surely will not be so rash as 
 to attempt to get rid of these pains in your stomach. Have you 
 not grown rich with these pains in your stomach? have not you risen 
 under them from poverty to prosperity? has not your situation, 
 since you were first attacked, been improving every year? You 
 surely will not be so foolish and so indiscreet as to part with the pains 
 in your stomach ?”—-Why, what would be the answer of the rustic 
 to this nonsensical monition? “Monster of rhubarb!” he would say, 
 “T am not rich in consequence of the pains in my stomach, but in 
 spite of the pains in my stomach; and I should have been ten times 
 richer, and fifty times happier, if I had never had any pains in my 
 
 * From a speech on the Reform Bill, at Taunton. 
 

 
 a™.. 
 
 REFORM. 815 
 
 \ 
 
 stomach at all.” Gentlemen, these rotten boroughs are your pains 
 in the stomach—and you would have been a much richer and 
 greater people if you had never had them at all. Your wealth and 
 your power have been owing, not to the debased and corrupted 
 parts of the House of Commons, but to the many independent and 
 honourable members whom it has always contained within its 
 walls. If there had been a few more of these very valuable mem- 
 bers for close boroughs, we should, I verily believe, have been by 
 this time about as free as Denmark, Sweden, or the Germanized 
 states of Italy. 
 
 SPEECH AT TAUNTON.* 
 
 Mr. Barxtrr, I have spoken so often on this subject, that I am 
 sure both you and the gentlemen here present will be obliged to 
 me for saying but little, and that favour I am as willing to confer 
 as you can be to receive it. I feel most deeply the event which 
 has taken place, because, by putting the two houses of Parliament 
 in collision with each other, it will impede the public business, and 
 diminish the public prosperity. I feel it as a churchman, because 
 I cannot but blush to see so many dignitaries of the church arrayed 
 against the wishes and happiness of the people. I feel it more 
 than all, because I believe it will sow the seeds of deadly hatred 
 between the aristocracy and the great mass of the people. The 
 loss of the bill I do not feel, and for the best of all possible reasons 
 —because I have not the slightest idea that it is lost. JI have no 
 more doubt, before the expiration of the winter, that this bill will 
 pass, than I have that the annual tax bills will pass, and greater 
 certainty than this no man can have, for Franklin tells us there 
 are but two things certain in this world—death and taxes. As 
 for the possibility of the House of Lords preventing, ere long, a 
 reform of Parliament, I hold it to be the most absurd notion that 
 ever entered into human imagination. I do not mean to be dis- 
 respectful, but the attempt of the lords to stop the progress of re- 
 form, reminds me very forcibly of the great storm of Sidmouth, 
 and of the conduct of the excellent Mrs. Partington on that occa- 
 sion. In the winter of 1824, there set in a great flood upon that 
 town—the tide rose to an incredible height—the waves rushed in 
 
 * Reported in the Taunton Courier, Oct. 12, 1831. 
 
¥ 
 
 ’ . ” 
 
 6h 
 
 316 MRS. PARTINGTON. 
 
 upon the houses, and everything was threatened with destruction. 
 In the midst of this sublime and terrible storm, Dame Partington, 
 who lived upon the beach, was seen at the door of her house, with 
 mop and pattens, trundling her mop, squeezing out the sea-water, 
 and vigourously pushing away the Atlantic ocean. The Atlantic 
 was roused. Mrs. Partington’s spirit was up; but I need not tell 
 you that the contest was unequal. The Atlantic Ocean beat Mrs. 
 Partington. She was excellent at a slop, or a puddle, but she 
 should not have meddled with a tempest. Gentlemen, be at your 
 ease —be quiet and steady. You will beat Mrs. Partington.* 
 
 '* They tell you, gentlemen, in the debates by which we have been 
 lately occupied, that the bill is not justified by experience. I do 
 not think this true, but if it were true, nations are sometimes com- 
 pelled to act without experience for their guide, and to trust to 
 theit own sagacity for the anticipation of consequences. The in- 
 stances where this country has been compelled thus to act have 
 been so eminently successful, that I see no cause for fear, even if 
 we were acting in the manner imputed to us by our enemies. What 
 precedents and what experience were there at the Reformation, 
 when the country, with one unanimous effort, pushed out the Pope, 
 and his grasping and ambitious clergy ?—What experience, when, 
 at the Revolution, we drove away our ancient race of kings, and 
 
 * Did Sydney Smith invent Mrs. Partington? A communication in Notes 
 and Queries (Noy. 16, 1850), may seem to establish Mrs. Partington as a 
 real personage, but the evidence is not conclusive. The writer says, the ori- 
 ginal Mrs. P. was a respectable old lady, living at Sidmouth, in Devon- 
 shire, and her encounter with the ocean, when mop and broom failed, and she 
 was driven to take refuge in the second story of her cottage on the beach, oc- 
 curred, to the best of his recollection, during an awful storm in November, 
 1824, when some fifty or sixty ships were lost at Plymouth. He well recol- 
 lects, he adds, reading in the Devonshire newspapers of the time, an account 
 of Mrs. Partington; but he may have read only Smith’s speech, which he 
 wrongly ascribes to Lord Brougham. 
 
 Mrs. Partington has acquired additional celebrity by the pleasant sayings in 
 the vein of Mrs. Malaprop, which have been widely scattered over the world, 
 in the newspapers. This peculiar pleasantry, a humourous dislocation of the 
 English language, with grotesque associations of ideas, has had various imi- 
 tators ; but the original American Mrs. Partington owes her graces to Mr. B. 
 P. Shillaber, for several years associated with the Boston Post, in which the 
 genuine sayings are recorded. ‘They were collected into a volume in 1854, 
 with the title, ‘The Life and Sayings of Mrs. Partington, and others of the 
 Family.” 
 
¢ 
 
 IGNORANCE OF THE COUNTRY. 317 
 
 chose another family more congenial to our free principles ?— And 
 yet to those two events, contrary to experience, and unguided by 
 precedents, we owe all our domestic happiness, and civil and re- 
 ligious freedom—and having got rid of corrupt priests and despot- 
 ic kings, by our sense and our courage, are we now to be intimi- 
 dated by the awful danger of extinguishing boroughmongers, and 
 shaking from our necks the ignominious yoke which their baseness 
 has imposed upon it? Go on, they say, as you have done for 
 these hundred years last past. I answer, it is impossible—five 
 hundred people now write and read where one hundred wrote and 
 read fifty years ago. The iniquities and enormities of the borough 
 system are now known to the meanest of the people. You have a 
 different sort of men to deal with—you must change, because the 
 beings whom you govern are changed. After all, and to be short, 
 I must say, that it has always appeared to me to be the most abso- 
 lute nonsense, that we cannot be a great, or a rich and happy nation, 
 without suffering ourselves to be bought and sold every five years, 
 like a pack of negro-slaves. I hope I am not a very rash man, 
 but I would launch boldly into this experiment without any fear 
 of consequences, and I believe there is not a man here present 
 who would not cheerfully embark with me. As to the enemies of 
 the bill, who pretend to be reformers, I know them, I believe, bet- 
 ter than you do, and I earnestly caution you against them. You 
 will have no more of reform than they are compelled to grant — 
 you will have no reform at ail, if they can avoid it—you will be 
 hurried into a war to turn your attention from reform. They do 
 not understand you—they will not believe in the improvement 
 you have made—they think the English of the present day are as 
 the English of the times of Queen Anne or George the First. They 
 
 know no more of the present state of their own country, than of the 
 
 state of the Esquimaux Indians. Gentlemen, I view the ignorance 
 of the present state of the country with the most serious concern, and 
 TI believe they will one day or another waken into conviction with 
 
 horror and dismay. I will omit no means of rousing,them to a 
 
 sense of their danger; for this object I cheerfully sign the petition 
 proposed by Dr. Kinglake, which I consider to be the wisest and 
 most moderate of the two. 
 
 “& 
 
318 THE BOROUGH SYSTEM. 
 
 SPEECH ON THE REFORM BILL. 
 
 - SricK to the Bill—it is your Magna Charta, and your Runny- 
 mede. King John made a present to the barons. King William 
 has made asimilar present to you. Never mind, common qualities 
 good in common times. If a man does not vote for the Bill, he is 
 unclean—the plague-spot is upon him— push him into the Laza- 
 retto of the last century, with Wetherell and Sadler— purify the 
 air before you approach him—bathe your hands in chloride of 
 lime, if you have been contaminated by his touch. 
 
 So far from its being a merely theoretical improvement, I put it 
 to any man, who is himself embarked in a profession, or has sons 
 in the same situation, if the unfair influence of boroughmongers 
 has not perpetually thwarted him in his lawful career of ambition, 
 and professional emolument? “I have been in three general en- 
 gagements at sea,” said an old sailor, “ have been twice wounded : 
 I commanded the boats when the French frigate, the ASTROLABE, 
 was cut out so gallantly.” “Then you are made a post-captain ?” 
 “No; Iwas very near it, but— Lieutenant Thomson cut me out, as 
 I cut out the French frigate ; his father is townclerk of the borough, 
 for which Lord F is member, and there my chance was fin- 
 ished.” In the same manner, all over England, you will find great 
 scholars rotting on curacies—brave captains starving In garrets— 
 profound lawyers decayed and mouldering in the Inns of Court, 
 because the parsons, warriors, and advocates, of boroughmongers, 
 must be crammed to saturation, before there is a morsel of bread 
 for the man who does not sell his votes, and put his country up at 
 auction; and though this is of every-day occurrence, the borough 
 system, we are told, is no practical evil. 
 
 Who can bear to walk through a slaughterhouse ? blood, gar- 
 bage, stomachs, entrails, legs, tails, kidneys, horrors —I often walk 
 a mile about to avoid it. Whata scene of disgust and horror is 
 an élection—the base and infamous traffic of principles—a candi- 
 date of high character reduced to such means—the perjury and 
 evasion of agents—the detestable rapacity of voters—the ten 
 days’ dominion, of mammon, and Belial. The Bill lessens it— 
 begins the destruction of such practices —affords some chance, and 
 some means of turning public opinion against bribery, and of ren- 
 dering it infamous. 
 
 
 
 
 
VELLUM AND PLUMPKIN. 319 
 
 But the thing I cannot, and will not bear, is this; what right 
 has this lord or that marquis to buy ten seats in Parliament, in 
 the shape of boroughs, and then to make laws to govern me? 
 And how are these masses of power re-distributed? The eldest 
 son of my lord is just come from Eton—he knows a good deal 
 about Auneas, and Dido, Apollo, and Daphne —and that is all; 
 and to this boy, his father gives a six-hundredth part of the power 
 of making laws, as he would give him a horse, or a double-barrelled 
 gun. Then Vellum, the steward, is put in—an admirable man ; 
 he has raised the estates, watched the progress of the family road, 
 and canal bills—and Vellum shall help to rule over the people of 
 Israel. A neighbouring country gentleman, Mr. Plumpkin, hunts 
 with my lord—opens him a gate or two, while the hounds are 
 running—dines with my lord—agrees with my lord—vwishes he 
 could rival the Southdown sheep of my lord—and upon Plumpkin 
 is conferred a portion of the government. Then there is a distant 
 relation of the same name, in the county militia, with white teeth, 
 who calls up the carriage at the opera, and is always wishing O’Con- 
 nell was hanged, drawn, and quartered; then a barrister, who has 
 written an article in the Quarterly, and is very likely to speak and 
 refute M‘Culloch; and these five people, in whose nomination I 
 have no more agency than I have in the nomination of the toll- 
 keepers of the Bosphorus, are to make laws for me and my family 
 —to put their hands in my purse, and to sway the future destinies 
 of this country ; and when the neighbors step in, and beg permis- 
 sion to say a few words before these persons are chosen, there is 
 a universal cry of ruin, confusion, and destruction; we have be- 
 come a great people under Vellum and Plumpkin—under Vel- 
 lum and Plumpkin our ships have covered the ocean—under 
 Vellum and Plumpkin our armies have secured the strength of 
 the hills—to turn out Vellum and Plumpkin is not reform, but 
 revolution. 
 
 Was there ever such a ministry? Was there ever before a 
 real ministry of the people? Look at the condition of the country 
 when it was placed in their hands: the state of the house when 
 the incoming tenant took possession: windows broken, chimneys 
 on fire, mobs round the house threatening to pull it down, roof 
 tumbling, rain pouring in. It was courage to occupy it; it was a 
 miracle to save it; it will be the glory of glories to enlarge and 
 
320  BROUGHAM AND THE COURT OF CHANCERY. 
 
 expand it, and to make it the eternal palace of wise and temperate 
 freedom. 
 
 Proper examples have been made among the unhappy and mis- 
 guided disciples of Swing: a rope has been carried round O’Con- 
 nell’s legs, and a ring inserted in Cobbett’s nose. Then the game 
 laws! Was ever conduct so shabby as that of the two or three 
 governments which preceded that of Lord Grey? ‘The cruelties 
 and enormities of this code had been thoroughly exposed; and a 
 general conviction existed of the necessity of a change. Bills were 
 brought in by various gentlemen, containing some trifling altera- 
 tion in this abominable code, and even these were sacrificed to the 
 tricks and manceuvres of some noble Nimrod, who availed himself 
 of the emptiness of the town in July, and flung out the Bill. Gov- 
 ernment never stirred a step. The fullness of the prisons, the 
 wretchedness and demoralization of the poor, never came across 
 them. The humane and considerate Peel never once offered to 
 extend his egis over them. It had nothing to do with the state 
 of party; and some of their double-barrelled voters might be of- 
 fended. In the meantime, for every ten pheasants which fluttered 
 in the wood, one English peasant was rotting in jail. No sooner 
 is Lord Althorp chancellor of the exchequer, than he turns out of 
 the house a trumpery and (perhaps) an insidious bill for the im- 
 provement of the game laws; and in an instant offers the assist- 
 ance of government for the abolition of the whole code. 
 
 Then look at the gigantic Brougham, sworn in at twelve o’clock, 
 and before six, has a bill on the table abolishing the abuses of a court 
 which has been the curse of the people of England for centuries. 
 For twenty-five long years did Lord Eldon sit in that court, sur- 
 rounded with misery and sorrow, which he never held up a finger 
 to alleviate. ‘The widow and the orphan cried to him as vainly 
 as the town-crier cries when he offers a small reward for a full 
 purse; the bankrupt of the court became the lunatic of the court; 
 estates mouldered away, and mansions fell down; but the fees 
 came in, and all was well. But in an instant the iron mace of 
 Brougham shivered to atoms this- house of fraud and of delay ; 
 and this is the man who will help to govern you; who bottoms his 
 reputation on doing good to you; who knows, that to reform 
 abuses is the safest basis of fame and the surest instrument of 
 power; who uses the highest gifts of reason, and the most 
 
aes 
 
 EARL GREY. Kt 321 
 
 splendid efforts of genius, to rectify those abuses, which all 
 the genius and talent of the profession* have hitherto been 
 employed to justify, and to protect. Look to Brougham, and 3 
 turn you to that side where he waves his long and lean finger, and 
 mark well that face which nature has marked so forcibly — 
 which dissolves pensions—turns jobbers into honest men—scarés © 
 away the plunderer of the public—and is a terror to him who 
 doeth evil to the people. But, above all, look to the northern 
 Earl,f victim, before this honest and manly reign, of the spiteful- ~ 
 ness of the court. You may now, for the first time, learn to trust 
 in the professions of a minister; you are directed by a man who 
 prefers character to place, and who has given such unequivocal 
 proofs of honesty and patriotism, that his image ought to be 
 amongst your household gods, and his name to be lisped by your 
 children ; two thousand years hence it will be a legend like the 
 fable of Perseus and. Andromeda; Britannia chained toa moun» | 
 tain—two hundred rotten animals menacing her destruction, till a 
 
 tall Earl, armed with schedule A., and followed by his page Rus- . 
 sell, drives them into the deep, and delivers over Britannia in. 
 safety to crowds of ten-pound renters, who deafen the air with | 
 their acclamations. Forthwith, Latin verses upon this—school 
 exercises — boys whipped, and all the usual absurdities of education. 
 Don’t part with an administration composed of Lord Grey and 
 Lord Brougham; and not only these, but look at them all—the 
 mild wisdom of Lansdowne—the genius and extensive knowl- 
 edge of Holland, in whose bold and honest life there is no vary- 
 ing nor shadow of change—the unexpected and exemplary activity 
 of Lord Melbourne —and the rising parliamentary talents of 
 Stanley. You are ignorant of your best interests, if every vote 
 you can bestow is not given to such a ministry as this. 
 
 You will soon find an alteration of behaviour in the upper 
 orders when elections become real. You will find that you are 
 raised to the importance to which you ought to be raised. The 
 merciless ejector, the rural tyrant, will be restrained within the 
 limits of decency and humanity, and will improve their own char- 
 acters at the same time that they better your condition. 
 
 * Lord Lyndhurst is an exception; I firmly believe he had no wish to per- 
 petuate the abuses of the Court of Chancery. — Author’s Note. 
 { Lord Grey. 
 14* 
 
322 KING WILLIAM AND THE REVOLUTION. > 
 
 It is not the power of aristocracy that will be destroyed by 
 these measures, but the unfair power. If the Duke of Newcastle 
 is kind and obliging to his neighbours, he will probably lead his 
 neighbours ; if he is a man of sense, he will lead them more cer- 
 tainly, and to a better purpose. All this is as it should be; but the 
 Duke of Newcastle, at present, by buying certain old houses, 
 could govern his neighbours and legislate for them, even if he had 
 not five grains of understanding, and if he were the most churlish 
 and brutal man under heaven. The present state of things renders 
 unnecessary all those important virtues, which rich and well-born 
 men, under a better system, would exercise for the public good. 
 The Duke of Newcastle (I mention him only as an instance), 
 Lord Exeter will do as well, but either of those noblemen, de- 
 pending not upon walls, arches, and abutments, for their power— 
 but upon mercy, charity, forbearance, indulgence, and example — 
 would pay this price, and lead the people by their affections; one 
 would be the god of Stamford, and the other of Newark. This 
 union of the great with the many is the real healthy state of a 
 country ; such a country is strong to invincibility — and _ this 
 strength the borough system entirely destroys. 
 
 Cant words creep in, and affect quarrels ; the changes are rung 
 between revolution and reform; but, first settle whether a wise 
 government ought to attempt the measure— whether anything is 
 wanted—whether less would do—and, having settled this, mere 
 . ~ »nomenclature becomes of very little consequence. But, after all, 
 ~ if it is revolution, and not reform, it will only induce me to receive 
 
 an old political toast in a twofold meaning, and with twofold 
 
 pleasure. When King William and the great and glorious Rey- 
 
 _ olution are given, I shall think not only of escape from bigotry, 
 
 but exemption from corruption; and I shall thank Providence, 
 
 * which has given us a second King William for the destruction of 
 
 vice, as the other, of that name, was given us for the conservation 
 of freedom. 
 
 All formal political changes, proposed by these very men, it is 
 
 said, were mild and gentle, compared to this; true, but-are you on 
 
 Saturday night to seize your apothecary by the throat and to 
 
 say to him, “Subtle compounder, fraudulent posologist, did not 
 
 you order me a drachm of this medicine on Monday morning, and 
 now you declare that nothing short of an ounce can do me any 
 
A, HEPTARCHY OF THE PEESS. S26 
 
 99 
 
 good?” “'True enough,” would he of the vials reply, “but you 
 did not take the drachm on Monday morning —that makes all the 
 difference, my dear sir; if you had done as I advised you at first, 
 the small quantity of medicine would have sufficed; and instead 
 of being in a night-gown and slippers up-stairs, you would have 
 been walking vigourously in Piccadilly. Do as you please—and 
 die if you please ; but don’t blame me because you despised my 
 advice, and by your own ignorance and obstinacy have entailed 
 upon yourself tenfold rhubarb and unlimited infusion of senna.” 
 
 Now see the consequences of having a manly leader, and 
 a manly Cabinet. Suppose they had come out with a little ill- 
 fashioned seven months’ reform ; what would have been the conse- 
 quence? ‘The same opposition from the Tories —that would have 
 been quite certain—and not a single Reformer in England satis- 
 fied with the measure. You have now areal Reform, and a fair 
 share of power delegated to the people. 
 
 The Anti-Reformers cite the increased power of the press— 
 this is the very reason why I want an increased power in the 
 House of Commons. The Times, Herald, Advertiser, Globe, 
 Sun, Courier, and Chronicle, are a heptarchy which governs this 
 country, and governs it because the people are so badly repre- 
 sented. JI am perfectly satisfied, that with a fair and honest House 
 of Commons the power of the press would diminish—and that 
 the greatest authority would centre in the highest place. xe 
 
 
 
 
 
 Is it possible for a gentleman to get into Parliament, at present,. 
 
 without doing things he is utterly ashamed of—without mixing 
 himself up with the lowest and basest of mankind? Hands accus- 
 tomed to the scented lubricity of soap, are defiled with pitch, and 
 contaminated with filth. Is there not some inherent vice in a 
 
 Government, which cannot be carried on but with such abominable — 
 
 wickedness, in which no gentleman can mingle without moral 
 degradation, and the practice of crimes, the very imputation of 
 which, on other occasions, he would repel at the hazard of his life? 
 
 What signifies a small majority in the House? The miracie is, 
 that there should have been any majority at all; that there was 
 not an immense majority on the other side. It was a very long 
 period before the courts of justice in Jersey could put down smug- 
 gling, and why? ‘The judges, counsel, attorneys, crier of the 
 eourt, grand and petty jurymen, were ail smugglers, and the 
 
 w 
 
- ~ 
 
 ’ 
 
 ny ae THE NB / REPRESENTATIVES. 
 
 opie 
 hieh-sheriff and constables were running goods every moonlight 
 night. 
 
 How are you to do without a government? And what other 
 government, if this Bill be ultimately lost, could possibly be found ? 
 How could any country defray the ruinous expense of protecting, 
 with troops and constables, the Duke of Wellington and Sir 
 Robert Peel, who literally would not be able to walk from the 
 Horse-Guards to Grosvenor Square, without two or three regi- 
 ments of foot to screen them from the mob; and in these hollow 
 squares the Hero of Waterloo would have to spend his political 
 life? By the whole exercise of his splendid military talents, by 
 strong batteries, at Boodle’s and White’s, he might, on nights of 
 great debate, reach the House of Lords; but Sir Robert would, 
 probably, be cut off, and nothing could save Twiss and Lewis. 
 
 The great majority of persons returned by the new Boroughs 
 would either be men of high reputation for talents, or persons of for- 
 tune known in the neighbourhood ; they have property and character 
 to lose. Why are they to plunge into mad revolutionary projects 
 of pillaging the public creditor? It is not the interest of any such 
 man to do it; he would lose more by the destruction of public 
 credit than he would gain by a remission of what he paid for 
 the interest of the public debt. And if it is not the interest of 
 any one to act in this manner, it is not the interest of the mass. 
 How many, also, of these new legislators would there be, who 
 were not themselves creditors of the state? Is it the interest of 
 such men to create a revolution, by destroying the constitutional 
 power of the House of Lords, or of the king? Does there exist 
 in persons of that class, any disposition for such changes? Are not 
 all their feelings, and opinions, and prejudices, on the opposite side ? 
 The majority of the new members will be landed gentlemen: their 
 ' genus is utterly distinct from the revolutionary tribe; they have 
 molar teeth; they are destitute of the carnivorous and incisive 
 jaws of political adventurers. 
 
 There will be mistakes at first, as there are in all changes. All 
 young ladies will imagine (as soon as this bill is carried) that they 
 will be instantly married. Schoolboys believe that gerunds and 
 supines will be abolished, and that currant tarts must ultimately 
 come down in price; the corporal and sergeant are sure of double 
 pay; bad poets will expect a demand for their epics; fools will be 
 
>: 
 
 
 
 
 BENEFITS OF REFORM 
 | aN ; 
 disappointed, as they always are; reasonable men, who know what 
 to expect, will find that a very serious good has been obtained. 
 
 What good to the hewer of wood and the drawer of water? 
 How is he benefited, if Old Sarum is abolished, and Birmingham 
 members ereated? But if you ask this question of reform, you 
 must ask it of a great number of other great measures. How is he 
 _ benefited by Catholic emancipation, by the repeal of the Corpora- 
 tion and Test Act, by the Revolution of 1688, by any great politi- 
 eal change? by a good government? In the first place, if many 
 are benefited, and the lower orders are not injured, this alone is 
 reason enough for the change. But the hewer of wood and the 
 drawer of water are benefited by reform. Reform will produce 
 economy and investigation; there will be fewer jobs, and a less 
 lavish expenditure; wars will not be persevered in for years after 
 the people are tired of them; taxes will be taken off the poor and 
 laid upon the rich: demotic habits will be more common in a 
 country where the rich are forced to court the poor for political 
 power; cruel and oppressive punishments (such as those for night 
 poaching) will be abolished. If you steal a pheasant, you will be 
 punished as you ought to be, but not sent away from your wife and 
 children for seven years. Tobacco will be two pence per pound 
 cheaper. Candles will fall in price. These last results of an 
 improved government will be felt. We do not pretend to abolish 
 poverty, or to prevent wretchedness; but if peace, economy, and 
 justice, are the results of reform, a number of small benefits, or 
 rather of benefits which appear small to us but not to them, will 
 accrue to millions of the people; and the connection between the 
 existence of John Russell, and the reduced price of bread and 
 cheese, will be as clear as it is has been the object of his honest, 
 wise, and useful life to make it. 
 
 Don’t be led away by such nonsense; all things are dearer 
 under a bad government, and cheaper under a good one. The 
 real question they ask you is, What difference can any change of 
 government make to you? They want to keep the bees from 
 buzzing and stinging, in order that they may rob the hive in 
 peace. 
 
 Work well! How does it work well, when every human being in 
 doors and out (with the exception of the Duke of Wellington) says it 
 must be made to work better, or it will soon cease to work at all? 
 
326 MODES OF REFORM. 
 
 It is little short of absolute nonsense to call a government good, 
 which the great mass of Englishmen would before twenty years 
 were elapsed, if reform were denied, rise up and destroy. Of what 
 use have all the cruel laws been of Perceval, Eldon, and Castle- 
 reagh, to extinguish reform? Lord John Russell and his abettors, 
 would have been committed to jail twenty years ago for half only of 
 his present reform; and now relays of the people would drag them 
 from London to Edinburgh; at which latter city we are told by 
 Mr. Dundas, that there is no eagerness for reform. Five minutes 
 before Moses struck the rock, this gentleman would have said that 
 there was no eagerness for water. 
 
 There are two methods of making alterations; the one is to 
 despise the applicants, to begin with refusing every concession, 
 then to relax to making concessions which are always too late; by 
 offering in 1831 what is then too late, but would have been cheer- 
 fully accepted in 1830—gradually to O’Connellize the country, 
 till at last, after this process has gone on for some time, the alarm 
 becomes too great, and everything is conceded in hurry and con- 
 fusion. In the meantime, fresh conspiracies have been hatched by 
 the long delay, and no gratitude is expressed for what has been 
 extorted by fear. In this way, peace was concluded with Amer- 
 ica, and emancipation granted to the Catholics; and in this way 
 the war of complexion will be finished in the West Indies. The 
 other method is, to see at a distance that the thing must be done, 
 and to do it effectually, and at once; to take it out of the hands of 
 the common people, and to carry the measure in a manly liberal 
 manner, so as to satisfy the great majority. —The merit of this 
 belongs to the administration of Lord Grey. He is the only 
 minister I know of who has begun a great measure in good time, 
 conceded at the beginning of twenty years what would have been 
 extorted at the end of it, and prevented that folly, violence, and 
 ignorance, which emanate from a long denial and extorted conces- 
 sion of justice to great masses of human beings. I believe the 
 question of reform, or any dangerous agitation of it, is set at rest 
 for thirty or forty years; and this is an eternity in politics. 
 
 Boroughs are not the power proceeding from wealth. Many 
 men, who have no boroughs, are infinitely richer than those who 
 have—but it is the artifice of wealth in seizing hold of certain 
 localities. The boroughmonger is like rheumatism, which owes its 
 
OMNIPOTENCE OF REFORM. S27 
 
 power not so much to the intensity of the pain as to its’ peculiar 
 position; a little higher up, or a little lower down, the same pain 
 would be trifling ; but it fixes in the joints, and gets into the head- 
 quarters of motion and activity. The boroughmonger knows the 
 importance of arthritic positions; he disdains muscle, gets into the 
 joints, and lords it over the whole machine by felicity of place. 
 Other men are as rich—but those riches are not fixed in the 
 critical spot. 
 
 I live a good deal with all ranks and descriptions of people; I am 
 thoroughly convinced that the party of democrats and republicans 
 is very small and contemptible; that the English love their insti- 
 tutions—that they not love only this king (who would not love 
 him?) but the kingly office—that they have no hatred to the aris- 
 tocracy. I am not afraid of trusting English happiness to English 
 gentlemen. I believe that the half million of new voters will 
 choose much better for the public than the twenty or thirty peers, 
 to whose usurped power they succeed. 
 
 If any man doubts the power of reform, let him take these two 
 memorable proofs of its omnipotence. First, but for the declara- 
 tion against it, I believe the Duke of Wellington might this day 
 have been in office; and, secondly, in the whole course of the de- 
 bates at county meetings and in Parliament, there are not twenty 
 men who have declared against reform. Some advance an inch, 
 some a foot, some a yard—but nobody stands still—nobody says, 
 We ought to remain just where we were—everybody discovers 
 that he is a reformer, and has long been so—and appears infi- 
 nitely delighted with this new view of himself. Nobody appears 
 without the cockade — bigger or less—but always the cockade. 
 
 An exact and elaborate census is called for—vast information 
 should have been laid upon the table of the house—great time 
 should have been given for deliberation. All these objections, 
 being turned into English, simply mean, that the chances of an- 
 other year should have been given for defeating the bill. In that 
 time the Poles may be crushed, the Belgians Orangized, Louis 
 Philippe dethroned; war may rage all over Europe —the popular 
 spirit may be diverted to other objects. It is certainly provoking 
 that the ministry foresaw all these possibilities, and determined to 
 model the iron while it was red and glowing. 
 
 Tt is not enough that a political institution works well practically : 
 
328 . THE KING. 
 
 it must be defensible; it must be such as will bear discussion, and 
 not excite ridicule and contempt. It might work well for aught I 
 know, if, like the savages of Onelashka, we sent out to catch a 
 king: but who could defend a coronation by chase? who can 
 defend the payment of forty thousand pounds for the three-hun- 
 dredth part of the power of Parliament, and the re-sale of this 
 power to government for places to the Lord Williams, and Lord 
 Charles’s, and others of the Anglophagi? ‘Teach a million of the 
 common people to read—and such a government (work it ever so 
 well) must perish in twenty years. It is impossible to persuade 
 the mass of mankind, that there are not other.and better methods of 
 governing a country. It is so complicated, so wicked, such envy 
 and hatred accumulate against the gentlemen who have fixed them- 
 selves on the joints, that it cannot fail to perish, and to be driven 
 as it 7s driven from the country, by a general burst of hatred and 
 detestation. I meant, gentlemen, to have spoken for another half- 
 hour, but I am old and tired. Thank me for ending—but, gentle- 
 men, bear with me for another moment; one word more before I 
 end. I am old, but I thank God I have lived to see more than my 
 observations on human nature taught me I had any right to expect. 
 I have lived to see an honest king, in whose word his ministers 
 can trust; who disdains to deceive those men whom he has called 
 to the public service, but makes common cause with them for the 
 common good; and exercises the highest powers of a ruler for the 
 dearest interests of the state. I have lived to see a king with a 
 good heart, who, surrounded by nobles, thinks of common men ; 
 who loves the great mass of English people, and wishes to be 
 loved by them; who knows that his real power, as he feels that 
 his happiness, is founded on their affection. I have lived to seea 
 king, who, without pretending to the pomp of superior intel, 
 has the wisdom to see, that the decayed institutions of human 
 policy require amendment; and who, in spite of clamour, interest, 
 prejudice, and fear, has the manliness to carry these wise changes 
 into immediate execution. Gentlemen, farewell: shout for the 
 king. 
 
3 
 
 CHURCH PATRONAGE. 329 
 
 LETTERS TO ARCHDEACON SINGLETON.* 
 
 BISHOPS AND PATRONAGE. 
 
 NEVER dreaming of such sudden revolutions as these, a preben- 
 dary brings up his son to the church, and spends a large sum of 
 money in his education, which, perhaps, he can ill afford. His 
 hope is (wicked wretch!) that, according to the established custom 
 of the body to which he (immoral man!) belongs, the chapter will 
 (when his turn arrives), if his son be of fair attainments and good 
 character attend to his nefarious recommendation, and confer the 
 living upon the young man ; and in an instant all his hopes are de- 
 stroyed, and he finds his preferment seized upon, under the plea 
 of public good, by a stronger churchman than himself. I can call 
 this by no other name than that of tyranny and oppression. I 
 know very well that this is not the theory of patronage; but who 
 does better ?—do individual patrons?—do colleges who give in 
 succession ?—and as for bishops, lives there the man so weak 
 and foolish, so little observant of the past, as to believe (when 
 
 this tempest of purity and perfection has blown over) that the 
 
 name of Blomfield will not figure in benefices from which the 
 names of Copleston, Blomberg, Tate, and Smith, have been so 
 virtuously excluded? I have no desire to make odious compar- 
 isons between the purity of one set of patrons and another, but 
 they are forced upon me by the injustice of the commissioners. I 
 must either make such comparisons or yield up, without remon- 
 strance, those rights to which I am fairly entitled. 
 
 It may be said that the bishops will do better in future; that 
 
 * Letters to Archdeacon Singleton on the Ecclesiastical Commission, 
 1837. 
 
330 THE PUBLIC EYE. > 
 
 now the public eye is upon them, they will be ashamed into a more 
 lofty and anti-nepotic spirit ; but, if the argument of past superiority 
 is given up, and the hope of future amendment resorted to, why 
 may we not improve as well as our masters? but the commission 
 say, “These excellent men” (meaning themselves) “ have prom- 
 ised to do better, and we have an implicit confidence in their word : 
 we must have the patronage of the cathedrals.” In the meantime, 
 we are ready to promise as well as the bishops. 
 
 With regard to that common newspaper phrase, the public eye 
 —there’s nothing (as the bench well know) more wandering and 
 slippery than the public eye. In five years hence, the public eye 
 will no more see what description of men are promoted by bishops, 
 that it will see what doctors of law are promoted by the Turkish 
 Ulhema; and at the end of this period (such is the example set 
 by the commission), the public eye, turned in every direction, may 
 not be able to see any bishops at all. 
 
 In many instances, chapters are better patrons than bishops, 
 because their preferment is not given exclusively to one species of 
 incumbents. I have a diocese now in my private eye which has 
 undergone the following changes. The first of three bishops whom 
 I remember was a man of careless, easy temper, and how patron- 
 age went in those early days may be conjectured by the following 
 
 letters ; which are not his, but serve to illustrate a system: 
 a Yh THE BISHOP TO LORD A—— 
 My dear Lord, 
 
 I have noticed with great pleasure the behaviour of your lordship’s second 
 son, and am most happy to have it in my power to offer to him the living 
 of ***, He will find it of considerable value; and there is, I understand, 
 a very good house upon it, &e., Ke. 
 
 This is to confer a living upon a man of real merit out of the 
 family ; into which family, apparently sacrificed to the public good, 
 the living is brought back by the second letter : — 
 
 THE SAME TO THE SAME, A YEAR AFTER. 
 My dear Lord, 
 
 Will you excuse the Liberty I take in soliciting promotion for my grandson ? 
 He is an Officer of great skill and gallantry, and can bring the most ample 
 testimonials from some of the best men in the profession: the Arethusa frig- 
 ate is, I understand, about to be commissioned ; and if, &., &e. 
 
 Now I am not saying that hundreds of prebendaries have not 
 committed such enormities and stupendous crimes as this (a decla- 
 
 «“ 
 
BISHOPS. Sat 
 
 ration which will fill the whig cabinet with horror); all that I 
 mean to contend for is, that such is the practice of bishops quite 
 as much as it is of inferior patrons. 
 
 The second bishop was a decided enemy of Calvinistical doc- 
 trines, and no clergyman so tainted had the slightest chance of 
 
 preferment in his diocese. 
 
 The third bishop could endure no man whose: principles were 
 not strictly Calvinistic, and who did not give to the articles that 
 kind of interpretation. Now here were a great mass of clergy 
 naturally alive to the emoluments of their profession, and not 
 knowing which way to look or stir, because they depended so 
 entirely upon the will of one person. Not otherwise is it with a 
 very whig bishop, or a very tory bishop; but the worst case is 
 that of a superannuated bishop; here the preferment is given 
 away, and must be given away, by wives and daughters, or by sons, 
 or by butlers, perhaps, and valets, and the poor dying patron’s para- 
 lytic hand is guided to the signature of papers, the contents of which 
 he is utterly unable to comprehend. In all such cases as these, the 
 superiority of bishops as patrons will not assist that violence which 
 the commissioners have committed upon the patronage of cathedrals. 
 
 ADVICE TO BISHOPS. 
 
 THERE is a practice among some bishops, which may as well be 
 mentioned here as anywhere else, but which, I think, cannot be 
 too severely reprobated. They send for a clergyman, and insist 
 upon his giving evidence respecting the character and conduct of 
 his neighbour. Does he hunt? Does he shoot? Is he in debt? 
 Is he temperate? Does he attend to his parish? &c., &c. Now, 
 what is this, but to destroy for all clergymen the very elements of 
 social life—to put an end to all confidence between man and man 
 —and to disseminate among gentlemen, who are bound to live in 
 concord, every feeling of resentment, hatred, and suspicion? But 
 the very essence of tyranny is to act as if the finer feelings, like 
 the finer dishes, were delicacies only for the rich and great, and 
 that little people have no taste for them, and no right to them. A 
 good and honest bishop (I thank God there are many who deserve 
 that character!) ought to suspect himself, and carefully to watch 
 his own heart. He is all of a sudden elevated from being a tutor, 
 
’ 
 4 
 
 tay CHRONICLE OF DORT. 
 
 dining at an early hour with his pupil (and occasionally, it is be- 
 lieved, on cold meat), to be a spiritual lord; he is dressed in a 
 magnificent dress, decorated with a title, flattered by chaplains, and 
 surrounded by little people looking up for the things which he has 
 to give away; and this often happens to a man who has had no 
 opportunities of seeing the world, whose parents were in very hum- 
 ble life, and who has given up all his thoughts to the Frogs of 
 Aristophanes and the Targum of Onkelos. How is it possible that 
 such a man should not lose his head? that he should not swell? 
 that he should not be guilty of a thousand follies, and worry and 
 tease to death (before he recovers his common sense) a hundred 
 men as good, and as wise, and as able as himself. 
 
 THE DUTCH CHRONICLE OF DORT. 
 
 I met, the other day, in an old Dutch chronicle, with a passage 
 so apposite to this subject, that though it is somewhat too light for 
 the occasion, I cannot abstain from quoting it. There was a great 
 meeting of all the clergy at Dordrecht, and the chronicler thus de- 
 scribes it, which I give in the language of the translation: “And 
 there was great store of bishops in the town, in their robes goodly 
 to behold, and all the great men of the state were there, and folks 
 poured in in boats on the Meuse, the Merve, the Rhine, and the 
 Linge, coming from the Isle of Beverlandt, and Isselmond, and 
 from all quarters in the Bailiwick of Dort; Arminians and Go- 
 marists, with the friends of John Barneveldt and of Hugh Grote. 
 And before my lords the bishops, Simon of Gloucester, who was a 
 bishop in those parts, disputed with Vorstius, and Leoline the 
 Monk, and many texts of Scripture were bandied to and fro; and 
 when this was done, and many propositions made, and it waxed to- 
 ward twelve of the clock, my lords the bishops prepared to set 
 them down to a fair repast, in which was great store of good things, 
 —and among the rest a roasted peacock, having, in lieu of a tail, 
 the arms and banners of the archbishop, which was a goodly sight 
 to all who favoured the church—and then the archbishop would 
 say a grace, as was seemly to do, he being a very holy man; but 
 ere he had finished, a great mob of townspeople and folks from the 
 country, who were gathered under the window, cried out, Bread! 
 bread! for there was a great famine, and wheat had risen to three 
 
* 
 
 POPULAR CHURCH. PROMOTION. 338 
 
 times the ordinary price of the sleich;* and when they had done 
 erying Bread! bread! they called out No bishops!—and began 
 to cast up stones at the windows. Whereat my lords the bishops 
 were in a great fright, and cast their dinner out of the window to 
 appease the mob, and so the men of that town were well pleased, 
 and did devour the meats with great appetite ; and then you might 
 have seen my lords standing with empty plates, and looking wist- 
 fully at each other, till Simon of Gloucester, he who disputed with 
 Leoline the Monk, stood up among them and said, ‘ Good, my lords, 
 as tt your pleasure to stand here fasting, and that those who count 
 lower in the church than you do, should feast and fluster? Let us 
 order to us the dinner of the deans and canons, which is making 
 ready for them in the chamber below’ And this speech of Simon 
 of Gloucester pleased the bishops much; so that they sent for the 
 host, one William of Ypres, and told him it was for the public 
 good, and he, much fearing the bishops, brought them the dinner 
 of the deans and canons; and so the deans and canons went away 
 without dinner, and were pelted by the men of the town, because 
 they had not put any meat out of the window like the bishops; and 
 when the count came to hear of it, he said it was a pleasant con- 
 ceit, and that the bishops were right cunning men, and had ding d 
 the canons well.” . 
 
 YOUNG CRUMPET’S ASCENT TO ST. PAUL’S. 
 
 I am surprised it does not strike the mountaineers how very 
 much the great emoluments of the church are flung open to the 
 lowest ranks of the community. Butchers, bakers, publicans, 
 schoolmasters, are perpetually seeing their children elevated to the 
 mitre. Leta respectable baker drive through the city from the 
 west end of the town, and let him cast an eye on the battlements 
 of Northumberland House, has his little muffin-faced son the smal- 
 lest chance of getting in among the Percies, enjoying a share of 
 their luxury and splendour, and of chasing the deer with hound 
 and horn upon the Cheviot Hills? But let him drive his alum- 
 steeped loaves a little farther, till he reaches St. Paul’s Church- 
 
 * A measure in the bailiwick of Dort, containing two gallons one pint 
 English dry measure.—Author’s Note. The whole passage from the Chron- 
 icle, of course, a pleasant invention. 
 
334 LORD MELBOURNE. 
 
 yard, and all his thoughts are changed when he sees that beautiful 
 fabric; it is not impossible that his little penny roll may be 
 introduced into that splendid oven. Young Crumpet is sent to 
 school— takes to his books—spends the best years of his life, as 
 all eminent Englishmen do, in making Latin verses—knows that 
 the erwm in crumpet is long, and the pet short— goes to the Uni- 
 versity — gets a prize for an Essay on the Dispersion of the Jews 
 —takes orders — becomes a bishop’s chaplain — has a young noble- 
 man for his pupil—publishes a useless classic, and a serious call 
 to the unconverted—and then goes through the Elysian transi- 
 tions of prebendary, dean, prelate, and the long train of purple, 
 profit, and power. 
 
 LORD MELBOURNE. 
 
 Viscount MeLBourne declared himself quite satisfied with the 
 church as it is; but if the public had any desire to alter it, they 
 might do as they pleased. He might have said the same thing. 
 of the monarchy, or of any other of our institutions; and there is 
 in the declaration a permissiveness and good humour which, in 
 public men, have seldom been exceeded. Carelessness, however, 
 is but a poor imitation of genius, and the formation of a wise and 
 well-reflected plan of reform conduces more to the lasting fame of 
 a minister than that affected contempt of duty which every man 
 sees to be mere vanity, and a vanity of no very high description. 
 
 But if the truth must be told, our Viscount is somewhat of an im- 
 postor. Everything about him seems to betoken careless desola- 
 tion; any one would suppose from his manner that he was playing 
 at chuck-farthing with human happiness; that he was always on 
 the heel of pastime; that he would giggle away the great charter, 
 and decide by the method of tee-totum whether my lords the bish- 
 ops should or should not retain their seats in the House of Lords. 
 All this is the mere vanity of surprising, and making us believe 
 that he can play with kingdoms as other men can with nine-pins. 
 Instead of this lofty nebulo, this miracle of moral and intellectual 
 felicities, he is nothing more than a sensible, honest man, who 
 means to do his duty to the sovereign and to the country ; instead 
 of being the ignorant man he pretends to be, before he meets the 
 deputation of tallow-chandlers in the morning, he sits up halt the 
 
 *, 
 
THE BISHOPS AND SMALL LIVINGS. 335 
 
 night talking with Thomas Young about melting and skimming, 
 ‘and then, though he has acquired knowledge enough to work off a 
 whole vat of prime Leicester tallow, he pretends next morning not 
 to know the difference between a dip and a mould. In the same 
 way, when he has been employed in reading acts of Parliament, 
 he would persuade you that he has been reading Cleghorn on the 
 Beatitudes, or Pickler on the Nine Difficult Points. Neither can 
 Tallow to this minister (however he may be irritated by the de- 
 nial) the extreme merit of indifference to the consequences of his 
 measures. I believe him to be conscientiously alive to the good 
 or evil that he is doing, and that his caution has more than once 
 arrested the gigantic projects of the Lycurgus of the Lower House. 
 I am sorry to hurt any man’s feelings, and to brush away the 
 magnificent fabric of levity and gayety he has reared; but I accuse 
 our minister of honesty and diligence; I deny that he is careless 
 or rash: he is nothing more than a man of good understanding, 
 and good principle, disguised in the eternal and somewhat weari- 
 some affectation of a political roué. 
 
 RUSSELL AND THE BISHOPS—AN APOLOGUE. 
 
 Tus is very good episcopal reasoning; but is it true? The 
 bishops and commissioners wanted a fund to endow small livings ; 
 they did not touch a farthing of their own incomes, only distribu- 
 ted them a little more equally; and proceeded lustily at once to 
 confiscate cathedral property. But why was it necessary, if the fund 
 for small livings was such a paramount consideration, that the fu- 
 ture archbishops of Canterbury should be left with two palaces, 
 and £15,000 per annum? Why is every future bishop of London 
 to have a palace in Fulham, a house in St. James’s Square, and 
 £10,000 a-year? Could not all the episcopal functions be carried 
 on well and effectually with the half of these incomes? Is it ne- 
 cessary that the Archbishop of Canterbury should give feasts to 
 aristocratic London ; and that the domestics of the prelacy should 
 stand with swords and bag-wigs round pig, and turkey, and veni- 
 son, to defend, as it were, the orthodox gastronome from the fierce 
 Unitarian, the fell Baptist, and all the famished children of dissent ? 
 I don’t object to all this; because I am sure that the method of 
 prizes and blanks is the best method of supporting a church, which 
 
 ot 
 
* 
 
 336 HORNED CATTLE AND THE LION. 
 
 must be considered as very slenderly endowed, if the whole were 
 equally divided among the parishes; but if my opinion were dif- 
 ferent—if I thought the important improvement was to equalize 
 preferment in the English church—that such a measure was not 
 the one thing foolish, but the one thing needful—I should take 
 care, as a mitred commissioner, to reduce my own species of pre- 
 ferment to the narrowest limits, before I proceeded to confiscate 
 the property of any other grade of the church. I could not, as a 
 conscientious man, leave the Archbishop of Canterbury with 
 £15,000 a-year, and make a fund by annihilating residentiaries at 
 Bristol of £500. This comes of calling a meeting of one species 
 of cattle only. The horned cattle say—*“ If you want any meat, 
 kill the sheep; don’t meddle with us, there is no beef to spare.” 
 They said this, however, to the lion; and the-cunning animal, after 
 he had gained all the information necessary for the destruction of 
 the muttons, and learned how well and widely they pastured, and 
 how they could be most conveniently eaten up, turns round and in- 
 forms the cattle, who took him for their best and tenderest friend, 
 that he means to eat them up also. Frequently did Lord John meet 
 the destroying bishops; much did he commend their daily heap of 
 ruins ; sweetly did they smile on each other, and much charming talk 
 was there of meteorology and catarrh, and the particular cathedral 
 they were pulling down at each period ;* till one fine day, the 
 Home Secretary, with a voice more bland, and a look more ardently 
 affectionate, than that which the masculine mouse bestows on his 
 nibbling female, informed them that the government meant to take 
 all the church property into their own hands, to pay the rates out 
 of it, and deliver the residue to the rightful possessors. Such an 
 effect, they say, was never before produced by a coup de thédtre. 
 The commission was separated in an instant: London clinched 
 his fist; Canterbury was hurried out by his chaplains, and put into 
 a warm bed; a solemn vacancy spread itself over the face of Glou- 
 cester ; Lincoln was taken out in strong hysterics. What a noble 
 scene Serjeant Talfourd would have made of this! Why are such 
 talents wasted on Jon and the Athenian Captive ? 
 
 * “ What cathedral are we pulling down to-day?” was the standing ques- 
 tion at the Commission. 
 
THE BISHOP’S SATURDAY NIGHT. 337 
 
 PAYING THE BISHOPS. 
 
 THERE is some safety in dignity. A church is in danger when 
 it is degraded. It costs mankind much less to destroy it when an 
 institution is associated with mean, and not with elevated ideas. I 
 should like to see the subject in the hands of H. B. I would 
 entitle the print :— 
 
 “The Bishop’s Saturday Night; or, Lord John Russell at the 
 Pay-Table.” 
 
 The bishops should be standing before the pay-table, and receiv- 
 ing their weekly allowance; Lord John and Spring Rice counting, 
 ringing, and biting the sovereigns, and the Bishop of Exeter in- 
 sisting that the chancellor of the exchequer has given him one 
 which was not weight. Viscount Melbourne, in high chuckle, 
 should be standing, with his hat on, and his back to the fire, de- 
 lighted with the contest; and the deans and canons should be in 
 the background, waiting till their turn came, and the bishops were 
 paid ; and among them a canon, of large composition, urging them 
 on not to give way too much to the bench. Perhaps I should add 
 the President of the Board of Trade, recommending the truck prin- 
 ciple to the bishops, and offering to pay them in hassocks, cassocks, 
 aprons, shovel-hats, sermon-cases, and such like ecclesiastical gear. 
 
 But the madness and folly of such a measure is in the revolu- 
 tionary feeling which it excites. A government taking into its 
 hands such an immense value of property! What a lesson of vio- 
 lence and change to the mass of mankind! Do you want to accus- 
 tom Englishmen to lose all confidence in the permanence of their 
 institutions —to inure them to great acts of plunder—and to draw 
 forth all the latent villanies of human nature? The whig leaders 
 are honest men, and cannot mean this ; but these foolish and incon- 
 sistent measures are the horn-book and infantile lessons of revolu- 
 tion; and remember, it requires no great time to teach mankind to 
 rob and murder on a great scale. 
 
 
 
 A FOOLOMETER. 
 
 I am astonished that these ministers neglect the common pre- 
 caution of a foolometer,* with which no public man should be un- 
 * Mr. Fox very often used to say, “I wonder what Lord B. will think of 
 
 this.’ Lord B. happened to be a very stupid person, and the curiosity of 
 15 
 
fo 
 
 338 THE FOOLOMETER. 
 
 provided; I mean, the acquaintance and society of three or four 
 regular British fools as a test of public opinion. Every cabinet-min- 
 ister should judge of all his measures by his foolometer, as a nayi- 
 gator crowds or shortens sail by the barometer in his cabin. I 
 have a very valuable instrument of that kind myself, which I have 
 used for many years; and I would be bound to predict, with the 
 utmost nicety, by the help of this machine, the precise effect which 
 any measure would produce upon public opinion. Certainly, I never 
 saw anything so decided as the effects produced upon my machine 
 by the rate bill. No man who had been accustomed in the small- 
 est degree to handle philosophical instruments could have doubted 
 of the storm which was coming on, or of the thoroughly un-English 
 scheme in which the ministry had so rashly engaged themselves. 
 
 INEQUALITIES OF THE CHURCH —CURATES. 
 
 I HAVE no manner of doubt, that the immediate effect of passing 
 the dean and chapter bill will be, that a great number of fathers 
 and uncles, judging, and properly judging, that the church is a very 
 altered and deterioriated profession, will turn the industry and 
 capital of their éléves into another channel. My friend, Robert 
 Eden, says “this is of the earth earthy :” be it so; I cannot hel 
 it, [ paint mankind as I find them, and am not sore 
 defects. When an argument, taken from real life, and the ac 
 condition of the world, is brought among the shadowy discussions of 
 ecclesiastics, it always occasion terror and dismay ; it is like ASneas 
 stepping into Charon’s boat, which carried only ghosts and spirits. 
 
 ““Gemuit sub pondere cymba 
 Sutilis.” 
 
 The whole plan of the Bishop of London is a ptochogony—a 
 generation of beggars. He purposes, out of the spoils 0 
 cathedral, to create a thousand livings, and to give to the 
 
 
 
 Mr. Fox’s friends was naturally excited to know why he attached such im- 
 
 portance to the opinion of such an ordinary commonplace person. ‘ His 
 
 opinion,” said Mr. Fox, ‘‘is of much more importance than you are aware 
 
 of. He is an exact representative of all commonplace English prejudices, and. 
 what Lord B. thinks of any measure, the great majority of English peoplewill - 
 think of it.” It would be a good thing if every cabinet of philosophers had a 
 
 Lord B. among them.—Author’s Note. 
 
A PTOCHOGONY. 339 
 
 sand clergymen £130 per annum each; a Christian bishop propo- 
 sing, in cold blood, to create a thousand livings of £130 per annum 
 each ;—to call into existence a thousand of the most unhappy men 
 on the face of the earth—the sons of the poor, without hope, 
 without the assistance of private fortune, chained to the soil, 
 ashamed to live with their inferiors, unfit for the society of the bet- 
 ter classes, and dragging about the English curse of poverty, without 
 the smallest hope that they can‘ever shake it off. At present, such 
 livings are filled by young men who have better hopes— who have 
 reason to expect good property— who look forward to a college or 
 a family living—who are the sons of men of some substance, and 
 hope so to pass on to something better—who exist under the 
 delusion of being hereafter deans and prebendaries—who aré 
 ‘paid once by money, and three times by hope. Will the Bishop 
 of London promise to the progeny of any of these thousand vic- 
 tims of the holy innovation that, if they behave well, one of them 
 shall have his butler’s place? another take care of the cedars and 
 hyssops of his garden? Will he take their daughters for his 
 nurserymaids’? and may some of the sons of these “labourers of 
 the vineyard” hope one day to ride the leaders from St. James’s 
 to Fulham? Here is hope—here is room for ambition —a field 
 for genius, and a ray of amelioration! If these beautiful feelings 
 ; of compassion are throbbing under the cassock of the bishop, he 
 ‘ought, in common justice to himself, to make them known. 
 
 If it were a scheme for giving ease and independence to any 
 large bodies of clergymen, it might be listened to; but the revenues 
 of the English church are such as to render this wholly and entirely 
 out of the question. If you place a man in a village in the coun- 
 try, require that he should be of good manners and well educated, 
 that his habits and appearance should be above those of the far- 
 mers to whom he preaches, if he has nothing else to expect (as 
 would be the case in a church of equal division) ; and if, upon his 
 village income, he is to support a wife and educate a family, 
 without any power of making himself known in a remote and soli- 
 tary situation, such a person ought to receive £500 per annum, and 
 be furnished with a house. There are about 10,700 parishes in 
 England and Wales, whose average income is £285 per annum. 
 Now, to provide these incumbents with decent houses, to keep 
 them in repair, and to raise the income of the incumbent to £500 
 
340 A CURATE. 
 
 per annum, would require (if all the incomes of the bishops, deans 
 and chapters of separate dignitaries, of sinecure rectories, were 
 confiscated, and if the excess of all the livings in England above 
 £500 per annum were added to them) a sum of two millions and 
 a half in addition to the present income of the whole church ; and 
 no power on earth could persuade the present Parliament of Great 
 Britain to grant a single shilling for that purpose. Now, is it 
 possible to pay such a church upon any other principle than that 
 of unequal division? ‘The proposed pillage of the cathedral and 
 college churches (omitting all consideration of the separate estate 
 of dignitaries) would amount, divided among all the benefices of 
 England to about £5 12s. 63d. per man: and this, which would 
 not stop an hiatus in a cassock, and would drive out of the paro- 
 chial church ten times as much as it brought into it, is the panacea 
 for pauperism recommended by her majesty’s commissioners. 
 
 But if this plan were to drive men of eapital out of the church, 
 and to pauperize the English clergy, where would the harm be? 
 Could not all the duties of religion be performed as well by poor 
 clergymen as by men of good substance? My great and serious 
 apprehension is, that such would not be the case. ‘There would 
 be the greatest risk that your clergy would be fanatical, and 
 ignorant; that their habits would be low and mean, and that they 
 would be despised. 
 
 Then a picture is drawn of aclergyman with £130 per annum, 
 who combines all moral, physical, and intellectual advantages; a 
 learned man, dedicating himself intensely to the care of his parish 
 —of charming manners and dignified deportment— six feet two 
 inches high, beautifully proportioned, with a magnificent counte- 
 nance expressive of all the cardinal virtues and the Ten Com- 
 mandments—and it is asked, with an air of triumph, if such a 
 man as this will fall into contempt on account of his poverty? 
 But substitute for him an average, ordinary, uninteresting minis- 
 ter; obese, dumpy, neither ill-natured nor good-natured; neither 
 learned nor ignorant, striding over the stiles to church, with a 
 second-rate wife —dusty and deliquescent—and four parochial 
 children, full of catechism and bread and butter ; or let him be seen 
 in one of those Shem-Ham-and-Japhet buggies, made on Mount 
 Ararat soon after the subsidence of the waters, driving in the High 
 Street of Edmonton ;— among all his pecuniary, saponaceous, 
 
REPLY TO AN ATTACK. 341 
 
 oleaginous parishioners. Can any man of common sense say that 
 all these outward circumstances of the ministers of religion have no 
 bearing on religion itself ? * 
 
 REPLY TO THE BISHOP OF GLOUCESTER. 
 
 You must have read an attack upon me by the Bishop of Glouces- 
 ter,f in the course of which he says that I have not been appointed 
 to my situation as canon of St. Paul’s for my piety and learning, 
 but because I am a scoffer and a jester. Is not this rather strong 
 for a bishop, and does it not appear to you, Mr. Archdeacon, as 
 rather too close an imitation of that language which is used in the 
 apostolic occupation of trafficking in fish? Whether I have been 
 appointed for my piety or not, must depend upon what this poor man 
 means by piety. He means by that word, of course, a defence of 
 all the tyrannical and oppressive abuses of the church which have 
 been swept away within the last fifteen or twenty years of my life; 
 the corporation and test acts; the penal laws against the Catholics; 
 the compulsory marriages of dissenters, and all those disabling and 
 disqualifying laws which were the disgrace of our church, and 
 which he has always looked up to as the consummation of human 
 wisdom. If piety consisted in the defence of these —if it was im- 
 pious to struggle for their abrogation, I have, indeed, led an un- 
 godly life. 
 
 There is nothing pompous gentlemen are so much afraid of as 
 a little humour. It is like the objection of certain cephalic ani- 
 malcule to the use of small-tooth combs—“ Finger and thumb, 
 precipitate powder, or anything else you please; but for Heaven’s 
 
 * Compare Smith’s picture of A Curate, in his article ‘“Persecuting Bishops” 
 (Ed. Rev. Nov. 1822) :— 4 
 
 “A curate—there is something which excites compassion in the very name 
 of a curate!!! How any man of purple, palaces, and preferment, can let 
 himself loose against this poor workman of God, we are at a loss to conceive 
 —a learned man in a hovel, with sermons and saucepans, lexicons and 
 bacon, Hebrew books and ragged children— good and patient —a comforter 
 and a preacher—the first and purest pauper in the hamlet, and yet showing, 
 that, in the midst of his worldly misery, he has the heart of a gentleman and 
 the spirit of a Christian, and the kindness of a pastor.” 
 
 + James Henry Monk, appointed Bishop of Gloucester in 1830. He has 
 
 published various sermons and charges, an edition of the Alcestis of Euripides, 
 and a life of Richard Bentley. 
 
342 PRELATES AND PROMOTION. 
 
 sake no small-tooth combs!” After all, I believe Bishop Monk 
 has been the cause of much more laughter than ever I have been; 
 I cannot account for it, but I never see him enter a room without 
 exciting a smile on every countenance within it. 
 
 Dr. Monk is furious at my attacking the heads of the church; 
 but how can I help it? Ifthe heads of the church are at the head 
 of the mob, if I find the best of men doing that which has in all 
 times drawn upon the worst enemies of the human race the bitter- 
 est curses of history, am I to stop because the motives of these men 
 are pure, and their lives blameless? I wish I could find a blot in 
 their lives, or a vice in their motives. ‘The whole power of the 
 motion is in the character of the movers; feeble friends, false 
 friends, and foolish friends, all cease to look into the measure, and 
 say, “ Would such a measure have been recommended by such men 
 as the prelates of Canterbury and London, if it were not for the 
 public advantage?” And in this way the great good of a religious 
 establishment, now rendered moderate and compatible with all 
 men’s liberties and rights, is sacrificed to names ; and the church de- 
 stroyed from good breeding and etiquette! the real truth is, that 
 Canterbury and London have been frightened —they have over- 
 looked the effect of time and delay—they have been betrayed 
 into a fearful and ruinous mistake. Painful as it is to teach men 
 who ought to teach us, the legislature ought, while there is yet 
 time, to awake and read them this lesson. 
 
 It is dangerous for a prelate to write; and whoever does it 
 ought to be.a very wise one. He has speculated why I was made 
 a canon of St. Paul’s. Suppose I were to follow his example, 
 and, going through the bench of bishops, were to ask for what 
 reason each man had been made a bishop; suppose I were to go 
 
 ‘TI was afraid the bishop would attribute my promotion to the 
 Edinburgh Review ; but upon the subject of promotion by reviews, 
 he preserves an impenetrable silence. If my excellent patron, Earl 
 Grey, had any reasons of this kind, he may at least be sure that 
 the reviews commonly attributed to me, were really written by me. 
 I should have considered myself as the lowest of created beings, to 
 have disguised myself in another man’s wit and sense, and to have 
 received a reward to which I was not entitled.* 
 
 * T understand that the bishop bursts into tears every now and then, and 
 
GLOUCESTER. 848 
 
 I presume that what has drawn upon me the indignation of this 
 prelate, is the observations I have, from time to time, made on the 
 conduct of the Commissioners, of which he positively asserts himself 
 to have been a member ; but whether he was, or was not, a member, 
 I utterly acquit him of all possible blame, and of every species of 
 imputation which may attach to the conduct of the Commission. 
 In using that word, I have always meant the Archbishop of Can- 
 terbury, the Bishop of London, and Lord John Russell; and have, 
 honestly speaking, given no more heed to the Bishop of Glouces- 
 ter, than if he had been sitting in a commission of Bonzes in the 
 Court of Pekin. 
 
 To read, however, his Lordship a lesson of good manners, I had 
 proposed for him a chastisement which would have been echoed 
 from the Seagrave who banqueteth in the Castle to the idiot who 
 spitteth over the bridge at Gloucester; but the following appeal 
 struck my eye, and stopped my pen: “Since that time my in- 
 adequate qualifications have sustained an appalling diminution by 
 the affection of my eyes, which has impaired my vision, and the 
 progress of which threatens to consign me to darkness; I beg the 
 benefit of your prayers to the Father of all mercies, that he will 
 restore to me the better use of the visual organs, to be employed 
 on his service; or that he will inwardly illumine the intellectual 
 vision, with a particle of that divine ray, which his Holy Spirit 
 can alone impart.” 
 
 It might ‘have been bain taste, perhaps, if a mitred invalid, in 
 describing his bodily infirmities before a church full of clergymen, 
 whose prayers he asked, had been a little more sparing in the 
 abuse of his enemies; but a good deal must be forgiven to the 
 sick. I wish that every Christian was as well aware as this poor 
 bishop of what he needed from Divine assistance; and in his sup- 
 plication for the restoration of his sight, and the improvement of 
 his understanding, I most fervently and cordially join. 
 
 says that I have set him the name of Simon [ante. p. 333], and that all the 
 bishops now call him Simon. Simon of Gloucester, however, after all, is a 
 real writer, and how could I know that Dr. Monk’s name was Simon? When 
 tutor in Lord Carrington’s family, he was called by the endearing, though 
 somewhat unmajestic name of Dick; and if I had thought about his name at 
 all, I should have called him Richard of Gloucester.—Author’s Note. 
 
844 RAILWAYS. 
 
 LETTERS ON RAILWAYS. 
 
 “LOCKING IN” ON RAILWAYS. 
 
 To the Editor of the Morning Chronicle :— 
 
 Sir: It falls to my lot to travel frequently on the Great Western 
 Railway, and I request permission, through the medium of your 
 able and honest journal, to make a complaint against the directors 
 of that company. It is the custom on that railway to lock the 
 passengers in on both sides—a custom which, in spite of the 
 dreadful example at Paris, I have every reason to believe they 
 mean to continue without any relaxation. 
 
 In the course of a long life I have no recollection of any acci- 
 dent so shocking as that on the Paris railway*—a massacre so 
 sudden, so full of torment—death at the moment of pleasure — 
 death aggravated by all the amazement, fear, and pain, which can 
 be condensed into the last moments of existence. 
 
 Who can say that the same scene may not be acted over again 
 on the Great Western Railroad ?—that in the midst of their tun- 
 nel of three miles length, the same scene of slaughter and com- 
 bustion may not scatter dismay and alarm over the whole country ? 
 
 It seems to me perfectly monstrous that a board of ten or twelve 
 monopolists can read such a description, and say to the public, 
 “You must run your chance of being burnt or mutilated. We 
 
 * The accident in May, 1842, on the Versailles line, near Meudon. By the 
 breaking of the axle of the first engine, the other engine and cars attached 
 were forced forward and set fire to. In consequence of keeping the doors of 
 the cars locked, more than a hundred persons were burnt alive, without pos- 
 sibility of escape. 
 
LOCKING DOORS. 845 
 
 have arranged our plan upon the locking-in system, and we shall 
 not incur the risk and expense of changing it.” 
 
 The plea is, that rash or drunken people will attempt to get 
 out of the carriages which are not locked, and that this measure 
 really originates from attention to the safety of the public; so 
 that the lives of two hundred persons who are not drunk, and are 
 not rash, are to be endangered for the half-yearly preservation of 
 some idiot, upon whose body the coroner is to sit, and over whom 
 the sudden-death man is to deliver his sermon against the directors. 
 
 The very fact of locking the doors will be a frequent source of 
 accidents. Mankind, whatever the directors may think of that 
 process, are impatient of combustion. The Paris accident will 
 never be forgotten. The passengers will attempt to escape through 
 the windows, and ten times more of mischief will be done than if 
 they had been left to escape by the doors in the usual manner. 
 
 It is not only the locking of the doors which is to be deprecated ; 
 but the effects which it has upon the imagination. Women, old 
 people, and the sick, are all forced to travel by the railroad; and 
 for two hundred miles they live under the recollection, not-only of 
 impending danger, but under the knowledge that escape is impos- 
 sible—a journey comes to be contemplated with horror. Men 
 cannot persuade the females of their families to travel by the 
 railroad ; it is inseparably connected with abominable tyranny and 
 perilous imprisonment. 
 
 Why does the necessity of locking both doors exist only on the 
 Great Western? Why is one of the doors left open on all other 
 railways ? 
 
 The public have a right to every advantage under permitted 
 monopoly which they would enjoy under free competition; and 
 they are unjust to themselves if they do not insist upon this right. 
 If there were two parallel railways, the one locking you in, and 
 the other not, is there the smallest doubt which would carry away 
 all the business? Can there be any hesitation in which timid 
 women, drunken men, sages, philosophers, bishops, and all com- 
 bustible beings, would place themselves ? 
 
 I very much doubt the legality of locking doors, and refusing to 
 open them. I arrive at a station where others are admitted; but 
 I am not suffered to get out, though perhaps at the point of death. 
 In all other positions of life there is egress where there is ingress. 
 
 15* 
 
346 DIRECTORS’ PHILANTHROPY. 
 
 Man is universally the master of his own body, except he chooses 
 to go from Paddington to Bridgewater: there only the Habeas 
 Corpus is refused. 
 
 Nothing, in fact, can be more utterly silly or mistaken than this 
 over-officious care of the public; as if every man, who was not a 
 railway director, was a child or a fool. But why stop here? 
 Why are not strait-waistcoats used? Why is not the accidental 
 traveller strapped down? Why do contusion and fracture still 
 remain physically possible ? 
 
 Is not this extreme care of the public new? When first mail- 
 coaches began to travel twelve miles an hour, the outsides (if I 
 remember rightly) were never tied to the roof. In packets, lands- 
 men are not locked into the cabin to prevent them from tumbling 
 overboard. This affectionate nonsense prevails only on the Great 
 Western. It is there only that men, women, and children (seeking 
 the only mode of transit which remains), are, by these tender- 
 hearted monopolists, immediately committed to their locomotive 
 prisons. Nothing can, in fact, be so absurd as all this officious 
 zeal. It is the duty of the directors to take all reasonable precau- 
 tions to warn the public of danger—to make it clear that there is 
 no negligence on the part of the railroad directors; and then, this 
 done, if a fool-hardy person choose to expose himself to danger, 
 so be it. Fools there will be on roads of iron, and on roads of 
 gravel, and they must suffer for their folly ; but why are Socrates, 
 Solon, and Solomon, to be locked up? 
 
 But is all this, which appears so philanthropical, mere philan- 
 thropy? Does not the locking of the doors save s vants and 
 policemen? Does not economy mingle with these © olen 
 feelings? Is it to save a few fellow-creatures, or a few pounds, 
 that the children of the West are to be hermetically sealed in the 
 locomotives? I do not say it is so; but I say it deserves a very 
 serious examination whether it be so or not. Great and heavy is 
 the sin of the directors of this huge monopoly, if they repeat upon 
 their own iron the tragedy of Paris, in order to increase their 
 dividends a few shillings per cent. , 
 
 The country has (perhaps inevitably) given way to this x, 
 monopoly. Nothing can make it tolerable for a moment, but the 
 most severe and watchful jealousy of the manner in which its 
 powers are exercised. We shall have tyrannical rules, vexatious 
 
THE FEMALE HOMO. 347 
 
 rules, ill-temper, pure folly, and meddling and impertinent pater- 
 nity. It is the absolute duty of Lord Ripon and Mr. Gladstone 
 (if the directors prove themselves to be so inadequate to the new 
 situation in which they are placed) to restrain and direct them by 
 law; and if these two gentlemen are afraid of the responsibility 
 of such laws, they are deficient in the moral courage which their 
 office requires, and the most important interests of the public are 
 neglected. I am, sir, your obedient servant, 
 
 SYDNEY SMITH. 
 May 21, 1842. 
 
 “ LOCKING-IN” ON RAILWAYS. 
 
 To the Editor of the Morning Chronicle :— 
 
 Sir: Since the letter upon railroads which you were good 
 enough to insert in your paper, I have had some conversation with 
 two gentlemen officially connected with the Great Western. Though 
 nothing could be more courteous than their manner, nor more in- 
 telligible than their arguments, [remain unshaken as to the neces- 
 sity of keeping the doors open. 
 
 There is in the first place, the effect of imagination, the idea 
 that all escape is impossible, that (let what will happen) you must 
 sit quiet in first class No. 2, whether they are pounding you into a 
 jam, or burning you into a cinder, or crumbling you into a human 
 powder. These excellent directors, versant in wood and metal, 
 seem to require that the imagination should be sent by some other 
 conveyance, and that only loads of unimpassioned, unintellectual 
 flesh and blood should be darted along on the Western rail ; 
 whereas, the female homo is a screaming, parturient, interjectional, 
 hysterical animal, whose delicacy and timidity monopolists (even 
 much as it may surprise them) must be taught to consult. The 
 female, in all probability, never would jump out; but she thinks 
 she may jump out when she pleases; and this is intensely com- 
 fortable. 
 
 here are two sorts of dangers which hang over railroads. The 
 one, retail dangers, where individuals only are concerned; the 
 other, wholesale dangers, where the whole train, or a considerable 
 part of it, is put in jeopardy. For the first danger there is a rem- 
 edy in the prudence of individuals; for the second, there is none. 
 
348 A HEMIPLEGIAN LAW. 
 
 No man need be drunk, nor need he jump out when the carriage 
 is in motion, but in the present state of science it is impossible to 
 guard effectually against the fracture of the axletree, or the explo- 
 sion of the engine; and if the safety of the one party cannot be 
 consulted but by the dangers of the other, if the foolish cannot be 
 restrained but by the unjust incarceration of the wise, the prior 
 consideration is due to those who have not the remedy for the evil 
 in their own hands. 
 
 But the truth is—and so (after a hundred monopolizing exper- 
 iments on public patience) the railroad directors will find it—there 
 can be no other dependence for the safety of the public than the 
 care which every human being is inclined to take of his own life 
 and limbs. Everything beyond this is the mere lazy tyranny of 
 monopoly, which makes no distinction between human beings and 
 brown paper parcels. If riding were a monopoly, as travelling in 
 carriages is now become, there are many gentlemen whom I see 
 riding in the Park upon such false principles, that I am sure the 
 cantering and galloping directors would strap them, in the ardour 
 of their affection, to the saddle, padlock them to the stirrups, or 
 compel them to ride behind a policeman of the stables; and noth- 
 ing but a motion from O’Brien, or an order from Gladstone, could 
 release them. 
 
 Let the company stick up all sorts of cautions and notices within 
 their carriages and without; but, after that, no doors locked. If 
 one door is allowed to be locked, the other will soon be so too; 
 there is no other security to the public than absolute prohibition 
 of the practice. The directors and agents of the Great Western 
 are individually excellent men; but the moment men meet in pub- 
 lic boards, they cease to be collectively excellent. The fund of 
 morality becomes less, as the individual contributors increase in 
 number. I do not accuse such respectable men of any wilful vio- 
 lation of truth, but the memoirs which they are about to present 
 will be, without the scrupulous cross-examination of a committee _ 
 of the House of Commons, mere waste-paper. ie pd 
 
 But the most absurd of all legislative enactments is this hemi- — 
 plegian law —an act of Parliament to protect one side of the body 
 and not the other. If the wheel comes off on the right, the open 
 door is uppermost, and every one is saved. If, from any sudden 
 avalanche on the road, the carriage is prostrated to the left, the 
 
RAILWAY TRAVELLING. 349 
 
 locked door is uppermost, all escape is impossible, and the railroad 
 martyrdom begins. 
 
 Leave me to escape in the best way I can, as the fire-officers very 
 kindly permit me to do. I know very well the danger of getting 
 out on the off-side ; but escape is the affair of a moment; suppose 
 a train to have passed at that moment, I know I am safe from any 
 other trains for twenty minutes or half an hour; and if I do get 
 out on the off-side I do not remain in the valley of death between 
 the two trains, but am over to the opposite bank in an instant — 
 only half-roasted or merely browned, certainly not done enough 
 for the Great Western directors. 
 
 On Saturday morning last, the wheel of the public carriage, in 
 which a friend of mine was travelling, began to smoke, but was 
 pacified by several buckets of water, and proceeded. After five 
 more miles, the whole carriage was full of smoke, the train was 
 with difficulty stopped, and the flagrant vehicle removed. The 
 axle was nearly in two, and in another mile would have been 
 severed. 
 
 Railroad travelling is a delightful improvement of human life. 
 Man is become a bird; he can fly longer and quicker than a Solan 
 goose. ‘The mamma rushes sixty miles in two hours to the aching 
 finger of her conjugating and declining grammar-boy. The early © 
 Scotchman scratches himself in the morning mists of the north, 
 and has porridge in Piccadilly, before the setting sun. The Pusey- 
 ite priest, after a rush of one hundred miles, appears with his little 
 volume of nonsense at the breakfast of his bookseller. Everything 
 is near, everything is immediate—time, distance, and delay, are 
 abolished. But, though charming and fascinating as all this is, 
 we must not shut our eyes to the price we shall pay for it. There 
 will be every three or four years some dreadful massacre — whole 
 trains will be hurled down a precipice, and two hundred or three 
 hundred persons will be killed on the spot. There will be every 
 now and then a great combustion of human bodies, as there has 
 
 - been at Paris; then all the newspapers up in arms—a thousand 
 ‘regulations forgotten as soon as the directors dare— loud screams 
 of the velocity whistle—monopoly locks and bolts as before. 
 
 The locking plea of directors is philanthropy; and I admit that 
 to guard men from the commission of moral evil is as philanthropi- 
 eal as to prevent physical suffering. There is, I allow, a strong 
 
350 SACRIFICES A BISHOP. 
 
 propensity in mankind to travel on railroads without paying; and 
 to lock mankind in till they have completed their share of the con- 
 tract, is benevolent, because it guards the species from degrading 
 and immoral conduct; but to burn or crush a whole train, merely 
 to prevent a few immoral insides from not paying, is, I hope, a 
 little more than Ripon or Gladstone will bear. 
 
 We have been, up to this point, very careless of our railway 
 regulations. The first person of rank who is killed will put every- 
 thing in order, and produce a code of the most careful rules. I 
 hope it will not be one of the bench of bishops; but should it be 
 so destined, let the burned bishop—the unwilling Latimer—re- 
 member that, however painful gradual concoction by fire may be, 
 his death will produce unspeakable benefit to the public. Even 
 Sodor and Man will be better than nothing. -From that moment 
 the bad effects of the monopoly are destroyed ; no more fata ul defer- 
 ence to the directors ; no despotic incarceration ; no barb: in- 
 attention to the anatomy and physiology of the human a 
 commitment to locomotive prisons, with warrant. We shall then 
 find it possible— 
 
 “Voyager libre sans mourir.” 
 
 Sypnery SiTH. 
 JUNE 7, 1842. 
 
 BURNING ALIVE ON RAILROADS. 
 To the Editor of the Morning Chronicle :— 
 
 Srr :— Having gradually got into this little — respects 
 ing the burning human beings alive on the railroads, Imust beg leave, 
 preparatory to the introduction of the bill, to say a few more words 
 on the subject. If I could have my will in these matters, I would 
 introduce into the bill a clause absolutely prohibitory of all lock- 
 ing doors on railroads; but as that fascinating board, the Board of 
 Trade, does not love this, and as the public may, after some repe- 
 titions of roasted humanity, be better prepared for such peremptory 
 legislation, the better method, perhaps, will be, to give to the Board 
 of 'Trade the power of opening doors (one or both), with the custom- 
 ary penalties against the companies for disobedience of orders, and 
 then the Board may use this power as the occasion may require. 
 
 To pass a one-legged law, giving power over one door, and not — 
 the other, would, perhaps be too absurd for human endurance. If — 
 
 * 
 
SAFETY DEMANDED. 351 
 
 railroad companies were aware of their real and extended inter- 
 ests, they would not harass the public by vexatious regulations, - 
 nor, under the plea of humanity (though: really for purposes of 
 economy), expose them to serious peril. The country are very 
 angry with themselves for having granted the monopoly, and very 
 angry for the instances of carelessness and oppression which have 
 appeared in the working of the system: the heaviest fines are inflict- 
 ed by coroner’s juries, the heaviest damages are given by common 
 juries. Railroads have daily proof of their unpopularity. If Par- 
 liament get out of temper with these metallic ways, they will visit 
 them with laws of iron, and burst upon them with the high pres- 
 sure of despotism. 
 
 The wayfaring men of the North will league with the wayfaring 
 men of the West— South and East will join hand in hand against 
 them. All the points of the compass will combine against these ven- 
 
 ders of elocity and traders in transition. I hope a clause will be 
 introduced, compelling the Board of Trade to report twice a year to 
 Parliament, upon the accidents of railroads, their causes, and their 
 prevention. The public know little or nothing of what happens 
 on the rail. All the men with letters upon the collars of their 
 coats are sworn to secrecy —nothing can be extracted from them ; 
 when anything happens they neither appear to see nor hear you. 
 
 In case of conflagration, you would be to them as so many joints 
 on the spit. It has occurred to five hundred persons, that soft im- 
 pediments behind and before (such as wool), would prevent the 
 dangers of meeting or overtaking. It is not yet understood why a 
 carriage on fire at the end of the train cannot be seen by the driver 
 of the engine. All this may be great nonsense; but the public ought 
 to know that these points have been properly considered; they 
 should know that there are a set of officers paid to watch over their 
 interests, and to guard against the perpetual encroachments, the 
 carelessness, the insolence, and the avarice of monopoly. 
 
 Why do not our dear Ripon and our youthful Gladstone see 
 this, and come cheerfully to the rescue? and instead of wrapping 
 themselves up in transcendental philosophy, and the principles of 
 letting-aloneness, why do they not at once do what ought to be done 
 
 | —what must be done—and what, after many needless butcheries, 
 
 ‘ they will at last be compelled todo? Yours, SYDNEY SMITH. 
 
 June 18, 1842. 
 
852 SIR ROBERT PEEL. 
 
 [Sir Robert Peel having insinuated, in the House of Commons, 
 that the zeal of Sydney Smith in the Railway Question might be 
 owing to personal fear, the following characteristic reply appeared 
 in a daily paper. | 
 
 To Srr Rosert PEEL :— 
 
 A cruel attack upon me, Sir Robert, to attribute all my inter- 
 ference with the arbitrary proceedings of railroads to personal fear. 
 Nothing can be more ungrateful and unkind. I thought only of 
 you, and for you, as many whig gentlemen will bear me testimony, 
 who rebuked me for my anxiety. I said to myself and to them, 
 “Our lovely and intrepid minister may be overthrown on the rail. 
 The locked door may be uppermost. He will kick and call on the 
 Speaker and Sergeant-at-Arms in vain. Nothing will remain of 
 all his graces, his flexibility, his fascinating, facetious fun, his social 
 warmth ; nothing of his flow of soul, of his dear heavy pleasantry, 
 of his prevailing skill to impart disorderly wishes to the purest 
 heart. Nothing will remain of it at all, but a heap of ashes for 
 the parish church of Tamworth. He perishes at the moment he 
 is becoming as powerful in the drawing-room of Court as in the 
 House of Parliament—at the moment when Hullah (not without 
 hopes of ultimate success), is teaching him to sing and Melnotte 
 to dance.” 
 
 I have no doubt of your bravery, Sir Robert, though you have 
 of mine; but then consider what different lives we have led, and 
 what a school of courage is that troop of yeomanry at Tamworth, 
 the Tory Fencibles. Who can doubt of your courage who has 
 seen you at their head, marching up Pitt street, through Dundas 
 square, on the Liverpool lane, and looking all the while like those 
 beautiful medals of Bellona Frigida and Mars sine sanguine, the 
 very horses looking at you as if you were going to take away 
 three per cent. of their oats! After such spectacles as these, the 
 account you give of your own courage cannot be doubted. The 
 only little circumstance which I cannot entirely reconcile to the 
 possession of this very high attribute in so eminent a degree is, 
 that you should have selected, for your uncourteous attack, enemies 
 who cannot resent, and a place where there can be no reply. 
 
 I am, sir, your obedient servant, 
 SypNeY Sirs. 
 

 
THE IRISH CHURCH. 363 
 
 A FRAGMENT ON 
 
 THE IRISH ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH.* 
 
 Tue revenue of the Irish Roman Catholic Church is made up 
 of half-pence, potatoes, rags, bones, and fragments of old clothes, 
 
 * This unrevised fragment was found among the papers of Sydney Smith 
 after his death. It was first published in April, 1845, with the prefatory 
 remark that, “if it serve no other purpose, will, at least, prove that his last, 
 as well as his earliest efforts, were exerted for the promotion of religious 
 freedom, and may satisfy those who have objected to his later writings, be- 
 cause his own interest appeared to be bound up with his opinions, that he 
 did not hesitate to the last moment of his life, boldly to advocate what he 
 considered to be justice to others.”” The manuscript was accompanied by the 
 following Private Memoranda of Subjects intended to have been introduced 
 in the Pamphlet, &c. The subjects marked by a star are treated of in the 
 Fragment. 
 
 Debates in the House of Commons in 1825, on the motion of Lord F. 
 Egerton, for the support of the Roman Catholic clergy. Printed separ- 
 ately, I believe, in Ireland. 
 
 Evidence before the House of Commons, in 1824 and 1825, including 
 Doyle’s. 
 
 A Speech of Charles Grant’s, in 1819, on a motion of James Daly to enforce 
 the Insurrection Act. 
 
 Debates on Maynooth, in February last ( 4B44)e 
 
 Hard case of the priest’s first year. 
 
 Provision offered by Pitt and Castlereagh, and accepted by the hierarchy. 
 
 * Send ambassadors to Constantinople, and refuse to send them to Rome. 
 
 England should cast off its connection with the Irish Church. 
 
 Lord F. Egerton’s plan for paying the Roman Catholic clergy in 1825. The 
 
 prelates agree to take the money. 
 
 * Old mode of governing by Protestants at an end. 
 
 * Vast improvements since the Union, and fully specified in Martin, page 35. 
 
 * Priests dare not thwart the people, for fear of losing money. 
 
 * Dreadful oppression of the i 
 
 * Bishops dare not enforce their rules. They must have money. 
 
yy: 
 364 SHE IS NOT WELL. 
 
 and those Irish old clothes. They worship often in hovels, or in 
 the open air, from the want of any place of worship. Their 
 religion is the religion of three fourths of the population! Not 
 
 far off, in a well-windowed and well-roofed house, is a well-paid _ 
 
 Protestant clergyman, preaching to stools and hassocks, and crying 
 in the wilderness; near him the clerk, near him the sexton, near 
 him the sexton’s wife—furious against the errors of Popery, and 
 willing to lay down their lives for the great truths established at 
 the Diet of Augsburg. 
 
 There is a story in the Leinster family which passes under the 
 name of 
 
 “ She is not well.” 
 
 A. Protestant clergyman, whose church was in the neighbourhood, 
 was a guest at the house of that upright and excellent man, the 
 Duke of Leinster. He had been staying there three or four days ; 
 and on Saturday night, as they were all retiring to their rooms, 
 the duke said, “ We shall meet to-morrow at breakfast.” “ Not so,” 
 said our Milesian Protestant; “your hour, my lord, is a little too 
 late for me; I am very particular in the discharge of my duty, and 
 your breakfast will interfere with my church.” .The duke was 
 pleased with the very proper excuses of his guest, and they sep- 
 arated for the night; his grace, perhaps, deeming his palace more 
 safe from all the evils of life for containing in its bosom such an 
 exemplary son of the Church; ‘The first person, however, whom 
 the duke saw in the morning, upon entering the breakfast-room, 
 was our punctual Protestant, deep in rolls and butter, his finger in 
 an egg, and a large slice of the best Tipperary ham secured on his 
 plate. “Delighted to see you, my dear vicar,” said the duke; 
 “but I must say as much surprised as delighted.” “Oh, don’t you 
 know what has happened?” said the sacred breakfaster, “she is 
 not well.” “Who is not well?” said the duke: “you are not 
 married— you have no sister living—I’m quite uneasy; tell me 
 who is not well.” “ Why, the fact is, my lord duke, that my con- 
 gregation consists of the clerk, the sexton, and the sexton’s wife. 
 Now the sexton’s wife is in very delicate health: when she cannot 
 attend, we cannot muster the number mentioned in the rubric ;. and 
 we have, therefore, no service on that day. ‘The good woman had 
 a cold and sore throat this morning, and, as I had breakfasted but 
 slightly, I thought I might as well hurry back to the regular family 
 
 o* 
 
O’CONNELL. 365 
 
 dejeuner.” I don’t know that the clergyman behaved improperly ; 
 but sucha church is hardly worth an insurrection and civil war 
 every ten years. 
 
 Sir Robert did well in fighting it out with O’Connell. He was 
 
 ~ too late; but when he began he did it boldly and sensibly, and I, 
 
 for one, am heartily. glad O’Connell has been found guilty and 
 imprisoned. He was either in earnest about Repeal or he was not. 
 If he was in earnest, I entirely agree with Lord Grey and Lord 
 Spencer, that civil war is preferable to Repeal. Much as I hate 
 wounds, dangers, privations, and explosions—much as I love 
 regular hours of dinner—foolish as I think men covered with 
 the feathers of the male Pullus domesticus, and covered with lace 
 
 in the course of the ischiatic nerve—much as I detest all these 
 
 follies and ferocities, I would rather turn soldier myself than 
 acquiesce quietly in such a separation of the empire. 
 
 It is such a piece of nonsense, that no man can haye any rever- 
 ence for himself who would stop to discuss such a question. It is 
 such a piece of anti-British villany, that none but the bitterest 
 enemy of our blood and people could entertain such a project! 
 It is to be met only with round and grape—to be answered by 
 Shrapnel and Congreve; to be discussed in hollow squares, and 
 refuted by battalions four deep; to be put down by the ultima 
 ratio of that armed Aristotle, the Duke of Wellington. 
 
 O’Connell is released; and released, I have no doubt, by the 
 conscientious decision of the law lords. If he was unjustly (even 
 from some technical defect) imprisoned, I rejoice in his liberation. 
 England is, I believe, the on/y country in the world where such an 
 event could have happened, and a wise Irishman (if there be a 
 wise Irishman) should be slow in separating from a country whose 
 spirit can produce, and whose institutions can admit, of such a 
 result. Of his guilt no one doubts, but guilty men must be hung 
 technically and according to established rules; upon a statutable 
 gibbet, with parliament rope, and a legal hangman, sheriff, and 
 chaplain on the scaffold, and a mob in the foreground. 
 
 But, after all, | have no desire my dear Daniel should come to 
 any harm, for I believe there is a great deal of virtue and excel- 
 lent meaning in him, and I must now beg a few minutes’ conversa- 
 tion with him. “ After all, my dear Daniel, what is it you want? 
 —a separation of the two countries ?— for what purpose ?—for 
 
3866 ERIN GO BRAGH! 
 
 your own agerandizement ?—for the gratification of your personal 
 vanity? You don’t know yourself; you are much too honourable 
 and moral a man, and too clearsighted a person for such a business 
 as this: the empire will be twisted out of your hands by a set of 
 cut-throat villains, and you will die secretly by a poisoned potato, 
 or be pistolled in the streets. You have too much sense, and 
 taste, and openness, to endure for a session, the stupid and auda- 
 cious wickedness and nonsense of your associates. If you want 
 fame, you must be insatiable! Who is so much known in all Eu- 
 rope, or so much admired by honest men for the real good you had 
 done to your country, before this insane cry of Repeal? And 
 don’t imagine you can intimidate this government; whatever be 
 their faults or merits, you may take my word for it, you will not 
 intimidate them. ‘They will prosecute you again, and put down 
 your Clontarf meetings, and they will be quite right in doing so. 
 They may make concessions, and I think they will; but they would 
 fall into utter contempt, if they allowed themselves to be terrified 
 into a dissolution of the Union. They know full well that the En- 
 glish nation are unanimous and resolute upon this point, and that 
 they would prefer war to a Repeal. And now, dear Daniel, sit 
 down quietly at Derrynane, and tell me, when the bodily frame is 
 refreshed with the wine of Bordeaux, whether all this is worth 
 while. What is the object of all government? The object of all 
 government is roast mutton, potatoes, claret, a stout constable, an 
 honest justice, a clear highway, a free chapel. What trash to be 
 bawling in the streets about the Green Isle, the Isle of the Ocean! 
 the bold anthem of Erin go Bragh! A far better anthem would 
 be Erin go bread and cheese, Erin go cabins that will keep out 
 the rain, Erin go pantaloons without holes in them! What folly 
 to be making eternal declamations about governing yourselves! If 
 laws are good and well administered, is it worth while to rush into 
 war and rebellion, in order that no better laws may be made in 
 another place? Are you an Eton boy, who has just come out, full 
 of Plutarch’s Lives, and considering in every case how Epaminon- 
 das or Philopeemen would have acted, or are you our own dear 
 Daniel, drilled in all the business and bustle of life? I am with 
 you heart and soul in my detestation of all injustice done to Ire- 
 land. Your priests shall be fed and paid, the liberties of your 
 Church be scrupulously guarded, and in civil affairs the most even 
 
PAYING THE CLERGY. 367 
 
 justice be preserved between Catholic and Protestant. Thus far 
 I am a thorough rebel as well as yourself; but when you come to 
 the perilous nonsense of Repeal, in common with every honest man 
 who has five grains of common sense, I take my leave.” 
 
 It is entertaining enough, that although the Irish are beginning 
 to be so clamorous about making their own laws, that the wisest 
 and the best statutes in the books have been made since their union 
 with England. All Catholic disabilities have been abolished; a 
 good police has been established all over the kingdom; public 
 courts of petty sessions have been instituted ; free trade between 
 Great Britain and Ireland has been completely carried into effect ; 
 lord lieutenants are placed in every county ; church-rates are taken 
 off Catholic shoulders ; the county grand jury rooms are flung open 
 to the public ; county surveyors are of great service; a noble pro- 
 vision is made for educating the people. I never saw a man who 
 had returned to Ireland after four or five years’ absence, who did 
 not say how much it had improved, and how fast it was improving ; 
 and this is the country which is to be Erin-go-bragh’d by this shal- 
 low, vain, and irritable people into bloodshed and rebellion ! 
 
 The first thing to be done is to pay the priests, and after a little 
 time they will take the money. One man wants to repair his cot- 
 tage; another wants a buggy; a third cannot shut his eyes to the 
 dilapidations of a cassock. The draft is payable at sight in Dub- 
 lin, or by agents in the next market town dependent upon the com- 
 mission in Dublin. The housekeeper of the holy man is importu- 
 nate for money, and if it is not procured by drawing for the salary, 
 it must be extorted by curses and comminations from the ragged 
 worshippers, slowly, sorrowfully, and sadly. There will be some 
 opposition at first, but the facility of getting the salary without the 
 violence they are now forced to use, and the difficulties to which 
 they are exposed in procuring the payment of those emoluments 
 to which they are fairly entitled, will, in the end, overcome all ob- 
 stacles.* And if it does not succeed, what harm is done by the 
 
 * Smith had a conversation with Dr. Doyle, at a time he was anxious to 
 learn as far as possible what effect the measures he was proposing would have 
 upon the Catholics. He proposed that Government should pay the Catholic 
 priests. “‘ They would not take it,” said Dr. Doyle. ‘Do you mean to say, 
 that if every priest in Ireland received to-morrow morning a Government letter 
 with a hundred pounds, FIRST QUARTER of their year’s income, they would re- 
 
Se 
 
 * 
 
 . 868 TENANTLESS PEWS. 
 
 fe 
 
 attempt? It evinces on the part of this country the strongest dis- 
 position to do what is just, and to apply the best remedy to the 
 ereatest evil; but the very attempt would do good, and would be 
 felt in the great Catholic insurrection, come when it will. All re- 
 bellions and disaffections are general and terrible in proportion as 
 one party has suffered, and the other inflicted; any great measure 
 of conciliation, proposed in the spirit of kindness, is remembered, 
 and renders war less terrible, and opens avenues to peace. 
 
 The Roman Catholic priest could not refuse to draw his salary 
 from the state without incurring the indignation of his flock. 
 “ Why are you to come upon us for all this money, when you can 
 ride over to Sligo or Belfast, and draw a draft upon government 
 for the amount?” It is not easy to give a satisfactory answer to 
 this, to a shrewd man who is starving to death. 
 
 Of course, in talking of a government payment to the Catholic 
 priest, I mean it should be done with the utmost fairness and good 
 faith no attempt to gain patronage, or to make use of the pope as 
 a stalking-horse for playing tricks. Leave the patronage exactly 
 as you find it ; and take the greatest possible care that the Catho- 
 lic clergy have no reason to suspect you in this particular ; do it 
 like a gentleman, without shuffling and prevarication, or leave it 
 alone altogether. 
 
 The most important step in improvement which mankind ever 
 made, was the secession from the see of Rome, and the establish- 
 ment of the Protestant religion; but though I have the sincerest 
 admiration of the Protestant faith I have no admiration of Prot- 
 estant hassocks on which there are no knees, nor of seats on 
 which there is no superincumbent Protestant pressure, nor of 
 whole acres of tenantless Protestant pews, in which no human 
 being of the five hundred sects of Christians is ever seen. IT have 
 no passion for sacred emptiness, or pious vacuity. The emoluments 
 of those livings in which there are few or no Protestants, ought, 
 after the death of the present incumbents, to be appropriated in 
 part to the uses of the predominant religion, or some arrangements 
 made for superseding such utterly useless ministers immediately, 
 securing to them the emoluments they possess. 
 
 Can any honest man say, that in parishes (as is the case fre- 
 
 fuse it?” “ Ah, Mr. Smith,” said Dr. Doyle, ‘ you’ve such a way of putting 
 things ?”—Lady Holland’s Memoir, p. 276. 
 
TITHES. 369 © 
 
 quently in Ireland) containing 3000 or 4000 Catholics and 40 or 
 50 Protestants, there is the smallest chance of the majority being 
 converted? Are not the Catholics (except in the North of Ire- 
 land, where the great mass are Presbyterians) gaining everywhere 
 on the Protestants? The tithes were originally possessed by the 
 Catholic Church of Ireland. Not one shilling of them is now 
 devoted to that purpose. An immense majority of the common 
 people are Catholics; they see a church richly supported by the 
 spoils of their own church establishments, in whose tenets not one 
 tenth part of the people believe. Is it possible to believe this can 
 endure ?—that a light, irritable, priest-ridden people will not, 
 under such circumstances, always remain at the very eve of re- 
 bellion, always ready to explode when the finger of Daniel touches 
 the hair trigger? —for Daniel, be it said, though he hates shedding 
 blood in small quantities, has no objection to provoking kindred 
 nations to war. He very properly objects to killing or being 
 killed by Lord Alvanly ; but would urge on ten thousand Pats in 
 civil combat against ten thousand Bulls. His objections are to 
 small homicides ; and his vow that he has registered in Heaven is 
 only against retail destruction, and murder by piecemeal. He 
 does not like to teaze Satan by driblets; but to earn eternal tor- 
 ments by persuading eight million Irish, and twelve million Britons 
 no longer to buy and sell oats and salt meat, but to butcher each 
 other in God’s name to extermination. And what if Daniel dies, 
 of what use his death? Does Daniel make the occasion, or does 
 the occasion make Daniel?— Daniels are made by the bigotry 
 and insolence of England to Ireland; and till the monstrous 
 abuses of the Protestant Church in that country are rectified, there 
 will always de Daniels, and they will always come out of their 
 dens more powerful and more popular than when you cast them in. 
 
 I do not mean by this unjustly and cowardly to run down 
 O’Connell.. He has been of eminent service to his country in the 
 qnestion of Catholic Emancipation, and I am by no means satis- 
 fied that with the gratification of vanity there are not mingled 
 genuine feelings of patriotism and a deep sense of the injustice 
 done to his country. His first success, however, flung him off his 
 guard; and perhaps he trusted too much in the timidity of the 
 present government, who are by no means composed of irresolute 
 
 or weak men. 
 16% 
 
 4. 
 
 ‘*’ 
 
370 JOINVILLE. 
 
 If I thought Ireland quite safe, I should still object to injustice. 
 I could never endure in silence that the Catholic Church of Ire- 
 land should be left in its present state; but I am afraid France 
 and England can now afford to fight; and having saved a little 
 money, they will, of course, spend it in fighting. That puppy of 
 the waves, young Joinville, will steam over in a high-pressure 
 fleet!—and then comes an immense twenty per cent. income-tax 
 war, a universal insurrection in Ireland, and a crisis of misery 
 and distress, in which life will hardly be worth having. The 
 struggle may end in our favour, but it may not; and the object of 
 political wisdom is to avoid these struggles. I want to see jolly 
 Roman Catholic priests secure of their income without any motive 
 for sedition or turbulence. I want to see Patricks at the loom; 
 cotton and silk factories springing up in the bogs; Ireland a rich, 
 happy, quiet country !—scribbling, carding, cleaning, and making 
 calico, as if mankind had only a few days more allotted to them 
 for making clothes, and were ever after to remain stark naked. 
 
 Remember that between your impending and your past wars 
 with Ireland there is this remarkable difference. You have given 
 up your Protestant auxiliaries; the Protestants enjoyed in for- 
 mer disputes all the patronage of Ireland; they fought not only 
 from religious hatred, but to preserve their monopoly ;—that mo- 
 
 - nopoly is gone; you have been candid and just for thirty years, 
 
 ~ and have lost those friends whose swords were always ready 
 
 to defend the partiality of the government and to stifle the ery of 
 
 * justice. The next war will not be between Catholic and Protest- 
 ant, but between Ireland and England. 
 
 I have some belief in Sir Robert. He is a man of great under- 
 standing, and must see that this eternal O’Connelling will never 
 do, that it is impossible it can last. We are in a transition state, 
 and the Tories may be assured that the baronet will not go too 
 fast. If Peel tells them that the thing must be done, they may 
 be sure it is high time to do it; they may retreat mournfully and 
 sullenly before common justice and common sense, but retreat 
 they must when Tamworth gives the word—and in quick-step 
 too, and without loss of time. . 
 
 And let me beg of my dear Ultras not to imagine that they 
 survive for a single instant without Sir Robert—that they could 
 form an ulra-tory administration. Is there a Chartist in Great 
 
 
 
DIPLOMATIC ENGAGEMENTS. 371 
 
 Britain who would not, upon the first intimation of such an attempt, 
 order a new suit of clothes, and call upon the baker and milkman 
 for an extended credit? Is there a political reasoner who would 
 not come out of his hole with a new constitution? Is there one 
 ravenous rogue who would not be looking for his prey? Is there 
 one honest man of common sense who does not see that universal 
 disaffection and civil war would follow from the blind fury, the 
 childish prejudices and the deep ignorance of such a sect? I 
 have a high opinion of Sir Robert Peel, but he must summon up 
 all his political courage, and do something next session for the pay- 
 ment of the Roman Catholic priests. He must run some risk of 
 shocking public opinion; no greater risk, however, than he did in 
 Catholic Emancipation. I am sure the Whigs would be true to 
 him, and I think I observe that very many obtuse country gentle- 
 men are alarmed by the state of Ireland, and the hostility of 
 France and America. 
 
 Give what you please to the Catholic priests, habits are not 
 broken ina day. ‘There must be time as well as justice, but in 
 the end these things have their effect. A buggy, a house, some 
 field near it, a decent income paid quarterly; im the long run 
 these are the cures of sedition and disaffection; men don’t quit the 
 common business of life, and join bitter political parties, unless 
 they have something justly to complain of. 
 
 But where is the money —about £400,000 per concn ae 
 come from? Out of the pockets of the best of men, Mr. Thomas 
 Grenville, out of the pockets of the bishops, of Sir Robert Inglis, 
 and all other men who pay all other taxes; and never will public 
 money be so well and wisely employed! 
 
 It turns out that there is no law to prevent entering into diplo- 
 matic engagements with the pope. The sooner we become ac- 
 quainted with a gentleman who has so much to say to eight mil- 
 lions of our subjects, the better! Can anything be so childish and 
 absurd as a horror of communicating with the pope, and all the 
 hobgoblins we have imagined of premunires and outlawries for 
 this contraband trade in piety? Our ancestors (strange to say, 
 wiser than ourselves), have left us to do as we please, and the sooner 
 government do what they can do legally, the better. A thousand 
 opportunities of doing good in Irish affairs have been lost, from 
 our having no avowed and dignified agent at the Court of Rome. 
 
me 
 
 372° ECCLESIASTICAL PAYMENTS. ne 
 
 - , ma. 
 If it depended upon me, I would send the Duke’ of Devonshire 
 there to-morrow, with nine chaplains and several tons of Protés 
 tant theology. I have no love of popery, but the pope is at all 
 events better than the idol of Juggernaut, whose chaplains I be- 
 
 lieve we pay, and whose chariot I dare say is made in Long 
 ~~ ‘Acre. We pay £10,000.a year to our ambassador at Constanti- 
 
 nople, and are startled with the idea of communicating diplomati- 
 cally with Rome, deeming the Sultan a better Christian than the 
 pope! 
 
 The mode of exacting clerical dues in Ireland is quite arbitrary 
 and capricious. Uniformity is out of the question; everything de- 
 pends on the disposition and temper of the clergyman. There are 
 salutary regulations put forth in each diocese respecting church 
 dues and church discipline, and put forth by Episcopal and synod- 
 ical authority. Specific sums are laid down for mass, marriage, 
 and the administration of the Eucharist. These authorized pay- 
 
 _ments are moderate enough, but every priest, in spite of these 
 
 rules, makes the most he can of his ministry, and the strangest dis- 
 crepancy prevails, even in the same diocese, in the demands made 
 upon thé people. The priest and his flock are continually coming 
 into collision on pecuniary matters. Twice a year the holy man 
 collects confession money under the denomination of Christmas 
 and Easter offerings. He selects, in every neighbourhood, one or 
 two houses in which he holds stations of confession. Very disa- 
 ereeable scenes take place when additional money is demanded, or 
 when additional time for payment 1 craved. The first thing done 
 when there is a question of marr. ae a couple is, to make a bar- 
 gain about the marriage money. ‘The wary minister watches the 
 palpitations, puts on a shilling for every sigh, and two-pence on 
 every tear, and maddens the impetuosity of the young lovers up 
 to a pound sterling. ‘The remuneration prescribed by the diocesan ~ 
 statutes, is never thought of for a moment; the’ priest makes as 
 hard a bargaim as he can, and the bed the poor peasants are to 
 lie upon is sold, to make their concubinage lawful ;—but every 
 one present at the marriage is to contribute ;—-the minister, after 
 begging and entreating some time to little purpose, gets into a vio- 
 lent rage, abuses and is abused ;—and in this way is celebrated 
 one of the sacraments of the Catholic Church !— The same scenes 
 of altercation and abuse take place when gossip-money is refused | 
 
 ° aan? 
 a 
 
sous 9 SR _ IRISH CHURCH SUPPOR®. % 3738 
 
 *® ‘ poe ee eer ee : a! ey: 
 
 4 
 
 — ; 
 at baptisms ; but the most painful scenes take place at. extreme 
 unetion, a ceremony to which the common people in Ireland attach + 
 the utmost importance. “ Pay me beforehand—this is not enough 
 —TI insist upon more, I know you can afford it, I insist upon a 
 larger fee !’—and all this before the dying man, who feels he has 
 not an hour to live! and believes that salvation depends upon the” 
 timely application of this sacred grease. & 
 Other bad consequences arise out of the present system: of Trish 
 Church support. Many of the clergy are constantly endeavouring 
 to overreach and undermine one another. Every man looks to his 
 own private emolument, regardless of all covenants, expressed or 
 implied. The curate does not make a fair return to the parish 
 priest, nor the parish priest to the curate. There is a universal ia 
 scramble !—every one gets what he can, and seems. to think he 
 would be almost justified in appropriating the whole to himself. 
 And how can all this be otherwise? How are the poor, wretched 
 clergy to live, but by setting a high price on their theological la- 
 bours, and using every incentive of fear and superstition to extort 
 from six millions of beggars the little payments wanted for the 
 bodies of the poor, and the support of life! .I maintain that it is 
 shocking and wicked to leave the religious guides of six millions of 
 people in such a state of destitution !—to bestow no more thought 
 upon them than upon the clergy of the Sandwich Islands! If I 9” 
 were a member of the cabinet, and met my colleagues once a week, 
 to eat birds and beasts, and to talk over the state of the world, I 
 should begin upon Ireland before the soup was finished, go on 
 through fish, turkey, and saddle of mutton, and never end till the 
 last thimbleful of claret had passed down the throat of the incred- 
 ulous Haddington: but there théy sit, week after week ; there they 
 come, week after week; the Piccadilly Mars, the Scotch Neptune, 
 Themis Lyndhurst, the Tamwor th baronet, dear Goody, and dearer 
 Gladdy,* and think no more of paying the Catholic clergy, than a 
 man of real fashion does of paying his tailor! And there is no 
 excuse for this in fanaticism. There is only one man in the 
 cabinet who objects from reasons purely fanatical, because the 
 Pope is the Scarlet Lady, or the Seventh Vial, or the Little Horn. 
 All the rest are entirely of opinion that it ought to be done—that 
 it is the one thing needful; but they are afraid of bishops and 
 
 * Lord Goderich and the Right Hon. William Ewart Gladstone, 
 
 
 
 
 
 ae 
 
B74 LIVINGS. 
 
 county meetings, newspapers, and pamphlets, and reviews ; all fair 
 enough objects of apprehension, but they must be met, and en- 
 countered, and put down. It is impossible that the subject can be 
 much longer avoided, and that every year is to produce a deadly 
 struggle with the people, and a long trial in time of peace with O’ 
 ~ somebody, the patriot for the time being, or the general, perhaps, 
 in time of a foreign war. 
 
 If I were a bishop, living beautifully in a state of serene pleni- 
 tude, I don’t think I could endure the thought of so many honest, 
 pious, and laborious clergymen of another faith, placed in such 
 disgraceful circumstances! I could not get into my carriage with 
 jelly-springs, or see my two courses every day, without remem- 
 bering the buggy and the bacon of some poor old Catholic bishop, 
 ten times as laborious, and with much more, perhaps, of theological 
 learning than myself, often distressed for a few pounds! and bur- 
 thened with duties utterly disproportioned to his age and strength. 
 ‘I think, if the extreme comfort of my own condition did not ex- 
 tinguish all feeling for others, I should sharply commiserate such a 
 church, and attempt with ardour and perseverance to apply the 
 proper remedy. Now let. us bring names and well-known scenes 
 before the English reader, to give him a clearer notion of what 
 passes in Catholic Ireland. The living of St. George’s, Hanover 
 Square, is a benefice of about £1500 per annum, and a good house. 
 It is in the possession of Dr. Hodgson, who is also Dean of Car- 
 lisle, worth, I believe, about £1500 more. A more comfortable 
 existence can hardly be conceived. Dr. Hodgson is a very worthy, 
 amiable man, and I am very glad he is as rich as he is: but sup- 
 pose he had no revenues but what he got off his own bat—sup- 
 pose that instead of tumbling through the skylight, as his income 
 now does, it was procured by Catholic methods. The Doctor tells 
 Mr. Thompson he will not marry him to Miss Simpson under 
 £30; Thompson demurs, and endeavours to beat him down. The 
 Doctor sees Miss Simpson; finds her very pretty; thinks Thomp- 
 son hasty, and after a long and undignified negotiation, the Doctor 
 gets his fee. Soon after this he receives a message from Place, 
 the tailor, to come and anoint him with extreme unction. He re- 
 pairs to the bed-side, and tells Mr. Place that he will not touch him 
 under a suit of clothes, equal to £10: the family resist, the alter- 
 cation goes on before the perishing artisan, the price is reduced to 
 
A REAL BISHOP. 375 
 
 £8, and Mr. Place is oiled. On the ensuing Sunday the child of 
 Lord B. is to be christened; the godfathers and godmothers will 
 only give a sovereign each; the Doctor refuses to do it for the 
 money, and the church is a scene of clamour and confusion. These 
 are the scenes which, under similar circumstances, would take 
 place here, for the congregation want the comforts of religion with- 
 out fees, and will cheat the clergyman if they can; and the clergy- 
 man who means to live, must meet all these artifices with stern re- 
 sistance. And this is the wretched state of the Irish Roman Cath- 
 olic clergy !—a miserable blot and stain on the English nation! 
 What a blessing to this country would a real bishop be! A man 
 who thought it the first duty of Christianity to allay the bad pas- 
 sions of mankind, and to reconcile contending sects with each 
 other. What peace and happiness such a man as the Bishop of 
 London might have conferred on the empire, if, instead of chan- 
 ging black dresses for white dresses, and administering to the frivo- 
 
 lous disputes of foolish zealots, he had laboured to abate the hatred 
 
 of Protestants for the Roman Catholics, and had dedicated his 
 powerful understanding to promote religious peace in the two 
 countries. Scarcely any bishop is sufficiently a man of the world 
 to deal with fanatics. ‘The way is not to reason with them, but to 
 ask them to dinner. -They are armed against logic and remon- 
 strance, but they are puzzled in a labyrinth of wines, disarmed by 
 facilities and concessions, introduced to a new world, come away 
 thinking more of hot and cold, and dry and sweet, than of Newman, 
 Keble, and Pusey. So mouldered away Hannibal’s army at Capua! 
 So the primitive and perpendicular prig of Puseyism is softened 
 into practical wisdom, and coaxed into common sense. Providence 
 gives us generals, and admirals, and chancellors of the exchequer ; 
 but I never remember in my time a real bishop—a grave, elderly 
 man, full of Greek, with sound views of the middle voice and pre- 
 terperfect tense, gentle and kind to his poor- clergy, of powerful 
 and commanding eloquence; in Parliament never to be put down 
 when the great interests of mankind were concerned ; leaning to 
 the government when 7 was right, leaning to the people when 
 they were right; feeling that the Spirit of God had called him to 
 that high office, he was called for no mean purpose, but rather 
 that, seeing clearly and acting boldly, and intending purely, he 
 might confer lasting benefits upon mankind. 
 
 wee 
 
376 STATE PAYMENT. 
 
 We consider the Irish clergy as factious, and as encouraging the 
 bad anti-British spirit of the people. How can it be otherwise ? 
 They live by the people; they have nothing to live upon but the 
 voluntary oblations of the people; and they must fall into the same 
 spirit as the people, or they would be starved to death. No mar- 
 riage ; no mortuary masses; no unctions to the priest who preached 
 against O’Connell ! 
 
 Give the clergy a maintenance separate from the will of the 
 people, and you will then enable them to oppose the folly and 
 madness of the people. ‘The objection to the state provision does 
 not really come from the clergy, but from the agitators and repeal- 
 
 rs: these men see the immense advantage of carrying the clergy 
 with them in their agitation, and of giving the sanction of religion 
 to political hatred; they know that the clergy, moving in the same 
 direction with the people, have an immense influence over them ; 
 and they are very wisely afraid, not only of losing this co-opera- 
 ting power, but of seeing it, by a state provision, arrayed against 
 them. I am fully convinced that a state payment to the Catholic 
 clergy, by leaving ‘to that laborious and useful body of men the 
 exercise of their free judgment, would be the severest blow that 
 Irish agitation could receive. 
 
 For advancing these opinions, I have no doubt I shall be assailed 
 by Sacerdos, Vindex, Latimer, Vates, Clericus, Aruspex, and be 
 called atheist, deist, democrat, smuggler, poacher, highwayman, 
 Unitarian, and Edinburgh Reviewer! Still, J am in the right— 
 and what I say requires excuse for being trite and obvious, not for 
 being mischievous and paradoxical. I write for three reasons ; 
 first, because I really wish to do good; secondly, because, if I 
 don’t write, I know nobody else will; and thirdly, because it is the 
 nature of the animal to write, and I cannot help it. _ Still, in look- 
 ing back I see no reason to repent. What I have said ought to be 
 done, generally has been done, but always twenty or thirty years 
 too late; done, not, of course, because I have said it, but because 
 it was no longer possible to avoid doing it. Human beings cling 
 to their delicious tyrannies, and to their exquisite nonsense, like a 
 drunkard to his bottle, and go on till death stares them in the face. 
 The monstrous state of the Catholic Church in Ireland will 
 probably remain till some monstrous ruin threatens the very exist- 
 
INFLUENCE OVER THE PEOPLE. 3TT 
 
 ence of the empire, and Lambeth and Fulham are cursed by the 
 affrighted people. 
 
 T have always compared the Protestant church in Ireland (and 
 I believe my friend, Thomas Moore, stole the simile from me) to 
 the institution of butchers’ shops in all the villages of our Indian 
 empire. “We will have a butcher’s shop in every village, and 
 you, Hindoos, shall pay for it. We know that many of you do 
 not eat meat at all, and that the sight of beef-steaks is particularly 
 offensive to you; but still, a stray European may pass through 
 your village, and want a steak or a chop: the shop shall be estab- 
 lished; and you shall pay for it.” . This is English legislation for 
 Ireland!! There is no abuse like it in all Europe, in all Asia, in 
 all the discovered parts of Africa, and in all we have heard of 
 Timbuctoo! It is an error that requires twenty thousand armed 
 men for its protection in time of peace; which costs more than a 
 million a year; and which, in the first French war, in spite of the 
 puffing and panting of fighting steamers, will and must break out 
 into desperate rebellion. 
 
 It is commonly said, if the Roman Catholic priests are paid by 
 the state, they will lose their influence over their flocks; not their 
 fair influence—not that influence which any wise and good man 
 would wish to see in all religions —not the dependence of humble 
 ignorance upon prudence and piety—only fellowship in faction, 
 and fraternity in rebellion; all that will be lost. A peep-of-day 
 clergyman will no longer preach to a peep-of-day congregation — 
 a Whiteboy vicar will no longer lead the psalm to Whiteboy 
 vocalists ; but everything that is good and wholesome will remain. 
 This, however, is not what the anti-British faction want; they 
 want all the animation which piety can breathe into sedition, and 
 all the fury which the priesthood can preach to diversity of faith : 
 and this is what they mean by a clergy losing their influence over 
 the people! The less a clergyman exacts of his people, the more 
 his payments are kept out of sight, the less will be the friction 
 with which he exercises the functions of his office. A poor 
 Catholic may respect a priest the more who marries, baptizes, and 
 anoints ; but he respects him because he associates with his name 
 and character the performance of sacred duties, not because he 
 exacts heavy fees for doing so. Double fees would be a very doubt- 
 ful cure for skepticism; and though we have often seen the tenth 
 
878 EFFECT OF PAYMENT. 
 
 of the earth’s produce carted away for the benefit of the clergy- 
 man, we do not remember any very lively marks of satisfaction 
 and delight which it produced in the countenance of the decimated 
 person. I am thoroughly convinced that state payments to the 
 Catholic clergy would remove a thousand causes of hatred between 
 the priest and his flock, and would be as favourable to the increase 
 of his useful authority, as it would be fatal to his factious influence 
 over the people. 
 
MACKINTOSH. 3879 
 
 SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH. 
 
 LETTER ON THE CHARACTER OF SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH.* 
 
 My pear Sir: You ask for some of your late father’s letters: 
 I am sorry to say I have none to send you. Upon principle, I 
 keep no letters except those on business. I have not a single 
 letter from him, nor from any human being in my possession. 
 
 The impression which the great talents and amiable qualities of 
 your father made upon me, will remain as long as I remain. 
 When I turn from living spectacles of: stupidity, ignorance, and 
 
 * It may assist the reader to recall the chief facts of Mackintosh’s Life. He 
 was born in the county of Inverness, Scotland, in 1765. He was educated at 
 Aberdeen and in Edinburgh, where he took the degree of Doctor of medicine 
 in 1787. He was called to the English bar in 1795; in 1803 received the 
 honour of knighthood, on his appointment as Recorder of Bombay; dis- 
 charged the duties of that office, in India, from 1804 till 1811; returned to 
 Britain in 1812; in the following year was elected Member of Parliament for 
 Nairnshire. In 1818, he became Professor of Law and General Politics, at 
 Hayleybury College, an institution for the civil servants of the East India 
 Company, and was, the same year, chosen Member of Parliament for Knares- 
 borough, which he continued to represent till his death. He was chosen 
 Lord-Rector of the University of Glasgow in 1823, and made Privy-Coun- 
 cillor by Canning, in 1827, He died in 1832. His chief writings were his 
 Vindicie Gallicz, a reply to Burke’s Reflections on the French Revolution, 
 at the age of twenty-six, in 1791; his Introductory Discourse on the Law of 
 Nature and Nations; a Dissertation on the History and Progress of Ethical 
 Philosophy, a History of the early English Reigns for Lardner’s Cabinet 
 Cyclopedia, a Life of Sir Thomas More, and various articles in the Edin- 
 burgh Review. His Life, Correspondence, and Journals, were published by 
 his son, Robert James Mackintosh, to which work this Letter, by Sydney 
 Smith, was an important contribution. 
 
 % 
 
380 HIS CONVERSATION. 
 
 malice, and wish to think better of the world——I remember my 
 great and benevolent friend Mackintosh. 
 
 The first points of character which everybody noticed in him 
 were the total absence of envy, hatred, malice, and uncharitable- 
 ness. He could not hate—he did not know how to set about it. 
 The gall-bladder was omitted in his composition, and if he could 
 have been persuaded into any scheme of revenging himself upon 
 an enemy, I am sure (unless he had been narrowly watched) it 
 would have ended in proclaiming the good qualities, and promoting 
 the interests of his adversary. Truth had so much more power 
 over him than anger, that (whatever might be the provocation) he 
 could not misrepresent, nor exaggerate. In questions of passion 
 and party, he stated facts as they were, and reasoned fairly upon 
 them, placing his happiness and pride in equitable discrimination. 
 Very fond of talking, he heard patiently, and, not averse to intel- 
 lectual display, did not forget that others might have the same 
 inclination as himself. 
 
 Till subdued by age and illness, his conversation was more bril- 
 liant and instructive than that of any human being I ever had the 
 good fortune to be acquainted with. His memory (vast and pro- 
 digious as it was) he so managed as to make it a source of pleas- 
 ure and instruction, rather than that dreadful engine of colloquial 
 oppression into which it is sometimes erected. He remembered 
 things, words, thoughts, dates, and everything that was wanted. 
 His language was beautiful, and might have gone from the fireside 
 to the press ; but though his ideas were always clothed in beautiful 
 language, the clothes were sometimes too big for the body, and 
 common-thoughts were dressed in better and larger apparel than 
 they deserved. He certainly had this fault, but it was not one of 
 frequent commission.* 
 
 * There is a bit of humour in Smith’s Memoirs on this text. Writing to 
 Lord Holland, in 1826, he says: “It struck me last night, as I was lying in 
 bed, that Mackintosh, if he were to write on pepper, would thus describe it: 
 
 “<< Pepper may philosophically be described as a dusty and highly-pul- 
 verized seed of an Oriental fruit; an article rather of condiment than diet, 
 which, dispersed lightly over the surface of food, with no other rule than the 
 caprice of the consumer, communicates pleasure, rather than affords nutrition ; 
 and, by adding a tropical flavour to the gross and succulent viands of the 
 North, approximates the different regions of the earth, explains the objects 
 of commerce, and justifies the industry of man.’” 
 
HABIT OF EULOGY. 381 
 
 He had a method of putting things so mildly and interroga- 
 tively, that he always procured the readiest reception for his opinions. 
 Addicted to reasoning in the company of able men, he had two 
 valuable habits, which are rarely met with in great reasoners — he 
 never broke in upon his opponent, and always avoided strong and 
 vehement assertions. His reasoning commonly carried conviction, 
 tor he was cautious in his positions, accurate in his deductions, 
 aimed only at truth. ‘The ingenious side was commonly taken 
 by some one else; the interests of truth were protected by Mack- 
 intosh. 
 
 His good-nature and candour betrayed him into a morbid habit 
 of eulogizing everybody —a habit which destroyed the value of 
 commendations, that might have been to the young (if more spar- 
 ingly distributed) a reward of virtue and a motive to exertion.* 
 
 * Smith hit off this trait of his friend in a parody. The following is from 
 Lady Holland’s Memoir : — 
 
 “What a loss you had in not knowing Mackintosh! how was it?... Yes, 
 his manner was cold ; his shake of the hand came under the genus ‘ mortmain ;’ 
 but his heart was overflowing with benevolence. I like that simile I made on 
 him in my letter, of ‘a great ship cutting its cable ;’ it is fine, and it well 
 described Mackintosh. His chief foible was indiscriminate praise. I amused 
 myself the other day,’ said he, laughing, ‘in writing a termination of a 
 speech for him ; would you like to hear it? I will read it to you: — 
 
 “«<Tt is impossible to conclude these observations without expressing the 
 obligations I am under to a person in a much more humble scene of life —I 
 mean, sir, the hackney-coachman by whom I have been driven to this meet- 
 ing. To pass safely through the streets of a crowded metropolis must re- 
 quire, on the part of the driver, no common assemblage of qualities. He 
 must have caution without timidity, activity without precipitation, and courage 
 without rashness; he must have a ‘clear perception of his object, and a 
 dexterous use of his means. I can safely say of the individual in question, 
 that, for a moderate reward, he has displayed unwearied skill; and to 
 him I shall never forget that I owe unfractured integrity of limb, exemption 
 from pain, and perhaps prolongation of existence. 
 
 “<¢ Nor can I pass over the encouraging cheerfulness with which I was re- 
 ceived by the waiter, nor the useful blaze of light communicated by the link- 
 boys, as I descended from the carriage. It was with no common pleasure that I 
 remarked in these men, not the mercenary bustle of venal service, but the 
 genuine effusions of untutored benevolence; not the rapacity of subordinate 
 agency, but the alacrity of humble friendship. What may not be said of a 
 country where all the little accidents of life bring forth the hidden qualities 
 of the heart — where her vehicles are driven, her streets illumined, and her 
 bells answered, by men teeming with all the refinements of civilized life ? 
 
382 HUMOUR AND WIT. 
 
 Occasionally he took fits of an opposite nature; and I have seen 
 - him abating and dissolving pompous gentlemen with the most 
 successful ridicule. He certainly had a good deal of humour; 
 and I remember, amongst many other examples of it, that he kept 
 us for two or three hours in a roar of laughter, at a dinner-party 
 at his own house, playing upon the simplicity of a Scotch cousin, 
 who had mistaken me for my gallant synonym, the hero of Acre. 
 I never saw a more perfect comedy, nor heard ridicule so long 
 and so well sustained.* Sir James had not only humour, but he 
 had wit also; at least, new and sudden relations of ideas flashed 
 across his mind in reasoning, and produced the same effect as wit, 
 and would have been called wit, if a sense of their utility and im- 
 
 *¢T can not conclude, sir, without thanking you for the very clear and 
 distinct manner in which you have announced the proposition on which we 
 are to vote. It is but common justice to add that public assemblies rarely 
 witness articulation so perfect, language so select, and amanner so eminently 
 remarkable for everything that is kind, impartial, and just.’ ” 
 
 * This was in his early days at London, about the year 1807. Lady 
 Holland (Memoir, p. 87) tells the story: — 
 
 “It was on occasion of one of these suppers that Sir James Mackintosh 
 happened to bring with him a raw Scotch cousin, an ensign in a Highland 
 regiment. On hearing the name of his host he suddenly turned round, and, 
 nudging Sir James, said in an audible whisper, ‘Is that the great Sir Sud- 
 ney? ‘Yes, yes,’ said Sir James, much amused; and giving my father 
 the hint, on the instant he assumed the military character, performed the 
 part of the hero of Acre to perfection, fought all his battles over again, and 
 showed how he had charged the Turks, to the infinite delight of the young 
 Scotchman, who was quite enchanted’ with the kindness and condescension 
 of ‘the great Sir Sudney,’ as he called him, and to the absolute torture of 
 the other guests, who were bursting with suppressed laughter at the scene 
 before them. At last, after an evening of the most inimitable acting on the 
 part bothof my father and Sir James, nothing would serve the young High- 
 lander but setting off, at twelve o’clock at night, to fetch the piper of his re- 
 giment to pipe to ‘the great Sir Sudney,’ who said he had never heard the 
 bagpipes, upon which the whole party broke up and dispersed instantly, for Sir 
 James said his Scotch cousin would infallibly cut his throat if he discovered 
 his mistake. A few days afterward, when Sir James Mackintosh and his 
 Scotch cousin were walking in the streets, they met my father with my mother 
 on his arm. He introduced her as his wife, upon which the Scotch cousin 
 said in a low voice to Sir James, and looking at my mother, ‘I did na ken 
 the great Sir Sudney was married.’ ‘Why, no,’ said Sir James, a little em- 
 barrassed and winking at him, ‘not ex-act-ly married — only an Egyptian 
 slave he brought over with him; Fatima—you know— you understand.’ 
 My mother was long known in the little circle as Fatima.” .. 
 
 a 
 az 
 
RED TAPE. 883 
 
 portance had not often overpowered the admiration of novelty, 
 and entitled them to the higher name of wisdom. Then the great 
 thoughts and fine sayings of the great men of all ages were inti- 
 mately present to his recollection, and came out dazzling and de- 
 lighting in his conversation. Justness of thinking was a strong 
 feature in his understanding; he had a head in which nonsense 
 and error could hardly vegetate : it was a soil utterly unfit for them. 
 If his display in conversation had been only in maintaining splen- 
 did paradoxes, he would soon have wearied those he lived with ; 
 but no man could live long intimately with your father without 
 finding that he was gaining upon doubt, correcting error, enlar- 
 ging the boundaries, and strengthening the foundations of truth. 
 It was worth while to listen to a master, whom not himself, but 
 nature had appointed to the office, and who taught what it was 
 not easy to forget, by methods which it was not easy to resist.* 
 
 Curran, the master of the rolls, said to Mr. Grattan, “You 
 would be the greatest man of your age, Grattan, if you would buy 
 a few yards of red tape, and tie up your bills and papers.” This 
 was the fault or misfortune of your excellent father; he never 
 knew the use of red tape, and was utterly unfit for the common 
 business of life.t ‘That a guinea represented a quantity of shil- 
 
 *In 1801 Smith wrote to Jeffrey: ‘Nothing has pleased me more in Lon- 
 don than the conversation of Mackintosh. I never saw so theoretical a head 
 which contained so much practical understanding. He has lived much among 
 various men, with great observation, and has always tried his profound moral 
 speculations by the experience of life. He has not contracted in the world a 
 lazy contempt for theorists nor in the closet a peevish impatience of that 
 grossness and corruptibility of mankind, which are ever marring the schemes 
 of secluded benevolence. He does not wish for the best in politics or morals, 
 but for the best which can be attained; and what that is he seems to know 
 well. Now what J object to Scotch philosophers in general is, that they 
 reason upon man as they would upon a divinity ; they pursue truth without 
 earing if it be useful truth. They are more fond of disputing on mind and 
 matter than on anything which can have areference to the real world, inhabit- 
 ed by real men, women, and children; a philosopher that descends to the 
 present state of things is debased in their estimation. Look among our 
 friends in Edinburgh, and see if there be not some truth in this. I do 
 not speak of great prominent literary personages, but of the mass of 
 reflecting men in Scotland.” 
 
 +Smith, writing to the Countess Grey of Mackintosh’s visit to Foston 
 in 1823, says of his guest: ‘‘ Mackintosh had seventy volumes in his 
 
 ‘* = 4 
 
384 STUDIES. 
 
 ce 
 
 lings, and that it would barter for a quantity of cloth, he was well 
 aware; but the accurate number of the baser coin, or the just 
 measurement of the manufactured article, to which he was enti- 
 tled for his gold, he could never learn, and it was impossible 
 to teach him. Hence his life was often an example of the 
 ancient and melancholy struggle of genius, with the difficulties of 
 existence. 
 
 I have often heard Sir James Mackintosh say of himself, that 
 he was born to be the professor of a university. Happy, and for 
 ages celebrated, would have been the university, which had so 
 possessed him, but in this view he was unjust to himself. Still, 
 however, his style of speaking in Parliament was certainly more 
 academic than forensic; it was not sufficiently short and quick for 
 a busy and impatient assembly. He often spoke over the heads 
 of his hearers—was too much in advance of feeling for their sym- 
 pathies, and of reasoning for their comprehension. He began too 
 much at the beginning, and went too much to the right and left of 
 the question, making rather a lecture or a dissertation than a 
 speech. His voice was bad and nasal; and though nobody was 
 in reality more sincere, he seemed not only not to feel, but hardly 
 to think what he was saying. 
 
 Your father had very little science, and no great knowledge of 
 physics. His notions of his early pursuit—the study of medicine 
 —were imperfect and antiquated, and he was but an indifferent 
 classical scholar, for the Greek language has never crossed the 
 Tweed in any great force. In history the whole stream of time 
 was open before him; he had looked into every moral and meta- 
 physical question from Plato to Paley, and had waded through 
 morasses of international law, where the step of no living man 
 could follow him. Political economy is of modern invention; I 
 am old enough to recollect when every judge on the bench (Lord 
 Eldon and Sergeant Runnington excepted), in their charges to 
 the grand juries, attributed the then high prices of corn to the 
 scandalous combination of farmers. Sir James knew what is 
 commonly agreed upon by political economists, without taking 
 much pleasure in the science, and with a disposition to blame the 
 very speculative and metaphysical disquisitions into which it has 
 carriage! None of the glasses would draw up or let down, but one; and 
 he left his hat behind him at our house.” 
 
= 
 INTE . : 
 GRITY 385, 
 wandered, but with a full conviction also (which many able 
 men of his standing are without) of the immense importance of 
 the science to the welfare of society. 
 
 I think (though, perhaps, some of his friends may not agree 
 with me in this opinion) that he was an acute judge of character, 
 and of the good as well as evil in character. He was, in truth, 
 with the appearance of distraction and of one occupied with other 
 things, a very minute observer of human-nature; and I have seen 
 him analyze, to the very springs of the heart, men who had not 
 the most distant suspicion of the sharpness of his vision, nor a 
 belief that he could read anything but books. 
 
 Sufficient justice has not been done to his political integrity. 
 He was not rich, was from the northern part of the island, pos- 
 sessed great facility of temper, and had therefore every excuse 
 for political lubricity, which that vice (more common in those days 
 than I hope it will ever be again) could possibly require. Invited 
 by every party, upon his arrival from India, he remained stead- 
 fast to his old friends the whigs, whose admission to office, or en- 
 joyment of political power, would at that period have been con- 
 sidered as the most visionary of all human speculations; yet, 
 during his lifetime, everybody seemed more ready to have for- 
 given the tergiversation of which he was not guilty, than to 
 admire the actual firmness he had displayed. With all this he 
 never made the slightest efforts to advance his interests with his 
 political friends, never mentioned his sacrifices nor his services, 
 expressed no resentment at neglect, and was therefore pushed 
 into such situations as fall to the lot of the feeble and delicate in a 
 crowd. 
 
 A high merit in Sir James Mackintosh was his real and unaf- 
 fected philanthropy. He did not make the improvement of the 
 great mass of mankind an engine of. popularity, and a stepping- 
 stone to power, but he had a genuine love of human happiness. 
 Whatever might assuage the angry passions, and arrange the con- 
 flicting interests of nations; whatever could promote peace, in- 
 crease knowledge, extend commerce, diminish crime, and en- 
 courage industry; whatever could exalt human character, and 
 could enlarge human understanding; struck at once at the heart 
 of your father, and roused all his faculties. J have seen him in 
 a moment when this spirit came upon him—like a great ship of 
 
 17 
 
386 HOSPITALITY. 
 
 war—cut his cable, and spread his enormous canyass and launch 
 ‘into a wide sea of reasoning eloquence. 
 
 But though easily warmed by great schemes of benevolence and 
 human improvement, his manner was cold to individuals. There 
 was an apparent want of heartiness and cordiality. It seemed as 
 if he had more affection for the species than for the ingredients of 
 which it was composed. He was in reality very hospitable, and | 
 so fond of company, that he was hardly happy out ef it; but he 
 did not receive his friends with that honest joy which warms more 
 than dinner or wine.* ) 
 
 This is the good and evil of your father which comes upper- 
 most. If he had been arrogant and grasping; if he had been 
 faithless and false ; if he had always been eager to strangle infant 
 genius in its cradle; always ready to betray and to blacken those 
 with whom he sat at meat; he would have passed many men, 
 who, in the course of his long life, have passed him; but, without 
 selling his soul for pottage, if he only had had a little more pru- 
 dence for the promotion of his interests, and more of. angry 
 passions for the punishment of those detractors who envied his 
 fame and presumed upon his sweetness; if he had been more. 
 aware of his powers, and of that space which nature intended him 
 to occupy: he would have acted a great part in life, and remained 
 a character in history. As it is, he has left, in many of the best 
 men in England, and of the continent, the deepest admiration of 
 his talents, his wisdom, his knowledge, and his benevolence. 
 
 I remain, my dear sir, very truly yours, 
 
 SYDNEY SMITH. 
 
 * In reference to this passage a Quarterly reviewer remarked: “Mr. 
 Sydney Smith is remarkable for the quality he describes as wanting in 
 Mackintosh; and to have passed a day at Combe Florey, the paragon of 
 parsonages, is an epoch in the life of any man.” (Quar. Rey., Feb., 1836.) 
 
FRANCIS HORNER. 387 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF FRANCIS HORNER. 
 
 LETTER FROM SYDNEY SMITH TO LEONARD HORNER. 
 
 My pear Sir: You desire me to commit to paper my recol- 
 lections of your brother, Francis Horner. I think that the many 
 
 years which have elapsed since his death, have not at all impaired — 
 
 my memory of his virtues, at the same time that they have afforded 
 
 me more ample means of comparing him with other important hu- . 
 
 man beings with whom I have become acquainted since that 
 period. 
 
 I first made the acquaintance of Francis Horner at Edinburgh, 
 where he was among the most conspicuous young men in that en- 
 
 ergetic and infragrant city. My desire to know him proceeded ~ 
 
 first of all from being cautioned against him by some excellent and 
 feeble people to whom I had brought letters of introduction, and 
 who represented him to me as a person of violent political opinions. 
 I interpreted this to mean a person who thought for himself— 
 who had firmness enough to take his own line in life, and who 
 loved truth better than he loved Dundas, at that time the tyrant 
 of Scotland. I found my interpretation to be just, and from thence 
 till the period of his death, we lived in constant society, and friend- 
 ship with each other. 
 
 There was something very remarkable in his countenance — the 
 commandments were written on his face, and I have often told him 
 there was not a crime he might not commit with impunity, as no 
 judge or jury who saw him, would give the smallest degree of 
 credit to any evidence against him: there was in his look a calm 
 settled love of all that was honourable and good—an air of wis- 
 
 a” 
 
‘ee 
 
 388 PERSONAL TRAITS. 
 
 dom and of sweetness; you saw at once that he was a great man, 
 whom nature had intended for a leader of human beings; you 
 ranged yourself willingly under his banners, and cheerfully submit- 
 ted to his sway. 
 
 He had an intense love of knowledge ; he wasted very little of the 
 portion of life conceded to him, and was always improving himself, 
 not in the most foolish of all schemes of education, in making long 
 and short verses and scanning Greek choruses, but in the mascu- 
 line pursuits of the philosophy of legislation, of political economy, 
 of the constitutional history of the country, and of the history and 
 changes of Ancient and Modern Europe. He had read so much, 
 and so well, that he was a contemporary of all men, and a citizen 
 of all states. 
 
 I never saw any person who took such a lively interest in the 
 daily happiness of his friends. If you were unwell, if there was 
 a sick child in the nursery, if any death happened in your family, 
 he never forgot you for an instant! You always found there was 
 a man with a good heart who was never far from you. 
 
 He loved truth so much, that he never could bear any jesting 
 
 upon important subjects. I remember one evening the late Lord 
 Dudley and myself pretended to justify the conduct of the govern- 
 ment in stealing the Danish fleet; we carried on the argument 
 with some wickedness against our graver friend; he could not 
 stand it, but bolted indignantly out of the room; we flung up the 
 sash, and, with loud peals of laughter, professed ourselves decided 
 Scandinavians ; we offered him not only the ships, but all the shot, 
 powder, cordage, and even the biscuit, if he would come back: but 
 nothing could turn him; he went home; and it took us a fortnight 
 _of serious behaviour before we were forgiven. 
 _ Francis Horner was a very modest person, which men of great 
 understanding seldom are. It was his habit to confirm his opin- 
 jon by the opinions of others; and often to form them from the 
 same source.* 
 
 * Writing to Jeffrey, in 1805, Smith says: “Horner is a very happy 
 man; his worth and talents are acknowledged by the world at a more early 
 period than those of any independent and upright man I ever remember. He 
 verifies an observation I have often made, that the world do not dislike origi- 
 nality, liberality, and independence, so much as the insulting arrogance with 
 
 which they are almost always accompanied. Now, Horner pleases the best 
 judges, and does not offend the worst.” 
 
SIMPLICITY OF CHARACTER. 3889 
 
 His success in the House of Commons was decided and imme- 
 diate, and went on increasing to the last day of his life. Though 
 put into Parliament by some of the great borough lords, every,one 
 saw that he represented his own real opinions: without hereditary 
 wealth, and known as a writer in the Edinburgh Review, his inde- 
 pendence was never questioned: his integrity, sincerity, and mod- 
 eration, were acknowledged by all sides, and respected even by 
 those impudent assassins who live only to discourage honesty and 
 traduce virtue. The House of Commons as a near relative of 
 mine once observed,* has more good taste than any man in it. 
 Horner, from his manners, his ability, and his integrity, became a 
 general favourite with the House; they suspended for him their 
 habitual dislike of lawyers, of political adventurers, and of young 
 men of conseederable taalents from the North. 
 
 Your brother was wholly without pretensions or affectation. I 
 have lived a long time in Scotland, and have seen very few af- 
 fected Scotchmen; of those-few he certainly was not one. In the 
 ordinary course of life, he never bestowed a thought upon the effect 
 he was producing; he trusted to his own good nature, and good 
 intentions, and left the rest to chance. 
 
 Having known him well before he had acquired a great London 
 reputation, I never observed that his fame produced the slightest 
 alteration in his deportment; he was as affable to me, and to all 
 his old friends, as when we were debating metaphysics in a garret 
 in Edinburgh. I don’t think it was in the power of ermine or 
 mace, or seals, or lawn, or lace, or of any of those emblems and or- 
 naments with which power loves to decorate itself, to have destroyed 
 the simplicity of his character. I believe it would have defied all 
 the corrupting appellations of human vanity: Severe, Honourable, 
 Right Honourable, Sacred, Reverend, Right Reverend, Lord High, 
 Earl, Marquis, Lord Mayor, Your Grace, Your Honour, and 
 every other vocable which folly has invented, and idolatry cherished, 
 would all have been lavished on him in vain. 
 
 The character of his understanding was the exercise of vigorous 
 reasoning, in pursuit of important and difficult truth. He had no 
 wit; nor did he condescend to that inferior variety of this electric 
 talent which prevails occasionally in the North, and which, under 
 the name of Wut, is so infinitely distressing to persons of good 
 
 * His brother Robert Smith. 
 
390 VIRTUES. 
 
 taste. He had no very ardent and poetical imagination, but he 
 had that innate force, which, 
 
 
 
 ‘“ Quemvis perferre laborem 
 Suasit, et induxit noctes vigilare serenas 
 Querentem dictis quibus, et quo carmine demum, 
 Clara suze possit preepandere lumina menti.”* 
 
 Your late excellent father, though a very well-informed person, 
 was not what would be called a literary man, and you will readily 
 concede to me that none of his family would pretend to rival your 
 brother in point of talents. I never saw more constant and high- 
 principled attention to parents than in his instance; more habitual 
 and respectful deference to their opinions and wishes. I never 
 saw brothers and sisters, over whom he might have assumed a 
 family sovereignty, treated with more cheerful and endearing 
 equality. I mention these things, because men who do good 
 things are so much more valuable than those who say wise ones ; 
 because the order of human excellence is so often inverted, and 
 great talents considered as an excuse for the absence of obscure 
 virtues. 
 
 Francis Horner was always very guarded in his political opin- 
 ions; guarded, I mean, against the excesses into which so many 
 young men of talents were betrayed by their admiration of the 
 French revolution. He was an English Whig, and no more than an 
 English Whig. He mourned sincerely over the crimes and madness 
 of France, and never, for a single moment, surrendered his under- 
 standing to the novelty and nonsense which infested the world at 
 that strange era of human affairs. 
 
 I remember the death of many eminent Englishmen, but I can 
 safely say, I never remember an impression so general as that ex- 
 
 * Part of the address of Lucretius to Memmius in the opening of his great 
 philosophical poem De Rerum Natura, where the author is warmed by friend- 
 
 ship to overcome the difficulties of presenting Greek themes in Latin meas- 
 ures; in Creech’s loose version :— 
 “Yet for respect of you with great delight 
 
 I meet these dangers, and I wake all night, 
 
 Labouring fit numbers and fit words to find, 
 
 To make things plain and to instruct your mind, 
 
 And teach her to direct her curious eye 
 
 Into coy nature’s greatest privacy.” 
 
 Smith has adapted the passage by some slight changes. 
 
OBITUARY. 8391 
 
 cited by the death of Francis Horner.* The public looked upon 
 him as a powerful and safe man, who was labouring, not for him- 
 self or his party, but for them. They were convinced of his talents, 
 they confided in his moderation, and they were sure of his motives; 
 he had improved so quickly and so much, that his early death was 
 looked upon as the destruction of a great statesman, who had done 
 but a small part of the good which might be expected from him, 
 who would infallibly have risen to the highest offices, and as infal- 
 libly have filled them to the public good. Then, as he had never 
 lost a friend, and made so few enemies, there was no friction, no 
 drawback ; public feeling had its free course; the image of a good 
 and great man was broadly before the world, unsullied by any 
 breath of hatred; there was nothing but pure sorrow! Youth 
 destroyed before its time, great talents and wisdom hurried to the 
 grave, a kind and good man, who might have lived for the glory 
 of England, torn from us in the flower of his life !—pbut all this is 
 gone and past, and, as Galileo said of his lost sight, “It has pleased 
 God it should be so, and it must please me also.” 
 
 Ever truly, yours, SYDNEY SMITH. 
 Compe Frorey, 26th August, 1842. = 
 
 * Horner died at Pisa, in February, 1817, in the thirty-ninth year of his 
 age. He was born in Edinburgh, in 1778, and was the playmate, in child- 
 hood, of Henry Brougham. Educated at the University of Edinburgh, he 
 pursued his studies in England; wrote for the first number of the Edinburgh 
 Review, practised law in Scotland, and was called to the English bar in 1807. 
 He was best known by his career in the House of Commons, from 1806 to 
 his death. He was at home on the currency, the corn laws, and other labo- 
 rious questions of government and trade. His Memoir and Correspondence, 
 edited by his brother, Leonard Horner, to which Sydney Smith’s letter was 
 a contribution, are a noble monument to his memory. Lady Holland (Me- 
 moir, p. 154) supplies these additional memoranda of Sydney Smith’s affec- 
 tion and respect for his friend: ‘‘ My father speaks of his feelings on this 
 loss, in the following letter to Mr. Horner’s younger brother: ‘ Foston, 
 March, 23, 1817. I remember no misfortune of my life which I have felt so 
 deeply as the loss of your brother. I never saw any man who combined 
 together so much talent, worth, and warmth of heart; and we lived together 
 in habits of great friendship and affection for many years. I shall always re- 
 tain a most lively and affectionate remembrance of him to the day of my 
 death.’ Again, in a letter to Mr. John Whishaw (March 26, 1817), he 
 says: ‘I have received a melancholy fragment from poor Horner —a letter 
 half-finished at his death. I cannot say how much I was affected by it; in- 
 deed, on looking back on my own mind, I never remember to have felt an 
 event more deeply than his death.’ ”’ 
 
392 LETTERS. 
 
 PASSAGES FROM LETTERS. 
 
 VISITS OXFORD — CLIQUEISM. 
 
 (To Jeffrey, 1803.) Ihave been spending three or four days 
 in Oxford, in a contested election; Horner went down with me, 
 and was much entertained. I was so delighted with Oxford, after 
 my long absence, that I almost resolved to pass the long vacation 
 there, with my family, amidst the shades of the trees and the 
 silence of the monasteries. Horner is to.come down too; will you 
 join us? We would settle the fate of nations, and believe our- 
 selves (as all three or four men who live together do) the sole 
 repositories of knowledge, liberality, and acuteness. 
 
 
 
 LIFE OF A PARENT. 
 
 (To Jeffrey, London, 1803 or 1804.) Mrs. Sydney is pretty 
 well, and slowly recovering from her shock,* of which your kind- 
 ness and your experience enabled you to ascertain the violence. 
 Children are horribly insecure: the life of a parent is the life of 
 a gambler. 
 
 
 
 WELL-INFORMED WOMEN. 
 
 (To Jeffrey, London, 1804.) is here, and will cer- 
 tainly settle in Scotland next winter. She is, for a woman, well- 
 informed and very liberal: neither is she at all disagreeable; but 
 the information of a very plain woman is so inconsiderable, that I 
 agree with you in setting no very great store by it. I am no great 
 
 
 
 
 
 * The loss of her infant son. 
 
JEFFREY. 3938 
 
 physiognomist, nor have 1 much confidence in a science which pre- 
 tends to discover the inside from the out; but where I have seen 
 fine eyes, a beautiful complexion, grace and symmetry in women, 
 I have generally thought them amazingly well-informed and ex- 
 tremely philosophical. In contrary instances, seldom or never. 
 
 
 
 JEFFREYS ANALYSIS. 
 
 (To Jeffrey, London, 1804.) I certainly, my dear Jeffrey, in 
 conjunction with the Knight of the Shaggy Eyebrows,* do protest 
 against your increasing and unprofitable skepticism. I exhort 
 you to restrain the violent tendency of your nature for analysis, 
 and to cultivate synthetical propensities. What is virtue? What’s 
 the use of truth?  What’s the use of honour? What’s a guinea, 
 but a d—d yellow circle? The whole effort of your mind is to 
 destroy. Because others build slightly and eagerly, you employ 
 yourself in kicking down their houses, and contract a sort of 
 aversion for the more honourable, useful, and difficult task of build- 
 ing well yourself. : 
 
 
 
 TRIUMPH OF CIVILIZED LIFE. 
 
 (To Jeffrey, London, 1806.) Tell Murray that I was much 
 struck with the politeness of Miss Markham the day after he went. 
 In carving a partridge, I splashed her with gravy from head to 
 foot ; and though I saw three distinct brown rills of animal juice 
 trickling down her cheek, she had the complaisance to swear that 
 not a drop had reached her. Such circumstances are the triumphs 
 of civilized life. . 
 
 
 
 HINTS TO JEFFREY. 
 
 (To Jeffrey, London, 1806.) I must be candid with you, my 
 dear Jeffrey, and tell you that I do not like your article on the 
 Scotch Courts; and with me think many persons whose opinions 
 I am sure you would respect. I subscribe to none of your reason- 
 ings, hardly, about juries; and the manner in which you have 
 done, it is far from happy. You have made, too, some egregious 
 
 * Francis Horner. 
 
 17* 
 
394 MAXIMS. 
 
 f 
 
 mistakes about English law, pointed out to me by one of the first 
 lawyers of the King’s Bench. I like to tell you these things, 
 because you never do so well as when you are humbled and fright- 
 ened, and if you ‘could be alarmed into the semblance of modesty, 
 you would charm everybody; but remember my joke against you 
 about the moon: “ D—n the solar system! bad light—planets 
 too distant—pestered with comets—feeble contrivance; could 
 make a better with great ease.” 
 
 ~ 
 a 
 L& re 
 
 fo ‘ 
 
 
 
 PAYING IN, TURBOT. 
 
 (To Jeffrey; London, 1808.) I regret sincerely that so many 
 years have elapsed since we met. I hope, if you possibly can, you 
 will contrive to come to town this spring: we will keep open house 
 for you; you shall not be molested with large parties. You have 
 earned a very high reputation here, and you may eat it out in 
 turbot, at great people’s houses, if you please; though I well know 
 you would prefer the quiet society of your old friends. 
 
 
 
 MAXIMS. 
 
 (To Lady Holland, about 1809.) I mean to make some max- . 
 ims, like Rochefoucauld, and to preserve them. My first is this: 
 After having lived half their lives respectably, many men get tired 
 of honesty, and many women of propriety. 
 
 
 
 A SIGN OF THE STATE IN DIFFICULTY. 
 
 (Zo Earl Grey, 1809.) There is no man who thinks better 
 of what you and your coadjutors can and will do; but I can not 
 help looking upon it as a most melancholy proof of the miser- 
 able state of this country, when men of integrity and ability are 
 employed. If it were possible to have gone on without them, I 
 am sure they would never have been thought of. 
 
 
 
 ROGERS. 
 
 (Yo Lady Holland, 1815.) Many thanks for your letter. I 
 think you very fortunate in having Rogers at Rome. Show me a 
 
FORMING AN OPINION. 395 
 ' 
 
 more kind and friendly man; secondly, one, from good manners, 
 knowledge, fun, taste, and observation, more agreeable; thirdly, a 
 man of more strict political integrity, and of better character in 
 private life. If I were to choose any Englishman in foreign parts 
 whom I should wish to blunder upon, it should be Rogers. 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 (Zo Lady Holland, Poston, 1818.) I am comy we cannot 
 agree about Walter Scott. My test “of a book wr iter muse, is 
 amusement; but I am rather rash, and ought not to say I am 
 amused, before I have inquired whether Sharp or Mackintosh is 
 so. Whishaw’s* plan is the best: he gives no opinion for the first 
 week, but confines himself to chuckling and elevating his chin; in 
 the meantime, he drives diligently about the first critical stations, 
 breakfasts in Mark Lane, hears from Hertford College, and by 
 Saturday night is as bold as a lion, and a as decisive as a court of 
 justice. : 
 
 A DINNER-PARTY AT HOLLAND HOUSE. 
 
 (To the Oountess Grey.) We had a large party at dinner here 
 yesterday: Dr. Wollaston, the great philosopher, who did not say 
 one word; William Lamb; Sir Henry Bunbury; Palmella, the 
 Portuguese ambassador; Lord Aberdeen, the Exquisite; Sir 
 William Grant, a rake and disorderly man of the town, recently 
 Master of the Rolls; Whishaw, a man of fashion; Frere; Hallam, 
 of the “Middle Ages;” and myself. In spite of such heterogeneous 
 materials, we had a pleasant party. 
 
 * John Whishaw, the political and social friend of Mackintosh, and the Ro- 
 millys. Writing to Earl Grey, at the period of the Reform Bill, Smith says, 
 “Cultivate Whishaw ; he is one of the most sensible men in England.” And 
 previously, to John Allen, in 1826: ‘We have seen a good deal of old 
 Whishaw this summer ; he is as pleasant as he is wise and honest. He has 
 character enough to make him well rage a if he were dull, and wit enough 
 to make him popular if he were a rogue.’ 
 
 + This ironical passage has given rise to a curious correspondence between 
 the representatives of the family of one of the persons mentioned and Mrs. 
 Austin, the editor of the Letters. A nephew of Sir William Grant, William 
 Charles Grant, complains to the lady of the slander to the memory of his rel- 
 
; ea" _ a 
 396 AMERICA. is 1 
 
 * 
 
 TRAVELLERS IN AMERICA. 
 
 (To the Earl Grey, Foston, Nov. 30, 1818.) Dear Lord 
 Grey: I will send Lady Grey the news from London when I get 
 there. Iam sure she is too wise a woman not to be fond of gos- 
 siping; I am fond of it, and have some talents for it. 
 
 I recommend you to read Hall, Palmer, Fearon,and Bradbury’s 
 Travels in America, particularly Fearon. Those four books may, 
 with ease, be read through between breakfast and dinner. ‘There 
 is nothing so curious and interesting as the rapidity with which 
 the Americans are spreading themselves over that immense con- 
 tinent. 
 
 It is quite contrary to all probability that America should re- 
 main in an integral state. They aim at extending from sea to sea, 
 and have already made settlements on the Pacific. There can be 
 no community of interest between people placed under such very 
 different circumstances: the maritime Americans, and those who 
 communicate with Europe by the Mississippi are at this moment, 
 as far as interest can divide men, two separate people. There 
 does not appear to be in America at this moment one man of any 
 considerable talents. They are a very sensible people; and seem 
 to have conducted their affairs, upon the whole, very well. Birk- 
 beck’s second book is not so good as his first. He deceives him- 
 self—says he wishes to deceive himself—and is not candid. Ifa 
 man: chooses to say, “I will live up to my neck in mud, fight 
 bears, swim rivers, and combat backwoodsmen, that I may ulti- 
 
 ative (one of the most unexceptionable men in England in private and public 
 life), asks for its suppression, and a public denial commensurate with the in- 
 jury, adding that he supposes Sydney Smith ‘‘ to have been imposed upon by 
 some malicious person.” Mrs. Austin gravely promises to omit the offending 
 words from any future edition. The London Athensum (April 26, 1856), 
 which publishes the correspondence, as ‘‘'The Sequel to a Jest,”’ compares 
 the original passage with Pope’s ironical sketch (Epilogue to the Satires), 
 when he has invoked the spirit of the detractor Arnall to “aid me while I 
 lie” :— . 
 “‘Cobham’s a coward, Polwarth is a slave, 
 
 And Lyttleton a dark designing knave, 
 
 St. John has ever been a wealthy fool — 
 
 But let me add, Sir Robert’s mighty dull, 
 
 Has never made a friend in private life, 
 
 And was, besides, a tyrant to his wife,”? ~ 
 
. r 
 eh As 
 
 eo ye 
 TO HIS SON AT SCHOOL. 397 
 
 mately gain an independence for myself and children,” this is 
 plain and intelligible; but, by Birkbeck’s account, it is much like 
 settling at Putney or Kew; only the people are more liberal and 
 enlightened. ‘Their economy and their cheap government will do 
 some good in this country by way of example. Their allowance 
 to Monroe is £5,000 per annum; and he finds his own victuals, 
 fire, and candles! 
 _ Ever yours, dear Lord Grey, most sincerely, 
 Sypnrey SmirH. 
 
 
 
 TO HIS SON DOUGLAS. 
 
 (To Douglas Smith, Esq., King’s Scholar at Westminster College, 
 Foston Rectory, 1819.) My dear Douglas: Concerning this Mr. 
 , 1 would not have you put any trust in him, for he is not 
 trustworthy ; but so live with him as if one day or other he were 
 to be your enemy. With such a character as his, this is a neces- 
 sary precaution. 
 
 In the time you can give to English reading you should con- 
 sider what it is most needful to have, what it is most shameful to 
 want—shirts and stockings, before frills and collars. Such is the 
 history of your own country, to be studied in Hume, then in Ra- 
 pin’s History of England, with Tindal’s Continuation. Hume 
 takes you to the end of James the Second, Rapin and Tindal will 
 carry you to the end of Anne. Then, Coxe’s “ Life of Sir Robert 
 Walpole,” and the “ Duke of Marlborough ;” and these read with 
 attention to dates and geography. ‘Then, the history of the other 
 three or four enlightened nations in Europe. For the English 
 poets, I will let you off at present with Milton, Dryden, Pope, and 
 Shakespeare; and remember, always, in books, keep the best 
 company. Don’t read a line of Ovid till you have mastered 
 Virgil; nor a line of Thomson till you have exhausted Pope; nor 
 of Massinger, till you are familiar with Shakespeare. 
 
 I am glad you liked your box and its contents. Think of us as 
 we think of you; and send us the most acceptable of all presents 
 —the information that you are improving in all particulars. 
 
 The greatest of all human mysteries are the Westmiuster holi- 
 days. If you can get a peep behind the curtain, pray let us know 
 immediately the day of your coming home. 
 
 
 
* 
 
 398 OLD FRIENDS. 
 
 We have had about three or four ounces of rain here, that is 
 all. I heard of your being wet through in London, and envied 
 you very much. The whole of this parish is pulverized from 
 long and excessive drought. Our whole property depends upon 
 ‘the tranquillity of the winds: if it blow before it rains, we shall 
 all be up in the air in the shape of dust, and shall be transparished 
 we know not where. 
 
 God bless you, my dear boy! I hope we shall soon meet at 
 Lydiard. Your affectionate father, 
 
 SYDNEY SMITH. 
 
 REVISITS EDINBURGH. 
 
 (To Lady Mary Bennett, Dec. 1821.) In the first place I 
 went to Lord Grey’s, and stayed with them three or four days; 
 from thence I went to Edinburgh, where I had not been for ten 
 years. I found a noble passage into the town, and new since my 
 time; two beautiful English chapels, two of the handsomest 
 library-rooms in Great Britain, and a wonderful increase of shoes 
 and stockings, streets and houses. When I lived there, very few 
 maids had shoes and stockings, but plodded about the house with 
 feet as big as a family Bible, and legs as large as portmanteaus. 
 I stayed with Jeffrey. My time was spent with the Whig leaders 
 of the Scotch bar, a set of very honest, clever men, each posses- 
 sing thirty-two different sorts of wine. My old friends were glad 
 to see me; some had turned Methodists—some had lost their 
 teeth—some had grown very rich—some very fat—some were 
 dying—and, alas! alas! many were dead; but the world is a 
 coarse enough place, so I talked away, comforted some, praised 
 others, kissed some old ladies, and passed a very riotous week: 
 
 
 
 AN ARGILLACEOUS IMMORTALITY. 
 
 (Lo John Murray, Foston, 1821.) How little you understand 
 young Wedgewood! If he appears to love waltzing, it is only to 
 catch fresh figures for cream-jugs. Depend upon it, he will have 
 Jeffrey and you upon some of his vessels, and you will enjoy an 
 argillaceous immortality. 
 
ue 
 
 WAR. 399 
 
 ANTI-WAR. | 
 (To the Countess Grey, Foston, York, Feb. 19, 1823.) For 
 
 God’s sake, do not drag me into another war! I am worn down, 
 
 and worn out, with crusading and defending Europe, and protect-.. 
 
 ing mankind; I mus¢ think a little of myself. I am sorry for the 
 
 Spaniards—TI am sorry for the Greeks—TI deplore the fate of the. 
 
 Jews; the people of the Sandwich Islands are groaning under the 
 most detestable tyranny; Bagdad is oppressed —lI do not like the 
 present state of the Delta— Thibet is not comfortable. Am I to 
 fight for all these people? ‘The world is bursting with sin and 
 sorrow. Am I to be champion of the Decalogue, and to be 
 eternally raising fleets and armies to make all men good and 
 happy? We have just done saving Europe, and I am afraid the 
 consequence will be, that we shall cut each other’s throats. No 
 war, dear Lady Grey!—no eloquence; but apathy, selfishness, 
 common sense, arithmetic! I beseech you, secure Lord Grey’s 
 
 sword and pistols, as the housekeeper did Don Quixote’s armour. 
 
 If there is another war, life will not be worth having. I will go 
 to war with the King of Denmark if he is impertinent to you, or 
 does any injury to Howick; but for no other cause. 
 
 “ May the vengeance of Heaven” overtake all the Legitimates 
 of Verona! but, in the present state of rent and taxes, they must 
 be left to the vengeance of Heaven! I allow fighting in such a 
 cause to be a luxury; but the business of a prudent, sensible man, 
 is to guard against luxury. 
 
 AN ORATORIO. 
 
 (To Lady Holland, 1823.) Nothing can be more disgusting 
 than an Oratorio. How absurd, to see five hundred people fiddling 
 like madmen about the Israelites in the Red Sea! Lord Morpeth 
 pretends to say he was pleased, but I see a great change in him 
 since the music-meeting. Pray tell Luttrell he did wrong not to 
 come to the music. It tired me to death; it would have pleased 
 him. He is a melodious person, and much given to sacred music. 
 
 Tn his fits of absence I have heard him hum the Hundredth 
 Psalm! (Old Version.) 
 
 q 
 
400 TEMPERANCE. 
 
 JEFFREY. 
 
 (To Lady Holland, 1827.) Jeffrey has been here with his 
 adjectives, who always travel with him. His throat is giving way ; 
 so much wine goes down it, so many million words leap over it, 
 how can it rest? Pray make him a judge; he is a truly great 
 man, and is very heedless of his own interests. I lectured him 
 on his romantic folly of wishing his friends to be preferred before 
 himself, and succeeded, I think, in making him a little more selfish. 
 
 IRRELIGION AND IMPIETY. 
 
 (To Messrs , Booksellers, Foston, 1827.) I hate 
 the insolence, persecution, and intolerance, which so often pass un- 
 der the name of religion, and (as you know) I have fought against 
 them; but I have an unaffected horror of irreligion and impiety ; 
 and every principle of suspicion and fear would be excited in me 
 by a man who professed himself an infidel. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 TEMPERANCE. 
 
 (To Lady Holland, 1828.) Many thanks for your kind anxiety 
 respecting my health. I not only was never better, but never 
 half so well: indeed I find I have been very ill all my life, with- 
 out knowing it. Let me state some of the goods arising from 
 abstaining from all fermented liquors. First, sweet sleep; having 
 never known what sweet sleep was, I sleep like a baby or a 
 ploughboy. If I wake, no needless terrors, no black visions of 
 life, but pleasing hopes and pleasing recollections: Holland House, 
 past and tocome! If I dream, it is not of lions and tigers, but 
 of Easter dues and tithes. Secondly, I can take longer walks, 
 and make greater exertions, without fatigue. My understanding 
 is improved, and I comprehend Political Economy. I see better 
 without wine and spectacles than when I used both. Only one 
 evil ensues from it: I am in such extravagant spirits that I must 
 lose blood, or look out for some one who will bore and depress me. 
 Pray leave off wine: the stomach quite at rest; no heartburn, no 
 pain, no distension. 
 
MALTHUS. 401 
 
 TO THOMAS MOORE.* 
 
 (London, 1831.) My dear Moore: By the beard of the prelate 
 of Canterbury, by the cassock of the prelate of York, by the 
 breakfasts of Rogers, by Luttrell’s love of side-dishes, I swear 
 that I had rather hear you sing than any person I ever heard in 
 my life, male or female. For what is your singing but beautiful 
 poetry floating in fine music, and guided by exquisite feeling? 
 Call me Dissenter, say that my cassock is ill put on, that I know 
 not the delicacies of decimation, and confound the greater and the 
 smaller tithes; but do not think that I am insensible to your 
 music. ‘The truth is, that I took a solemn oath to Mrs. Beauclerk, 
 to be there by ten, and set off, to prevent perjury, at eleven; but 
 was seized with a violent pain in the stomach by the way, and 
 went to bed. Yours ever, my dear Moore, very sincerely. 
 
 | SYDNEY SMITH. 
 
 
 
 MALTHUS. 
 
 (To Lady Holland, Combe Florey, 1831.) Philosopher Mal- 
 thus came here last week. I got.an agreeable party for him of 
 unmarried people. ‘There was only one lady who had had a child ; 
 but he is a good-natured man, and, if there are no appearances of 
 approaching fertility, is civil to every lady. Malthus is a real 
 moral philosopher, and I would almost consent to speak as inarticu- 
 lately, if I could think and act as wisely. 
 
 PREFERMENT.—AT COURT. 
 
 (To the Countess of Morley, Bristol, 1831.) Dear Lady Mor- 
 ley: I have taken possession of my preferment. The house is in 
 Amen-corner—an awkward name on a card, and an awkward 
 annunciation to the coachman on leaving any fashionable mansion. 
 I find, too (sweet discovery !) that I give a dinner every Sunday, 
 for three months in the year, to six clergymen and six singing- 
 
 * In answer to a note of Moore expressing the regret, that “he had gone 
 away so soon from Ellis’s the other night, as I had improved (i. e., in my 
 singing) afterward, and he was one of the few I always wished to do my best 
 for.”— Moore’s Diary, June 15, 1831. 
 
ty 
 
 402 AT COURT. 
 
 men, at one o’clock. Do me the favour to drop-in as Mrs. Mor- 
 “ley. Idid the duty at St. Paul’s; the organ and music were ex- 
 
 cellent. 
 I went to Court, and, horrible to relate! with strings to my 
 
 shoes instead of buckles—not from Jacobinism, but ignorance. 
 I saw two or three Tory lords looking at me with dismay, was 
 informed by the Clerk of the Closet of my sin, and gathering my 
 sacerdotal petticoats about me (like a lady conscious of thick 
 ankles), I escaped further observation. My residence is in Febru- 
 ary, March, and July. 
 
 2 
 
 EDWARD IRVING. 
 
 (To the Countess of Morley.) Noble countenance, expressing 
 quite sufficient when at rest, too much when in activity. Middling 
 voice, provincial accent, occasional bad taste; language often very 
 happy, with flights of mere eloquence; not the vehicle of reason- 
 ing, or of profound remark. Very difficult, when the sermon was 
 over, to know what it was about; and the whole effect rather 
 fatiguing and tiresome. 
 
 READING IN AGE. 
 
 (To Lady Holland, Combe Florey, 1831.) Read Cicero’s 
 “ Letters to Atticus,” translated by the Abbé Mongon, with excel- 
 lent notes. I sit in my beautiful study, looking upon a thousand 
 flowers, and read agreeable books, in order to keep up arguments 
 with Lord Holland and Allen. I thank God heartily for my com- 
 fortable situation in my old age—above my deserts, and beyond 
 my former hopes. 
 
 TO EARL GREY IN OFFICE. 
 
 (1831.) Pray keep well, and do your best, with a gay and care- 
 less heart. What is it all, but the seratching of pismires upon a 
 heap of earth? Rogues are careless and gay, why not honest 
 men? Think of the Bill in the morning, and take your claret in 
 the evening, totally forgetting the Bill. You have done admi- 
 rably up to this time. 
 
r 
 ANTI-CHOLERA. 403 
 
 EPIGRAM ON PROFESSOR AIRY, 
 
 (To John Murray, Combe Florey, 1832.) We are living here 
 with windows all open, and eating our own ripe grapes grown in 
 the open air; but, in revenge, there is no man within twenty miles 
 who knows anything of history, or angles, or of the mind. I send 
 Mrs. Murray my epigram on Professor Airy,, of Cambridge, the 
 great astronomer and mathematician, and his beautiful wife :— 
 
 Airy alone has gained that double prize 
 
 Which forced musicians to divide the crown; 
 His works have raised a mortal to the skies, 
 
 His marriage vows haye drawn an angel down. 
 
 ANTI-CHOLERA. 
 
 (To the Oountess Grey, Combe Florey, 1832.) The cholera 
 will have killed by the end of the year about one person in 
 every thousand. Therefore it is a thousand to one (supposing 
 the cholera to travel at the same rate) that any person does 
 not die of the cholera in any one year. This calculation is for the 
 mass; but if you are prudent, temperate, and rich, your chance is 
 at least five times as good that you do not die of the cholera—in — 
 other words, five thousand to one that you do not die of cholera in 
 a year; it is not far from two millions to one that you do not die 
 any one day from cholera. It is only seven hundred and thirty 
 thousand to one that your house is not burnt down any one day. 
 Therefore it is nearly three times as likely that your house should 
 be burnt down any one day, as that you should die of cholera; or, 
 it is as probable that your house should be burnt down three times 
 in any one year, as that you should die of cholera. , 
 
 THE HAY-FEVER. 
 
 (To Dr. Holland, Combe Florey, June, 1835.) I am suffer- 
 ing from my old complaint, the hay-fever (as it is called). My 
 fear is, perishing by deliquescence; I melt away in nasal and 
 lachrymal profluvia. My remedies are warm pediluvium, cathar- 
 tics, topical application of a watery solution of opium to eyes, ears, 
 and the interior of the nostrils. The membrane is so irritable, 
 
404 SYMPATHY AND FAHRENHEIT. 
 
 that light, dust, contradiction, an absurd remark, the sight of a Dis- 
 senter—anything, sets me sneezing; and if I begin sneezing at 
 twelve, I don’t leave off till two o’clock, and am heard distinctly in 
 Taunton, when the wind sets that way—a distance of six miles. 
 Turn your mind to this little curse. If consumption is too power- 
 ful for physicians, at least they should not suffer themselves to be 
 outwitted by such little upstart disorders as the hay-fever. 
 
 OLD AGE TO BE PASSED IN THE CITY. 
 
 (To Mrs. , Paris, 1835.) I suspect the fifth act of life 
 should be in great cities; it is there, in the long death of old age, 
 that a man most forgets himself and his infirmities; receives the 
 greatest consolation from the attentions of friends, and the greatest 
 diversion from external circumstances. 
 
 
 
 _ AFFECTION AND THE THERMOMETER. 
 
 
 
 (To Mrs. , July, 1836.) Very high and very low tem- 
 perature extinguishes all human sympathy and relations. It is 
 impossible to feel affection beyond 78°, or below 20° of Fahrenheit ; 
 human nature is too solid or too liquid beyond these limits. Man 
 only lives to shiver or to perspire. God send that the glass may 
 fall, and restore me to my regard for you, which in the temperate 
 zone is invariable. 
 
 HIS PORTRAIT. 
 
 (To Lady Ashburton. With a Print.) Dear Lady Ashburton: 
 Miss Mildmay told me yesterday that you had been looking about 
 for a print of the Rev. Sydney Smith. Here he is—pray accept 
 him. I said to the artist, “ Whatever you do, preserve the ortho- 
 dox look.” 
 
 DIGESTION AND THE VIRTUES. 
 
 (To Arthur Kinglake, Combe Florey, 1837.) I am much 
 obliged by the present of your brother’s book.* I am convinced 
 * Kothen. 
 
GOUT. 409 
 
 immediately proceed upon, in preference to six American pam- 
 phlets I found upon my arrival, all promising immediate payment! 
 Yours ever. 
 
 
 
 A BREAKFAST. 
 
 (To Mrs. , Green Street, April 8, 1840.) Dear Mrs. 
 I wish I may be able to come on Monday, but I doubt. Will 
 you come to a philosophical breakfast on Saturday — ten o’clock 
 precisely? Nothing taken for granted! Everything (except the 
 Thirty-nine Articles) called in question—real philosophers ! 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 INVITATION TO THE OPERA. 
 
 (To Mrs. Meynell, Green Street, June, 1840.) Thy servant is 
 threescore-and-ten years old; can he hear the sound of singing 
 men and singing women? A Canon at the Opera! Where have 
 you lived? In what habitations of the heathen? I thank you, 
 shuddering; and am ever your unseducible friend. | 
 
 
 
 GOUT. 
 
 (To the Countess of Carlisle, 1840.) What a very singular 
 disease gout is! It seems as if the stomach fell down into the 
 feet. The smallest deviation from right diet is immediately pun- 
 ished by limping and lameness, and the innocent ankle and blame- 
 less instep are tortured for the vices of the nobler organs. The 
 stomach having found this easy way of getting rid of inconvenien- 
 ces, becomes cruelly despotic, and punishes for the least offences. 
 A plum, a glass of Champagne, excess,in joy, excess in grief— 
 any crime, however small, is sufficient for redness, swelling, spasms, 
 and large shoes. 
 
 
 
 VISIT TO AMERICA. 
 (To the Countess Grey, 1841.) I hear Morpeth is going to 
 America, a resolution I think very wise, and which I should 
 decidedly carry into execution myself, if I were not going to 
 
 Heaven. 
 18 
 
410 _ ST. ANTHONY. — 
 
 BOMBARDING .THE ASIATICS. 
 
 (To the Countess Grey, Oct. 1841.) The news from China 
 gives me the greatest pleasure. I am for bombarding all the 
 exclusive Asiatics, who shut up the earth, and will not let me 
 walk civilly and quietly through it, doing no harm, and paying 
 for all I want. 
 
 ST. ANTHONY. 
 
 (Zo Lady Ashburton, 1841.) You have very naturally, my dear 
 Lady Ashburton, referred to me for some information respecting 
 St. Anthony. The principal anecdotes related of him are, that 
 he was rather careless of his diet; and that, instead of confining 
 himself to boiled mutton and a little wine and water, he ate of 
 side-dishes, and drank two glasses of sherry, and refused to lead a 
 lite of great care and circumspection, such as his constitution re- 
 quired. The consequence was, that his friends were often alarmed 
 ~at his health; and the medical men of Jerusalem and Jericho were 
 in constant requisition, taking exorbitant fees, and doing him little 
 good. 
 
 CORRESPONDENCE—SUSAN HOPLEY—PUSEYITE. 
 
 (Lo Mrs. Crowe,* Combe Florey, Jan. 31, 1841.) Dear Mrs. 
 Crowe: I quite agree with you as to the horrors of correspond- 
 ence. Correspondences are like small-clothes before the invention 
 of suspenders ; it is impossible to keep them up. 
 
 That episode of Julia [in Susan Hopley ] is much too long. Your 
 incidents are remarkable for their improbability. A boy goes on 
 board a frigate in the middle of the night, and penetrates to the cap- 
 tain’s cabin without being seen or challenged. Susan climbs into a 
 two-pair-of-stairs window to rescue two grenadiers. A gentleman 
 about to be murdered is saved by rescuing a woman about 
 to be drowned, and so on. The language is easy, the dialogue 
 natural. ‘There is a great deal of humour ; the plot is too compli- 
 cated. ‘Ihe best part of the book is Mr. and Mrs. Ayton; but 
 
 * Mrs. Catherine Crowe, author of the Adventures of Susan Hopley, Lilly 
 Dawson, The Night-Side of Nature, and other works. 
 
% 
 os , 
 
 # PUSEYISM. _ 411 
 the highest and most important praise of the novel is that you 
 are carried on eagerly, and that it excites and sustains a great 
 interest in the event, and therefore I think it a very good novel 
 and will recommend it. 
 
 It is in vain that I study the subject of the Scotch Church. I 
 have heard it ten times over from Murray, and twenty times from 
 Jeffrey, and I have not the smallest conception what it is about. 
 I know it has something to do with oat-meal, but beyond that I am 
 in utter darkness. Everybody here is turning Puseyite. Having 
 worn out my black gown, I preach in my surplice; this is all the 
 change I have made, or mean to make. 
 
 There seems to be in your letter a deep-rooted love of the 
 amusements of the world. Instead of the ever-gay Murray and 
 the never-silent Jeffrey, why do you not cultivate the Scotch 
 clergy and the elders and professors? I should then have some 
 hopes of you. 
 
 PUSEYISM. 
 
 (To Lady Ashburton, 1841.) Still I can preach a little; and 
 I wish you had witnessed, the other day at St. Paul’s, my in- 
 credible boldness in attacking the Puseyites. I told them that 
 they made the Christian religion a religion of postures and cere- 
 monies, of circumflexions and genuflexions, of garments and ves- 
 tures, of ostentation and parade; that they took up tithe of mint 
 and cummin, and neglected the weightier matters of the law— 
 justice, mercy, and the duties of life, and so forth. 
 
 (To Lady Davy, 1842.) I have not yet discovered of what I 
 am to die, but I rather believe I shall be burnt alive by the 
 Puseyites. Nothing so remarkable in England as the progress of 
 these foolish people. I have no conception what they mean, if it 
 be not to revive every absurd ceremony, and every antiquated 
 folly, which the common sense of mankind has set to sleep. 
 You will find at your return a fanatical Church of England, but 
 pray do not let it prevent your return. We can always gather 
 together, in Park Street and Green Street, a chosen few who have 
 never bowed the knee to Rimmon. 
 

 
 412 BLUECOAT THEORY. 
 A BORE. 
 (To Mrs. , Green Street, Grosvenor Square, March 5, 
 
 1841.) My dear Mrs. : At the sight of , away fly 
 gayety, ease, carelessness, happiness. Effusions are checked, faces 
 are puckered up; coldness, formality, and reserve, are diffused 
 over the room, and the social temperature falls down to zero. I 
 could not stand it. I know you will forgive me, but my con- 
 stitution is shattered, and I have not nerves for such an occur- 
 rence. 
 
 
 
 
 
 AVERSIONS AND ARGUMENTS. 
 
 (To Mrs. , March 6, 1841.) My dear Mrs. : Did 
 you never hear of persons who have an aversion to cheese? to 
 cats? to roast hare? Can you reason them out of it? Can you 
 write them out of it? Would it be of any use to mention the 
 names of mongers who have lived in the midst of cheese? Would 
 it advance your cause to insist upon the story of Whittington and 
 his Cat? 
 
 
 
 
 
 BLUECOAT THEORY. 
 
 (To the Countess of Morley. No date.) Dear Lady Morley: 
 Pray understand me rightly: I do not give the Bluecoat theory as 
 an established fact, but as a highly probable conjecture; look at 
 the circumstances. At a very early age young Quakers disappear, 
 at a very early age the Coat-boys are seen; at the age of seven- 
 teen or eighteen young Quakers are again seen; at the same age, 
 the Coat-boys disappear: who has ever heard of a Coat-man? 
 The things is utterly unknown in natural history. Upon what 
 other evidence does the migration of the grub into the aurelia 
 rest? After a certain number of days the grub is no more seen, 
 and the aurelia flutters over his relics. That such a prominent 
 fact should have escaped our naturalists is truly astonishing; I 
 had long suspected it, but was afraid to come out with a specula- 
 tion so bold, and now mention it as protected and sanctioned by 
 you. 
 
 Dissection would throw great light upon the question; and if 
 
QUAKER BABIES. 413 
 
 
 
 our friend would receive two boys into his house about the 
 time of their changing their coats, great service would be rendered 
 to the cause. 
 
 Our friend Lord Grey, not remarkable for his attention to nat- 
 ural history, was a good deal struck with the novelty and in- 
 genuity of the hypothesis. J have ascertained that the young 
 Blue-coat infants are fed with drab-coloured pap, which looks very 
 suspicious. More hereafter on this interesting subject. Where 
 real science is to be promoted, I will make no apology to your 
 Ladyship for this intrusion. 
 
 Yours truly, SyDNEY SMITH. 
 
 (From the Countess of Morley. No date.) ad I received 
 your letter two days since, I should have said your arguments and 
 theory were perfectly convincing, and that the most obstinate skeptic 
 must have yielded to them; but I have come across a person in 
 that interval who gives me information which puts us all at sea 
 again. That the Bluecoat boy should be the larva of the Quaker 
 in Great Britain is possible, and even probable, but we must take 
 _a@ wider view of the question; and here, I confess, I am bewildered 
 by doubts and difficulties. ‘The Bluecoat is an indigenous animal 
 —not so the Quaker; and now be so good as to give your whole 
 mind to the facts I have to communicate. I have seen and talked 
 much with Sir R. Kerr Porter on this interesting subject He 
 has travelled over the whole habitable globe, and has penetrated 
 with a scientific and scrutinizing eye into regions hitherto unex- 
 plored by civilized man; and yet he has never seen a Quaker 
 baby. He has lived for years in Philadelphia (the national nest 
 of Quakers); he has roamed up and down Broadways and length- 
 ways in every nook and corner of Pennsylvania; and yet he never 
 saw a Quaker baby; and what is new and most striking, never 
 did he see a Quaker lady in a situation which gave hope that a 
 _ Quaker baby might be seen hereafter. This is a stunning fact, 
 and involving the question in such impenetrable mystery as will, 
 I fear, defy even your sagacity, acuteness, and industry, to eluci- 
 date. But let us not be checked and cast down; truth is the end 
 and object of our research. Let us not bate one jot of heart and 
 hope, but still bear up and steer our course right onward. 
 
 Yours most truly, F. Morey. 
 
* 5. 
 414 THE OPERA. 
 
 ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF GAME. 
 
 (To the Rev. R. H. Barham, London, about 1842.) Many 
 thanks, my dear Sir, for your kind present of game. If there is 
 a pure and elevated pleasure in this world, it is that of roast pheas- 
 ant and bread sauce ;—barn-door fowls for dissenters, but for the 
 real churchman, the thirty-nine times articled clerk —the pheas- 
 ant, the pheasant |* 
 
 ALLEN—OLD AGE. 
 
 (To Lady Holland, Combe Florey, Sept. 13, 1842.) I am 
 sorry to hear Allen is not well; but the reduction of his legs is a 
 pure and unmixed good; they are enormous—they are clerical! 
 He has the creed of a philosopher and the legs of a clergyman; I 
 never saw such legs—at least, belonging to a layman. 
 
 It is a bore, I admit, to be past seventy, for you are left for ex- 
 ecution, and are daily expecting the death-warrant; but, as you 
 say, it is not anything very capital we quit. We are, at the close 
 of life, only hurried away from stomach-aches, pains in the joints, 
 from sleepless nights and unamusing days, from weakness, ugli- 
 ness, and nervous tremors; but we shall ali meet again in another 
 planet, cured of all our defects. will be less irritable ; 
 more ,silent ; will assent; Jeffrey will speak slower; Bobus 
 will be just as he is; I shall be more respectful to the upper 
 clergy ; but I shall have as lively a sense as I now have of all 
 your kindness and affection for me. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 INVITATION TO “ SEMIRAMIS.” 
 
 (To Lady Holland, November 6, 1842.) My dear Lady Hol- 
 Jand: I have not the heart, when an amiable lady says, “ Come to 
 ‘Semiramis’ in my box,” to decline; but I get bolder at a distance. 
 “Semiramis” would be to me pure misery. I love music very 
 little —I hate acting; I have the worst opinion of Semiramis her- 
 self, and the whole thing (I can not help it) seems so childish and 
 so foolish that I can not abide it. Moreover, it would be rather 
 out of etiquette for a Canon of St. Paul’s to go to an opera; and 
 
 * Memoir of Barham. 
 
TABLE-TALK. 417 
 
 TABLE-TALK — ANECDOTES.* 
 
 JEFFREY AND THE NORTH POLE. 
 
 THE reigning bore at this time in Edinburgh (at the beginning 
 of the century), was ————; his favourite subject, the North 
 Pole. It mattered not how far south you began, you found your- 
 self transported to the north pole before you could take breath; 
 no one escaped him. My father declared he should invent a slip- 
 button. Jeffrey fled from him as from the plague, when possible ; 
 but one day his arch-tormentor met him in a narrow lane, and 
 began instantly on the north pole. Jeffrey, in despair and out of 
 all patience, darted past him, exclaiming, “ Damn the north pole !”* 
 My father met him shortly after, boiling with indignation at Jef- 
 frey’s contempt of the north pole. “Oh, my dear fellow,” said my 
 father, “never mind; no one minds what Jeffrey says, you know; 
 he is a privileged person; he respects nothing, absolutely nothing. 
 Why, you will scarcely believe it, but it is not more than a week 
 ago that I heard him speak disrespectfully of the equator !” 
 
 LINES ON JEFFREY. 
 
 AmoncG our rural delights at Heslington (says Lady Holland), 
 was the possession of a young donkey, which had been given up 
 to our tender mercies from the time of its birth, and in whose 
 
 * Except where otherwise credited, the following anecdotes of Sydney 
 Smith’s conversation are derived from the Memoir by Lady Holland. 
 
 t “I see this anecdote,” says Lady Holland, “in Mr. Moore’s Memoirs 
 attributed to Leslie, but I have so often heard it told as applying to a very 
 different person, that I think he was mistaken.” 
 
 18* 
 
418 JEFFREY. % 
 
 education we employed a large portion of our spare time; and a 
 most accomplished donkey it became under our tuition. It would 
 walk up-stairs, pick pockets, follow us in our walks like a huge 
 Newfoundland dog; at the most distant sight of us in the field, — 
 with ears down and tail erect, it set off in full bray to meet us. 
 These demonstrations on Bitty’s part were met with not less affection 
 on ours, and Bitty was almost considered a member of the family. 
 One day, when my elder brother and myself were training our 
 beloved Bitty, with a pocket-handkerchief for a bridle, and his 
 head crowned with flowers, to run round our garden, who should 
 arrive in the midst of our sport but Mr. Jeffrey. Finding my 
 father out, he, with his usual kindness toward young people, imme- 
 diately joined in our sport, and, to our infinite delight, mounted 
 our donkey. He was proceeding in triumph, amidst our shouts 
 of laughter, when my father and mother, in company, I believe, 
 with Mr. Horner and Mr. Murray, returned from their walk, and 
 beheld this scene from the garden-door. ‘Though years and years 
 have passed away since, I still remember the joy-inspiring laughter 
 that burst from my father at this unexpected sight, as, advancing 
 toward his old friend, with a face beaming with delight and with 
 extended hands, he broke forth in the following impromptu :— 
 
 “Witty as Horatius Flaccus, 
 As great a Jacobin as Gracchus ; 
 Short, though not as fat, as Bacchus, 
 Riding on a little jackass.” 
 
 
 
 These lines were afterward repeated by some one to Mr. : 
 at Holland House, just before he was introduced for the first time 
 to Mr. Jeffrey, and they caught his fancy to such a degree that he 
 could not get them out of his head, but kept repeating them ina 
 low voice all the time Mr. Jeffrey was conversing with him. 
 
 SENSIBILITY OF CHILDHOOD. 
 
 OncE, when we were on a visit at Lord ————’s, we were sit- 
 ting with a large party at luncheon, when our host’s eldest son, a 
 fine boy of between eight and nine, burst into the room, and, run- 
 ning up to his father, began a playful skirmish with him; the 
 boy, half in play, half in earnest, hit his father in the face, who, 
 
aaa 
 
 STAGE-COACH SCENE. 419 
 
 
 
 to carry on the joke, put up both his hands, saying, “Oh, B : 
 you have put out my eye.” In an instant the blood mounted to 
 the boy’s tempies, he flung his little arms around his father, and 
 sobbed in such a paroxysm of grief and despair, that it was some 
 time before even his father’s two bright eyes beaming on him with 
 pleasure could convince him of the truth, and restore him to tran- 
 quillity. | "wel 
 
 When he left the room, my father, who had silently looked with 
 much interest and emotion on the scene, said, “ I congratulate you ; 
 I guarantee that boy; make your hearts easy; however he may 
 be tossed about the world, with those feelings, and such a heart, 
 he will come out unscathed.” 
 
 The father (continues Lady Holland), one of those who consider 
 their fortune but as a loan, to be employed in spreading an atmo- 
 sphere of virtue and happiness around them as far astheir influence 
 reaches, is now no more, and this son occupies his place ; but his wid- 
 owed mother the other day reminded me how true the prophecy had 
 proved ; and the scene was so touching that I cannot resist giving it. 
 
 STAGE-COACH TRAVELLING. 
 
 In 1820, my father (writes Lady Holland) went on a visit of 
 a few days to Lord Grey’s; then to Edinburgh to see Jeffrey and 
 his other old friends; and returned by Lord Lauderdale’s house 
 at Dunbar. Speaking of this journey, he says, “ Most people 
 sulk in stage-coaches, I always talk. JI have had some amusing 
 journeys from this habit. On one occasion, a gentleman in 
 the coach with me, with whom I had been conversing for some 
 time, suddenly looked out of the window as we approached 
 York and said, ‘There is a very clever man, they say, but a 
 d— odd fellow, lives near here—Sydney Smith, I believe. ‘He 
 may be a very odd fellow, said I, taking off my hat to him 
 and laughing, ‘and I dare say he is; but odd as he is, he is here, 
 very much at your service. Poor man! I thought he would © 
 have sunk into his boots, and vanished through the bed of the — 
 carriage, he was so distressed ; but I thought I had better tell him 
 at once, or he might proceed to say I had murdered my grand- 
 mother, which I must have resented, you know. 
 
 “ On another occasion, some years later, when going to Brougham 
 
420 A COUNTRY DINNER. 
 
 Hall, two raw Scotch girls got into the coach in the dark, near 
 Carlisle. ‘It is very disagreeable getting into a coach in the 
 dark,’ exclaimed one, after arranging her bandboxes; ‘one can 
 not see one’s company.’ ‘ Very true, ma’am, and you have a great 
 loss in not seeing me, for I am a remarkably handsome man.’ 
 ‘No, sir! are you really?’ said both. -‘ Yes, and in the flower of 
 my youth. ‘What a pity? said they. We soon passed near a 
 lamp-post: they both darted forward to get a look at me. ‘La, 
 sir, you seem very stout.’ ‘Oh no, not at all, ma’am, it’s only my 
 great coat.’ ‘ Where are you going, sir? ‘To Brougham Hall.’ 
 ‘Why, you must be a very remarkable man, to be going to 
 Brougham Hall” ‘I am a very remarkable man, ma’am.’ At 
 Penrith they got out, after having talked incessantly, and tried 
 every possible means to discover who I was, exclaiming as they 
 went off laughing, ‘ Well, it is very provoking we can’t see you, 
 but we'll find out who you are at the ball; Lord Brougham always 
 comes to the ball at Penrith, and we shall certainly be there, and 
 shall soon discover your name.” 
 
 DINNER IN THE COUNTRY. 
 
 THoucH it was the general habit in Yorkshire to make visits 
 of two or three days at the houses in the neighborhood, yet not 
 unfrequently invitations to dinner only came, and sometimes to a 
 house at a considerable distance. 
 
 “ Did you ever dine out in the country ?” said my father; “ what 
 misery human beings inflict on each other under the name of 
 pleasure! We went to dine last Thursday with Mr. ———, a 
 neighbouring clergyman, a haunch of venison being the stimulus to 
 the invitation. We set out at five o’clock, drove in a broiling sun 
 on dusty roads three miles in our best gowns, found Squire and 
 parsons assembled in a small hot room, the whole house redolent of 
 frying; talked, as is our wont, of roads, weather, and turnips; that 
 done, began to grow hungry, then serious, then impatient. At last 
 a stripling, evidently caught up for the occasion, opened the door 
 and beckoned our host out of the room. After some moments of 
 awful suspense, he returned to us with a face of much distress, 
 saying, ‘the woman assisting in the kitchen had mistaken the soup 
 for dirty water, and had thrown it away, so we must do without 
 
poGS. 491 
 
 it; we all agreed*it was perhaps as well we should, under the 
 circumstances. -At last, to our joy, dinner was announced; but 
 oh, ye gods! as we entered the dining-room what a gale met our 
 nose! the venison was high, the venison was uneatable, and was 
 obliged to follow the soup with all speed. 
 
 “ Dinner proceeded, but our spirits flagged under these accumu- 
 lated misfortunes: there was an ominous pause between the first 
 and second course; we looked each other in the face—what new 
 disaster awaited us? the pause became fearful. At last the door 
 burst open, and the boy rushed in, calling out aloud, ‘ Please, sir, 
 has Betty any right to leather 1?” What human gravity could 
 stand this? We roared with laughter; all took part against Betty, 
 obtained the second course with some difficulty, bored each other 
 the usual time, ordered our carriages, expecting our post-boys to 
 be drunk, and were grateful to Providence for not permitting 
 them to deposite us in a wet ditch. So much for dinners in the 
 
 country !” 
 
 A DOG DIFFICULTY. 
 
 DurInG one of his visits to London, at a dinner at Spencer 
 House, the conversation turned upon dogs. “Oh,” said my 
 father, “one of the greatest difficulties I have had with my 
 parishioners has been on the subject of dogs.” “How so?” said 
 Lord Spencer. . “ Why, when I first went down into Yorkshire, 
 there had not been a resident clergyman in my parish for a hun- 
 dred and fifty years. Each farmer kept a huge mastiff-dog, 
 ranging at large, and ready to make his morning meal on clergy 
 or laity, as best suited his particular taste; I never could approach 
 a cottage in pursuit of my calling, but I rushed into the jaws of 
 one of these shaggy monsters. I scolded, preached, and prayed, 
 without avail; so 1 determined to try what fear for their pockets 
 might do. Forthwith appeared in the county papers a minute 
 account of a trial of a farmer, at the Northampton Sessions, for 
 keeping dogs unconfined; where said farmer was not only fined 
 five pounds and reprimanded by the magistrates, but sentenced to 
 three months’ imprisonment. The effect was wonderful, and the 
 reign of Cerberus ceased in the land.” “That accounts,” said 
 Lord Spencer, “for what has puzzled me and Althorp for many 
 
eye 422 NIEBUHR. 
 
 years. We never failed to attend the sessions at Northampton, 
 and we never could find out how we had missed this remarkable 
 dog case.” | 
 
 the I 
 
 SMALL MEN. 
 
 AN argument arose, in which my father observed how many of 
 the most eminent men of the world had been diminutive in person, 
 and after naming several among the ancients, he added, “ Why, 
 look there, at Jeffrey ; and there is my little friend , who has 
 not body enough to cover his mind decently with; his intellect is 
 improperly exposed.” 
 
 
 
 LOCAL MORALITIES. 
 
 Wuewn I took my Yorkshire servants into Somersetshire, I 
 found that they thought making a drink out of apples was a tempt- 
 ing of Providence, who had intended barley to be the only natural 
 material of intoxication. 
 
 A NEW ZEALAND ATTORNEY. 
 
 THERE is a New Zealand attorney arrived in London, with 
 6s. 8d. tattooed all over his face. 
 
 NIEBUHR’S DISCOVERIES. 
 
 HAve you heard of Niebuhr’s discoveries? All Roman history 
 reversed; Tarquin turning out an excellent family man, and Lu- 
 cretia a very doubtful character, whom Lady would not have 
 visited. 
 
 
 
 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 How bored children are with the wisdom of Telemachus! they 
 can’t think why Calypso is so fond of him. 
 
 A LIFE. 
 Yes, he has spent all his life in letting down empty buckets 
 into empty wells; and he is frittering away his age in trying to 
 draw them up again. } zs 
 
THE BIBLE. * 423, 
 
 <A REBUKES f 
 Ar a large dinner party the death of Mr. Dugald Stewart was 
 announced. The news was received with so much levity by a 
 lady of rank, who sat by Sydney Smith, that he turned round and 
 said, “ Madam, when we are told of the death of so great a man as 
 Mr. Dugald Stewart, it is usual, in civilized society, to look grave 
 for at least the space of five seconds.” 
 
 BEAUTY OF THE STYLE OF THE BIBLE. 
 
 “ WHAT is so beautiful as the style of the Bible? what poetry 
 in its language and ideas!” and taking it down from the bookcase 
 behind him, he read, with his beautiful voice, and in his most im- 
 pressive manner, several of his favourite passages; among others 
 I remember—‘“ Thou shalt rise up before the hoary head, and 
 honour the face of an old man ;” and part of that most beautiful of 
 Psalms, the 189th: “O Lord, thou hast searched me, and known 
 me. ‘Thou knowest my downsitting and mine uprising; thou un- 
 derstandest my thoughts afar off. Thou compassest my path and 
 my lying down, and art acquainted with all my ways... . Whither 
 shall I go from thy spirit, or whither shall I flee from thy presence? 
 If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there; if I make my bed in 
 hell, behold thou art there. If I take the wings of the morning, 
 and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall thy 
 hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me. If I say, Surely 
 the darkness shall cover me, even the night shall be light about 
 me; yea, the darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth 
 as the day; the darkness and the light are both alike to thee”’— 
 putting the Bible again on the shelf. 
 
 FIREPLACES. 
 NEVER neglect your fireplaces; I have paid great attention to 
 mine, and could burn you all out in a moment. Much of the 
 cheerfulness of life depends upon it. Who could be miserable with 
 that fire? What makes a fire so pleasant is, I think, that it is a 
 live thing in a dead room. 
 
 
 
 ANTI-MELANCHOLY. 
 NEVER give way to melancholy ; resist it steadily, for the habit 
 will encroach. I once gave a lady two-and twenty receipts against 
 
 we « 
  -_., * 
 
 ~ 
 
424 * WOMEN — DRESS. 
 
 melancholy: one was a bright fire; another, to remember all the 
 pleasant things said to and of her; another, to keep a box of sugar- 
 plums on the chimney-piece, and a kettle simmering on the hob. 
 
 BLUE-STOCKINGS. 
 
 Kerrp as much as possible on the grand and common road of 
 life; patent educations or habits seldom succeed. Depend upon 
 it, men set more value on the cultivated minds than on the ac- 
 complishments of women, which they are rarely able to appreciate. 
 It is a common error, but it is an error, that literature unfits women 
 for the every-day business of life. It is not so with men; you see 
 those of the most cultivated minds constantly devoting their time 
 and attention to the most homely objects. Literature gives women 
 a real and proper weight in society, but then they must use it with 
 discretion ; if the stocking is blue, the petticoat must be long, as 
 my friend Jeffrey says; the want of this has furnished food for 
 ridicule in all ages. 
 
 DRESS AND BEAUTY. 
 
 Never teach false morality. How exquisitely absurd to tell 
 ' girls that beauty is of no value, dress of no use! Beauty is of value ; 
 her whole prospects and happiness in life may often depend upon 
 anew gown or a becoming bonnet, and if she has five grains of com- 
 mon sense she will find this out. The great thing is to teach her 
 their just value, and that there must be something better under the 
 bonnet than a pretty face for real happiness. But never sacrifice 
 truth. 
 
 A UTILITARIAN. 
 
 SOME one, speaking of the utility of a measure, and quoting 
 ’s opinion: “ Yes, he is of the Utilitarian school. That man 
 
 is so hard you might drive a broad-wheeled wagon over him, and 
 it would produce no impression ; if you were to bore holes in him 
 with a gimlet, I am convinced saw-dust would corhe out of him. 
 That school treat mankind as if they were niere machines; the 
 feelings or affections never enter into their calculations. If every- 
 thing is to be sacrificed to utility, why do you bury your grand- 
 
 
 
PICTURES. 425 
 
 mother at all? why don’t you cut her into small pieces at once, 
 and make portable soup of her ?” 
 
 THE HOUSE OF COMMONS. 
 
 Yrs, it requires a long apprenticeship to speak well in the 
 House of Commons. It is the most formidable ordeal in the 
 world. Few men have succeeded who entered it late in life; Jef- 
 frey is perhaps the best exception. Bobus used to say that there 
 was more sense and good taste in the whole House, than in any 
 one individual of which it was composed. 
 
 TWENTY-FOUR HOURS AFTER. 
 
 WE are told, “ Let not the sun go down on your wrath.” This, 
 of course, is best; but, as it generally does, I would add, Never 
 act or write till it has done so. This rule has saved me from many 
 an act of folly. It is wonderful what a different view we take of 
 the same event four-and-twenty hours after it has happened. 
 
 LIGHT AND SHADE. 
 
 I LIKE pictures, without knowing anything about them; but I 
 hate coxcombry in the fine arts, as well as in anything else. I got 
 into dreadful disgrace with Sir George Beaumont once, who, stand- 
 ing before a picture at Bowood, exclaimed, turning to me, “immense 
 breadth of light and shade!” I innocently said, “ Yes; about an 
 inch and a half” He gave me a look that ought to have killed 
 me.* 
 
 A ONE-BOOK MAN. 
 
 Yes, it was a mistake to write any more. He was a one-book 
 man. Some men have only one book in them; others, a library. 
 
 * Smith furnished his house once with a set of daubs, and invented names 
 of great masters for them : —‘‘a beautiful landscape by Nicholas de Falda, a 
 pupil of Valdeggio, the only painting by that eminent artist.”” He consulted 
 two Royal Academicians as to his purchases, and when he had set them con- 
 sidering what opportunities were likely to occur, added, by way of after- 
 thought; ‘‘ Oh, I ought to have told you that my outside price for a picture 
 is thirty-five shillings.” 
 
426 HAND-SHAKING. 
 
 COMPOSITION. 
 In composing, as a general rule, run your pen through every 
 other word you have written; you have no idea what vigour it 
 will give your style. 
 
 MATHEMATICS. 
 THE most promising sign in a boy is, I should say, mathe- 
 matics. 
 
 FACTS AND FIGURES. 
 
 Ou, don’t tell me of facts—I never believe facts: you know 
 Canning said nothing was so fallacious as facts, except figures. 
 
 HAND-SHAKING. 
 
 ON meeting a young lady who had just entered the garden, and 
 shaking hands with her: ‘I must,’ he said, ‘give you a lesson in 
 shaking hands, I see. There is nothing more characteristic than 
 shakes of the hand. I have classified them. Lister, when he 
 was here, illustrated some of them. Ask Mrs. Sydney to show 
 you his sketches of them when you go in. There is the high 
 official—the body erect, and a rapid, short shake, near the chin. 
 There is the mortmain—the fiat hand introduced into your palm, 
 and hardly conscious of its contiguity. The digital — one finger 
 held out, much used by the high clergy. There is the shakus 
 rusticus, where your hand is seized in an iron grasp, betokening 
 rude health, warm heart, and distance from the Metropolis; but 
 producing a strong sense of relief on your part when you find 
 your hand released and your fingers unbroken. The next to this 
 is the retentive shake — one which, beginning with vigour, pauses as 
 it were to take breath, but without relinquishing its prey, and be- 
 fore you are aware begins again, till you feel anxious as to the 
 result, and have no shake left in you. ‘There are other varieties, 
 but this is enough for one lesson. 
 
 A JOKE IN THE COUNTRY. 
 
 A JOKE goes a great way in the country. I have known one 
 last pretty well for seven years. I remember making a joke after 
 
 “ - 
 a 
 
SALAD. 497 
 
 a meeting of the clergy, in Yorkshire, where there was a Rev. 
 Mr. Buckle, who never spoke when I gave his health; saying, 
 that he was a buckle without a tongue. Most persons within 
 hearing laughed, but my next neighbour sat unmoved and sunk in 
 thought. At last, a quarter of an hour after we had all done, he 
 suddenly nudged me, exclaiming, “I see now what you meant, 
 Mr. Smith; you meant a joke.’ “Yes,” I said, “sir; I believe I 
 did.” Upon which he began laughing so heartily, that I thought 
 he would choke, and was obliged to pat him on the back. 
 
 SALAD RECIPE. 
 
 THat pudding! yes, that was the pudding Lady Holland asked 
 the recipe for when she came to see us. I shook my head and 
 ‘said it could not be done, even for her ladyship. She became 
 more urgent; Mrs. Sydney was soft-hearted, and gave it. The 
 glory of it almost turned my cook’s head; she has never been the 
 same since. But our forte in the culinary line is our salads; I 
 pique myself on our salads. Saba always dresses them after my 
 recipe. I have put it into verse. Taste it, and if you lke it, 
 I will give it you. I was not aware how much it had contributed 
 to my reputation, till I met Lady at Bowood, who begged 
 to be introduced to me, saying, she had so long wished to know 
 me. Iwas of course highly flattered, till she added, ‘For, Mr. 
 Smith, I have heard so much of your recipe for salads, that I was 
 most anxious to obtain it from you.’ Such and so various are the 
 sources of fame ! 
 
 ‘To make this condiment, your poet begs 
 The pounded yellow of two hard-boiled eggs ; 
 Two boiled potatoes, passed through kitchen sieve, 
 Smoothness and softness to the salad give. 
 Let onion atoms lurk within the bowl, 
 And, half-suspected, animate the whole. 
 Of mordant mustard add a single spoon, 
 Distrust the condiment that bites so soon; 
 But deem it not, thou man of herbs, a fault, 
 To add a double quantity of salt. 
 Four times the spoon with oil from Lucca brown, 
 And twice with vineger procured from town ; 
 And, lastly, o’er the flavored compound tess 
 A magic soupcon of anchovy sauce. 
 
 
 
428 WINTER SALAD. 
 
 Oh, green and glorious! Oh, herbaceous treat! 
 ’Twould tempt the dying anchorite to eat: 
 Back to the world he’d turn his fleeting soul, 
 And plunge his fingers in the salad bowl! 
 Serenely full, the epicure would say, 
 
 “Fate cannot harm me, I have dined to-day.” 
 
 [The above in the famous recipe as given by Lady Holland in 
 her Memoir. We have before us printed on the first page of a 
 letter-sheet (on the back of which is the second note to Captain 
 Morgan on the American Debts previously given, p. 72), the fol- 
 lowing with some variations, and as the date of the letter is 1844 
 it has good pretensions to the latest edition. The affectionate 
 friend solicitously adds with his own hand: “ Let me beg you not 
 to alter the proportions in the salad.” Such are the well-known 
 anxieties of salad-makers. | 
 
 A Recipe for Salad. 
 LAST EDITION. 
 
 Two large potatoes, passed through kitchen sieve, 
 Unwonted softness to the salad give: 
 
 Of mordant mustard, add a single spoon, 
 Distrust the condiment which bites so soon; 
 
 But deem it not, thou man of herbs, a fault, 
 
 To add a double quantity of salt: 
 
 Three times the spoon with oil of Lucca crown, 
 And once with vinegar, procured from town; 
 True flayour needs it, and your poet begs 
 
 The pounded yellow of two well-boiled eggs ; 
 
 Let onion atoms lurk within the bowl, 
 
 And scarce suspected, animate the whole; 
 
 And lastly, on the flavoured compound toss, 
 
 A magic teaspoon of anchovy sauce: 
 
 Then though green turtle fail, though venison’s tough, 
 And ham and turkey are not boiled enough, 
 Serenely full, the epicure may say — 
 
 “Fate cannot harm me, —I have dined to-day.” 
 
 To this is added in print: 
 
 A Winter Salad. 
 
 Two well boiled potatoes, passed through a sieve: a teaspoon- 
 ful of Mustard; two teaspoonfuls of salt; one of essence of an- 
 chovy; about a quarter of a teaspoonful of very finely-chopped 
 onions well bruised into the mixture, three tablespoonfuls of oil; 
 
LADY CORK. 429 
 
 one of vinegar; the yolk of two eggs, hard boiled. Stir up the 
 salad immediately before dinner, and stir it up thoroughly. 
 
 N.B. As this salad is the result of great experience and re- 
 flection, it is hoped. young salad-makers will not attempt to make 
 any improvements upon it. 
 
 PARODY ON POPE. 
 
 HAVE you heard my parody on Pope? 
 
 Why has not man a collar and a log ? 
 
 For this plain reason — man is not a dog. 
 Why is not man served up with sauce in dish ? 
 For this plain reason — man is not a fish. 
 
 TRANSIT OF A SOVEREIGN. 
 
 ByY-THE-BY, it happened to bea charity sermon, and I considered 
 it a wonderful proof of my eloquence, that it actually moved old 
 Lady Cork to borrow a sovereign from Dudley, and that he actu- 
 ally gave it her, though knowing he must take a long farewell of 
 ‘it. I was told afterward by Lady S that she rejoiced to see 
 it had brought “iron tears down Pluto’s cheek” (meaning by that 
 her husband), certainly little given to the melting mood in any 
 sense.* 
 
 
 
 VENUS MILLINARIA. 
 
 I ONCE saw a dressed statue of Venus in a serious house—the 
 Venus Millinaria. 
 
 *This story is told somewhat differently in Dyce’s Recollections of the 
 Table-Talk of Rogers: ‘‘ Lady Cork was once so moved by a charity sermon, 
 that she begged me [Smith] to lend her a guinea for her contribution. I did 
 so —she neyer repaid me and spent it on herself.” Jekyll, the great wit of 
 the lawyers, said at one of Lady Cork’s parties where she wore an enormous 
 plume, ‘‘ she was exactly a shuttlecock — all cork and feathers.” 
 
 Lady Cork was the veteran of London society. Her parties to literary ce- 
 lebrities were famous from the days of Dr. Johnson who visited her gather- 
 ings. She was the Miss Monkton of Boswell’s Johnson; daughter of Vis- 
 count Galway; married in 1786 to the Earl of Cork. She held on among 
 the London literati bravely to the last, dying in 1840, at the age of ninety- 
 four. 
 
430 DOGS — MANNERS. 
 
 THE VANILLE OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Aun, you flavour everything; you are the vanille of society. 
 
 SEWING FOR MEN. 
 
 I wisu I could sew. I believe one reason why women are so 
 much more cheerful, generally, than men, is because they can work, 
 and vary more their employments. Lady used to teach her 
 sons carpet-work. All men ought to learn to sew. 
 
 
 
 DOGS. 
 
 No, I don’t like dogs; I always expect them to gomad. A 
 lady asked me once fora motto for her dog Spot. I proposed, 
 “Out, damned Spot!” but she did not think it sentimental enough. 
 You remember the story of the French marquise, who, when her 
 pet lap-dog bit a piece out of her footman’s leg, exclaimed, “ Ah, 
 poor little beast! I hope it won’t make him sick.” I called one 
 day on Mrs. ,and her lap-dog flew at my leg and bit it. After 
 pitying her dog, like the French marquise, she did all she could to 
 comfort me, by assuring me the dog was a Dissenter, and hated 
 the Church, and was brought up in a Tory family. But whether 
 the bite came from madness or Dissent, I knew myself too well to 
 neglect it; and went on the instant to a surgeon and had it cut out, 
 making a mem. on the way to enter that, house no more. 
 
 
 
 MANNERS. 
 
 MANNERS are often too much neglected: they are most impor- 
 tant to men, no less than to women. I believe the English are 
 the most disagreeable people under the sun; not so much because 
 Mr. John Bull disdains to talk, as that the respected individual 
 has nothing to say, and because he totally neglects manners. Look 
 at a French carter; he takes off his hat to his neighbour carter, 
 and inquires after “ La santé de madame,” with a bow that would 
 not have disgraced Sir Charles Grandison; and I have often seen 
 a French soubrette with a far better manner than an English 
 duchess. Life is too short to get over a bad manner; besides, 
 manners are the shadows of virtue. 
 
UP-TAKERS — CLEARERS. 431 
 
 FURNITURE OF A COUNTRY-HOUSE. 
 
 I THINK no house is well fitted up in the country without people 
 of all ages. There should be an old man or woman to pet; a par- 
 rot, a child, a monkey ; something, as the French say, to love and 
 to despise. I have just bought a parrot, to keep my servants in 
 good-humour. 
 
 TOWN AND COUNTRY. 
 
 THE charm of London is that you are never glad or sorry for 
 ten minutes together: in the country you are the one and the 
 other for weeks. 
 
 TEA AND COFFEE. 
 
 At the tea-table: “Thank God for tea! What would the world 
 do without tea? how did it exist? Iam glad I was not born be- 
 fore tea. I can drink any quantity when I have not tasted wine ; 
 otherwise I am haunted by blue-devils by day, and dragons by 
 night. If you want to improve your understanding, drink coffee. 
 Sir James Mackintosh used to say, he believed the difference 
 between one man and another was produced by the quantity of 
 coffee he drank. 
 
 CLASSES OF SOCIETY. 
 
 I HAVE divided mankind into classses. There is the Noodle — 
 very numerous, but well known. The Affliction-woman—a valu- 
 able member of society, generally an ancient spinster, or distant 
 relation of the family, in small circumstances: the moment she 
 hears of any accident or distress in the family, she sets off, packs 
 up her little bag, and is immediately established there, to comfort, 
 flatter, fetch, and carry. The Up-takers—a class of people who 
 only see through their fingers’ ends, and go through a room taking 
 up and touching everything, however visible and however tender. 
 The Clearers—who begin at the dish before them, and go on 
 picking or tasting till it is cleared, however large the company, 
 small the supply, and rare the contents. The Sheep-walkers — 
 
432 SHAM SYDNEY SMITHS. 
 
 those who never deviate from the beaten track, who think as their 
 fathers have thought since the flood, who start from a new idea as 
 they would from guilt. The Lemon-squeezers of society — people 
 who act on you as a wet blanket, who see a cloud in the sunshine, 
 the nails ofthe coffin in the ribands of the bride, predictors of evil, 
 extinguishers of hope; who, where there are two sides, see only 
 the worst—people whose very look curdles the milk, and sets 
 your teeth on edge. The Let-well-aloners—cousins-german to 
 the Noodle, yet a variety ; people who have begun to think and to 
 act, but are timid, and afraid to try their wings, and tremble at the 
 sound of their own footsteps as they advance, and think it safer to 
 stand still. Then the Washerwomen—very numerous, who ex- 
 claim, “ Well! as sure as ever I put on my best bonnet, it is cer- 
 tain to rain,” etc. There are many more, but I forget them. 
 Oh, yes! there is another class, as you say; people who are 
 ’ always treading on your gouty foot, or talking in your.deaf ear, or 
 asking you to give them something with your lame hand, stirring 
 
 up your weak point, rubbing your sore, ete. 
 - oJ aN 
 
 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 I NEVER go to tragedies, my heart is too soft. There is too 
 much real misery in life. But what a face she had! The gods 
 do not bestow such a face as Mrs. Siddons’s on the stage more 
 than once in a century. -T knew her very well, and she had the 
 good taste to laugh heartily at my jokes; she was an exellent per- 
 son, but she was not remarkable out of her profession, and, never 
 got out of tragedy even in common life. She used to stab the po- 
 tatoes; and said, “ Boy, give me a knife !” as she would have said, 
 “ Give me the dagger !” 
 
 i 
 
 SHAM SYDNEY SMITHS. 
 
 I HAVE heard that one of the American ministers in this country 
 was so oppressed by the numbers of his countrymen applying for 
 introductions, that he was obliged at last to set up sham Sydney 
 Smiths and false Macaulays. But they can’t have been good coun- 
 terfeits ; for a most respectable American, on his return home, was 
 heard describing Sydney Smith as a thin, grave, dull old fellow; 
 
FRIENDSHIP. 433 
 
 “and as to Macaulay,” said he, “I never met a more silent man in 
 my life.”* 
 
 CANVAS-BACK DUCKS. 
 
 I FULLY intended going to America; but my parishioners held 
 a meeting, and came to a resolution that they could not trust me 
 with the canvas-back ducks; and I felt they were right, SO gave 
 up the Bake 
 
 FRIEND SHIP. 
 
 TRUE, it is most painful not to meet the kindness and affection 
 you feel you have deserved, and have a right to expect from 
 others; but it is a mistake to complain of it, for it is of no use: 
 you can not extort friendship with a cocked pistol. 
 
 * In the summer of 1844, in the list of passengers, on the arrival of the 
 Great Western at New York, was advertised Sydney Smith. It created some 
 paragraphing i in the papers, and quite a flutter among the genuine Sydney’s 
 church friends. In a letter to the Countess Grey, Smith alludes to the-af- 
 fair: ‘There arrived, the other day, at New York, a Sydney Smith. A 
 meeting was called, and it was proposed to tar-and-feather him; but the 
 amendment was carried, that he should be invited to a public dinner. He 
 turned out to be a journeyman cooper! My informant encloses for me an in- 
 vitation from the Bishop of the Diocese to come and see him, and a proposi- 
 tion that we should travel together to the Falls of Niagara.” gat 
 
 The author of the article in the Edinburgh Review, on Smith (July, 1855), 
 caps the ‘‘sham Sydney Smiths and false Macaulays”’ with the followi ing :— 
 « Sophie Arnault actually played off a similar trick on a party of Parisian fine 
 i and gentlemen who had expressed a wish to meet Rousseau. She 
 dre ie a theatrical tailor who bore some likeness to the author of ‘ Emile,’ 
 and 7 next to herself at dinner, with instructions not to open his 
 mouth except to eat and drink. Uiiticias he opened it too often for the ad- 
 mission of champagne, and began talking in a style befitting the coulisses ; 
 but this only added to the delusion, and the next day the noble faubourg rang 
 with the praises of the easy sparkling pleasantry, of the philosopher. Accord- 
 ing to another well-authenticated anecdote, there wa ‘a crazy fellow at Edin- 
 burgh, who called himself Doctor, fancied that he had once been on the point 
 of obtaining the chair of Moral Philosophy, and professed the most extrava- 
 gant admiration for a sbrated poet. Some wag suggested that he should 
 pay a visit to his idol. > did so, and stayed two days, indulging his mono- 
 mania, but simultaneously gratifying his host’s prodigious appetite for adula- 
 tion ; and the poet uniformly spoke of him as one of the most intelligent and 
 well-informed Scotchmen he had ever known. When this story was told to 
 Sydney Smith, he offered the narrator five shillings for the exclusive right 
 to it for a week. The bargain was struck, and the money paid down.” 
 
 19 
 
 = 
 
434 PRAISE. 
 
 THREE SEXES. 
 
 Don’r you know, as the French say, there are three sexes— 
 men, women, and clergymen. 
 
 SOCINIAN. 
 
 SOME one naming as not very orthodox, “Accuse a man 
 of being a Socinian, and it is all over with him; for the country 
 gentlemen all think it has something to do with poaching.” 
 
 
 
 DOME OF ST. PAUL’S. 
 
 We were all assembled to look at a turtle that had been sent to 
 the house of a friend, when a child of the party stooped down and 
 began eagerly stroking the shell of the turtle. “Why are you 
 doing that, B ?” said my father. ‘Oh, to please the turtle.” 
 “Why, child, you might as well stroke the dome of St. Paul’s, to 
 please the Dean and Chapter.” ; 
 
 
 
 PRAISE. 
 
 
 
 SOME one observing the wonderful improvement in since 
 his success; “ Ah!” he said, “ praise is the best diet for us, after 
 all.” 
 
 SAMARITANS. 
 
 Yes! you find people ready enough to do the Samaritan, with- 
 out the oil and twopence. 
 
 * HAPPINESS. 
 
 Tue haunts of Happiness are varied, and rather unaccountable ; 
 but I have more often seen her among little children, home fire- 
 sides, and country-houses, than anywhere else; at least I think so. 
 
 DANIEL WEBSTER. 
 
 DanteL WEBSTER struck me much like a steam-engine in 
 trowsers. 
 
ROGERS. 435 
 
 PRESCOTT THE HISTORIAN. 
 
 WueEN Prescott comes to England, a Caspian Sea of soup 
 awaits him. 
 
 SAMUEL ROGERS. 
 
 In 1823, having received a presentation to the Charterhouse 
 from the Archbishop of York, for his second son, Wyndham, Sydney 
 Smith took him there in the spring. While he was in town, Mr. 
 Rogers says, “I had been ill some weeks, confined to my bed. 
 Sydney Smith heard of it, found me out, sat by my bed, cheered 
 me, talked to me, made me laugh more than I ever thought to 
 have laughed again. The next day a bulletin was brought to my 
 bedside, giving the physician’s report of my case; the following 
 day the report was much worse; the next day declaring there was 
 no hope, and England would have to mourn over the loss of her 
 sweetest poet; then I died amidst weeping friends; then came my 
 funeral; and lastly, a sketch of my character, all written by that 
 pen which had the power of turning everything into sunshine and 
 joy. Sydney never forgot his friends.” 
 
 ADDRESSING Rogers: “ My dear R., if we were both in America, 
 we should be tarred and feathered; and, lovely as we are by na- 
 ture, I thould be an ostrich and you an emu.” 
 
 “ How is Rogers?” “He is not very well.” “Why, what is 
 the matter?” “Oh, don’t you know he has produced a couplet? 
 When our friend is delivered of a couplet, with infinite labour and 
 pain, he takes to his bed, has straw laid down, the knocker tied 
 up, expects his friends to call and make inquiries, and the answer 
 at the door invariably is, ‘Mr. Rogers and his little couplet are as 
 well as can be expected.’ When he produces an Alexandrine he 
 keeps his bed a day longer.” 
 
 SypNEY SmirH mentioned having once half-offended Sam. 
 Rogers, by recommending him, when he sat for his picture, to be 
 drawn saying his prayers, with his face in his hat.* 
 
 * Diary of the Rey. Richard Harris Barham, Oct. 2, 1831—in Memoir. 
 The tée morte anecdotes of Rogers are numerous. That pleasant book 
 
436 TALLEYRAND. 
 
 TALLEYRAND. 
 
 One evening, at his house (in London in later life), a few friends 
 had come in to tea; among others, Lord Jeffrey, Dr. Holland, and 
 his sister. Some one spoke of Talleyrand. “Oh,” said Sydney, 
 “ Lady Holland labored incessantly to convince me that Talleyrand 
 was agreeable, and was very angry because his arrival was usually 
 a signal for my departure; but, in the first place, he never spoke 
 at all till he had not only devoured but digested his dinner, and as 
 this was a slow process with him, it did not occur till everybody 
 else was asleep, or ought to have been so; and when he did speak 
 he was so inarticulate I never could understand a word he said.” 
 “Tt was otherwise with me,” said Dr. Holland; “I never found 
 much difficulty in following him.” “Did not you? why it was an 
 abuse of terms to call it talking at all; for he had not teeth, and, 
 I believe, no roof to his mouth—no uvula—no larynx—no 
 trachea—no epiglottis—no anything. It was not talking, it was 
 gargling; and that, by-the-by, now I think of it, must be the very 
 reason why Holland understood him so much better than I did,” 
 turning suddenly round on him with his merry laugh. 
 
 “Yet nobody’s wit was of so high an order as Talleyrand’s 
 when it did come, or has so well stood the test of time. You re- 
 
 
 
 The Clubs of London, tells us ‘‘it was the fashion to liken the pale visage of 
 the poet to all sorts of funereal things—TZ/istissima mortis imago! But Ward’s 
 (Lord Dudley) were the most felicitous resemblances. Rogers had been at 
 Spa, and was telling Ward that the place was so full, that he could not so 
 much as find a bed to lie in, and that he was obliged, on that account, to 
 leave it. ‘Dear me,’ replied Ward, ‘was there no room in the church- 
 yard?” At another time, Murray was showing him a portrait of Rogers, ob- 
 serving that ‘it was done to the life.’ ‘To the death, you mean,’ replied 
 Ward.” Among other sallies of the same kind, was his asking Rogers 
 —‘ Why don’t you keep your hearse, Rogers? you can well afford it.” 
 Fraser’s Magazine, in 1830, had a severe caricature—“ There is Sam. Ro- 
 gers, a mortal likeness—painted to the very death.” Byron’s terrible lines 
 are well known :— 
 
 
 
 Nose and chin would shame a knocker ; 
 
 Wrinkles that would puzzle Cocker. 
 ie ee * 
 
 Is’t a corpse stuck up for show, 
 
 Galvanized at times to go ? 
 
 The corpse, however, long survived all the satirists, Ward, Byron, Maginn. 
 
TALLEYRAND ANECDOTES. 437 
 
 member when his friend Montrond* was taken ill, and exclaimed, 
 ‘Mon ami, je sens les tourmens de l’enfer. ‘Quoi! déja?’ was 
 his reply. And when he sat at dinner between Madame de Staél 
 and Madame Récamier, the celebrated beauty, Madame de Staél, 
 whose beauties were certainly not those of the person, jealous of 
 his attentions to her rival, insisted upon knowing which he would 
 save if they were both drowning. After seeking in vain to evade 
 her, he at last turned toward her and said, with his usual shrug, 
 “ Ah, madame, vous savez nager.” And when exclaimed, 
 “ Me voila entre l’esprit et la beauté,” he answered, “Oui, et sans 
 posséder ni lun ni lautre.” And of Madame , “ Oui, elle est 
 belle, trés-belle ; mais pour la toilette, cela commence trop tard, et 
 finit trop tot.” Of Lord he said, “C’est la bienveillance 
 méme, mais la bienveillance la plus perturbative que j’ai jamais 
 connu.” 'To a friend of mine he said on one occasion,.“ Milady, 
 voulez-vous me préter ce livre?” “Qui, mais vous me le rendrez?” 
 “Qui.” “ Parole @honneur?” “Qui.” “Vous en étes sir?” 
 “ Qui, oui, milady ; mais, pour vous le rendre, il faut absolument 
 d’abord me le préter.” 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 * “T find,” says Lady Holland, “that Talleyrand used to tell this story as 
 having passed between Cardinal De la Roche-Guyon, a celebrated epicure, 
 and his confessor.” 
 
 Moore in his Diary (April 2, 1833) has a similar mét of Talleyrand in 
 connection with the above: ‘‘On some occasion when M. very ill, had fallen 
 on the floor and was grasping at it violently with his hands ‘ /7 veut absolument 
 descendre,’ said T. His friend Montrond took his revenge in the style of his 
 master — Madame Flamelin reproached M. de Montrond with his attachment 
 to Talleyrand: ‘ Heavens,’ he replied, ‘ who could help liking him, he is so 
 wicked !’ ” 
 
 A few of the neat sayings of Talleyrand, current in London society with 
 the above and of a similar character, also from Moore’s Diary :— 
 
 “At breakfast at Lord Lansdowne’s, Madame Durazzo, in talking of 
 poor Miss Bathurst (who was drowned at Rome), mentioned that Talleyrand 
 in reading an account of it (in which it was said that her uncle plunged in 
 after her, and that M. Laval was in the greatest grief), said, ‘M/. de Laval 
 aussi s’est plongé, mais dans la plus profonde douleur.’ 
 
 To some notorious reprobate (said to be Rivarol) who remarked to him, ‘Je 
 nai fait qwune seule méchanceté dans ma vie;’ Talleyrand answered, ‘ Et celle- 
 la, quand finira-t-elle ?’ 
 
 Of a lady who was praised for her beaucoup d’esprit: ‘Out, beaucoup d’es- 
 prit, beaucoup ; elle ne s’en sert jamais.’ ”’ 
 
 Jerdan, in his Autobiography has the following :— 
 
438 MACAULAY. 
 
 - 
 
 MACAULAY. 
 
 To take Macaulay out of literature and society, and put him in 
 the House of Commons, is like taking the chief physician out of 
 London during a pestilence. 
 
 “Ou yes! we both talk a great deal, but I don’t believe Ma- 
 caulay ever did hear my voice,” he exclaimed laughing. “ Some- 
 times, when I have told a good story, I have thought to myself, 
 Poor Macaulay! he will be very sorry some day to have missed 
 hearing that.” 
 
 I atways prophecied his greatness from the first moment I saw 
 
 ‘“When an inquisitive quidnunc who squinted, asked Talleyrand how he 
 thought certain measures would go, he replied ‘comme vous voyez.’ 
 
 “A council of the ministry having sat upon some question an eminent 
 nobleman met him as he came from the meeting: ‘ Que s’est-il passé dans ce 
 conseil ?’ to which he replied, ‘ Trois heures !’ 
 
 “In a period of rapid political change in Paris he was asked what he 
 thought of it: ‘Why,’ he replied, ‘in the morning I believe ; in the afternoon 
 I change my opinion, and in the evening, I have no opinion at all.’ 
 
 When he was Minister for Foreign Affairs and there was a report in Paris 
 of the death of George III., a banker, full of speculative anxieties, asked him 
 if it was true. ‘Some say,’ he replied, ‘that the King of England is dead, 
 others say that he is not dead;, but do you wish to know my opinion” 
 ‘Most anxiously, Prince!’ ‘ Well, then, I believe neither! I mention this 
 in confidence to you; but I rely on your discretion ; the slightest imprudence 
 on your part would compromise me most seriously !”’ 
 
 To these may be added a brace of anecdotes from the recently-published 
 Journal of Thomas Raikes :— 
 
 “A certain Vicomte de V , friend of Talleyrand, who with him fre- 
 quented some distinguished soirées, where high play was encouraged, had in- 
 curred some suspicions not very creditable to his honour. Detected one 
 evening in a flagrant attempt to defraud his adversary, he was very uncere- 
 moniously turned out of the house, with a threat, that if he ever made his 
 appearance there again, he should be thrown out of the window. The next 
 day he called upon M. de Talleyrand to relate his misfortune, and protest his 
 innocence: ‘Ma position est trés embarrassante,’ said the Vicomte, ‘ donnez 
 moi done un conseil.”. ‘Dame! mon cher, je vous conseille de ne plns jouer 
 qu’au rez de chaussée’ (the ground floor). 
 
 “When the Duchesse de Berri had disappeared from La Vendée in 1832 
 there were reports that she had been seen in various places in France but al- 
 ways disguised. ‘Talleyrand remarked: ‘Je ne sais pas si vous la trouverez 
 en la Vendée, ou en Italie, ou en Hollande, mais ce qu’il y a de sur, c’est, 
 que vous la trouverez en homme.’” 
 
 
 
LORD DUDLEY. 439 
 
 him, then a very young and unknown man on the Northern 
 Circuit. There are no limits to his knowledge, on small subjects 
 as well as great; he is like a book in breeches. 
 
 Yes, I agree, he is certainly more agreeable since his return from 
 India. His enemies might have said before (though I never did 
 so) that he talked rather too much; but now he has occasional 
 flashes of silence, that make his conversation perfectly delightful. 
 But what is far better and more important than all this is, that I 
 believe Macaulay to be incorruptible. You might lay ribbons, 
 stars, garters, wealth, title, before him in vain. He has an honest 
 genuine love of his country, and the world could not bribe him to 
 neglect her interests. 
 
 LORD DUDLEY. 
 
 Ou don’t read those twelve volumes till they are made into a 
 consomme of two. Lord Dudley did still better; he waited till 
 they blew over. 
 
 Lord Dudley was one of the most absent men I think I ever 
 met in society. One day he met me in the street, and invited me 
 to meet myself. “ Dine with me to-day; dine with me, and I will 
 get Sydney Smith to meet you.” I admitted the temptation he 
 held out to me, but said I was engaged to meet him elsewhere. 
 Another time, on meeting me, he turned back, put his arm through 
 mine, muttering, “I don’t mind walking with him a little way ; Tl 
 walk with him as far as the end of the street.” As we proceeded 
 together, W——— passed: “'That is the villain,” exclaimed he, 
 “who helped me yesterday to asparagus, and gave me no toast.” 
 He very nearly overset my gravity once in the pulpit. He was 
 sitting immediately under me, apparently very attentive, when 
 suddenly he took up his stick, as if he had been in the House of 
 Commons, and tapping on the ground with it, cried out in a low 
 but very audible whisper, “ Hear! hear! hear !’’* 
 
 * There is a more famous anecdote of Lord Dudley’s absence of mind. 
 He was Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs in Canning’s Administration, 
 when, at an important moment too, shortly before the battle of Navarfno, he 
 addressed a letter intended for the F'rench Ambassador Polignac, to the Rus- 
 sian Ambassador, Prince Lieven. ‘The latter took it for a hoax, and promptly 
 
440 LUTTRELL. 
 
 LUTTRELL. 
 
 I THINK it was Luttrell who used to say ————’s face always 
 reminded him of boiled mutton and near relations. 
 
 . 
 
 returned it. He remarked it was a good trick, but he was “trop fin,” and a 
 diplomatist of too high a standing to be so easily caught. Lord Dudley’s 
 habit of soliloquizing in company probably furnished the original of a char- 
 acter in Theodore Hook’s Gilbert Gurney, the East India Nabob, Mr. Nubley, 
 who carries on polite conversations with his friends, with a sotto voce accom- 
 paniment of lfis real and less complimentary opinions. Lockhart, in an 
 admirable sketch of Dudley in the Quarterly Review, relates one of these 
 adventures: “He had a particular dislike to be asked to give any one a lift 
 in his carriage, in which he thought over the occurrences of the day, more, 
 perhaps, than half the members of the Royal College of Physicians. An 
 ingenious tormentor of Brookes’s begged him to give a cast to a homeward 
 bound, unconscious victim. It could not be refused. The unhappy pair set 
 out in their chariot, and arrived, silently, near Mount street, when Lord 
 Dudley muttered audibly, ‘Whata bore! It would be civil to say something. 
 Perhaps I had better ask him to dinner. Tl think about it. His com- 
 panion, a person of infinite fancy, and to whom Lord Dudley afterward took 
 a great liking, re-muttered, after a due pause, ‘What a bore! Suppose he 
 should ask me to dinner! What should Ido? Tl think about it.’ ” 
 
 Moore, in his diary, has frequent mention of Ward. He notices “his two 
 voices; squeak and bass; seeming, as some one remarked, as if ‘ Lord 
 Dudley were conversing with Lord Ward.’ Somebody. who proposed a short 
 walk with him, heard him mutter to himself, introspectively, “I think I may 
 endure him for ten minutes.’”’ One day that he had Lord Lansdowne to 
 dinner with him, Lord Dudley took the opportunity to read to himself 
 Hume’s History of England. 
 
 Lord Dudley was, in his youth, at Edinburgh, in the family of Dugald 
 Stewart, studied at Oxford, and entered Parliamentary life early. The 
 family estate, derived from the coal and iron mines of Worcester, was enor- 
 mous. Lord Dudley’s income was some eighty thousand pounds a year. 
 With this extraordinary wealth at command, and a fine classical culture, en- 
 deared, by his virtues, to the best London society, and fond of gathering its 
 members about him, he passed much of his time unhappily, in consequence of an 
 organic malformation of the brain, which he traced to an early neglect of 
 physical training. ‘‘ Melancholy marked him for her own.” His “ Letters” 
 to his friend Copleston, the Bishop of Llandaff, published after his death, 
 afford many proofs of this. 
 
 As a speaker in Parliament, where, with a few exceptions, he was always 
 on the strong conservative side, he was celebrated for his fine, studied 
 speeches. Rogers burlesqued his method in an exceedingly neat, malicious 
 epigram, which Byron, in conversation with Lady Blessington, pronounced 
 ‘one of the best in the English language, with the true Greek talent of ex- 
 pressing, by implication what is wished to be conveyed :”— 
 
SIDE-DISHES. 441 
 
 Was not ——— very disagreeable? “Why, he was as disa- 
 greeable as the occasion would permit,” Luttrell said. 
 
 LutTrTreELt used to say, I hate the sight of monkeys, they remind 
 me so of poor relations. 
 
 Mrs. Sydney was dreadfully alarmed about her side-dishes the 
 first time Luttrell paid us a visit, and grew pale as the covers 
 were lifted; but they stood the test. ‘Luttrell tasted and praised. 
 He spent a week with us, and having associated him only with 
 Pall Mall, I confess I was agreeably surprised to find how pleasant 
 an inmate he made of a country-house, and almost of a family 
 party; so light in hand, so willing to be pleased. Some of his 
 Trish stories, too, were most amusing, and his manner of telling 
 them so good. One: “Is your master at home, Paddy?” “ No, 
 your honour.” “ Why, I saw him go in five minutes ago.” “ Faith 
 your honour, he’s not exactly at home; he’s only there in the 
 back-yard a-shooting rats with cannon, your honour, for his devar- 
 sion.” 
 
 Luttrell came over for a day (writes Smith, to Lady Holland, 
 
 “Ward has no heart, they say, but I deny it; 
 He has a heart, and gets his speeches by it. 
 
 Dudley, (as Lockhart remarks), took capital revenge, in a review of Roger’s 
 Columbus, in the Quarterly, a specimen of cool, exhausting criticism. 
 Rogers comes out of it like a cat taken, at the last gasp, from the receiver 
 of an air-pump. ‘There are several other examples of Dudley’s powers as a 
 reviewer, in his articles in the Quarterly, on Horne Tooke, Charles James 
 Fox, and Miss Edgeworth. 
 
 Luttrell, by the way, had his couplet on “the joke about Lord Dudley’s 
 speaking by heart.” Moore preserves it in his Diary :— 
 
 “In vain my affections the ladies are seeking : 
 If I give up my heart, there’s an end to my speaking.” 
 
 Lady Blessington also tried an adaptation of it :— 
 
 “The charming Mary has no mind they say; 
 I prove she has —it changes every day. 
 
 It was Lord Dudley who made the remark, when he heard of Sir Walter 
 Scott’s pecuniary disasters: ‘‘ Scott ruined! the author of Waverley ruined ! 
 Let every man to whom he has given months of delight give him a sixpence, 
 and he will rise to-morrow morning richer than Rothschild.” 
 
 The Earl of Dudley died, unmarried, at the age of fifty-two, in 1833. 
 
 igs 
 
442 VEAL-SOUP. 
 
 from Combe Florey, in 1829), from whence I know not, but I 
 thought not from good pastures; at least, he had not his usual 
 soup-and-pattie look. There was a forced smile upon his counte- 
 nance, which seemed to indicate plain roast and boiled; and a sort 
 of apple-pudding depression, as if he had been staying with a cler- 
 gyman. 
 
 I was at Bowood last week (says Smith in another letter about 
 the same) ; the only persons there were seashore Calcott and his 
 wife—two very sensible, agreeable people. Luttrell came over 
 for the day; he was very agreeable, but spoke too lightly, I 
 thought, of veal-soup. I took him aside, and reasoned the matter 
 with him, but in vain; to speak the truth, Luttrell is not steady in 
 his judgments on dishes. Individual failures ‘with him soon degen- 
 erate into generic objections, till, by some fortunate accident, he 
 eats himself into better opinions. A person of more calm reflec- 
 tion thinks not only of what he is consuming at that moment, but 
 of the soups of the same kind he has met with in a long course of 
 dining, and which have gradually and justly elevated the species. 
 I am perhaps making too much of this; but the failures of a man 
 of sense are always painful. 
 
 Again, in 1843 :— 
 
 Luttrell is staying here. Nothing can exceed the innocence of 
 our conversation. Itis one continued eulogy upon man-and-woman- 
 kind. You would suppose that two Arcadian old gentlemen, after 
 shearing their flocks, had agreed to spend a week together upon 
 curds and cream, and to indulge in gentleness of speech and soft- 
 ness of mind.* 
 
 * Luttrell’s couplets, epigrams, puns, and parodies, his vers de société, were 
 always of the neatest. He “talks more sweetly than birds can sing,” writes 
 Sydney Smith. Rogers said none of the talkers whom he met in London 
 society could ‘slide in a brilliant thing with such readiness.” Luttrell wrote 
 verses of the day, for the Times Newspaper. His “Letters to Julia in 
 Rhyme,” a third improved edition of which appeared in 1822, brought him 
 to the notice of the public. It is a vehicle for the description of London 
 manners and ideas. Julia is an ambitious coquette, a widow, to whom the 
 epistles are addressed by a friend of her lover. The sufferings of the inamo- 
 rato, and the amusements of the town, from which he is driven by the lady’s 
 ill-treatment, furnish the themes, which are elegantly presented in a pure 
 witty strain of verse. Luttrell wrote also “ Crockford House, a Rhapsody,” 
 
A SYDNEY SMITH NOVEL. 443 
 
 A NOVEL BY SYDNEY SMITH.* 
 
 WuHeEN Smith lost a few hundreds by the Pennsylvania Bonds, a 
 publisher called on him offering to retrieve his fortunes, if he would 
 get up a three-volume novel. 
 
 in two cantos, in trochaic eight syllable catalectic. It appeared in 1827, when 
 Crockford established his magnificent “hell” in James street. The moral is 
 well-pointed, but the verse is feeble for the satiric demand of the occasion. 
 It was accompanied by a little poem, “‘A Rhymer in Rome.” 
 
 Byron, as reported in the Conversations with Lady Blessington, describes 
 the traits of Luttrell: “‘Of course,” he said, ‘‘you know Luttrell. He is a 
 most agreeable member of society, the best sayer of good things, and the 
 most epigrammatic conversationist I ever met with. There is a terseness and 
 wit mingled with fancy, in his observations, that no one else possesses, and no 
 one so peculiarly understands the apropos. His Advice to Julia is pointed, 
 witty, and full of character, showing in every line a knowledge of society, and 
 a tact rarely met with. Then,.unlike all or most wits, Luttrell is never ob- 
 trusive: even the choicest bon-mots are only brought forth when perfectly ap- 
 plicable, and then are given in a tone of good-breeding which enhances their 
 value.” 
 
 Moore has a number of Luttrell’s “felicities” in his Diary. Walking with 
 him one day, the poet remarked a saying on Sharp’s very dark complexion, that 
 he looked as if the dye of his old trade (hat-making), had got engrained into 
 his face, ‘‘ Yes,” said Luttrell, ‘darkness that may be felt.” He gave this 
 illustration of the English climate: ‘On a fine day, like looking up a chim- 
 ney; on arainy day, like looking downit.” He told a capital story of a tailor, 
 who (we follow Moore’s words) used to be seen attending the Greek lectures 
 constantly ; and when some one noticed it to him as odd, the tailor saying 
 modestly, that he knew too well what became his station, to intrude himself, 
 as an auditor on any of those subjects of which, from his rank in life, he 
 must be supposed to be ignorant; but “really,” he added, ‘‘ at a Greek lec- 
 ture, I think we are all pretty much on a par.” 
 
 Rogers pronounced Luttrell’s epigram on Miss Tree, the singer, ‘ quite a 
 little fairy tale.” 
 
 “On this tree when a nightingale settles and sings, 
 The tree will return her as good as she brings.” 
 
 We are indebted to Mr. Washington Irving for the following anecdote, not 
 hitherto in print. He was walking in company with Moore and Luttrell, at 
 the former’s suburban residence, La Butte, near Paris, when the conversation 
 fell on a female aeronaut, who had not been heard of since her recent ascent. 
 Moore described her upward progress —the last seen of her she was still as- 
 cending, ascending, “‘ Handed out,” slipped in Luttrell, ‘‘ by Enoch and Elijah.” 
 
 Henry Luttrell died at his London residence, in December, 1851, in his 
 eighty-first year. 
 
 * This and the three following passages are from the Memoir of Rey. 
 Richard Harris Barham, by R, H. D. Barham, the author of the “ Ingoldsby 
 
a, 
 
 444 | WILD CURATES. 
 
 “ Well, sir,” said the Rev. Sydney, after some seeming consid- 
 eration, “if I do so, I can’t travel out of my own line, ne sutor ul- 
 tra crepidam ; I must have an archdeacon for my hero, to fall in 
 love with the pew-opener, with the clerk for a confidant—tyran- 
 nical interference of the churchwardens— clandestine correspond- 
 ence concealed under the hassocks—appeal to the parishioners, 
 etc.” sn 
 
 “ All that, sir,” said the publisher, “I would not presume to in- 
 terfere with; I would leave it entirely to your own inventive 
 genius.” 
 
 “Well, sir, I am not prepared to come to terms at present, but 
 
 if ever I do undertake such a work you shall certainly have the 
 
 refusal.” 
 
 THE BISHOP OF NEW ZEALAND. 
 
 On the departure of the Bishop of New Zealand for his diocese 
 
 Smith recommended him to have regard to the minor as well as to 
 
 the more grave duties of his station—to be given to hospitality — 
 and, in order to meet the tastes of his native guests, never to be 
 without a smoked little boy in the bacon-rack, and a cold clergy- 
 man on the sideboard. “And as for myself,’ my lord, “he con- 
 cluded, “all I can say is, that when your new parishioners do eat 
 you, I sincerely hope you may disagree with them.” 
 
 WILD CURATES. 
 
 Or Dean C—— he said his only adequate punishment would be 
 
 to be preached to death by wild curates. 
 
 VIRGILIAN PUN. 
 
 SmitH told me of the motto he had proposed for Bishop Bur- 
 gess’s arms, in allusion to his brother, the well-known fish-sauce 
 
 projector. 
 “ Gravi jampridem saucia cura.* 
 
 
 
 
 
 Legends,” whose Diary furnishes us with several choice specimens of Smith’s 
 pleasantry. He was a Minor Canon of St. Paul’s, and of course had good 
 opportunity to study his friend’s humour. 
 
 * JEneid, iv. . 
 
SPECIE AND SPECIES. 445 
 
 DOUBLING THE CAPE. 
 
 Pons are frequently provocative. One day, after dinner with 
 a Nabob, he was giving us Madeira— 
 
 “ London — Kast India — picked — particular,” 
 
 then a second thought struck him, and he remembered that he had 
 a few flasks of Constantia in the house, and he produced one. He 
 gave us just a glass apiece. We became clamorous for another, 
 but the old qui-hi was firm in refusal. “ Well, well,” said Sydney 
 Smith, a man for whom I have a particular regard, “since we 
 can’t double the Cape, we must e’en go back to Madeira.” We 
 all laughed—our host most of all—and he too, luckily, had his 
 joke. “Be of Good Hope, you shall double it ;” at which we-all 
 laughed still more immoderately, and drank the second flask.* 
 
 SPECIE AND SPECIES. 
 
 Sypnery Smiru, preaching a charity sermon, frequently repeated ~ 
 
 the assertion, that, of all nations, Englishmen were most distin- 
 
 guished for generosity and the love of their species. The collec-. 
 
 tion happened to be inferior to his expectations, and he said, that 
 he had evidently made a great mistake, and that his expression 
 should have been, that they were distinguished for the love of their 
 specie. 
 
 A CONVERSATIONAL COOK. 
 
 Moore set Sydney Smith at home in a hackney-coach after a " 
 
 pleasant dinner-party at Agar Ellis’s. On his remarking “how 
 well and good-humouredly the host had mixed us all up together,” 
 
 Smith said, “ That’s the great use of a good conversational cook, — 
 
 who says to his company, ‘I'll make a good pudding of you; it’s 
 no matter what you came into the bowl, you must come out a pud- 
 ding” ‘Dear me,’ says one of the ingredients, ‘ wasn’t I just now 
 an egg?’ but he feels the batter sticking to him now.” } 
 
 * Maginn’s Maxims of Odoherty, Number Twenty, Blackwood’s Mag., 
 1824. 
 
 + The World We Live In. Blackwood, June, 1837. 
 
 t Moore’s Diary, May 30, 1826. 
 
446 ARTICLES AND MUSES. 
 
 A FALSE QUANTITY. 
 
 THERE is a current remark attributed to him, that a false quan- 
 tity at the commencement of the career of a young man intended 
 for public life, was rarely got over; and when a lady asked him 
 what a false quantity was, he explained it to be in a man the same 
 as a faux pas in a woman. 
 
 A DISPUTANT.* 
 
 He said that was so fond of contradiction, that he would 
 throw up the window in the middle of the night, and contradict the 
 watchman who was calling the hour. 
 
 
 
 MEDICAL ADVICE. 
 
 Wuen his physician advised him to “take a walk upon an 
 empty stomach,” Smith asked, “Upon whose ?” 
 
 THE ARTICLES AND THE MUSES. 
 
 “JT wAD avery odd dream last night,” said he; “I dreamed 
 that there were thirty-nine Muses and nine Articles; and my 
 head is still quite confused about them.”f 
 
 APOSTOLICAL SUCCESSION. 
 
 
 
 SmitH said, “The Bishop of is so like Judas, that I now 
 firmly believe in the apostolical succession. 
 
 * This and the three following are from Dyce’s Recollections of the Table- 
 Talk of Samuel Rogers. 
 
 + There is a better version of this in Lady Holland’s Memoir: ‘Now I 
 mean not to drink one drop of wine to-day, and I shall be mad with spirits. 
 J always am when I drink no wine. It is curious the effect a thimbleful of 
 wine has upon me; I feel as flat as ’s jokes ; it destroys my understand- 
 ing: I forget the number of Muses, and think them thirty-nine of course; 
 and only get myself right again by repeating the lines, and finding ‘ Descend, 
 ye thirty-nine,’ two feet too long.” 
 
 
 
CQOL OF THE EVENING. 447 
 
 SENTENCE ON AN ALDERMAN. 
 
 SypDNEY SMITH was asked what penalty the Court of Aldermen 
 could inflict on Don-Key for bringing them into contempt by his 
 late escapade. He said, “ Melted butter with his turbot for a 
 twelvemonth instead of lobster-sauce.”* 
 
 BOOKED. 
 
 WHEN the great Nestor of our poets (Rogers) advanced as a 
 great truth, at his own table, that no man became great but by get- 
 ting on the shoulders of another, Sydney Smith, who was pres- 
 ent, was so pleased with the remark, that his favourite expression, 
 when he heard anything very good, “ booked” was uttered by him 
 very emphatically on this occasion. By “booked” Sydney meant 
 to imply — accepted, endorsed, and to be repeated.” f 
 
 YOUTH AND FAMILIARITY.} 
 
 ONE evening, at a dinner party, he was excessively annoyed by 
 the familiarity of a young fop, who constantly addressed him as 
 “ Smith”—“ Smith, pass the wine,” and so forth. Presently the 
 young gentleman stated that he had received an invitation to dine 
 with the Archbishop of Canterbury, and asked the reverend canon 
 “what sort ofa fellow” he was. 
 
 “A very good sort of a fellow, indeed,” replied the satirist ; 
 “only, let me give you a piece of advice—don’t call him Howley.” 
 
 This rebuff vastly amused the company, but the object of it, be- 
 ing a fool at all points, did not see this point, and talked on in 
 happy unconsciousness. Soon afterward, one of the company 
 rose to depart, pleading an engagement to a soiree at Gore House. 
 
 “Take me with you,” roars young Hopeful.—“ I’ve the greatest 
 possible desire to know Lady Blessington.” 
 
 This request was very naturally demurred to, on the ground 
 that a visitor was not authorized to introduce uninvited guests. 
 
 * Letter of Jekyll to Lady Blessington, Sept. 1833. Sir John Key, alder- 
 man and mayor, a notoriety of the times. 
 
 + Town and Table Talk. Illus. Lond. News, Feb. 25, 1854. 
 
 ¢ This and the four following are waifs and strays, to which we can assign 
 no particular credit. 
 
448 A VESTRY. 
 
 “Oh! said Sydney Smith, “never mind; I’m sure that her 
 Ladyship will be delighted to see our young friend: the weather’s 
 uncommonly hot, and you can say that you have brought with you 
 the cool of the evening.” 
 
 “JT HOPE, my friend,” he said, kindly, to a brilliant young man, 
 who had freely exhibited his opinions to the company, on a variety 
 of subjects, “that you will know as much ten years hence as you 
 do now!” 
 
 DR. WHEWELL. 
 
 SMITH is reported to have have said of Dr. Whewell, of Cam- 
 bridge, whose universality in authorship is one of the marvels of 
 the time, that omniscience was his forte, and science his foible. 
 
 TWELVE-PARSON POWER. 
 
 S1TTINnG by a brother clergyman at dinner, he afterward re- 
 marked, that his dull neighbour had a twelve-parson power of 
 conversation. 
 
 ASSUMPTIONS. 
 
 THERE are three things which every man fancies he can do— 
 farm a small property, drive a gig, and write an article for a re- 
 view. 
 
 A VESTRY. 
 
 Ar a church conference on the expediency of securing the new 
 street pavement of wooden blocks, he gave it as his opinion that 
 the thing might be accomplished if the vestry would lay their 
 heads together. 
 
 DUNCES. 
 
 If men (writes Smith) are to be fools, it were better that they 
 were fools in little matters than in great: dullness, turned up with 
 temerity, is a livery all the worse for the facings; and the most 
 tremendous of all things is a magnanimous dunce. 
 
PRACTICAL JOKING. 449 
 
 PRACTICAL JOKING.* 
 
 On one occasion, when some London visitors were expected, he 
 called in art to aid nature, and caused oranges to be tied to the 
 shrubs in the drive and garden. The stratagem succeeded admir- 
 ably, and great was his exultation when an unlucky urchin from 
 the village was detected in the act of sucking one through a 
 quill. It was as good, he said, as the birds pecking at Zeuxis’ 
 grapes, or the donkeys munching Jeffrey’s supposed myrtles for 
 thistles. Another time, on a lady’s happening to hint that the 
 pretty paddock would be improved by deer, he fitted his two 
 donkeys with antlers, and placed them with their extraordinary 
 headgear immediately in front of the windows. The effect, enhanced 
 by the puzzled looks of the animals, was ludicrous in the extreme. 
 
 But in his most frolicsome moods, he never practised what is 
 called practical joking, agreeing in opinion on this topic with the 
 late Marquis of Hertford, who checked a party of ingenious 
 tormentors at Sudbourn with the remark, that the human mind 
 was various, and that there was no knowing how much melted 
 butter a gentleman would bear in his pocket without quarreling. 
 There was one practical joke, however, which Sydney admitted 
 he should like to see repeated, if only as an experiment in physics 
 and metaphysics. It was the one played off in the last century 
 on a Mr. O’Brien, whose bedroom windows were carefully boarded 
 up, so that not a ray of light could penetrate. When he rang his 
 bell in the morning, a servant appeared, half dressed and yawning 
 with a candle, and anxiously asked if he was ill. Ashamed of the 
 fancied irregularity, the patient recomposed himself to sleep, but 
 at the end of a couple of hours rang again, and again the same 
 pantomime was enacted. “Open the shutters.” They were opened, 
 and all without was as dark as a wolf’s mouth. He was kept in 
 bed till driven to desperation by hunger, when rushing out upon 
 the landing-place, he found that he had only just time to dress 
 for a late dinner. 
 
 CLERICAL ANGLING. 
 
 In an argument with a serious baronet, who objected to clerical 
 sporting in the abstract, he stood up for angling. “I give up fly- 
 
 * This and the five following paragraphs are from an article on Sydney 
 Smith in the Edinburgh, Review, July, 1855. 
 
450 TABLE TALK. 
 
 fishing: it is a light, volatile, dissipated pursuit. But ground-bait, 
 with a good steady float that never bobs without a bite, is an oecu- 
 pation for a bishop, and in no ways interferes with sermon-making.” 
 He once discovered some tench in a pond at Sandhill Park (a 
 seat of the Lethbridges close to Combe Florey) and kept the 
 secret till he had caught every one of them (an exploit requiring 
 several days), when he loudly triumphed over the fisherman of 
 the family. Writing to Lady Grey, he says: “his [John Grey’s | 
 refusal of the living of Sunbury convinces me that he is not fond 
 of gudgeon-fishing. I had figured to myself, you and Lord 
 Grey, and myself, engaged in that occupation upon the river 
 Thames.” 
 
 . DINNER-TABLE CONVERSATION. 
 
 “ Eloquence,” says Bolingbroke, “must flow like a stream that is 
 fed by an abundant. spring, and not sprout forth a little frothy 
 water on some gaudy day, and remain dry the rest of the year.” 
 So must humour, and Sydney Smith’s was so fed; yet it was sel- 
 dom overpowering, and never exhausting, except by the prolonged 
 fits of laughter which it provoked. Although in one of his letters 
 already quoted he calls himself a diner-out, he had none of the 
 prescriptive attributes of that now happily almost extinct tribe. 
 He had no notion of talking for display. He talked because he 
 could not help it; because his spirits were excited, and his mind 
 was full. He consciously or unconsciously, too, abided by Lord 
 Chesterfield’s rule, “ Pay your own reckoning, but do not treat the 
 whole company; This being one of the very few cases in which 
 people do not care to be treated, every one being fully convinced 
 that he has wherewithal to pay.” His favourite maxim (copied 
 from Swift) was “'l'ake as many half-minutes as you can get, but 
 never talk more than half a minute without pausing and giving 
 others an opportunity to strike in.” He vowed that Buchon, a 
 clever and amiable man of letters, who talked on the opposite 
 principle, was the identical Frenchman who murmured as he was 
 anxiously watching a rival, “S’il crache ou tousse, il est perdu.” 
 Far from being jealous of competition, he was always anxious to 
 dine in company with men who were able and entitled to hold their 
 own ; and he was never pleasanter than when some guest of con- 
 
+ 
 
 MEDICAL PRACTICE. 451 
 
 genial turn of mind assisted him to keep up the ball. On the 
 occasion of the first attempt to bring him and Theodore Hook 
 together, the late Mr. Lockhart arrived with the information, that 
 Hook was priming himself (as was his wont), at the Atheneum 
 Club, with a tumbler or two of hot punch. “Oh,” exclaimed 
 Sydney, “if it comes to that, let us start fair. When Mr. Hook 
 is announced, announce Mr. Smith’s Punch.” When they did 
 meet, they contracted a mutual liking, and Sydney ran on with his 
 usual flow and felicity ; but poor Hook had arrived at that period 
 of his life when his wonderful powers required a greater amount 
 of stimulants than could be decently imbibed at an ordinary Lon- 
 don dinner with a clergyman. 
 
 A SCOTCH GARDENER. 
 
 WuHeEn he stopped to give directions to his servants or labourers 
 he was well worth listening to. On it being pointed out to him 
 that his gardener was tearing off too many of the leaves of a vine, 
 he told him to desist. The man, a Scotchman, looked unconvinced. 
 “ Now, understand me,” he continued; “you are probably right, 
 but I don’t wish you to do what is right; and as it is my vine, 
 and there are no moral laws for pruning, you may as well do as I 
 wish.” 
 
 MEDICAL PRACTICE. 
 
 Str Henry Houiianp’s high authority is adduced in favour of 
 Sydney’s medical knowledge ; but we have our doubts whether the 
 health of either Foston or Combe Florey was improved by the 
 indulgence of his hobby in this particular. A composition of blue- 
 pill which he was glad to “ dart into the intestines” of any luckless 
 wight whom he could induce to swallow it, sometimes operated in a 
 manner which he had not anticipated. One morning, at Combe 
 Florey, a regular practitioner from Taunton, who had been going 
 his weekly round and was considerately employed to overlook the 
 serious cases, came in with rather a long face, and stated that an 
 elderly woman, who had been taking the pill during several con- 
 secutive nights for the lumbago, complained that her gums were 
 sore, and he therefore advised the discontinuance of it. A London 
 
452 ILLUSIONS. 
 
 visitor, who had tried it once, began to titter; and Sydney, after 
 attempting a weak apology for his practice, heartily joined in the 
 laugh, exclaiming: “ What a story you will make of this, when 
 you next breakfast with Rogers, and how he and Luttrell will 
 triumph in it!” 
 
 A BISHOP’S COURTSHIP. 
 
 
 
 Some one asked if the Bishop of was going to marry. 
 “ Perhaps he may—yet how can a bishop marry? How can he 
 flirt? The most he can say is, ‘I will see you in the vestry after 
 service.’ ” 
 
 TITHES. 
 
 Ir is an atrocious way of paying the clergy. The custom of 
 tithe in kind will seem incredible to our posterity ; no one will be- 
 lieve in the ramiferous priest officiating in the cornfield. 
 
 ILLUSIONS. 
 
 WE naturally lose illusions as we get older, like teeth; but 
 there is no Cartwright to fit a new set into our understandings. I 
 have, alas! only one illusion left, and that is the Archbishop of 
 Canterbury. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Acknowledgment of Game, 414. 
 
 Affectations of Knowledge, 197. 
 
 Affection and the Thermometer, 404. 
 
 Affections, Uses of the Evil, 246. 
 
 Age, Benefits of Knowledge to, 152. 
 
 Airy, G. P., Epigram on, 403. 
 
 Allen, John, Notices of, 20, 91, 414. 
 
 America, Articles on, 184-194. 
 
 , Travellers in, 396. 
 
 , Visit to, 409. 
 
 American Debts, 415. 
 
 ——_—_——-- Letters on, 69, 353-362. 
 
 Angling, Clerical, 449. 
 
 Antediluvian Authorship, 120. 
 
 Anti-Cholera, 403. 
 
 Anti-Melancholy, 423. 
 
 Anti-War, 399. 
 
 Apologue of the Village, 307. 
 
 Apostolical Succession, 446. 
 
 Argillaceous Immortality, 398. 
 
 Articles, the, and the Muses, 446. 
 
 Assumptions, 448. 
 
 Atheneum, London, quoted, 396. 
 
 Aurungzebe, 240. 
 
 Austin, Sarah, Edits Correspondence, 
 10; Notice of Smith’s Preaching, 98. 
 
 Ayersions and Arguments, 412. 
 
 Ballot, the, 68. 
 
 Banks, Sir Joseph, 172. 
 
 Barham, R. H., Diary of, quoted, 101, 
 435, 443. 
 
 Barn-door Fowl, 133 
 
 Barrow, Dr., Sermons, 33. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Bentham, Jeremy, 160; Book of Fal- 
 lacies, 162. 
 Berkeley, Hon. G. F., 119 
 Bernard, Sir Thomas, Notices of, 30, 
 35. 
 Bible, Beauty of the Style of, 423. 
 Bishop, a Real, 375. 
 Sacrifice of, on a Railroad, 350. 
 Bishop’s Courtship, 452. 
 Bishops, Advice to, 331. 
 and Patronage, 329. 
 — Saturday Night, 337. 
 Blair, Hugh, 22. 
 Blessington, Lady, 
 quoted, 443. 
 Blind, the, 263. 
 Bloomfield, Bishop, 65. 
 Bluecoat Theory, 412. 
 Blue-stockings, 424. 
 Bobus Smith, see Robert. 
 Body, of the, 278. 
 Bombarding the Asiatics, 410. 
 Booked, 447. 
 
 
 
 
 
 Conversations, 
 
 | Bore, a, 412. 
 
 Borough System, the, 318. 
 
 Botany Bay, Description of, 157-159. 
 
 Bourne, Sturges, 305. 
 
 Breakfast, a, 409. 
 
 Brougham, Henry, 19; Ed. Review, 
 27; the Court of Chancery, 320. 
 
 Brown, Isaac Hawkins, 302. 
 
 Brown, Thomas, 21, 27. 
 
 Buffoonery, 231. 
 
 Beach, Mr. Hick, 17 ; Letters of Smith| Bull’s Charity Subscriptions, 162. 
 
 to, 18. 
 
 Bulls, Irish, 232. 
 
 Beautiful, Incentives of the, 237; Ac-| Bunch, 48. 54. 
 
 tion of the, 239. 
 
 Burges, James Bland, 24. 
 
 Bell, Robert, Life of Canning, quoted,| Burlesque, 232. 
 
 310. 
 
 Burning Alive on Railroads, 350. 
 
454 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Byron, Lord, Notice of ‘“‘The Exo-|D’Epinay, Madame, 154-156. 
 
 diad,”’ 24 ; of Lady Holland, 89 ; No- 
 tices of Smith in his Poems, 93 ; 436. 
 
 Campanero, the, 168. 
 
 Campbell, Thomas, Anecdotes of, 22, 
 89; Lochiel, quoted, 221. 
 
 Canning, George, 10, 160; his Para- 
 sites, 301; Character of, 309. 
 
 Canvas-Back Ducks, 433. 
 
 Carlisle, Lord, Notice of Robert Smith, 
 14; Notice of, 52; 
 
 Carlyle, Thomas, 92. 
 
 Castlereagh, Lord, 160. 
 
 Cathedral Revenue Bill, 329. 
 
 Catholic Church Question, 363-378 ; 
 see Peter Plymley. 
 
 Catholic Toleration, &¢., 41-3; 64. ~ 
 
 Caucus, 185. 
 
 Caution, in Use of Talent, 214. 
 
 Ceylon, Inhabitants of, 111. 
 
 Channing, Dr., Sermon preached at 
 St. Paul’s, 33. 
 
 Charades, 233. 
 
 Cheerfulness, of, 282. 
 
 Chemistry, 135. 
 
 Chesterfield, Lord, quoted, 450. 
 
 Childhood, Sensibility of, 418. 
 
 Chimney-Sweepers, 159. 
 
 Christian Charity, 261. 
 
 Church in Danger, 299. 
 
 Claphamites, the, 301. 
 
 Classes of Society, 431. 
 
 Classical Education, 121-131. 
 
 Club Life, 38. 
 
 Cobbett, Notice of Netheravon, 18. 
 
 Combe Florey, Life at, 61-63. 
 
 Common Sense for 1810, 46. 
 
 Commons, House of, 425. 
 
 Composition, 426. 
 
 Conquerors, Use of, 157. 
 
 Conversational Cook, 445. 
 
 Conversation and Books, 212. 
 
 Conversation, Educated, 150. 
 
 Cool of the Evening, 447. 
 
 De Quincey, Notice of Robert Smith, 
 12. 
 
 De Stael, Madame, Delphine, 113. 
 
 Diary, Reflections from, 292-4. 
 
 Dickens, Charles, Letters to, 407-9. 
 
 Digestion and the Virtues, 404. 
 
 Dinner in the Country, 420. 
 
 Dinner Table Conversation, 450. 
 
 Discussing, Habit of, 203. 
 
 Disputant, A, 446. 
 
 Dogs, 421, 430. 
 
 Dome of St. Paul’s, 434. 
 
 Dort, Chronicle of, 332. 
 
 Doubling the Cape, 445. 
 
 Doyle, Dr., 367. 
 
 Dress and Beauty, 424. 
 
 Drunkenness, 289. 
 
 Dunces, 448. 
 
 Dwight, Timothy, 187. 
 
 Dying Speeches, 415. 
 
 Edinburgh, Visit to, 398. 
 
 Edinburgh Review, Early History of, 
 25; Attack on Oxford, 45; Pas- 
 sages from, 107-194: 
 
 Edinburgh Society, 19. 
 
 Edmonton, Living of, 67. 
 
 Education, Classical, 121-131. 
 
 Female, 136-154. 
 
 Popular, 274-5. 
 
 Elephant, Anecdote of, 243. 
 
 Ellis, George, 309. 
 
 Emulation, 207. 
 
 England in an Invasion, 304. 
 
 Erin go Bragh, 366. 
 
 Erskine, Lord, Anecdote of, 39. 
 
 Essays and Sketches, 278-296. 
 
 Everett, Edward, 72; Letter on, 415. 
 
 Facts and Figures, 426. 
 
 Fagging System, 16. 
 
 Fallacies, 283-5. 
 
 False Quantities, 115. 
 
 Fearon, H. B., 185. 
 
 Female Education, 136-154. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Copleston, Bishop of Llandaff, Reply | Fireplaces, 423. . 
 
 to Ed. Review, 45; Smith’s Reply 
 to, 131-136; Letters of Ward, 440. 
 Cork, Lady, 429. 
 Country House, 431. 
 Courage in the Use of Talent, 201. 
 Cranzius and Ernesti, 124, 132. 
 Crashaw, Epigram of, 221. 
 Crowe, Mrs., Letter to, 410. 
 Crumpet’s Ascent to St. Paul’s, 333. 
 Curates, 338, 340, 341. 
 Delphine, Analysis of 113. 
 Demerara, 168. 
 
 
 
 Foolometer, a, 337. 
 
 Foston-le-Clay, 47-57. 
 
 Fox, C. J., Saying of, 337. 
 
 Fragment on the Irish Roman Catho- 
 lic Church, 363-378. 
 
 Franklin, Benjamin, 62, 315. 
 
 Fraser’s Gallery of Portraits, 94. 
 
 ————. Magazine cited, 119, 486. 
 Frere, John Hookham, 10. 
 Friendship, of, 281. 
 
 Friendship, 433. 
 
 Fuller, Dr. Thomas, 102, 259. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Gardener, Scotch, 451. 
 
 Gladstone, W. E., 373. 
 
 God save the King, 311. 
 
 Goderich, Lord, 373. 
 
 Good Man and a Bad Minister, 299. 
 
 Gout, 409. 
 
 Granby, Novel of, 176-9. 
 
 Grant, Sir William, 395. 
 
 Grattan, Visits Mickleham, 36. 
 
 Character of, 161. 
 
 Gravity and License, 95-102. 
 
 Great Western Railway, 344. 
 
 Green, Dutf, 71; 359. 
 
 Grenville, Thomas, 371. 
 
 Grey, Earl, 61; Conduct of the Re- 
 form Bill, 321; 394, 402. 
 
 Habit, Force of, 248; Orbit of, 251; 
 Superiority to, 251; Effect of, 253. 
 
 Half-Measures, 285. 
 
 Hallam, Henry, 21. 
 
 Hamilton, Alexander, 27. 
 
 Handshaking, 426. 
 
 Happiness, 434. 
 
 Happiness, Past, 248. 
 
 Hardness of Character, 286. 
 
 Hardships of Public Schools, 154. 
 
 Hare, James, 81. 
 
 Hawkesbury, Lord, 300. 
 
 Haydon, B. R., 36; 73. 
 
 Hay-Fever, the, 403. 
 
 Heptarchy of the Press, 323. 
 
 Hobbes and his Pipe, 248. 
 
 Hodgson, Dr., 374. 
 
 Holland House, 22, 30; Historical No- 
 tices of, 86-88; Anecdotes of, 90; 
 Dinner Party, 395. 
 
 Holland, Lady (Saba, daughter of 
 Sydney Smith), Memoir of her Fa- 
 ther, 10; Birth, 30; Marriage to 
 Sir Henry H., 64. 
 
 Holland, Lord (Henry Richard Vas- 
 sall), Notices of, 88; Lady Holland, 
 89, 103. 
 
 Holland, Sir Henry, Notice of, 64. 
 
 Holoplexia, 258. 
 
 Hook, Theodore, 450. 
 
 Hope, Charles, 21. ~ 
 
 Horned Cattle and the Lion, 336. 
 
 
 
 
 
 455 
 
 Illusions, 452. 
 
 Immortality of a Book, 116. 
 
 Individual Peculiarities and Genius, 
 213. 
 
 Inflictions on Youth, 284. 
 
 Inglis, Sir Robert, 371. 
 
 Insects of the Tropics, 175. 
 
 Instinct and Talent, 241 ; Change of 
 Instinct, 242. 
 
 Irreligion and Impiety, 400. 
 
 Irving, Edward, 402. 
 
 — Washington, Original Anec- 
 dote of Luttrell, 443. 
 
 Jameson, Mrs., Notice of Sydney 
 Smith. 10; Character of his Wit, 85. 
 
 — to Lady Blessington, 446. 
 
 Jeffrey, Francis, 26; Marriage, 46. 
 
 and the North Pole, 417; 
 Lines on, ib. 
 
 Jeffrey’s Analysis, 393; Hints to, ib.; 
 His Adjectives, 400. 
 
 Jekyll, J., Witticism of, 429. 
 
 Jenkinson, Lord Hawkesbury, 300. 
 
 Johnson, Samuel, quoted, 102. 
 
 Joinville, Prince de, 370. 
 
 Joke in the Country, 426. 
 
 Judge, Taylor, and Barber, 186. 
 
 Kay, Annie, 50, 55. 
 
 Key, Sir John, 446. 
 
 King of Clubs, the, 38. 
 
 Kinglake, Dr., 317. 
 
 Kingsley, Rev. Charles, quoted, 262. 
 
 Knowledge, Rewards of, 206; Pleas- 
 ures of, 216. 
 
 Labour and Genius, 195. 
 
 Lamb, Charles, 97. 
 
 Landseer, Sir Thomas, Anecdote, 102. 
 
 Langford, W., Anniversary Sermon, 
 108. 
 
 Lapdogs, 430. 
 
 Law, Cheapness of, in America, 186. 
 
 Letters, Passages from, 392-416. 
 
 Lewis, Frankland, 324. 
 
 Leyden, John, 21. 
 
 Leyden’s Sonnet on the Sabbath, 238. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ‘Licensing of Ale-Houses, 179-183. 
 
 Life of a Parent, 392. 
 Light and Shade, 425. 
 
 Horner, Francis, 20; Notice of Smith’s| Lister, T. H., 177. 
 Preaching, 25; Notice of Lectures, | Literature of America, 187-8. 
 
 35; Recollections of, 387-391. 
 Howick, Lord, 306. 
 Hoyle, Charles, Poem Exodus, 101. 
 Humour, Nature of, 227-231. 
 
 Local English Morals, 156. . 
 Local Moralities, 422. 
 
 Lockhart, J. G., 450. 
 
 Locking-in on Railways, 344-352, 
 
 Hunt, Leigh, Notices of Molland|Longevity and Wisdom, 243. 
 
 House, 86. 
 
 Lucretius, quoted, 390. 
 
We 
 
 456 
 
 LS 7 
 *y en *% 
 . 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Luttrell, H., Smith’s Notices of, 440;)New Zealand, Bishop of, 444. 
 Epigram by, 441; Witticisms of,|Nice Person, a, 285. 
 
 443 ; Account of, ib. 
 Lynch, Judge, 193. 
 Lyndhurst, Lord, 321. 
 and Lady, 52, 60. 
 
 
 
 
 
 — 
 
 
 
 Niebuhr’s Discoveries, 422. 
 Noah, M. M., Anecdote of, 191. 
 Noctes Ambrosianez, 94. 
 Noodledom, 143. 
 
 Macaulay, T. B., 43; Tribute to Hol-| Noodle’s Oration, 164. 
 
 land House, 91. 
 
 
 
 
 
 Smith, 120. 
 
 
 
 No-Popery Outcry, 183-4. 
 
 , an Illustration from| Notes and Queries, cited, 316. 
 
 Novel by Sydney Smith, 443. 
 
 ——_——_- ——, Sayings of Sydney| Occupation, of, 279. 
 
 Smith on, 438-9. 
 Mackenzie, Henry, 22. 
 Mackintosh, Sir /Kneas, 82. 
 
 
 
 Anecdotes of, 379-386. 
 
 
 
 Malays, the, 112. 
 
 Malthus, T. R., 401. 
 
 Manners, 430. 
 
 Mathematics, 426. 
 
 Maxims, 394. 
 
 of Life, 292-4. 
 
 Medical Advice, 446. 
 
 — Statesmanship, 312. 
 
 Practice of Sydney Smith, 
 451. 
 
 Melbourne, Lord, Character of, 334. 
 
 Methodism, Articles on, 119. 
 
 Microcosm, the, 10. 
 
 Military Glory, 187. 
 
 Modern Changes, 295. 
 
 Monk, Dr., Bishop of Gloucester, 65, 
 341. 
 
 Montrand and Talleyrand, 437. 
 
 Moore, Thomas, Sydney Smith’s Me- 
 moir, 10; Notice of Robert Smith, 
 13; Anecdote of Newton’s Studio, 
 75; Anecdotes of Smith, 84 98; of 
 Holland House, 90; Poetical Com- 
 pliment, 93; Letter to, 401; Diary, 
 quoted, 437, 445, 
 
 Moral Philosophy— Passages from 
 Lectures, 195-255. 
 
 Morgan, Capt. E. E., Correspondent 
 of Smith, 71-2; Portrait of Smith, 
 1D. 
 
 Morley, Countess of, 413. 
 
 Murray, John A. (Lord Murray), 21, 
 ae 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Musz Etonenses, 11. 
 
 Napier, Sir Charles, History quoted, 
 313. 
 
 New Song to an Old Tune, 70. 
 
 Newton, Gilbert Stuart, Portrait of 
 Smith, 75. 
 
 New Zealand Attorney, 422. 
 
 
 
 O’Connell, 326, 365, 369. 
 Old Age tobe Passed in the City, 
 404, 414 
 
 ——, Sir James, Character and! Olier, Miss, Birth and Character, 9; 
 
 Mother of Sydney Smith, 15. 
 
 Memoirs, quoted, 38.|One-Book Man, 425. 
 
 Opera, Invitation to, 409, 414. 
 
 Oratorio, an, 399. 
 
 Oxford University Education, 121-136. 
 
 visited, 392. 
 
 Paris visited by Smith, 58-60. 
 
 Parishioners, Advice to, 287. 
 
 Parody, 232. 
 
 — of Milton, 405. 
 
 Parr, Dr., Tributes to Robert Smith, 
 13. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 —, Spital Sermon, 107; Philo- 
 patris, 120. 
 
 Partington, Mrs., 64, 315. 
 
 Passions, the, 253. 
 
 Paying in Turbot, 394 
 
 Peel, Sir Robert, Letter to, 352, 370. 
 
 Pennsylvania, Public Debt, 353. 
 
 Perceval, Spencer, 297, 299, 300, 302, 
 310, 311. 
 
 Percival, R., Account of Ceylon, 111. 
 
 Persecutions, Catholic and Protestant, 
 298. 
 
 Peter Plymley, Passages from, 297- 
 313. 
 
 Petition of Sydney Smith to Congress, 
 353. 
 
 Philips, Sir George, Notice of, 73. 
 
 Pictures, Smith’s Purchase of, 425. 
 
 Pilpay, Fable from, 360. 
 
 Playfair, John, 22. 
 
 Plymley Letters, 40, 297-313. 
 
 Pope, Parody on, 429. 
 
 Porson’s Review of the Sovereign, 
 24; Epigram, ib. 
 
 Portrait of Sydney Smith, 404. 
 
 Practical Joking, 448. 
 
 Praise, 434. 
 
 Prancing Indenture, 108. . 
 
 Preferment at Court, 401. 
 
 Prescott, W. H., 435. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 457 
 
 Private Cellars and Public Houses,|Sewing for Men, 430. 
 
 182. 
 Professional Education, 121-131. 
 Ptochogony, a, 339. 
 
 Puns, 85, 124. 
 
 Public Eye, the, 330. 
 
 Public Houses and Drinking, 179. 
 
 Publie Schools, 154. 
 
 Puseyism, 411. 
 
 Pybus, eos Amelia, wife of 
 “Smith, 
 
 Charles Small, 23. 
 
 Pye, Henry James, 24. ° 
 
 Quantity, False, a, 446. - 
 
 Raikes, T., Journal quoted, 438. 
 
 Railway, Letters on, 344-352. 
 
 Randolph, John, on the Ballot, 68. 
 
 Reading, Art of, 208. 
 
 —— in Age, 402. 
 
 Rebuke by Srainey Smith, 423. 
 
 Redesdale, Lord, 306. 
 
 Reform Speeches, 314-328. 
 
 Religious Liberty, 190. 
 
 Riches, on, 267. 
 
 Ridicule, Superiority to, 226; Use of 
 Erg: 
 
 Rogers, Henry, Notice of Smith’s 
 Lectures, 37. 
 
 ——, Samuel, Notice of Robert 
 Smith, 14; Anecdote of Lord Hol- 
 land, 16: of Lady Holland, 89; 
 Dining-room Anecdote, 101 and 
 Note; 394; Witticisms of Smith, 
 435; Anecdotes of, ib.; Epigram 
 on Ward, 441. 
 
 Romilly, Sir Samuel, Tribute to, 273. 
 
 Round Man in the Round Hole, 206. 
 
 Rousseau and D’Epinay, 153. 
 
 Rumford, Count, 30, 35. 
 
 Russell, Lord John, Smith’s Descrip- 
 tion of, 65. 
 
 
 
 
 
 and the Bishops, 
 335. 
 
 Salad Recipe, 427-8. 
 
 Samaritans, 434. 
 
 Sarcasm, 226. 
 
 Science, Claims of, 129. 
 
 Scotland and the Catholic Question, 
 303. 
 
 Scott, Sir Walter, 305, 395. 
 
 Seduction, 290. 
 
 Sentence on an Alderman, 447, 
 
 Selwyn, George, 309. 
 
 Semiramis, Invitation to, 414. 
 
 Sermons, of, 256. 
 
 —— Passages from, 256-277. 
 
 Seryants, Treatment of, 262. 
 
 20) 
 
 
 
 
 
 Seymour, Lord Webb, 20. 
 
 Sham Sydney Smiths, 432-3. 
 
 Sharp, Richard, Notice of, 35. 
 
 —, Mot by Luttrell. 
 
 She is not Well, 364. 
 
 Shillaber, B. P. , Mrs. Partington, B17. 
 
 Shyness, 245. 
 
 Siddons, Mrs., 432. 
 
 Sign of the State in Difficulty, 394. 
 
 Simon of Gloucester, 333, 343. 
 
 Simond, Louis, Notice of, 46. 
 
 Simonides, Danae, 11. 
 
 Singleton, "Archdeacon, Letters to, 64— 
 66, 329-843. 
 
 Skepticism, 205. 
 
 Slavery, American, 194. 
 
 Sloth of Cruelty and Ignorance, 311. 
 
 Sloth, the 178. 
 
 Small Men, 422. 
 
 Smith, Cecil, 14. 
 
 Smith, Courtenay, 14, 72. 
 
 Smith, Douglas, at Westminster, 16; 
 Death, 61; Letter to, 397. 
 
 Smith, Maria, 15. 
 
 Smith Robert (father of Sydney), 9 
 
 
 
 Smith, Robert (Bobus) at Eton, 10; 
 at Cambridge, 11; Verses “Ex 
 Simonide” ib. ; Marriage, ib., in 
 India, 12; in the House of Com- 
 mons, ib. ; death, ib. ; tributes to, 13. 
 
 Smith, Sir Sidney, 9, 59, 382. 
 
 Smith, Sydney, "Association of the 
 Names, 9. 
 
 Smith, Sydney : Birth and Family, a; 
 School- -Days, 15; in Normand: 17: 
 at Oxford, 17; enters the “Church, 
 ibe}. at Netheravon, ib.5 at eid 
 burgh, 18; Projects the ‘Edinburg 
 Review, 25; Sermons at fdinbore ; 
 
 in London, 30; Chapel Pr each. 
 iat 30-2 ; Character of Sermons, 
 33; Charge of Plagiarism, ib. ; Lec- 
 tures on Moral Philosophy, 34; 
 Plymley Letters, 40; in Yorkshire, 
 43; Controversy with Oxford, 45; 
 Justice of the Peace, 56; Visits 
 France, 57-60; at Bristol, ib.; 
 Canon of St. Paul’s, 61; Combe 
 Florey, 61-3; Reform Speeches, 64 ; 
 Letters to Archdeacon Singleton, 
 64-66; the Ballot, 68; Letters on 
 American Debts, 69-72; Death, 
 74; Personal Appearance, ib.; 
 Characteristics, 75-79; Intellectual 
 Habits, 79-81; Wit and Humour, 
 
 
 
 iting 
 an 
 
 
 
 - 
 
458 
 
 81-85; Letters, 86; Contemporary 
 Notices, 93-4; License and Gravity 
 Considered, 95-102; Summary, 104. 
 
 Smoking, Habit of, 250. 
 
 Smythe, George Sydney, 9. 
 
 Smythe, Sir Thomas, 9. 
 
 Socinian, 434. 
 
 Soldiers and Theology, 300. 
 
 Solvent States, 361. 
 
 Somerville, Lord, 305. 
 
 Sonnet on the Sabbath, 238. 
 
 Sovereign, the, a poem, 23. 
 
 Sovereign, Transit of, 429. 
 
 Specie and Species, 445. 
 
 Spirits, Consumption of, 182. 
 
 St. Antony, 410. 
 
 Stage-Coach Travelling, 419. 
 
 Stephen, James, 302. 
 
 Stewart, Dugald, 21; Death of, 423. 
 
 Study, Habits of, 299. © 
 
 Styles, Rev. John, 119. 
 
 Sublimity, 235. 
 
 Supplies for the Mind, 195. 
 
 Susan Hopley, 410. 
 
 Swing, Mr., Letter to, 291. 
 
 Table-Talk of Sydney Smith, 417, 452. 
 
 Talfourd, Serjeant, 336. 
 
 ' Talleyrand, Witticism on Robert 
 Smith, 14; Madame De Stael, 115; 
 Anecdotes of, 436. 
 
 Tarring and Feathering, 362. 
 
 Taste, Certainty of, 236. 
 
 Taunton, Reform Speeches, 314. 
 
 Taxes, 187-8. 
 
 Tea and Coffee, 431. 
 
 Telemachus, 422. 
 
 Temperance, 4U0. 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 “9 
 
 'Triumph of Civilized Life, 393. 
 
 ‘Truth, 199, 264. 
 
 ‘Tuckerman, H. T., Article in N. A. 
 Review, 92. 
 
 Twelve Parson Power, 448. 
 
 | Twenty-Four Hours after, 425, 
 
 Twiss, Horace, 324. 
 
 Understanding, Conduct of the, 195. 
 
 Union of America, 192. 
 
 Utilitarian, a, 424. 
 
 | Vampire, the, 174. 
 
 Vanille of Society, 430. 
 
 | Vellum and Plumpkin, 319. 
 
 Venus Millinaria, 429. 
 
 Versailles Railway Accident, 344. 
 
 | Vestry, a, 448. 
 
 | Victoria, Sermon on the Accession of, 
 
 | 274. 
 
 Village, the, an Apologue, 307. 
 
 | Virgilian Pun, 444. 
 
 War, 276, 399. 
 
 | War and Credit, 358. 
 
 |'Ward (Lord Dudley), Witticisms on 
 
 | Rogers, 436; Anecdotes of, 439; 
 
 | Account of, 440. 
 
 | Waste of Life, 422. 
 
 | Waterton, Charles, Wanderings in 
 South America, 166-176. 
 
 Webster, Daniel, Correspondence with 
 Smith, 406, 434. 
 
 Well-Informed Women, 392. 
 
 Wellington, Duke of, 324, 327. 
 
 Wet Clothes, 288. 
 
 Whewell, Dr., 35, 448. 
 
 Whip-poor-Will, 171. 
 
 Whishaw, John, 395. 
 
 Who Reads an American Book ? 188. 
 
 
 
 Thackeray, W. M., Allusion to Lord! Wild Curates, 444. 
 
 Carlisle, 52. 
 Thomson, John, 21, 27. 
 Thomson, Thomas, 27. 
 Three Sexes. 434. 
 Tickell, Richard, 309. 
 Ticknor, George, 72. 
 Tithes, 452. 
 Town and Country, 405, 431. 
 
 William IV. and the Reform Bill, 
 322, 328. 
 
 Wisdom of our Ancestors, 162. 
 
 Wit, Essentials of, 217-224; a Culti- 
 vable Faculty, 224; Dangers and 
 Advantages of, 233. 
 
 Words, Abuse of, 199. 
 
 Wourali Poison, 168. 
 
 Travel, Books of, and Travellers, 109,| Youth and Familiarity, 447. 
 
 156. 
 
 THE 
 
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 the West. By Axice Carey. Illustrated by Darley. CYirst and Seas 
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 of + Clovernook, ” “Tyra, and Other Poems,” &c. 1 vol.,12mo. Price 
 $1 00. 
 
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at ee i 
 
 10 REDFIELD’S PUBLICATIONS.—BELLES-LETTRES. . 
 
 
 
 You Have heard of Them: being Sketches of Statesmen 
 and Politicians, Painters, Composers, Instrumentalists and Vocalists, Au- 
 thors and Authoresses. By Q. With Portraits on Steel of Horace "Ver. 
 net and Julia Grisi. 12mo, cloth. Price $1 00. 
 
 Satire and Satirists. By Jamns Hannay. 12ino, cloth. 
 Price 75 cents. 
 
 Full Proof of the Ministry. By the Rev. Joun N. Nor- 
 
 TON. 12mo, coth. Price 75 cents. 
 
 Dickens’s Little Folks, in a Series of 18mo Volumes, with Illustrations, 
 Neatly Bound in Cloth. Price 38 cents. 
 
 1. Little Nell. 4, Florence Dombey. 
 2. Oliver and the Jew Fagin. 5. Smike. 
 3. Little Paul. 6. The Child Wife. 
 
 This is a series of volumes which has been undertaken with a view to supply 
 the want. of a class of books for children, of a vigorous, manly tone, combined 
 with a plain and concise mode of narr ation. The writings of Charles Dickens 
 have been selected as the basis of the scheme, on account of the well-known 
 excellence of his portrayal of children, and the interests connected with chil- 
 dren—qualities which have given his volumes their strongest hold on the 
 hearts of parents. With this view the career of Lirrte Next and her 
 GRANDFATHER, OLIVER, Littte Paut, FLoRENcE DoMBEY, SMIKE, and 
 the Cuttp-Wire, have been detached from the large mass of matter with 
 which they were originally connected, and presented, in the author’s own lan- 
 guage, to a new class of readers, to whom the little volume will, we doubt 
 not, be as attractive as the larger ‘originals have so long proved to the general 
 public. 
 
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