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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Winterslow, by William Hazlitt
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Winterslow
+       Essays and Characters Written There
+
+Author: William Hazlitt
+
+Release Date: March 25, 2012 [EBook #39269]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WINTERSLOW ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Sam W. and the Online Distributed Proofreading
+Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+       WINTERSLOW
+
+  ESSAYS AND CHARACTERS
+      WRITTEN THERE
+
+           BY
+
+     WILLIAM HAZLITT
+
+
+      [Decoration]
+
+
+         LONDON
+     GRANT RICHARDS
+   48 LEICESTER SQUARE
+          1902
+
+
+
+
+  The World's Classics
+
+           XXV
+
+      THE WORKS OF
+  WILLIAM HAZLITT--III
+
+       WINTERSLOW
+
+  ESSAYS AND CHARACTERS
+      WRITTEN THERE
+
+
+_These Essays were first published collectively in the year
+1839. In 'The World's Classics' they were first published in
+1902._
+
+Edinburgh: Printed by T. and A. Constable
+
+
+
+
+The World's Classics
+
+
+  I.
+  JANE EYRE. By Charlotte Brontë. [_Second Impression._
+
+  II.
+  THE ESSAYS OF ELIA. By Charles Lamb. [_Second Impression._
+
+  III.
+  THE POEMS OF ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON, 1830-1858. [_Second
+    Impression._
+
+  IV.
+  THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. By Oliver Goldsmith.
+
+  V.
+  TABLE-TALK: Essays on Men and Manners. By William Hazlitt.
+    [_Second Impression._
+
+  VI.
+  ESSAYS. By Ralph Waldo Emerson. [_Second Impression._
+
+  VII.
+  THE POETICAL WORKS OF JOHN KEATS. [_Second Impression._
+
+  VIII.
+  OLIVER TWIST. By Charles Dickens.
+
+  IX.
+  THE INGOLDSBY LEGENDS. By Thomas Ingoldsby. [_Second
+    Impression._
+
+  X.
+  WUTHERING HEIGHTS. By Emily Brontë.
+
+  XI.
+  ON THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES. By Charles Darwin. [_Second
+    Impression._
+
+  XII.
+  THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. By John Bunyan.
+
+  XIII.
+  ENGLISH SONGS AND BALLADS. Selected by T. W. H. Crosland.
+
+  XIV.
+  SHIRLEY. By Charlotte Brontë.
+
+  XV.
+  SKETCHES AND ESSAYS. By William Hazlitt.
+
+  XVI.
+  THE POEMS OF ROBERT HERRICK.
+
+  XVII.
+  ROBINSON CRUSOE. By Daniel Defoe.
+
+  XVIII.
+  HOMER'S ILIAD. Translated by Alexander Pope.
+
+  XIX.
+  SARTOR RESARTUS. By Thomas Carlyle.
+
+  XX.
+  GULLIVER'S TRAVELS. By Jonathan Swift.
+
+  XXI.
+  TALES OF MYSTERY AND IMAGINATION. By Edgar Allan Poe.
+
+  XXII.
+  NATURAL HISTORY OF SELBORNE. By Gilbert White.
+
+  XXIII.
+  CONFESSIONS OF AN ENGLISH OPIUM EATER. By T. De Quincey.
+
+  XXIV.
+  BACON'S ESSAYS.
+
+  XXV.
+  WINTERSLOW. By William Hazlitt.
+
+  XXVI.
+  THE SCARLET LETTER. By Nathaniel Hawthorne.
+
+  XXVII.
+  LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME. By Lord Macaulay.
+
+  XXVIII.
+  HENRY ESMOND. By W. M. Thackeray.
+
+  XXIX.
+  IVANHOE. By Sir Walter Scott.
+
+  _Other volumes in preparation._
+
+  Pott 8vo. Cloth, 1s. net. Leather, 2s. net.
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE TO THE EDITION OF 1850
+
+
+Winterslow is a village of Wiltshire, between Salisbury and Andover,
+where my father, during a considerable portion of his life, spent
+several months of each year, latterly, at an ancient inn on the Great
+Western Road, called Winterslow Hut. One of his chief attractions
+hither were the noble woods of Tytherleigh or Tudorleigh, round Norman
+Court, the seat of Mr. Baring Wall, M.P., whose proffered kindness to
+my father, on a critical occasion, was thoroughly appreciated by the
+very sensitiveness which declined its acceptance, and will always be
+gratefully remembered by myself. Another feature was Clarendon
+Wood--whence the noble family of Clarendon derived their title--famous
+besides for the Constitutions signed in the palace which once rose
+proudly amongst its stately trees, but of which scarce a vestige
+remains. In another direction, within easy distance, gloams
+Stonehenge, visited by my father, less perhaps for its historical
+associations than for its appeal to the imagination, the upright
+stones seeming in the dim twilight, or in the drizzling mist, almost
+continuous in the locality, so many spectre-Druids, moaning over the
+past, and over their brethren prostrate about them. At no great
+distance, in another direction, are the fine pictures of Lord Radnor,
+and somewhat further, those of Wilton House. But the chief happiness
+was the thorough quiet of the place, the sole interruption of which
+was the passage, to and fro, of the London mails. The Hut stands in a
+valley, equidistant about a mile from two tolerably high hills, at the
+summit of which, on their approach either way, the guards used to blow
+forth their admonition to the hostler. The sound, coming through the
+clear, pure air, was another agreeable feature in the day,
+reminiscentiary of the great city that my father so loved and so
+loathed. In olden times, when we lived in the village itself--a mile
+up the hill opposite--behind the Hut, Salisbury Plain stretches away
+mile after mile of open space--the reminiscence of the metropolis
+would be, from time to time, furnished in the pleasantest of ways by
+the presence of some London friends; among these, dearly loved and
+honoured there, as everywhere else, Charles and Mary Lamb paid us
+frequent visits, rambling about all the time, thorough Londoners in a
+thoroughly country place, delighted and wondering and wondered at. For
+such reasons, and for the other reason, which I mention incidentally,
+that Winterslow is my own native place, I have given its name to this
+collection of 'Essays and Characters written there'; as, indeed,
+practically were very many of his works, for it was there that most of
+his thinking was done.
+
+                                            William Hazlitt.
+
+    Chelsea, _Jan. 1850_.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+                                                        PAGE
+       I. MY FIRST ACQUAINTANCE WITH POETS                 1
+
+      II. OF PERSONS ONE WOULD WISH TO HAVE SEEN          24
+
+     III. ON PARTY SPIRIT                                 40
+
+      IV. ON THE FEELING OF IMMORTALITY IN YOUTH          45
+
+       V. ON PUBLIC OPINION                               53
+
+      VI. ON PERSONAL IDENTITY                            67
+
+     VII. MIND AND MOTIVE                                 82
+
+    VIII. ON MEANS AND ENDS                               97
+
+      IX. MATTER AND MANNER                              108
+
+       X. ON CONSISTENCY OF OPINION                      115
+
+      XI. PROJECT FOR A NEW THEORY OF CIVIL AND
+            CRIMINAL LEGISLATION                         130
+
+     XII. ON THE CHARACTER OF BURKE                      155
+
+    XIII. ON THE CHARACTER OF FOX                        173
+
+     XIV. ON THE CHARACTER OF MR. PITT                   185
+
+      XV. ON THE CHARACTER OF LORD CHATHAM               191
+
+     XVI. BELIEF, WHETHER VOLUNTARY?                     196
+
+    XVII. A FAREWELL TO ESSAY-WRITING                    205
+
+
+
+
+HAZLITT'S ESSAYS
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY I
+
+MY FIRST ACQUAINTANCE WITH POETS
+
+
+My father was a Dissenting Minister, at Wem, in Shropshire; and in the
+year 1798 (the figures that compose the date are to me like the
+'dreaded name of Demogorgon') Mr. Coleridge came to Shrewsbury, to
+succeed Mr. Rowe in the spiritual charge of a Unitarian Congregation
+there. He did not come till late on the Saturday afternoon before he
+was to preach; and Mr. Rowe, who himself went down to the coach, in a
+state of anxiety and expectation, to look for the arrival of his
+successor, could find no one at all answering the description but a
+round-faced man, in a short black coat (like a shooting-jacket) which
+hardly seemed to have been made for him, but who seemed to be talking
+at a great rate to his fellow passengers. Mr. Rowe had scarce returned
+to give an account of his disappointment when the round-faced man in
+black entered, and dissipated all doubts on the subject by beginning
+to talk. He did not cease while he stayed; nor has he since, that I
+know of. He held the good town of Shrewsbury in delightful suspense
+for three weeks that he remained there, 'fluttering the _proud
+Salopians_, like an eagle in a dove-cote'; and the Welch mountains
+that skirt the horizon with their tempestuous confusion, agree to have
+heard no such mystic sounds since the days of
+
+    'High-born Hoel's harp or soft Llewellyn's lay.'
+
+As we passed along between Wem and Shrewsbury, and I eyed their blue
+tops seen through the wintry branches, or the red rustling leaves of
+the sturdy oak-trees by the road-side, a sound was in my ears as of a
+Syren's song; I was stunned, startled with it, as from deep sleep; but
+I had no notion then that I should ever be able to express my
+admiration to others in motley imagery or quaint allusion, till the
+light of his genius shone into my soul, like the sun's rays glittering
+in the puddles of the road. I was at that time dumb, inarticulate,
+helpless, like a worm by the way-side, crushed, bleeding, lifeless;
+but now, bursting the deadly bands that bound them,
+
+    'With Styx nine times round them,'
+
+my ideas float on winged words, and as they expand their plumes, catch
+the golden light of other years. My soul has indeed remained in its
+original bondage, dark, obscure, with longings infinite and
+unsatisfied; my heart, shut up in the prison-house of this rude clay,
+has never found, nor will it ever find, a heart to speak to; but that
+my understanding also did not remain dumb and brutish, or at length
+found a language to express itself, I owe to Coleridge. But this is
+not to my purpose.
+
+My father lived ten miles from Shrewsbury, and was in the habit of
+exchanging visits with Mr. Rowe, and with Mr. Jenkins of Whitchurch
+(nine miles farther on), according to the custom of Dissenting
+Ministers in each other's neighbourhood. A line of communication is
+thus established, by which the flame of civil and religious liberty is
+kept alive, and nourishes its smouldering fire unquenchable, like the
+fires in the _Agamemnon_ of Æschylus, placed at different stations,
+that waited for ten long years to announce with their blazing pyramids
+the destruction of Troy. Coleridge had agreed to come over and see my
+father, according to the courtesy of the country, as Mr. Rowe's
+probable successor; but in the meantime, I had gone to hear him preach
+the Sunday after his arrival. A poet and a philosopher getting up
+into a Unitarian pulpit to preach the gospel, was a romance in these
+degenerate days, a sort of revival of the primitive spirit of
+Christianity, which was not to be resisted.
+
+It was in January of 1798, that I rose one morning before daylight, to
+walk ten miles in the mud, to hear this celebrated person preach.
+Never, the longest day I have to live, shall I have such another walk
+as this cold, raw, comfortless one, in the winter of the year 1798.
+_Il y a des impressions que ni le tems ni les circonstances peuvent
+effacer. Dussé-je vivre des siècles entiers, le doux tems de ma
+jeunesse ne peut renaître pour moi, ni s'effacer jamais dans ma
+mémoire._ When I got there, the organ was playing the 100th Psalm, and
+when it was done, Mr. Coleridge rose and gave out his text, 'And he
+went up into the mountain to pray, HIMSELF, ALONE.' As he gave out
+this text, his voice 'rose like a steam of rich distilled perfumes,'
+and when he came to the two last words, which he pronounced loud,
+deep, and distinct, it seemed to me, who was then young, as if the
+sounds had echoed from the bottom of the human heart, and as if that
+prayer might have floated in solemn silence through the universe. The
+idea of St. John came into my mind, 'of one crying in the wilderness,
+who had his loins girt about, and whose food was locusts and wild
+honey.' The preacher then launched into his subject, like an eagle
+dallying with the wind. The sermon was upon peace and war; upon church
+and state--not their alliance but their separation--on the spirit of
+the world and the spirit of Christianity, not as the same, but as
+opposed to one another. He talked of those who had 'inscribed the
+cross of Christ on banners dripping with human gore.' He made a
+poetical and pastoral excursion--and to show the fatal effects of war,
+drew a striking contrast between the simple shepherd-boy, driving his
+team afield, or sitting under the hawthorn, piping to his flock, 'as
+though he should never be old.' and the same poor country lad,
+crimped, kidnapped, brought into town, made drunk at an alehouse,
+turned into a wretched drummer-boy, with his hair sticking on end with
+powder and pomatum, a long cue at his back, and tricked out in the
+loathsome finery of the profession of blood:
+
+    'Such were the notes our once-loved poet sung.'
+
+And for myself, I could not have been more delighted if I had heard
+the music of the spheres. Poetry and Philosophy had met together.
+Truth and Genius had embraced, under the eye and with the sanction of
+Religion. This was even beyond my hopes. I returned home well
+satisfied. The sun that was still labouring pale and wan through the
+sky, obscured by thick mists, seemed an emblem of the _good cause_;
+and the cold dank drops of dew, that hung half melted on the beard of
+the thistle, had something genial and refreshing in them; for there
+was a spirit of hope and youth in all nature, that turned everything
+into good. The face of nature had not then the brand of JUS DIVINUM on
+it:
+
+    'Like to that sanguine flower inscrib'd with woe.'
+
+On the Tuesday following, the half-inspired speaker came. I was called
+down into the room where he was, and went half-hoping, half-afraid. He
+received me very graciously, and I listened for a long time without
+uttering a word. I did not suffer in his opinion by my silence. 'For
+those two hours,' he afterwards was pleased to say, 'he was conversing
+with William Hazlitt's forehead!' His appearance was different from
+what I had anticipated from seeing him before. At a distance, and in
+the dim light of the chapel, there was to me a strange wildness in his
+aspect, a dusky obscurity, and I thought him pitted with the
+small-pox. His complexion was at that time clear, and even bright--
+
+    'As are the children of yon azure sheen.'
+
+His forehead was broad and high, light as if built of ivory, with
+large projecting eyebrows, and his eyes rolling beneath them, like a
+sea with darkened lustre. 'A certain tender bloom his face
+o'erspread,' a purple tinge as we see it in the pale thoughtful
+complexions of the Spanish portrait-painters, Murillo and Valasquez.
+His mouth was gross, voluptuous, open, eloquent; his chin
+good-humoured and round; but his nose, the rudder of the face, the
+index of the will, was small, feeble, nothing--like what he has done.
+It might seem that the genius of his face as from a height surveyed
+and projected him (with sufficient capacity and huge aspiration) into
+the world unknown of thought and imagination, with nothing to support
+or guide his veering purpose, as if Columbus had launched his
+adventurous course for the New World in a scallop, without oars or
+compass. So, at least, I comment on it after the event. Coleridge, in
+his person, was rather above the common size, inclining to the
+corpulent, or like Lord Hamlet, 'somewhat fat and pursy.' His hair
+(now, alas! grey) was then black and glossy as the raven's, and fell
+in smooth masses over his forehead. This long pendulous hair is
+peculiar to enthusiasts, to those whose minds tend heavenward; and is
+traditionally inseparable (though of a different colour) from the
+pictures of Christ. It ought to belong, as a character, to all who
+preach _Christ crucified_, and Coleridge was at that time one of
+those!
+
+It was curious to observe the contrast between him and my father, who
+was a veteran in the cause, and then declining into the vale of years.
+He had been a poor Irish lad, carefully brought up by his parents, and
+sent to the University of Glasgow (where he studied under Adam Smith)
+to prepare him for his future destination. It was his mother's
+proudest wish to see her son a Dissenting Minister. So, if we look
+back to past generations (as far as eye can reach), we see the same
+hopes, fears, wishes, followed by the same disappointments, throbbing
+in the human heart; and so we may see them (if we look forward) rising
+up for ever, and disappearing, like vapourish bubbles, in the human
+breast! After being tossed about from congregation to congregation in
+the heats of the Unitarian controversy, and squabbles about the
+American war, he had been relegated to an obscure village, where he
+was to spend the last thirty years of his life, far from the only
+converse that he loved, the talk about disputed texts of Scripture,
+and the cause of civil and religious liberty. Here he passed his days,
+repining, but resigned, in the study of the Bible, and the perusal of
+the Commentators--huge folios, not easily got through, one of which
+would outlast a winter! Why did he pore on these from morn to night
+(with the exception of a walk in the fields or a turn in the garden to
+gather broccoli-plants or kidney beans of his own rearing, with no
+small degree of pride and pleasure)? Here were 'no figures nor no
+fantasies'--neither poetry nor philosophy--nothing to dazzle, nothing
+to excite modern curiosity; but to his lack-lustre eyes there appeared
+within the pages of the ponderous, unwieldy, neglected tomes, the
+sacred name of JEHOVAH in Hebrew capitals: pressed down by the weight
+of the style, worn to the last fading thinness of the understanding,
+there were glimpses, glimmering notions of the patriarchal wanderings,
+with palm-trees hovering in the horizon, and processions of camels at
+the distance of three thousand years; there was Moses with the Burning
+Bush, the number of the Twelve Tribes, types, shadows, glosses on the
+law and the prophets; there were discussions (dull enough) on the age
+of Methuselah, a mighty speculation! there were outlines, rude guesses
+at the shape of Noah's Ark and of the riches of Solomon's Temple;
+questions as to the date of the creation, predictions of the end of
+all things; the great lapses of time, the strange mutations of the
+globe were unfolded with the voluminous leaf, as it turned over; and
+though the soul might slumber with an hieroglyphic veil of inscrutable
+mysteries drawn over it, yet it was in a slumber ill-exchanged for all
+the sharpened realities of sense, wit, fancy, or reason. My father's
+life was comparatively a dream; but it was a dream of infinity and
+eternity, of death, the resurrection, and a judgment to come!
+
+No two individuals were ever more unlike than were the host and his
+guest. A poet was to my father a sort of nondescript; yet whatever
+added grace to the Unitarian cause was to him welcome. He could hardly
+have been more surprised or pleased, if our visitor had worn wings.
+Indeed, his thoughts had wings: and as the silken sounds rustled round
+our little wainscoted parlour, my father threw back his spectacles
+over his forehead, his white hairs mixing with its sanguine hue; and a
+smile of delight beamed across his rugged, cordial face, to think that
+Truth had found a new ally in Fancy![1] Besides, Coleridge seemed to
+take considerable notice of me, and that of itself was enough. He
+talked very familiarly, but agreeably, and glanced over a variety of
+subjects. At dinner-time he grew more animated, and dilated in a very
+edifying manner on Mary Wolstonecraft and Mackintosh. The last, he
+said, he considered (on my father's speaking of his _Vindiciæ Gallicæ_
+as a capital performance) as a clever, scholastic man--a master of the
+topics--or, as the ready warehouseman of letters, who knew exactly
+where to lay his hand on what he wanted, though the goods were not his
+own. He thought him no match for Burke, either in style or matter.
+Burke was a metaphysician, Mackintosh a mere logician. Burke was an
+orator (almost a poet) who reasoned in figures, because he had an eye
+for nature: Mackintosh, on the other hand, was a rhetorician, who had
+only an eye to commonplaces. On this I ventured to say that I had
+always entertained a great opinion of Burke, and that (as far as I
+could find) the speaking of him with contempt might be made the test
+of a vulgar, democratical mind. This was the first observation I ever
+made to Coleridge, and he said it was a very just and striking one. I
+remember the leg of Welsh mutton and the turnips on the table that day
+had the finest flavour imaginable. Coleridge added that Mackintosh and
+Tom Wedgwood (of whom, however, he spoke highly) had expressed a very
+indifferent opinion of his friend Mr. Wordsworth, on which he remarked
+to them--'He strides on so far before you, that he dwindles in the
+distance!' Godwin had once boasted to him of having carried on an
+argument with Mackintosh for three hours with dubious success;
+Coleridge told him--'If there had been a man of genius in the room he
+would have settled the question in five minutes.' He asked me if I had
+ever seen Mary Wolstonecraft, and I said, I had once for a few
+moments, and that she seemed to me to turn off Godwin's objections to
+something she advanced with quite a playful, easy air. He replied,
+that 'this was only one instance of the ascendency which people of
+imagination exercised over those of mere intellect.' He did not rate
+Godwin very high[2] (this was caprice or prejudice, real or affected),
+but he had a great idea of Mrs. Wolstonecraft's powers of
+conversation; none at all of her talent for bookmaking. We talked a
+little about Holcroft. He had been asked if he was not much struck
+_with_ him, and he said, he thought himself in more danger of being
+struck _by_ him. I complained that he would not let me get on at all,
+for he required a definition of every the commonest word, exclaiming,
+'What do you mean by a _sensation_, Sir? What do you mean by an
+_idea_?' This, Coleridge said, was barricadoing the road to truth; it
+was setting up a turnpike-gate at every step we took. I forget a great
+number of things, many more than I remember; but the day passed off
+pleasantly, and the next morning Mr. Coleridge was to return to
+Shrewsbury. When I came down to breakfast, I found that he had just
+received a letter from his friend, T. Wedgwood, making him an offer of
+150_l._ a year if he chose to waive his present pursuit, and devote
+himself entirely to the study of poetry and philosophy. Coleridge
+seemed to make up his mind to close with this proposal in the act of
+tying on one of his shoes. It threw an additional damp on his
+departure. It took the wayward enthusiast quite from us to cast him
+into Deva's winding vales, or by the shores of old romance. Instead of
+living at ten miles' distance, of being the pastor of a Dissenting
+congregation at Shrewsbury, he was henceforth to inhabit the Hill of
+Parnassus, to be a Shepherd on the Delectable Mountains. Alas! I knew
+not the way thither, and felt very little gratitude for Mr. Wedgwood's
+bounty. I was presently relieved from this dilemma; for Mr. Coleridge,
+asking for a pen and ink, and going to a table to write something on a
+bit of card, advanced towards me with undulating step, and giving me
+the precious document, said that that was his address, _Mr. Coleridge,
+Nether-Stowey, Somersetshire_; and that he should be glad to see me
+there in a few weeks' time, and, if I chose, would come half-way to
+meet me. I was not less surprised than the shepherd-boy (this simile
+is to be found in _Cassandra_), when he sees a thunderbolt fall close
+at his feet. I stammered out my acknowledgments and acceptance of this
+offer (I thought Mr. Wedgwood's annuity a trifle to it) as well as I
+could; and this mighty business being settled, the poet preacher took
+leave, and I accompanied him six miles on the road. It was a fine
+morning in the middle of winter, and he talked the whole way. The
+scholar in Chaucer is described as going
+
+    ----'Sounding on his way.'
+
+So Coleridge went on his. In digressing, in dilating, in passing from
+subject to subject, he appeared to me to float in air, to slide on
+ice. He told me in confidence (going along) that he should have
+preached two sermons before he accepted the situation at Shrewsbury,
+one on Infant Baptism, the other on the Lord's Supper, showing that he
+could not administer either, which would have effectually disqualified
+him for the object in view. I observed that he continually crossed me
+on the way by shifting from one side of the footpath to the other.
+This struck me as an odd movement; but I did not at that time connect
+it with any instability of purpose or involuntary change of principle,
+as I have done since. He seemed unable to keep on in a straight line.
+He spoke slightingly of Hume (whose _Essay on Miracles_ he said was
+stolen from an objection started in one of South's sermons--_Credat
+Judæus Appella!_) I was not very much pleased at this account of Hume,
+for I had just been reading, with infinite relish, that completest of
+all metaphysical _chokepears_, his _Treatise on Human Nature_, to
+which the _Essays_ in point of scholastic subtility and close
+reasoning, are mere elegant trifling, light summer reading. Coleridge
+even denied the excellence of Hume's general style, which I think
+betrayed a want of taste or candour. He however made me amends by the
+manner in which he spoke of Berkeley. He dwelt particularly on his
+_Essay on Vision_ as a masterpiece of analytical reasoning. So it
+undoubtedly is. He was exceedingly angry with Dr. Johnson for striking
+the stone with his foot, in allusion to this author's _Theory of
+Matter and Spirit_, and saying, 'Thus I confute him, Sir.' Coleridge
+drew a parallel (I don't know how he brought about the connection)
+between Bishop Berkeley and Tom Paine. He said the one was an instance
+of a subtle, the other of an acute mind, than which no two things
+could be more distinct. The one was a shop-boy's quality, the other
+the characteristic of a philosopher. He considered Bishop Butler as a
+true philosopher, a profound and conscientious thinker, a genuine
+reader of nature and his own mind. He did not speak of his _Analogy_,
+but of his _Sermons at the Rolls' Chapel_, of which I had never heard.
+Coleridge somehow always contrived to prefer the _unknown_ to the
+_known_. In this instance he was right. The _Analogy_ is a tissue of
+sophistry, of wire-drawn, theological special-pleading; the _Sermons_
+(with the preface to them) are in a fine vein of deep, matured
+reflection, a candid appeal to our observation of human nature,
+without pedantry and without bias. I told Coleridge I had written a
+few remarks, and was sometimes foolish enough to believe that I had
+made a discovery on the same subject (the _Natural disinterestedness
+of the Human Mind_)--and I tried to explain my view of it to
+Coleridge, who listened with great willingness, but I did not succeed
+in making myself understood. I sat down to the task shortly afterwards
+for the twentieth time, got new pens and paper, determined to make
+clear work of it, wrote a few meagre sentences in the skeleton style
+of a mathematical demonstration, stopped half-way down the second
+page; and, after trying in vain to pump up any words, images, notions,
+apprehensions, facts, or observations, from that gulf of abstraction
+in which I had plunged myself for four or five years preceding, gave
+up the attempt as labour in vain, and shed tears of helpless
+despondency on the blank, unfinished paper. I can write fast enough
+now. Am I better than I was then? Oh no! One truth discovered, one
+pang of regret at not being able to express it, is better than all the
+fluency and flippancy in the world. Would that I could go back to what
+I then was! Why can we not revive past times as we can revisit old
+places? If I had the quaint Muse of Sir Philip Sidney to assist me, I
+would write a _Sonnet to the Road between Wem and Shrewsbury_, and
+immortalise every step of it by some fond enigmatical conceit. I would
+swear that the very milestones had ears, and that Harmer hill stooped
+with all its pines, to listen to a poet, as he passed! I remember but
+one other topic of discourse in this walk. He mentioned Paley,
+praised the naturalness and clearness of his style, but condemned his
+sentiments, thought him a mere time-serving casuist, and said that
+'the fact of his work on Moral and Political Philosophy being made a
+text-book in our Universities was a disgrace to the national
+character.' We parted at the six-mile stone; and I returned homeward,
+pensive, but much pleased. I had met with unexpected notice from a
+person whom I believed to have been prejudiced against me. 'Kind and
+affable to me had been his condescension, and should be honoured ever
+with suitable regard.' He was the first poet I had known, and he
+certainly answered to that inspired name. I had heard a great deal of
+his powers of conversation and was not disappointed. In fact, I never
+met with anything at all like them, either before or since. I could
+easily credit the accounts which were circulated of his holding forth
+to a large party of ladies and gentlemen, an evening or two before, on
+the Berkeleian Theory, when he made the whole material universe look
+like a transparency of fine words; and another story (which I believe
+he has somewhere told himself) of his being asked to a party at
+Birmingham, of his smoking tobacco and going to sleep after dinner on
+a sofa, where the company found him, to their no small surprise, which
+was increased to wonder when he started up of a sudden, and rubbing
+his eyes, looked about him, and launched into a three hours'
+description of the third heaven, of which he had had a dream, very
+different from Mr. Southey's _Vision of Judgment_, and also from that
+other _Vision of Judgment_, which Mr. Murray, the Secretary of the
+Bridge-street Junta, took into his especial keeping.
+
+On my way back I had a sound in my ears--it was the voice of Fancy; I
+had a light before me--it was the face of Poetry. The one still
+lingers there, the other has not quitted my side! Coleridge, in truth,
+met me half-way on the ground of philosophy, or I should not have been
+won over to his imaginative creed. I had an uneasy, pleasurable
+sensation all the time, till I was to visit him. During those months
+the chill breath of winter gave me a welcoming; the vernal air was
+balm and inspiration to me. The golden sunsets, the silver star of
+evening, lighted me on my way to new hopes and prospects. _I was to
+visit Coleridge in the spring._ This circumstance was never absent
+from my thoughts, and mingled with all my feelings. I wrote to him at
+the time proposed, and received an answer postponing my intended visit
+for a week or two, but very cordially urging me to complete my promise
+then. This delay did not damp, but rather increased my ardour. In the
+meantime, I went to Llangollen Vale, by way of initiating myself in
+the mysteries of natural scenery; and I must say I was enchanted with
+it. I had been reading Coleridge's description of England in his fine
+_Ode on the Departing Year_, and I applied it, _con amore_, to the
+objects before me. That valley was to me (in a manner) the cradle of a
+new existence: in the river that winds through it, my spirit was
+baptized in the waters of Helicon!
+
+I returned home, and soon after set out on my journey with unworn
+heart, and untired feet. My way lay through Worcester and Gloucester,
+and by Upton, where I thought of Tom Jones and the adventure of the
+muff. I remember getting completely wet through one day, and stopping
+at an inn (I think it was at Tewkesbury) where I sat up all night to
+read _Paul and Virginia_. Sweet were the showers in early youth that
+drenched my body, and sweet the drops of pity that fell upon the books
+I read! I recollect a remark of Coleridge's upon this very book that
+nothing could show the gross indelicacy of French manners and the
+entire corruption of their imagination more strongly than the
+behaviour of the heroine in the last fatal scene, who turns away from
+a person on board the sinking vessel, that offers to save her life,
+because he has thrown off his clothes to assist him in swimming. Was
+this a time to think of such a circumstance? I once hinted to
+Wordsworth, as we were sailing in his boat on Grasmere lake, that I
+thought he had borrowed the idea of his _Poems on the Naming of
+Places_ from the local inscriptions of the same kind in _Paul and
+Virginia_. He did not own the obligation, and stated some distinction
+without a difference in defence of his claim to originality. Any, the
+slightest variation, would be sufficient for this purpose in his mind;
+for whatever _he_ added or altered would inevitably be worth all that
+any one else had done, and contain the marrow of the sentiment. I was
+still two days before the time fixed for my arrival, for I had taken
+care to set out early enough. I stopped these two days at Bridgewater;
+and when I was tired of sauntering on the banks of its muddy river,
+returned to the inn and read _Camilla_. So have I loitered my life
+away, reading books, looking at pictures, going to plays, hearing,
+thinking, writing on what pleased me best. I have wanted only one
+thing to make me happy; but wanting that have wanted everything!
+
+I arrived, and was well received. The country about Nether Stowey is
+beautiful, green and hilly, and near the sea-shore. I saw it but the
+other day, after an interval of twenty years, from a hill near
+Taunton. How was the map of my life spread out before me, as the map
+of the country lay at my feet! In the afternoon, Coleridge took me
+over to All-Foxden, a romantic old family mansion of the St. Aubins,
+where Wordsworth lived. It was then in the possession of a friend of
+the poet's, who gave him the free use of it. Somehow, that period (the
+time just after the French Revolution) was not a time when _nothing
+was given for nothing_. The mind opened and a softness might be
+perceived coming over the heart of individuals, beneath 'the scales
+that fence' our self-interest. Wordsworth himself was from home, but
+his sister kept house, and set before us a frugal repast; and we had
+free access to her brother's poems, the _Lyrical Ballads_, which were
+still in manuscript, or in the form of _Sybilline Leaves_. I dipped
+into a few of these with great satisfaction, and with the faith of a
+novice. I slept that night in an old room with blue hangings, and
+covered with the round-faced family portraits of the age of George I.
+and II., and from the wooded declivity of the adjoining park that
+overlooked my window, at the dawn of day, could
+
+    ----'hear the loud stag speak.'
+
+In the outset of life (and particularly at this time I felt it so) our
+imagination has a body to it. We are in a state between sleeping and
+waking, and have indistinct but glorious glimpses of strange shapes,
+and there is always something to come better than what we see. As in
+our dreams the fulness of the blood gives warmth and reality to the
+coinage of the brain, so in youth our ideas are clothed, and fed, and
+pampered with our good spirits; we breathe thick with thoughtless
+happiness, the weight of future years presses on the strong pulses of
+the heart, and we repose with undisturbed faith in truth and good. As
+we advance, we exhaust our fund of enjoyment and of hope. We are no
+longer wrapped in _lamb's-wool_, lulled in Elysium. As we taste the
+pleasures of life, their spirit evaporates, the sense palls; and
+nothing is left but the phantoms, the lifeless shadows of what _has
+been_!
+
+That morning, as soon as breakfast was over, we strolled out into the
+park, and seating ourselves on the trunk of an old ash-tree that
+stretched along the ground, Coleridge read aloud with a sonorous and
+musical voice, the ballad of _Betty Foy_. I was not critically or
+sceptically inclined. I saw touches of truth and nature, and took the
+rest for granted. But in the _Thorn_, the _Mad Mother_, and the
+_Complaint of a Poor Indian Woman_, I felt that deeper power and
+pathos which have been since acknowledged,
+
+    'In spite of pride, in erring reason's spite,'
+
+as the characteristics of this author; and the sense of a new style
+and a new spirit in poetry came over me. It had to me something of the
+effect that arises from the turning up of the fresh soil, or of the
+first welcome breath of Spring:
+
+    'While yet the trembling year is unconfirmed.'
+
+Coleridge and myself walked back to Stowey that evening, and his voice
+sounded high
+
+    'Of Providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate,
+    Fix'd fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute,'
+
+as we passed through echoing grove, by fairy stream or waterfall,
+gleaming in the summer moonlight! He lamented that Wordsworth was not
+prone enough to believe in the traditional superstitions of the place,
+and that there was a something corporeal, a _matter-of-fact-ness_, a
+clinging to the palpable, or often to the petty, in his poetry, in
+consequence. His genius was not a spirit that descended to him through
+the air; it sprung out of the ground like a flower, or unfolded itself
+from a green spray, on which the goldfinch sang. He said, however (if
+I remember right), that this objection must be confined to his
+descriptive pieces, that his philosophic poetry had a grand and
+comprehensive spirit in it, so that his soul seemed to inhabit the
+universe like a palace, and to discover truth by intuition, rather
+than by deduction. The next day Wordsworth arrived from Bristol at
+Coleridge's cottage. I think I see him now. He answered in some degree
+to his friend's description of him, but was more gaunt and Don
+Quixote-like. He was quaintly dressed (according to the _costume_ of
+that unconstrained period) in a brown fustian jacket and striped
+pantaloons. There was something of a roll, a lounge in his gait, not
+unlike his own _Peter Bell_. There was a severe, worn pressure of
+thought about his temples, a fire in his eye (as if he saw something
+in objects more than the outward appearance), an intense, high,
+narrow forehead, a Roman nose, cheeks furrowed by strong purpose and
+feeling, and a convulsive inclination to laughter about the mouth, a
+good deal at variance with the solemn, stately expression of the rest
+of his face. Chantrey's bust wants the marking traits; but he was
+teased into making it regular and heavy: Haydon's head of him,
+introduced into the _Entrance of Christ into Jerusalem_, is the most
+like his drooping weight of thought and expression. He sat down and
+talked very naturally and freely, with a mixture of clear, gushing
+accents in his voice, a deep guttural intonation, and a strong
+tincture of the northern _burr_, like the crust on wine. He instantly
+began to make havoc of the half of a Cheshire cheese on the table, and
+said, triumphantly, that 'his marriage with experience had not been so
+productive as Mr. Southey's in teaching him a knowledge of the good
+things of this life.' He had been to see the _Castle Spectre_ by Monk
+Lewis, while at Bristol, and described it very well. He said 'it
+fitted the taste of the audience like a glove.' This _ad captandum_
+merit was however by no means a recommendation of it, according to the
+severe principles of the new school, which reject rather than court
+popular effect. Wordsworth, looking out of the low, latticed window,
+said, 'How beautifully the sun sets on that yellow bank!' I thought
+within myself, 'With what eyes these poets see nature!' and ever
+after, when I saw the sun-set stream upon the objects facing it,
+conceived I had made a discovery, or thanked Mr. Wordsworth for having
+made one for me! We went over to All-Foxden again the day following,
+and Wordsworth read us the story of _Peter Bell_ in the open air; and
+the comment upon it by his face and voice was very different from that
+of some later critics! Whatever might be thought of the poem, 'his
+face was as a book where men might read strange matters,' and he
+announced the fate of his hero in prophetic tones. There is a _chaunt_
+in the recitation both of Coleridge and Wordsworth, which acts as a
+spell upon the hearer, and disarms the judgment. Perhaps they have
+deceived themselves by making habitual use of this ambiguous
+accompaniment. Coleridge's manner is more full, animated, and varied;
+Wordsworth's more equable, sustained, and internal. The one might be
+termed more _dramatic_, the other more _lyrical_. Coleridge has told
+me that he himself liked to compose in walking over uneven ground, or
+breaking through the straggling branches of a copse-wood; whereas
+Wordsworth always wrote (if he could) walking up and down a straight
+gravel walk, or in some spot where the continuity of his verse met
+with no collateral interruption. Returning that same evening, I got
+into a metaphysical argument with Wordsworth, while Coleridge was
+explaining the different notes of the nightingale to his sister, in
+which we neither of us succeeded in making ourselves perfectly clear
+and intelligible. Thus I passed three weeks at Nether Stowey and in
+the neighbourhood, generally devoting the afternoons to a delightful
+chat in an arbour made of bark by the poet's friend Tom Poole, sitting
+under two fine elm-trees, and listening to the bees humming round us,
+while we quaffed our _flip_. It was agreed, among other things, that
+we should make a jaunt down the Bristol Channel, as far as Linton. We
+set off together on foot, Coleridge, John Chester, and I. This Chester
+was a native of Nether Stowey, one of those who were attracted to
+Coleridge's discourse as flies are to honey, or bees in swarming-time
+to the sound of a brass pan. He 'followed in the chase like a dog who
+hunts, not like one that made up the cry.' He had on a brown cloth
+coat, boots, and corduroy breeches, was low in stature, bow-legged,
+had a drag in his walk like a drover, which he assisted by a hazel
+switch, and kept on a sort of trot by the side of Coleridge, like a
+running footman by a state coach, that he might not lose a syllable or
+sound that fell from Coleridge's lips. He told me his private
+opinion, that Coleridge was a wonderful man. He scarcely opened his
+lips, much less offered an opinion the whole way: yet of the three,
+had I to choose during that journey, I would be John Chester. He
+afterwards followed Coleridge into Germany, where the Kantean
+philosophers were puzzled how to bring him under any of their
+categories. When he sat down at table with his idol, John's felicity
+was complete; Sir Walter Scott's, or Mr. Blackwood's, when they sat
+down at the same table with the King, was not more so. We passed
+Dunster on our right, a small town between the brow of a hill and the
+sea. I remember eyeing it wistfully as it lay below us: contrasted
+with the woody scene around, it looked as clear, as pure, as
+_embrowned_ and ideal as any landscape I have seen since, of Gaspar
+Poussin's or Domenichino's. We had a long day's march (our feet kept
+time to the echoes of Coleridge's tongue) through Minehead and by the
+Blue Anchor, and on to Linton, which we did not reach till near
+midnight, and where we had some difficulty in making a lodgment. We,
+however, knocked the people of the house up at last, and we were
+repaid for our apprehensions and fatigue by some excellent rashers of
+fried bacon and eggs. The view in coming along had been splendid. We
+walked for miles and miles on dark brown heaths overlooking the
+Channel, with the Welsh hills beyond, and at times descended into
+little sheltered valleys close by the sea-side, with a smuggler's face
+scowling by us, and then had to ascend conical hills with a path
+winding up through a coppice to a barren top, like a monk's shaven
+crown, from one of which I pointed out to Coleridge's notice the bare
+masts of a vessel on the very edge of the horizon, and within the
+red-orbed disk of the setting sun, like his own spectre-ship in the
+_Ancient Mariner_. At Linton the character of the sea-coast becomes
+more marked and rugged. There is a place called the _Valley of Rocks_
+(I suspect this was only the poetical name for it), bedded among
+precipices overhanging the sea, with rocky caverns beneath, into
+which the waves dash, and where the sea-gull for ever wheels its
+screaming flight. On the tops of these are huge stones thrown
+transverse, as if an earthquake had tossed them there, and behind
+these is a fretwork of perpendicular rocks, something like the
+_Giant's Causeway_. A thunder-storm came on while we were at the inn,
+and Coleridge was running out bare-headed to enjoy the commotion of
+the elements in the _Valley of Rocks_, but as if in spite, the clouds
+only muttered a few angry sounds, and let fall a few refreshing drops.
+Coleridge told me that he and Wordsworth were to have made this place
+the scene of a prose-tale, which was to have been in the manner of,
+but far superior to, the _Death of Abel_, but they had relinquished
+the design. In the morning of the second day, we breakfasted
+luxuriously in an old-fashioned parlour on tea, toast, eggs, and
+honey, in the very sight of the bee-hives from which it had been
+taken, and a garden full of thyme and wild flowers that had produced
+it. On this occasion Coleridge spoke of Virgil's _Georgics_, but not
+well. I do not think he had much feeling for the classical or
+elegant.[3] It was in this room that we found a little worn-out copy
+of the _Seasons_, lying in a window-seat, on which Coleridge
+exclaimed, '_That_ is true fame!' He said Thomson was a great poet,
+rather than a good one; his style was as meretricious as his thoughts
+were natural. He spoke of Cowper as the best modern poet. He said the
+_Lyrical Ballads_ were an experiment about to be tried by him and
+Wordsworth, to see how far the public taste would endure poetry
+written in a more natural and simple style than had hitherto been
+attempted; totally discarding the artifices of poetical diction, and
+making use only of such words as had probably been common in the most
+ordinary language since the days of Henry II. Some comparison was
+introduced between Shakspeare and Milton. He said 'he hardly knew
+which to prefer. Shakspeare appeared to him a mere stripling in the
+art; he was as tall and as strong, with infinitely more activity than
+Milton, but he never appeared to have come to man's estate; or if he
+had, he would not have been a man, but a monster.' He spoke with
+contempt of Gray, and with intolerance of Pope. He did not like the
+versification of the latter. He observed that 'the ears of these
+couplet-writers might be charged with having short memories, that
+could not retain the harmony of whole passages.' He thought little of
+Junius as a writer; he had a dislike of Dr. Johnson; and a much higher
+opinion of Burke as an orator and politician, than of Fox or Pitt. He,
+however, thought him very inferior in richness of style and imagery to
+some of our elder prose-writers, particularly Jeremy Taylor. He liked
+Richardson, but not Fielding; nor could I get him to enter into the
+merits of _Caleb Williams_. In short, he was profound and
+discriminating with respect to those authors whom he liked, and where
+he gave his judgment fair play; capricious, perverse, and prejudiced
+in his antipathies and distastes. We loitered on the 'ribbed
+sea-sands,' in such talk as this a whole morning, and, I recollect,
+met with a curious seaweed, of which John Chester told us the country
+name! A fisherman gave Coleridge an account of a boy that had been
+drowned the day before, and that they had tried to save him at the
+risk of their own lives. He said 'he did not know how it was that they
+ventured, but, Sir, we have a _nature_ towards one another.' This
+expression, Coleridge remarked to me, was a fine illustration of that
+theory of disinterestedness which I (in common with Butler) had
+adopted. I broached to him an argument of mine to prove that
+_likeness_ was not mere association of ideas. I said that the mark in
+the sand put one in mind of a man's foot, not because it was part of a
+former impression of a man's foot (for it was quite new), but because
+it was like the shape of a man's foot. He assented to the justness of
+this distinction (which I have explained at length elsewhere, for the
+benefit of the curious) and John Chester listened; not from any
+interest in the subject, but because he was astonished that I should
+be able to suggest anything to Coleridge that he did not already know.
+We returned on the third morning, and Coleridge remarked the silent
+cottage-smoke curling up the valleys where, a few evenings before, we
+had seen the lights gleaming through the dark.
+
+In a day or two after we arrived at Stowey, we set out, I on my return
+home, and he for Germany. It was a Sunday morning, and he was to
+preach that day for Dr. Toulmin of Taunton. I asked him if he had
+prepared anything for the occasion? He said he had not even thought of
+the text, but should as soon as we parted. I did not go to hear
+him--this was a fault--but we met in the evening at Bridgewater. The
+next day we had a long day's walk to Bristol, and sat down, I
+recollect, by a well-side on the road, to cool ourselves and satisfy
+our thirst, when Coleridge repeated to me some descriptive lines of
+his tragedy of _Remorse_; which I must say became his mouth and that
+occasion better than they, some years after, did Mr. Elliston's and
+the Drury-lane boards--
+
+    'Oh memory! shield me from the world's poor strife,
+    And give those scenes thine everlasting life.'
+
+I saw no more of him for a year or two, during which period he had
+been wandering in the Hartz Forest, in Germany; and his return was
+cometary, meteorous, unlike his setting out. It was not till some time
+after that I knew his friends Lamb and Southey. The last always
+appears to me (as I first saw him) with a commonplace book under his
+arm, and the first with a _bon-mot_ in his mouth. It was at Godwin's
+that I met him with Holcroft and Coleridge, where they were disputing
+fiercely which was the best--_Man as he was, or man as he is to be_.
+'Give me,' says Lamb, 'man as he is _not_ to be.' This saying was the
+beginning of a friendship between us, which I believe still continues.
+Enough of this for the present.
+
+    'But there is matter for another rhyme,
+    And I to this may add a second tale.'
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[1] My father was one of those who mistook his talent, after all. He
+used to be very much dissatisfied that I preferred his _Letters_ to
+his _Sermons_. The last were forced and dry; the first came naturally
+from him. For ease, half-plays on words, and a supine, monkish,
+indolent pleasantry, I have never seen them equalled.
+
+[2] He complained in particular of the presumption of his attempting
+to establish the future immortality of man, 'without' (as he said)
+'knowing what Death was or what Life was'--and the tone in which he
+pronounced these two words seemed to convey a complete image of both.
+
+[3] He had no idea of pictures, of Claude or Raphael, and at this time
+I had as little as he. He sometimes gives a striking account at
+present of the Cartoons at Pisa by Buffamalco and others; of one in
+particular, where Death is seen in the air brandishing his scythe, and
+the great and mighty of the earth shudder at his approach, while the
+beggars and the wretched kneel to him as their deliverer. He would, of
+course, understand so broad and fine a moral as this at any time.
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY II
+
+OF PERSONS ONE WOULD WISH TO HAVE SEEN
+
+    'Come like shadows--so depart.'
+
+
+Lamb it was, I think, who suggested this subject, as well as the
+defence of Guy Faux, which I urged him to execute. As, however, he
+would undertake neither, I suppose I must do both, a task for which he
+would have been much fitter, no less from the temerity than the
+felicity of his pen--
+
+    'Never so sure our rapture to create
+    As when it touch'd the brink of all we hate.'
+
+Compared with him, I shall, I fear, make but a commonplace piece of
+business of it; but I should be loth the idea was entirely lost, and
+besides I may avail myself of some hints of his in the progress of it.
+I am sometimes, I suspect, a better reporter of the ideas of other
+people than expounder of my own. I pursue the one too far into paradox
+or mysticism; the others I am not bound to follow farther than I like,
+or than seems fair and reasonable.
+
+On the question being started, Ayrton said, 'I suppose the two first
+persons you would choose to see would be the two greatest names in
+English literature, Sir Isaac Newton and Mr. Locke?' In this Ayrton,
+as usual, reckoned without his host. Every one burst out a laughing at
+the expression of Lamb's face, in which impatience was restrained by
+courtesy. 'Yes, the greatest names,' he stammered out hastily, 'but
+they were not persons--not persons.'--'Not persons?' said Ayrton,
+looking wise and foolish at the same time, afraid his triumph might be
+premature. 'That is,' rejoined Lamb, 'not characters, you know. By Mr.
+Locke and Sir Isaac Newton, you mean the _Essay on the Human
+Understanding_, and the _Principia_, which we have to this day. Beyond
+their contents there is nothing personally interesting in the men. But
+what we want to see any one _bodily_ for, is when there is something
+peculiar, striking in the individuals, more than we can learn from
+their writings, and yet are curious to know. I dare say Locke and
+Newton were very like Kneller's portraits of them. But who could paint
+Shakspeare?'--'Ay,' retorted Ayrton, 'there it is; then I suppose you
+would prefer seeing him and Milton instead?'--'No,' said Lamb,
+'neither. I have seen so much of Shakspeare on the stage and on
+bookstalls, in frontispieces and on mantel-pieces, that I am quite
+tired of the everlasting repetition: and as to Milton's face, the
+impressions that have come down to us of it I do not like; it is too
+starched and puritanical; and I should be afraid of losing some of the
+manna of his poetry in the leaven of his countenance and the
+precisian's band and gown.'--'I shall guess no more,' said Ayrton.
+'Who is it, then, you would like to see "in his habit as he lived," if
+you had your choice of the whole range of English literature?' Lamb
+then named Sir Thomas Browne and Fulke Greville, the friend of Sir
+Philip Sidney, as the two worthies whom he should feel the greatest
+pleasure to encounter on the floor of his apartment in their nightgown
+and slippers, and to exchange friendly greeting with them. At this
+Ayrton laughed outright, and conceived Lamb was jesting with him; but
+as no one followed his example, he thought there might be something in
+it, and waited for an explanation in a state of whimsical suspense.
+Lamb then (as well as I can remember a conversation that passed twenty
+years ago--how time slips!) went on as follows. 'The reason why I
+pitch upon these two authors is, that their writings are riddles, and
+they themselves the most mysterious of personages. They resemble the
+soothsayers of old, who dealt in dark hints and doubtful oracles; and
+I should like to ask them the meaning of what no mortal but
+themselves, I should suppose, can fathom. There is Dr. Johnson: I have
+no curiosity, no strange uncertainty about him; he and Boswell
+together have pretty well let me into the secret of what passed
+through his mind. He and other writers like him are sufficiently
+explicit: my friends whose repose I should be tempted to disturb (were
+it in my power), are implicit, inextricable, inscrutable.
+
+'When I look at that obscure but gorgeous prose composition the
+_Urn-burial_, I seem to myself to look into a deep abyss, at the
+bottom of which are hid pearls and rich treasure; or it is like a
+stately labyrinth of doubt and withering speculation, and I would
+invoke the spirit of the author to lead me through it. Besides, who
+would not be curious to see the lineaments of a man who, having
+himself been twice married, wished that mankind were propagated like
+trees! As to Fulke Greville, he is like nothing but one of his own
+"Prologues spoken by the ghost of an old king of Ormus," a truly
+formidable and inviting personage: his style is apocalyptical,
+cabalistical, a knot worthy of such an apparition to untie; and for
+the unravelling a passage or two, I would stand the brunt of an
+encounter with so portentous a commentator!'--'I am afraid, in that
+case,' said Ayrton, 'that if the mystery were once cleared up, the
+merit might be lost'; and turning to me, whispered a friendly
+apprehension, that while Lamb continued to admire these old crabbed
+authors, he would never become a popular writer. Dr. Donne was
+mentioned as a writer of the same period, with a very interesting
+countenance, whose history was singular, and whose meaning was often
+quite as _uncomeatable_, without a personal citation from the dead, as
+that of any of his contemporaries. The volume was produced; and while
+some one was expatiating on the exquisite simplicity and beauty of the
+portrait prefixed to the old edition, Ayrton got hold of the poetry,
+and exclaiming 'What have we here?' read the following:
+
+    'Here lies a She-Sun and a He-Moon there--
+    She gives the best light to his sphear,
+    Or each is both, and all, and so
+    They unto one another nothing owe.'
+
+There was no resisting this, till Lamb, seizing the volume, turned to
+the beautiful _Lines to his Mistress_, dissuading her from
+accompanying him abroad, and read them with suffused features and a
+faltering tongue:
+
+    'By our first strange and fatal interview,
+    By all desires which thereof did ensue,
+    By our long starving hopes, by that remorse
+    Which my words' masculine perswasive force
+    Begot in thee, and by the memory
+    Of hurts, which spies and rivals threatned me,
+    I calmely beg. But by thy father's wrath,
+    By all paines which want and divorcement hath,
+    I conjure thee; and all the oathes which I
+    And thou have sworne to seale joynt constancy
+    Here I unsweare, and overswear them thus--
+    Thou shalt not love by wayes so dangerous.
+    Temper, O fair love! love's impetuous rage,
+    Be my true mistris still, not my faign'd Page;
+    I'll goe, and, by thy kinde leave, leave behinde
+    Thee! onely worthy to nurse in my minde.
+    Thirst to come backe; O, if thou die before,
+    My soule, from other lands to thee shall soare.
+    Thy (else almighty) beauty cannot move
+    Rage from the seas, nor thy love teach them love.
+    Nor tame wild Boreas' harshnesse; thou hast reade
+    How roughly hee in pieces shivered
+    Fair Orithea, whom he swore he lov'd.
+    Fall ill or good, 'tis madnesse to have prov'd
+    Dangers unurg'd: Feed on this flattery,
+    That absent lovers one in th' other be.
+    Dissemble nothing, not a boy; nor change
+    Thy bodie's habite, nor minde; be not strange
+    To thyeselfe onely. All will spie in thy face
+    A blushing, womanly, discovering grace.
+    Richly-cloath'd apes are call'd apes, and as soone
+    Eclips'd as bright, we call the moone the moon.
+    Men of France, changeable camelions,
+    Spittles of diseases, shops of fashions,
+    Love's fuellers, and the rightest company
+    Of players, which upon the world's stage be,
+    Will quickly know thee ...
+    O stay here! for for thee
+    England is onely a worthy gallerie,
+    To walke in expectation; till from thence
+    Our greatest King call thee to his presence.
+    When I am gone, dreame me some happinesse,
+    Nor let thy lookes our long-hid love confesse,
+    Nor praise, nor dispraise me; nor blesse, nor curse
+    Openly love's force, nor in bed fright thy nurse
+    With midnight's startings, crying out, Oh, oh,
+    Nurse, oh, my love is slaine, I saw him goe
+    O'er the white Alpes alone; I saw him, I,
+    Assail'd, fight, taken, stabb'd, bleed, fall, and die.
+    Augure me better chance, except dread Jove
+    Thinke it enough for me to have had thy love.'
+
+Some one then inquired of Lamb if we could not see from the window the
+Temple walk in which Chaucer used to take his exercise; and on his
+name being put to the vote, I was pleased to find that there was a
+general sensation in his favour in all but Ayrton, who said something
+about the ruggedness of the metre, and even objected to the quaintness
+of the orthography. I was vexed at this superficial gloss,
+pertinaciously reducing everything to its own trite level, and asked
+'if he did not think it would be worth while to scan the eye that had
+first greeted the Muse in that dim twilight and early dawn of English
+literature; to see the head round which the visions of fancy must have
+played like gleams of inspiration or a sudden glory; to watch those
+lips that "lisped in numbers, for the numbers came"--as by a miracle,
+or as if the dumb should speak? Nor was it alone that he had been the
+first to tune his native tongue (however imperfectly to modern ears);
+but he was himself a noble, manly character, standing before his age
+and striving to advance it; a pleasant humourist withal, who has not
+only handed down to us the living manners of his time, but had, no
+doubt, store of curious and quaint devices, and would make as hearty a
+companion as mine Host of the Tabard. His interview with Petrarch is
+fraught with interest. Yet I would rather have seen Chaucer in company
+with the author of the _Decameron_, and have heard them exchange their
+best stories together--the _Squire's Tale_ against the Story of the
+_Falcon_, the _Wife of Bath's Prologue_ against the _Adventures of
+Friar Albert_. How fine to see the high mysterious brow which learning
+then wore, relieved by the gay, familiar tone of men of the world, and
+by the courtesies of genius! Surely, the thoughts and feelings which
+passed through the minds of these great revivers of learning, these
+Cadmuses who sowed the teeth of letters, must have stamped an
+expression on their features as different from the moderns as their
+books, and well worth the perusal. Dante,' I continued, 'is as
+interesting a person as his own Ugolino, one whose lineaments
+curiosity would as eagerly devour in order to penetrate his spirit,
+and the only one of the Italian poets I should care much to see. There
+is a fine portrait of Ariosto by no less a hand than Titian's; light,
+Moorish, spirited, but not answering our idea. The same artist's large
+colossal profile of Peter Aretine is the only likeness of the kind
+that has the effect of conversing with "the mighty dead"; and this is
+truly spectral, ghastly, necromantic.' Lamb put it to me if I should
+like to see Spenser as well as Chaucer; and I answered, without
+hesitation, 'No; for that his beauties were ideal, visionary, not
+palpable or personal, and therefore connected with less curiosity
+about the man. His poetry was the essence of romance, a very halo
+round the bright orb of fancy; and the bringing in the individual
+might dissolve the charm. No tones of voice could come up to the
+mellifluous cadence of his verse; no form but of a winged angel could
+vie with the airy shapes he has described. He was (to my apprehension)
+rather a "creature of the element, that lived in the rainbow and
+played in the plighted clouds," than an ordinary mortal. Or if he did
+appear, I should wish it to be as a mere vision, like one of his own
+pageants, and that he should pass by unquestioned like a dream or
+sound--
+
+    ----"_That_ was Arion crown'd:
+    So went he playing on the wat'ry plain."'
+
+Captain Burney muttered something about Columbus, and Martin Burney
+hinted at the Wandering Jew; but the last was set aside as spurious,
+and the first made over to the New World.
+
+'I should like,' said Mrs. Reynolds, 'to have seen Pope talk with
+Patty Blount; and I _have_ seen Goldsmith.' Every one turned round to
+look at Mrs. Reynolds, as if by so doing they could get a sight at
+Goldsmith.
+
+'Where,' asked a harsh, croaking voice, 'was Dr. Johnson in the years
+1745-6? He did not write anything that we know of, nor is there any
+account of him in Boswell during those two years. Was he in Scotland
+with the Pretender? He seems to have passed through the scenes in the
+Highlands in company with Boswell, many years after, "with lack-lustre
+eye," yet as if they were familiar to him, or associated in his mind
+with interests that he durst not explain. If so, it would be an
+additional reason for my liking him; and I would give something to
+have seen him seated in the tent with the youthful Majesty of Britain,
+and penning the Proclamation to all true subjects and adherents of the
+legitimate Government.'
+
+'I thought,' said Ayrton, turning short round upon Lamb, 'that you of
+the Lake School did not like Pope?'--'Not like Pope! My dear sir, you
+must be under a mistake--I can read him over and over for
+ever!'--'Why, certainly, the _Essay on Man_ must be allowed to be a
+masterpiece.'--'It may be so, but I seldom look into it.'--'Oh! then
+it's his Satires you admire?'--'No, not his Satires, but his friendly
+Epistles and his compliments.'--'Compliments! I did not know he ever
+made any.'--'The finest,' said Lamb, 'that were ever paid by the wit
+of man. Each of them is worth an estate for life--nay, is an
+immortality. There is that superb one to Lord Cornbury:
+
+    "Despise low joys, low gains;
+    Disdain whatever Cornbury disdains;
+    Be virtuous, and be happy for your pains."
+
+Was there ever more artful insinuation of idolatrous praise? And then
+that noble apotheosis of his friend Lord Mansfield (however little
+deserved), when, speaking of the House of Lords, he adds:
+
+    "Conspicuous scene! another yet is nigh,
+    (More silent far) where kings and poets lie;
+    Where Murray (long enough his country's pride)
+    Shall be no more than Tully or than Hyde."
+
+And with what a fine turn of indignant flattery he addresses Lord
+Bolingbroke:
+
+    "Why rail they then, if but one wreath of mine,
+    Oh! all accomplish'd St. John, deck thy shrine?"
+
+Or turn,' continued Lamb, with a slight hectic on his cheek and his
+eye glistening, 'to his list of early friends:
+
+    "But why then publish? Granville the polite,
+    And knowing Walsh, would tell me I could write;
+    Well-natured Garth inflamed with early praise,
+    And Congreve loved, and Swift endured my lays;
+    The courtly Talbot, Somers, Sheffield read,
+    Ev'n mitred Rochester would nod the head;
+    And St. John's self (great Dryden's friend before)
+    Received with open arms one poet more.
+    Happy my studies, if by these approved!
+    Happier their author, if by these beloved!
+    From these the world will judge of men and books,
+    Not from the Burnets, Oldmixons, and Cooks."'
+
+Here his voice totally failed him, and throwing down the book, he
+said, 'Do you think I would not wish to have been friends with such a
+man as this?'
+
+'What say you to Dryden?'--'He rather made a show of himself, and
+courted popularity in that lowest temple of fame, a coffee-shop, so as
+in some measure to vulgarise one's idea of him. Pope, on the
+contrary, reached the very _beau ideal_ of what a poet's life should
+be; and his fame while living seemed to be an emanation from that
+which was to circle his name after death. He was so far enviable (and
+one would feel proud to have witnessed the rare spectacle in him) that
+he was almost the only poet and man of genius who met with his reward
+on this side of the tomb, who realised in friends, fortune, the esteem
+of the world, the most sanguine hopes of a youthful ambition, and who
+found that sort of patronage from the great during his lifetime which
+they would be thought anxious to bestow upon him after his death. Read
+Gay's verses to him on his supposed return from Greece, after his
+translation of Homer was finished, and say if you would not gladly
+join the bright procession that welcomed him home, or see it once more
+land at Whitehall stairs.'--'Still,' said Mrs. Reynolds, 'I would
+rather have seen him talking with Patty Blount, or riding by in a
+coronet-coach with Lady Mary Wortley Montagu!'
+
+Erasmus Phillips, who was deep in a game of piquet at the other end of
+the room, whispered to Martin Burney to ask if Junius would not be a
+fit person to invoke from the dead. 'Yes,' said Lamb, 'provided he
+would agree to lay aside his mask.'
+
+We were now at a stand for a short time, when Fielding was mentioned
+as a candidate; only one, however, seconded the proposition.
+'Richardson?'--'By all means, but only to look at him through the
+glass door of his back shop, hard at work upon one of his novels (the
+most extraordinary contrast that ever was presented between an author
+and his works); not to let him come behind his counter, lest he should
+want you to turn customer, or to go upstairs with him, lest he should
+offer to read the first manuscript of Sir Charles Grandison, which was
+originally written in eight-and-twenty volumes octavo, or get out the
+letters of his female correspondents, to prove that Joseph Andrews was
+low.'
+
+There was but one statesman in the whole of English history that any
+one expressed the least desire to see--Oliver Cromwell, with his fine,
+frank, rough, pimply face, and wily policy; and one enthusiast, John
+Bunyan, the immortal author of the _Pilgrim's Progress_. It seemed
+that if he came into the room, dreams would follow him, and that each
+person would nod under his golden cloud, 'nigh-sphered in heaven,' a
+canopy as strange and stately as any in Homer.
+
+Of all persons near our own time, Garrick's name was received with the
+greatest enthusiasm, who was proposed by Barron Field. He presently
+superseded both Hogarth and Handel, who had been talked of, but then
+it was on condition that he should act in tragedy and comedy, in the
+play and the farce, _Lear_ and _Wildair_ and _Abel Drugger_. What a
+_sight for sore eyes_ that would be! Who would not part with a year's
+income at least, almost with a year of his natural life, to be present
+at it? Besides, as he could not act alone, and recitations are
+unsatisfactory things, what a troop he must bring with him--the
+silver-tongued Barry, and Quin, and Shuter and Weston, and Mrs. Clive
+and Mrs. Pritchard, of whom I have heard my father speak as so great a
+favourite when he was young. This would indeed be a revival of the
+dead, the restoring of art; and so much the more desirable, as such is
+the lurking scepticism mingled with our overstrained admiration of
+past excellence, that though we have the speeches of Burke, the
+portraits of Reynolds, the writings of Goldsmith, and the conversation
+of Johnson, to show what people could do at that period, and to
+confirm the universal testimony to the merits of Garrick; yet, as it
+was before our time, we have our misgivings, as if he was probably,
+after all, little better than a Bartlemy-fair actor, dressed out to
+play _Macbeth_ in a scarlet coat and laced cocked-hat. For one, I
+should like to have seen and heard with my own eyes and ears.
+Certainly, by all accounts, if any one was ever moved by the true
+histrionic _æstus_, it was Garrick. When he followed the Ghost in
+_Hamlet_, he did not drop the sword, as most actors do, behind the
+scenes, but kept the point raised the whole way round, so fully was he
+possessed with the idea, or so anxious not to lose sight of his part
+for a moment. Once at a splendid dinner-party at Lord ----'s, they
+suddenly missed Garrick, and could not imagine what was become of him,
+till they were drawn to the window by the convulsive screams and peals
+of laughter of a young negro boy, who was rolling on the ground in an
+ecstasy of delight to see Garrick mimicking a turkey-cock in the
+court-yard, with his coat-tail stuck out behind, and in a seeming
+flutter of feathered rage and pride. Of our party only two persons
+present had seen the British Roscius; and they seemed as willing as
+the rest to renew their acquaintance with their old favourite.
+
+We were interrupted in the hey-day and mid-career of this fanciful
+speculation, by a grumbler in a corner, who declared it was a shame to
+make all this rout about a mere player and farce-writer, to the
+neglect and exclusion of the fine old dramatists, the contemporaries
+and rivals of Shakspeare. Lamb said he had anticipated this objection
+when he had named the author of _Mustapha_ and _Alaham_; and, out of
+caprice, insisted upon keeping him to represent the set, in preference
+to the wild, hare-brained enthusiast, Kit Marlowe; to the sexton of
+St. Ann's, Webster, with his melancholy yew-trees and death's-heads;
+to Decker, who was but a garrulous proser; to the voluminous Heywood;
+and even to Beaumont and Fletcher, whom we might offend by
+complimenting the wrong author on their joint productions. Lord
+Brooke, on the contrary, stood quite by himself, or, in Cowley's
+words, was 'a vast species alone.' Some one hinted at the circumstance
+of his being a lord, which rather startled Lamb, but he said a _ghost_
+would perhaps dispense with strict etiquette, on being regularly
+addressed by his title. Ben Jonson divided our suffrages pretty
+equally. Some were afraid he would begin to traduce Shakspeare, who
+was not present to defend himself. 'If he grows disagreeable,' it was
+whispered aloud, 'there is Godwin can match him.' At length, his
+romantic visit to Drummond of Hawthornden was mentioned, and turned
+the scale in his favour.
+
+Lamb inquired if there was any one that was hanged that I would choose
+to mention? And I answered, Eugene Aram. The name of the 'Admirable
+Chrichton' was suddenly started as a splendid example of _waste_
+talents, so different from the generality of his countrymen. This
+choice was mightily approved by a North-Briton present, who declared
+himself descended from that prodigy of learning and accomplishment,
+and said he had family plate in his possession as vouchers for the
+fact, with the initials A. C.--_Admirable Chrichton!_ Hunt laughed, or
+rather roared, as heartily at this as I should think he has done for
+many years.
+
+The last named Mitre-courtier[4] then wished to know whether there
+were any metaphysicians to whom one might be tempted to apply the
+wizard spell? I replied, there were only six in modern times deserving
+the name--Hobbes, Berkeley, Butler, Hartley, Hume, Leibnitz; and
+perhaps Jonathan Edwards, a Massachusetts man.[5] As to the French,
+who talked fluently of having _created_ this science, there was not a
+tittle in any of their writings that was not to be found literally in
+the authors I had mentioned. [Horne Tooke, who might have a claim to
+come in under the head of Grammar, was still living.] None of these
+names seemed to excite much interest, and I did not plead for the
+re-appearance of those who might be thought best fitted by the
+abstracted nature of their studies for the present spiritual and
+disembodied state, and who, even while on this living stage, were
+nearly divested of common flesh and blood. As Ayrton, with an uneasy,
+fidgety face, was about to put some question about Mr. Locke and
+Dugald Stewart, he was prevented by Martin Burney, who observed, 'If
+J---- was here, he would undoubtedly be for having up those profound
+and redoubted socialists, Thomas Aquinas and Duns Scotus.' I said this
+might be fair enough in him who had read, or fancied he had read, the
+original works, but I did not see how we could have any right to call
+up these authors to give an account of themselves in person, till we
+had looked into their writings.
+
+By this time it should seem that some rumour of our whimsical
+deliberation had got wind, and had disturbed the _irritable genus_, in
+their shadowy abodes, for we received messages from several candidates
+that we had just been thinking of. Gray declined our invitation,
+though he had not yet been asked: Gay offered to come, and bring in
+his hand the Duchess of Bolton, the original Polly: Steele and Addison
+left their cards as Captain Sentry and Sir Roger de Coverley: Swift
+came in and sat down without speaking a word, and quitted the room as
+abruptly: Otway and Chatterton were seen lingering on the opposite
+side of the Styx, but could not muster enough between them to pay
+Charon his fare: Thomson fell asleep in the boat, and was rowed back
+again; and Burns sent a low fellow, one John Barleycorn, an old
+companion of his, who had conducted him to the other world, to say
+that he had during his lifetime been drawn out of his retirement as a
+show, only to be made an exciseman of, and that he would rather
+remain where he was. He desired, however, to shake hands by his
+representative--the hand, thus held out, was in a burning fever, and
+shook prodigiously.
+
+The room was hung round with several portraits of eminent painters.
+While we were debating whether we should demand speech with these
+masters of mute eloquence, whose features were so familiar to us, it
+seemed that all at once they glided from their frames, and seated
+themselves at some little distance from us. There was Leonardo, with
+his majestic beard and watchful eye, having a bust of Archimedes
+before him; next him was Raphael's graceful head turned round to the
+Fornarina; and on his other side was Lucretia Borgia, with calm,
+golden locks; Michael Angelo had placed the model of St. Peter's on
+the table before him; Correggio had an angel at his side; Titian was
+seated with his mistress between himself and Giorgione; Guido was
+accompanied by his own Aurora, who took a dice-box from him; Claude
+held a mirror in his hand; Rubens patted a beautiful panther (led in
+by a satyr) on the head; Vandyke appeared as his own Paris, and
+Rembrandt was hid under firs, gold chains, and jewels, which Sir
+Joshua eyed closely, holding his hand so as to shade his forehead. Not
+a word was spoken; and as we rose to do them homage, they still
+presented the same surface to the view. Not being _bonâ-fide_
+representations of living people, we got rid of the splendid
+apparitions by signs and dumb show. As soon as they had melted into
+thin air, there was a loud noise at the outer door, and we found it
+was Giotto, Cimabue, and Ghirlandaio, who had been raised from the
+dead by their earnest desire to see their illustrious successors--
+
+            'Whose names on earth
+    In Fame's eternal records live for aye!'
+
+Finding them gone, they had no ambition to be seen after them, and
+mournfully withdrew. 'Egad!' said Lamb, 'these are the very fellows I
+should like to have had some talk with, to know how they could see to
+paint when all was dark around them.'
+
+'But shall we have nothing to say,' interrogated G. J----, 'to the
+_Legend of Good Women_?'--'Name, name, Mr. J----,' cried Hunt in a
+boisterous tone of friendly exultation, 'name as many as you please,
+without reserve or fear of molestation!' J---- was perplexed between
+so many amiable recollections, that the name of the lady of his choice
+expired in a pensive whiff of his pipe; and Lamb impatiently declared
+for the Duchess of Newcastle. Mrs. Hutchinson was no sooner mentioned,
+than she carried the day from the Duchess. We were the less solicitous
+on this subject of filling up the posthumous lists of Good Women, as
+there was already one in the room as good, as sensible, and in all
+respects as exemplary, as the best of them could be for their lives!
+'I should like vastly to have seen Ninon de l'Enclos,' said that
+incomparable person; and this immediately put us in mind that we had
+neglected to pay honour due to our friends on the other side of the
+Channel: Voltaire, the patriarch of levity, and Rousseau, the father
+of sentiment; Montaigne and Rabelais (great in wisdom and in wit);
+Molière and that illustrious group that are collected round him (in
+the print of that subject) to hear him read his comedy of the
+_Tartuffe_ at the house of Ninon; Racine, La Fontaine, Rochefoucalt,
+St. Evremont, etc.
+
+'There is one person,' said a shrill, querulous voice, 'I would rather
+see than all these--Don Quixote!'
+
+'Come, come!' said Hunt; 'I thought we should have no heroes, real or
+fabulous. What say you, Mr. Lamb? Are you for eking out your shadowy
+list with such names as Alexander, Julius Cæsar, Tamerlane, or Ghengis
+Khan?'--'Excuse me,' said Lamb; 'on the subject of characters in
+active life, plotters and disturbers of the world, I have a crotchet
+of my own, which I beg leave to reserve.'--'No, no! come, out with
+your worthies!'--'What do you think of Guy Fawkes and Judas
+Iscariot?' Hunt turned an eye upon him like a wild Indian, but cordial
+and full of smothered glee. 'Your most exquisite reason!' was echoed
+on all sides; and Ayrton thought that Lamb had now fairly entangled
+himself. 'Why I cannot but think,' retorted he of the wistful
+countenance, 'that Guy Fawkes, that poor, fluttering annual scarecrow
+of straw and rags, is an ill-used gentleman. I would give something to
+see him sitting pale and emaciated, surrounded by his matches and his
+barrels of gunpowder, and expecting the moment that was to transport
+him to Paradise for his heroic self-devotion; but if I say any more,
+there is that fellow Godwin will make something of it. And as to Judas
+Iscariot, my reason is different. I would fain see the face of him
+who, having dipped his hand in the same dish with the Son of Man,
+could afterwards betray him. I have no conception of such a thing; nor
+have I ever seen any picture (not even Leonardo's very fine one) that
+gave me the least idea of it.'--'You have said enough, Mr. Lamb, to
+justify your choice.'
+
+'Oh! ever right, Menenius--ever right!'
+
+'There is only one other person I can ever think of after this,'
+continued Lamb; but without mentioning a name that once put on a
+semblance of mortality. 'If Shakspeare was to come into the room, we
+should all rise up to meet him; but if that person was to come into
+it, we should all fall down and try to kiss the hem of his garment!'
+
+As a lady present seemed now to get uneasy at the turn the
+conversation had taken, we rose up to go. The morning broke with that
+dim, dubious light by which Giotto, Cimabue, and Ghirlandaio must have
+seen to paint their earliest works; and we parted to meet again and
+renew similar topics at night, the next night, and the night after
+that, till that night overspread Europe which saw no dawn. The same
+event, in truth, broke up our little Congress that broke up the great
+one. But that was to meet again: our deliberations have never been
+resumed.
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[4] Lamb at this time occupied chambers in Mitre-court, Temple.
+
+[5] Bacon is not included in this list, nor do I know where he should
+come in. It is not easy to make room for him and his reputation
+together. This great and celebrated man in some of his works
+recommends it to pour a bottle of claret into the ground of a morning,
+and to stand over it, inhaling the perfumes. So he sometimes enriched
+the dry and barren soil of speculation with the fine aromatic spirit
+of his genius. His _Essays_ and his _Advancement of Learning_ are
+works of vast depth and scope of observation. The last, though it
+contains no positive discoveries, is a noble chart of the human
+intellect, and a guide to all future inquirers.
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY III
+
+ON PARTY SPIRIT
+
+
+Party spirit is one of the _profoundnesses of Satan_, or, in modern
+language, one of the dexterous _equivoques_ and contrivances of our
+self-love, to prove that we, and those who agree with us, combine all
+that is excellent and praiseworthy in our own persons (as in a
+ring-fence), and that all the vices and deformity of human nature take
+refuge with those who differ from us. It is extending and fortifying
+the principle of the _amour-propre_, by calling to its aid the _esprit
+de corps_, and screening and surrounding our favourite propensities
+and obstinate caprices in the hollow squares or dense phalanxes of
+sects and parties. This is a happy mode of pampering our
+self-complacency, and persuading ourselves that we, and those that
+side with us, are 'the salt of the earth'; of giving vent to the
+morbid humours of our pride, envy, hatred, malice, and all
+uncharitableness, those natural secretions of the human heart, under
+the pretext of self-defence, the public safety, or a voice from
+heaven, as it may happen; and of heaping every excellence into one
+scale, and throwing all the obloquy and contempt into the other, in
+virtue of a nickname, a watchword of party, a badge, the colour of a
+ribbon, the cut of a dress. We thus desolate the globe, or tear a
+country in pieces, to show that we are the only people fit to live in
+it; and fancy ourselves angels, while we are playing the devil. In
+this manner the Huron devours the Iroquois, because he is an Iroquois;
+and the Iroquois the Huron, for a similar reason: neither suspects
+that he does it because he himself is a savage, and no better than a
+wild beast; and is convinced in his own breast that the difference of
+man and tribe makes a total difference in the case. The Papist
+persecutes the Protestant, the Protestant persecutes the Papist in his
+turn; and each fancies that he has a plenary right to do so, while he
+keeps in view only the offensive epithet which 'cuts the common link
+of brotherhood between them.' The Church of England ill-treated the
+Dissenters, and the Dissenters, when they had the opportunity, did not
+spare the Church of England. The Whig calls the Tory a knave, the Tory
+compliments the Whig with the same title, and each thinks the abuse
+sticks to the party-name, and has nothing to do with himself or the
+generic name of _man_. On the contrary, it cuts both ways; but while
+the Whigs say 'The Tory is a knave, because he is a Tory,' this is as
+much as to say, 'I cannot be a knave, because I am a Whig'; and by
+exaggerating the profligacy of his opponent, he imagines he is laying
+the sure foundation, and raising the lofty superstructure, of his own
+praises. But if he says, which is the truth, 'The Tory is not a
+rascal, because he is a Tory, but because human nature in power, and
+with the temptation, is a rascal,' then this would imply that the
+seeds of depravity are sown in his own bosom, and might shoot out into
+full growth and luxuriance if he got into place, and this he does not
+wish to develop till he _does_ get into place.
+
+We may be intolerant even in advocating the cause of toleration, and
+so bent on making proselytes to freethinking as to allow no one to
+think freely but ourselves. The most boundless liberality in
+appearance may amount in reality to the most monstrous ostracism of
+opinion--not condemning this or that tenet, or standing up for this or
+that sect or party, but in a supercilious superiority to all sects and
+parties alike, and proscribing in one sweeping clause, all arts,
+sciences, opinions, and pursuits but our own. Till the time of Locke
+and Toland a general toleration was never dreamt of: it was thought
+right on all hands to punish and discountenance heretics and
+schismatics, but each party alternately claimed to be true Christians
+and Orthodox believers. Daniel De Foe, who spent his whole life, and
+wasted his strength, in asserting the right of the Dissenters to a
+Toleration (and got nothing for his pains but the pillory), was
+scandalised at the proposal of the general principle, and was equally
+strenuous in excluding Quakers, Anabaptists, Socinians, Sceptics, and
+all who did not agree in the _essentials_ of Christianity--that is,
+who did not agree with him--from the benefit of such an indulgence to
+tender consciences. We wonder at the cruelties formerly practised upon
+the Jews: is there anything wonderful in it? They were at that time
+the only people to make a butt and a bugbear of, to set up as a mark
+of indignity, and as a foil to our self-love, for the _feræ naturæ_
+principle that is within us, and always craving its prey to run down,
+to worry and make sport of at discretion, and without mercy--the
+unvarying uniformity and implicit faith of the Catholic Church had
+imposed silence, and put a curb on our jarring dissensions,
+heartburnings, and ill-blood, so that we had no pretence for
+quarrelling among ourselves for the glory of God or the salvation of
+men:--a JORDANUS BRUNO, an Atheist or sorcerer, once in a way, would
+hardly suffice to stay the stomach of our theological rancour; we
+therefore fell with might and main upon the Jews as a _forlorn hope_
+in this dearth of objects of spite or zeal; or when the whole of
+Europe was reconciled to the bosom of holy Mother Church, went to the
+Holy Land in search of a difference of opinion, and a ground of mortal
+offence: but no sooner was there a division of the Christian World,
+than Papist fell on Protestants or Schismatics, and Schismatics upon
+one another, with the same loving fury as they had before fallen upon
+Turks and Jews. The disposition is always there, like a muzzled
+mastiff; the pretext only is wanting; and this is furnished by a name,
+which, as soon as it is affixed to different sects or parties, gives
+us a licence, we think, to let loose upon them all our malevolence,
+domineering humour, love of power, and wanton mischief, as if they
+were of different species. The sentiment of the pious English Bishop
+was good, who, on seeing a criminal led to execution, exclaimed,
+'There goes my wicked self!'
+
+If we look at common patriotism, it will furnish an illustration of
+party spirit. One would think by an Englishman's hatred of the French,
+and his readiness to die fighting with and for his countrymen, that
+all the nation were united as one man, in heart and hand--and so they
+are in war-time and as an exercise of their loyalty and courage: but
+let the crisis be over, and they cool wonderfully; begin to feel the
+distinctions of English, Irish, and Scotch; fall out among themselves
+upon some minor distinction; the same hand that was eager to shed the
+blood of a Frenchman, will not give a crust of bread or a cup of cold
+water to a fellow countryman in distress; and the heroes who defended
+the 'wooden walls of old England' are left to expose their wounds and
+crippled limbs to gain a pittance from the passengers, or to perish of
+hunger, cold, and neglect, in our highways. Such is the effect of our
+boasted nationality: it is active, fierce in doing mischief; dormantly
+lukewarm in doing good. We may also see why the greatest stress is
+laid on trifles in religion, and why the most violent animosities
+arise out of the smallest differences, either in this or in politics.
+
+In the first place, it would never do to establish our superiority
+over others by the acquisition of greater virtues, or by discarding
+our vices; but it is charming to do this by merely repeating a
+different formula of prayer, turning to the east instead of the west.
+He should fight boldly for such a distinction, who is persuaded it
+will furnish him a passport to the other world, and entitle him to
+look down on the rest of his fellows as _given over to perdition_.
+Secondly, we often hate those most with whom we have only a slight
+shade of difference, whether in politics or religion; because as the
+whole is a contest for precedence and infallibility, we find it more
+difficult to draw the line of distinction where so many points are
+conceded, and are staggered in our conviction by the arguments of
+those whom we cannot despise as totally and incorrigibly in the wrong.
+The High Church party in Queen Anne's time were disposed to sacrifice
+the Low Church and Dissenters to the Papists, because they were more
+galled by their arguments and disconcerted with their pretensions. In
+private life the reverse of the foregoing holds good: that is, trades
+and professions present a direct contrast to sects and parties. A
+conformity in sentiment strengthens our party and opinion, but those
+who have a similarity of pursuit, are rivals in interest; and hence
+the old maxim, that _two of a trade can never agree_.
+
+1830.
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY IV
+
+ON THE FEELING OF IMMORTALITY IN YOUTH
+
+
+No young man believes he shall ever die. It was a saying of my
+brother's, and a fine one. There is a feeling of Eternity in youth
+which makes us amends for everything. To be young is to be as one of
+the Immortals. One half of time indeed is spent--the other half
+remains in store for us with all its countless treasures, for there is
+no line drawn, and we see no limit to our hopes and wishes. We make
+the coming age our own--
+
+    'The vast, the unbounded prospect lies before us.'
+
+Death, old age, are words without a meaning, a dream, a fiction, with
+which we have nothing to do. Others may have undergone, or may still
+undergo them--we 'bear a charmed life,' which laughs to scorn all such
+idle fancies. As, in setting out on a delightful journey, we strain
+our eager sight forward,
+
+    'Bidding the lovely scenes at distance hail,'
+
+and see no end to prospect after prospect, new objects presenting
+themselves as we advance, so in the outset of life we see no end to
+our desires nor to the opportunities of gratifying them. We have as
+yet found no obstacle, no disposition to flag, and it seems that we
+can go on so for ever. We look round in a new world, full of life and
+motion, and ceaseless progress, and feel in ourselves all the vigour
+and spirit to keep pace with it, and do not foresee from any present
+signs how we shall be left behind in the race, decline into old age,
+and drop into the grave. It is the simplicity and, as it were,
+abstractedness of our feelings in youth that (so to speak) identifies
+us with nature and (our experience being weak and our passions strong)
+makes us fancy ourselves immortal like it. Our short-lived connection
+with being, we fondly flatter ourselves, is an indissoluble and
+lasting union. As infants smile and sleep, we are rocked in the cradle
+of our desires, and hushed into fancied security by the roar of the
+universe around us--we quaff the cup of life with eager thirst without
+draining it, and joy and hope seem ever mantling to the brim--objects
+press around us, filling the mind with their magnitude and with the
+throng of desires that wait upon them, so that there is no room for
+the thoughts of death. We are too much dazzled by the gorgeousness and
+novelty of the bright waking dream about us to discern the dim shadow
+lingering for us in the distance. Nor would the hold that life has
+taken of us permit us to detach our thoughts that way, even if we
+could. We are too much absorbed in present objects and pursuits. While
+the spirit of youth remains unimpaired, ere 'the wine of life is
+drunk,' we are like people intoxicated or in a fever, who are hurried
+away by the violence of their own sensations: it is only as present
+objects begin to pall upon the sense, as we have been disappointed in
+our favourite pursuits, cut off from our closest ties, that we by
+degrees become weaned from the world, that passion loosens its hold
+upon futurity, and that we begin to contemplate as in a glass darkly
+the possibility of parting with it for good. Till then, the example of
+others has no effect upon us. Casualties we avoid; the slow approaches
+of age we play at _hide and seek_ with. Like the foolish fat scullion
+in Sterne, who hears that Master Bobby is dead, our only reflection
+is, 'So am not I!' The idea of death, instead of staggering our
+confidence, only seems to strengthen and enhance our sense of the
+possession and enjoyment of life. Others may fall around us like
+leaves, or be mowed down by the scythe of Time like grass: these are
+but metaphors to the unreflecting, buoyant ears and overweening
+presumption of youth. It is not till we see the flowers of Love, Hope,
+and Joy withering around us, that we give up the flattering delusions
+that before led us on, and that the emptiness and dreariness of the
+prospect before us reconciles us hypothetically to the silence of the
+grave.
+
+Life is indeed a strange gift, and its privileges are most mysterious.
+No wonder when it is first granted to us, that our gratitude, our
+admiration, and our delight should prevent us from reflecting on our
+own nothingness, or from thinking it will ever be recalled. Our first
+and strongest impressions are borrowed from the mighty scene that is
+opened to us, and we unconsciously transfer its durability as well as
+its splendour to ourselves. So newly found, we cannot think of parting
+with it yet, or at least put off that consideration _sine die_. Like a
+rustic at a fair, we are full of amazement and rapture, and have no
+thought of going home, or that it will soon be night. We know our
+existence only by ourselves, and confound our knowledge with the
+objects of it. We and Nature are therefore one. Otherwise the
+illusion, the 'feast of reason and the flow of soul,' to which we are
+invited, is a mockery and a cruel insult. We do not go from a play
+till the last act is ended, and the lights are about to be
+extinguished. But the fairy face of Nature still shines on: shall we
+be called away before the curtain falls, or ere we have scarce had a
+glimpse of what is going on? Like children, our step-mother Nature
+holds us up to see the raree-show of the universe, and then, as if we
+were a burden to her to support, lets us fall down again. Yet what
+brave sublunary things does not this pageant present, like a ball or
+_fête_ of the universe!
+
+To see the golden sun, the azure sky, the outstretched ocean; to walk
+upon the green earth, and be lord of a thousand creatures; to look
+down yawning precipices or over distant sunny vales; to see the world
+spread out under one's feet on a map; to bring the stars near; to view
+the smallest insects through a microscope; to read history, and
+consider the revolutions of empire and the successions of generations;
+to hear of the glory of Tyre, of Sidon, of Babylon, and of Susa, and
+to say all these were before me and are now nothing; to say I exist in
+such a point of time, and in such a point of space; to be a spectator
+and a part of its ever-moving scene; to witness the change of season,
+of spring and autumn, of winter and summer; to feel hot and cold,
+pleasure and pain, beauty and deformity, right and wrong; to be
+sensible to the accidents of nature; to consider the mighty world of
+eye and ear; to listen to the stock-dove's notes amid the forest deep;
+to journey over moor and mountain; to hear the midnight sainted choir;
+to visit lighted halls, or the cathedral's gloom, or sit in crowded
+theatres and see life itself mocked; to study the works of art and
+refine the sense of beauty to agony; to worship fame, and to dream of
+immortality; to look upon the Vatican, and to read Shakspeare; to
+gather up the wisdom of the ancients, and to pry into the future; to
+listen to the trump of war, the shout of victory; to question history
+as to the movements of the human heart; to seek for truth; to plead
+the cause of humanity; to overlook the world as if time and nature
+poured their treasures at our feet--to be and to do all this, and then
+in a moment to be nothing--to have it all snatched from us as by a
+juggler's trick, or a phantasmagoria! There is something in this
+transition from all to nothing that shocks us and damps the enthusiasm
+of youth new flushed with hope and pleasure, and we cast the
+comfortless thought as far from us as we can. In the first enjoyment
+of the state of life we discard the fear of debts and duns, and never
+think of the final payment of our great debt to Nature. Art we know is
+long; life, we flatter ourselves, should be so too. We see no end of
+the difficulties and delays we have to encounter: perfection is slow
+of attainment, and we must have time to accomplish it in. The fame of
+the great names we look up to is immortal: and shall not we who
+contemplate it imbibe a portion of ethereal fire, the _divinæ
+particula auræ_, which nothing can extinguish? A wrinkle in Rembrandt
+or in Nature takes whole days to resolve itself into its component
+parts, its softenings and its sharpnesses; we refine upon our
+perfections, and unfold the intricacies of nature. What a prospect for
+the future! What a task have we not begun! And shall we be arrested in
+the middle of it? We do not count our time thus employed lost, or our
+pains thrown away; we do not flag or grow tired, but gain new vigour
+at our endless task. Shall Time, then, grudge us to finish what we
+have begun, and have formed a compact with Nature to do? Why not fill
+up the blank that is left us in this manner? I have looked for hours
+at a Rembrandt without being conscious of the flight of time, but with
+ever new wonder and delight, have thought that not only my own but
+another existence I could pass in the same manner. This rarefied,
+refined existence seemed to have no end, nor stint, nor principle of
+decay in it. The print would remain long after I who looked on it had
+become the prey of worms. The thing seems in itself out of all reason:
+health, strength, appetite are opposed to the idea of death, and we
+are not ready to credit it till we have found our illusions vanished,
+and our hopes grown cold. Objects in youth, from novelty, etc., are
+stamped upon the brain with such force and integrity that one thinks
+nothing can remove or obliterate them. They are riveted there, and
+appear to us as an element of our nature. It must be a mere violence
+that destroys them, not a natural decay. In the very strength of this
+persuasion we seem to enjoy an age by anticipation. We melt down years
+into a single moment of intense sympathy, and by anticipating the
+fruits defy the ravages of time. If, then, a single moment of our
+lives is worth years, shall we set any limits to its total value and
+extent? Again, does it not happen that so secure do we think
+ourselves of an indefinite period of existence, that at times, when
+left to ourselves, and impatient of novelty, we feel annoyed at what
+seems to us the slow and creeping progress of time, and argue that if
+it always moves at this tedious snail's pace it will never come to an
+end? How ready are we to sacrifice any space of time which separates
+us from a favourite object, little thinking that before long we shall
+find it move too fast.
+
+For my part, I started in life with the French Revolution, and I have
+lived, alas! to see the end of it. But I did not foresee this result.
+My sun arose with the first dawn of liberty, and I did not think how
+soon both must set. The new impulse to ardour given to men's minds
+imparted a congenial warmth and glow to mine; we were strong to run a
+race together, and I little dreamed that long before mine was set, the
+sun of liberty would turn to blood, or set once more in the night of
+despotism. Since then, I confess, I have no longer felt myself young,
+for with that my hopes fell.
+
+I have since turned my thoughts to gathering up some of the fragments
+of my early recollections, and putting them into a form to which I
+might occasionally revert. The future was barred to my progress, and I
+turned for consolation and encouragement to the past. It is thus that,
+while we find our personal and substantial identity vanishing from us,
+we strive to gain a reflected and vicarious one in our thoughts: we do
+not like to perish wholly, and wish to bequeath our names, at least,
+to posterity. As long as we can make our cherished thoughts and
+nearest interests live in the minds of others, we do not appear to
+have retired altogether from the stage. We still occupy the breasts of
+others, and exert an influence and power over them, and it is only our
+bodies that are reduced to dust and powder. Our favourite speculations
+still find encouragement, and we make as great a figure in the eye of
+the world, or perhaps a greater, than in our lifetime. The demands of
+our self-love are thus satisfied, and these are the most imperious and
+unremitting. Besides, if by our intellectual superiority we survive
+ourselves in this world, by our virtues and faith we may attain an
+interest in another, and a higher state of being, and may thus be
+recipients at the same time of men and of angels.
+
+    'E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,
+    E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.'
+
+As we grow old, our sense of the value of time becomes vivid. Nothing
+else, indeed, seems of any consequence. We can never cease wondering
+that that which has ever been should cease to be. We find many things
+remain the same: why then should there be change in us. This adds a
+convulsive grasp of whatever is, a sense of a fallacious hollowness in
+all we see. Instead of the full, pulpy feeling of youth tasting
+existence and every object in it, all is flat and vapid,--a whited
+sepulchre, fair without but full of ravening and all uncleanness
+within. The world is a witch that puts us off with false shows and
+appearances. The simplicity of youth, the confiding expectation, the
+boundless raptures, are gone: we only think of getting out of it as
+well as we can, and without any great mischance or annoyance. The
+flush of illusion, even the complacent retrospect of past joys and
+hopes, is over: if we can slip out of life without indignity, can
+escape with little bodily infirmity, and frame our minds to the calm
+and respectable composure of _still-life_ before we return to physical
+nothingness, it is as much as we can expect. We do not die wholly at
+our deaths: we have mouldered away gradually long before. Faculty
+after faculty, interest after interest, attachment after attachment
+disappear: we are torn from ourselves while living, year after year
+sees us no longer the same, and death only consigns the last fragment
+of what we were to the grave. That we should wear out by slow stages,
+and dwindle at last into nothing, is not wonderful, when even in our
+prime our strongest impressions leave little trace but for the moment,
+and we are the creatures of petty circumstance. How little effect is
+made on us in our best days by the books we have read, the scenes we
+have witnessed, the sensations we have gone through! Think only of the
+feelings we experience in reading a fine romance (one of Sir Walter's,
+for instance); what beauty, what sublimity, what interest, what
+heart-rending emotions! You would suppose the feelings you then
+experienced would last for ever, or subdue the mind to their own
+harmony and tone: while we are reading it seems as if nothing could
+ever put us out of our way, or trouble us:--the first splash of mud
+that we get on entering the street, the first twopence we are cheated
+out of, the feeling vanishes clean out of our minds, and we become the
+prey of petty and annoying circumstance. The mind soars to the lofty:
+it is at home in the grovelling, the disagreeable, and the little. And
+yet we wonder that age should be feeble and querulous,--that the
+freshness of youth should fade away. Both worlds would hardly satisfy
+the extravagance of our desires and of our presumption.
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY V
+
+ON PUBLIC OPINION
+
+    'Scared at the sound itself has made.'
+
+
+Once asking a friend why he did not bring forward an explanation of a
+circumstance, in which his conduct had been called in question, he
+said, 'His friends were satisfied on the subject, and he cared very
+little about the opinion of the world.' I made answer that I did not
+consider this a good ground to rest his defence upon, for that a man's
+friends seldom thought better of him than the world did. I see no
+reason to alter this opinion. Our friends, indeed, are more apt than a
+mere stranger to join in with, or be silent under any imputation
+thrown out against us, because they are apprehensive they may be
+indirectly implicated in it, and they are bound to betray us to save
+their own credit. To judge of our jealousy, our sensibility, our high
+notions of responsibility, on this score, only consider if a single
+individual lets fall a solitary remark implying a doubt of the wit,
+the sense, the courage of a friend--how it staggers us--how it makes
+us shake with fear--how it makes us call up all our eloquence and airs
+of self-consequence in his defence, lest our partiality should be
+supposed to have blinded our perceptions, and we should be regarded as
+the dupes of a mistaken admiration. We already begin to meditate an
+escape from a losing cause, and try to find out some other fault in
+the character under discussion, to show that we are not behind-hand
+(if the truth must be spoken) in sagacity, and a sense of the
+ridiculous. If, then, this is the case with the first flaw, the first
+doubt, the first speck that dims the sun of friendship, so that we are
+ready to turn our backs on our sworn attachments and well-known
+professions the instant we have not all the world with us, what must
+it be when we have all the world against us; when our friend, instead
+of a single stain, is covered with mud from head to foot; how shall we
+expect our feeble voices not to be drowned in the general clamour? how
+shall we dare to oppose our partial and mis-timed suffrages to the
+just indignation of the public? Or if it should not amount to this,
+how shall we answer the silence and contempt with which his name is
+received. How shall we animate the great mass of indifference or
+distrust with our private enthusiasm? how defeat the involuntary
+smile, or the suppressed sneer, with the burst of generous feeling and
+the glow of honest conviction? It is a thing not to be thought of,
+unless we would enter into a crusade against prejudice and malignity,
+devote ourselves as martyrs to friendship, raise a controversy in
+every company we go into, quarrel with every person we meet, and after
+making ourselves and every one else uncomfortable, leave off, not by
+clearing our friend's reputation, but by involving our own pretensions
+to decency and common sense. People will not fail to observe that a
+man may have his reasons for his faults or vices; but that for another
+to volunteer a defence of them, is without excuse. It is, in fact, an
+attempt to deprive them of the great and only benefit they derive from
+the supposed errors of their neighbours and contemporaries--the
+pleasure of backbiting and railing at them, which they call _seeing
+justice done_. It is not a single breath of rumour or opinion; but the
+whole atmosphere is infected with a sort of aguish taint of anger and
+suspicion, that relaxes the nerves of fidelity, and makes our most
+sanguine resolutions sicken and turn pale; and he who is proof against
+it, must either be armed with a love of truth, or a contempt for
+mankind, which places him out of the reach of ordinary rules and
+calculations. For myself, I do not shrink from defending a cause or a
+friend _under a cloud_; though in neither case will cheap or common
+efforts suffice. But, in the first, you merely stand up for your own
+judgment and principles against fashion and prejudice, and thus assume
+a sort of manly and heroic attitude of defiance: in the last (which
+makes it a matter of greater nicety and nervous sensibility), you
+sneak behind another to throw your gauntlet at the whole world, and it
+requires a double stock of stoical firmness not to be laughed out of
+your boasted zeal and independence as a romantic and _amiable
+weakness_.[6]
+
+There is nothing in which all the world agree but in running down some
+obnoxious individual. It may be supposed that this is not for nothing,
+and that they have good reasons for what they do. On the contrary, I
+will undertake to say, that so far from there being invariably just
+grounds for such an universal outcry, the universality of the outcry
+is often the only ground of the opinion; and that it is purposely
+raised upon this principle, that all other proof or evidence against
+the person meant to be run down is wanting. Nay, further, it may
+happen, that while the clamour is at the loudest; while you hear it
+from all quarters; while it blows a perfect hurricane; while 'the
+world rings with the vain stir'--not one of those who are most eager
+in hearing and echoing knows what it is about, or is not fully
+persuaded that the charge is equally false, malicious, and absurd. It
+is like the wind, that 'no man knoweth whence it cometh, or whither it
+goeth.' It is _vox et præterea nihil_. What, then, is it that gives it
+its confident circulation and its irresistible force. It is the
+loudness of the organ with which it is pronounced, the stentorian
+lungs of the multitude; the number of voices that take it up and
+repeat it, because others have done so; the rapid flight and the
+impalpable nature of common fame, that makes it a desperate
+undertaking for any individual to inquire into or arrest the mischief
+that, in the deafening buzz or loosened roar of laughter or
+indignation, renders it impossible for the still small voice of reason
+to be heard, and leaves no other course to honesty or prudence than to
+fall flat on the face before it, as before the pestilential blast of
+the desert, and wait till it has passed over. Thus every one joins in
+asserting, propagating, and in outwardly approving what every one, in
+his private and unbiassed judgment, believes and knows to be
+scandalous and untrue. For every one in such circumstances keeps his
+own opinion to himself, and only attends to or acts upon that which he
+conceives to be the opinion of every one but himself. So that public
+opinion is not seldom a farce, equal to any acted upon the stage. Not
+only is it spurious and hollow in the way that Mr. Locke points out,
+by one man's taking up at second hand the opinion of another, but
+worse than this, one man takes up what he believes another _will_
+think, and which the latter professes only because he believes it held
+by the first! All, therefore, that is necessary to control public
+opinion, is to gain possession of some organ loud and lofty enough to
+make yourself heard, that has power and interest on its side; and
+then, no sooner do you blow a blast in this trump of _ill-fame_, like
+the horn hung up on an old castle-wall, than you are answered, echoed,
+and accredited on all sides: the gates are thrown open to receive you,
+and you are admitted into the very heart of the fortress of public
+opinion, and can assail from the ramparts with every engine of abuse,
+and with privileged impunity, all those who may come forward to
+vindicate the truth, or to rescue their good name from the
+unprincipled keeping of authority, servility, sophistry, and venal
+falsehood! The only thing wanted is to give an alarm--to excite a
+panic in the public mind of being left _in the lurch_, and the rabble
+(whether in the ranks of literature or war) will throw away their
+arms, and surrender at discretion to any bully or impostor who, for a
+_consideration_, shall choose to try the experiment upon them!
+
+What I have here described is the effect even upon the candid and
+well-disposed: what must it be to the malicious and idle, who are
+eager to believe all the ill they can hear of every one; or to the
+prejudiced and interested, who are determined to credit all the ill
+they hear against those who are not of their own side? To these last
+it is only requisite to be understood that the butt of ridicule or
+slander is of an opposite party, and they presently give you _carte
+blanche_ to say what you please of him. Do they know that it is true?
+No; but they believe what all the world says, till they have evidence
+to the contrary. Do you prove that it is false? They dare say, that if
+not that something worse remains behind; and they retain the same
+opinion as before, for the honour of their party. They hire some one
+to pelt you with mud, and then affect to avoid you in the street as a
+dirty fellow. They are told that you have a hump on your back, and
+then wonder at your assurance or want of complaisance in walking into
+a room where they are, without it. Instead of apologising for the
+mistake, and, from finding one aspersion false, doubting all the rest,
+they are only the more confirmed in the remainder from being deprived
+of one handle against you, and resent their disappointment, instead of
+being ashamed of their credulity. People talk of the bigotry of the
+Catholics, and treat with contempt the absurd claim of the Popes to
+infallibility--I think with little right to do so. Walk into a church
+in Paris, you are struck with a number of idle forms and ceremonies,
+the chanting of the service in Latin, the shifting of the surplices,
+the sprinkling of holy water, the painted windows 'casting a dim
+religious light,' the wax tapers, the pealing organ: the common people
+seem attentive and devout, and to put entire faith in all this--Why?
+Because they imagine others to do so; they see and hear certain signs
+and supposed evidences of it, and it amuses and fills up the void of
+the mind, the love of the mysterious and wonderful, to lend their
+assent to it. They have assuredly, in general, no better reason--all
+our Protestant divines will tell you so. Well, step out of the church
+of St. Roche, and drop into an English reading-room hard by: what are
+you the better? You see a dozen or score of your countrymen with their
+faces fixed, and their eyes glued to a newspaper, a magazine, a
+review--reading, swallowing, profoundly ruminating on the lie, the
+cant, the sophism of the day! Why? It saves them the trouble of
+thinking; it gratifies their ill-humour, and keeps off _ennui_! Does a
+gleam of doubt, an air of ridicule, or a glance of impatience pass
+across their features at the shallow and monstrous things they find?
+No, it is all passive faith and dull security; they cannot take their
+eyes from the page, they cannot live without it. They believe in their
+adopted oracle (you see it in their faces) as implicitly as in Sir
+John Barleycorn, as in a sirloin of beef, as in quarter-day--as they
+hope to receive their rents, or to see Old England again! Are not the
+Popes, the Fathers, the Councils, as good as their oracles and
+champions? They know the paper before them to be a hoax, but do they
+believe in the ribaldry, the calumny, the less on that account? They
+believe the more in it, because it is got up solely and expressly to
+serve a cause that needs such support--and they swear by whatever is
+devoted to this object.
+
+The greater the profligacy, the effrontery, the servility, the greater
+the faith. Strange! That the British public, whether at home or
+abroad, should shake their heads at the Lady of Loretto, and repose
+deliciously on Mr. Theodore Hook. It may well be thought that the
+enlightened part of the British public, persons of family and
+fortunes, who have had a college education, and received the benefit
+of foreign travel, see through the quackery, which they encourage for
+a political purpose, without being themselves the dupes of it. This
+scarcely mends the matter. Suppose an individual, of whom it has been
+repeatedly asserted that he has warts on his nose, were to enter the
+reading-room aforesaid, is there a single red-faced country squire who
+would not be surprised at not finding this story true, would not
+persuade himself five minutes after that he could not have seen
+correctly, or that some art had been used to conceal the defects, or
+would be led to doubt, from this instance, the general candour and
+veracity of his oracle? He would disbelieve his own senses rather.
+Seeing is believing, it is said: lying is believing, I say. We do not
+even see with our own eyes, but must 'wink and shut our apprehension
+up,' that we may be able to agree to the report of others, as a piece
+of good manners and a point of established etiquette. Besides, the
+supposed deformity answered his wishes, the abuse fed fat the ancient
+grudge he owed some presumptuous scribbler, for not agreeing in a
+number of points with his betters; it gave him a personal advantage
+over a man he did not like--and who will give up what tends to
+strengthen his aversion for another? To Tory prejudice, dire as it
+is--to English imagination, morbid as it is, a nickname, a ludicrous
+epithet, a malignant falsehood, when it has been once propagated and
+taken to the bosom as a welcome consolation, becomes a precious
+property, a vested right; and people would as soon give up a sinecure,
+or a share in a close borough, as this sort of plenary indulgence to
+speak and think with contempt of those who would abolish the one, or
+throw open the other. Party-spirit is the best reason in the world for
+personal antipathy and vulgar abuse.
+
+'But, do you not think, Sir' (some dialectician may ask), 'that belief
+is involuntary, and that we judge in all cases according to the
+precise degree of evidence and the positive facts before us?'
+
+No, Sir.
+
+'You believe, then, in the doctrine of philosophical free-will?'
+
+Indeed, Sir, I do not.
+
+'How then, Sir, am I to understand so unaccountable a diversity of
+opinion from the most approved writers on the philosophy of the human
+mind?'
+
+May I ask, my dear Sir, did you ever read Mr. Wordsworth's poem of
+_Michael_?
+
+'I cannot charge my memory with the fact.'
+
+Well, Sir, this Michael is an old shepherd, who has a son who goes to
+sea, and who turns out a great reprobate, by all the accounts received
+of him. Before he went, however, the father took the boy with him into
+a mountain-glen, and made him lay the first stone of a sheep-fold,
+which was to be a covenant and a remembrance between them if anything
+ill happened. For years after, the old man used to go and work at the
+sheep-fold--
+
+                  'Among the rocks
+    He went, and still look'd up upon the sun,
+    And listen'd to the wind,'
+
+and sat by the half-finished work, expecting the lad's return, or
+hoping to hear some better tidings of him. Was this hope founded on
+reason--or was it not owing to the strength of affection, which in
+spite of everything could not relinquish its hold of a favourite
+object, indeed the only one that bound it to existence?
+
+Not being able to make my dialectician answer kindly to
+interrogatories, I must get on without him. In matters of absolute
+demonstration and speculative indifferences, I grant, that belief is
+involuntary, and the proof not to be resisted; but then, in such
+matters, there is no difference of opinion, or the difference is
+adjusted amicably and rationally. Hobbes is of opinion, that if their
+passions or interests could be implicated in the question, men would
+deny stoutly that the three angles of a right-angled triangle are
+equal to two right ones: and the disputes in religion look something
+like it. I only contend, however, that in all cases not of this
+peremptory and determinate cast, and where disputes commonly arise,
+inclination, habit, and example have a powerful share in throwing in
+the casting-weight to our opinions, and that he who is only tolerably
+free from these, and not their regular dupe or slave, is indeed 'a man
+of ten thousand.' Take, for instance, the example of a Catholic
+clergyman in a Popish country: it will generally be found that he
+lives and dies in the faith in which he was brought up, as the
+Protestant clergyman does in his--shall we say that the necessity of
+gaining a livelihood, or the prospect of preferment, that the early
+bias given to his mind by education and study, the pride of victory,
+the shame of defeat, the example and encouragement of all about him,
+the respect and love of his flock, the flattering notice of the great,
+have no effect in giving consistency to his opinions and carrying them
+through to the last? Yet, who will suppose that in either case this
+apparent uniformity is mere hypocrisy, or that the intellects of the
+two classes of divines are naturally adapted to the arguments in
+favour of the two religions they have occasion to profess? No; but the
+understanding takes a tincture from outward impulses and
+circumstances, and is led to dwell on those suggestions which favour,
+and to blind itself to the objections which impugn, the side to which
+it previously and morally inclines. Again, even in those who oppose
+established opinions, and form the little, firm, formidable phalanx of
+dissent, have not early instruction, spiritual pride, the love of
+contradiction, a resistance to usurped authority, as much to do with
+keeping up the war of sects and schisms as the abstract love of truth
+or conviction of the understanding? Does not persecution fan the flame
+in such fiery tempers, and does it not expire, or grow lukewarm, with
+indulgence and neglect? I have a sneaking kindness for a Popish
+priest in this country; and to a Catholic peer I would willingly bow
+in passing. What are national antipathies, individual attachments, but
+so many expressions of the _moral_ principle in forming our opinions?
+All our opinions become grounds on which we act, and build our
+expectations of good or ill; and this good or ill mixed up with them
+is soon changed into the ruling principle which modifies or violently
+supersedes the original cool determination of the reason and senses.
+The will, when it once gets a footing, turns the sober judgment out of
+doors. If we form an attachment to any one, are we not slow in giving
+it up? Or, if our suspicions are once excited, are we not equally rash
+and violent in believing the worst? Othello characterises himself as
+one
+
+    ----'That loved not wisely, but too well;
+    Of one not easily jealous--but, being wrought,
+    Perplex'd in the extreme.'
+
+And this answers to the movements and irregularities of passion and
+opinion which take place in human nature. If we wish a thing we are
+disposed to believe it: if we have been accustomed to believe it, we
+are the more obstinate in defending it on that account: if all the
+world differ from us in any question of moment, we are ashamed to own
+it; or are hurried by peevishness and irritation into extravagance and
+paradox. The weight of example presses upon us (whether we feel it or
+not) like the law of gravitation. He who sustains his opinion by the
+strength of conviction and evidence alone, unmoved by ridicule,
+neglect, obloquy, or privation, shows no less resolution than the
+Hindoo who makes and keeps a vow to hold his right arm in the air till
+it grows rigid and callous.
+
+To have all the world against us is trying to a man's temper and
+philosophy. It unhinges even our opinion of our own motives and
+intentions. It is like striking the actual world from under our feet:
+the void that is left, the death-like pause, the chilling suspense, is
+fearful. The growth of an opinion is like the growth of a limb; it
+receives its actual support and nourishment from the general body of
+the opinions, feelings, and practice of the world; without that, it
+soon withers, festers, and becomes useless. To what purpose write a
+good book, if it is sure to be pronounced a bad one, even before it is
+read? If our thoughts are to be blown stifling back upon ourselves,
+why utter them at all? It is only exposing what we love most to
+contumely and insult, and thus depriving ourselves of our own relish
+and satisfaction in them. Language is only made to communicate our
+sentiments, and if we can find no one to receive them, we are reduced
+to the silence of dumbness, we live but in the solitude of a dungeon.
+If we do not vindicate our opinions, we seem poor creatures who have
+no right to them; if we speak out, we are involved in continual brawls
+and controversy. If we contemn what others admire, we make ourselves
+odious; if we admire what they despise, we are equally ridiculous. We
+have not the applause of the world nor the support of a party; we can
+neither enjoy the freedom of social intercourse, nor the calm of
+privacy. With our respect for others, we lose confidence in ourselves:
+everything seems to be a subject of litigation--to want proof or
+confirmation; we doubt, by degrees, whether we stand on our head or
+our heels--whether we know our right hand from our left. If I am
+assured that I never wrote a sentence of common English in my life,
+how can I know that this is not the case? If I am told at one time
+that my writings are as heavy as lead, and at another, that they are
+more light and flimsy than the gossamer--what resource have I but to
+choose between the two? I could say, if this were the place, what
+those writings are.--'Make it the place, and never stand upon
+punctilio!'
+
+They are not, then, so properly the works of an author by profession,
+as the thoughts of a metaphysician expressed by a painter. They are
+subtle and difficult problems translated into hieroglyphics. I
+thought for several years on the hardest subjects, on Fate, Free-will,
+Foreknowledge absolute, without ever making use of words or images at
+all, and that has made them come in such throngs and confused heaps
+when I burst from that void of abstraction. In proportion to the
+tenuity to which my ideas had been drawn, and my abstinence from
+ornament and sensible objects, was the tenaciousness with which actual
+circumstances and picturesque imagery laid hold of my mind, when I
+turned my attention to them, or had to look round for illustrations.
+Till I began to paint, or till I became acquainted with the author of
+_The Ancient Mariner_, I could neither write nor speak. He encouraged
+me to write a book, which I did according to the original bent of my
+mind, making it as dry and meagre as I could, so that it fell
+still-born from the press, and none of those who abuse me for a
+shallow _catch-penny_ writer have so much as heard of it. Yet, let me
+say, that work contains an important metaphysical discovery, supported
+by a continuous and severe train of reasoning, nearly as subtle and
+original as anything in Hume or Berkeley. I am not accustomed to speak
+of myself in this manner, but impudence may provoke modesty to justify
+itself. Finding this method did not answer, I despaired for a time;
+but some trifle I wrote in the _Morning Chronicle_, meeting the
+approbation of the editor and the town, I resolved to turn over a new
+leaf--to take the public at its word, to muster all the tropes and
+figures I could lay hands on, and, though I am a plain man, never to
+appear abroad but in an embroidered dress. Still, old habits will
+prevail; and I hardly ever set about a paragraph or a criticism, but
+there was an undercurrent of thought, or some generic distinction on
+which the whole turned. Having got my clue, I had no difficulty in
+stringing pearls upon it; and the more recondite the point, the more I
+laboured to bring it out and set it off by a variety of ornaments and
+allusions. This puzzled the scribes whose business it was to crush me.
+They could not see the meaning: they would not see the colouring, for
+it hurt their eyes. One cried out, it was dull; another, that it was
+too fine by half: my friends took up this last alternative as the most
+favourable; and since then it has been agreed that I am a florid
+writer, somewhat flighty and paradoxical. Yet, when I wished to
+unburthen my mind in the _Edinburgh_ by an article on English
+metaphysics, the editor, who echoes this _florid_ charge, said he
+preferred what I wrote for effect, and was afraid of its being thought
+heavy! I have accounted for the flowers; the paradoxes may be
+accounted for in the same way. All abstract reasoning is in extremes,
+or only takes up one view of a question, or what is called the
+principle of the thing; and if you want to give this popularity and
+effect, you are in danger of running into extravagance and hyperbole.
+I have had to bring out some obscure distinction, or to combat some
+strong prejudice, and in doing this with all my might, may have often
+overshot the mark. It was easy to correct the excess of truth
+afterwards. I have been accused of inconsistency, for writing an
+essay, for instance, on the _Advantages of Pedantry_, and another on
+the _Ignorance of the Learned_, as if ignorance had not its comforts
+as well as knowledge. The personalities I have fallen into have never
+been gratuitous. If I have sacrificed my friends, it has always been
+to a theory. I have been found fault with for repeating myself, and
+for a narrow range of ideas. To a want of general reading, I plead
+guilty, and am sorry for it; but perhaps if I had read more, I might
+have thought less. As to my barrenness of invention, I have at least
+glanced over a number of subjects--painting, poetry, prose, plays,
+politics, parliamentary speakers, metaphysical lore, books, men, and
+things. There is some point, some fancy, some feeling, some taste,
+shown in treating of these. Which of my conclusions has been reversed?
+Is it what I said ten years ago of the Bourbons which raised the
+war-whoop against me? Surely all the world are of that opinion now. I
+have, then, given proofs of some talent, and of more honesty: if
+there is haste or want of method, there is no commonplace, nor a line
+that licks the dust; and if I do not appear to more advantage, I at
+least appear such as I am. If the Editor of the _Atlas_ will do me the
+favour to look over my _Essay on the Principles of Human Action_, will
+dip into any essay I ever wrote, and will take a sponge and clear the
+dust from the face of my _Old Woman_, I hope he will, upon second
+thoughts, acquit me of an absolute dearth of resources and want of
+versatility in the direction of my studies.
+
+1828.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[6] The only friends whom we defend with zeal and obstinacy are our
+relations. They seem part of ourselves. For our other friends we are
+only answerable, so long as we countenance them; and therefore cut the
+connection as soon as possible. But who ever willingly gave up the
+good dispositions of a child or the honour of a parent?
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY VI
+
+ON PERSONAL IDENTITY
+
+    'Ha! here's three of us are sophisticated.'--Lear.
+
+
+'If I were not Alexander, I would be Diogenes!' said the Macedonian
+hero; and the cynic might have retorted the compliment upon the prince
+by saying, that, 'were he not Diogenes, he would be Alexander!' This
+is the universal exception, the invariable reservation that our
+self-love makes, the utmost point at which our admiration or envy ever
+arrives--to wish, if we were not ourselves, to be some other
+individual. No one ever wishes to be another, _instead_ of himself. We
+may feel a desire to change places with others--to have one man's
+fortune--another's health or strength--his wit or learning, or
+accomplishments of various kinds--
+
+    'Wishing to be like one more rich in hope,
+    Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
+    Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope';
+
+but we would still be ourselves, to possess and enjoy all these, or we
+would not give a doit for them. But, on this supposition, what in
+truth should we be the better for them? It is not we, but another,
+that would reap the benefit; and what do we care about that other? In
+that case, the present owner might as well continue to enjoy them.
+_We_ should not be gainers by the change. If the meanest beggar who
+crouches at a palace gate, and looks up with awe and suppliant fear to
+the proud inmate as he passes, could be put in possession of all the
+finery, the pomp, the luxury, and wealth that he sees and envies, on
+the sole condition of getting rid, together with his rags and misery,
+of all recollection that there ever was such a wretch as himself, he
+would reject the proffered boon with scorn. He might be glad to change
+situations; but he would insist on keeping his own thoughts, to
+_compare notes_, and point the transition by the force of contrast. He
+would not, on any account, forego his self-congratulation on the
+unexpected accession of good fortune, and his escape from past
+suffering. All that excites his cupidity, his envy, his repining or
+despair, is the alternative of some great good to himself; and if, in
+order to attain that object, he is to part with his own existence to
+take that of another, he can feel no farther interest in it. This is
+the language both of passion and reason.
+
+Here lies 'the rub that makes calamity of so long life': for it is not
+barely the apprehension of the ills that 'in that sleep of death may
+come,' but also our ignorance and indifference to the promised good,
+that produces our repugnance and backwardness to quit the present
+scene. No man, if he had his choice, would be the angel Gabriel
+to-morrow! What is the angel Gabriel to him but a splendid vision? He
+might as well have an ambition to be turned into a bright cloud, or a
+particular star. The interpretation of which is, he can have no
+sympathy with the angel Gabriel. Before he can be transformed into so
+bright and ethereal an essence, he must necessarily 'put off this
+mortal coil'--be divested of all his old habits, passions, thoughts,
+and feelings--to be endowed with other attributes, lofty and beatific,
+of which he has no notion; and, therefore, he would rather remain a
+little longer in this mansion of clay, which, with all its flaws,
+inconveniences, and perplexities, contains all that he has any real
+knowledge of, or any affection for. When, indeed, he is about to quit
+it in spite of himself and has no other chance left to escape the
+darkness of the tomb he may then have no objection (making a virtue of
+necessity) to put on angel's wings, to have radiant locks, to wear a
+wreath of amaranth, and thus to masquerade it in the skies.
+
+It is an instance of the truthful beauty of the ancient mythology,
+that the various transmutations it recounts are never voluntary, or of
+favourable omen, but are interposed as a timely release to those who,
+driven on by fate, and urged to the last extremity of fear or anguish,
+are turned into a flower, a plant, an animal, a star, a precious
+stone, or into some object that may inspire pity or mitigate our
+regret for their misfortunes. Narcissus was transformed into a flower;
+Daphne into a laurel; Arethusa into a fountain (by the favour of the
+gods)--but not till no other remedy was left for their despair. It is
+a sort of smiling cheat upon death, and graceful compromise with
+annihilation. It is better to exist by proxy, in some softened type
+and soothing allegory, than not at all--to breathe in a flower or
+shine in a constellation, than to be utterly forgot; but no one would
+change his natural condition (if he could help it) for that of a bird,
+an insect, a beast, or a fish, however delightful their mode of
+existence, or however enviable he might deem their lot compared to his
+own. Their thoughts are not our thoughts--their happiness is not our
+happiness; nor can we enter into it, except with a passing smile of
+approbation, or as a refinement of fancy. As the poet sings:
+
+    'What more felicity can fall to creature
+      Than to enjoy delight with liberty,
+    And to be lord of all the works of nature?
+      To reign in the air from earth to highest sky;
+    To feed on flowers and weeds of glorious feature;
+      To taste whatever thing doth please the eye?--
+    Who rests not pleased with such happiness,
+    Well worthy he to taste of wretchedness!'
+
+This is gorgeous description and fine declamation: yet who would be
+found to act upon it, even in the forming of a wish; or would not
+rather be the thrall of wretchedness, than launch out (by the aid of
+some magic spell) into all the delights of such a butterfly state of
+existence? The French (if any people can) may be said to enjoy this
+airy, heedless gaiety and unalloyed exuberance of satisfaction: yet
+what Englishman would deliberately change with them? We would sooner
+be miserable after our own fashion than happy after theirs. It is not
+happiness, then, in the abstract, which we seek, that can be addressed
+as
+
+    'That something still that prompts th' eternal sigh,
+    For which we wish to live or dare to die,'
+
+but a happiness suited to our tastes and faculties--that has become a
+part of ourselves, by habit and enjoyment--that is endeared to us by a
+thousand recollections, privations, and sufferings. No one, then,
+would willingly change his country or his kind for the most plausible
+pretences held out to him. The most humiliating punishment inflicted
+in ancient fable is the change of sex: not that it was any degradation
+in itself--but that it must occasion a total derangement of the moral
+economy and confusion of the sense of personal propriety. The thing is
+said to have happened _au sens contraire_, in our time. The story is
+to be met with in 'very choice Italian'; and Lord D---- tells it in
+very plain English!
+
+We may often find ourselves envying the possessions of others, and
+sometimes inadvertently indulging a wish to change places with them
+altogether; but our self-love soon discovers some excuse to be off the
+bargain we were ready to strike, and retracts 'vows made in haste, as
+violent and void.' We might make up our minds to the alteration in
+every other particular; but, when it comes to the point, there is sure
+to be some trait or feature of character in the object of our
+admiration to which we cannot reconcile ourselves--some favourite
+quality or darling foible of our own, with which we can by no means
+resolve to part. The more enviable the situation of another, the more
+entirely to our taste, the more reluctant we are to leave any part of
+ourselves behind that would be so fully capable of appreciating all
+the exquisiteness of its new situation, or not to enter into the
+possession of such an imaginary reversion of good fortune with all our
+previous inclinations and sentiments. The outward circumstances were
+fine: they only wanted a _soul_ to enjoy them, and that soul is ours
+(as the costly ring wants the peerless jewel to perfect and set it
+off). The humble prayer and petition to sneak into visionary felicity
+by personal adoption, or the surrender of our own personal
+pretentions, always ends in a daring project of usurpation, and a
+determination to expel the actual proprietor, and supply his place so
+much more worthily with our own identity--not bating a single jot of
+it. Thus, in passing through a fine collection of pictures, who has
+not envied the privilege of visiting it every day, and wished to be
+the owner? But the rising sigh is soon checked, and 'the native hue of
+emulation is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,' when we
+come to ask ourselves, not merely whether the owner has any taste at
+all for these splendid works, and does not look upon them as so much
+expensive furniture, like his chairs and tables--but whether he has
+the same precise (and only true) taste that we have--whether he has
+the very same favourites that we have--whether he may not be so blind
+as to prefer a Vandyke to a Titian, a Ruysdael to a Claude; nay,
+whether he may not have other pursuits and avocations that draw off
+his attention from the sole objects of our idolatry, and which seem to
+us mere impertinences and waste of time? In that case, we at once lose
+all patience, and exclaim indignantly, 'Give us back our taste, and
+keep your pictures!' It is not we who should envy them the possession
+of the treasure, but they who should envy us the true and exclusive
+enjoyment of it. A similar train of feeling seems to have dictated
+Warton's spirited _Sonnet on visiting Wilton House_:
+
+    'From Pembroke's princely dome, where mimic art
+    Decks with a magic hand the dazzling bowers,
+    Its living hues where the warm pencil pours,
+    And breathing forms from the rude marble start,
+    How to life's humbler scene can I depart?
+    My breast all glowing from those gorgeous towers,
+    In my low cell how cheat the sullen hours?
+    Vain the complaint! For fancy can impart
+    (To fate superior and to fortune's power)
+    Whate'er adorns the stately storied-hall:
+    She, 'mid the dungeon's solitary gloom,
+    Can dress the Graces in their attic-pall;
+    Did the green landscape's vernal beauty bloom;
+    And in bright trophies clothe the twilight wall.'
+
+One sometimes passes by a gentleman's park, an old family-seat, with
+its moss-grown, ruinous paling, its 'glades mild-opening to the genial
+day,' or embrowned with forest-trees. Here one would be glad to spend
+one's life, 'shut up in measureless content,' and to grow old beneath
+ancestral oaks, instead of gaining a precarious, irksome, and despised
+livelihood, by indulging romantic sentiments, and writing disjointed
+descriptions of them. The thought has scarcely risen to the lips, when
+we learn that the owner of so blissful a seclusion is a thoroughbred
+fox-hunter, a preserver of the game, a brawling electioneerer, a Tory
+member of parliament, a 'No-Popery' man!--'I'd sooner be a dog, and
+bay the moon!' Who would be Sir Thomas Lethbridge for his title and
+estate? asks one man. But would not almost any one wish to be Sir
+Francis Burdett, the man of the people, the idol of the electors of
+Westminster? says another. I can only answer for myself. Respectable
+and honest as he is, there is something in his white boots, and white
+breeches, and white coat, and white hair, and white hat, and red face,
+that I cannot, by any effort of candour, confound my personal identity
+with! If Mr. ---- can prevail on Sir Francis to exchange, let him do
+so by all means. Perhaps they might contrive to _club_ a soul between
+them! Could I have had my will, I should have been born a lord: but
+one would not be a booby lord neither. I am haunted by an odd fancy of
+driving down the Great North Road in a chaise and four, about fifty
+years ago, and coming to the inn at Ferry-bridge with outriders,
+white favours, and a coronet on the panels; and then, too, I choose
+my companion in the coach. Really there is a witchcraft in all this
+that makes it necessary to turn away from it, lest, in the conflict
+between imagination and impossibility, I should grow feverish and
+light-headed! But, on the other hand, if one was a born lord, should
+one have the same idea (that every one else has) of _a peeress in her
+own right_? Is not distance, giddy elevation, mysterious awe, an
+impassable gulf, necessary to form this idea in the mind, that fine
+ligament of 'ethereal braid, sky-woven,' that lets down heaven upon
+earth, fair as enchantment, soft as Berenice's hair, bright and
+garlanded like Ariadne's crown; and is it not better to have had this
+idea all through life--to have caught but glimpses of it, to have
+known it but in a dream--than to have been born a lord ten times over,
+with twenty pampered menials at one's beck, and twenty descents to
+boast of? It is the envy of certain privileges, the sharp privations
+we have undergone, the cutting neglect we have met with from the want
+of birth or title that gives its zest to the distinction: the thing
+itself may be indifferent or contemptible enough. It is the _becoming_
+a lord that is to be desired; but he who becomes a lord in reality may
+be an upstart--a mere pretender, without the sterling essence; so that
+all that is of any worth in this supposed transition is purely
+imaginary and impossible.[7] Kings are so accustomed to look down on
+all the rest of the world, that they consider the condition of
+mortality as vile and intolerable, if stripped of royal state, and cry
+out in the bitterness of their despair, 'Give me a crown, or a tomb!'
+It should seem from this as if all mankind would change with the
+first crowned head that could propose the alternative, or that it
+would be only the presumption of the supposition, or a sense of their
+own unworthiness, that would deter them. Perhaps there is not a single
+throne that, if it was to be filled by this sort of voluntary
+metempsychosis, would not remain empty. Many would, no doubt, be glad
+to 'monarchise, be feared, and kill with looks' in their own persons
+and after their own fashion: but who would be the _double_ of those
+shadows of a shade--those 'tenth transmitters of a foolish
+face'--Charles X. and Ferdinand VII.? If monarchs have little sympathy
+with mankind, mankind have even less with monarchs. They are merely to
+us a sort of state-puppets, or royal wax-work, which we may gaze at
+with superstitious wonder, but have no wish to become; and he who
+should meditate such a change must not only feel by anticipation an
+utter contempt for the _slough_ of humanity which he is prepared to
+cast, but must feel an absolute void and want of attraction in those
+lofty and incomprehensible sentiments which are to supply its place.
+With respect to actual royalty, the spell is in a great measure
+broken. But, among ancient monarchs, there is no one, I think, who
+envies Darius or Xerxes. One has a different feeling with respect to
+Alexander or Pyrrhus; but this is because they were great men as well
+as great kings, and the soul is up in arms at the mention of their
+names as at the sound of a trumpet. But as to all the rest--those 'in
+the catalogue who go for kings'--the praying, eating, drinking,
+dressing monarchs of the earth, in time past or present--one would as
+soon think of wishing to personate the Golden Calf, or to turn out
+with Nebuchadnezzar to graze, as to be transformed into one of that
+'swinish multitude.' There is no point of affinity. The extrinsic
+circumstances are imposing; but, within, there is nothing but morbid
+humours and proud flesh! Some persons might vote for Charlemagne; and
+there are others who would have no objection to be the modern
+Charlemagne, with all he inflicted and suffered, even after the
+necromantic field of Waterloo, and the bloody wreath on the vacant
+brow of the conqueror, and that fell jailer, set over him by a craven
+foe, that 'glared round his soul, and mocked his closing eyelids!'
+
+It has been remarked, that could we at pleasure change our situation
+in life, more persons would be found anxious to descend than to ascend
+in the scale of society. One reason may be, that we have it more in
+our power to do so; and this encourages the thought, and makes it
+familiar to us. A second is, that we naturally wish to throw off the
+cares of state, of fortune or business, that oppress us, and to seek
+repose before we find it in the grave. A third reason is, that, as we
+descend to common life, the pleasures are simple, natural, such as all
+can enter into, and therefore excite a general interest, and combine
+all suffrages. Of the different occupations of life, none is beheld
+with a more pleasing emotion, or less aversion to a change for our
+own, than that of a shepherd tending his flock: the pastoral ages have
+been the envy and the theme of all succeeding ones; and a beggar with
+his crutch is more closely allied than the monarch and his crown to
+the associations of mirth and heart's-ease. On the other hand, it must
+be admitted that our pride is too apt to prefer grandeur to happiness;
+and that our passions make us envy great vices oftener than great
+virtues.
+
+The world show their sense in nothing more than in a distrust and
+aversion to those changes of situation which only tend to make the
+successful candidates ridiculous, and which do not carry along with
+them a mind adequate to the circumstances. The common people, in this
+respect, are more shrewd and judicious than their superiors, from
+feeling their own awkwardness and incapacity, and often decline, with
+an instinctive modesty, the troublesome honours intended for them.
+They do not overlook their original defects so readily as others
+overlook their acquired advantages. It is not wonderful, therefore,
+that opera-singers and dancers refuse or only _condescend_ as it
+were, to accept lords, though the latter are too often fascinated by
+them. The fair performer knows (better than her unsuspecting admirer)
+how little connection there is between the dazzling figure she makes
+on the stage and that which she may make in private life, and is in no
+hurry to convert 'the drawing-room into a Green-room.' The nobleman
+(supposing him not to be very wise) is astonished at the miraculous
+powers of art in
+
+    'The fair, the chaste, the inexpressive _she_';
+
+and thinks such a paragon must easily conform to the routine of
+manners and society which every trifling woman of quality of his
+acquaintance, from sixteen to sixty, goes through without effort. This
+is a hasty or a wilful conclusion. Things of habit only come by habit,
+and inspiration here avails nothing. A man of fortune who marries an
+actress for her fine performance of tragedy, has been well compared to
+the person who bought Punch. The lady is not unfrequently aware of the
+inconsequentiality, and unwilling to be put on the shelf, and hid in
+the nursery of some musty country mansion. Servant girls, of any sense
+and spirit, treat their masters (who make serious love to them) with
+suitable contempt. What is it but a proposal to drag an unmeaning
+trollop at his heels through life, to her own annoyance and the
+ridicule of all his friends? No woman, I suspect, ever forgave a man
+who raised her from a low condition in life (it is a perpetual
+obligation and reproach); though I believe, men often feel the most
+disinterested regard for women under such circumstances. Sancho Panza
+discovered no less folly in his eagerness to enter upon his new
+government, than wisdom in quitting it as fast as possible. Why will
+Mr. Cobbett persist in getting into Parliament? He would find himself
+no longer the same man. What member of Parliament, I should like to
+know, could write his _Register_? As a popular partisan, he may (for
+aught I can say) be a match for the whole Honourable House; but, by
+obtaining a seat in St. Stephen's Chapel, he would only be equal to a
+576th part of it. It was surely a puerile ambition in Mr. Addington to
+succeed Mr. Pitt as prime minister. The situation was only a foil to
+his imbecility. Gipsies have a fine faculty of evasion; catch them who
+can in the same place or story twice! Take them; teach them the
+comforts of civilisation; confine them in warm rooms, with thick
+carpets and down beds; and they will fly out of the window--like the
+bird, described by Chaucer, out of its golden cage. I maintain that
+there is no common language or medium of understanding between people
+of education and without it--between those who judge of things from
+books or from their senses. Ignorance has so far the advantage over
+learning; for it can make an appeal to you from what you know; but you
+cannot react upon it through that which it is a perfect stranger to.
+Ignorance is, therefore, power. This is what foiled Buonaparte in
+Spain and Russia. The people can only be gained over by informing
+them, though they may be enslaved by fraud or force. 'What is it,
+then, he does like?'--'Good victuals and drink!' As if you had these
+not too; but because he has them not, he thinks of nothing else, and
+laughs at you and your refinements, supposing you live upon air. To
+those who are deprived of every other advantage, even nature is a
+_book sealed_. I have made this capital mistake all my life, in
+imagining that those objects which lay open to all, and excited an
+interest merely from the _idea_ of them, spoke a common language to
+all; and that nature was a kind of universal home, where ages, sexes,
+classes meet. Not so. The vital air, the sky, the woods, the
+streams--all these go for nothing, except with a favoured few. The
+poor are taken up with their bodily wants--the rich, with external
+acquisitions: the one, with the sense of property--the other, of its
+privation. Both have the same distaste for _sentiment_. The _genteel_
+are the slaves of appearances--the vulgar, of necessity; and neither
+has the smallest regard to worth, refinement, generosity. All savages
+are irreclaimable. I can understand the Irish character better than
+the Scotch. I hate the formal crust of circumstances and the mechanism
+of society. I have been recommended, indeed, to settle down into some
+respectable profession for life:
+
+    'Ah! why so soon the blossom tear?'
+
+I am 'in no haste to be venerable!'
+
+In thinking of those one might wish to have been, many people will
+exclaim, 'Surely, you would like to have been Shakspeare?' Would
+Garrick have consented to the change? No, nor should he; for the
+applause which he received, and on which he lived, was more adapted to
+his genius and taste. If Garrick had agreed to be Shakspeare, he would
+have made it a previous condition that he was to be a better player.
+He would have insisted on taking some higher part than _Polonius_ or
+the _Gravedigger_. Ben Jonson and his companions at the Mermaid would
+not have known their old friend Will in his new disguise. The modern
+Roscius would have scouted the halting player. He would have shrunk
+from the parts of the inspired poet. If others are unlike us, we feel
+it as a presumption and an impertinence to usurp their place; if they
+are like us, it seems a work of supererogation. We are not to be
+cozened out of our existence for nothing. It has been ingeniously
+urged, as an objection to having been Milton, that 'then we should not
+have had the pleasure of reading _Paradise Lost_.' Perhaps I should
+incline to draw lots with Pope, but that he was deformed, and did not
+sufficiently relish Milton and Shakspeare. As it is, we can enjoy his
+verses and theirs too. Why, having these, need we ever be dissatisfied
+with ourselves? Goldsmith is a person whom I considerably affect
+notwithstanding his blunders and his misfortunes. The author of the
+_Vicar of Wakefield_, and of _Retaliation_, is one whose temper must
+have had something eminently amiable, delightful, gay, and happy in
+it.
+
+    'A certain tender bloom his fame o'erspreads.'
+
+But then I could never make up my mind to his preferring Rowe and
+Dryden to the worthies of the Elizabethan age; nor could I, in like
+manner, forgive Sir Joshua--whom I number among those whose existence
+was marked with a _white stone_, and on whose tomb might be inscribed
+'Thrice Fortunate!'--his treating Nicholas Poussin with contempt.
+Differences in matters of taste and opinion are points of
+honour--'stuff o' the conscience'--stumbling-blocks not to be got
+over. Others, we easily grant, may have more wit, learning,
+imagination, riches, strength, beauty, which we should be glad to
+borrow of them; but that they have sounder or better views of things,
+or that we should act wisely in changing in this respect, is what we
+can by no means persuade ourselves. We may not be the lucky possessors
+of what is best or most desirable; but our notion of what is best and
+most desirable we will give up to no man by choice or compulsion; and
+unless others (the greatest wits or brightest geniuses) can come into
+our way of thinking, we must humbly beg leave to remain as we are. A
+Calvinistic preacher would not relinquish a single point of faith to
+be the Pope of Rome; nor would a strict Unitarian acknowledge the
+mystery of the Holy Trinity to have painted Raphael's _Assembly of the
+Just_. In the range of _ideal_ excellence, we are distracted by
+variety and repelled by differences: the imagination is fickle and
+fastidious, and requires a combination of all possible qualifications,
+which never met. Habit alone is blind and tenacious of the most homely
+advantages; and after running the tempting round of nature, fame and
+fortune, we wrap ourselves up in our familiar recollections and humble
+pretensions--as the lark, after long fluttering on sunny wing, sinks
+into its lowly bed!
+
+We can have no very importunate craving, nor very great confidence,
+in wishing to change characters, except with those with whom we are
+intimately acquainted by their works; and having these by us (which is
+all we know or covet in them), what would we have more? We can have
+_no more of a cat than her skin_; nor of an author than his brains. By
+becoming Shakspeare in reality we cut ourselves out of reading Milton,
+Pope, Dryden, and a thousand more--all of whom we have in our
+possession, enjoy, and _are_, by turns, in the best part of them,
+their thoughts, without any metamorphosis or miracle at all. What a
+microcosm is ours! What a Proteus is the human mind! All that we know,
+think of, or can admire, in a manner becomes ourselves. We are not
+(the meanest of us) a volume, but a whole library! In this calculation
+of problematical contingencies, the lapse of time makes no difference.
+One would as soon have been Raphael as any modern artist. Twenty,
+thirty, or forty years of elegant enjoyment and lofty feeling were as
+great a luxury in the fifteenth as in the nineteenth century. But
+Raphael did not live to see Claude, nor Titian Rembrandt. Those who
+found arts and sciences are not witnesses of their accumulated results
+and benefits; nor, in general, do they reap the meed of praise which
+is their due. We who come after in some 'laggard age' have more
+enjoyment of their fame than they had. Who would have missed the sight
+of the Louvre in all its glory to have been one of those whose works
+enriched it? Would it not have been giving a certain good for an
+uncertain advantage? No: I am as sure (if it is not presumption to say
+so) of what passed through Raphael's mind as of what passes through my
+own; and I know the difference between seeing (though even that is a
+rare privilege) and producing such perfection. At one time I was so
+devoted to Rembrandt, that I think if the Prince of Darkness had made
+me the offer in some rash mood, I should have been tempted to close
+with it, and should have become (in happy hour, and in downright
+earnest) the great master of light and shade!
+
+I have run myself out of my materials for this Essay, and want a
+well-turned sentence or two to conclude with; like Benvenuto Cellini,
+who complains that, with all the brass, tin, iron, and lead he could
+muster in the house, his statue of Perseus was left imperfect, with a
+dent in the heel of it. Once more, then--I believe there is one
+character that all the world would like to change with--which is that
+of a favoured rival. Even hatred gives way to envy. We would be
+anything--a toad in a dungeon--to live upon her smile, which is our
+all of earthly hope and happiness; nor can we, in our infatuation,
+conceive that there is any difference of feeling on the subject, or
+that the pressure of her hand is not in itself divine, making those to
+whom such bliss is deigned like the Immortal Gods!
+
+1828.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[7] When Lord Byron was cut by the great, on account of his quarrel
+with his wife, he stood leaning on a marble slab at the entrance of a
+room, while troops of duchesses and countesses passed out. One little,
+pert, red-haired girl staid a few paces behind the rest; and, as she
+passed him, said with a nod, 'Aye, you should have married me, and
+then all this wouldn't have happened to you!'
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY VII
+
+MIND AND MOTIVE
+
+    'The web of our lives is of a mingled yarn.'
+
+
+'Anthony Codrus Urceus, a most learned and unfortunate Italian, born
+1446, was a striking instance' (says his biographer) 'of the miseries
+men bring upon themselves by setting their affections unreasonably on
+trifles. This learned man lived at Forli, and had an apartment in the
+palace. His room was so very dark, that he was forced to use a candle
+in the day time; and one day, going abroad without putting it out, his
+library was set on fire, and some papers which he had prepared for the
+press were burned. The instant he was informed of this ill news, he
+was affected even to madness. He ran furiously to the palace, and,
+stopping at the door of his apartment, he cried aloud, "Christ Jesus!
+what mighty crime have I committed? whom of your followers have I ever
+injured, that you thus rage with inexpiable hatred against me?" Then
+turning himself to an image of the Virgin Mary near at hand, "Virgin"
+(says he) "hear what I have to say, for I speak in earnest, and with a
+composed spirit. If I shall happen to address you in my dying moments,
+I humbly entreat you not to hear me, nor receive me into heaven, for I
+am determined to spend all eternity in hell." Those who heard these
+blasphemous expressions endeavoured to comfort him, but all to no
+purpose; for the society of mankind being no longer supportable to
+him, he left the city, and retired, like a savage, to the deep
+solitude of a wood. Some say that he was murdered there by ruffians;
+others that he died at Bologna, in 1500, after much contrition and
+penitence.'
+
+Almost every one may here read the history of his own life. There is
+scarcely a moment in which we are not in some degree guilty of the
+same kind of absurdity, which was here carried to such a singular
+excess. We waste our regrets on what cannot be recalled, or fix our
+desires on what we know cannot be attained. Every hour is the slave of
+the last; and we are seldom masters either of our thoughts or of our
+actions. We are the creatures of imagination, passion, and self-will,
+more than of reason or self-interest. Rousseau, in his _Emilius_,
+proposed to educate a perfectly reasonable man, who was to have
+passions and affections like other men, but with an absolute control
+over them. He was to love and to be wise. This is a contradiction in
+terms. Even in the common transactions and daily intercourse of life,
+we are governed by whim, caprice, prejudice, or accident. The falling
+of a tea-cup puts us out of temper for the day; and a quarrel that
+commenced about the pattern of a gown may end only with our lives.
+
+                'Friends now fast sworn,
+    On a dissension of a doit, break out
+    To bitterest enmity. So fellest foes,
+    Whose passions and whose plots have broke their sleep,
+    To take the one the other, by some chance,
+    Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends,
+    And interjoin their issues.'
+
+We are little better than humoured children to the last, and play a
+mischievous game at cross purposes with our own happiness and that of
+others.
+
+We have given the above story as a striking contradiction to the
+prevailing doctrine of modern systems of morals and metaphysics, that
+man is purely a sensual and selfish animal, governed solely by a
+regard either to his immediate gratification or future interest. This
+doctrine we mean to oppose with all our might, whenever we meet with
+it. We are, however, less disposed to quarrel with it, as it is
+opposed to reason and philosophy, than as it interferes with common
+sense and observation. If the absurdity in question had been confined
+to the schools, we should not have gone out of our way to meddle with
+it: but it has gone abroad in the world, has crept into ladies'
+boudoirs, is entered in the commonplace book of beaux, is in the mouth
+of the learned and ignorant, and forms a part of popular opinion. It
+is perpetually applied as a false measure to the characters and
+conduct of men in the common affairs of the world, and it is therefore
+our business to rectify it, if we can. In fact, whoever sets out on
+the idea of reducing all our motives and actions to a simple
+principle, must either take a very narrow and superficial view of
+human nature, or make a very perverse use of his understanding in
+reasoning on what he sees. The frame of our minds, like that of his
+body, is exceedingly complicated. Besides mere sensibility to pleasure
+and pain, there are other original independent principles, necessarily
+interwoven with the nature of man as an active and intelligent being,
+and which, blended together in different proportions, give their form
+and colour to our lives. Without some other essential faculties, such
+as will, imagination, etc., to give effect and direction to our
+physical sensibility, this faculty could be of no possible use or
+influence; and with those other faculties joined to it, this pretended
+instinct of self-love will be subject to be everlastingly modified and
+controlled by those faculties, both in what regards our own good and
+that of others; that is, must itself become in a great measure
+dependent on the very instruments it uses. The two most predominant
+principles in the mind, besides sensibility and self-interest, are
+imagination and self-will, or (in general) the love of strong
+excitement, both in thought and action. To these sources may be traced
+the various passions, pursuits, habits, affections, follies and
+caprices, virtues and vices of mankind. We shall confine ourselves,
+in the present article, to give some account of the influence
+exercised by the imagination over the feelings. To an intellectual
+being, it cannot be altogether arbitrary what ideas it shall have,
+whether pleasurable or painful. Our ideas do not originate in our love
+of pleasure, and they cannot, therefore, depend absolutely upon it.
+They have another principle. If the imagination were 'the servile
+slave' of our self-love, if our ideas were emanations of our sensitive
+nature, encouraged if agreeable, and excluded the instant they became
+otherwise, or encroached on the former principle, then there might be
+a tolerable pretence for the epicurean philosophy which is here spoken
+of. But for any such entire and mechanical subserviency of the
+operations of the one principle to the dictates of the other, there is
+not the slightest foundation in reality. The attention which the mind
+gives to its ideas is not always owing to the gratification derived
+from them, but to the strength and truth of the impressions
+themselves, _i.e._ to their involuntary power over the mind. This
+observation will account for a very general principle in the mind,
+which cannot, we conceive, be satisfactorily explained in any other
+way, we mean _the power of fascination_. Every one has heard the story
+of the girl who, being left alone by her companions, in order to
+frighten her, in a room with a dead body, at first attempted to get
+out, and shrieked violently for assistance, but finding herself shut
+in, ran and embraced the corpse, and was found senseless in its arms.
+
+It is said that in such cases there is a desperate effort made to get
+rid of the dread by converting it into the reality. There may be some
+truth in this account, but we do not think it contains the whole
+truth. The event produced in the present instance does not bear out
+the conclusion. The progress of the passion does not seem to have been
+that of diminishing or removing the terror by coming in contact with
+the object, but of carrying this terror to its height from an intense
+and irresistible impulse overcoming every other feeling.
+
+It is a well-known fact that few persons can stand safely on the edge
+of a precipice, or walk along the parapet wall of a house, without
+being in danger of throwing themselves down; not, we presume, from a
+principle of self-preservation; but in consequence of a strong idea
+having taken possession of the mind from which it cannot well escape,
+which absorbs every other consideration, and confounds and overrules
+all self-regards. The impulse cannot in this case be resolved into a
+desire to remove the uneasiness of fear, for the only danger arises
+from the fear. We have been told by a person not at all given to
+exaggeration, that he once felt a strong propensity to throw himself
+into a cauldron of boiling lead, into which he was looking. These are
+what Shakspeare calls 'the toys of desperation.' People sometimes
+marry, and even fall in love on this principle--that is, through mere
+apprehension, or what is called a fatality. In like manner, we find
+instances of persons who are, as it were, naturally delighted with
+whatever is disagreeable--who catch all sorts of unbecoming tones and
+gestures--who always say what they should not, and what they do not
+mean to say--in whom intemperance of imagination and incontinence of
+tongue are a disease, and who are governed by an almost infallible
+instinct of absurdity.
+
+The love of imitation has the same general source. We dispute for ever
+about Hogarth, and the question can never be decided according to the
+common ideas on the subject of taste. His pictures appeal to the love
+of truth, not to the sense of beauty: but the one is as much an
+essential principle of our nature as the other. They fill up the void
+of the mind; they present an everlasting succession and variety of
+ideas. There is a fine observation somewhere made by Aristotle, that
+the mind has a natural appetite of curiosity or desire to know; and
+most of that knowledge which comes in by the eye, for this presents
+us with the greatest variety of differences. Hogarth is relished only
+by persons of a certain strength of mind and penetration into
+character; for the subjects in themselves are not pleasing, and this
+objection is only redeemed by the exercise and activity which they
+give to the understanding. The great difference between what is meant
+by a severe and an effeminate taste or style, depends on the
+distinction here made.
+
+Our teasing ourselves to recollect the names of places or persons we
+have forgotten, the love of riddles and of abstruse philosophy, are
+all illustrations of the same general principle of curiosity, or the
+love of intellectual excitement. Again, our impatience to be delivered
+of a secret that we know; the necessity which lovers have for
+confidants, auricular confession, and the declarations so commonly
+made by criminals of their guilt, are effects of the involuntary power
+exerted by the imagination over the feelings. Nothing can be more
+untrue, than that the whole course of our ideas, passions, and
+pursuits, is regulated by a regard to self-interest. Our attachment to
+certain objects is much oftener in proportion to the strength of the
+impression they make on us, to their power of riveting and fixing the
+attention, than to the gratification we derive from them. We are,
+perhaps, more apt to dwell upon circumstances that excite disgust and
+shock our feelings, than on those of an agreeable nature. This, at
+least, is the case where this disposition is particularly strong, as
+in people of nervous feelings and morbid habits of thinking. Thus the
+mind is often haunted with painful images and recollections, from the
+hold they have taken of the imagination. We cannot shake them off,
+though we strive to do it: nay, we even court their company; we will
+not part with them out of our presence; we strain our aching sight
+after them; we anxiously recall every feature, and contemplate them in
+all their aggravated colours. There are a thousand passions and
+fancies that thwart our purposes, and disturb our repose. Grief and
+fear are almost as welcome inmates of the breast as hope or joy, and
+more obstinately cherished. We return to the objects which have
+excited them, we brood over them, they become almost inseparable from
+the mind, necessary to it; they assimilate all objects to the gloom of
+our own thoughts, and make the will a party against itself. This is
+one chief source of most of the passions that prey like vultures on
+the heart, and embitter human life. We hear moralists and divines
+perpetually exclaiming, with mingled indignation and surprise, at the
+folly of mankind in obstinately persisting in these tormenting and
+violent passions, such as envy, revenge, sullenness, despair, etc.
+This is to them a mystery; and it will always remain an inexplicable
+one, while the love of happiness is considered as the only spring of
+human conduct and desires.[8]
+
+The love of power or action is another independent principle of the
+human mind, in the different degrees in which it exists, and which are
+not by any means in exact proportion to its physical sensibility. It
+seems evidently absurd to suppose that sensibility to pleasure or pain
+is the only principle of action. It is almost too obvious to remark,
+that sensibility alone, without an active principle in the mind, could
+never produce action. The soul might lie dissolved in pleasure, or be
+agonised with woe; but the impulses of feeling, in order to excite
+passion, desire, or will, must be first communicated to some other
+faculty. There must be a principle, a fund of activity somewhere, by
+and through which our sensibility operates; and that this active
+principle owes all its force, its precise degree of direction, to the
+sensitive faculty, is neither self-evident nor true. Strength of will
+is not always nor generally in proportion to strength of feeling.
+There are different degrees of activity, as of sensibility, in the
+mind; and our passions, characters, and pursuits, often depend no less
+upon the one than on the other. We continually make a distinction in
+common discourse between sensibility and irritability, between passion
+and feeling, between the nerves and muscles; and we find that the most
+voluptuous people are in general the most indolent. Every one who has
+looked closely into human nature must have observed persons who are
+naturally and habitually restless in the extreme, but without any
+extraordinary susceptibility to pleasure or pain, always making or
+finding excuses to do something--whose actions constantly outrun the
+occasion, and who are eager in the pursuit of the greatest
+trifles--whose impatience of the smallest repose keeps them always
+employed about nothing--and whose whole lives are a continued work of
+supererogation. There are others, again, who seem born to act from a
+spirit of contradiction only, that is, who are ready to act not only
+without a reason, but against it--who are ever at cross-purposes with
+themselves and others--who are not satisfied unless they are doing two
+opposite things at a time--who contradict what you say, and if you
+assent to them, contradict what they have said--who regularly leave
+the pursuit in which they are successful to engage in some other in
+which they have no chance of success--who make a point of encountering
+difficulties and aiming at impossibilities, that there may be no end
+of their exhaustless task: while there is a third class whose _vis
+inertiæ_ scarcely any motives can overcome--who are devoured by their
+feelings, and the slaves of their passions, but who can take no pains
+and use no means to gratify them--who, if roused to action by any
+unforeseen accident, require a continued stimulus to urge them on--who
+fluctuate between desire and want of resolution--whose brightest
+projects burst like a bubble as soon as formed--who yield to every
+obstacle--who almost sink under the weight of the atmosphere--who
+cannot brush aside a cobweb in their path, and are stopped by an
+insect's wing. Indolence is want of will--the absence or defect of the
+active principle--a repugnance to motion; and whoever has been much
+tormented with this passion, must, we are sure, have felt that the
+inclination to indulge it is something very distinct from the love of
+pleasure or actual enjoyment. Ambition is the reverse of indolence,
+and is the love of power or action in great things. Avarice, also, as
+it relates to the acquisition of riches, is, in a great measure, an
+active and enterprising feeling; nor does the hoarding of wealth,
+after it is acquired, seem to have much connection with the love of
+pleasure. What is called niggardliness, very often, we are convinced
+from particular instances that we have known, arises less from a
+selfish principle than from a love of contrivance--from the study of
+economy as an art, for want of a better--from a pride in making the
+most of a little, and in not exceeding a certain expense previously
+determined upon; all which is wilfulness, and is perfectly consistent,
+as it is frequently found united, with the utmost lavish expenditure
+and the utmost disregard for money on other occasions. A miser may, in
+general, be looked upon as a particular species of _virtuoso_. The
+constant desire in the rich to leave wealth in large masses, by
+aggrandising some branch of their families, or sometimes in such a
+manner as to accumulate for centuries, shows that the imagination has
+a considerable share in this passion. Intemperance, debauchery,
+gluttony, and other vices of that kind, may be attributed to an excess
+of sensuality or gross sensibility; though, even here, we think it
+evident that habits of intoxication are produced quite as much by the
+strength as by the agreeableness of the excitement; and with respect
+to some other vicious habits, curiosity makes many more votaries than
+inclination. The love of truth, when it predominates, produces
+inquisitive characters, the whole tribe of gossips, tale-bearers,
+harmless busybodies, your blunt honest creatures, who never conceal
+what they think, and who are the more sure to tell it you the less you
+want to hear it--and now and then a philosopher.
+
+Our passions in general are to be traced more immediately to the
+active part of our nature, to the love of power, or to strength of
+will. Such are all those which arise out of the difficulty of
+accomplishment, which become more intense from the efforts made to
+attain the object, and which derive their strength from opposition.
+Mr. Hobbes says well on this subject:
+
+'But for an utmost end, in which the ancient philosophers placed
+felicity, and disputed much concerning the way thereto, there is no
+such thing in this world, nor way to it, more than to Utopia; for
+while we live, we have desires, and desire presupposeth a further end.
+Seeing all delight is appetite, and desire of something further, there
+can be no contentment but in proceeding, and therefore we are not to
+marvel, when we see that as men attain to more riches, honour, or
+other power, so their appetite continually groweth more and more; and
+when they are come to the utmost degree of some kind of power they
+pursue some other, as long as in any kind they think themselves behind
+any other. Of those, therefore, that have attained the highest degree
+of honour and riches, some have affected mastery, in some art, as Nero
+in music and poetry, Commodus in the art of a gladiator; and such as
+affect not some such thing, must find diversion and recreation of
+their thoughts in the contention either of play or business, and men
+justly complain as of a great grief that they know not what to do.
+Felicity, therefore, by which we mean continual delight, consists not
+in having prospered, but in prospering.'
+
+This account of human nature, true as it is, would be a mere romance,
+if physical sensibility were the only faculty essential to man, that
+is, if we were the slaves of voluptuous indolence. But our desires are
+kindled by their own heat, the will is urged on by a restless impulse,
+and without action, enjoyment becomes insipid. The passions of men are
+not in proportion only to their sensibility, or to the desirableness
+of the object, but to the violence and irritability of their tempers,
+and the obstacles to their success. Thus an object to which we were
+almost indifferent while we thought it in our power, often excites the
+most ardent pursuit or the most painful regret, as soon as it is
+placed out of our reach. How eloquently is the contradiction between
+our desires and our success described in _Don Quixote_, where it is
+said of the lover, that 'he courted a statue, hunted the wind, cried
+aloud to the desert!'
+
+The necessity of action to the mind, and the keen edge it gives to our
+desires, is shown in the different value we set on past and future
+objects. It is commonly, and we might almost say universally,
+supposed, that there is an essential difference in the two cases. In
+this instance, however, the strength of our passions has converted an
+evident absurdity into one of the most inveterate prejudices of the
+human mind. That the future is really or in itself of more consequence
+than the past, is what we can neither assent to nor even conceive. It
+is true, the past has ceased to be, and is no longer anything, except
+to the mind; but the future is still to come, and has an existence in
+the mind only. The one is at an end, the other has not even had a
+beginning; both are purely ideal: so that this argument would prove
+that the present only is of any real value, and that both past and
+future objects are equally indifferent, alike nothing. Indeed, the
+future is, if possible, more imaginary than the past; for the past may
+in some sense be said to exist in its consequences; it acts still; it
+is present to us in its effects; the mouldering ruins and broken
+fragments still remain; but of the future there is no trace. What a
+blank does the history of the world for the next six thousand years
+present to the mind, compared with that of the last? All that strikes
+the imagination, or excites any interest in the mighty scene is _what
+has been_. Neither in reality, then, nor as a subject of general
+contemplation, has the future any advantage over the past; but with
+respect to our own passions and pursuits it has. We regret the
+pleasures we have enjoyed, and eagerly anticipate those which are to
+come; we dwell with satisfaction on the evils from which we have
+escaped, and dread future pain. The good that is past is like money
+that is spent, which is of no use, and about which we give no further
+concern. The good we expect is like a store yet untouched, in the
+enjoyment of which we promise ourselves infinite gratification. What
+has happened to us we think of no consequence--what is to happen to
+us, of the greatest. Why so? Because the one is in our power, and the
+other not; because the efforts of the will to bring an object to pass
+or to avert it, strengthen our attachment to or our aversion from that
+object; because the habitual pursuit of any purpose redoubles the
+ardour of our pursuit, and converts the speculative and indolent
+interest we should otherwise take in it into real passion. Our
+regrets, anxiety, and wishes, are thrown away upon the past, but we
+encourage our disposition to exaggerate the importance of the future,
+as of the utmost use in aiding our resolutions and stimulating our
+exertions.
+
+It in some measure confirms this theory, that men attach more or less
+importance to past and future events, according as they are more or
+else engaged in action and the busy scenes of life. Those who have a
+fortune to make, or are in pursuit of rank and power, are regardless
+of the past, for it does not contribute to their views: those who have
+nothing to do but to think, take nearly the same interest in the past
+as in the future. The contemplation of the one is as delightful and
+real as of the other. The season of hope comes to an end, but the
+remembrance of it is left. The past still lives in the memory of
+those who have leisure to look back upon the way that they have trod,
+and can from it 'catch glimpses that may make them less forlorn.' The
+turbulence of action and uneasiness of desire _must_ dwell upon the
+future; it is only amidst the innocence of shepherds, in the
+simplicity of the pastoral ages, that a tomb was found with this
+inscription--'I ALSO WAS AN ARCADIAN!'
+
+We feel that some apology is necessary for having thus plunged our
+readers all at once into the middle of metaphysics. If it should be
+asked what use such studies are of, we might answer with Hume,
+_perhaps of none, except that there are certain persons who find more
+entertainment in them than in any other_. An account of this matter,
+with which we were amused ourselves, and which may therefore amuse
+others, we met with some time ago in a metaphysical allegory, which
+begins in this manner:
+
+'In the depth of a forest, in the kingdom of Indostan, lived a monkey,
+who, before his last step of transmigration, had occupied a human
+tenement. He had been a Bramin, skilful in theology, and in all
+abstruse learning. He was wont to hold in admiration the ways of
+nature, and delighted to penetrate the mysteries in which she was
+enrobed; but in pursuing the footsteps of philosophy, he wandered too
+far from the abode of the social Virtues. In order to pursue his
+studies, he had retired to a cave on the banks of the Jumna. There he
+forgot society, and neglected ablution; and therefore his soul was
+degraded to a condition below humanity. So inveterate were the habits
+which he had contracted in his human state, that his spirit was still
+influenced by his passion for abstruse study. He sojourned in this
+wood from youth to age, regardless of everything, _save cocoa-nuts and
+metaphysics_.' For our own part, we should be content to pass our time
+much in the same manner as this learned savage, if we could only find
+a substitute for his cocoa-nuts! We do not, however, wish to recommend
+the same pursuit to others, nor to dissuade them from it. It has its
+pleasures and its pains--its successes and its disappointments. It is
+neither quite so sublime nor quite so uninteresting as it is sometimes
+represented. The worst is, that much thought on difficult subjects
+tends, after a certain time, to destroy the natural gaiety and dancing
+of the spirits; it deadens the elastic force of the mind, weighs upon
+the heart, and makes us insensible to the common enjoyments and
+pursuits of life.
+
+    'Sithence no fairy lights, no quick'ning ray,
+    Nor stir of pulse, nor objects to entice
+    Abroad the spirits; but the cloyster'd heart
+    Sits squat at home, like pagod in a niche
+    Obscure.'
+
+Metaphysical reasoning is also one branch of the tree of the knowledge
+of good and evil. The study of man, however, does, perhaps, less harm
+than a knowledge of the world, though it must be owned that the
+practical knowledge of vice and misery makes a stronger impression on
+the mind, when it has imbibed a habit of abstract reasoning. Evil thus
+becomes embodied in a general principle, and shows its harpy form in
+all things. It is a fatal, inevitable necessity hanging over us. It
+follows us wherever we go: if we fly into the uttermost parts of the
+earth, it is there: whether we turn to the right or the left, we
+cannot escape from it. This, it is true, is the disease of philosophy;
+but it is one to which it is liable in minds of a certain cast, after
+the first ardour of expectation has been disabused by experience, and
+the finer feelings have received an irrecoverable shock from the
+jarring of the world.
+
+Happy are they who live in the dream of their own existence, and see
+all things in the light of their own minds; who walk by faith and
+hope; to whom the guiding star of their youth still shines from afar,
+and into whom the spirit of the world has not entered! They have not
+been 'hurt by the archers,' nor has the iron entered their souls. They
+live in the midst of arrows and of death, unconscious of harm. The
+evil things come not nigh them. The shafts of ridicule pass unheeded
+by, and malice loses its sting. The example of vice does not rankle in
+their breasts, like the poisoned shirt of Nessus. Evil impressions
+fall off from them like drops of water. The yoke of life is to them
+light and supportable. The world has no hold on them. They are in it,
+not of it; and a dream and a glory is ever around them!
+
+1815.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[8] As a contrast to the story at the beginning of this article, it
+will be not amiss to mention that of Sir Isaac Newton, on a somewhat
+similar occasion. He had prepared some papers for the press with great
+care and study, but happening to leave a lighted candle on the table
+with them, his dog Diamond overturned the candle, and the labour of
+several years was destroyed. This great man, on seeing what was done,
+only shook his head, and said with a smile, 'Ah, Diamond, you don't
+know what mischief you have done!'
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY VIII
+
+ON MEANS AND ENDS
+
+
+It is impossible to have things done without doing them. This seems a
+truism; and yet what is more common than to suppose that we shall find
+things done, merely by wishing it? To put the will for the deed is as
+usual in practice as it is contrary to common sense. There is, in
+fact, no absurdity, no contradiction, of which the will is not
+capable. This is, I think, more remarkable in the English than in any
+other people, in whom (to judge by what I discover in myself) the will
+bears great and disproportioned sway. We will a thing: we contemplate
+the end intensely, and think it done, neglecting the necessary means
+to accomplish it. The strong tendency of the mind towards it, the
+internal effort it makes to give being to the object of its idolatry,
+seems an adequate cause to produce the effect, and in a manner
+identified with it. This is more particularly the case in what relates
+to the _fine arts_, and will account for some phenomena of the
+national character. The English school is distinguished by what are
+called _ébauches_, rude, violent attempts at effect, and a total
+inattention to the details or delicacy of finishing. Now this, I
+think, proceeds, not exactly from grossness of perception, but from
+the wilfulness of our character; our desire to have things our own
+way, without any trouble or distraction of purpose. An object strikes
+us: we see and feel the whole effect. We wish to produce a likeness of
+it; but we want to transfer this impression to the canvas as it is
+conveyed to us, simultaneously and intuitively, that is, to stamp it
+there at a blow, or otherwise we turn away with impatience and
+disgust, as if the means were an obstacle to the end, and every
+attention to the mechanical part of art were a deviation from our
+original purpose. We thus degenerate, after repeated failures, into a
+slovenly style of art; and that which was at first an undisciplined
+and irregular impulse becomes a habit, and then a theory. It seems
+strange that the love of the end should produce aversion to the
+means--but so it is; neither is it altogether unnatural. That which we
+are struck with, which we are enamoured of, is the general appearance
+and result; and it would certainly be most desirable to produce the
+effect in the same manner by a mere word or wish, if it were possible,
+without entering into any mechanical drudgery or minuteness of detail
+or dexterity of execution, which though they are essential and
+component parts of the work do not enter into our thoughts, and form
+no part of our contemplation. We may find it necessary, on a cool
+calculation to go through and learn these, but in so doing we only
+submit to necessity, and they are still a diversion to and a
+suspension of our purpose for the time, at least, unless practice
+gives that facility which almost identifies the two together, or makes
+the process an unconscious one. The end thus devours up the means, or
+our eagerness for the one, where it is strong and unchecked, is in
+proportion to our impatience of the other. We view an object at a
+distance that excites an inclination to visit it, which we do after
+many tedious steps and intricate ways; but if we could fly, we should
+never walk. The mind, however, has wings, though the body has not, and
+it is this that produces the contradiction in question. The first and
+strongest impulse of the mind is to produce any work at once and by
+the most energetic means; but as this cannot always be done, we should
+not neglect other more mechanical ones, but that delusions of passion
+overrule the convictions of the understanding, and what we strongly
+wish we fancy to be possible and true. We are full of the effect we
+intend to produce, and imagine we have produced it, in spite of the
+evidence of our senses, and the suggestions of our friends. In fact,
+after a number of fruitless efforts and violent throes to produce an
+effect which we passionately long for, it seems all injustice not to
+have produced it; if we have not commanded success, we have done more,
+we have deserved it; we have copied nature or Titian in the spirit in
+which they ought to be copied, and we see them before us in our mind's
+eye; there is the look, the expression, the something or other which
+we chiefly aim at, and thus we persist and make fifty excuses to
+deceive ourselves and confirm our errors; or if the light breaks upon
+us through all the disguises of sophistry and self-love, it is so
+painful that we shut our eyes to it; the greater the mortification the
+more violent the effort to throw it off; and thus we stick to our
+determination, and end where we began. What makes me think that this
+is the process of our minds, and not merely rusticity or want of
+apprehension, is, that you will see an English artist admiring and
+thrown into raptures by the tucker of Titian's mistress, made up of an
+infinite number of little folds, but if he attempts to copy it, he
+proceeds to omit all these details, and dash it off by a single smear
+of his brush. This is not ignorance, or even laziness, but what is
+called jumping at a conclusion. It is, in a word, all overweening
+purpose. He sees the details, the varieties, and their effects, and he
+admires them; but he sees them with a glance of his eye, and as a
+wilful man must have his way, he would reproduce them by a single dash
+of the pencil. The mixing his colours, the putting in and out, the
+giving his attention to a minute break, or softening in the particular
+lights and shades, is a mechanical and everlasting operation, very
+different from the delight he feels in contemplating the effect of all
+this when properly and finely done. Such details are foreign to his
+refined taste, and some doubts arise in his mind in the midst of his
+gratitude and his raptures, as to how Titian could resolve upon the
+drudgery of going through them, and whether it was not done by extreme
+facility of hand, and a sort of trick, abridging the mechanical
+labour. No one wrote or talked more enthusiastically about Titian's
+harmony of colouring than the late Mr. Barry, yet his own colouring
+was dead and dry; and if he had copied a Titian, he would have made it
+a mere splash, leaving out all that caused his wonder or admiration,
+after his English, or rather Irish fashion. We not only grudge the
+labour of beginning, but we give up, for the same reason, when we are
+near touching the goal of success; and to save a few last touches,
+leave a work unfinished, and an object unattained. The immediate
+process, the daily gradual improvement, the completion of parts giving
+us no pleasure, we strain at the whole result; we wish to have it
+done, and in our anxiety to have it off our hands, say it will do, and
+lose the benefit of all our labour by grudging a little pains, and not
+commanding a little patience. In a day or two, suppose a copy of a
+fine Titian would be as complete as we could make it: the prospect of
+this so enchants us that we skip the intermediate days, see no great
+use in going on with it, fancy that we may spoil it, and in order to
+have the job done, take it home with us, when we immediately see our
+error, and spend the rest of our lives in repenting that we did not
+finish it properly at the time. We see the whole nature of a picture
+at once; we only do a part: _Hinc illæ lachrymæ_. A French artist, on
+the contrary, has none of this uneasy, anxious feeling; of this desire
+to grasp the whole of his subject, and anticipate his good fortune at
+a blow; of this massing and concentrating principle. He takes the
+thing more easily and rationally. Suppose he undertakes to copy a
+picture, he looks at it and copies it bit by bit. He does not set off
+headlong without knowing where he is going, or plunge into all sorts
+of difficulties and absurdities, from impatience to begin and
+thinking that 'no sooner said than done'; but takes time to consider,
+lays his plans, gets in his outline and his distances, and lays a
+foundation before he attempts a superstructure which he may have to
+pull to pieces again. He looks before he leaps, which is contrary to
+the true blindfold English principle; and I should think that we had
+invented this proverb from seeing so many fatal examples of the
+neglect of it. He does not make the picture all black or all white,
+because one part of it is so, and because he cannot alter an idea he
+has once got into his head, and must always run into extremes, but
+varies from green to red, from orange tawney to yellow, from grey to
+brown, according as they vary in the original: he sees no
+inconsistency or forfeiture of a principle in this, but a great deal
+of right reason, and indeed an absolute necessity, if he wishes to
+succeed in what he is about. This is the last thing an Englishman
+thinks of: he only wants to have his own way, though it ends in defeat
+and ruin: he sets about a thing which he had little prospect of
+accomplishing, and if he finds he can do it, gives it over and leaves
+the matter short of success, which is too agreeable an idea for him to
+indulge in. The French artist proceeds bit by bit. He takes one part,
+a hand, a piece of drapery, a part of the background, and finishes it
+carefully; then another, and so on to the end. He does not, from a
+childish impatience, when he is near the conclusion, destroy the
+effect of the whole by leaving some one part eminently defective, nor
+fly from what he is about to something else that catches his eye,
+neglecting the one and spoiling the other. He is constrained by
+mastery, by the mastery of common sense and pleasurable feeling. He is
+in no hurry to finish, for he has a satisfaction in the work, and
+touches and retouches, perhaps a single head, day after day and week
+after week, without repining, uneasiness, or apparent progress. The
+very lightness and indifference of his feelings renders him patient
+and laborious: an Englishman, whatever he is about or undertakes is
+as if he was carrying a heavy load that oppresses both his body and
+mind, and which he is anxious to throw down. A Frenchman's hopes or
+fears are not excited to that pitch of intolerable agony that compels
+him, in mere compassion to himself to bring the question to a speedy
+issue, even to the loss of his object; he is calm, easy, and
+indifferent, and can take his time and make the most of his advantages
+with impunity. Pleased with himself, he is pleased with whatever
+occupies his attention nearly alike. It is the same to him whether he
+paints an angel or a joint-stool; it is the same to him whether it is
+landscape or history; it is he who paints it, that is sufficient.
+Nothing puts him out of conceit with his work, for nothing puts him
+out of conceit with himself. This self-complacency produces admirable
+patience and docility in certain particulars, besides charity and
+toleration towards others. I remember a ludicrous instance of this
+deliberate process, in a young French artist who was copying the
+_Titian's Mistress_, in the Louvre, some twenty years ago. After
+getting it in chalk-lines, one would think he would have been
+attracted to the face, that heaven of beauty which makes a sunshine in
+the shady place, or to some part of the poetry of the picture; instead
+of which he began to finish a square he had marked out in the
+right-hand corner of the picture. He set to work like a cabinetmaker
+or an engraver, and seemed to have no sympathy with the soul of the
+picture. Indeed, to a Frenchman there is no distinction between the
+great and little, the pleasurable and the painful; the utmost he
+arrives at a conception of is the indifferent and the light. Another
+young man, at the time I speak of, was for eleven weeks (I think it
+was) daily employed in making a blacklead pencil drawing of a small
+Leonardo; he sat cross-legged on a rail to do it, kept his hat on,
+rose up, went to the fire to warm himself, talked constantly of the
+excellence of the different masters--Titian for colour, Raphael for
+expression, Poussin for composition--all being alike to him, provided
+there was a word to express it, for all he thought about was his own
+harangue; and, having consulted some friend on his progress, he
+returned to 'perfectionate,' as he called it, his copy. This would
+drive an Englishman mad or stupid. The perseverance and the
+indifference, the labour without impulse, the attention to the parts
+in succession, and disregard of the whole together, are to him
+absolutely inconceivable. A Frenchman only exists in his present
+sensations, and provided he is left free to these as they arise, he
+cares about nothing farther, looking neither backward nor forward.
+With all this affectation and artifice, there is on this account a
+kind of simplicity and nature about them, after all. They lend
+themselves to the impression before them with good humour and good
+will, making it neither better nor worse than it is. The English
+overdo or underdo everything, and are either drunk or in despair. I do
+not speak of all Frenchmen or of all Englishmen, but of the most
+characteristic specimens of each class. The extreme slowness and
+methodical regularity of the French has arisen out of this
+indifference, and even frivolity (their usually-supposed natural
+character), for owing to it their laborious minuteness costs them
+nothing; they have no strong impulses or ardent longings that urge
+them to the violation of rules, or hurry them away with a subject and
+with the interest belonging to it. Everything is matter of
+calculation, and measured beforehand, in order to assist their
+fluttering and their feebleness. When they get beyond the literal and
+the formal, and attempt the impressive and the grand, as in David's
+and Girardot's pictures, defend us from sublimity heaped on insipidity
+and petit-maîtreism. You see a Frenchman in the Louvre copying the
+finest pictures, standing on one leg, with his hat on; or after
+copying a Raphael, thinking David much finer, more truly one of
+themselves, more a combination of the Greek sculptor and the French
+posture-master. Even if a French artist fails, he is not
+disconcerted; there is something else he excels in: if he cannot
+paint, he can dance! If an Englishman, save the mark! fails in
+anything, he thinks he can do nothing; enraged at the mention of his
+ability to do anything else, and at any consolation offered to him, he
+banishes all other thought but of his disappointment, and discarding
+hope from his breast, neither eats nor sleeps (it is well if he does
+not cut his throat), will not attend to any other thing in which he
+before took an interest and pride, and is in despair till he recovers
+his good opinion of himself in the point in which he has been
+disgraced, though, from his very anxiety and disorder of mind, he is
+incapacitated from applying to the only means of doing so, as much as
+if he were drunk with liquor, instead of with pride and passion. The
+character I have here drawn of an Englishman I am clear about, for it
+is the character of myself, and, I am sorry to add, no exaggerated
+one. As my object is to paint the varieties of human nature, and as I
+can have it best from myself, I will confess a weakness. I lately
+tried to copy a Titian (after many years' want of practice), in order
+to give a friend in England some idea of the picture. I floundered on
+for several days, but failed, as might be expected. My sky became
+overcast. Everything seemed of the colour of the paint I used. Nature
+was one great daub. I had no feeling left but a sense of want of
+power, and of an abortive struggle to do what I could not do. I was
+ashamed of being seen to look at the picture with admiration, as if I
+had no right to do so. I was ashamed even to have written or spoken
+about the picture or about art at all: it seemed a piece of
+presumption or affectation in me, whose whole notions and refinements
+on the subject ended in an inexcusable daub. Why did I think of
+attempting such a thing heedlessly, of exposing my presumption and
+incapacity? It was blotting from my memory, covering with a dark veil,
+all that I remembered of those pictures formerly, my hopes when young,
+my regrets since; it was wresting from me one of the consolations of
+my life and of my declining years. I was even afraid to walk out by
+the barrier of Neuilly, or to recall to memory that I had ever seen
+the picture; all was turned to bitterness and gall: to feel anything
+but a sense of my own helplessness and absurdity seemed a want of
+sincerity, a mockery and a piece of injustice. The only comfort I had
+was in the excess of pain I felt; this was at least some distinction:
+I was not insensible on that side. No Frenchman, I thought, would
+regret the not copying a Titian so much as I did, or so far show the
+same value for it. Besides, I had copied this identical picture very
+well formerly. If ever I got out of this scrape, I had received a
+lesson, at least, not to run the same risk of gratuitous vexation
+again, or even to attempt what was uncertain and unnecessary.
+
+It is the same in love and in literature. A man makes love without
+thinking of the chances of success, his own disabilities, or the
+character of his mistress; that is, without connecting means with
+ends, and consulting only his own will and passion. The author sets
+about writing history, with the full intention of rendering all
+documents, dates, and facts secondary to his own opinion and will. In
+business it is not altogether the same; for interest acts obviously as
+a counterpoise to caprice and will, and is the moving principle; nor
+is it so in war, for then the spirit of contradiction does everything,
+and an Englishman will go to the devil rather than give up to any
+odds. Courage is pure will without regard to consequences, and this
+the English have in perfection. Again, poetry is our element, for the
+essence of poetry is will and passion. The French poetry is detail and
+verbiage. I have thus shown why the English fail, as a people, in the
+Fine Arts, namely, because with them the end absorbs the means. I have
+mentioned Barry as an individual instance. No man spoke or wrote with
+more _gusto_ about painting, and yet no one painted with less. His
+pictures were dry and coarse, and wanted all that his description of
+those of others contained. For instance, he speaks of the dull, dead,
+watery look in the Medusa's head of Leonardo, which conveys a perfect
+idea of it: if he had copied it, you would never have suspected
+anything of the kind. Again, he has, I believe, somewhere spoken of
+the uneasy effect of the tucker of the _Titian's Mistress_, bursting
+with the full treasures it contains. What a daub he would have made of
+it! He is like a person admiring the grace of a fine rope-dancer;
+placed on the rope himself his head turns, and he falls: or like a man
+admiring fine horsemanship; set him upon a horse, and he tumbles over
+on the other side. Why was this? His mind was essentially ardent and
+discursive, not sensitive or observing; and though the immediate
+object acted as a stimulus to his imagination, it was only as it does
+to a poet's, that is, as a link in the chain of association, as
+suggesting other strong feelings and ideas, and not for its intrinsic
+beauty or hidden details. He had not the painter's eye though he had
+the painter's knowledge. There is as great a difference in this
+respect as between the telescope and microscope. People in general see
+objects only to distinguish them in practice and by name; to know that
+a hat is a hat, that a chair is not a table, that John is not William;
+and there are painters (particularly of history) in England who look
+no farther. They cannot finish anything, or go over a head twice; the
+first view is all they would arrive at; nor can they reduce their
+impressions to their component parts without losing the spirit. The
+effect of this is grossness and want of force; for in reality the
+component parts cannot be separated from the whole. Such people have
+no pleasure in the exercise of their art as such: it is all to
+astonish or to get money that they follow it; or if they are thrown
+out of it, they regret it only as a bankrupt does a business which was
+a livelihood to him. Barry did not live, like Titian, in the taste of
+colours; they were not a _pabulum_ to his sense; he did not hold
+green, blue, red, and yellow as the precious darlings of his eye.
+They did not therefore sink into his mind, or nourish and enrich it
+with the sense of beauty, though he knew enough of them to furnish
+hints and topics of discourse. If he had had the most beautiful object
+in nature before him in his painting-room in the Adelphi, he would
+have neglected it, after a moment's burst of admiration, to talk of
+his last composition, or to scrawl some new and vast design. Art was
+nothing to him, or if anything, merely a stalking-horse to his
+ambition and display of intellectual power in general; and therefore
+he neglected it to daub huge allegories, or cabal with the Academy,
+where the violence of his will or the extent of his views found ample
+scope. As a painter he was valuable merely as a draughtsman, in that
+part of the art which may be reduced to lines and precepts, or
+positive measurement. There is neither colour, nor expression, nor
+delicacy, nor beauty, in his works.
+
+1827.
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY IX
+
+MATTER AND MANNER
+
+
+Nothing can frequently be more striking than the difference of style
+or manner, where the _matter_ remains the same, as in paraphrases and
+translations. The most remarkable example which occurs to us is in the
+beginning of the _Flower and Leaf_, by Chaucer, and in the
+modernisation of the same passage by Dryden. We shall give an extract
+from both, that the reader may judge for himself. The original runs
+thus:
+
+    'And I that all this pleasaunt sight _ay_ sie,
+    Thought sodainly I felt_e_ so sweet an aire
+    _Con_ of the eglentere, that certainely
+    There is no heart, I deme, in such dispaire,
+    Ne with _no_ thought_e_s froward and contraire
+    So overlaid, but it should_e_ soone have bote,
+    If it had ones felt this savour sote.
+
+    And as I stood and cast aside mine eie,
+    I was of ware the fairest medler tree,
+    That ever yet in all my life I sie,
+    As full of blossomes as it might_e_ be;
+    Therein a goldfinch leaping pretil_e_
+    Fro bough to bough; and, as him list, _gan_ eete
+    Of bud_de_s here and there and floures sweet_e_.
+
+    And to the herber side _ther_ was joyning_e_
+    This faire tree, of which I have you told;
+    And at the last the brid began to sing_e_,
+    When he had eaten what he eat_e_ wold_e_,
+    So passing sweetly, that by manifold_e_,
+    It was more pleasaunt than I coud_e_ devise.
+    And when his song was ended in this wise,
+
+    The nightingale with so mery a note
+    Answered him, that all the wood_e_ rong
+    So sodainly, that, as it were a sote,
+    I stood astonied; so was I with the song
+    Thorow ravished, that till late and longe,
+    Ne wist I in what place I was, ne where;
+    And ay, me thought_e_, she song even by mine ere.
+
+    Wherefore about I waited busily,
+    On every side, if _that_ I her might_e_ see;
+    And, at the last, I gan full well aspie
+    Where she sat in a fresh grene laurer tree,
+    On the further side, even right by me,
+    That gave so passing a delicious smell,
+    According to the eglentere full well.
+
+    Whereof I had_de_ so inly great pleasure,
+    That, as me thought, I surely ravished was
+    Into Paradice, where _as_ my desire
+    Was for to be, and no ferther to passe
+    As for that day; and on the sote grasse
+    I sat me downe; for, as for mine entent,
+    The bird_de_s song was more convenient,
+
+    And more pleasaunt to me by many fold,
+    Than meat or drinke, or any other thing.
+    Thereto the herber was so fresh and cold,
+    The wholesome savours eke so comforting
+    That, as I demed_e_, sith the beginning
+    Of th_ilke_ world was never seene or than
+    So pleasaunt a ground of none earthly man.
+
+    And as I sat, the bird_de_s harkening thus,
+    Me thought_e_ that I heard_e_ voices sodainly,
+    The most sweetest and most delicious
+    That ever any wight, I trow truly,
+    Heard in _here_ life; for _sothe_ the armony
+    And sweet accord was in so good musike,
+    That the voices to angels most was like.'
+
+In this passage the poet has let loose the very soul of pleasure.
+There is a spirit of enjoyment in it, of which there seems no end. It
+is the intense delight which accompanies the description of every
+object, the fund of natural sensibility which it displays, which
+constitutes its whole essence and beauty. Now this is shown chiefly in
+the manner in which the different objects are anticipated, and the
+eager welcome which is given to them; in his repeating and varying the
+circumstances with a restless delight; in his quitting the subject for
+a moment, and then returning to it again, as if he could never have
+his fill of enjoyment. There is little of this in Dryden's paraphrase.
+The same ideas are introduced, but not in the same manner, nor with
+the same spirit. The imagination of the poet is not borne along with
+the tide of pleasure--the verse is not poured out, like the natural
+strains it describes, from pure delight, but according to rule and
+measure. Instead of being absorbed in his subject, he is dissatisfied
+with it, tries to give an air of dignity to it by factitious
+ornaments, to amuse the reader by ingenious allusions, and divert his
+attention from the progress of the story by the artifices of the
+style:
+
+    'The painted birds, companions of the spring,
+    Hopping from spray to spray, were heard to sing.
+    Both eyes and ears receiv'd a like delight,
+    Enchanting music, and a charming sight.
+    On Philomel I fix'd my whole desire;
+    And listen'd for the queen of all the quire;
+    Fain would I hear her heavenly voice to sing;
+    And wanted yet an omen to the spring.
+      Thus as I mus'd I cast aside my eye,
+    And saw a medlar-tree was planted nigh.
+    The spreading branches made a goodly show,
+    And full of opening blooms was every bough:
+    A goldfinch there I saw with gawdy pride
+    Of painted plumes, that hopp'd from side to side,
+    Still pecking as she pass'd; and still she drew
+    The sweets from every flower and suck'd the dew:
+    Suffic'd at length, she warbled in her throat,
+    And tun'd her voice to many a merry note,
+    But indistinct, and neither sweet nor clear,
+    Yet such as sooth'd my soul, and pleas'd my ear.
+      Her short performance was no sooner tried,
+    When she I sought, the nightingale, replied:
+    So sweet, so shrill, so variously she sung,
+    That the grove echoed, and the valleys rung:
+    And I so ravish'd with her heavenly note,
+    I stood entranced, and had no room for thought.
+    But all o'erpower'd with ecstasy of bliss,
+    Was in a pleasing dream of paradise;
+    At length I wak'd, and looking round the bower,
+    Search'd every tree, and pry'd on every flower,
+    If any where by chance I might espy
+    The rural poet of the melody:
+    For still methought she sung not far away:
+    At last I found her on a laurel spray.
+    Close by my side she sat, and fair in sight,
+    Full in a line, against her opposite;
+    Where stood with eglantine the laurel twin'd;
+    And both their native sweets were well conjoin'd.
+      On the green bank I sat, and listen'd long
+    (Sitting was more convenient for the song);
+    Nor till her lay was ended could I move,
+    But wish'd to dwell for ever in the grove.
+    Only methought the time too swiftly pass'd,
+    And every note I fear'd would be the last.
+    My sight, and smell and hearing were employ'd,
+    And all three senses in full gust enjoy'd.
+    And what alone did all the rest surpass
+    The sweet possession of the fairy place;
+    Single, and conscious to myself alone
+    Of pleasures to the excluded world unknown:
+    Pleasures which no where else were to be found,
+    And all Elysium in a spot of ground.
+      Thus while I sat intent to see and hear,
+    And drew perfumes of more than vital air,
+    All suddenly I heard the approaching sound
+    Of vocal music on the enchanted ground:
+    A host of saints it seem'd, so full the quire;
+    As if the bless'd above did all conspire
+    To join their voices, and neglect the lyre.'
+
+Compared with Chaucer, Dryden and the rest of that school were merely
+_verbal poets_. They had a great deal of wit, sense, and fancy; they
+only wanted truth and depth of feeling. But I shall have to say more
+on this subject, when I come to consider the old question which I have
+got marked down in my list, whether Pope was a poet.
+
+Lord Chesterfield's character of the Duke of Marlborough is a good
+illustration of his general theory. He says, 'Of all the men I ever
+knew in my life (and I knew him extremely well) the late Duke of
+Marlborough possessed the graces in the highest degree, not to say
+engrossed them; for I will venture (contrary to the custom of profound
+historians, who always assign deep causes for great events) to ascribe
+the better half of the Duke of Marlborough's greatness and riches to
+those graces. He was eminently illiterate: wrote bad English, and
+spelt it worse. He had no share of what is commonly called parts; that
+is, no brightness, nothing shining in his genius. He had, most
+undoubtedly, an excellent good plain understanding, with sound
+judgment. But these alone would probably have raised him but something
+higher than they found him, which was page to King James II.'s Queen.
+There the graces protected and promoted him; for while he was Ensign
+of the Guards, the Duchess of Cleveland, then favourite mistress of
+Charles II., struck by these very graces, gave him five thousand
+pounds; with which he immediately bought an annuity of five hundred
+pounds a year, which was the foundation of his subsequent fortune. His
+figure was beautiful, but his manner was irresistible by either man or
+woman. It was by this engaging, graceful manner, that he was enabled
+during all his wars to connect the various and jarring powers of the
+grand alliance, and to carry them on to the main object of the war,
+notwithstanding their private and separate views, jealousies, and
+wrongheadedness. Whatever court he went to (and he was often obliged
+to go himself to some resty and refractory ones) he as constantly
+prevailed, and brought them into his measures.'
+
+Grace in women has often more effect than beauty. We sometimes see a
+certain fine self-possession, an habitual voluptuousness of character,
+which reposes on its own sensations, and derives pleasure from all
+around it, that is more irresistible than any other attraction. There
+is an air of languid enjoyment in such persons, 'in their eyes, in
+their arms, and their hands, and their face,' which robs us of
+ourselves, and draws us by a secret sympathy towards them. Their
+minds are a shrine where pleasure reposes. Their smile diffuses a
+sensation like the breath of spring. Petrarch's description of Laura
+answers exactly to this character, which is indeed the Italian
+character. Titian's pictures are full of it; they seem sustained by
+sentiment, or as if the persons whom he painted sat to music. There is
+one in the Louvre (or there was) which had the most of this expression
+I ever remember. It did not look downward; 'it looked forward beyond
+this world.' It was a look that never passed away, but remained
+unalterable as the deep sentiment which gave birth to it. It is the
+same constitutional character (together with infinite activity of
+mind) which has enabled the greatest man in modern history to bear his
+reverses of fortune with gay magnanimity, and to submit to the loss of
+the empire of the world with as little discomposure as if he had been
+playing a game at chess.
+
+After all, I would not be understood to say that manner is
+everything.[9] Nor would I put Euclid or Sir Isaac Newton on a level
+with the first _petit-maître_ we might happen to meet. I consider
+_Æsop's Fables_ to have been a greater work of genius than Fontaine's
+translation of them; though I am not sure that I should not prefer
+Fontaine, for his style only, to Gay, who has shown a great deal of
+original invention. The elegant manners of people of fashion have been
+objected to me, to show the frivolity of external accomplishments, and
+the facility with which they are acquired. As to the last point, I
+demur. There are no class of people who lead so laborious a life, or
+who take more pains to cultivate their minds as well as persons, than
+people of fashion. A young lady of quality who has to devote so many
+hours a day to music, so many to dancing, so many to drawing, so many
+to French, Italian, etc., certainly does not pass her time in idleness:
+and these accomplishments are afterwards called into action by every
+kind of external or mental stimulus, by the excitements of pleasure,
+vanity, and interest. A Ministerial or Opposition Lord goes through
+more drudgery than half-a-dozen literary hacks; nor does a reviewer by
+profession read half the same number of publications as a modern fine
+lady is obliged to labour through. I confess, however, I am not a
+competent judge of the degree of elegance or refinement implied in the
+general tone of fashionable manners. The successful experiment made by
+_Peregrine Pickle_, in introducing his strolling mistress into genteel
+company, does not redound greatly to their credit.
+
+1815.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[9] Sheer impudence answers almost the same purpose. 'Those
+impenetrable whiskers have confronted flames.' Many persons, by
+looking big and talking loud, make their way through the world without
+any one good quality. I have here said nothing of mere personal
+qualifications, which are another set-off against sterling merit.
+Fielding was of opinion that 'the more solid pretensions of virtue and
+understanding vanish before perfect beauty.' 'A certain lady of a
+manor' (says _Don Quixote_ in defence of his attachment to _Dulcinea_,
+which, however, was quite of the Platonic kind), 'had cast the eyes of
+affection on a certain squat, brawny lay brother of a neighbouring
+monastery, to whom she was lavish of her favours. The head of the
+order remonstrated with her on this preference shown to one whom he
+represented as a very low, ignorant fellow, and set forth the superior
+pretensions of himself, and his more learned brethren. The lady having
+heard him to an end, made answer: All that you have said may be very
+true; but know that in those points which I admire, Brother Chrysostom
+is as great a philosopher, nay greater, than Aristotle himself!' So
+the _Wife of Bath_:
+
+    'To chirche was myn housbond brought on morwe
+    With neighebors that for him made sorwe,
+    And Jankyn oure clerk was oon of tho.
+    As help me God, whan that I saugh him go
+    After the beere, methought he had a paire
+    Of legges and of feet so clene and faire,
+    That al myn hert I yaf unto his hold.'
+
+'All which, though we most potently believe, yet we hold it not
+honesty to have it thus set down.'
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY X
+
+ON CONSISTENCY OF OPINION
+
+                      '----Servetur ad imum
+    Qualis ab inceptu processerit, et sibi constet.'
+
+
+Many people boast of being masters in their own house. I pretend to be
+master of my own mind. I should be sorry to have an ejectment served
+upon me for any notions I may choose to entertain there. Within that
+little circle I would fain be an absolute monarch. I do not profess
+the spirit of martyrdom; I have no ambition to march to the stake, or
+up to a masked battery, in defence of an hypothesis: I do not court
+the rack: I do not wish to be flayed alive for affirming that two and
+two make four, or any other intricate proposition: I am shy of bodily
+pains and penalties, which some are fond of--imprisonment, fine,
+banishment, confiscation of goods: but if I do not prefer the
+independence of my mind to that of my body, I at least prefer it to
+everything else. I would avoid the arm of power, as I would escape
+from the fangs of a wild beast: but as to the opinion of the world, I
+see nothing formidable in it. 'It is the eye of childhood that fears a
+painted devil.' I am not to be browbeat or wheedled out of any of my
+settled convictions. Opinion to opinion, I will face any man.
+Prejudice, fashion, the cant of the moment, go for nothing; and as for
+the reason of the thing, it can only be supposed to rest with me or
+another, in proportion to the pains we have taken to ascertain it.
+Where the pursuit of truth has been the habitual study of any man's
+life, the love of truth will be his ruling passion. 'Where the
+treasure is, there the heart is also.' Every one is most tenacious of
+that to which he owes his distinction from others. Kings love power,
+misers gold, women flattery, poets reputation--and philosophers truth,
+when they can find it. They are right in cherishing the only privilege
+they inherit. If 'to be wise were to be obstinate,' I might set up for
+as great a philosopher as the best of them; for some of my conclusions
+are as fixed and as incorrigible to proof as need be. I am attached to
+them in consequence of the pains, and anxiety, and the waste of time
+they have cost me. In fact, I should not well know what to do without
+them at this time of day; nor how to get others to supply their place.
+I would quarrel with the best friend I have sooner than acknowledge
+the absolute right of the Bourbons. I see Mr. Northcote seldomer than
+I did, because I cannot agree with him about the _Catalogue Raisonné_.
+I remember once saying to this gentleman, a great while ago, that I
+did not seem to have altered any of my ideas since I was sixteen years
+old. 'Why then,' said he, 'you are no wiser now than you were then!' I
+might make the same confession, and the same retort would apply still.
+Coleridge used to tell me, that this pertinacity was owing to a want
+of sympathy with others. What he calls _sympathising with others_ is
+their admiring him; and it must be admitted that he varies his battery
+pretty often, in order to accommodate himself to this sort of mutual
+understanding. But I do not agree in what he says of me. On the other
+hand, I think that it is my sympathising _beforehand_ with the
+different views and feelings that may be entertained on a subject,
+that prevents me retracting my judgment, and flinging myself into the
+contrary extreme _afterwards_. If you proscribe all opinion opposite
+to your own, and impertinently exclude all the evidence that does not
+make for you, it stares you in the face with double force when it
+breaks in unexpectedly upon you, or if at any subsequent period it
+happens to suit your interest or convenience to listen to objections
+which vanity or prudence had hitherto overlooked. But if you are aware
+from the first suggestion of a subject, either by subtlety, or tact,
+or close attention, of the full force of what others possibly feel and
+think of it, you are not exposed to the same vacillation of opinion.
+The number of grains and scruples, of doubts and difficulties, thrown
+into the scale while the balance is yet undecided, add to the weight
+and steadiness of the determination. He who anticipates his opponent's
+arguments, confirms while he corrects his own reasonings. When a
+question has been carefully examined in all its bearings, and a
+principle is once established, it is not liable to be overthrown by
+any new facts which have been arbitrarily and petulantly set aside,
+nor by every wind of idle doctrine rushing into the interstices of a
+hollow speculation, shattering it in pieces, and leaving it a mockery
+and a bye-word; like those tall, gawky, staring, pyramidal erections
+which are seen scattered over different parts of the country, and are
+called the _Follies_ of different gentlemen! A man may be confident in
+maintaining a side, as he has been cautious in choosing it. If after
+making up his mind strongly in one way, to the best of his capacity
+and judgment, he feels himself inclined to a very violent revulsion of
+sentiment, he may generally rest assured that the change is in himself
+and his motives, not in the reason of things.
+
+I cannot say that, from my own experience, I have found that the
+persons most remarkable for sudden and violent changes of principle
+have been cast in the softest or most susceptible mould. All their
+notions have been exclusive, bigoted, and intolerant. Their want of
+consistency and moderation has been in exact proportion to their want
+of candour and comprehensiveness of mind. Instead of being the
+creatures of sympathy, open to conviction, unwilling to give offence
+by the smallest difference of sentiment, they have (for the most part)
+been made up of mere antipathies--a very repulsive sort of
+personages--at odds with themselves, and with everybody else. The
+slenderness of their pretensions to philosophical inquiry has been
+accompanied with the most presumptuous dogmatism. They have been
+persons of that narrowness of view and headstrong self-sufficiency of
+purpose, that they could see only one side of a question at a time,
+and whichever they pleased. There is a story somewhere in _Don
+Quixote_, of two champions coming to a shield hung up against a tree
+with an inscription written on each side of it. Each of them
+maintained, that the words were what was written on the side next him,
+and never dreamt, till the fray was over, that they might be different
+on the opposite side of the shield. It would have been a little more
+extraordinary if the combatants had changed sides in the heat of the
+scuffle, and stoutly denied that there were any such words on the
+opposite side as they had before been bent on sacrificing their lives
+to prove were the only ones it contained. Yet such is the very
+situation of some of our modern polemics. They have been of all sides
+of the question, and yet they cannot conceive how an honest man can be
+of any but one--that which they hold at present. It seems that they
+are afraid to look their old opinions in the face, lest they should be
+fascinated by them once more. They banish all doubts of their own
+sincerity by inveighing against the motives of their antagonists.
+There is no salvation out of the pale of their strange inconsistency.
+They reduce common sense and probity to the straitest possible
+limits--the breasts of themselves and their patrons. They are like
+people out at sea on a very narrow plank, who try to push everybody
+else off. Is it that they have so little faith in the course to which
+they have become such staunch converts, as to suppose that, should
+they allow a grain of sense to their old allies and new antagonists,
+they will have more than they? Is it that they have so little
+consciousness of their own disinterestedness, that they feel, if they
+allow a particle of honesty to those who now differ with them, they
+will have more than they? Those opinions must needs be of a very
+fragile texture which will not stand the shock of the least
+acknowledged opposition, and which lay claim to respectability by
+stigmatising all who do not hold them as 'sots, and knaves, and
+cowards.' There is a want of well-balanced feeling in every such
+instance of extravagant versatility; a something crude, unripe, and
+harsh, that does not hit a judicious palate, but sets the teeth on
+edge to think of. 'I had rather hear my mother's cat mew, or a wheel
+grate on the axletree, than one of these same metre-ballad-mongers'
+chaunt his incondite, retrograde lays, without rhyme and without
+reason.
+
+The principles and professions change: the man remains the same. There
+is the same spirit at the bottom of all this pragmatical fickleness
+and virulence, whether it runs into one extreme or another: to wit, a
+confinement of view, a jealousy of others, an impatience of
+contradiction, a want of liberality in construing the motives of
+others, either from monkish pedantry, or a conceited overweening
+reference of everything to our own fancies and feelings. There is
+something to be said, indeed, for the nature of the political
+machinery, for the whirling motion of the revolutionary wheel which
+has of late wrenched men's understandings almost asunder, and 'amazed
+the very faculties of eyes and ears'; but still this is hardly a
+sufficient reason, why the adept in the old as well as the new school
+should take such a prodigious latitude himself, while at the same time
+he makes so little allowance for others. His whole creed need not be
+turned topsy-turvy, from the top to the bottom, even in times like
+these. He need not, in the rage of party spirit, discard the proper
+attributes of humanity, the common dictates of reason. He need not
+outrage every former feeling, nor trample on every customary decency,
+in his zeal for reform, or in his greater zeal against it. If his
+mind, like his body, has undergone a total change of essence, and
+purged off the taint of all its early opinions, he need not carry
+about with him, or be haunted in the persons of others with, the
+phantoms of his altered principles to loathe and execrate them. He
+need not (as it were) pass an act of attainder on all his thoughts,
+hopes, wishes, from youth upwards, to offer them at the shrine of
+matured servility: he need not become one vile antithesis, a living
+and ignominious satire on himself.
+
+A gentleman went to live, some years ago, in a remote part of the
+country, and as he did not wish to affect singularity, he used to have
+two candles on his table of an evening. A romantic acquaintance of his
+in the neighbourhood, smit with the love of simplicity and equality,
+used to come in, and without ceremony snuff one of them out, saying,
+it was a shame to indulge in such extravagance, while many poor
+cottagers had not even a rushlight to see to do their evening's work
+by. This might be about the year 1802, and was passed over as among
+the ordinary occurrences of the day. In 1816 (oh! fearful lapse of
+time, pregnant with strange mutability) the same enthusiastic lover of
+economy, and hater of luxury, asked his thoughtless friend to dine
+with him in company with a certain lord, and to lend him his
+manservant to wait at table; and just before they were sitting down to
+dinner, he heard him say to the servant in a sonorous whisper--'and be
+sure you don't forget to have six candles on the table!' Extremes
+meet. The event here was as true to itself as the oscillation of the
+pendulum. My informant, who understands moral equations, had looked
+for this reaction, and noted it down as characteristic. The
+impertinence in the first instance was the cue to the ostentatious
+servility in the second. The one was the fulfilment of the other, like
+the type and anti-type of a prophecy. No--the keeping of the character
+at the end of fourteen years was as unique as the keeping of the
+thought to the end of the fourteen lines of a sonnet! Would it sound
+strange if I were to whisper it in the reader's ear, that it was the
+same person who was thus anxious to see six candles on the table to
+receive a lord, who once (in ages past) said to me, that 'he saw
+nothing to admire in the eloquence of such men as Mansfield and
+Chatham; and what did it all end in, but their being made lords?' It
+is better to be a lord than a lacquey to a lord! So we see that the
+swelling pride and preposterous self-opinion which exalts itself above
+the mightiest, looking down upon and braving the boasted pretensions
+of the highest rank and the most brilliant talents as nothing,
+compared with its own conscious powers and silent unmoved
+self-respect, grovels and licks the dust before titled wealth, like a
+lacquered slave, the moment it can get wages and a livery! Would
+Milton or Marvel have done this?
+
+Mr. Coleridge, indeed, sets down this outrageous want of keeping to an
+excess of sympathy, and there is, after all, some truth in his
+suggestion. There is a craving after the approbation and concurrence
+of others natural to the mind of man. It is difficult to sustain the
+weight of an opinion singly for any length of way. The intellect
+languishes without cordial encouragement and support. It exhausts both
+strength and patience to be always striving against the stream.
+_Contra audentior ito_ is the motto but of few. Public opinion is
+always pressing upon the mind, and, like the air we breathe, acts
+unseen, unfelt. It supplies the living current of our thoughts, and
+infects without our knowledge. It taints the blood, and is taken into
+the smallest pores. The most sanguine constitutions are, perhaps, the
+most exposed to its influence. But public opinion has its source in
+power, in popular prejudice, and is not always in accord with right
+reason, or a high and abstracted imagination. Which path to follow
+where the two roads part? The heroic and romantic resolution prevails
+at first in high and heroic tempers. They think to scale the heights
+of truth and virtue at once with him 'whose genius had angelic wings,
+and fed on manna,'--but after a time find themselves baffled, toiling
+on in an uphill road, without friends, in a cold neighbourhood,
+without aid or prospect of success. The poet
+
+    'Like a worm goes by the way.'
+
+He hears murmurs loud or suppressed, meets blank looks or scowling
+faces, is exposed to the pelting of the pitiless press, and is stunned
+by the shout of the mob, that gather round him to see what sort of a
+creature a poet and a philosopher is. What is there to make him proof
+against all this? A strength of understanding steeled against
+temptation, and a dear love of truth that smiles opinion to scorn.
+These he perhaps has not. A lord passes in his coach. Might he not get
+up, and ride out of the reach of the rabble-rout? He is invited to
+stop dinner. If he stays he might insinuate some wholesome truths. He
+drinks in rank poison--flattery! He recites some verses to the ladies,
+who smile delicious praise, and thank him through their tears. The
+master of the house suggests a happy allusion in the turn of an
+expression. 'There's sympathy.' This is better than the company he
+lately left. Pictures, statues meet his raptured eye. Our Ulysses
+finds himself in the gardens of Alcinous: our truant is fairly caught.
+He wanders through enchanted ground. Groves, classic groves, nod unto
+him, and he hears 'ancestral voices' hailing him as brother bard! He
+sleeps, dreams, and wakes cured of his thriftless prejudices and
+morose philanthropy. He likes this courtly and popular sympathy
+better. 'He looks up with awe to kings; with honour to nobility; with
+reverence to magistrates,' etc. He no longer breathes the air of
+heaven and his own thoughts, but is steeped in that of palaces and
+courts, and finds it agree better with his constitutional temperament.
+Oh! how sympathy alters a man from what he was!
+
+    'I've heard of hearts unkind,
+    Kind deeds with cold returning;
+    Alas! the gratitude of man
+    Has oftener set me mourning.'
+
+A spirit of contradiction, a wish to monopolise all wisdom, will not
+account for uniform consistency, for it is sure to defeat and turn
+against itself. It is 'everything by turns, and nothing long.' It is
+warped and crooked. It cannot bear the least opposition, and sooner
+than acquiesce in what others approve it will change sides in a day.
+It is offended at every resistance to its captious, domineering
+humour, and will quarrel for straws with its best friends. A person
+under the guidance of this demon, if every whimsy or occult discovery
+of his own is not received with acclamation by one party, will wreak
+his spite by deserting to the other, and carry all his talent for
+disputation with him, sharpened by rage and disappointment. A man, to
+be steady in a cause, should be more attached to the truth than to the
+acquiescence of his fellow citizens.
+
+I can hardly consider Mr. Coleridge a deserter from the cause he first
+espoused, unless one could tell what cause he ever heartily espoused,
+or what party he ever belonged to, in downright earnest. He has not
+been inconsistent with himself at different times, but at all times.
+He is a sophist, a casuist, a rhetorician, what you please, and might
+have argued or declaimed to the end of his breath on one side of a
+question or another, but he never was a pragmatical fellow. He lived
+in a round of contradictions, and never came to a settled point. His
+fancy gave the cue to his judgment, and his vanity set his invention
+afloat in whatever direction he could find most scope for it, or most
+_sympathy_, that is, admiration. His Life and Opinions might naturally
+receive the title of one of Hume's Essays--_A Sceptical Solution of
+Sceptical Doubts_. To be sure, his _Watchman_ and his _Friend_ breathe
+a somewhat different tone on subjects of a particular description,
+both of them apparently pretty high-raised, but whoever will be at the
+pains to examine them closely, will find them to be _voluntaries_,
+fugues, solemn capriccios, not set compositions with any malice
+prepense in them, or much practical meaning. I believe some of his
+friends, who were indebted to him for the suggestion of plausible
+reasons for conformity, and an opening to a more qualified view of the
+letter of their paradoxical principles, have lately disgusted him by
+the virulence and extravagance to which they have carried hints, of
+which he never suspected that they would make the least possible use.
+But if Mr. Coleridge is satisfied with the wandering Moods of his
+Mind, perhaps this is no reason that others may not reap the solid
+benefit. He himself is like the idle seaweed on the ocean, tossed from
+shore to shore: they are like barnacles fastened to the vessel of
+state, rotting its goodly timbers!
+
+There are some persons who are of too fastidious a turn of mind to
+like anything long, or to assent twice to the same opinion. ----
+always sets himself to prop the falling cause, to nurse the rickety
+bantling. He takes the part which he thinks in most need of his
+support, not so much out of magnanimity, as to prevent too great a
+degree of presumption or self-complacency on the triumphant side.
+'Though truth be truth, yet he contrives to throw such changes of
+vexation on it as it may lose some colour.' I have been delighted to
+hear him expatiate with the most natural and affecting simplicity on a
+favourite passage or picture, and all the while afraid of agreeing
+with him, lest he should instantly turn round and unsay all that he
+had said, for fear of my going away with too good an opinion of my own
+taste, or too great an admiration of my idol--and his own. I dare not
+ask his opinion twice, if I have got a favourable sentence once, lest
+he should belie his own sentiments to stagger mine. I have heard him
+talk divinely (like one inspired) of Boccaccio, and the story of the
+Pot of Basil, describing 'how it grew, and it grew, and it grew,' till
+you saw it spread its tender leaves in the light of his eye, and wave
+in the tremulous sound of his voice; and yet if you asked him about it
+another time, he would, perhaps, affect to think little of it, or to
+have forgotten the circumstance. His enthusiasm is fickle and
+treacherous. The instant he finds it shared in common, he backs out of
+it. His enmity is equally refined, but hardly so unsocial. His
+exquisitely-turned invectives display all the beauty of scorn, and
+impart elegance to vulgarity. He sometimes finds out minute
+excellences, and cries up one thing to put you out of conceit with
+another. If you want him to praise Sir Joshua _con amore_, in his best
+manner, you should begin with saying something about Titian--if you
+seem an idoliser of Sir Joshua, he will immediately turn off the
+discourse, gliding like the serpent before Eve, wary and beautiful, to
+the graces of Sir Peter Lely, or ask if you saw a Vandyke the other
+day, which he does not think Sir Joshua could stand near. But find
+fault with the Lake Poets, and mention some pretended patron of rising
+genius, and you need not fear but he will join in with you and go all
+lengths that you can wish him. You may calculate upon him there.
+'Pride elevates, and joy brightens his face.' And, indeed, so eloquent
+is he, and so beautiful in his eloquence, that I myself, with all my
+freedom from gall and bitterness, could listen to him untired, and
+without knowing how the time went, losing and neglecting many a meal
+and hour,
+
+            ----'From morn to noon,
+    From noon to dewy eve, a summer's day.'
+
+When I cease to hear him quite, other tongues, turned to what accents
+they may of praise or blame, would sound dull, ungrateful, out of
+tune, and harsh, in the comparison.
+
+An overstrained enthusiasm produces a capriciousness in taste, as well
+as too much indifference. A person who sets no bounds to his
+admiration takes a surfeit of his favourites. He overdoes the thing.
+He gets sick of his own everlasting praises, and affected raptures.
+His preferences are a great deal too violent to last. He wears out an
+author in a week, that might last him a year, or his life, by the
+eagerness with which he devours him. Every such favourite is in his
+turn the greatest writer in the world. Compared with the lord of the
+ascendent for the time being, Shakspeare is commonplace, and Milton a
+pedant, a little insipid or so. Some of these prodigies require to be
+dragged out of their lurking-places, and cried up to the top of the
+compass; their traits are subtle, and must be violently obtruded on
+the sight. But the effort of exaggerated praise, though it may stagger
+others, tires the maker, and we hear of them no more after a while.
+Others take their turns, are swallowed whole, undigested, ravenously,
+and disappear in the same manner. Good authors share the fate of bad,
+and a library in a few years is nearly dismantled. It is a pity thus
+to outlive our admiration, and exhaust our relish of what is
+excellent. Actors and actresses are disposed of in the same conclusive
+peremptory way: some of them are talked of for months, nay, years;
+then it is almost an offence to mention them. Friends, acquaintance,
+go the same road: are now asked to come six days in the week, then
+warned against coming the seventh. The smallest faults are soon
+magnified in those we think too highly of: but where shall we find
+perfection? If we will put up with nothing short of that, we shall
+have neither pictures, books, nor friends left--we shall have nothing
+but our own absurdities to keep company with! 'In all things a regular
+and moderate indulgence is the best security for a lasting enjoyment.'
+
+There are numbers who judge by the event, and change with fortune.
+They extol the hero of the day, and join the prevailing clamour,
+whatever it is; so that the fluctuating state of public opinion
+regulates their feverish, restless enthusiasm, like a thermometer.
+They blow hot or cold, according as the wind sets favourably or
+otherwise. With such people the only infallible test of merit is
+success; and no arguments are true that have not a large or powerful
+majority on their side. They go by appearances. Their vanity, not the
+truth, is their ruling object. They are not the last to quit a
+falling cause, and they are the first to hail the rising sun. Their
+minds want sincerity, modesty, and keeping. With them--
+
+      ----'To have done is to hang
+    Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail
+    In monumental mockery.'
+
+They still, 'with one consent, praise new-born gauds,' and Fame, as
+they construe it, is
+
+      ----'Like a fashionable host,
+    That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand;
+    And with his arms outstretch'd, as he would fly,
+    Grasps the in comer. Welcome ever smiles,
+    And Farewell goes out sighing.'
+
+Such servile flatterers made an idol of Buonaparte while fortune
+smiled upon him, but when it left him, they removed him from his
+pedestal in the cabinet of their vanity, as we take down the picture
+of a relation that has died without naming us in his will. The opinion
+of such triflers is worth nothing; it is merely an echo. We do not
+want to be told the event of a question, but the rights of it. Truth
+is in their theory nothing but 'noise and inexplicable dumb show.'
+They are the heralds, outriders, and trumpeters in the procession of
+fame; are more loud and boisterous than the rest, and give themselves
+great airs, as the avowed patrons and admirers of genius and merit. As
+there are many who change their sentiments with circumstances (as they
+decided lawsuits in Rabelais with the dice), so there are others who
+change them with their acquaintance. 'Tell me your company, and I'll
+tell you your opinions,' might be said to many a man who piques
+himself on a select and superior view of things, distinct from the
+vulgar. Individuals of this class are quick and versatile, but they
+are not beforehand with opinion. They catch it, when it is pointed out
+to them, and take it at the rebound, instead of giving the first
+impulse. Their minds are a light, luxuriant soil, into which thoughts
+are easily transplanted, and shoot up with uncommon sprightliness and
+vigour. They wear the dress of other people's minds very gracefully
+and unconsciously. They tell you your own opinion, or very gravely
+repeat an observation you have made to them about half a year
+afterwards. They let you into the delicacies and luxuries of Spenser
+with great disinterestedness, in return for your having introduced
+that author to their notice. They prefer West to Raphael, Stothard to
+Rubens, till they are told better. Still they are acute in the main,
+and good judges in their way. By trying to improve their tastes, and
+reform their notions according to an ideal standard, they perhaps
+spoil and muddle their native faculties, rather than do them any good.
+Their first manner is their best, because it is the most natural. It
+is well not to go out of ourselves, and to be contented to take up
+with what we are, for better for worse. We can neither beg, borrow,
+nor steal characteristic excellences. Some views and modes of thinking
+suit certain minds, as certain colours suit certain complexions. We
+may part with very shining and very useful qualities, without getting
+better ones to supply them. Mocking is catching, only in regard to
+defects. Mimicry is always dangerous.
+
+It is not necessary to change our road in order to advance on our
+journey. We should cultivate the spot of ground we possess, to the
+utmost of our power, though it may be circumscribed and comparatively
+barren. _A rolling stone gathers no moss._ People may collect all the
+wisdom they will ever attain, quite as well by staying at home as by
+travelling abroad. There is no use in shifting from place to place,
+from side to side, or from subject to subject. You have always to
+begin again, and never finish any course of study or observation. By
+adhering to the same principles you do not become stationary. You
+enlarge, correct, and consolidate your reasonings, without
+contradicting and shuffling about in your conclusions. If truth
+consisted in hasty assumptions and petulant contradictions, there
+might be some ground for this whiffling and violent inconsistency. But
+the face of truth, like that of nature, is different and the same.
+The first outline of an opinion, and the general tone of thinking, may
+be sound and correct, though we may spend any quantity of time and
+pains in working up and uniting the parts at subsequent sittings. If
+we have misconceived the character of the countenance altogether at
+first, no alterations will bring it right afterwards. Those who
+mistake white for black in the first instance, may as well mistake
+black for white when they reverse their canvas. I do not see what
+security they can have in their present opinions, who build their
+pretensions to wisdom on the total folly, rashness, and extravagance
+(to say no worse) of their former ones. The perspective may change
+with years and experience: we may see certain things nearer, and
+others more remote; but the great masses and landmarks will remain,
+though thrown into shadow and tinged by the intervening atmosphere: so
+the laws of the understanding, the truth of nature, will remain, and
+cannot be thrown into utter confusion and perplexity by our blunders
+or caprice, like the objects in Hogarth's _Rules of Perspective_,
+where everything is turned upside down, or thrust out of its
+well-known place. I cannot understand how our political Harlequins
+feel after all their summersaults and metamorphoses. They can hardly,
+I should think, look at themselves in the glass, or walk across the
+room without stumbling. This at least would be the case if they had
+the least reflection or self-knowledge. But they judge from pique and
+vanity solely. There should be a certain decorum in life, as in a
+picture, without which it is neither useful nor agreeable. If my
+opinions are not right, at any rate they are the best I have been able
+to form, and better than any others I could take up at random, or out
+of perversity, now. Contrary opinions vitiate one another, and destroy
+the simplicity and clearness of the mind: nothing is good that has not
+a beginning, a middle, and an end; and I would wish my thoughts to be
+
+    'Linked each to each by natural piety.'
+
+1821.
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY XI
+
+PROJECT FOR A NEW THEORY OF CIVIL AND CRIMINAL LEGISLATION
+
+
+When I was about fourteen (as long ago as the year 1792), in
+consequence of a dispute, one day after coming out of meeting, between
+my father and an old lady of the congregation, respecting the repeal
+of the Corporation and Test Acts and the limits of religious
+toleration, I set about forming in my head (the first time I ever
+attempted to think) the following system of political rights and
+general jurisprudence.
+
+It was this circumstance that decided the fate of my future life; or
+rather, I would say it was from an original bias or craving to be
+satisfied of the reason of things, that I seized hold of this
+accidental opportunity to indulge in its uneasy and unconscious
+determination. Mr. Currie, my old tutor at Hackney, may still have the
+rough draught of this speculation, which I gave him with tears in my
+eyes, and which he good-naturedly accepted in lieu of the customary
+_themes_, and as a proof that I was no idler, but that my inability to
+produce a line on the ordinary school topics arose from my being
+involved in more difficult and abstruse matters. He must smile at the
+so oft-repeated charge against me of florid flippancy and tinsel. If
+from those briars I have since plucked roses, what labour has it not
+cost me? The Test and Corporation Acts were repealed the other day.
+How would my father have rejoiced if this had happened in his time,
+and in concert with his old friends Dr. Price, Dr. Priestly, and
+others! but now that there is no one to care about it, they give as a
+boon to indifference what they so long refused to justice, and thus
+ascribed by some to the liberality of the age! Spirit of
+contradiction! when wilt thou cease to rule over sublunary affairs, as
+the moon governs the tides? Not till the unexpected stroke of a comet
+throws up a new breed of men and animals from the bowels of the earth;
+nor then neither, since it is included in the very idea of all life,
+power, and motion. _For_ and _against_ are inseparable terms. But not
+to wander any farther from the point--
+
+I began with trying to define what a _right_ meant; and this I settled
+with myself was not simply that which is good or useful in itself, but
+that which is thought so by the individual, and which has the sanction
+of his will as such. 1. Because the determining what is good in itself
+is an endless question. 2. Because one person's having a right to any
+good, and another being made the judge of it, leaves him without any
+security for its being exercised to his advantage, whereas self-love
+is a natural guarantee for our self-interest. 3. A thing being willed
+is the most absolute moral reason for its existence: that a thing is
+good in itself is no reason whatever why it should exist, till the
+will clothes it with a power to act as a motive; and there is
+certainly nothing to prevent this will from taking effect (no law or
+admitted plea above it) but another will opposed to it, and which
+forms a right on the same principle. A good is only so far a right,
+inasmuch as it virtually determines the will; for a _right_ meant that
+which contains within itself, and as respects the bosom in which it is
+lodged, a cogent and unanswerable reason why it should exist. Suppose
+I have a violent aversion to one thing and as strong an attachment to
+something else, and that there is no other being in the world but
+myself, shall I not have a self-evident right, full title, liberty, to
+pursue the one and avoid the other? That is to say, in other words,
+there can be no authority to interpose between the strong natural
+tendency of the will and its desired effect, but the will of another.
+It may be replied that reason, that affection, may interpose between
+the will and the act; but there are motives that influence the conduct
+by first altering the will; and the point at issue is, that these
+being away, what other principle or lever is there always left to
+appeal to, before we come to blows? Now, such a principle is to be
+found in self-interest; and such a barrier against the violent will is
+erected by the limits which this principle necessarily sets to itself
+in the claims of different individuals. Thus, then, a right is not
+that which is right in itself, or best for the whole, or even for the
+individual, but that which is good in his own eyes, and according to
+his own will; and to which, among a number of equally selfish and
+self-willed beings, he can lay claim, allowing the same latitude and
+allowance to others. Political justice is that which assigns the
+limits of these individual rights in society, or it is the adjustment
+of force against force, of will against will, to prevent worse
+consequences. In the savage state there is nothing but an appeal to
+brute force, or the right of the strongest; Politics lays down a rule
+to curb and measure out the wills of individuals in equal portions;
+Morals has a higher standard still, and ought never to appeal to force
+in any case whatever. Hence I always found something wanting in Mr.
+Godwin's _Enquiry concerning Political Justice_ (which I read soon
+after with great avidity, and hoped, from its title and its vast
+reputation, to get entire satisfaction from it), for he makes no
+distinction between political justice, which implies an appeal to
+force, and moral justice, which implies only an appeal to reason. It
+is surely a distinct question, what you can persuade people to do by
+argument and fair discussion, and what you may lawfully compel them to
+do, when reason and remonstrance fail. But in Mr. Godwin's system the
+'omnipotence of reason' supersedes the use of law and government,
+merges the imperfection of the means in the grandeur of the end, and
+leaves but one class of ideas or motives, the highest and the least
+attainable possible. So promises and oaths are said to be of no more
+value than common breath; nor would they, if every word we uttered was
+infallible and oracular, as if delivered from a Tripod. But this is
+pragmatical, and putting an imaginary for a real state of things.
+Again, right and duties, according to Mr. Godwin, are reciprocal. I
+could not comprehend this without an arbitrary definition that took
+away the meaning. In my sense, a man might have a right, a
+discriminating power, to do something, which others could not deprive
+him of, without a manifest infraction of certain rules laid down for
+the peace and order of society, but which it might be his duty to
+waive upon good reasons shown; rights are seconded by force, duties
+are things of choice. This is the import of the words in common
+speech: why then pass over this distinction in a work confessedly
+rhetorical as well as logical, that is, which laid an equal stress on
+sound and sense? Right, therefore, has a personal or selfish
+reference, as it is founded on the law which determines a man's
+actions in regard to his own being and well-being; and political
+justice is that which assigns the limits of these individual rights on
+their compatibility or incompatibility with each other in society.
+Right, in a word, is the duty which each man owes to himself; or it is
+that portion of the general good of which (as being principally
+interested) he is made the special judge, and which is put under his
+immediate keeping.
+
+The next question I asked myself was, what is law and the real and
+necessary ground of civil government? The answer to this is found in
+the former statement. _Law_ is something to abridge, or, more properly
+speaking, to ascertain, the bounds of the original right, and to
+coerce the will of individuals in the community. Whence, then, has the
+community such a right? It can only arise in self-defence, or from the
+necessity of maintaining the equal rights of every one, and of
+opposing force to force in case of any violent and unwarrantable
+infringement of them. Society consists of a given number of
+individuals; and the aggregate right of government is only the
+consequence of these inherent rights, balancing and neutralising one
+another. How those who deny natural rights get at any sort of right,
+divine or human, I am at a loss to discover; for whatever exists in
+combination, exists beforehand in an elementary state. The world is
+composed of atoms, and a machine cannot be made without materials.
+First, then, it follows that law or government is not the mere
+creature of a social compact, since each person has a certain right
+which he is bound to defend against another without asking that
+other's leave, or else the right would always be at the mercy of
+whoever chose to invade it. There would be a right to do wrong, but
+none to resist it. Thus I have a natural right to defend my life
+against a murderer, without any mutual compact between us; hence
+society has an aggregate right of the same kind, and to make a law to
+that effect, forbidding and punishing murder. If there be no such
+immediate value and attachment to life felt by the individual, and a
+consequent justifiable determination to defend it, then the formal
+pretension of society to vindicate a right, which, according to this
+reasoning, has no existence in itself, must be founded on air, on a
+word, or a lawyer's _ipse dixit_. Secondly, society, or government, as
+such, has no right to trench upon the liberty or rights of the
+individuals its members, except as these last are, as it were,
+forfeited by interfering with and destroying one another, like
+opposite mechanical forces or quantities in arithmetic. Put the basis
+that each man's will is a sovereign law to itself: this can only hold
+in society as long as he does not meddle with others; but so long as
+he does not do this, the first principle retains its force, for there
+is no other principle to impeach or overrule it. The will of society
+is not a sufficient plea; since this is, or ought to be, made up of
+the wills or rights of the individuals composing it, which by the
+supposition remain entire, and consequently without power to act. The
+good of society is not a sufficient plea, for individuals are only
+bound (on compulsion) not to do it harm, or to be barely just:
+benevolence and virtue are voluntary qualities. For instance, if two
+persons are obliged to do all that is possible for the good of both,
+this must either be settled voluntarily between them, and then it is
+friendship, and not force; or if this is not the case, it is plain
+that one must be the slave, and lie at the caprice and mercy of the
+other: it will be one will forcibly regulating two bodies. But if each
+is left master of his own person and actions, with only the implied
+proviso of not encroaching on those of the other, then both may
+continue free and independent, and contented in their several spheres.
+One individual has no right to interfere with the employment of my
+muscular powers, or to put violence on my person, to force me to
+contribute to the most laudable undertaking if I do not approve of it,
+any more than I have to force him to assist me in the direct contrary:
+if one has not, ten have not, nor a million, any such arbitrary right
+over me. What one can be _made_ to do for a million is very trifling:
+what a million may do by being left free in all that merely concerns
+themselves, and not subject to the perpetual caprice and insolence of
+authority, and pretext of the public good, is a very different
+calculation. By giving up the principle of political independence, it
+is not the million that will govern the one, but the one that will in
+time give law to the million. There are some things that cannot be
+free in natural society, and against which there is a natural law; for
+instance, no one can be allowed to knock out another's brains or to
+fetter his limbs with impunity. And government is bound to prevent the
+same violations of liberty and justice. The question is, whether it
+would not be possible for a government to exist, and for a system of
+laws to be framed, that confined itself to the punishment of such
+offences, and left all the rest (except the suppression of force by
+force) optional or matter of mutual compact. What are a man's natural
+rights? Those, the infringement of which cannot on any supposition go
+unpunished: by leaving all but cases of necessity to choice and
+reason, much would be perhaps gained, and nothing lost.
+
+COROLLARY 1. It results from the foregoing statement, that there is
+nothing naturally to restrain or oppose the will of one man, but the
+will of another meeting it. Thus, in a desert island, it is evident
+that my will and rights would be absolute and unlimited, and I might
+say with Robinson Crusoe, 'I am monarch of all I survey.'
+
+COROLLARY 2. It is coming into society that circumscribes my will and
+rights, by establishing equal and mutual rights, instead of the
+original uncircumscribed ones. They are still 'founded as the rock,'
+though not so broad and general as the casing air, for the only thing
+that limits them is the solidity of another right, no better than my
+own, and, like stones in a building, or a mosaic pavement, each
+remains not the less firmly riveted to its place, though it cannot
+encroach upon the next to it. I do not belong to the state, nor am I a
+nonentity in it, but I am one part of it, and independent in it, for
+that very reason that every one in it is independent of me. Equality,
+instead of being destroyed by society, results from and is improved by
+it; for in politics, as in physics, the action and reaction are the
+same: the right of resistance on their part implies the right of
+self-defence on mine. In a theatre, each person has a right to his own
+seat, by the supposition that he has no right to intrude into any one
+else's. They are convertible propositions. Away, then, with the notion
+that liberty and equality are inconsistent. But here is the artifice:
+by merging the rights and independence of the individual in the
+fictitious order of society, those rights become arbitrary,
+capricious, equivocal, removable at the pleasure of the state or
+ruling power; there is nothing substantial or durable implied in them:
+if each has no positive claim, naturally, those of all taken together
+can mount up to nothing; right and justice are mere blanks to be
+filled up with arbitrary will, and the people have thenceforward no
+defence against the government. On the other hand, suppose these
+rights to be not empty names or artificial arrangements, but original
+and inherent like solid atoms, then it is not in the power of
+government to annihilate one of them, whatever may be the confusion
+arising from their struggle for mastery, or before they can settle
+into order and harmony. Mr. Burke talks of the reflections and
+refractions of the rays of light as altering their primary essence and
+direction. But if there were no original rays of light, there could be
+neither refraction, nor reflections. Why, then, does he try by cloudy
+sophistry to blot the sun out of heaven? One body impinges against and
+impedes another in the fall, but it could not do this, but for the
+principle of gravity. The author of the _Sublime and Beautiful_ would
+have a single atom outweigh the great globe itself; or all empty
+title, a bloated privilege, or a grievous wrong overturn the entire
+mass of truth and justice. The question between the author and his
+opponents appears to be simply this: whether politics, or the general
+good, is all affair of reason or imagination! and this seems decided
+by another consideration, viz. that Imagination is the judge of
+individual things, and Reason of generals. Hence the great importance
+of the principle of universal suffrage; for if the vote and choice of
+a single individual goes for nothing, so, by parity of reasoning, may
+that of all the rest of the community: but if the choice of every man
+in the community is held sacred, then what must be the weight and
+value of the whole.
+
+Many persons object that by this means property is not represented,
+and so, to avoid that, they would have nothing but property
+represented, at the same time that they pretend that if the elective
+franchise were thrown open to the poor, they would be wholly at the
+command of the rich, to the prejudice and exclusion of the middle and
+independent classes of society. Property always has a natural
+influence and authority: it is only people without property that have
+no natural protection, and require every artificial and legal one.
+_Those that have much, shall have more; and those that have little,
+shall have less._ This proverb is no less true in public than in
+private life. The _better orders_ (as they are called, and who, in
+virtue of this title, would assume a monopoly in the direction of
+state affairs) are merely and in plain English those who are _better
+off_ than others; and as they get the wished-for monopoly into their
+hands, others will uniformly be _worse off_, and will sink lower and
+lower in the scale; so that it is essentially requisite to extend the
+elective franchise in order to counteract the excess of the great and
+increasing goodness of the better orders to themselves. I see no
+reason to suppose that in any case popular feeling (if free course
+were given to it) would bear down public opinion. Literature is at
+present pretty nearly on the footing of universal suffrage, yet the
+public defer sufficiently to the critics; and when no party bias
+interferes, and the government do not make a point of running a writer
+down, the verdict is tolerably fair and just. I do not say that the
+result might not be equally satisfactory, when literature was
+patronised more immediately by the great; but then lords and ladies
+had no interest in praising a bad piece and condemning a good one. If
+they could have laid a tax on the town for not going to it, they would
+have run a bad play forty nights together, or the whole year round,
+without scruple. As things stand, the worse the law, the better for
+the lawmakers: it takes everything from others to give to _them_. It
+is common to insist on universal suffrage and the ballot together. But
+if the first were allowed, the second would be unnecessary. The ballot
+is only useful as a screen from arbitrary power. There is nothing
+manly or independent to recommend it.
+
+COROLLARY 3. If I was out at sea in a boat with a _jure divino_
+monarch, and he wanted to throw me overboard, I would not let him. No
+gentleman would ask such a thing, no freeman would submit to it. Has
+he, then, a right to dispose of the lives and liberties of thirty
+millions of men? Or have they more right than I have to resist his
+demands? They have thirty millions of times that right, if they had a
+particle of the same spirit that I have. It is not the individual,
+then, whom in this case I fear (to me 'there's _no_ divinity doth
+hedge a king'), but thirty millions of his subjects that call me to
+account in his name, and who are of a most approved and indisputable
+loyalty, and who have both the right and power. The power rests with
+the multitude, but let them beware how the exercise of it turns
+against their own rights! It is not the idol but the worshippers that
+are to be dreaded, and who, by degrading one of their fellows, render
+themselves liable to be branded with the same indignities.
+
+COROLLARY 4. No one can be born a slave; for my limbs are my own, and
+the power and the will to use them are anterior to all laws, and
+independent of the control of every other person. No one acquires a
+right over another but that other acquires some reciprocal right over
+him; therefore the relation of master and slave is a contradiction in
+political logic. Hence, also, it follows that combinations among
+labourers for the rise of wages are always just and lawful, as much as
+those among master manufacturers to keep them down. A man's labour is
+his own, at least as much as another's goods; and he may starve if he
+pleases, but he may refuse to work except on his own terms. The right
+of property is reducible to this simple principle, that one man has
+not a right to the produce of another's labour, but each man has a
+right to the benefit of his own exertions and the use of his natural
+and inalienable powers, unless for a supposed equivalent and by mutual
+consent. Personal liberty and property therefore rest upon the same
+foundation. I am glad to see that Mr. Macculloch, in his _Essay on
+Wages_, admits the right of combination among journeymen and others. I
+laboured this point hard, and, I think, satisfactorily, a good while
+ago, in my _Reply to Mr. Malthus_. 'Throw your bread upon the waters,
+and after many days you shall find it again.'
+
+There are four things that a man may especially call his own. 1. His
+person. 2. His actions. 3. His property. 4. His opinions. Let us see
+how each of these claims unavoidably circumscribes and modifies those
+of others, on the principle of abstract equity and necessity and
+independence above laid down.
+
+FIRST, AS TO THE RIGHTS OF PERSONS. My intention is to show that the
+right of society to make laws to coerce the will of others, is
+founded on the necessity of repelling the wanton encroachment of
+that will on their rights; that is, strictly on the right of
+self-defence or resistance to aggression. Society comes forward and
+says, 'Let us alone, and we will let you alone, otherwise we must
+see which is strongest'; its object is not to patronise or advise
+individuals for their good, and against their will, but to protect
+itself: meddling with others forcibly on any other plea or for any
+other purpose is impertinence. But equal rights destroy one another;
+nor can there be a right to impossible or impracticable things. Let
+A, B, C, D, etc., be different component parts of any society, each
+claiming to be the centre and master of a certain sphere of activity
+and self-determination: as long as each keeps within his own line of
+demarcation there is no harm done, nor any penalty incurred--it is
+only the superfluous and overbearing will of particular persons that
+must be restrained or lopped off by the axe of the law. Let A be the
+culprit: B, C, D, etc., or the rest of the community, are plaintiffs
+against A, and wish to prevent his taking any unfair or unwarranted
+advantage over them. They set up no pretence to dictate or domineer
+over him, but merely to hinder his dictating to and domineering over
+them; and in this, having both might and right on their side, they
+have no difficulty in putting it in execution. Every man's
+independence and discretionary power over what peculiarly and
+exclusively concerns himself, is his _castle_ (whether round,
+square, or, according to Mr. Owen's new map of improvements, in the
+form of a parallelogram). As long as he keeps within this, he is
+safe--society has no hold of him: it is when he quits it to attack
+his neighbours that they resort to reprisals, and make short work of
+the interloper. It is, however, time to endeavour to point out in
+what this natural division of right, and separate advantage
+consists. In the first place, A, B, C, D have the common and natural
+rights of persons, in so far that none of these has a right to offer
+violence to, or cause bodily pain or injury to any of the others.
+Sophists laugh at natural rights: they might as well deny that we
+have natural persons; for while the last distinction holds true and
+good by the constitution of things, certain consequences must and
+will follow from it--'while this machine is to us Hamlet,' etc. For
+instance, I should like to know whether Mr. Burke, with his _Sublime
+and Beautiful_ fancies, would deny that each person has a particular
+body and senses belonging to him, so that he feels a peculiar and
+natural interest in whatever affects these more than another can,
+and whether such a peculiar and paramount interest does not imply a
+direct and unavoidable right in maintaining this circle of
+individuality inviolate. To argue otherwise is to assert that
+indifference, or that which does not feel either the good or the
+ill, is as capable a judge and zealous a discriminator of right and
+wrong as that which does. The right, then, is coeval and co-extended
+with the interest, not a product of convention, but inseparable from
+the order of the universe; the doctrine itself is natural and solid;
+it is the contrary fallacy that is made of air and words. Mr. Burke,
+in such a question, was like a man out at sea in a haze, and could
+never tell the difference between land and clouds. If another break
+my arm by violence, this will not certainly give him additional
+health or strength; if he stun me by a blow or inflict torture on my
+limbs, it is I who feel the pain, and not he; and it is hard if I,
+who am the sufferer, am not allowed to be the judge. That another
+should pretend to deprive me of it, or pretend to judge for me, and
+set up his will against mine, in what concerns this portion of my
+existence--where I have all at stake and he nothing--is not merely
+injustice, but impudence. The circle of personal security and right,
+then, is not an imaginary and arbitrary line fixed by law and the
+will of the prince, or the scaly finger of Mr. Hobbes's _Leviathan_,
+but is real and inherent in the nature of things, and itself the
+foundation of law and justice. 'Hands off is fair play'--according
+to the old adage. One, therefore, has not a right to lay violent
+hands on another, or to infringe on the sphere of his personal
+identity; one must not run foul of another, or he is liable to be
+repelled and punished for the offence. If you meet an Englishman
+suddenly in the street, he will run up against you sooner than get
+out of your way, which last he thinks a compromise of his dignity
+and a relinquishment of his purpose, though he expects you to get
+out of his. A Frenchman in the same circumstances will come up close
+to you, and try to walk over you, as if there was no one in his way;
+but if you take no notice of him, he will step on one side, and make
+you a low bow. The one is a fellow of stubborn will, the other a
+_petit-maître_. An Englishman at a play mounts upon a bench, and
+refuses to get down at the request of another, who threatens to call
+him to account the next day. 'Yes,' is the answer of the first, 'if
+your master will let you!' His abuse of liberty, he thinks, is
+justified by the other's want of it. All an Englishman's ideas are
+modifications of his will; which shows, in one way, that right is
+founded on will, since the English are at once the freest and most
+wilful of all people. If you meet another on the ridge of a
+precipice, are you to throw each other down? Certainly not. You are
+to pass as well as you can. 'Give and take,' is the rule of natural
+right, where the right is not all on one side and cannot be claimed
+entire. Equal weights and scales produce a balance, as much as
+where the scales are empty: so it does not follow (as our votaries
+of absolute power would insinuate) that one man's right is nothing
+because another's is something. But suppose there is not time to
+pass, and one or other must perish, in the case just mentioned, then
+each must do the best for himself that he can, and the instinct of
+self-preservation prevails over everything else. In the streets of
+London, the passengers take the right hand of one another and the
+wall alternately; he who should not conform to this rule would be
+guilty of a breach of the peace. But if a house were falling, or a
+mad ox driven furiously by, the rule would be, of course, suspended,
+because the case would be out of the ordinary. Yet I think I can
+conceive, and have even known, persons capable of carrying the point
+of gallantry in political right to such a pitch as to refuse to take
+a precedence which did not belong to them in the most perilous
+circumstances, just as a soldier may waive a right to quit his post,
+and takes his turn in battle. The actual collision or case of
+personal assault and battery, is, then, clearly prohibited, inasmuch
+as each person's body is clearly defined: but how if A use other
+means of annoyance against B, such as a sword or poison, or resort
+to what causes other painful sensations besides tangible ones, for
+instance, certain disagreeable sounds and smells? Or, if these are
+included as a violation of personal rights, then how draw the line
+between them and the employing certain offensive words and gestures
+or uttering opinions which I disapprove? This is a puzzler for the
+dogmatic school; but they solve the whole difficulty by an
+assumption of _utility_, which is as much as to tell a person that
+the way to any place to which he asks a direction is 'to follow his
+nose.' We want to know by given marks and rules what is best and
+useful; and they assure us very wisely, that this is infallibly and
+clearly determined by what is best and useful. Let us try something
+else. It seems no less necessary to erect certain little
+_fortalices_, with palisades and outworks about them, for RIGHT to
+establish and maintain itself in, than as landmarks to guide us
+across the wide waste of UTILITY. If a person runs a sword through
+me, or administers poison, or procures it to be administered, the
+effect, the pain, disease or death is the same, and I have the same
+right to prevent it, on the principle that I am the sufferer; that
+the injury is offered to me, and he is no gainer by it, except for
+mere malice or caprice, and I therefore remain master and judge of
+my own remedy, as in the former case; the principle and definition
+of right being to secure to each individual the determination and
+protection of that portion of sensation in which he has the
+greatest, if not a sole interest, and, as it were, identity with it.
+Again, as to what are called _nuisances_, to wit offensive smells,
+sounds, etc., it is more difficult to determine, on the ground that
+_one man's meat is another man's poison_. I remember a case occurred
+in the neighbourhood where I was, and at the time I was trying my
+best at this question, which puzzled me a good deal. A rector of a
+little town in Shropshire, who was at variance with all his
+parishioners, had conceived a particular spite to a lawyer who lived
+next door to him, and as a means of annoying him, used to get
+together all sorts of rubbish, weeds, and unsavoury materials, and
+set them on fire, so that the smoke should blow over into his
+neighbour's garden; whenever the wind set in that direction, he
+said, as a signal to his gardener, 'It's a fine Wicksteed wind
+to-day'; and the operation commenced. Was this an action of assault
+and battery, or not? I think it was, for this reason, that the
+offence was unequivocal, and that the only motive for the proceeding
+was the giving this offence. The assailant would not like to be
+served so himself. Mr. Bentham would say, the malice of the motive
+was a set-off to the injury. I shall leave that _prima philosophia_
+consideration out of the question. A man who knocks out another's
+brains with a bludgeon may say it pleases him to do so; but will it
+please him to have the compliment returned? If he still persists, in
+spite of this punishment, there is no preventing him; but if not,
+then it is a proof that he thinks the pleasure less than the pain to
+himself, and consequently to another in the scales of justice. The
+_lex talionis_ is an excellent test. Suppose a third person (the
+physician of the place) had said, 'It is a fine Egerton wind
+to-day,' our rector would have been non-plussed; for he would have
+found that, as he suffered all the hardship, he had the right to
+complain of and to resist an action of another, the consequences of
+which affected principally himself. Now mark: if he had himself had
+any advantage to derive from the action, which he could not obtain
+in any other way, then he would feel that his neighbour also had the
+same plea and right to follow his own course (still this might be a
+doubtful point); but in the other case it would be sheer malice and
+wanton interference; that is, not the exercise of a right, but the
+invasion of another's comfort and independence. Has a person, then,
+a right to play on the horn or on a flute, on the same staircase? I
+say, yes; because it is for his own improvement and pleasure, and
+not to annoy another; and because, accordingly, every one in his own
+case would wish to reserve this or a similar privilege to himself. I
+do not think a person has a right to beat a drum under one's window,
+because this is altogether disagreeable, and if there is an
+extraordinary motive for it, then it is fit that the person should
+be put to some little inconvenience in removing his sphere of
+liberty of action to a reasonable distance. A tallow-chandler's shop
+or a steam-engine is a nuisance in a town, and ought to be removed
+into the suburbs; but they are to be tolerated where they are least
+inconvenient, because they are necessary somewhere, and there is no
+remedying the inconvenience. The right to protest against and to
+prohibit them rests with the suffering party; but because this point
+of the greatest interest is less clear in some cases than in others,
+it does not follow that there is no right or principle of justice
+in the case. 3. As to matters of contempt and the expression of
+opinion, I think these do not fall under the head of force, and are
+not, on that ground, subjects of coercion and law. For example, if a
+person inflicts a sensation upon me by material means, whether
+tangible or otherwise, I cannot help that sensation; I am so far the
+slave of that other, and have no means of resisting him but by
+force, which I would define to be material agency. But if another
+proposes an opinion to me, I am not bound to be of this opinion; my
+judgment and will is left free, and therefore I have no right to
+resort to force to recover a liberty which I have not lost. If I do
+this to prevent that other from pressing that opinion, it is I who
+invade his liberty, without warrant, because without necessity. It
+may be urged that material agency, or force, is used in the adoption
+of sounds or letters of the alphabet, which I cannot help seeing or
+hearing. But the injury is not here, but in the moral and artificial
+inference, which I am at liberty to admit or reject, according to
+the evidence. There is no force but argument in the case, and it is
+reason, not the will of another, that gives the law. Further, the
+opinion expressed, generally concerns not one individual, but the
+general interest; and of that my approbation or disapprobation is
+not a commensurate or the sole judge. I am judge of my own
+interests, because it is my affair, and no one's else; but by the
+same rule, I am not judge, nor have I a _veto_ on that which appeals
+to all the world, merely because I have a prejudice or fancy against
+it. But suppose another expresses by signs or words a contempt for
+me? _Answer._ I do not know that he is bound to have a respect for
+me. Opinion is free; for if I wish him to have that respect, then he
+must be left free to judge for himself, and consequently to arrive
+at and to express the contrary opinion, or otherwise the verdict and
+testimony I aim at could not be obtained; just as players must
+consent to be hissed if they expect to be applauded. Opinion cannot
+be forced, for it is not grounded on force, but on evidence and
+reason, and therefore these last are the proper instruments to
+control that opinion, and to make it favourable to what we wish, or
+hostile to what we disapprove. In what relates to action, the will
+of another is force, or the determining power: in what relates to
+opinion, the mere will or _ipse dixit_ of another is of no avail but
+as it gains over other opinions to its side, and therefore neither
+needs nor admits of force as a counteracting means to be used
+against it. But in the case of calumny or indecency: 1. I would say
+that it is the suppression of truth that gives falsehood its worst
+edge. What transpires (however maliciously or secretly) in spite of
+the law, is taken for gospel, and as it is impossible to prevent
+calumny, so it is impossible to counteract it on the present system,
+or while every attempt to answer it is attributed to the people's
+not daring to speak the truth. If any single fact or accident peeps
+out, the whole character, having this legal screen before it, is
+supposed to be of a piece; and the world, defrauded of the means of
+coming to their own conclusion, naturally infer the worst. Hence the
+saying, that reputation once gone never returns. If, however, we
+grant the general licence or liberty of the press, in a scheme where
+publicity is the great object, it seems a manifest _contre-sens_
+that the author should be the only thing screened or kept a secret:
+either, therefore, an anonymous libeller would be heard with
+contempt, or if he signed his name thus --, or thus -- --, it would
+be equivalent to being branded publicly as a calumniator, or marked
+with the T. F. (_travail forcé_) or the broad R. (rogue) on his
+back. These are thought sufficient punishments, and yet they rest on
+opinion without stripes or labour. As to indecency, in proportion as
+it is flagrant is the shock and resentment against it; and as vanity
+is the source of indecency, so the universal discountenance and
+shame is its most effectual antidote. If it is public, it produces
+immediate reprisals from public opinion which no brow can stand;
+and if secret, it had better be left so. No one can then say it is
+obtruded on him; and if he will go in search of it, it seems odd he
+should call upon the law to frustrate the object of his pursuit.
+Further, at the worst, society has its remedy in its own hands
+whenever its moral sense is outraged, that is, it may send to
+Coventry, or excommunicate like the church of old; for though it may
+have no right to prosecute, it is not bound to protect or patronise,
+unless by voluntary consent of all parties concerned. Secondly, as
+to rights of action, or personal liberty. These have no limit but
+the rights of persons or property aforesaid, or to be hereafter
+named. They are the channels in which the others run without injury
+and without impediment, as a river within its banks. Every one has a
+right to use his natural powers in the way most agreeable to
+himself, and which he deems most conducive to his own advantage,
+provided he does not interfere with the corresponding rights and
+liberties of others. He has no right to coerce them by a decision of
+his individual will, and as long as he abstains from this he has no
+right to be coerced by an expression of the aggregate will, that is,
+by law. The law is the emanation of the aggregate will, and this
+will receives its warrant to act only from the forcible pressure
+from without, and its indispensable resistance to it. Let us see how
+this will operate to the pruning and curtailment of law. The rage of
+legislation is the first vice of society; it ends by limiting it to
+as few things as possible. 1. There can, according to the principle
+here imperfectly sketched, be no laws for the enforcement of morals;
+because morals have to do with the will and affections, and the law
+only puts a restraint on these. Every one is politically constituted
+the judge of what is best for himself; it is only when he encroaches
+on others that he can be called to account. He has no right to say
+to others, You shall do as I do: how then should they have a right
+to say to him, You shall do as we do? Mere numbers do not convey
+the right, for the law addresses not one, but the whole community.
+For example, there cannot rightly be a law to set a man in the
+stocks for getting drunk. It injures his health, you say. That is
+his concern, and not mine. But it is detrimental to his affairs: if
+so, he suffers most by it. But it is ruinous to his wife and family:
+he is their natural and legal guardian. But they are thrown upon the
+parish: the parish need not take the burden upon itself, unless it
+chooses or has agreed to do so. If a man is not kind to or fond of
+his wife I see no law to make him. If he beats her, or threatens her
+life, she as clearly has a right to call in the aid of a constable
+or justice of peace. I do not see, in like manner, how there can be
+law against gambling (against cheating there may), nor against
+usury. A man gives twenty, forty, a hundred per cent. with his eyes
+open, but would he do it if strong necessity did not impel him?
+Certainly no man would give double if he could get the same
+advantage for half. There are circumstances in which a rope to save
+me from drowning, or a draught of water, would be worth all I have.
+In like manner, lotteries are fair things; for the loss is
+inconsiderable, and the advantage may be incalculable. I do not
+believe the poor put into them, but the reduced rich, the
+_shabby-genteel_. Players were formerly prohibited as a nuisance,
+and fortune-tellers still are liable to the Vagrant Act, which the
+parson of the parish duly enforces, in his zeal to prevent cheating
+and imposture, while he himself has his two livings, and carries off
+a tenth of the produce of the soil. Rape is an offence clearly
+punishable by law; but I would not say that simple incontinence is
+so. I will give one more example, which, though quaint, may explain
+the distinction I aim at. A man may commit suicide if he pleases,
+without being responsible to any one. He may quit the world as he
+would quit the country where he was born. But if any person were to
+fling himself from the gallery into the pit of a playhouse, so as to
+endanger the lives of others, if he did not succeed in killing
+himself, he would render himself liable to punishment for the
+attempt, if it were to be supposed that a person so desperately
+situated would care about consequences. Duelling is lawful on the
+same principle, where every precaution is taken to show that the act
+is voluntary and fair on both sides. I might give other instances,
+but these will suffice. 2. There should be a perfect toleration in
+matters of religion. In what relates to the salvation of a man's
+soul, he is infinitely more concerned than I can be; and to pretend
+to dictate to him in this particular is an infinite piece of
+impertinence and presumption. But if a man has no religion at all?
+That does not hinder me from having any. If he stood at the church
+door and would not let me enter, I should have a right to push him
+aside; but if he lets me pass by without interruption, I have no
+right to turn back and drag him in after me. He might as well force
+me to have no religion as I force him to have one, or burn me at a
+stake for believing what he does not. Opinion, 'like the wild goose,
+flies unclaimed of any man': heaven is like 'the marble air,
+accessible to all'; and therefore there is no occasion to trip up
+one another's heels on the road, or to erect a turnpike gate to
+collect large sums from the passengers. How have I a right to make
+another pay for the saving of my soul, or to assist me in damning
+his? There should be no secular interference in sacred things; no
+laws to suppress or establish any church or sect in religion, no
+religious persecutions, tests, or disqualifications; the different
+sects should be left to inveigh and hate each other as much as they
+please; but without the love of exclusive domination and spiritual
+power there would be little temptation to bigotry and intolerance.
+
+3. AS TO THE RIGHTS OF PROPERTY. It is of no use a man's being left to
+enjoy security, or to exercise his freedom of action, unless he has a
+right to appropriate certain other things necessary to his comfort and
+subsistence to his own use. In a state of nature, or rather of
+solitary independence, he has a right to all he can lay his hands on:
+what then limits this right? Its being inconsistent with the same
+right in others. This strikes a mathematical or logical balance
+between two extreme and equal pretensions. As there is not a natural
+and indissoluble connection between the individual and his property,
+or those outward objects of which he may have need (they being
+detached, unlimited, and transferable), as there is between the
+individual and his person, either as an organ of sensation or action,
+it is necessary, in order to prevent endless debate and quarrels, to
+fix upon some other criterion or common ground of preference. Animals,
+or savages, have no idea of any other right than that of the
+strongest, and seize on all they can get by force, without any regard
+to justice or an equal claim. 1. One mode of settling the point is to
+divide the spoil. That is allowing an equal advantage to both. Thus
+boys, when they unexpectedly find anything, are accustomed to cry
+'_Halves!_' But this is liable to other difficulties, and applies only
+to the case of joint finding. 2. Priority of possession is a fair way
+of deciding the right of property; first, on the mere principle of a
+lottery, or the old saying, '_First come, first served_'; secondly,
+because the expectation having been excited, and the will more set
+upon it, this constitutes a powerful reason for not violently forcing
+it to let go its hold. The greater strength of volition is, we have
+seen, one foundation of right; for supposing a person to be absolutely
+indifferent to anything, he could properly set up no claim to it. 3.
+Labour, or the having produced a thing or fitted it for use by
+previous exertion, gives this right, chiefly, indeed, for moral and
+final causes; because if one enjoyed what another had produced, there
+would be nothing but idleness and rapacity; but also in the sense we
+are inquiring into, because on a merely selfish ground the labour
+undergone, or the time lost, is entitled to an equivalent _cæteris
+manentibus_. 4. If another, voluntarily, or for a consideration,
+resigns to me his right in anything, it to all intents and purposes
+becomes mine. This accounts not only for gifts, the transfer of
+property by bargains, etc., but for legacies, and the transmission of
+property in families or otherwise. It is hard to make a law to
+circumscribe this right of disposing of what we have as we please; yet
+the boasted law of primogeniture, which is professedly the bulwark and
+guardian of property, is in direct violation of this principle. 5, and
+lastly. Where a thing is common, and there is enough for all, and no
+one contributes to it, as air or water, there can be no property in
+it. The proximity to a herring-fishery, or the having been the first
+to establish a particular traffic in such commodities, may perhaps
+give this right by aggravating our will, as having a nearer or longer
+power over them; but the rule is the other way. It is on the same
+principle that poaching is a kind of honest thieving, for that which
+costs no trouble and is confined to no limits seems to belong to no
+one exclusively (why else do poachers or country people seize on this
+kind of property with the least reluctance, but that it is the least
+like stealing?); and as the game laws and the tenaciousness of the
+rights to that which has least the character of property, as most a
+point of honour, produced a revolution in one country, so they are not
+unlikely to produce it in another. The object and principle of the
+laws of property, then, is this: 1. To supply individuals and the
+community with what they need. 2. To secure an equal share to each
+individual, other circumstances being the same. 3. To keep the peace
+and promote industry and plenty, by proportioning each man's share to
+his own exertions, or to the good-will and discretion of others. The
+intention, then, being that no individual should rob another, or be
+starved but by his refusing to work (the earth and its produce being
+the natural estate of the community, subject to these regulations of
+individual right and public welfare), the question is, whether any
+individual can have a right to rob or starve the whole community: or
+if the necessary discretion left in the application of the principle
+has led to a state of things subversive of the principle itself, and
+destructive to the welfare and existence of the state, whether the end
+being defeated, the law does not fall to the ground, or require either
+a powerful corrective or a total reconstruction. The end is superior
+to the means, and the use of a thing does not justify its abuse. If a
+clock is quite out of order and always goes wrong, it is no argument
+to say it was set right at first and on true mechanical principles,
+and therefore it must go on as it has done, according to all the rules
+of art; on the contrary, it is taken to pieces, repaired, and the
+whole restored to the original state, or, if this is impossible, a new
+one is made. So society, when out of order, which it is whenever the
+interests of the many are regularly and outrageously sacrificed to
+those of the few, must be repaired, and either a reform or a
+revolution cleanse its corruptions and renew its elasticity. People
+talk of the poor laws as a grievance. Either they or a national
+bankruptcy, or a revolution, are necessary. The labouring population
+have not doubled in the last forty years; there are still no more than
+are necessary to do the work in husbandry, etc., that is indispensably
+required; but the wages of a labouring man are no higher than they
+were forty years ago, and the price of food and necessaries is at
+least double what it was then, owing to taxes, grants, monopolies, and
+immense fortunes gathered during the war by the richer or more
+prosperous classes, who have not ceased to propagate in the
+geometrical ratio, though the poor have not done it, and the
+maintaining of whose younger and increasing branches in becoming
+splendour and affluence presses with double weight on the poor and
+labouring classes. The greater part of a community ought not to be
+paupers or starving; and when a government by obstinacy and madness
+has reduced them to that state, it must either take wise and effectual
+measures to relieve them from it, or pay the forfeit of its own
+wickedness and folly.
+
+It seems, then, that a system of just and useful laws may be
+constructed nearly, if not wholly, on the principle of the right of
+self-defence, or the security for person, liberty, and property. There
+are exceptions, such, for instance, as in the case of children,
+idiots, and insane persons. These common-sense dictates for a general
+principle can only hold good where the general conditions are complied
+with. There are also mixed cases, partaking of civil and moral
+justice. Is a man bound to support his children? Not in strict
+political right; but he may be compelled to forego all the benefits of
+civil society, if he does not fulfil an engagement which, according to
+the feelings and principles of that society, he has undertaken. So in
+respect to marriage. It is a voluntary contract, and the violation of
+it is punishable on the same plea of sympathy and custom. Government
+is not necessarily founded on common consent, but on the right which
+society has to defend itself against all aggression. But am I bound to
+pay or support the government for defending the society against any
+violence or injustice? No: but then they may withdraw the protection
+of the law from me if I refuse, and it is on this ground that the
+contributions of each individual to the maintenance of the state are
+demanded. Laws are, or ought to be, founded on the supposed infraction
+of individual rights. If these rights, and the best means of
+maintaining them, are always clear, and there could be no injustice or
+abuse of power on the part of the government, every government might
+be its own lawgiver: but as neither of these is the case, it is
+necessary to recur to the general voice for settling the boundaries of
+right and wrong, and even more for preventing the government, under
+pretence of the general peace and safety, from subjecting the whole
+liberties, rights, and resources of the community to its own advantage
+and sole will.
+
+1828.
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY XII
+
+ON THE CHARACTER OF BURKE
+
+
+There is no single speech of Mr. Burke which can convey a satisfactory
+idea of his powers of mind: to do him justice, it would be necessary
+to quote all his works; the only specimen of Burke is, _all that he
+wrote_. With respect to most other speakers, a specimen is generally
+enough, or more than enough. When you are acquainted with their
+manner, and see what proficiency they have made in the mechanical
+exercise of their profession, with what facility they can borrow a
+simile, or round a period, how dexterously they can argue, and object,
+and rejoin, you are satisfied; there is no other difference in their
+speeches than what arises from the difference of the subjects. But
+this was not the case with Burke. He brought his subjects along with
+him; he drew his materials from himself. The only limits which
+circumscribed his variety were the stores of his own mind. His stock
+of ideas did not consist of a few meagre facts, meagrely stated, of
+half-a-dozen commonplaces tortured into a thousand different ways; but
+his mine of wealth was a profound understanding, inexhaustible as the
+human heart, and various as the sources of human nature. He therefore
+enriched every subject to which he applied himself, and new subjects
+were only the occasions of calling forth fresh powers of mind which
+had not been before exerted. It would therefore be in vain to look for
+the proof of his powers in any one of his speeches or writings: they
+all contain some additional proof of power. In speaking of Burke,
+then, I shall speak of the whole compass and circuit of his mind--not
+of that small part or section of him which I have been able to give:
+to do otherwise would be like the story of the man who put the brick
+in his pocket, thinking to show it as the model of a house. I have
+been able to manage pretty well with respect to all my other speakers,
+and curtailed them down without remorse. It was easy to reduce them
+within certain limits, to fix their spirit, and condense their
+variety; by having a certain quantity given, you might infer all the
+rest; it was only the same thing over again. But who can bind Proteus,
+or confine the roving flight of genius?
+
+Burke's writings are better than his speeches, and indeed his speeches
+are writings. But he seemed to feel himself more at ease, to have a
+fuller possession of his faculties in addressing the public, than in
+addressing the House of Commons. Burke was _raised_ into public life;
+and he seems to have been prouder of this new dignity than became so
+great a man. For this reason, most of his speeches have a sort of
+parliamentary preamble to them: he seems fond of coquetting with the
+House of Commons, and is perpetually calling the Speaker out to dance
+a minuet with him before he begins. There is also something like an
+attempt to stimulate the superficial dulness of his hearers by
+exciting their surprise, by running into extravagance: and he
+sometimes demeans himself by condescending to what may be considered
+as bordering too much upon buffoonery, for the amusement of the
+company. Those lines of Milton were admirably applied to him by some
+one--'The elephant to make them sport wreathed his proboscis lithe.'
+The truth is, that he was out of his place in the House of Commons; he
+was eminently qualified to shine as a man of genius, as the instructor
+of mankind, as the brightest luminary of his age; but he had nothing
+in common with that motley crew of knights, citizens, and burgesses.
+He could not be said to be 'native and endued unto that element.' He
+was above it; and never appeared like himself, but when, forgetful of
+the idle clamours of party, and of the little views of little men, he
+applied to his country and the enlightened judgment of mankind.
+
+I am not going to make an idle panegyric on Burke (he has no need of
+it); but I cannot help looking upon him as the chief boast and
+ornament of the English House of Commons. What has been said of him
+is, I think, strictly true, that 'he was the most eloquent man of his
+time: his wisdom was greater than his eloquence.' The only public man
+that in my opinion can be put in any competition with him, is Lord
+Chatham; and he moved in a sphere so very remote, that it is almost
+impossible to compare them. But though it would perhaps be difficult
+to determine which of them excelled most in his particular way, there
+is nothing in the world more easy than to point out in what their
+peculiar excellences consisted. They were in every respect the reverse
+of each other. Chatham's eloquence was popular: his wisdom was
+altogether plain and practical. Burke's eloquence was that of the
+poet; of the man of high and unbounded fancy: his wisdom was profound
+and contemplative. Chatham's eloquence was calculated to make men
+_act_: Burke's was calculated to make them _think_. Chatham could have
+roused the fury of a multitude, and wielded their physical energy as
+he pleased: Burke's eloquence carried conviction into the mind of the
+retired and lonely student, opened the recesses of the human breast,
+and lighted up the face of nature around him. Chatham supplied his
+hearers with motives to immediate action: Burke furnished them with
+_reasons_ for action which might have little effect upon them at the
+time, but for which they would be the wiser and better all their lives
+after. In research, in originality, in variety of knowledge, in
+richness of invention, in depth and comprehension of mind, Burke had
+as much the advantage of Lord Chatham as he was excelled by him in
+plain common sense, in strong feeling, in steadiness of purpose, in
+vehemence, in warmth, in enthusiasm, and energy of mind. Burke was
+the man of genius, of fine sense, and subtle reasoning; Chatham was a
+man of clear understanding, of strong sense, and violent passions.
+Burke's mind was satisfied with speculation: Chatham's was essentially
+_active_; it could not rest without an object. The power which
+governed Burke's mind was his Imagination; that which gave its
+_impetus_ to Chatham was Will. The one was almost the creature of pure
+intellect, the other of physical temperament.
+
+There are two very different ends which a man of genius may propose to
+himself, either in writing or speaking, and which will accordingly
+give birth to very different styles. He can have but one of these two
+objects; either to enrich or strengthen the mind; either to furnish us
+with new ideas, to lead the mind into new trains of thought, to which
+it was before unused, and which it was incapable of striking out for
+itself; or else to collect and embody what we already knew, to rivet
+our old impressions more deeply; to make what was before plain still
+plainer, and to give to that which was familiar all the effect of
+novelty. In the one case we receive an accession to the stock of our
+ideas; in the other, an additional degree of life and energy is
+infused into them: our thoughts continue to flow in the same channels,
+but their pulse is quickened and invigorated. I do not know how to
+distinguish these different styles better than by calling them
+severally the inventive and refined, or the impressive and vigorous
+styles. It is only the subject-matter of eloquence, however, which is
+allowed to be remote or obscure. The things themselves may be subtle
+and recondite, but they must be dragged out of their obscurity and
+brought struggling to the light; they must be rendered plain and
+palpable (as far as it is in the wit of man to do so), or they are no
+longer eloquence. That which by its natural impenetrability, and in
+spite of every effort, remains dark and difficult, which is impervious
+to every ray, on which the imagination can shed no lustre, which can
+be clothed with no beauty, is not a subject for the orator or poet. At
+the same time it cannot be expected that abstract truths or profound
+observations should ever be placed in the same strong and dazzling
+points of view as natural objects and mere matters of fact. It is
+enough if they receive a reflex and borrowed lustre, like that which
+cheers the first dawn of morning, where the effect of surprise and
+novelty gilds every object, and the joy of beholding another world
+gradually emerging out of the gloom of night, 'a new creation rescued
+from his reign,' fills the mind with a sober rapture. Philosophical
+eloquence is in writing what _chiaro-scuro_ is in painting; he would
+be a fool who should object that the colours in the shaded part of a
+picture were not so bright as those on the opposite side; the eye of
+the connoisseur receives an equal delight from both, balancing the
+want of brilliancy and effect with the greater delicacy of the tints,
+and difficulty of the execution. In judging of Burke, therefore, we
+are to consider, first, the style of eloquence which he adopted, and,
+secondly, the effects which he produced with it. If he did not produce
+the same effects on vulgar minds as some others have done, it was not
+for want of power, but from the turn and direction of his mind.[10] It
+was because his subjects, his ideas, his arguments, were less vulgar.
+The question is not whether he brought certain truths equally home to
+us, but how much nearer he brought them than they were before. In my
+opinion, he united the two extremes of refinement and strength in a
+higher degree than any other writer whatever.
+
+The subtlety of his mind was undoubtedly that which rendered Burke a
+less popular writer and speaker than he otherwise would have been. It
+weakened the impression of his observations upon others, but I cannot
+admit that it weakened the observations themselves; that it took
+anything from their real weight or solidity. Coarse minds think all
+that is subtle, futile: that because it is not gross and obvious and
+palpable to the senses, it is therefore light and frivolous, and of no
+importance in the real affairs of life; thus making their own confined
+understandings the measure of truth, and supposing that whatever they
+do not distinctly perceive, is nothing. Seneca, who was not one of the
+vulgar, also says, that subtle truths are those which have the least
+substance in them, and consequently approach nearest to nonentity. But
+for my own part I cannot help thinking that the most important truths
+must be the most refined and subtle; for that very reason, that they
+must comprehend a great number of particulars, and instead of
+referring to any distinct or positive fact, must point out the
+combined effects of an extensive chain of causes, operating gradually,
+remotely, and collectively, and therefore imperceptibly. General
+principles are not the less true or important because from their
+nature they elude immediate observation; they are like the air, which
+is not the less necessary because we neither see nor feel it, or like
+that secret influence which binds the world together, and holds the
+planets in their orbits. The very same persons who are the most
+forward to laugh at all systematic reasoning as idle and impertinent,
+you will the next moment hear exclaiming bitterly against the baleful
+effects of new-fangled systems of philosophy, or gravely descanting on
+the immense importance of instilling sound principles of morality into
+the mind. It would not be a bold conjecture, but an obvious truism, to
+say, that all the great changes which have been brought about in the
+mortal world, either for the better or worse, have been introduced,
+not by the bare statement of facts, which are things already known,
+and which must always operate nearly in the same manner, but by the
+development of certain opinions and abstract principles of reasoning
+on life and manners, or the origin of society and man's nature in
+general, which being obscure and uncertain, vary from time to time,
+and produce corresponding changes in the human mind. They are the
+wholesome dew and rain, or the mildew and pestilence that silently
+destroy. To this principle of generalisation all wise lawgivers, and
+the systems of philosophers, owe their influence.
+
+It has always been with me a test of the sense and candour of any one
+belonging to the opposite party, whether he allowed Burke to be a
+great man. Of all the persons of this description that I have ever
+known, I never met with above one or two who would make this
+concession; whether it was that party feelings ran too high to admit
+of any real candour, or whether it was owing to an essential vulgarity
+in their habits of thinking, they all seemed to be of opinion that he
+was a wild enthusiast, or a hollow sophist, who was to be answered by
+bits of facts, by smart logic, by shrewd questions, and idle songs.
+They looked upon him as a man of disordered intellects, because he
+reasoned in a style to which they had not been used, and which
+confounded their dim perceptions. If you said that though you differed
+with him in sentiment, yet you thought him an admirable reasoner, and
+a close observer of human nature, you were answered with a loud laugh,
+and some hackneyed quotation. 'Alas! Leviathan was not so tamed!' They
+did not know whom they had to contend with. The corner-stone, which
+the builders rejected, became the head-corner, though to the Jews a
+stumbling-block, and to the Greeks foolishness; for, indeed, I cannot
+discover that he was much better understood by those of his own party,
+if we may judge from the little affinity there is between his mode of
+reasoning and theirs. The simple clue to all his reasonings on
+politics is, I think, as follows. He did not agree with some writers
+that that mode of government is necessarily the best which is the
+cheapest. He saw in the construction of society other principles at
+work, and other capacities of fulfilling the desires, and perfecting
+the nature of man, besides those of securing the equal enjoyment of
+the means of animal life, and doing this at as little expense as
+possible. He thought that the wants and happiness of men were not to
+be provided for, as we provide for those of a herd of cattle, merely
+by attending to their physical necessities. He thought more nobly of
+his fellows. He knew that man had affections and passions and powers
+of imagination, as well as hunger and thirst, and the sense of heat
+and cold. He took his idea of political society from the pattern of
+private life, wishing, as he himself expresses it, to incorporate the
+domestic charities with the orders of the state, and to blend them
+together. He strove to establish an analogy between the compact that
+binds together the community at large, and that which binds together
+the several families that compose it. He knew that the rules that form
+the basis of private morality are not founded in reason, that is, in
+the abstract properties of those things which are the subjects of
+them, but in the nature of man, and his capacity of being affected by
+certain things from habit, from imagination, and sentiment, as well as
+from reason.
+
+Thus, the reason why a man ought to be attached to his wife and
+children is not, surely, that they are better than others (for in this
+case every one else ought to be of the same opinion), but because he
+must be chiefly interested in those things which are nearest to him,
+and with which he is best acquainted, since his understanding cannot
+reach equally to everything; because he must be most attached to those
+objects which he has known the longest, and which by their situation
+have actually affected him the most, not those which in themselves are
+the most affecting whether they have ever made any impression on him
+or no; that is, because he is by his nature the creature of habit and
+feeling, and because it is reasonable that he should act in conformity
+to his nature. Burke was so far right in saying that it is no
+objection to an institution that it is founded in _prejudice_, but the
+contrary, if that prejudice is natural and right; that is, if it
+arises from those circumstances which are properly subjects of feeling
+and association, not from any defect or perversion of the
+understanding in those things which fall strictly under its
+jurisdiction. On this profound maxim he took his stand. Thus he
+contended, that the prejudice in favour of nobility was natural and
+proper, and fit to be encouraged by the positive institutions of
+society: not on account of the real or personal merit of the
+individuals, but because such an institution has a tendency to enlarge
+and raise the mind, to keep alive the memory of past greatness, to
+connect the different ages of the world together, to carry back the
+imagination over a long tract of time, and feed it with the
+contemplation of remote events: because it is natural to think highly
+of that which inspires us with high thoughts, which has been connected
+for many generations with splendour, and affluence, and dignity, and
+power, and privilege. He also conceived, that by transferring the
+respect from the person to the thing, and thus rendering it steady and
+permanent, the mind would be habitually formed to sentiments of
+deference, attachment, and fealty, to whatever else demanded its
+respect: that it would be led to fix its view on what was elevated and
+lofty, and be weaned from that low and narrow jealousy which never
+willingly or heartily admits of any superiority in others, and is glad
+of every opportunity to bring down all excellence to a level with its
+own miserable standard. Nobility did not, therefore, exist to the
+prejudice of the other orders of the state, but by, and for them. The
+inequality of the different orders of society did not destroy the
+unity and harmony of the whole. The health and well-being of the moral
+world was to be promoted by the same means as the beauty of the
+natural world; by contrast, by change, by light and shade, by variety
+of parts, by order and proportion. To think of reducing all mankind to
+the same insipid level, seemed to him the same absurdity as to destroy
+the inequalities of surface in a country, for the benefit of
+agriculture and commerce. In short, he believed that the interests of
+men in society should be consulted, and their several stations and
+employments assigned, with a view to their nature, not as physical,
+but as moral beings, so as to nourish their hopes, to lift their
+imagination, to enliven their fancy, to rouse their activity, to
+strengthen their virtue, and to furnish the greatest number of objects
+of pursuit and means of enjoyment to beings constituted as man is,
+consistently with the order and stability of the whole.
+
+The same reasoning might be extended farther. I do not say that his
+arguments are conclusive: but they are profound and _true_, as far as
+they go. There may be disadvantages and abuses necessarily interwoven
+with his scheme, or opposite advantages of infinitely greater value,
+to be derived from another order of things and state of society. This,
+however, does not invalidate either the truth or importance of Burke's
+reasoning; since the advantages he points out as connected with the
+mixed form of government are really and necessarily inherent in it:
+since they are compatible, in the same degree, with no other; since
+the principle itself on which he rests his argument (whatever we may
+think of the application) is of the utmost weight and moment; and
+since, on whichever side the truth lies, it is impossible to make a
+fair decision without having the opposite side of the question clearly
+and fully stated to us. This Burke has done in a masterly manner. He
+presents to you one view or face of society. Let him who thinks he
+can, give the reverse side with equal force, beauty, and clearness. It
+is said, I know, that truth is _one_; but to this I cannot subscribe,
+for it appears to me that truth is _many_. There are as many truths as
+there are things and causes of action and contradictory principles at
+work in society. In making up the account of good and evil, indeed,
+the final result must be one way or the other; but the particulars on
+which that result depends are infinite and various.
+
+It will be seen from what I have said, that I am very far from
+agreeing with those who think that Burke was a man without
+understanding, and a merely florid writer. There are two causes which
+have given rise to this calumny; namely, that narrowness of mind which
+leads men to suppose that the truth lies entirely on the side of their
+own opinions, and that whatever does not make for them is absurd and
+irrational; secondly, a trick we have of confounding reason with
+judgment, and supposing that it is merely the province of the
+understanding to pronounce sentence, and not to give evidence, or
+argue the case; in short, that it is a passive, not an active faculty.
+Thus there are persons who never run into any extravagance, because
+they are so buttressed up with the opinions of others on all sides,
+that they cannot lean much to one side or the other; they are so
+little moved with any kind of reasoning, that they remain at an equal
+distance from every extreme, and are never very far from the truth,
+because the slowness of their faculties will not suffer them to make
+much progress in error. These are persons of great judgment. The
+scales of the mind are pretty sure to remain even, when there is
+nothing in them. In this sense of the word, Burke must be allowed to
+have wanted judgment, by all those who think that he was wrong in his
+conclusions. The accusation of want of judgment, in fact, only means
+that you yourself are of a different opinion. But if in arriving at
+one error he discovered a hundred truths, I should consider myself a
+hundred times more indebted to him than if, stumbling on that which I
+consider as the right side of the question, he had committed a hundred
+absurdities in striving to establish his point. I speak of him now
+merely as an author, or as far as I and other readers are concerned
+with him; at the same time, I should not differ from any one who may
+be disposed to contend that the consequences of his writings as
+instruments of political power have been tremendous, fatal, such as no
+exertion of wit or knowledge or genius can ever counteract or atone
+for.
+
+Burke also gave a hold to his antagonists by mixing up sentiment and
+imagery with his reasoning; so that being unused to such a sight in
+the region of politics, they were deceived, and could not discern the
+fruit from the flowers. Gravity is the cloak of wisdom; and those who
+have nothing else think it an insult to affect the one without the
+other, because it destroys the only foundation on which their
+pretensions are built. The easiest part of reason is dulness; the
+generality of the world are therefore concerned in discouraging any
+example of unnecessary brilliancy that might tend to show that the two
+things do not always go together. Burke in some measure dissolved the
+spell. It was discovered, that his gold was not the less valuable for
+being wrought into elegant shapes, and richly embossed with curious
+figures; that the solidity of a building is not destroyed by adding to
+it beauty and ornament; and that the strength of a man's understanding
+is not always to be estimated in exact proportion to his want of
+imagination. His understanding was not the less real, because it was
+not the only faculty he possessed. He justified the description of the
+poet--
+
+    'How charming is divine philosophy!
+    Not harsh and crabbed as dull fools suppose,
+    But musical as is Apollo's lute!'
+
+Those who object to this union of grace and beauty with reason, are in
+fact weak-sighted people, who cannot distinguish the noble and
+majestic form of Truth from that of her sister Folly, if they are
+dressed both alike! But there is always a difference even in the
+adventitious ornaments they wear, which is sufficient to distinguish
+them.
+
+Burke was so far from being a gaudy or flowery writer, that he was one
+of the severest writers we have. His words are the most like things;
+his style is the most strictly suited to the subject. He unites every
+extreme and every variety of composition; the lowest and the meanest
+words and descriptions with the highest. He exults in the display of
+power, in showing the extent, the force, and intensity of his ideas;
+he is led on by the mere impulse and vehemence of his fancy, not by
+the affectation of dazzling his readers by gaudy conceits or pompous
+images. He was completely carried away by his subject. He had no other
+object but to produce the strongest impression on his reader, by
+giving the truest, the most characteristic, the fullest, and most
+forcible description of things, trusting to the power of his own mind
+to mould them into grace and beauty. He did not produce a splendid
+effect by setting fire to the light vapours that float in the regions
+of fancy, as the chemists make fine colours with phosphorus, but by
+the eagerness of his blows struck fire from the flint, and melted the
+hardest substances in the furnace of his imagination. The wheels of
+his imagination did not catch fire from the rottenness of the
+materials, but from the rapidity of their motion. One would suppose,
+to hear people talk of Burke, that his style was such as would have
+suited the _Lady's Magazine_; soft, smooth, showy, tender, insipid,
+full of fine words, without any meaning. The essence of the gaudy or
+glittering style consists in producing a momentary effect by fine
+words and images brought together, without order or connection. Burke
+most frequently produced an effect by the remoteness and novelty of
+his combinations, by the force of contrast, by the striking manner in
+which the most opposite and unpromising materials were harmoniously
+blended together; not by laying his hands on all the fine things he
+could think of, but by bringing together those things which he knew
+would blaze out into glorious light by their collision. The florid
+style is a mixture of affectation and commonplace. Burke's was an
+union of untameable vigour and originality.
+
+Burke was not a verbose writer. If he sometimes multiplies words, it
+is not for want of ideas, but because there are no words that fully
+express his ideas, and he tries to do it as well as he can by
+different ones. He had nothing of the _set_ or formal style, the
+measured cadence, and stately phraseology of Johnson, and most of our
+modern writers. This style, which is what we understand by the
+_artificial_, is all in one key. It selects a certain set of words to
+represent all ideas whatever, as the most dignified and elegant, and
+excludes all others as low and vulgar. The words are not fitted to the
+things, but the things to the words. Everything is seen through a
+false medium. It is putting a mask on the face of nature, which may
+indeed hide some specks and blemishes, but takes away all beauty,
+delicacy, and variety. It destroys all dignity or elevation, because
+nothing can be raised where all is on a level, and completely destroys
+all force, expression, truth, and character, by arbitrarily
+confounding the differences of things, and reducing everything to the
+same insipid standard. To suppose that this stiff uniformity can add
+anything to real grace or dignity, is like supposing that the human
+body, in order to be perfectly graceful, should never deviate from its
+upright posture. Another mischief of this method is, that it confounds
+all ranks in literature. Where there is no room for variety, no
+discrimination, no nicety to be shown in matching the idea with its
+proper word, there can be no room for taste or elegance. A man must
+easily learn the art of writing, when every sentence is to be cast in
+the same mould: where he is only allowed the use of one word he cannot
+choose wrong, nor will he be in much danger of making himself
+ridiculous by affectation or false glitter, when, whatever subject he
+treats of, he must treat of it in the same way. This indeed is to wear
+golden chains for the sake of ornament.
+
+Burke was altogether free from the pedantry which I have here
+endeavoured to expose. His style was as original, as expressive, as
+rich and varied, as it was possible; his combinations were as
+exquisite, as playful, as happy, as unexpected, as bold and daring,
+as his fancy. If anything, he ran into the opposite extreme of too
+great an inequality, if truth and nature could ever be carried to an
+extreme.
+
+Those who are best acquainted with the writings and speeches of Burke
+will not think the praise I have here bestowed on them exaggerated.
+Some proof will be found of this in the following extracts. But the
+full proof must be sought in his works at large, and particularly in
+the _Thoughts on the Discontents_; in his _Reflections on the French
+Revolution_; in his _Letter to the Duke of Bedford_; and in the
+_Regicide Peace_. The two last of these are perhaps the most
+remarkable of all his writings, from the contrast they afford to each
+other. The one is the most delightful exhibition of wild and brilliant
+fancy that is to be found in English prose, but it is too much like a
+beautiful picture painted upon gauze; it wants something to support
+it: the other is without ornament, but it has all the solidity, the
+weight, the gravity of a judicial record. It seems to have been
+written with a certain constraint upon himself, and to show those who
+said he could not _reason_, that his arguments might be stripped of
+their ornaments without losing anything of their force. It is
+certainly, of all his works, that in which he has shown most power of
+logical deduction, and the only one in which he has made any important
+use of facts. In general he certainly paid little attention to them:
+they were the playthings of his mind. He saw them as he pleased, not
+as they were; with the eye of the philosopher or the poet, regarding
+them only in their general principle, or as they might serve to
+decorate his subject. This is the natural consequence of much
+imagination: things that are probable are elevated into the rank of
+realities. To those who can reason on the essences of things, or who
+can invent according to nature, the experimental proof is of little
+value. This was the case with Burke. In the present instance, however,
+he seems to have forced his mind into the service of facts; and he
+succeeded completely. His comparison between our connection with
+France or Algiers, and his account of the conduct of the war, are as
+clear, as convincing, as forcible examples of this kind of reasoning,
+as are anywhere to be met with. Indeed I do not think there is
+anything in Fox (whose mind was purely historical), or in Chatham (who
+attended to feelings more than facts), that will bear a comparison
+with them.
+
+Burke has been compared to Cicero--I do not know for what reason.
+Their excellences are as different, and indeed as opposite, as they
+can well be. Burke had not the polished elegance, the glossy neatness,
+the artful regularity, the exquisite modulation of Cicero: he had a
+thousand times more richness and originality of mind, more strength
+and pomp of diction.
+
+It has been well observed, that the ancients had no word that properly
+expresses what we mean by the word _genius_. They perhaps had not the
+thing. Their minds appear to have been too exact, too retentive, too
+minute and subtle, too sensible to the external differences of things,
+too passive under their impressions, to admit of those bold and rapid
+combinations, those lofty flights of fancy, which, glancing from
+heaven to earth, unite the most opposite extremes, and draw the
+happiest illustrations from things the most remote. Their ideas were
+kept too confined and distinct by the material form or vehicle in
+which they were conveyed, to unite cordially together, to be melted
+down in the imagination. Their metaphors are taken from things of the
+same class, not from things of different classes; the general analogy,
+not the individual feeling, directs them in their choice. Hence, as
+Dr. Johnson observed, their similes are either repetitions of the same
+idea, or so obvious and general as not to lend any additional force to
+it; as when a huntress is compared to Diana, or a warrior rushing into
+battle to a lion rushing on his prey. Their _forte_ was exquisite art
+and perfect imitation. Witness their statues and other things of the
+same kind. But they had not that high and enthusiastic fancy which
+some of our own writers have shown. For the proof of this, let any one
+compare Milton and Shakspeare with Homer and Sophocles, or Burke with
+Cicero.
+
+It may be asked whether Burke was a poet. He was so only in the general
+vividness of his fancy, and in richness of invention. There may be
+poetical passages in his works, but I certainly think that his writings
+in general are quite distinct from poetry; and that for the reason
+before given, namely, that the subject-matter of them is not poetical.
+The finest part of them are illustrations or personifications of dry
+abstract ideas;[11] and the union between the idea and the illustration
+is not of that perfect and pleasing kind as to constitute poetry, or
+indeed to be admissible, but for the effect intended to be produced by
+it; that is, by every means in our power to give animation and
+attraction to subjects in themselves barren of ornament, but which at
+the same time are pregnant with the most important consequences, and in
+which the understanding and the passions are equally interested.
+
+I have heard it remarked by a person, to whose opinion I would sooner
+submit than to a general council of critics, that the sound of Burke's
+prose is not musical; that it wants cadence; and that instead of being
+so lavish of his imagery as is generally supposed, he seemed to him to
+be rather parsimonious in the use of it, always expanding and making
+the most of his ideas. This may be true if we compare him with some of
+our poets, or perhaps with some of our early prose writers, but not if
+we compare him with any of our political writers or parliamentary
+speakers. There are some very fine things of Lord Bolingbroke's on the
+same subjects, but not equal to Burke's. As for Junius, he is at the
+head of his class; but that class is not the highest. He has been
+said to have more dignity than Burke. Yes--if the stalk of a giant is
+less dignified than the strut of a _petit-maître_. I do not mean to
+speak disrespectfully of Junius, but grandeur is not the character of
+his composition; and if it is not to be found in Burke it is to be
+found nowhere.
+
+1807.
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[10] For instance, he produced less effect on the mob that compose the
+English House of Commons, than Chatham or Fox, or even Pitt.
+
+[11] As in the comparison of the British Constitution to the 'proud
+keep of Windsor,' etc., the most splendid passage in his works.
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY XIII
+
+ON THE CHARACTER OF FOX
+
+
+I shall begin with observing generally, that Mr. Fox excelled all his
+contemporaries in the extent of his knowledge, in the clearness and
+distinctness of his views, in quickness of apprehension, in plain
+practical common sense, in the full, strong, and absolute possession
+of his subject. A measure was no sooner proposed than he seemed to
+have an instantaneous and intuitive perception of its various bearings
+and consequences; of the manner in which it would operate on the
+different classes of society, on commerce or agriculture, on our
+domestic or foreign policy; of the difficulties attending its
+execution; in a word, of all its practical results, and the
+comparative advantages to be gained either by adopting or rejecting
+it. He was intimately acquainted with the interests of the different
+parts of the community, with the minute and complicated details of
+political economy, with our external relations, with the views, the
+resources, and the maxims of other states. He was master of all those
+facts and circumstances which it was necessary to know in order to
+judge fairly and determine wisely; and he knew them not loosely or
+lightly, but in number, weight, and measure. He had also stored his
+memory by reading and general study, and improved his understanding by
+the lamp of history. He was well acquainted with the opinions and
+sentiments of the best authors, with the maxims of the most profound
+politicians, with the causes of the rise and fall of states, with the
+general passions of men, with the characters of different nations,
+and the laws and constitution of his own country. He was a man of
+large, capacious, powerful, and highly cultivated intellect. No man
+could know more than he knew; no man's knowledge could be more sound,
+more plain and useful; no man's knowledge could lie in more connected
+and tangible masses; no man could be more perfectly master of his
+ideas, could reason upon them more closely, or decide upon them more
+impartially. His mind was full, even to overflowing. He was so
+habitually conversant with the most intricate and comprehensive trains
+of thought, or such was the natural vigour and exuberance of his mind,
+that he seemed to recall them without any effort. His ideas quarrelled
+for utterance. So far from ever being at a loss for them, he was
+obliged rather to repress and rein them in, lest they should overwhelm
+and confound, instead of informing the understandings of his hearers.
+
+If to this we add the ardour and natural impetuosity of his mind, his
+quick sensibility, his eagerness in the defence of truth, and his
+impatience of everything that looked like trick or artifice or
+affectation, we shall be able in some measure to account for the
+character of his eloquence. His thoughts came crowding in too fast for
+the slow and mechanical process of speech. What he saw in an instant,
+he could only express imperfectly, word by word, and sentence after
+sentence. He would, if he could, 'have bared his swelling heart,' and
+laid open at once the rich treasures of knowledge with which his bosom
+was fraught. It is no wonder that this difference between the rapidity
+of his feelings, and the formal round-about method of communicating
+them, should produce some disorder in his frame; that the throng of
+his ideas should try to overleap the narrow boundaries which confined
+them, and tumultuously break down their prison-doors, instead of
+waiting to be let out one by one, and following patiently at due
+intervals and with mock dignity, like poor dependents, in the train of
+words; that he should express himself in hurried sentences, in
+involuntary exclamations, by vehement gestures, by sudden starts and
+bursts of passion. Everything showed the agitation of his mind. His
+tongue faltered, his voice became almost suffocated, and his face was
+bathed in tears. He was lost in the magnitude of his subject. He
+reeled and staggered under the load of feeling which oppressed him. He
+rolled like the sea beaten by a tempest. Whoever, having the feelings
+of a man, compared him at these times with his boasted rival--his
+stiff, straight, upright figure, his gradual contortions, turning
+round as if moved by a pivot, his solemn pauses, his deep tones,
+'whose sound reverbed their own hollowness,' must have said, This is a
+man; that is an automaton. If Fox had needed grace, he would have had
+it; but it was not the character of his mind, nor would it have suited
+with the style of his eloquence. It was Pitt's object to smooth over
+the abruptness and intricacies of his argument by the gracefulness of
+his manner, and to fix the attention of his hearers on the pomp and
+sound of his words. Lord Chatham, again, strove to _command_ others;
+he did not try to convince them, but to overpower their understandings
+by the greater strength and vehemence of his own; to awe them by a
+sense of personal superiority: and he therefore was obliged to assume
+a lofty and dignified manner. It was to him they bowed, not to truth;
+and whatever related to _himself_, must therefore have a tendency to
+inspire respect and admiration. Indeed, he would never have attempted
+to gain that ascendant over men's minds that he did, if either his
+mind or body had been different from what they were; if his temper had
+not urged him to control and command others, or if his personal
+advantages had not enabled him to secure that kind of authority which
+he coveted. But it would have been ridiculous in Fox to have affected
+either the smooth plausibility, the stately gravity of the one, or the
+proud domineering, imposing dignity of the other; or even if he could
+have succeeded, it would only have injured the effect of his
+speeches.[12] What he had to rely on was the strength, the solidity of
+his ideas, his complete and thorough knowledge of his subject. It was
+his business therefore to fix the attention of his hearers, not on
+himself, but on his subject, to rivet it there, to hurry it on from
+words to things:--the only circumstance of which they required to be
+convinced with respect to himself, was the sincerity of his opinions;
+and this would be best done by the earnestness of his manner, by
+giving a loose to his feelings, and by showing the most perfect
+forgetfulness of himself, and of what others thought of him. The
+moment a man shows you either by affected words or looks or gestures,
+that he is thinking of himself, and you, that he is trying either to
+please or terrify you into compliance, there is an end at once to that
+kind of eloquence which owes its effect to the force of truth, and to
+your confidence in the sincerity of the speaker. It was, however, to
+the confidence inspired by the earnestness and simplicity of his
+manner, that Mr. Fox was indebted for more than half the effect of his
+speeches. Some others might possess nearly as much information, as
+exact a knowledge of the situation and interests of the country; but
+they wanted that zeal, that animation, that enthusiasm, that deep
+sense of the importance of the subject, which removes all doubt or
+suspicion from the minds of the hearers, and communicates its own
+warmth to every breast. We may convince by argument alone; but it is
+by the interest we discover in the success of our reasonings, that we
+persuade others to feel and act with us. There are two circumstances
+which Fox's speeches and Lord Chatham's had in common: they are alike
+distinguished by a kind of plain downright common sense, and by the
+vehemence of their manner. But still there is a great difference
+between them, in both these respects. Fox in his opinions was governed
+by facts--Chatham was more influenced by the feelings of others
+respecting those facts. Fox endeavoured to find out what the
+consequences of any measure would be; Chatham attended more to what
+people would think of it. Fox appealed to the practical reason of
+mankind; Chatham to popular prejudice. The one repelled the
+encroachments of power by supplying his hearers with arguments against
+it; the other by rousing their passions and arming their resentment
+against those who would rob them of their birthright. Their vehemence
+and impetuosity arose also from very different feelings. In Chatham it
+was pride, passion, self-will, impatience of control, a determination
+to have his own way, to carry everything before him; in Fox it was
+pure, good nature, a sincere love of truth, an ardent attachment to
+what he conceived to be right; all anxious concern for the welfare and
+liberties of mankind. Or if we suppose that ambition had taken a
+strong hold of both their minds, yet their ambition was of a very
+different kind: in the one it was the love of power, in the other it
+was the love of fame. Nothing can be more opposite than these two
+principles, both in their origin and tendency. The one originates in a
+selfish, haughty, domineering spirit; the other in a social and
+generous sensibility, desirous of the love and esteem of others, and
+anxiously bent upon gaining merited applause. The one grasps at
+immediate power by any means within its reach; the other, if it does
+not square its actions by the rules of virtue, at least refers them to
+a standard which comes the nearest to it--the disinterested applause
+of our country, and the enlightened judgment of posterity. The love of
+fame is consistent with the steadiest attachment to principle, and
+indeed strengthens and supports it; whereas the love of power, where
+this is the ruling passion, requires the sacrifice of principle, at
+every turn, and is inconsistent even with the shadow of it. I do not
+mean to say that Fox had no love of power, or Chatham no love of fame
+(this would be reversing all we know of human nature), but that the
+one principle predominated in the one, and the other in the other. My
+reader will do me great injustice if he supposes that in attempting to
+describe the characters of different speakers by contrasting their
+general qualities, I mean anything beyond the _more_ or _less_: but it
+is necessary to describe those qualities simply and in the abstract,
+in order to make the distinction intelligible. Chatham resented any
+attack made upon the cause of liberty, of which he was the avowed
+champion, as an indignity offered to himself. Fox felt it as a stain
+upon the honour of his country, and as an injury to the rights of his
+fellow-citizens. The one was swayed by his own passions and purposes,
+with very little regard to the consequences; the sensibility of the
+other was roused, and his passions kindled into a generous flame, by a
+real interest in whatever related to the welfare of mankind, and by an
+intense and earnest contemplation of the consequences of the measures
+he opposed. It was this union of the zeal of the patriot with the
+enlightened knowledge of the statesman, that gave to the eloquence of
+Fox its more than mortal energy; that warmed, expanded, penetrated
+every bosom. He relied on the force of truth and nature alone; the
+refinements of philosophy, the pomp and pageantry of the imagination
+were forgotten, or seemed light and frivolous; the fate of nations,
+the welfare of millions, hung suspended as he spoke; a torrent of
+manly eloquence poured from his heart, bore down everything in its
+course, and surprised into a momentary sense of human feeling the
+breathing corpses, the wire-moved puppets, the stuffed figures, the
+flexible machinery, the 'deaf and dumb things' of a court.
+
+I find (I do not know how the reader feels) that it is difficult to
+write a character of Fox without running into insipidity or
+extravagance. And the reason of this is, there are no splendid
+contrasts, no striking irregularities, no curious distinctions to work
+upon; no 'jutting frieze, buttress, nor coigne of 'vantage,' for the
+imagination to take hold of. It was a plain marble slab, inscribed in
+plain legible characters, without either hieroglyphics or carving.
+There was the same directness and manly simplicity in everything that
+he did. The whole of his character may indeed be summed up in two
+words--strength and simplicity. Fox was in the class of common men,
+but he was the first in that class. Though it is easy to describe the
+differences of things, nothing is more difficult than to describe
+their degrees or quantities. In what I am going to say, I hope I shall
+not be suspected of a design to under-rate his powers of mind, when in
+fact I am only trying to ascertain their nature and direction. The
+degree and extent to which he possessed them can only be known by
+reading, or indeed by having heard his speeches.
+
+His mind, as I have already said, was, I conceive, purely
+_historical_; and having said this, I have I believe said all. But
+perhaps it will be necessary to explain a little farther what I mean.
+I mean then, that his memory was in an extraordinary degree tenacious
+of facts; that they were crowded together in his mind without the
+least perplexity or confusion; that there was no chain of consequences
+too vast for his powers of comprehension; that the different parts and
+ramifications of his subject were never so involved and intricate but
+that they were easily disentangled in the clear prism of his
+understanding. The basis of his wisdom was experience: he not only
+knew what had happened, but by an exact knowledge of the real state of
+things, he could always tell what in the common course of events would
+happen in future. The force of his mind was exerted on facts: as long
+as he could lean directly upon these, as long as he had the actual
+objects to refer to, to steady himself by, he could analyse, he could
+combine, he could compare and reason upon them, with the utmost
+exactness; but he could not reason _out of_ them. He was what is
+understood by a _matter-of-fact_ reasoner. He was better acquainted
+with the concrete masses of things, their substantial forms and
+practical connections, than with their abstract nature or general
+definitions. He was a man of extensive information, of sound
+knowledge, and clear understanding, rather than the acute observer or
+profound thinker. He was the man of business, the accomplished
+statesman, rather than the philosopher. His reasonings were, generally
+speaking, calculations of certain positive results, which, the _data_
+being given, must follow as matters of course, rather than unexpected
+and remote truths drawn from a deep insight into human nature, and the
+subtle application of general principles to particular cases. They
+consisted chiefly in the detail and combination of a vast number of
+items in an account, worked by the known rules of political
+arithmetic; not in the discovery of bold, comprehensive, and original
+theorems in the science. They were rather acts of memory, of continued
+attention, of a power of bringing all his ideas to bear at once upon a
+single point, than of reason or invention. He was the attentive
+observer who watches the various effects and successive movements of a
+machine already constructed, and can tell how to manage it while it
+goes on as it has always done; but who knows little or nothing of the
+principles on which it is constructed, nor how to set it right, if it
+becomes disordered, except by the most common and obvious expedients.
+Burke was to Fox what the geometrician is to the mechanic. Much has
+been said of the 'prophetic mind' of Mr. Fox. The same epithet has
+been applied to Mr. Burke, till it has become proverbial. It has, I
+think, been applied without much reason to either. Fox wanted the
+scientific part. Burke wanted the practical. Fox had too little
+imagination, Burke had too much: that is, he was careless of facts,
+and was led away by his passions to look at one side of a question
+only. He had not that fine sensibility to outward impressions, that
+nice _tact_ of circumstances, which is necessary to the consummate
+politician. Indeed, his wisdom was more that of the legislator than of
+the active statesman. They both tried their strength in the Ulysses'
+bow of politicians, the French Revolution: and they were both foiled.
+Fox indeed foretold the success of the French in combating with
+foreign powers. But this was no more than what every friend of the
+liberty of France foresaw or foretold as well as he. All those on the
+same side of the question were inspired with the same sagacity on the
+subject. Burke, on the other hand, seems to have been beforehand with
+the public in foreboding the internal disorders that would attend the
+Revolution, and its ultimate failure; but then it is at least a
+question whether he did not make good his own predictions: and
+certainly he saw into the causes and connection of events much more
+clearly after they had happened than before. He was however
+undoubtedly a profound commentator on that apocalyptical chapter in
+the history of human nature, which I do not think Fox was. Whether led
+to it by the events or not, he saw thoroughly into the principles that
+operated to produce them; and he pointed them out to others in a
+manner which could not be mistaken. I can conceive of Burke, as the
+genius of the storm, perched over Paris, the centre and focus of
+anarchy (so he would have us believe), hovering 'with mighty wings
+outspread over the abyss, and rendering it pregnant,' watching the
+passions of men gradually unfolding themselves in new situations,
+penetrating those hidden motives which hurried them from one extreme
+into another, arranging and analysing the principles that alternately
+pervaded the vast chaotic mass, and extracting the elements of order
+and the cement of social life from the decomposition of all society;
+while Charles Fox in the meantime dogged the heels of the allies (all
+the while calling out to them to stop) with his sutler's bag, his
+muster roll, and army estimates at his back. He said, You have only
+fifty thousand troops, the enemy have a hundred thousand: this place
+is dismantled, it can make no resistance: your troops were beaten last
+year, they must therefore be disheartened this. This is excellent
+sense and sound reasoning, but I do not see what it has to do with
+philosophy. But why was it necessary that Fox should be a philosopher?
+Why, in the first place, Burke was a philosopher, and Fox, to keep up
+with him, must be so too. In the second place, it was necessary in
+order that his indiscreet admirers, who have no idea of greatness but
+as it consists in certain names and pompous titles, might be able to
+talk big about their patron. It is a bad compliment we pay to our idol
+when we endeavour to make him out something different from himself; it
+shows that we are not satisfied with what he is. I have heard it said
+that he had as much imagination as Burke. To this extravagant
+assertion I shall make what I conceive to be a very cautious and
+moderate answer: that Burke was as superior to Fox in this respect as
+Fox perhaps was to the first person you would meet in the street.
+There is, in fact, hardly an instance of imagination to be met with in
+any of his speeches; what there is, is of the rhetorical kind. I may,
+however, be wrong. He might excel as much in profound thought, and
+richness of fancy, as he did in other things; though I cannot perceive
+it. However, when any one publishes a book called The Beauties of Fox,
+containing the original reflections, brilliant passages, lofty
+metaphors, etc., to be found in his speeches, without the detail or
+connection, I shall be very ready to give the point up.
+
+In logic Fox was inferior to Pitt--indeed, in all the formalities of
+eloquence, in which the latter excelled as much as he was deficient in
+the soul of substance. When I say that Pitt was superior to Fox in
+logic, I mean that he excelled him in the formal division of the
+subject, in always keeping it in view, as far as he chose; in being
+able to detect any deviation from it in others; in the management of
+his general topics; in being aware of the mood and figure in which the
+argument must move, with all its nonessentials, dilemmas, and
+alternatives; in never committing himself, nor ever suffering his
+antagonist to occupy an inch of the plainest ground, but under cover
+of a syllogism. He had more of 'the dazzling fence of argument,' as it
+has been called. He was, in short, better at his weapon. But then,
+unfortunately, it was only a dagger of lath that the wind could turn
+aside; whereas Fox wore a good trusty blade, of solid metal, and real
+execution.
+
+I shall not trouble myself to inquire whether Fox was a man of strict
+virtue and principle; or in other words, how far he was one of those
+who screw themselves up to a certain pitch of ideal perfection, who,
+as it were, set themselves in the stocks of morality, and make mouths
+at their own situation. He was not one of that tribe, and shall not be
+tried by their self-denying ordinances. But he was endowed with one of
+the most excellent natures that ever fell to the lot of any of God's
+creatures. It has been said, that 'an honest man's the noblest work of
+God.' There is indeed a purity, a rectitude, an integrity of heart, a
+freedom from every selfish bias, and sinister motive, a manly
+simplicity and noble disinterestedness of feeling, which is in my
+opinion to be preferred before every other gift of nature or art.
+There is a greatness of soul that is superior to all the brilliancy of
+the understanding. This strength of moral character, which is not only
+a more valuable but a rarer quality than strength of understanding (as
+we are oftener led astray by the narrowness of our feelings, than want
+of knowledge), Fox possessed in the highest degree. He was superior to
+every kind of jealousy, of suspicion, of malevolence; to every narrow
+and sordid motive. He was perfectly above every species of duplicity,
+of low art and cunning. He judged of everything in the downright
+sincerity of his nature, without being able to impose upon himself by
+any hollow disguise, or to lend his support to anything unfair or
+dishonourable. He had an innate love of truth, of justice, of probity,
+of whatever was generous or liberal. Neither his education, nor his
+connections, nor his situation in life, nor the low intrigues and
+virulence of party, could ever alter the simplicity of his taste, nor
+the candid openness of his nature. There was an elastic force about
+his heart, a freshness of social feeling, a warm glowing humanity,
+which remained unimpaired to the last. He was by nature a gentleman.
+By this I mean that he felt a certain deference and respect for the
+person of every man; he had an unaffected frankness and benignity in
+his behaviour to others, the utmost liberality in judging of their
+conduct and motives. A refined humanity constitutes the character of a
+gentleman. He was the true friend of his country, as far as it is
+possible for a statesman to be so. But his love of his country did not
+consist in his hatred of the rest of mankind. I shall conclude this
+account by repeating what Burke said of him at a time when his
+testimony was of the most value. 'To his great and masterly
+understanding he joined the utmost possible degree of moderation: he
+was of the most artless, candid, open, and benevolent disposition;
+disinterested in the extreme; of a temper mild and placable, even to a
+fault; and without one drop of gall in his constitution.'
+
+1807.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[12] There is an admirable, judicious, and truly useful remark in the
+preface to Spenser (not by Dr. Johnson, for he left Spenser out of his
+poets, but by _one_ Upton), that the question was not whether a better
+poem might not have been written on a different plan, but whether
+Spenser would have written a better one on a different plan. I wish to
+apply this to Fox's _ungainly_ manner. I do not mean to say, that his
+manner was the best possible (for that would be to say that he was the
+greatest man conceivable), but that it was the best for him.
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY XIV
+
+ON THE CHARACTER OF MR. PITT
+
+
+The character of Mr. Pitt was, perhaps, one of the most singular that
+ever existed. With few talents, and fewer virtues, he acquired and
+preserved in one of the most trying situations, and in spite of all
+opposition, the highest reputation for the possession of every moral
+excellence, and as having carried the attainments of eloquence and
+wisdom as far as human abilities could go. This he did (strange as it
+appears) by a negation (together with the common virtues) of the common
+vices of human nature, and by the complete negation of every other
+talent that might interfere with the only one which he possessed in a
+supreme degree, and which indeed may be made to include the appearance
+of all others--an artful use of words, and a certain dexterity of
+logical arrangement. In these alone his power consisted; and the defect
+of all other qualities which usually constitute greatness, contributed
+to the more complete success of these. Having no strong feelings, no
+distinct perceptions, his mind having no link as it were, to connect it
+with the world of external nature, every subject presented to him
+nothing more than a _tabula rasa_, on which he was at liberty to lay
+whatever colouring of language he pleased; having no general
+principles, no comprehensive views of things, no moral habits of
+thinking, no system of action, there was nothing to hinder him from
+pursuing any particular purpose, by any means that offered; having
+never any plan, he could not be convicted of inconsistency, and his own
+pride and obstinacy were the only rules of his conduct. Having no
+insight into human nature, no sympathy with the passions of men, or
+apprehension of their real designs, he seemed perfectly insensible to
+the consequences of things, and would believe nothing till it actually
+happened. The fog and haze in which he saw everything communicated
+itself to others; and the total indistinctness and uncertainty of his
+own ideas tended to confound the perceptions of his hearers more
+effectually, than the most ingenious misrepresentation could have done.
+Indeed, in defending his conduct he never seemed to consider himself as
+at all responsible for the success of his measures, or to suppose that
+future events were in our own power; but that as the best-laid schemes
+might fail, and there was no providing against all possible
+contingencies, this was a sufficient excuse for our plunging at once
+into any dangerous or absurd enterprise, without the least regard to
+consequences. His reserved logic confined itself solely to the
+_possible_ and the _impossible_; and he appeared to regard the
+_probable_ and _improbable_, the only foundation of moral prudence or
+political wisdom, as beneath the notice of a profound statesman; as if
+the pride of the human intellect were concerned in never entrusting
+itself with subjects, where it may be compelled to acknowledge its
+weakness.[13] From his manner of reasoning, he seemed not to have
+believed that the truth of his statements depended on the reality of
+the facts, but that the things depended on the order in which he
+arranged them in words: you would not suppose him to be agitating a
+serious question which had real grounds to go upon, but to be
+declaiming upon an imaginary thesis, proposed as an exercise in the
+schools. He never set himself to examine the force of the objections
+that were brought against his measures, or attempted to establish these
+upon clear, solid grounds of his own; but constantly contented himself
+with first gravely stating the logical form, or dilemma, to which the
+question reduced itself, and then, after having declared his opinion,
+proceeded to amuse his hearers by a series of rhetorical commonplaces,
+connected together in grave, sonorous, and elaborately, constructed
+periods, without ever showing their real application to the subject in
+dispute. Thus, if any member of the Opposition disapproved of any
+measure, and enforced his objections by pointing out the many evils
+with which it was fraught, or the difficulties attending its execution,
+his only answer was, 'That it was true there might be inconveniences
+attending the measure proposed, but we were to remember, that every
+expedient that could be devised might be said to be nothing more than a
+choice of difficulties, and that all that human prudence could do was
+to consider on which side the advantages lay; that for his part, he
+conceived that the present measure was attended with more advantages
+and fewer disadvantages than any other that could be adopted; that if
+we were diverted from our object by every appearance of difficulty, the
+wheels of government would be clogged by endless delays and imaginary
+grievances; that most of the objections made to the measure appeared to
+him to be trivial, others of them unfounded and improbable; or that if
+a scheme free from all these objections could be proposed, it might
+after all prove inefficient; while, in the meantime, a material object
+remained unprovided for, or the opportunity of action was lost.' This
+mode of reasoning is admirably described by Hobbes, in speaking of the
+writings of some of the Schoolmen, of whom he says, that 'They had
+learned the trick of imposing what they list upon their readers, and
+declining the force of true reason by verbal forks: that is,
+distinctions which signify nothing, but serve only to astonish the
+multitude of ignorant men.' That what I have here stated comprehends
+the whole force of his mind, which consisted solely in this evasive
+dexterity and perplexing formality, assisted by a copiousness of words
+and commonplace topics, will, I think, be evident in any one who
+carefully looks over his speeches, undazzled by the reputation or
+personal influence of the speaker. It will be in vain to look in them
+for any of the common proofs of human genius or wisdom. He has not left
+behind him a single memorable saying--not one profound maxim--one solid
+observation--one forcible description--one beautiful thought--one
+humorous picture--one affecting sentiment.[14] He has made no addition
+whatever to the stock of human knowledge. He did not possess any one of
+those faculties which contribute to the instruction and delight of
+mankind--depth of understanding, imagination, sensibility, wit,
+vivacity, clear and solid judgment. But it may be asked, If these
+qualities are not to be found in him, where are we to look for them?
+And I may be required to point out instances of them. I shall answer,
+then, that he had none of the profound legislative wisdom, piercing
+sagacity, or rich, impetuous, high-wrought imagination of Burke; the
+manly eloquence, strong sense, exact knowledge, vehemence, and natural
+simplicity of Fox: the ease, brilliancy, and acuteness of Sheridan. It
+is not merely that he had not all these qualities in the degree that
+they were severally possessed by his rivals, but he had not any of them
+in any striking degree. His reasoning is a technical arrangement of
+unmeaning commonplaces; his eloquence merely rhetorical; his style
+monotonous and artificial. If he could pretend to any one excellence in
+an eminent degree, it was to taste in composition. There is certainly
+nothing low, nothing puerile, nothing far-fetched or abrupt in his
+speeches; there is a kind of faultless regularity pervading them
+throughout; but in the confined, mechanical, passive mode of eloquence
+which he adopted, it seemed rather more difficult to commit errors than
+to avoid them. A man who is determined never to move out of the beaten
+road, cannot lose his way. However, habit, joined to the peculiar
+mechanical memory which he possessed, carried this correctness to a
+degree which, in an extemporaneous speaker, was almost miraculous; he
+perhaps hardly ever uttered a sentence that was not perfectly regular
+and connected. In this respect he not only had the advantage over his
+own contemporaries, but perhaps no one that ever lived equalled him in
+this singular faculty. But for this, he would always have passed for a
+common man; and to this the constant sameness, and, if I may so say,
+vulgarity of his ideas, must have contributed not a little, as there
+was nothing to distract his mind from this one object of his
+unintermitted attention; and as even in his choice of words he never
+aimed at anything more than a certain general propriety, and stately
+uniformity of style. His talents were exactly fitted for the situation
+in which he was placed; where it was his business, not to overcome
+others, but to avoid being overcome. He was able to baffle opposition,
+not from strength or firmness, but from the evasive ambiguity and
+impalpable nature of his resistance, which gave no hold to the rude
+grasp of his opponents: no force could bind the loose phantom, and his
+mind (though 'not matchless, and his pride humbled by such rebuke'),
+soon rose from defeat unhurt,
+
+    'And in its liquid texture mortal wound
+    Receiv'd no more than can the fluid air.'[15]
+
+1806.
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[13] One instance may serve as an example for all the rest:--When Mr.
+Fox last summer (1805) predicted the failure of the new confederacy
+against France, from a consideration of the circumstances and relative
+situation of both parties, that is, from an exact knowledge of the
+actual state of things, Mr. Pitt contented himself with
+answering--and, as in the blindness of his infatuation, he seemed to
+think quite satisfactorily--'That he could not assent to the
+honourable gentleman's reasoning, for that it went to this, that we
+were never to attempt to mend the situation of our affairs, because in
+so doing we might possibly make them worse.' No; it was not on account
+of this abstract possibility in human affairs, or because we were not
+absolutely sure of succeeding (for that any child might know), but
+because it was in the highest degree probable, or _morally_ certain,
+that the scheme would fail, and leave us in a worse situation than we
+were before, that Mr. Fox disapproved of the attempt. There is in this
+a degree of weakness and imbecility, a defect of understanding
+bordering on idiotism, a fundamental ignorance of the first principles
+of human reason and prudence, that in a great minister is utterly
+astonishing, and almost incredible. Nothing could ever drive him out
+of his dull forms, and naked generalities; which, as they are
+susceptible neither of degree nor variation, are therefore equally
+applicable to every emergency that can happen: and in the most
+critical aspect of affairs, he saw nothing but the same flimsy web of
+remote possibilities and metaphysical uncertainty. In his mind the
+wholesome pulp of practical wisdom and salutary advice was immediately
+converted into the dry chaff and husks of a miserable logic.
+
+[14] I do remember one passage which has some meaning in it. At the
+time of the Regency Bill, speaking of the proposal to take the king's
+servants from him, he says, 'What must that great personage feel when
+he waked from the trance of his faculties, and asked for his
+attendants, if he were told that his subjects had taken advantage of
+his momentary absence of mind, and stripped him of the symbols of his
+personal elevation.' There is some grandeur in this. His admirers
+should have it inscribed in letters of gold; for they will not find
+another instance of the same kind.
+
+[15] I will only add, that it is the property of true genius to force
+the admiration even of enemies. No one was ever hated or envied for
+his powers of mind, if others were convinced of their real excellence.
+The jealousy and uneasiness produced in the mind by the display of
+superior talents almost always arises from a suspicion that there is
+some trick or deception in the case, and that we are imposed on by an
+appearance of what is not really there. True warmth and vigour
+communicate warmth and vigour; and we are no longer inclined to
+dispute the inspiration of the oracle, when we feel the '_presens
+Divus_' in our own bosoms. But when, without gaining any new light or
+heat, we only find our ideas thrown into perplexity and confusion by
+an art that we cannot comprehend, this is a kind of superiority which
+must always be painful, and can be cordially admitted. For this reason
+the extraordinary talents of Mr. Pitt were always viewed, except by
+those of his own party, with a sort of jealousy, and _grudgingly_
+acknowledged; while those of his rivals were admitted by all parties
+in the most unreserved manner, and carried by acclamation.
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY XV
+
+ON THE CHARACTER OF LORD CHATHAM
+
+
+Lord Chatham's genius burnt brightest at the last. The spark of
+liberty, which had lain concealed and dormant, buried under the dirt
+and rubbish of state intrigue and vulgar faction, now met with
+congenial matter, and kindled up 'a flame of sacred vehemence' in his
+breast. It burst forth with a fury and a splendour that might have
+awed the world, and made kings tremble. He spoke as a man should
+speak, because he felt as a man should feel, in such circumstances. He
+came forward as the advocate of liberty, as the defender of the rights
+of his fellow-citizens, as the enemy of tyranny, as the friend of his
+country, and of mankind. He did not stand up to make a vain display of
+his talents, but to discharge a duty, to maintain that cause which lay
+nearest to his heart, to preserve the ark of the British constitution
+from every sacrilegious touch, as the high-priest of his calling, with
+a pious zeal. The feelings and the rights of Englishmen were enshrined
+in his heart; and with their united force braced every nerve,
+possessed every faculty, and communicated warmth and vital energy to
+every part of his being. The whole man moved under this impulse. He
+felt the cause of liberty as his own. He resented every injury done to
+her as an injury to himself, and every attempt to defend it as an
+insult upon his understanding. He did not stay to dispute about words,
+about nice distinctions, about trifling forms. Be laughed at the
+little attempts of little retailers of logic to entangle him in
+senseless argument. He did not come there as to a debating club, or
+law court, to start questions and hunt them down; to wind and unwind
+the web of sophistry; to pick out the threads, and untie every knot
+with scrupulous exactness; to bandy logic with every pretender to a
+paradox; to examine, to sift evidence; to dissect a doubt and halve a
+scruple; to weigh folly and knavery in scales together, and see on
+which side the balance preponderated; to prove that liberty, truth,
+virtue, and justice were good things, or that slavery and corruption
+were bad things. He did not try to prove those truths which did not
+require any proof, but to make others feel them with the same force
+that he did; and to tear off the flimsy disguises with which the
+sycophants of power attempted to cover them. The business of an orator
+is not to convince, but persuade; not to inform, but to rouse the
+mind; to build upon the habitual prejudices of mankind (for reason of
+itself will do nothing), and to add feeling to prejudice, and action
+to feeling. There is nothing new or curious or profound in Lord
+Chatham's speeches. All is obvious and common; there is nothing but
+what we already knew, or might have found out for ourselves. We see
+nothing but the familiar everyday face of nature. We are always in
+broad daylight. But then there is the same difference between our own
+conceptions of things and his representation of them, as there is
+between the same objects seen on a dull cloudy day or in the blaze of
+sunshine. His common sense has the effect of inspiration. He
+electrifies his hearers, not by the novelty of his ideas, but by their
+force and intensity. He has the same ideas as other men, but he has
+them in a thousand times greater clearness and strength and vividness.
+Perhaps there is no man so poorly furnished with thoughts and feelings
+but that if he could recollect all that he knew, and had all his ideas
+at perfect command, he would be able to confound the puny arts of the
+most dexterous sophist that pretended to make a dupe of his
+understanding. But in the mind of Chatham, the great substantial
+truths of common sense, the leading maxims of the Constitution, the
+real interests and general feelings of mankind were in a manner
+embodied. He comprehended the whole of his subject at a single
+glance--everything was firmly riveted to its place; there was no
+feebleness, no forgetfulness, no pause, no distraction; the ardour of
+his mind overcame every obstacle, and he crushed the objections of his
+adversaries as we crush an insect under our feet. His imagination was
+of the same character with his understanding, and was under the same
+guidance. Whenever he gave way to it, it 'flew an eagle flight, forth
+and right on'; but it did not become enamoured of its own emotion,
+wantoning in giddy circles, or 'sailing with supreme dominion through
+the azure deep of air.' It never forgot its errand, but went straight
+forward, like an arrow to its mark, with an unerring aim. It was his
+servant, not his master.
+
+To be a great orator does not require the highest faculties of the
+human mind, but it requires the highest exertion of the common
+faculties of our nature. He has no occasion to dive into the depths of
+science, or to soar aloft on angels' wings. He keeps upon the surface,
+he stands firm upon the ground, but his form is majestic, and his eye
+sees far and near: he moves among his fellows, but he moves among them
+as a giant among common men. He has no need to read the heavens, to
+unfold the system of the universe, or create new worlds for the
+delighted fancy to dwell in; it is enough that he see things as they
+are; that he knows and feels and remembers the common circumstances
+and daily transactions that are passing in the world around him. He is
+not raised above others by being superior to the common interests,
+prejudices, and passions of mankind, but by feeling them in a more
+intense degree than they do. Force, then, is the sole characteristic
+excellence of an orator; it is almost the only one that can be of any
+service to him. Refinement, depth, elevation, delicacy, originality,
+ingenuity, invention, are not wanted; he must appeal to the sympathies
+of human nature, and whatever is not founded in these, is foreign to
+his purpose. He does not create, he can only imitate or echo back the
+public sentiment. His object is to call up the feelings of the human
+breast; but he cannot call up what is not already there. The first
+duty of an orator is to be understood by every one; but it is evident
+that what all can understand, is not in itself difficult of
+comprehension. He cannot add anything to the materials afforded him by
+the knowledge and experience of others.
+
+Lord Chatham, in his speeches, was neither philosopher nor poet. As to
+the latter, the difference between poetry and eloquence I take to be
+this: that the object of the one is to delight the imagination, that
+of the other to impel the will. The one ought to enrich and feed the
+mind itself with tenderness and beauty, the other furnishes it with
+motives of action. The one seeks to give immediate pleasure, to make
+the mind dwell with rapture on its own workings--it is to itself 'both
+end and use': the other endeavours to call up such images as will
+produce the strongest effect upon the mind, and makes use of the
+passions only as instruments to attain a particular purpose. The poet
+lulls and soothes the mind into a forgetfulness of itself, and 'laps
+it in Elysium': the orator strives to awaken it to a sense of its real
+interests, and to make it feel the necessity of taking the most
+effectual means for securing them. The one dwells in an ideal world;
+the other is only conversant with realities. Hence poetry must be more
+ornamented, must be richer and fuller and more delicate, because it is
+at liberty to select whatever images are naturally most beautiful, and
+likely to give most pleasure; whereas the orator is confined to
+particular facts, which he may adorn as well as he can, and make the
+most of, but which he cannot strain beyond a certain point without
+running into extravagance and affectation, and losing his end.
+However, from the very nature of the case, the orator is allowed a
+greater latitude, and is compelled to make use of harsher and more
+abrupt combinations in the decoration of his subject; for his art is
+an attempt to reconcile beauty and deformity together: on the
+contrary, the materials of poetry, which are chosen at pleasure, are
+in themselves beautiful, and naturally combine with whatever else is
+beautiful. Grace and harmony are therefore essential to poetry,
+because they naturally arise out of the subject; but whatever adds to
+the effect, whatever tends to strengthen the idea or give energy to
+the mind, is of the nature of eloquence. The orator is only concerned
+to give a tone of masculine firmness to the will, to brace the sinews
+and muscles of the mind; not to delight our nervous sensibilities, or
+soften the mind into voluptuous indolence. The flowery and sentimental
+style is of all others the most intolerable in a speaker.--I shall
+only add on this subject, that modesty, impartiality, and candour, are
+not the virtues of a public speaker. He must be confident, inflexible,
+uncontrollable, overcoming all opposition by his ardour and
+impetuosity. We do not _command_ others by sympathy with them, but by
+power, by passion, by will. Calm inquiry, sober truth, and speculative
+indifference will never carry any point. The passions are contagious;
+and we cannot contend against opposite passions with nothing but naked
+reason. Concessions to an enemy are clear loss; he will take advantage
+of them, but make us none in return. He will magnify the weak sides of
+our argument, but will be blind to whatever makes against himself. The
+multitude will always be inclined to side with that party whose
+passions are the most inflamed, and whose prejudices are the most
+inveterate. Passion should therefore never be sacrificed to punctilio.
+It should indeed be governed by prudence, but it should itself govern
+and lend its impulse and direction to abstract reason. Fox was a
+reasoner, Lord Chatham was an orator. Burke was both a reasoner and a
+poet; and was therefore still farther removed from that conformity
+with the vulgar notions and mechanical feelings of mankind, which will
+always be necessary to give a man the chief sway in a popular
+assembly.
+
+1806.
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY XVI
+
+BELIEF, WHETHER VOLUNTARY?
+
+    'Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought.'
+
+
+It is an axiom in modern philosophy (among many other false ones) that
+belief is absolutely involuntary, since we draw our inferences from
+the premises laid before us, and cannot possibly receive any other
+impression of things than that which they naturally make upon us. This
+theory, that the understanding is purely passive in the reception of
+truth, and that our convictions are not in the power of our will, was
+probably first invented or insisted upon as a screen against religious
+persecution, and as an answer to those who imputed bad motives to all
+who differed from the established faith, and thought they could reform
+heresy and impiety by the application of fire and the sword. No doubt,
+that is not the way: for the will in that case irritates itself and
+grows refractory against the doctrines thus absurdly forced upon it;
+and as it has been said, the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the
+Church. But though force and terror may not be always the surest way
+to make converts, it does not follow that there may not be other means
+of influencing our opinions, besides the naked and abstract evidence
+for any proposition: the sun melts the resolution which the storm
+could not shake. In such points as, whether an object is black or
+white or whether two and two make four,[16] we may not be able to
+believe as we please or to deny the evidence of our reason and
+senses: but in those points on which mankind differ, or where we can
+be at all in suspense as to which side we shall take, the truth is not
+quite so plain or palpable; it admits of a variety of views and shades
+of colouring, and it should appear that we can dwell upon whichever of
+these we choose, and heighten or soften the circumstances adduced in
+proof, according as passion and inclination throw their casting-weight
+into the scale. Let any one, for instance, have been brought up in an
+opinion, let him have remained in it all his life, let him have
+attached all his notions of respectability, of the approbation of his
+fellow-citizens or his own self-esteem to it, let him then first hear
+it called in question, and a strong and unforeseen objection stated to
+it, will not this startle and shock him as if he had seen a spectre,
+and will he not struggle to resist the arguments that would unsettle
+his habitual convictions, as he would resist the divorcing of soul and
+body? Will he come to the consideration of the question impartially,
+indifferently, and without any wrong bias, or give the painful and
+revolting truth the same cordial welcome as the long-cherished and
+favourite prejudice? To say that the truth or falsehood of a
+proposition is the only circumstance that gains it admittance into the
+mind, independently of the pleasure or pain it affords us, is itself
+an assertion made in pure caprice or desperation. A person may have a
+profession or employment connected with a certain belief, it may be
+the means of livelihood to him, and the changing it may require
+considerable sacrifices, or may leave him almost without resource (to
+say nothing of mortified pride)--this will not mend the matter. The
+evidence against his former opinion may be so strong (or may appear so
+to him) that he may be obliged to give it up, but not without a pang
+and after having tried every artifice and strained every nerve to give
+the utmost weight to the arguments favouring his own side, and to make
+light of and throw those against him into the background. And nine
+times in ten this bias of the will and tampering with the proofs will
+prevail. It is only with very vigorous or very candid minds that the
+understanding exercises its just and boasted prerogative, and induces
+its votaries to relinquish a profitable delusion and embrace the
+dowerless truth. Even then they have the sober and discreet part of
+the world, all the _bons pères de famille_, who look principally to
+the main chance, against them, and they are regarded as little better
+than lunatics or profligates to fling up a good salary and a provision
+for themselves and families for the sake of that foolish thing, a
+_Conscience_! With the herd, belief on all abstract and disputed
+topics is voluntary, that is, is determined by considerations of
+personal ease and convenience, in the teeth of logical analysis and
+demonstration, which are set aside as mere waste of words. In short,
+generally speaking, people stick to an opinion that they have long
+supported and that supports them. How else shall we account for the
+regular order and progression of society: for the maintenance of
+certain opinions in particular professions and classes of men, as we
+keep water in cisterns, till in fact they stagnate and corrupt: and
+that the world and every individual in it is not 'blown about with
+every wind of doctrine' and whisper of uncertainty? There is some more
+solid ballast required to keep things in their established order than
+the restless fluctuation of opinion and 'infinite agitation of wit.'
+We find that people in Protestant countries continue Protestants, and
+in Catholic countries Papists. This, it may be answered, is owing to
+the ignorance of the great mass of them; but is their faith less
+bigoted, because it is not founded on a regular investigation of the
+proofs, and is merely an obstinate determination to believe what they
+have been told and accustomed to believe? Or is it not the same with
+the doctors of the church and its most learned champions, who read the
+same texts, turn over the same authorities, and discuss the same
+knotty points through their whole lives, only to arrive at opposite
+conclusions? How few are shaken in their opinions, or have the grace
+to confess it? Shall we then suppose them all impostors, and that they
+keep up the farce of a system, of which they do not believe a
+syllable? Far from it: there may be individual instances, but the
+generality are not only sincere but bigots. Those who are unbelievers
+and hypocrites scarcely know it themselves, or if a man is not quite a
+knave, what pains will he not take to make a fool of his reason, that
+his opinions may tally with his professions? Is there then a Papist
+and a Protestant understanding--one prepared to receive the doctrine
+of transubstantiation and the other to reject it? No such thing: but
+in either case the ground of reason is pre-occupied by passion, habit,
+example--_the scales are falsified_. Nothing can therefore be more
+inconsequential than to bring the authority of great names in favour
+of opinions long established and universally received. Cicero's being
+a Pagan was no proof in support of the Heathen mythology, but simply
+of his being born at Rome before the Christian era; though his lurking
+scepticism on the subject and sneers at the augurs told against it,
+for this was an acknowledgment drawn from him in spite of a prevailing
+prejudice. Sir Isaac Newton and Napier of Merchiston both wrote on the
+_Apocalypse_; but this is neither a ground for a speedy anticipation
+of the Millennium, nor does it invalidate the doctrine of the
+gravitation of the planets or the theory of logarithms. One party
+would borrow the sanction of these great names in support of their
+wildest and most mystical opinions; others would arraign them of folly
+and weakness for having attended to such subjects at all. Neither
+inference is just. It is a simple question of chronology, or of the
+time when these celebrated mathematicians lived, and of the studies
+and pursuits which were then chiefly in vogue. The wisest man is the
+slave of opinion, except on one or two points on which he strikes out
+a light for himself and holds a torch to the rest of the world. But
+we are disposed to make it out that all opinions are the result of
+reason, because they profess to be so; and when they are _right_, that
+is, when they agree with ours, that there can be no alloy of human
+frailty or perversity in them; the very strength of our prejudice
+making it pass for pure reason, and leading us to attribute any
+deviation from it to bad faith or some unaccountable singularity or
+infatuation. _Alas, poor human nature!_ Opinion is for the most part
+only a battle, in which we take part and defend the side we have
+adopted, in the one case or the other, with a view to share the honour
+of the spoil. Few will stand up for a losing cause, or have the
+fortitude to adhere to a proscribed opinion; and when they do, it is
+not always from superior strength of understanding or a disinterested
+love of truth, but from obstinacy and sullenness of temper. To affirm
+that we do not cultivate an acquaintance with truth as she presents
+herself to us in a more or less pleasing shape, or is shabbily attired
+or well-dressed, is as much as to say that we do not shut our eyes to
+the light when it dazzles us, or withdraw our hands from the fire when
+it scorches us.
+
+    'Masterless passion sways us to the mood
+    Of what it likes or loathes.'
+
+Are we not averse to believe bad news relating to ourselves--forward
+enough if it relates to others? If something is said reflecting on the
+character of an intimate friend or near relative, how unwilling we are
+to lend an ear to it, how we catch at every excuse or palliating
+circumstance, and hold out against the clearest proof, while we
+instantly believe any idle report against an enemy, magnify the
+commonest trifles into crimes, and torture the evidence against him to
+our heart's content! Do not we change our opinion of the same person,
+and make him out to be _black_ or _white_ according to the terms we
+happen to be on? If we have a favourite author, do we not exaggerate
+his beauties and pass over his defects, and _vice versâ_? The human
+mind plays the interested advocate much oftener than the upright and
+inflexible judge, in the colouring and relief it gives to the facts
+brought before it. We believe things not more because they are true or
+probable, than because we desire, or (if the imagination once takes
+that turn) because we dread them. 'Fear has more devils than vast hell
+can hold.' The sanguine always hope, the gloomy always despond, from
+temperament and not from forethought. Do we not disguise the plainest
+facts from ourselves if they are disagreeable? Do we not flatter
+ourselves with impossibilities? What girl does not look in the glass
+to persuade herself she is handsome? What woman ever believes herself
+old, or does not hate to be called so: though she knows the exact year
+and day of her age, the more she tries to keep up the appearance of
+youth to herself and others? What lover would ever acknowledge a flaw
+in the character of his mistress, or would not construe her turning
+her back on him into a proof of attachment? The story of _January and
+May_ is pat to our purpose; for the credulity of mankind as to what
+touches our inclinations has been proverbial in all ages: yet we are
+told that the mind is passive in making up these wilful accounts and
+is guided by nothing but the _pros_ and _cons_ of evidence. Even in
+action and where we may determine by proper precaution the event of
+things, instead of being compelled to shut our eyes to what we cannot
+help, we still are the dupes of the feeling of the moment, and prefer
+amusing ourselves with fair appearances to securing more solid
+benefits by a sacrifice of Imagination and stubborn Will to Truth. The
+blindness of passion to the most obvious and well-known consequences
+is deplorable. There seems to be a particular fatality in this
+respect. Because a thing is in our power _till_ we have committed
+ourselves, we appear to dally, to trifle with, to make light of it,
+and to think it will still be in our power _after_ we have committed
+ourselves. Strange perversion of the reasoning faculties, which is
+little short of madness, and which yet is one of the constant and
+practical sophisms of human life! It is as if one should say--I am in
+no danger from a tremendous machine unless I touch such a spring and
+therefore I will approach it, I will play with the danger, I will
+laugh at it, and at last in pure sport and wantonness of heart, from
+my sense of previous security, I _will_ touch it--and _there's an
+end_. While the thing remains in contemplation, we may be said to
+stand safe and smiling on the brink: as soon as we proceed to action
+we are drawn into the vortex of passion and hurried to our
+destruction. A person taken up with some one purpose or passion is
+intent only upon that: he drives out the thought of everything but its
+gratification: in the pursuit of that he is blind to consequences: his
+first object being attained, they all at once, and as if by magic,
+rush upon his mind. The engine recoils, he is caught in his own snare.
+A servant girl, for some pique, or for an angry word, determines to
+poison her mistress. She knows beforehand (just as well as she does
+afterwards) that it is at least a hundred chances to one she will be
+hanged if she succeeds, yet this has no more effect upon her than if
+she had never heard of any such matter. The only idea that occupies
+her mind and hardens it against every other, is that of the affront
+she has received, and the desire of revenge; she broods over it; she
+meditates the mode, she is haunted with her scheme night and day; it
+works like poison; it grows into a madness, and she can have no peace
+till it is accomplished and _off her mind_; but the moment this is the
+case, and her passion is assuaged, fear takes place of hatred, the
+slightest suspicion alarms her with the certainty of her fate, from
+which she before wilfully averted her thoughts; she runs wildly from
+the officers before they know anything of the matter; the gallows
+stares her in the face, and if none else accuses her, so full is she
+of her danger and her guilt, that she probably betrays herself. She at
+first would see no consequences to result from her crime but the
+getting rid of a present uneasiness; she now sees the very worst. The
+whole seems to depend on the turn given to the imagination, on our
+immediate disposition to attend to this or that view of the subject,
+the evil or the good. As long as our intention is unknown to the
+world, before it breaks out into action, it seems to be deposited in
+our own bosoms, to be a mere feverish dream, and to be left with all
+its consequences under our imaginary control: but no sooner is it
+realised and known to others, than it appears to have escaped from our
+reach, we fancy the whole world are up in arms against us, and
+vengeance is ready to pursue and overtake us. So in the pursuit of
+pleasure, we see only that side of the question which we approve; the
+disagreeable consequences (which may take place) make no part of our
+intention or concern, or of the wayward exercise of our will: if they
+should happen we cannot help it; they form an ugly and unwished-for
+contrast to our favourite speculation: we turn our thoughts another
+way, repeating the adage _Quod sic mihi ostendis incredulus odi_. It
+is a good remark in _Vivian Grey_ that a bankrupt walks in the streets
+the day before his name is in the Gazette with the same erect and
+confident brow as ever, and only feels the mortification of his
+situation after it becomes known to others. Such is the force of
+sympathy, and its power to take off the edge of internal conviction!
+As long we can impose upon the world, we can impose upon ourselves,
+and trust to the flattering appearances, though we know them to be
+false. We put off the evil day as long as we can, make a jest of it as
+the certainty becomes more painful, and refuse to acknowledge the
+secret to ourselves till it can no longer be kept from all the world.
+In short, we believe just as little or as much as we please of those
+things in which our will can be supposed to interfere; and it is only
+by setting aside our own interests and inclinations on more general
+questions that we stand any chance of arriving at a fair and rational
+judgment. Those who have the largest hearts have the soundest
+understandings; and he is the truest philosopher who can forget
+himself. This is the reason why philosophers are often said to be mad,
+for thinking only of the abstract truth and of none of its worldly
+adjuncts--it seems like an absence of mind, or as if the devil had got
+into them! If belief were not in some degree voluntary, or were
+grounded entirely on strict evidence and absolute proof, every one
+would be a martyr to his opinions, and we should have no power of
+evading or glossing over those matter-of-fact conclusions for which
+positive vouchers could be produced, however painful these conclusions
+might be to our own feelings, or offensive to the prejudices of
+others.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[16] Hobbes is of opinion that men would deny this, if they had any
+interest in doing so.
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY XVII
+
+A FAREWELL TO ESSAY-WRITING
+
+    'This life is best, if quiet life is best.'
+
+
+Food, warmth, sleep, and a book; these are all I at present ask--the
+_ultima Thule_ of my wandering desires. Do you not then wish for
+
+                'A friend in your retreat,
+    Whom you may whisper, solitude is sweet?'
+
+Expected, well enough:--gone, still better. Such attractions are
+strengthened by distance. Nor a mistress? 'Beautiful mask! I know
+thee!' When I can judge of the heart from the face, of the thoughts
+from the lips, I may again trust myself. Instead of these give me the
+robin red-breast, pecking the crumbs at the door, or warbling on the
+leafless spray, the same glancing form that has followed me wherever I
+have been, and 'done its spiriting gently'; or the rich notes of the
+thrush that startle the ear of winter, and seem to have drunk up the
+full draught of joy from the very sense of contrast. To these I
+adhere, and am faithful, for they are true to me; and, dear in
+themselves, are dearer for the sake of what is departed, leading me
+back (by the hand) to that dreaming world, in the innocence of which
+they sat and made sweet music, waking the promise of future years, and
+answered by the eager throbbings of my own breast. But now 'the
+credulous hope of mutual minds is o'er,' and I turn back from the
+world that has deceived me, to nature that lent it a false beauty, and
+that keeps up the illusion of the past. As I quaff my libations of
+tea in a morning, I love to watch the clouds sailing from the west,
+and fancy that 'the spring comes slowly up this way.' In this hope,
+while 'fields are dank and ways are mire,' I follow the same direction
+to a neighbouring wood, where, having gained the dry, level
+greensward, I can see my way for a mile before me, closed in on each
+side by copse-wood, and ending in a point of light more or less
+brilliant, as the day is bright or cloudy. What a walk is this to me!
+I have no need of book or companion--the days, the hours, the thoughts
+of my youth are at my side, and blend with the air that fans my cheek.
+Here I can saunter for hours, bending my eye forward, stopping and
+turning to look back, thinking to strike off into some less trodden
+path, yet hesitating to quit the one I am in, afraid to snap the
+brittle threads of memory. I remark the shining trunks and slender
+branches of the birch trees, waving in the idle breeze; or a pheasant
+springs up on whirring wing; or I recall the spot where I once found a
+wood-pigeon at the foot of a tree, weltering in its gore, and think
+how many seasons have flown since 'it left its little life in air.'
+Dates, names, faces come back--to what purpose? Or why think of them
+now? Or rather why not think of them oftener? We walk through life, as
+through a narrow path, with a thin curtain drawn around it; behind are
+ranged rich portraits, airy harps are strung--yet we will not stretch
+forth our hands and lift aside the veil, to catch glimpses of the one,
+or sweep the chords of the other. As in a theatre, when the
+old-fashioned green curtain drew up, groups of figures, fantastic
+dresses, laughing faces, rich banquets, stately columns, gleaming
+vistas appeared beyond; so we have only at any time to 'peep through
+the blanket of the past,' to possess ourselves at once of all that has
+regaled our senses, that is stored up in our memory, that has struck
+our fancy, that has pierced our hearts:--yet to all this we are
+indifferent, insensible, and seem intent only on the present
+vexation, the future disappointment. If there is a Titian hanging up
+in the room with me, I scarcely regard it: how then should I be
+expected to strain the mental eye so far, or to throw down, by the
+magic spells of the will, the stone walls that enclose it in the
+Louvre? There is one head there of which I have often thought, when
+looking at it, that nothing should ever disturb me again, and I would
+become the character it represents--such perfect calmness and
+self-possession reigns in it! Why do I not hang all image of this in
+some dusky corner of my brain, and turn all eye upon it ever and anon,
+as I have need of some such talisman to calm my troubled thoughts? The
+attempt is fruitless, if not natural; or, like that of the French, to
+hang garlands on the grave, and to conjure back the dead by miniature
+pictures of them while living! It is only some actual coincidence or
+local association that tends, without violence, to 'open all the cells
+where memory slept.' I can easily, by stooping over the long-sprent
+grass and clay cold clod, recall the tufts of primroses, or purple
+hyacinths, that formerly grew on the same spot, and cover the bushes
+with leaves and singing-birds, as they were eighteen summers ago; or
+prolonging my walk and hearing the sighing gale rustle through a tall,
+straight wood at the end of it, call fancy that I distinguish the cry
+of hounds, and the fatal group issuing from it, as in the tale of
+Theodore and Honoria. A moaning gust of wind aids the belief; I look
+once more to see whether the trees before me answer to the idea of the
+horror-stricken grove, and an air-built city towers over their grey
+tops.
+
+    'Of all the cities in Romanian lands,
+    The chief and most renown'd Ravenna stands.'[17]
+
+I return home resolved to read the entire poem through, and, after
+dinner, drawing my chair to the fire, and holding a small print close
+to my eyes, launch into the full tide of Dryden's couplets (a stream
+of sound), comparing his didactic and descriptive pomp with the simple
+pathos and picturesque truth of Boccaccio's story, and tasting with a
+pleasure, which none but all habitual reader can feel, some quaint
+examples of pronunciation in this accomplished versifier.
+
+                  'Which when Honoria view'd,
+    The fresh _impulse_ her former fright renew'd.'[18]
+
+    'And made th' _insult_, which in his grief appears,
+    The means to mourn thee with my pious tears.'[19]
+
+These trifling instances of the wavering and unsettled state of the
+language give double effect to the firm and stately march of the
+verse, and make me dwell with a sort of tender interest on the
+difficulties and doubts of all earlier period of literature. They
+pronounced words then in a manner which we should laugh at now; and
+they wrote verse in a manner which we can do anything but laugh at.
+The pride of a new acquisition seems to give fresh confidence to it;
+to impel the rolling syllables through the moulds provided for them,
+and to overflow the envious bounds of rhyme into time-honoured
+triplets.
+
+What sometimes surprises me in looking back to the past, is, with the
+exception already stated, to find myself so little changed in the
+time. The same images and trains of thought stick by me: I have the
+same tastes, likings, sentiments, and wishes that I had then. One
+great ground of confidence and support has, indeed, been struck from
+under my feet; but I have made it up to myself by proportionable
+pertinacity of opinion. The success of the great cause, to which I had
+vowed myself, was to me more than all the world: I had a strength in
+its strength, a resource which I knew not of, till it failed me for
+the second time.
+
+    'Fall'n was Glenartny's stately tree!
+    Oh! ne'er to see Lord Ronald more!'
+
+It was not till I saw the axe laid to the root, that I found the full
+extent of what I had to lose and suffer. But my conviction of the
+right was only established by the triumph of the wrong; and my
+earliest hopes will be my last regrets. One source of this
+unbendingness (which some may call obstinacy), is that, though living
+much alone, I have never worshipped the Echo. I see plainly enough
+that black is not white, that the grass is green, that kings are not
+their subjects; and, in such self-evident cases, do not think it
+necessary to collate my opinions with the received prejudices. In
+subtler questions, and matters that admit of doubt, as I do not impose
+my opinion on others without a reason, so I will not give up mine to
+them without a better reason; and a person calling me names, or giving
+himself airs of authority, does not convince me of his having taken
+more pains to find out the truth than I have, but the contrary. Mr.
+Gifford once said, that 'while I was sitting over my gin and
+tobacco-pipes, I fancied myself a Leibnitz.' He did not so much as
+know that I had ever read a metaphysical book:--was I therefore, out
+of complaisance or deference to him, to forget whether I had or not?
+Leigh Hunt is puzzled to reconcile the shyness of my pretensions with
+the inveteracy and sturdiness of my principles. I should have thought
+they were nearly the same thing. Both from disposition and habit, I
+can _assume_ nothing in word, look, or manner. I cannot steal a march
+upon public opinion in any way. My standing upright, speaking loud,
+entering a room gracefully, proves nothing; therefore I neglect these
+ordinary means of recommending myself to the good graces and
+admiration of strangers (and, as it appears, even of philosophers and
+friends). Why? Because I have other resources, or, at least, am
+absorbed in other studies and pursuits. Suppose this absorption to be
+extreme, and even morbid--that I have brooded over an idea till it has
+become a kind of substance in my brain, that I have reasons for a
+thing which I have found out with much labour and pains, and to which
+I can scarcely do justice without the utmost violence of exertion (and
+that only to a few persons)--is this a reason for my playing off my
+out-of-the-way notions in all companies, wearing a prim and
+self-complacent air, as if I were 'the admired of all observers'? or
+is it not rather an argument (together with a want of animal spirits),
+why I should retire into myself, and perhaps acquire a nervous and
+uneasy look, from a consciousness of the disproportion between the
+interest and conviction I feel on certain subjects, and my ability to
+communicate what weighs upon my own mind to others? If my ideas, which
+I do not avouch, but suppose, lie below the surface, why am I to be
+always attempting to dazzle superficial people with them, or smiling,
+delighted, at my own want of success?
+
+In matters of taste and feeling, one proof that my conclusions have
+not been quite shallow or hasty, is the circumstance of their having
+been lasting. I have the same favourite books, pictures, passages that
+I ever had: I may therefore presume that they will last me my
+life--nay, I may indulge a hope that my thoughts will survive me. This
+continuity of impression is the only thing on which I pride myself.
+Even Lamb, whose relish of certain things is as keen and earnest as
+possible, takes a surfeit of admiration, and I should be afraid to ask
+about his select authors or particular friends, after a lapse of ten
+years. As to myself, any one knows where to have me. What I have once
+made up my mind to, I abide by to the end of the chapter. One cause of
+my independence of opinion is, I believe, the liberty I give to
+others, or the very diffidence and distrust of making converts. I
+should be an excellent man on a jury. I might say little, but should
+starve 'the other eleven obstinate fellows' out. I remember Mr.
+Godwin writing to Mr. Wordsworth, that 'his tragedy of _Antonio_ could
+not fail of success.' It was damned past all redemption. I said to Mr.
+Wordsworth that I thought this a natural consequence; for how could
+any one have a dramatic turn of mind who judged entirely of others
+from himself? Mr. Godwin might be convinced of the excellence of his
+work; but how could he know that others would be convinced of it,
+unless by supposing that they were as wise as himself, and as
+infallible critics of dramatic poetry--so many Aristotles sitting in
+judgment on Euripides! This shows why pride is connected with shyness
+and reserve; for the really proud have not so high an opinion of the
+generality as to suppose that they can understand them, or that there
+is any common measure between them. So Dryden exclaims of his
+opponents with bitter disdain--
+
+    'Nor can I think what thoughts they can conceive.'
+
+I have not sought to make partisans, still less did I dream of making
+enemies; and have therefore kept my opinions myself, whether they were
+currently adopted or not. To get others to come into our ways of
+thinking, we must go over to theirs; and it is necessary to follow, in
+order to lead. At the time I lived here formerly, I had no suspicion
+that I should ever become a voluminous writer, yet I had just the same
+confidence in my feelings before I had ventured to air them in public
+as I have now. Neither the outcry _for_ or _against_ moves me a jot: I
+do not say that the one is not more agreeable than the other.
+
+Not far from the spot where I write, I first read Chaucer's _Flower
+and Leaf_, and was charmed with that young beauty, shrouded in her
+bower, and listening with ever-fresh delight to the repeated song of
+the nightingale close by her--the impression of the scene, the vernal
+landscape, the cool of the morning, the gushing notes of the
+songstress,
+
+    'And ayen methought she sung close by mine ear,'
+
+is as vivid as if it had been of yesterday; and nothing can persuade
+me that that is not a fine poem. I do not find this impression
+conveyed in Dryden's version, and therefore nothing can persuade me
+that that is as fine. I used to walk out at this time with Mr. and
+Miss Lamb of an evening, to look at the Claude Lorraine skies over our
+heads melting from azure into purple and gold, and to gather
+mushrooms, that sprung up at our feet, to throw into our hashed mutton
+at supper. I was at that time an enthusiastic admirer of Claude, and
+could dwell for ever on one or two of the finest prints from him hung
+round my little room; the fleecy flocks, the bending trees, the
+winding streams, the groves, the nodding temples, the air-wove hills,
+and distant sunny vales; and tried to translate them into their lovely
+living hues. People then told me that Wilson was much superior to
+Claude: I did not believe them. Their pictures have since been seen
+together at the British Institution, and all the world have come into
+my opinion. I have not, on that account, given it up. I will not
+compare our hashed mutton with Amelia's; but it put us in mind of it,
+and led to a discussion, sharply seasoned and well sustained, till
+midnight, the result of which appeared some years after in the
+_Edinburgh Review_. Have I a better opinion of those criticisms on
+that account, or should I therefore maintain them with greater
+vehemence and tenaciousness? Oh no: Both rather with less, now that
+they are before the public, and it is for them to make their election.
+
+It is in looking back to such scenes that I draw my best consolation
+for the future. Later impressions come and go, and serve to fill till
+the intervals; but these are my standing resource, my true classics.
+If I have had few real pleasures or advantages, my ideas, from their
+sinewy texture, have been to me in the nature of realities; and if I
+should not be able to add to the stock, I can live by husbanding the
+interest. As to my speculations, there is little to admire in them but
+my admiration of others; and whether they have an echo in time to
+come or not, I have learned to set a grateful value on the past, and
+am content to wind up the account of what is personal only to myself
+and the immediate circle of objects in which I have moved, with an act
+of easy oblivion,
+
+    'And curtain-close such scene from every future view.'
+
+Winterslow, _Feb. 20, 1828_.
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[17] Dryden's _Theodore and Honoria_, princip.
+
+[18] Dryden's _Theodore and Honoria_, princip.
+
+[19] Dryden's _Sigismonda and Guiscardo_.
+
+
+Edinburgh: Printed by T. and A. Constable
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note
+
+Minor punctuation errors have been repaired.
+
+Archaic spelling is preserved as printed.
+
+The following typographic errors have been repaired:
+
+    Page 35--Crichton amended to Chrichton (with reference to the
+    "Cabinet of Curiosities," which also contains the story of
+    Eugene Aram)--"The name of the 'Admirable Chrichton' was
+    suddenly started ..."
+
+    Page 134--lawer's amended to lawyer's--"... on a word, or a
+    lawyer's _ipse dixit_."
+
+    Page 156--stimulute amended to stimulate--"... something like
+    an attempt to stimulate the superficial dulness ..."
+
+    Page 162--on amended to no--"Burke was so far right in saying
+    that it is no objection ..."
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Winterslow, by William Hazlitt
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+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Winterslow, by William Hazlitt
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Winterslow
+       Essays and Characters Written There
+
+Author: William Hazlitt
+
+Release Date: March 25, 2012 [EBook #39269]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WINTERSLOW ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Sam W. and the Online Distributed Proofreading
+Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 79px;">
+<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="79" height="600"
+alt="Decorative spine of the book" />
+</div>
+
+
+<h1>WINTERSLOW<br />
+<br />
+<span class="vsmlfont">ESSAYS AND CHARACTERS<br />
+WRITTEN THERE</span></h1>
+
+<p class="center smlfont">BY</p>
+
+<p class="center vlrgfont">WILLIAM HAZLITT</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 149px;">
+<img src="images/logo.jpg" width="149" height="200"
+alt="Publisher's logo" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="center padbase"><span class="lrgfont">LONDON<br />
+GRANT RICHARDS</span><br />
+<span class="smlfont">48 LEICESTER SQUARE</span><br />
+<span class="lrgfont">1902</span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<p class="center padtop lrgfont">The World&rsquo;s Classics</p>
+
+<p class="center">XXV</p>
+
+<p class="center">THE WORKS OF<br />
+WILLIAM HAZLITT&mdash;III</p>
+
+<p class="center padbase">WINTERSLOW<br />
+<span class="smlfont">ESSAYS AND CHARACTERS<br />
+WRITTEN THERE</span></p>
+
+
+
+<p class="center padtop padbase"><i>These Essays were first published collectively
+in the year 1839. In &lsquo;The World&rsquo;s Classics&rsquo;
+they were first published in 1902.</i></p>
+
+<p class="center smlfont padbase">Edinburgh: Printed by T. and A. <span class="smcap">Constable</span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<p class="center lrgfont padtop">The World&rsquo;s Classics</p>
+
+
+<div class="booklist">
+<p class="center"><small>I.</small></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><b>JANE EYRE.</b> By <span class="smcap">Charlotte
+Bront&euml;</span>. [<i>Second Impression.</i></p>
+
+<p class="center"><small>II.</small></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><b>THE ESSAYS OF ELIA.</b> By
+<span class="smcap">Charles Lamb</span>. [<i>Second Impression.</i></p>
+
+<p class="center"><small>III.</small></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><b>THE POEMS OF ALFRED,
+LORD TENNYSON, 1830-1858.</b> [<i>Second Impression.</i></p>
+
+<p class="center"><small>IV.</small></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><b>THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.</b>
+By <span class="smcap">Oliver Goldsmith</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><small>V.</small></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><b>TABLE-TALK: Essays on Men
+and Manners.</b> By <span class="smcap">William
+Hazlitt</span>. [<i>Second Impression.</i></p>
+
+<p class="center"><small>VI.</small></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><b>ESSAYS.</b> By <span class="smcap">Ralph Waldo
+Emerson</span>. [<i>Second Impression.</i></p>
+
+<p class="center"><small>VII.</small></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><b>THE POETICAL WORKS OF
+JOHN KEATS.</b> [<i>Second Impression.</i></p>
+
+<p class="center"><small>VIII.</small></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><b>OLIVER TWIST.</b> By <span class="smcap">Charles
+Dickens</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><small>IX.</small></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><b>THE INGOLDSBY LEGENDS.</b>
+By <span class="smcap">Thomas Ingoldsby</span>. [<i>Second Impression.</i></p>
+
+<p class="center"><small>X.</small></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><b>WUTHERING HEIGHTS.</b> By
+<span class="smcap">Emily Bront&euml;</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><small>XI.</small></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><b>ON THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES.</b>
+By <span class="smcap">Charles Darwin</span>. [<i>Second Impression.</i></p>
+
+<p class="center"><small>XII.</small></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><b>THE PILGRIM&rsquo;S PROGRESS.</b>
+By <span class="smcap">John Bunyan</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><small>XIII.</small></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><b>ENGLISH SONGS AND
+BALLADS.</b> Selected by <span class="smcap">T.&nbsp;W.&nbsp;H.
+Crosland</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><small>XIV.</small></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><b>SHIRLEY.</b> By <span class="smcap">Charlotte
+Bront&euml;</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><small>XV.</small></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><b>SKETCHES AND ESSAYS.</b> By
+<span class="smcap">William Hazlitt</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><small>XVI.</small></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><b>THE POEMS OF ROBERT
+HERRICK.</b></p>
+
+<p class="center"><small>XVII.</small></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><b>ROBINSON CRUSOE.</b> By
+<span class="smcap">Daniel Defoe</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><small>XVIII.</small></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><b>HOMER&rsquo;S ILIAD.</b> Translated by
+<span class="smcap">Alexander Pope</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><small>XIX.</small></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><b>SARTOR RESARTUS.</b> By
+<span class="smcap">Thomas Carlyle</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><small>XX.</small></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><b>GULLIVER&rsquo;S TRAVELS.</b> By
+<span class="smcap">Jonathan Swift</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><small>XXI.</small></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><b>TALES OF MYSTERY AND
+IMAGINATION.</b> By <span class="smcap">Edgar
+Allan Poe</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><small>XXII.</small></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><b>NATURAL HISTORY OF SELBORNE.</b>
+By <span class="smcap">Gilbert White</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><small>XXIII.</small></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><b>CONFESSIONS OF AN ENGLISH
+OPIUM EATER.</b> By
+<span class="smcap">T. De Quincey</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><small>XXIV.</small></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><b>BACON&rsquo;S ESSAYS.</b></p>
+
+<p class="center"><small>XXV.</small></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><b>WINTERSLOW.</b> By <span class="smcap">William
+Hazlitt</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><small>XXVI.</small></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><b>THE SCARLET LETTER.</b> By
+<span class="smcap">Nathaniel Hawthorne</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><small>XXVII.</small></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><b>LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME.</b> By
+<span class="smcap">Lord Macaulay</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><small>XXVIII.</small></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><b>HENRY ESMOND.</b> By <span class="smcap">W.&nbsp;M.
+Thackeray</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><small>XXIX.</small></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><b>IVANHOE.</b> By <span class="smcap">Sir Walter Scott</span>.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Other volumes in preparation.</i></p>
+
+<p class="center">Pott 8vo. Cloth, 1s. net. Leather, 2s. net.</p>
+
+
+
+<p class="ptop"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>v]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>PREFACE TO THE EDITION OF 1850</h2>
+
+
+<p>Winterslow is a village of Wiltshire, between
+Salisbury and Andover, where my father, during a
+considerable portion of his life, spent several months
+of each year, latterly, at an ancient inn on the Great
+Western Road, called Winterslow Hut. One of his
+chief attractions hither were the noble woods of
+Tytherleigh or Tudorleigh, round Norman Court, the
+seat of Mr. Baring Wall, M.P., whose proffered
+kindness to my father, on a critical occasion, was
+thoroughly appreciated by the very sensitiveness
+which declined its acceptance, and will always be
+gratefully remembered by myself. Another feature
+was Clarendon Wood&mdash;whence the noble family of
+Clarendon derived their title&mdash;famous besides for the
+Constitutions signed in the palace which once rose
+proudly amongst its stately trees, but of which scarce
+a vestige remains. In another direction, within easy
+distance, gloams Stonehenge, visited by my father,
+less perhaps for its historical associations than for its
+appeal to the imagination, the upright stones seeming
+in the dim twilight, or in the drizzling mist, almost
+continuous in the locality, so many spectre-Druids,
+moaning over the past, and over their brethren prostrate
+about them. At no great distance, in another
+direction, are the fine pictures of Lord Radnor, and
+somewhat further, those of Wilton House. But the
+chief happiness was the thorough quiet of the place,
+the sole interruption of which was the passage, to
+and fro, of the London mails. The Hut stands in a
+valley, equidistant about a mile from two tolerably
+high hills, at the summit of which, on their approach
+either way, the guards used to blow forth their
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>vi]</a></span>
+admonition to the hostler. The sound, coming through
+the clear, pure air, was another agreeable feature in the
+day, reminiscentiary of the great city that my father
+so loved and so loathed. In olden times, when we
+lived in the village itself&mdash;a mile up the hill opposite&mdash;behind
+the Hut, Salisbury Plain stretches away mile
+after mile of open space&mdash;the reminiscence of the
+metropolis would be, from time to time, furnished in
+the pleasantest of ways by the presence of some
+London friends; among these, dearly loved and
+honoured there, as everywhere else, Charles and
+Mary Lamb paid us frequent visits, rambling about
+all the time, thorough Londoners in a thoroughly
+country place, delighted and wondering and wondered
+at. For such reasons, and for the other reason,
+which I mention incidentally, that Winterslow is
+my own native place, I have given its name to this
+collection of &lsquo;Essays and Characters written there&rsquo;;
+as, indeed, practically were very many of his works,
+for it was there that most of his thinking was done.</p>
+
+<p class="sig smcap">William Hazlitt.</p>
+
+<p class="address"><span class="smcap">Chelsea</span>, <i>Jan. 1850</i>.</p>
+
+
+
+<p class="ptop"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>vii]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+
+<div class="centered">
+<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Table of contents">
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdrt">&nbsp;</td>
+    <td class="tdl">&nbsp;</td>
+    <td class="tdrb"><small>PAGE</small></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdrt">I.</td>
+    <td class="tdl">MY FIRST ACQUAINTANCE WITH POETS</td>
+    <td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdrt">II.</td>
+    <td class="tdl">OF PERSONS ONE WOULD WISH TO HAVE SEEN</td>
+    <td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdrt">III.</td>
+    <td class="tdl">ON PARTY SPIRIT</td>
+    <td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdrt">IV.</td>
+    <td class="tdl">ON THE FEELING OF IMMORTALITY IN YOUTH</td>
+    <td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_45">45</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdrt">V.</td>
+    <td class="tdl">ON PUBLIC OPINION</td>
+    <td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdrt">VI.</td>
+    <td class="tdl">ON PERSONAL IDENTITY</td>
+    <td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdrt">VII.</td>
+    <td class="tdl">MIND AND MOTIVE</td>
+    <td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdrt">VIII.</td>
+    <td class="tdl">ON MEANS AND ENDS</td>
+    <td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdrt">IX.</td>
+    <td class="tdl">MATTER AND MANNER</td>
+    <td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_108">108</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdrt">X.</td>
+    <td class="tdl">ON CONSISTENCY OF OPINION</td>
+    <td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdrt">XI.</td>
+    <td class="tdl">PROJECT FOR A NEW THEORY OF CIVIL AND CRIMINAL LEGISLATION</td>
+    <td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_130">130</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdrt">XII.</td>
+    <td class="tdl">ON THE CHARACTER OF BURKE</td>
+    <td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdrt">XIII.</td>
+    <td class="tdl">ON THE CHARACTER OF FOX</td>
+    <td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdrt">XIV.</td>
+    <td class="tdl">ON THE CHARACTER OF MR. PITT</td>
+    <td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_185">185</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdrt">XV.</td>
+    <td class="tdl">ON THE CHARACTER OF LORD CHATHAM</td>
+    <td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_191">191</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdrt">XVI.</td>
+    <td class="tdl">BELIEF, WHETHER VOLUNTARY?</td>
+    <td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_196">196</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdrt">XVII.</td>
+    <td class="tdl">A FAREWELL TO ESSAY-WRITING</td>
+    <td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_205">205</a></td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii"><!-- blank page --></a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<p class="ptop"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>1]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center padtop padbase xlrgfont">HAZLITT&rsquo;S ESSAYS</p>
+
+
+
+<h2>ESSAY I<br />
+<br />
+<span class="vsmlfont">MY FIRST ACQUAINTANCE WITH POETS</span></h2>
+
+
+<p>My father was a Dissenting Minister, at Wem, in
+Shropshire; and in the year 1798 (the figures that
+compose the date are to me like the &lsquo;dreaded name
+of Demogorgon&rsquo;) Mr. Coleridge came to Shrewsbury,
+to succeed Mr. Rowe in the spiritual charge of a
+Unitarian Congregation there. He did not come till
+late on the Saturday afternoon before he was to
+preach; and Mr. Rowe, who himself went down to
+the coach, in a state of anxiety and expectation, to
+look for the arrival of his successor, could find no one
+at all answering the description but a round-faced
+man, in a short black coat (like a shooting-jacket)
+which hardly seemed to have been made for him, but
+who seemed to be talking at a great rate to his fellow
+passengers. Mr. Rowe had scarce returned to give
+an account of his disappointment when the round-faced
+man in black entered, and dissipated all doubts
+on the subject by beginning to talk. He did not
+cease while he stayed; nor has he since, that I know
+of. He held the good town of Shrewsbury in delightful
+suspense for three weeks that he remained there,
+&lsquo;fluttering the <em>proud Salopians</em>, like an eagle in a
+dove-cote&rsquo;; and the Welch mountains that skirt the
+horizon with their tempestuous confusion, agree to
+have heard no such mystic sounds since the days of</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem26">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;High-born Hoel&rsquo;s harp or soft Llewellyn&rsquo;s lay.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>As we passed along between Wem and Shrewsbury,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>2]</a></span>
+and I eyed their blue tops seen through the wintry
+branches, or the red rustling leaves of the sturdy
+oak-trees by the road-side, a sound was in my ears
+as of a Syren&rsquo;s song; I was stunned, startled with it,
+as from deep sleep; but I had no notion then that I
+should ever be able to express my admiration to
+others in motley imagery or quaint allusion, till the
+light of his genius shone into my soul, like the sun&rsquo;s
+rays glittering in the puddles of the road. I was at
+that time dumb, inarticulate, helpless, like a worm
+by the way-side, crushed, bleeding, lifeless; but now,
+bursting the deadly bands that bound them,</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem20">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;With Styx nine times round them,&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>my ideas float on winged words, and as they expand
+their plumes, catch the golden light of other years.
+My soul has indeed remained in its original bondage,
+dark, obscure, with longings infinite and unsatisfied;
+my heart, shut up in the prison-house of this rude
+clay, has never found, nor will it ever find, a heart to
+speak to; but that my understanding also did not
+remain dumb and brutish, or at length found a
+language to express itself, I owe to Coleridge. But
+this is not to my purpose.</p>
+
+<p>My father lived ten miles from Shrewsbury, and
+was in the habit of exchanging visits with Mr. Rowe,
+and with Mr. Jenkins of Whitchurch (nine miles
+farther on), according to the custom of Dissenting
+Ministers in each other&rsquo;s neighbourhood. A line of
+communication is thus established, by which the
+flame of civil and religious liberty is kept alive, and
+nourishes its smouldering fire unquenchable, like
+the fires in the <i>Agamemnon</i> of &AElig;schylus, placed at
+different stations, that waited for ten long years to
+announce with their blazing pyramids the destruction
+of Troy. Coleridge had agreed to come over and see
+my father, according to the courtesy of the country,
+as Mr. Rowe&rsquo;s probable successor; but in the meantime,
+I had gone to hear him preach the Sunday after
+his arrival. A poet and a philosopher getting up into
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>3]</a></span>
+a Unitarian pulpit to preach the gospel, was a romance
+in these degenerate days, a sort of revival of the
+primitive spirit of Christianity, which was not to be
+resisted.</p>
+
+<p>It was in January of 1798, that I rose one morning
+before daylight, to walk ten miles in the mud, to hear
+this celebrated person preach. Never, the longest
+day I have to live, shall I have such another walk as
+this cold, raw, comfortless one, in the winter of the
+year 1798. <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Il y a des impressions que ni le tems ni les
+circonstances peuvent effacer. Duss&eacute;-je vivre des si&egrave;cles
+entiers, le doux tems de ma jeunesse ne peut rena&icirc;tre
+pour moi, ni s&rsquo;effacer jamais dans ma m&eacute;moire.</i> When
+I got there, the organ was playing the 100th Psalm,
+and when it was done, Mr. Coleridge rose and gave
+out his text, &lsquo;And he went up into the mountain to
+pray, <em class="smallcap">himself, alone</em>.&rsquo; As he gave out this text, his
+voice &lsquo;rose like a steam of rich distilled perfumes,&rsquo;
+and when he came to the two last words, which he
+pronounced loud, deep, and distinct, it seemed to
+me, who was then young, as if the sounds had echoed
+from the bottom of the human heart, and as if that
+prayer might have floated in solemn silence through
+the universe. The idea of St. John came into my
+mind, &lsquo;of one crying in the wilderness, who had his
+loins girt about, and whose food was locusts and wild
+honey.&rsquo; The preacher then launched into his subject,
+like an eagle dallying with the wind. The sermon
+was upon peace and war; upon church and state&mdash;not
+their alliance but their separation&mdash;on the spirit of
+the world and the spirit of Christianity, not as the
+same, but as opposed to one another. He talked of
+those who had &lsquo;inscribed the cross of Christ on
+banners dripping with human gore.&rsquo; He made a
+poetical and pastoral excursion&mdash;and to show the
+fatal effects of war, drew a striking contrast between
+the simple shepherd-boy, driving his team afield, or
+sitting under the hawthorn, piping to his flock, &lsquo;as
+though he should never be old.&rsquo; and the same poor
+country lad, crimped, kidnapped, brought into town,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>4]</a></span>
+made drunk at an alehouse, turned into a wretched
+drummer-boy, with his hair sticking on end with
+powder and pomatum, a long cue at his back, and
+tricked out in the loathsome finery of the profession
+of blood:</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem27">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;Such were the notes our once-loved poet sung.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>And for myself, I could not have been more delighted
+if I had heard the music of the spheres. Poetry and
+Philosophy had met together. Truth and Genius had
+embraced, under the eye and with the sanction of
+Religion. This was even beyond my hopes. I returned
+home well satisfied. The sun that was still
+labouring pale and wan through the sky, obscured by
+thick mists, seemed an emblem of the <em>good cause</em>; and
+the cold dank drops of dew, that hung half melted on
+the beard of the thistle, had something genial and
+refreshing in them; for there was a spirit of hope and
+youth in all nature, that turned everything into
+good. The face of nature had not then the brand of
+<em class="smallcap">Jus Divinum</em> on it:</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem27">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;Like to that sanguine flower inscrib&rsquo;d with woe.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>On the Tuesday following, the half-inspired speaker
+came. I was called down into the room where he
+was, and went half-hoping, half-afraid. He received
+me very graciously, and I listened for a long time
+without uttering a word. I did not suffer in his
+opinion by my silence. &lsquo;For those two hours,&rsquo; he
+afterwards was pleased to say, &lsquo;he was conversing
+with William Hazlitt&rsquo;s forehead!&rsquo; His appearance
+was different from what I had anticipated from seeing
+him before. At a distance, and in the dim light of the
+chapel, there was to me a strange wildness in his
+aspect, a dusky obscurity, and I thought him pitted
+with the small-pox. His complexion was at that
+time clear, and even bright&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem23">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;As are the children of yon azure sheen.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>His forehead was broad and high, light as if built of
+ivory, with large projecting eyebrows, and his eyes
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>5]</a></span>
+rolling beneath them, like a sea with darkened lustre.
+&lsquo;A certain tender bloom his face o&rsquo;erspread,&rsquo; a purple
+tinge as we see it in the pale thoughtful complexions
+of the Spanish portrait-painters, Murillo and
+Valasquez. His mouth was gross, voluptuous, open,
+eloquent; his chin good-humoured and round; but
+his nose, the rudder of the face, the index of the will,
+was small, feeble, nothing&mdash;like what he has done.
+It might seem that the genius of his face as from a
+height surveyed and projected him (with sufficient
+capacity and huge aspiration) into the world unknown
+of thought and imagination, with nothing to support
+or guide his veering purpose, as if Columbus had
+launched his adventurous course for the New World
+in a scallop, without oars or compass. So, at least, I
+comment on it after the event. Coleridge, in his
+person, was rather above the common size, inclining
+to the corpulent, or like Lord Hamlet, &lsquo;somewhat fat
+and pursy.&rsquo; His hair (now, alas! grey) was then
+black and glossy as the raven&rsquo;s, and fell in smooth
+masses over his forehead. This long pendulous hair
+is peculiar to enthusiasts, to those whose minds tend
+heavenward; and is traditionally inseparable (though
+of a different colour) from the pictures of Christ. It
+ought to belong, as a character, to all who preach
+<em>Christ crucified</em>, and Coleridge was at that time one of
+those!</p>
+
+<p>It was curious to observe the contrast between him
+and my father, who was a veteran in the cause, and
+then declining into the vale of years. He had been a
+poor Irish lad, carefully brought up by his parents,
+and sent to the University of Glasgow (where he
+studied under Adam Smith) to prepare him for his
+future destination. It was his mother&rsquo;s proudest
+wish to see her son a Dissenting Minister. So, if we
+look back to past generations (as far as eye can
+reach), we see the same hopes, fears, wishes, followed
+by the same disappointments, throbbing in the human
+heart; and so we may see them (if we look forward)
+rising up for ever, and disappearing, like vapourish
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>6]</a></span>
+bubbles, in the human breast! After being tossed
+about from congregation to congregation in the heats
+of the Unitarian controversy, and squabbles about
+the American war, he had been relegated to an
+obscure village, where he was to spend the last thirty
+years of his life, far from the only converse that he
+loved, the talk about disputed texts of Scripture, and
+the cause of civil and religious liberty. Here he
+passed his days, repining, but resigned, in the study
+of the Bible, and the perusal of the Commentators&mdash;huge
+folios, not easily got through, one of which
+would outlast a winter! Why did he pore on these
+from morn to night (with the exception of a walk in
+the fields or a turn in the garden to gather broccoli-plants
+or kidney beans of his own rearing, with no
+small degree of pride and pleasure)? Here were &lsquo;no
+figures nor no fantasies&rsquo;&mdash;neither poetry nor philosophy&mdash;nothing
+to dazzle, nothing to excite modern
+curiosity; but to his lack-lustre eyes there appeared
+within the pages of the ponderous, unwieldy, neglected
+tomes, the sacred name of JEHOVAH in Hebrew
+capitals: pressed down by the weight of the style,
+worn to the last fading thinness of the understanding,
+there were glimpses, glimmering notions of the patriarchal
+wanderings, with palm-trees hovering in the
+horizon, and processions of camels at the distance of
+three thousand years; there was Moses with the
+Burning Bush, the number of the Twelve Tribes,
+types, shadows, glosses on the law and the prophets;
+there were discussions (dull enough) on the age of
+Methuselah, a mighty speculation! there were outlines,
+rude guesses at the shape of Noah&rsquo;s Ark and of
+the riches of Solomon&rsquo;s Temple; questions as to the
+date of the creation, predictions of the end of all
+things; the great lapses of time, the strange mutations
+of the globe were unfolded with the voluminous
+leaf, as it turned over; and though the soul might
+slumber with an hieroglyphic veil of inscrutable
+mysteries drawn over it, yet it was in a slumber ill-exchanged
+for all the sharpened realities of sense,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>7]</a></span>
+wit, fancy, or reason. My father&rsquo;s life was comparatively
+a dream; but it was a dream of infinity
+and eternity, of death, the resurrection, and a judgment
+to come!</p>
+
+<p>No two individuals were ever more unlike than
+were the host and his guest. A poet was to my father
+a sort of nondescript; yet whatever added grace to
+the Unitarian cause was to him welcome. He could
+hardly have been more surprised or pleased, if our
+visitor had worn wings. Indeed, his thoughts had
+wings: and as the silken sounds rustled round our
+little wainscoted parlour, my father threw back his
+spectacles over his forehead, his white hairs mixing
+with its sanguine hue; and a smile of delight beamed
+across his rugged, cordial face, to think that Truth
+had found a new ally in Fancy!<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> Besides, Coleridge
+seemed to take considerable notice of me, and that of
+itself was enough. He talked very familiarly, but
+agreeably, and glanced over a variety of subjects.
+At dinner-time he grew more animated, and dilated
+in a very edifying manner on Mary Wolstonecraft and
+Mackintosh. The last, he said, he considered (on my
+father&rsquo;s speaking of his <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Vindici&aelig; Gallic&aelig;</i> as a capital
+performance) as a clever, scholastic man&mdash;a master of
+the topics&mdash;or, as the ready warehouseman of letters,
+who knew exactly where to lay his hand on what he
+wanted, though the goods were not his own. He
+thought him no match for Burke, either in style or
+matter. Burke was a metaphysician, Mackintosh a
+mere logician. Burke was an orator (almost a poet)
+who reasoned in figures, because he had an eye for
+nature: Mackintosh, on the other hand, was a
+rhetorician, who had only an eye to commonplaces.
+On this I ventured to say that I had always entertained
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>8]</a></span>
+a great opinion of Burke, and that (as far as I could
+find) the speaking of him with contempt might be
+made the test of a vulgar, democratical mind. This
+was the first observation I ever made to Coleridge,
+and he said it was a very just and striking one. I
+remember the leg of Welsh mutton and the turnips
+on the table that day had the finest flavour imaginable.
+Coleridge added that Mackintosh and Tom Wedgwood
+(of whom, however, he spoke highly) had expressed a
+very indifferent opinion of his friend Mr. Wordsworth,
+on which he remarked to them&mdash;&lsquo;He strides
+on so far before you, that he dwindles in the distance!&rsquo;
+Godwin had once boasted to him of having carried on
+an argument with Mackintosh for three hours with
+dubious success; Coleridge told him&mdash;&lsquo;If there had
+been a man of genius in the room he would have
+settled the question in five minutes.&rsquo; He asked me
+if I had ever seen Mary Wolstonecraft, and I said, I
+had once for a few moments, and that she seemed to
+me to turn off Godwin&rsquo;s objections to something she
+advanced with quite a playful, easy air. He replied,
+that &lsquo;this was only one instance of the ascendency
+which people of imagination exercised over those of
+mere intellect.&rsquo; He did not rate Godwin very high<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a>
+(this was caprice or prejudice, real or affected), but he
+had a great idea of Mrs. Wolstonecraft&rsquo;s powers of
+conversation; none at all of her talent for bookmaking.
+We talked a little about Holcroft. He had
+been asked if he was not much struck <em>with</em> him, and
+he said, he thought himself in more danger of being
+struck <em>by</em> him. I complained that he would not let
+me get on at all, for he required a definition of every
+the commonest word, exclaiming, &lsquo;What do you mean
+by a <em>sensation</em>, Sir? What do you mean by an <em>idea</em>?&rsquo;
+This, Coleridge said, was barricadoing the road to
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>9]</a></span>
+truth; it was setting up a turnpike-gate at every step
+we took. I forget a great number of things, many
+more than I remember; but the day passed off
+pleasantly, and the next morning Mr. Coleridge was
+to return to Shrewsbury. When I came down to breakfast,
+I found that he had just received a letter from his
+friend, T. Wedgwood, making him an offer of 150<i>l.</i> a
+year if he chose to waive his present pursuit, and
+devote himself entirely to the study of poetry and
+philosophy. Coleridge seemed to make up his mind
+to close with this proposal in the act of tying on one
+of his shoes. It threw an additional damp on his
+departure. It took the wayward enthusiast quite
+from us to cast him into Deva&rsquo;s winding vales, or by
+the shores of old romance. Instead of living at ten
+miles&rsquo; distance, of being the pastor of a Dissenting
+congregation at Shrewsbury, he was henceforth to
+inhabit the Hill of Parnassus, to be a Shepherd on
+the Delectable Mountains. Alas! I knew not the
+way thither, and felt very little gratitude for Mr.
+Wedgwood&rsquo;s bounty. I was presently relieved from
+this dilemma; for Mr. Coleridge, asking for a pen
+and ink, and going to a table to write something on a
+bit of card, advanced towards me with undulating step,
+and giving me the precious document, said that that
+was his address, <i>Mr. Coleridge, Nether-Stowey, Somersetshire</i>;
+and that he should be glad to see me there in a
+few weeks&rsquo; time, and, if I chose, would come half-way
+to meet me. I was not less surprised than the
+shepherd-boy (this simile is to be found in <i>Cassandra</i>),
+when he sees a thunderbolt fall close at his feet. I
+stammered out my acknowledgments and acceptance
+of this offer (I thought Mr. Wedgwood&rsquo;s annuity a
+trifle to it) as well as I could; and this mighty business
+being settled, the poet preacher took leave, and
+I accompanied him six miles on the road. It was a
+fine morning in the middle of winter, and he talked
+the whole way. The scholar in Chaucer is described
+as going</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem16">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&mdash;&mdash;&lsquo;Sounding on his way.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>10]</a></span>
+So Coleridge went on his. In digressing, in dilating,
+in passing from subject to subject, he appeared to me
+to float in air, to slide on ice. He told me in confidence
+(going along) that he should have preached
+two sermons before he accepted the situation at
+Shrewsbury, one on Infant Baptism, the other on the
+Lord&rsquo;s Supper, showing that he could not administer
+either, which would have effectually disqualified
+him for the object in view. I observed that
+he continually crossed me on the way by shifting
+from one side of the footpath to the other. This
+struck me as an odd movement; but I did not at that
+time connect it with any instability of purpose or
+involuntary change of principle, as I have done since.
+He seemed unable to keep on in a straight line. He
+spoke slightingly of Hume (whose <i>Essay on Miracles</i>
+he said was stolen from an objection started in one of
+South&rsquo;s sermons&mdash;<em lang="la" xml:lang="la">Credat Jud&aelig;us Appella!</em>) I was not
+very much pleased at this account of Hume, for I had
+just been reading, with infinite relish, that completest
+of all metaphysical <em>chokepears</em>, his <i>Treatise on Human
+Nature</i>, to which the <i>Essays</i> in point of scholastic
+subtility and close reasoning, are mere elegant
+trifling, light summer reading. Coleridge even denied
+the excellence of Hume&rsquo;s general style, which I think
+betrayed a want of taste or candour. He however
+made me amends by the manner in which he spoke of
+Berkeley. He dwelt particularly on his <i>Essay on
+Vision</i> as a masterpiece of analytical reasoning. So
+it undoubtedly is. He was exceedingly angry with
+Dr. Johnson for striking the stone with his foot, in
+allusion to this author&rsquo;s <i>Theory of Matter and Spirit</i>,
+and saying, &lsquo;Thus I confute him, Sir.&rsquo; Coleridge
+drew a parallel (I don&rsquo;t know how he brought about
+the connection) between Bishop Berkeley and Tom
+Paine. He said the one was an instance of a subtle,
+the other of an acute mind, than which no two things
+could be more distinct. The one was a shop-boy&rsquo;s
+quality, the other the characteristic of a philosopher.
+He considered Bishop Butler as a true philosopher,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>11]</a></span>
+a profound and conscientious thinker, a genuine
+reader of nature and his own mind. He did not speak
+of his <i>Analogy</i>, but of his <i>Sermons at the Rolls&rsquo; Chapel</i>,
+of which I had never heard. Coleridge somehow
+always contrived to prefer the <em>unknown</em> to the <em>known</em>.
+In this instance he was right. The <i>Analogy</i> is a tissue
+of sophistry, of wire-drawn, theological special-pleading;
+the <i>Sermons</i> (with the preface to them) are
+in a fine vein of deep, matured reflection, a candid
+appeal to our observation of human nature, without
+pedantry and without bias. I told Coleridge I had
+written a few remarks, and was sometimes foolish
+enough to believe that I had made a discovery on the
+same subject (the <em>Natural disinterestedness of the
+Human Mind</em>)&mdash;and I tried to explain my view of it
+to Coleridge, who listened with great willingness, but
+I did not succeed in making myself understood. I sat
+down to the task shortly afterwards for the twentieth
+time, got new pens and paper, determined to make
+clear work of it, wrote a few meagre sentences in the
+skeleton style of a mathematical demonstration,
+stopped half-way down the second page; and, after
+trying in vain to pump up any words, images, notions,
+apprehensions, facts, or observations, from that gulf
+of abstraction in which I had plunged myself for four
+or five years preceding, gave up the attempt as labour
+in vain, and shed tears of helpless despondency on the
+blank, unfinished paper. I can write fast enough
+now. Am I better than I was then? Oh no! One
+truth discovered, one pang of regret at not being able
+to express it, is better than all the fluency and
+flippancy in the world. Would that I could go back
+to what I then was! Why can we not revive past
+times as we can revisit old places? If I had the quaint
+Muse of Sir Philip Sidney to assist me, I would write
+a <i>Sonnet to the Road between Wem and Shrewsbury</i>, and
+immortalise every step of it by some fond enigmatical
+conceit. I would swear that the very milestones had
+ears, and that Harmer hill stooped with all its pines,
+to listen to a poet, as he passed! I remember but one
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>12]</a></span>
+other topic of discourse in this walk. He mentioned
+Paley, praised the naturalness and clearness of his
+style, but condemned his sentiments, thought him a
+mere time-serving casuist, and said that &lsquo;the fact of
+his work on Moral and Political Philosophy being
+made a text-book in our Universities was a disgrace
+to the national character.&rsquo; We parted at the six-mile
+stone; and I returned homeward, pensive, but
+much pleased. I had met with unexpected notice from
+a person whom I believed to have been prejudiced
+against me. &lsquo;Kind and affable to me had been his
+condescension, and should be honoured ever with
+suitable regard.&rsquo; He was the first poet I had known,
+and he certainly answered to that inspired name. I
+had heard a great deal of his powers of conversation
+and was not disappointed. In fact, I never met with
+anything at all like them, either before or since. I
+could easily credit the accounts which were circulated
+of his holding forth to a large party of ladies and
+gentlemen, an evening or two before, on the Berkeleian
+Theory, when he made the whole material universe
+look like a transparency of fine words; and another
+story (which I believe he has somewhere told himself)
+of his being asked to a party at Birmingham, of his
+smoking tobacco and going to sleep after dinner on a
+sofa, where the company found him, to their no small
+surprise, which was increased to wonder when he
+started up of a sudden, and rubbing his eyes, looked
+about him, and launched into a three hours&rsquo; description
+of the third heaven, of which he had had a dream,
+very different from Mr. Southey&rsquo;s <i>Vision of Judgment</i>,
+and also from that other <i>Vision of Judgment</i>, which
+Mr. Murray, the Secretary of the Bridge-street
+Junta, took into his especial keeping.</p>
+
+<p>On my way back I had a sound in my ears&mdash;it was the
+voice of Fancy; I had a light before me&mdash;it was the
+face of Poetry. The one still lingers there, the other
+has not quitted my side! Coleridge, in truth, met me
+half-way on the ground of philosophy, or I should not
+have been won over to his imaginative creed. I had
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>13]</a></span>
+an uneasy, pleasurable sensation all the time, till I
+was to visit him. During those months the chill
+breath of winter gave me a welcoming; the vernal air
+was balm and inspiration to me. The golden sunsets,
+the silver star of evening, lighted me on my way to
+new hopes and prospects. <em>I was to visit Coleridge in
+the spring.</em> This circumstance was never absent from
+my thoughts, and mingled with all my feelings. I
+wrote to him at the time proposed, and received an
+answer postponing my intended visit for a week or
+two, but very cordially urging me to complete my
+promise then. This delay did not damp, but rather
+increased my ardour. In the meantime, I went to
+Llangollen Vale, by way of initiating myself in the
+mysteries of natural scenery; and I must say I was
+enchanted with it. I had been reading Coleridge&rsquo;s
+description of England in his fine <i>Ode on the Departing
+Year</i>, and I applied it, <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">con amore</i>, to the objects
+before me. That valley was to me (in a manner) the
+cradle of a new existence: in the river that winds
+through it, my spirit was baptized in the waters of
+Helicon!</p>
+
+<p>I returned home, and soon after set out on my
+journey with unworn heart, and untired feet. My
+way lay through Worcester and Gloucester, and by
+Upton, where I thought of Tom Jones and the adventure
+of the muff. I remember getting completely wet
+through one day, and stopping at an inn (I think it
+was at Tewkesbury) where I sat up all night to read
+<i>Paul and Virginia</i>. Sweet were the showers in early
+youth that drenched my body, and sweet the drops of
+pity that fell upon the books I read! I recollect a
+remark of Coleridge&rsquo;s upon this very book that
+nothing could show the gross indelicacy of French
+manners and the entire corruption of their imagination
+more strongly than the behaviour of the heroine
+in the last fatal scene, who turns away from a person
+on board the sinking vessel, that offers to save her
+life, because he has thrown off his clothes to assist
+him in swimming. Was this a time to think of such
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>14]</a></span>
+a circumstance? I once hinted to Wordsworth, as we
+were sailing in his boat on Grasmere lake, that I
+thought he had borrowed the idea of his <i>Poems on the
+Naming of Places</i> from the local inscriptions of the
+same kind in <i>Paul and Virginia</i>. He did not own the
+obligation, and stated some distinction without a
+difference in defence of his claim to originality. Any,
+the slightest variation, would be sufficient for this
+purpose in his mind; for whatever <em>he</em> added or altered
+would inevitably be worth all that any one else had
+done, and contain the marrow of the sentiment. I
+was still two days before the time fixed for my arrival,
+for I had taken care to set out early enough. I
+stopped these two days at Bridgewater; and when I
+was tired of sauntering on the banks of its muddy
+river, returned to the inn and read <i>Camilla</i>. So have
+I loitered my life away, reading books, looking at
+pictures, going to plays, hearing, thinking, writing
+on what pleased me best. I have wanted only one
+thing to make me happy; but wanting that have
+wanted everything!</p>
+
+<p>I arrived, and was well received. The country
+about Nether Stowey is beautiful, green and hilly,
+and near the sea-shore. I saw it but the other day,
+after an interval of twenty years, from a hill near
+Taunton. How was the map of my life spread out
+before me, as the map of the country lay at my feet!
+In the afternoon, Coleridge took me over to All-Foxden,
+a romantic old family mansion of the St.
+Aubins, where Wordsworth lived. It was then in the
+possession of a friend of the poet&rsquo;s, who gave him the
+free use of it. Somehow, that period (the time just
+after the French Revolution) was not a time when
+<em>nothing was given for nothing</em>. The mind opened and
+a softness might be perceived coming over the heart
+of individuals, beneath &lsquo;the scales that fence&rsquo; our
+self-interest. Wordsworth himself was from home,
+but his sister kept house, and set before us a frugal
+repast; and we had free access to her brother&rsquo;s poems,
+the <i>Lyrical Ballads</i>, which were still in manuscript, or
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>15]</a></span>
+in the form of <i>Sybilline Leaves</i>. I dipped into a few
+of these with great satisfaction, and with the faith of
+a novice. I slept that night in an old room with blue
+hangings, and covered with the round-faced family
+portraits of the age of George <small>I.</small> and <small>II.</small>, and from the
+wooded declivity of the adjoining park that overlooked
+my window, at the dawn of day, could</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem18">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&mdash;&mdash;&lsquo;hear the loud stag speak.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>In the outset of life (and particularly at this time I
+felt it so) our imagination has a body to it. We are
+in a state between sleeping and waking, and have indistinct
+but glorious glimpses of strange shapes, and
+there is always something to come better than what
+we see. As in our dreams the fulness of the blood
+gives warmth and reality to the coinage of the brain,
+so in youth our ideas are clothed, and fed, and pampered
+with our good spirits; we breathe thick with
+thoughtless happiness, the weight of future years
+presses on the strong pulses of the heart, and we
+repose with undisturbed faith in truth and good. As
+we advance, we exhaust our fund of enjoyment and
+of hope. We are no longer wrapped in <em>lamb&rsquo;s-wool</em>,
+lulled in Elysium. As we taste the pleasures of life,
+their spirit evaporates, the sense palls; and nothing
+is left but the phantoms, the lifeless shadows of what
+<em>has been</em>!</p>
+
+<p>That morning, as soon as breakfast was over, we
+strolled out into the park, and seating ourselves on
+the trunk of an old ash-tree that stretched along the
+ground, Coleridge read aloud with a sonorous and
+musical voice, the ballad of <i>Betty Foy</i>. I was not
+critically or sceptically inclined. I saw touches of
+truth and nature, and took the rest for granted. But
+in the <i>Thorn</i>, the <i>Mad Mother</i>, and the <i>Complaint of a
+Poor Indian Woman</i>, I felt that deeper power and
+pathos which have been since acknowledged,</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem23">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;In spite of pride, in erring reason&rsquo;s spite,&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>16]</a></span>
+as the characteristics of this author; and the sense of
+a new style and a new spirit in poetry came over me.
+It had to me something of the effect that arises from
+the turning up of the fresh soil, or of the first
+welcome breath of Spring:</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem26">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;While yet the trembling year is unconfirmed.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Coleridge and myself walked back to Stowey that
+evening, and his voice sounded high</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem26">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;Of Providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fix&rsquo;d fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute,&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>as we passed through echoing grove, by fairy stream
+or waterfall, gleaming in the summer moonlight! He
+lamented that Wordsworth was not prone enough to
+believe in the traditional superstitions of the place,
+and that there was a something corporeal, a <em>matter-of-fact-ness</em>,
+a clinging to the palpable, or often to the
+petty, in his poetry, in consequence. His genius was
+not a spirit that descended to him through the air; it
+sprung out of the ground like a flower, or unfolded
+itself from a green spray, on which the goldfinch
+sang. He said, however (if I remember right), that
+this objection must be confined to his descriptive
+pieces, that his philosophic poetry had a grand and
+comprehensive spirit in it, so that his soul seemed to
+inhabit the universe like a palace, and to discover
+truth by intuition, rather than by deduction. The
+next day Wordsworth arrived from Bristol at Coleridge&rsquo;s
+cottage. I think I see him now. He answered
+in some degree to his friend&rsquo;s description of him, but
+was more gaunt and Don Quixote-like. He was
+quaintly dressed (according to the <em>costume</em> of that unconstrained
+period) in a brown fustian jacket and
+striped pantaloons. There was something of a roll, a
+lounge in his gait, not unlike his own <i>Peter Bell</i>.
+There was a severe, worn pressure of thought about
+his temples, a fire in his eye (as if he saw something
+in objects more than the outward appearance), an
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>17]</a></span>
+intense, high, narrow forehead, a Roman nose, cheeks
+furrowed by strong purpose and feeling, and a convulsive
+inclination to laughter about the mouth, a
+good deal at variance with the solemn, stately expression
+of the rest of his face. Chantrey&rsquo;s bust
+wants the marking traits; but he was teased into
+making it regular and heavy: Haydon&rsquo;s head of
+him, introduced into the <i>Entrance of Christ into
+Jerusalem</i>, is the most like his drooping weight of
+thought and expression. He sat down and talked
+very naturally and freely, with a mixture of clear,
+gushing accents in his voice, a deep guttural intonation,
+and a strong tincture of the northern <em>burr</em>, like
+the crust on wine. He instantly began to make
+havoc of the half of a Cheshire cheese on the table,
+and said, triumphantly, that &lsquo;his marriage with experience
+had not been so productive as Mr. Southey&rsquo;s
+in teaching him a knowledge of the good things of
+this life.&rsquo; He had been to see the <i>Castle Spectre</i> by
+Monk Lewis, while at Bristol, and described it very
+well. He said &lsquo;it fitted the taste of the audience
+like a glove.&rsquo; This <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">ad captandum</i> merit was however
+by no means a recommendation of it, according
+to the severe principles of the new school, which
+reject rather than court popular effect. Wordsworth,
+looking out of the low, latticed window, said,
+&lsquo;How beautifully the sun sets on that yellow bank!&rsquo;
+I thought within myself, &lsquo;With what eyes these
+poets see nature!&rsquo; and ever after, when I saw the
+sun-set stream upon the objects facing it, conceived I
+had made a discovery, or thanked Mr. Wordsworth
+for having made one for me! We went over to All-Foxden
+again the day following, and Wordsworth
+read us the story of <i>Peter Bell</i> in the open air; and
+the comment upon it by his face and voice was very
+different from that of some later critics! Whatever
+might be thought of the poem, &lsquo;his face was as a
+book where men might read strange matters,&rsquo; and he
+announced the fate of his hero in prophetic tones.
+There is a <em>chaunt</em> in the recitation both of Coleridge
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>18]</a></span>
+and Wordsworth, which acts as a spell upon the
+hearer, and disarms the judgment. Perhaps they
+have deceived themselves by making habitual use of
+this ambiguous accompaniment. Coleridge&rsquo;s manner
+is more full, animated, and varied; Wordsworth&rsquo;s
+more equable, sustained, and internal. The one
+might be termed more <em>dramatic</em>, the other more
+<em>lyrical</em>. Coleridge has told me that he himself liked
+to compose in walking over uneven ground, or breaking
+through the straggling branches of a copse-wood;
+whereas Wordsworth always wrote (if he could)
+walking up and down a straight gravel walk, or in
+some spot where the continuity of his verse met
+with no collateral interruption. Returning that
+same evening, I got into a metaphysical argument
+with Wordsworth, while Coleridge was explaining
+the different notes of the nightingale to his sister, in
+which we neither of us succeeded in making ourselves
+perfectly clear and intelligible. Thus I passed three
+weeks at Nether Stowey and in the neighbourhood,
+generally devoting the afternoons to a delightful chat
+in an arbour made of bark by the poet&rsquo;s friend Tom
+Poole, sitting under two fine elm-trees, and listening
+to the bees humming round us, while we quaffed our
+<i>flip</i>. It was agreed, among other things, that we
+should make a jaunt down the Bristol Channel, as
+far as Linton. We set off together on foot, Coleridge,
+John Chester, and I. This Chester was a
+native of Nether Stowey, one of those who were
+attracted to Coleridge&rsquo;s discourse as flies are to
+honey, or bees in swarming-time to the sound of a
+brass pan. He &lsquo;followed in the chase like a dog
+who hunts, not like one that made up the cry.&rsquo; He
+had on a brown cloth coat, boots, and corduroy
+breeches, was low in stature, bow-legged, had a drag
+in his walk like a drover, which he assisted by a hazel
+switch, and kept on a sort of trot by the side of Coleridge,
+like a running footman by a state coach, that
+he might not lose a syllable or sound that fell from
+Coleridge&rsquo;s lips. He told me his private opinion,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>19]</a></span>
+that Coleridge was a wonderful man. He scarcely
+opened his lips, much less offered an opinion the
+whole way: yet of the three, had I to choose during
+that journey, I would be John Chester. He afterwards
+followed Coleridge into Germany, where the
+Kantean philosophers were puzzled how to bring him
+under any of their categories. When he sat down at
+table with his idol, John&rsquo;s felicity was complete; Sir
+Walter Scott&rsquo;s, or Mr. Blackwood&rsquo;s, when they sat
+down at the same table with the King, was not more
+so. We passed Dunster on our right, a small town
+between the brow of a hill and the sea. I remember
+eyeing it wistfully as it lay below us: contrasted
+with the woody scene around, it looked as clear, as
+pure, as <em>embrowned</em> and ideal as any landscape I have
+seen since, of Gaspar Poussin&rsquo;s or Domenichino&rsquo;s.
+We had a long day&rsquo;s march (our feet kept time to the
+echoes of Coleridge&rsquo;s tongue) through Minehead and
+by the Blue Anchor, and on to Linton, which we did
+not reach till near midnight, and where we had some
+difficulty in making a lodgment. We, however,
+knocked the people of the house up at last, and we
+were repaid for our apprehensions and fatigue by
+some excellent rashers of fried bacon and eggs. The
+view in coming along had been splendid. We walked
+for miles and miles on dark brown heaths overlooking
+the Channel, with the Welsh hills beyond, and
+at times descended into little sheltered valleys close
+by the sea-side, with a smuggler&rsquo;s face scowling by
+us, and then had to ascend conical hills with a path
+winding up through a coppice to a barren top, like a
+monk&rsquo;s shaven crown, from one of which I pointed
+out to Coleridge&rsquo;s notice the bare masts of a vessel on
+the very edge of the horizon, and within the red-orbed
+disk of the setting sun, like his own spectre-ship
+in the <i>Ancient Mariner</i>. At Linton the character
+of the sea-coast becomes more marked and rugged.
+There is a place called the <i>Valley of Rocks</i> (I suspect
+this was only the poetical name for it), bedded among
+precipices overhanging the sea, with rocky caverns
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>20]</a></span>
+beneath, into which the waves dash, and where the
+sea-gull for ever wheels its screaming flight. On the
+tops of these are huge stones thrown transverse, as if
+an earthquake had tossed them there, and behind
+these is a fretwork of perpendicular rocks, something
+like the <i>Giant&rsquo;s Causeway</i>. A thunder-storm came on
+while we were at the inn, and Coleridge was running
+out bare-headed to enjoy the commotion of the
+elements in the <i>Valley of Rocks</i>, but as if in spite,
+the clouds only muttered a few angry sounds, and
+let fall a few refreshing drops. Coleridge told me
+that he and Wordsworth were to have made this
+place the scene of a prose-tale, which was to have
+been in the manner of, but far superior to, the <i>Death
+of Abel</i>, but they had relinquished the design. In
+the morning of the second day, we breakfasted
+luxuriously in an old-fashioned parlour on tea, toast,
+eggs, and honey, in the very sight of the bee-hives
+from which it had been taken, and a garden full of
+thyme and wild flowers that had produced it. On
+this occasion Coleridge spoke of Virgil&rsquo;s <i>Georgics</i>,
+but not well. I do not think he had much feeling
+for the classical or elegant.<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> It was in this room
+that we found a little worn-out copy of the <i>Seasons</i>,
+lying in a window-seat, on which Coleridge exclaimed,
+&lsquo;<em>That</em> is true fame!&rsquo; He said Thomson was a great
+poet, rather than a good one; his style was as meretricious
+as his thoughts were natural. He spoke of
+Cowper as the best modern poet. He said the <i>Lyrical
+Ballads</i> were an experiment about to be tried by him
+and Wordsworth, to see how far the public taste
+would endure poetry written in a more natural and
+simple style than had hitherto been attempted; totally
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>21]</a></span>
+discarding the artifices of poetical diction, and making
+use only of such words as had probably been common
+in the most ordinary language since the days of
+Henry <small>II.</small> Some comparison was introduced between
+Shakspeare and Milton. He said &lsquo;he hardly knew
+which to prefer. Shakspeare appeared to him a
+mere stripling in the art; he was as tall and as
+strong, with infinitely more activity than Milton, but
+he never appeared to have come to man&rsquo;s estate; or
+if he had, he would not have been a man, but a
+monster.&rsquo; He spoke with contempt of Gray, and
+with intolerance of Pope. He did not like the versification
+of the latter. He observed that &lsquo;the ears of
+these couplet-writers might be charged with having
+short memories, that could not retain the harmony of
+whole passages.&rsquo; He thought little of Junius as a
+writer; he had a dislike of Dr. Johnson; and a
+much higher opinion of Burke as an orator and
+politician, than of Fox or Pitt. He, however, thought
+him very inferior in richness of style and imagery to
+some of our elder prose-writers, particularly Jeremy
+Taylor. He liked Richardson, but not Fielding; nor
+could I get him to enter into the merits of <i>Caleb
+Williams</i>. In short, he was profound and discriminating
+with respect to those authors whom he liked,
+and where he gave his judgment fair play; capricious,
+perverse, and prejudiced in his antipathies and distastes.
+We loitered on the &lsquo;ribbed sea-sands,&rsquo; in
+such talk as this a whole morning, and, I recollect,
+met with a curious seaweed, of which John Chester
+told us the country name! A fisherman gave Coleridge
+an account of a boy that had been drowned the
+day before, and that they had tried to save him at the
+risk of their own lives. He said &lsquo;he did not know
+how it was that they ventured, but, Sir, we have a
+<em>nature</em> towards one another.&rsquo; This expression, Coleridge
+remarked to me, was a fine illustration of that
+theory of disinterestedness which I (in common with
+Butler) had adopted. I broached to him an argument
+of mine to prove that <em>likeness</em> was not mere association
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>22]</a></span>
+of ideas. I said that the mark in the sand put one in
+mind of a man&rsquo;s foot, not because it was part of a
+former impression of a man&rsquo;s foot (for it was quite
+new), but because it was like the shape of a man&rsquo;s
+foot. He assented to the justness of this distinction
+(which I have explained at length elsewhere, for the
+benefit of the curious) and John Chester listened;
+not from any interest in the subject, but because he
+was astonished that I should be able to suggest anything
+to Coleridge that he did not already know. We
+returned on the third morning, and Coleridge remarked
+the silent cottage-smoke curling up the
+valleys where, a few evenings before, we had seen
+the lights gleaming through the dark.</p>
+
+<p>In a day or two after we arrived at Stowey, we set
+out, I on my return home, and he for Germany. It
+was a Sunday morning, and he was to preach that
+day for Dr. Toulmin of Taunton. I asked him if he
+had prepared anything for the occasion? He said he
+had not even thought of the text, but should as soon
+as we parted. I did not go to hear him&mdash;this was a
+fault&mdash;but we met in the evening at Bridgewater.
+The next day we had a long day&rsquo;s walk to Bristol,
+and sat down, I recollect, by a well-side on the road,
+to cool ourselves and satisfy our thirst, when Coleridge
+repeated to me some descriptive lines of his tragedy
+of <i>Remorse</i>; which I must say became his mouth and
+that occasion better than they, some years after, did
+Mr. Elliston&rsquo;s and the Drury-lane boards&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem29">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;Oh memory! shield me from the world&rsquo;s poor strife,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And give those scenes thine everlasting life.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>I saw no more of him for a year or two, during
+which period he had been wandering in the Hartz
+Forest, in Germany; and his return was cometary,
+meteorous, unlike his setting out. It was not till
+some time after that I knew his friends Lamb and
+Southey. The last always appears to me (as I first
+saw him) with a commonplace book under his arm,
+and the first with a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bon-mot</i> in his mouth. It was at
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>23]</a></span>
+Godwin&rsquo;s that I met him with Holcroft and Coleridge,
+where they were disputing fiercely which was the
+best&mdash;<em>Man as he was, or man as he is to be</em>. &lsquo;Give
+me,&rsquo; says Lamb, &lsquo;man as he is <em>not</em> to be.&rsquo; This saying
+was the beginning of a friendship between us, which
+I believe still continues. Enough of this for the
+present.</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem22">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;But there is matter for another rhyme,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I to this may add a second tale.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<h3>FOOTNOTES</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a>
+My father was one of those who mistook his talent, after
+all. He used to be very much dissatisfied that I preferred
+his <i>Letters</i> to his <i>Sermons</i>. The last were forced and dry;
+the first came naturally from him. For ease, half-plays on
+words, and a supine, monkish, indolent pleasantry, I have
+never seen them equalled.</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a>
+He complained in particular of the presumption of his
+attempting to establish the future immortality of man,
+&lsquo;without&rsquo; (as he said) &lsquo;knowing what Death was or what Life
+was&rsquo;&mdash;and the tone in which he pronounced these two words
+seemed to convey a complete image of both.</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a>
+He had no idea of pictures, of Claude or Raphael, and at
+this time I had as little as he. He sometimes gives a striking
+account at present of the Cartoons at Pisa by Buffamalco and
+others; of one in particular, where Death is seen in the air
+brandishing his scythe, and the great and mighty of the earth
+shudder at his approach, while the beggars and the wretched
+kneel to him as their deliverer. He would, of course, understand
+so broad and fine a moral as this at any time.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<p class="ptop"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>24]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>ESSAY II<br />
+<br />
+<span class="vsmlfont">OF PERSONS ONE WOULD WISH TO HAVE SEEN</span></h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem19">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;Come like shadows&mdash;so depart.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>Lamb it was, I think, who suggested this subject, as
+well as the defence of Guy Faux, which I urged him
+to execute. As, however, he would undertake neither,
+I suppose I must do both, a task for which he would
+have been much fitter, no less from the temerity than
+the felicity of his pen&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem25">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;Never so sure our rapture to create<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As when it touch&rsquo;d the brink of all we hate.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Compared with him, I shall, I fear, make but a
+commonplace piece of business of it; but I should
+be loth the idea was entirely lost, and besides I may
+avail myself of some hints of his in the progress of it.
+I am sometimes, I suspect, a better reporter of the
+ideas of other people than expounder of my own. I
+pursue the one too far into paradox or mysticism;
+the others I am not bound to follow farther than I
+like, or than seems fair and reasonable.</p>
+
+<p>On the question being started, Ayrton said, &lsquo;I
+suppose the two first persons you would choose to
+see would be the two greatest names in English
+literature, Sir Isaac Newton and Mr. Locke?&rsquo; In
+this Ayrton, as usual, reckoned without his host.
+Every one burst out a laughing at the expression of
+Lamb&rsquo;s face, in which impatience was restrained by
+courtesy. &lsquo;Yes, the greatest names,&rsquo; he stammered
+out hastily, &lsquo;but they were not persons&mdash;not persons.&rsquo;&mdash;&lsquo;Not
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>25]</a></span>
+persons?&rsquo; said Ayrton, looking wise and
+foolish at the same time, afraid his triumph might
+be premature. &lsquo;That is,&rsquo; rejoined Lamb, &lsquo;not characters,
+you know. By Mr. Locke and Sir Isaac
+Newton, you mean the <i>Essay on the Human Understanding</i>,
+and the <i>Principia</i>, which we have to this
+day. Beyond their contents there is nothing personally
+interesting in the men. But what we want
+to see any one <em>bodily</em> for, is when there is something
+peculiar, striking in the individuals, more than we
+can learn from their writings, and yet are curious to
+know. I dare say Locke and Newton were very like
+Kneller&rsquo;s portraits of them. But who could paint
+Shakspeare?&rsquo;&mdash;&lsquo;Ay,&rsquo; retorted Ayrton, &lsquo;there it is;
+then I suppose you would prefer seeing him and
+Milton instead?&rsquo;&mdash;&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said Lamb, &lsquo;neither. I
+have seen so much of Shakspeare on the stage and
+on bookstalls, in frontispieces and on mantel-pieces,
+that I am quite tired of the everlasting repetition:
+and as to Milton&rsquo;s face, the impressions that have
+come down to us of it I do not like; it is too starched
+and puritanical; and I should be afraid of losing
+some of the manna of his poetry in the leaven of his
+countenance and the precisian&rsquo;s band and gown.&rsquo;&mdash;&lsquo;I
+shall guess no more,&rsquo; said Ayrton. &lsquo;Who is it,
+then, you would like to see &ldquo;in his habit as he lived,&rdquo;
+if you had your choice of the whole range of English
+literature?&rsquo; Lamb then named Sir Thomas Browne
+and Fulke Greville, the friend of Sir Philip Sidney,
+as the two worthies whom he should feel the greatest
+pleasure to encounter on the floor of his apartment in
+their nightgown and slippers, and to exchange friendly
+greeting with them. At this Ayrton laughed outright,
+and conceived Lamb was jesting with him; but
+as no one followed his example, he thought there
+might be something in it, and waited for an explanation
+in a state of whimsical suspense. Lamb then
+(as well as I can remember a conversation that passed
+twenty years ago&mdash;how time slips!) went on as follows.
+&lsquo;The reason why I pitch upon these two authors is,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>26]</a></span>
+that their writings are riddles, and they themselves
+the most mysterious of personages. They resemble
+the soothsayers of old, who dealt in dark hints and
+doubtful oracles; and I should like to ask them the
+meaning of what no mortal but themselves, I should
+suppose, can fathom. There is Dr. Johnson: I have
+no curiosity, no strange uncertainty about him; he
+and Boswell together have pretty well let me into
+the secret of what passed through his mind. He and
+other writers like him are sufficiently explicit: my
+friends whose repose I should be tempted to disturb
+(were it in my power), are implicit, inextricable,
+inscrutable.</p>
+
+<p>&lsquo;When I look at that obscure but gorgeous prose
+composition the <i>Urn-burial</i>, I seem to myself to look
+into a deep abyss, at the bottom of which are hid
+pearls and rich treasure; or it is like a stately labyrinth
+of doubt and withering speculation, and I would
+invoke the spirit of the author to lead me through it.
+Besides, who would not be curious to see the lineaments
+of a man who, having himself been twice
+married, wished that mankind were propagated like
+trees! As to Fulke Greville, he is like nothing but
+one of his own &ldquo;Prologues spoken by the ghost of an
+old king of Ormus,&rdquo; a truly formidable and inviting
+personage: his style is apocalyptical, cabalistical, a
+knot worthy of such an apparition to untie; and for
+the unravelling a passage or two, I would stand the
+brunt of an encounter with so portentous a commentator!&rsquo;&mdash;&lsquo;I
+am afraid, in that case,&rsquo; said Ayrton,
+&lsquo;that if the mystery were once cleared up, the merit
+might be lost&rsquo;; and turning to me, whispered a
+friendly apprehension, that while Lamb continued to
+admire these old crabbed authors, he would never
+become a popular writer. Dr. Donne was mentioned
+as a writer of the same period, with a very interesting
+countenance, whose history was singular, and whose
+meaning was often quite as <em>uncomeatable</em>, without a personal
+citation from the dead, as that of any of his contemporaries.
+The volume was produced; and while
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>27]</a></span>
+some one was expatiating on the exquisite simplicity
+and beauty of the portrait prefixed to the old edition,
+Ayrton got hold of the poetry, and exclaiming &lsquo;What
+have we here?&rsquo; read the following:</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem25">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;Here lies a She-Sun and a He-Moon there&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She gives the best light to his sphear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or each is both, and all, and so<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They unto one another nothing owe.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>There was no resisting this, till Lamb, seizing the
+volume, turned to the beautiful <i>Lines to his Mistress</i>,
+dissuading her from accompanying him abroad, and
+read them with suffused features and a faltering
+tongue:</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem28">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;By our first strange and fatal interview,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By all desires which thereof did ensue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By our long starving hopes, by that remorse<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which my words&rsquo; masculine perswasive force<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Begot in thee, and by the memory<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of hurts, which spies and rivals threatned me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I calmely beg. But by thy father&rsquo;s wrath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By all paines which want and divorcement hath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I conjure thee; and all the oathes which I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thou have sworne to seale joynt constancy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here I unsweare, and overswear them thus&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou shalt not love by wayes so dangerous.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Temper, O fair love! love&rsquo;s impetuous rage,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be my true mistris still, not my faign&rsquo;d Page;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I&rsquo;ll goe, and, by thy kinde leave, leave behinde<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thee! onely worthy to nurse in my minde.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thirst to come backe; O, if thou die before,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My soule, from other lands to thee shall soare.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy (else almighty) beauty cannot move<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rage from the seas, nor thy love teach them love.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor tame wild Boreas&rsquo; harshnesse; thou hast reade<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How roughly hee in pieces shivered<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fair Orithea, whom he swore he lov&rsquo;d.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fall ill or good, &rsquo;tis madnesse to have prov&rsquo;d<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dangers unurg&rsquo;d: Feed on this flattery,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That absent lovers one in th&rsquo; other be.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dissemble nothing, not a boy; nor change<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy bodie&rsquo;s habite, nor minde; be not strange<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To thyeselfe onely. All will spie in thy face<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A blushing, womanly, discovering grace.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>28]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Richly-cloath&rsquo;d apes are call&rsquo;d apes, and as soone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Eclips&rsquo;d as bright, we call the moone the moon.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Men of France, changeable camelions,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Spittles of diseases, shops of fashions,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love&rsquo;s fuellers, and the rightest company<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of players, which upon the world&rsquo;s stage be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will quickly know thee ...<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O stay here! for for thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">England is onely a worthy gallerie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To walke in expectation; till from thence<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our greatest King call thee to his presence.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When I am gone, dreame me some happinesse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor let thy lookes our long-hid love confesse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor praise, nor dispraise me; nor blesse, nor curse<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Openly love&rsquo;s force, nor in bed fright thy nurse<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With midnight&rsquo;s startings, crying out, Oh, oh,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nurse, oh, my love is slaine, I saw him goe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O&rsquo;er the white Alpes alone; I saw him, I,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Assail&rsquo;d, fight, taken, stabb&rsquo;d, bleed, fall, and die.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Augure me better chance, except dread Jove<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thinke it enough for me to have had thy love.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Some one then inquired of Lamb if we could not
+see from the window the Temple walk in which
+Chaucer used to take his exercise; and on his name
+being put to the vote, I was pleased to find that
+there was a general sensation in his favour in all but
+Ayrton, who said something about the ruggedness
+of the metre, and even objected to the quaintness of
+the orthography. I was vexed at this superficial
+gloss, pertinaciously reducing everything to its own
+trite level, and asked &lsquo;if he did not think it would
+be worth while to scan the eye that had first greeted
+the Muse in that dim twilight and early dawn of
+English literature; to see the head round which the
+visions of fancy must have played like gleams of inspiration
+or a sudden glory; to watch those lips that
+&ldquo;lisped in numbers, for the numbers came&rdquo;&mdash;as by a
+miracle, or as if the dumb should speak? Nor was
+it alone that he had been the first to tune his native
+tongue (however imperfectly to modern ears); but
+he was himself a noble, manly character, standing
+before his age and striving to advance it; a pleasant
+humourist withal, who has not only handed down to
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>29]</a></span>
+us the living manners of his time, but had, no doubt,
+store of curious and quaint devices, and would make
+as hearty a companion as mine Host of the Tabard.
+His interview with Petrarch is fraught with interest.
+Yet I would rather have seen Chaucer in company
+with the author of the <i>Decameron</i>, and have heard
+them exchange their best stories together&mdash;the <i>Squire&rsquo;s
+Tale</i> against the Story of the <i>Falcon</i>, the <i>Wife of Bath&rsquo;s
+Prologue</i> against the <i>Adventures of Friar Albert</i>. How
+fine to see the high mysterious brow which learning
+then wore, relieved by the gay, familiar tone of men
+of the world, and by the courtesies of genius! Surely,
+the thoughts and feelings which passed through the
+minds of these great revivers of learning, these
+Cadmuses who sowed the teeth of letters, must have
+stamped an expression on their features as different
+from the moderns as their books, and well worth the
+perusal. Dante,&rsquo; I continued, &lsquo;is as interesting a
+person as his own Ugolino, one whose lineaments
+curiosity would as eagerly devour in order to penetrate
+his spirit, and the only one of the Italian poets I
+should care much to see. There is a fine portrait
+of Ariosto by no less a hand than Titian&rsquo;s; light,
+Moorish, spirited, but not answering our idea. The
+same artist&rsquo;s large colossal profile of Peter Aretine
+is the only likeness of the kind that has the effect of
+conversing with &ldquo;the mighty dead&rdquo;; and this is
+truly spectral, ghastly, necromantic.&rsquo; Lamb put it
+to me if I should like to see Spenser as well as
+Chaucer; and I answered, without hesitation, &lsquo;No;
+for that his beauties were ideal, visionary, not palpable
+or personal, and therefore connected with less curiosity
+about the man. His poetry was the essence of romance,
+a very halo round the bright orb of fancy; and the
+bringing in the individual might dissolve the charm.
+No tones of voice could come up to the mellifluous
+cadence of his verse; no form but of a winged angel
+could vie with the airy shapes he has described. He
+was (to my apprehension) rather a &ldquo;creature of the
+element, that lived in the rainbow and played in the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>30]</a></span>
+plighted clouds,&rdquo; than an ordinary mortal. Or if he
+did appear, I should wish it to be as a mere vision,
+like one of his own pageants, and that he should pass
+by unquestioned like a dream or sound&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem23">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&mdash;&mdash;&ldquo;<em>That</em> was Arion crown&rsquo;d:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So went he playing on the wat&rsquo;ry plain.&rdquo;&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Captain Burney muttered something about Columbus,
+and Martin Burney hinted at the Wandering
+Jew; but the last was set aside as spurious, and the
+first made over to the New World.</p>
+
+<p>&lsquo;I should like,&rsquo; said Mrs. Reynolds, &lsquo;to have seen
+Pope talk with Patty Blount; and I <em>have</em> seen Goldsmith.&rsquo;
+Every one turned round to look at Mrs.
+Reynolds, as if by so doing they could get a sight at
+Goldsmith.</p>
+
+<p>&lsquo;Where,&rsquo; asked a harsh, croaking voice, &lsquo;was
+Dr. Johnson in the years 1745-6? He did not write
+anything that we know of, nor is there any account
+of him in Boswell during those two years. Was he
+in Scotland with the Pretender? He seems to have
+passed through the scenes in the Highlands in company
+with Boswell, many years after, &ldquo;with lack-lustre
+eye,&rdquo; yet as if they were familiar to him, or associated
+in his mind with interests that he durst not explain.
+If so, it would be an additional reason for my liking
+him; and I would give something to have seen him
+seated in the tent with the youthful Majesty of
+Britain, and penning the Proclamation to all true
+subjects and adherents of the legitimate Government.&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p>&lsquo;I thought,&rsquo; said Ayrton, turning short round upon
+Lamb, &lsquo;that you of the Lake School did not like
+Pope?&rsquo;&mdash;&lsquo;Not like Pope! My dear sir, you must be
+under a mistake&mdash;I can read him over and over for
+ever!&rsquo;&mdash;&lsquo;Why, certainly, the <i>Essay on Man</i> must
+be allowed to be a masterpiece.&rsquo;&mdash;&lsquo;It may be so, but
+I seldom look into it.&rsquo;&mdash;&lsquo;Oh! then it&rsquo;s his Satires
+you admire?&rsquo;&mdash;&lsquo;No, not his Satires, but his friendly
+Epistles and his compliments.&rsquo;&mdash;&lsquo;Compliments! I
+did not know he ever made any.&rsquo;&mdash;&lsquo;The finest,&rsquo; said
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>31]</a></span>
+Lamb, &lsquo;that were ever paid by the wit of man.
+Each of them is worth an estate for life&mdash;nay, is an
+immortality. There is that superb one to Lord
+Cornbury:</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem24">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;Despise low joys, low gains;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Disdain whatever Cornbury disdains;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be virtuous, and be happy for your pains.&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Was there ever more artful insinuation of idolatrous
+praise? And then that noble apotheosis of his friend
+Lord Mansfield (however little deserved), when, speaking
+of the House of Lords, he adds:</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem27">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;Conspicuous scene! another yet is nigh,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(More silent far) where kings and poets lie;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where Murray (long enough his country&rsquo;s pride)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall be no more than Tully or than Hyde.&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>And with what a fine turn of indignant flattery he
+addresses Lord Bolingbroke:</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem27">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;Why rail they then, if but one wreath of mine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh! all accomplish&rsquo;d St. John, deck thy shrine?&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Or turn,&rsquo; continued Lamb, with a slight hectic on
+his cheek and his eye glistening, &lsquo;to his list of early
+friends:</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem28">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;But why then publish? Granville the polite,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And knowing Walsh, would tell me I could write;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Well-natured Garth inflamed with early praise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Congreve loved, and Swift endured my lays;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The courtly Talbot, Somers, Sheffield read,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ev&rsquo;n mitred Rochester would nod the head;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And St. John&rsquo;s self (great Dryden&rsquo;s friend before)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Received with open arms one poet more.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Happy my studies, if by these approved!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Happier their author, if by these beloved!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From these the world will judge of men and books,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not from the Burnets, Oldmixons, and Cooks.&rdquo;&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Here his voice totally failed him, and throwing down
+the book, he said, &lsquo;Do you think I would not wish to
+have been friends with such a man as this?&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p>&lsquo;What say you to Dryden?&rsquo;&mdash;&lsquo;He rather made a
+show of himself, and courted popularity in that lowest
+temple of fame, a coffee-shop, so as in some measure
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>32]</a></span>
+to vulgarise one&rsquo;s idea of him. Pope, on the contrary,
+reached the very <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">beau ideal</i> of what a poet&rsquo;s life
+should be; and his fame while living seemed to be an
+emanation from that which was to circle his name
+after death. He was so far enviable (and one would
+feel proud to have witnessed the rare spectacle in
+him) that he was almost the only poet and man of
+genius who met with his reward on this side of the
+tomb, who realised in friends, fortune, the esteem of
+the world, the most sanguine hopes of a youthful
+ambition, and who found that sort of patronage from
+the great during his lifetime which they would be
+thought anxious to bestow upon him after his death.
+Read Gay&rsquo;s verses to him on his supposed return
+from Greece, after his translation of Homer was
+finished, and say if you would not gladly join the
+bright procession that welcomed him home, or see it
+once more land at Whitehall stairs.&rsquo;&mdash;&lsquo;Still,&rsquo; said
+Mrs. Reynolds, &lsquo;I would rather have seen him talking
+with Patty Blount, or riding by in a coronet-coach
+with Lady Mary Wortley Montagu!&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p>Erasmus Phillips, who was deep in a game of
+piquet at the other end of the room, whispered to
+Martin Burney to ask if Junius would not be a fit
+person to invoke from the dead. &lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said Lamb,
+&lsquo;provided he would agree to lay aside his mask.&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p>We were now at a stand for a short time, when
+Fielding was mentioned as a candidate; only one,
+however, seconded the proposition. &lsquo;Richardson?&rsquo;&mdash;&lsquo;By
+all means, but only to look at him through
+the glass door of his back shop, hard at work upon
+one of his novels (the most extraordinary contrast
+that ever was presented between an author and his
+works); not to let him come behind his counter, lest
+he should want you to turn customer, or to go upstairs
+with him, lest he should offer to read the first
+manuscript of Sir Charles Grandison, which was
+originally written in eight-and-twenty volumes
+octavo, or get out the letters of his female correspondents,
+to prove that Joseph Andrews was low.&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>33]</a></span>
+There was but one statesman in the whole of
+English history that any one expressed the least
+desire to see&mdash;Oliver Cromwell, with his fine, frank,
+rough, pimply face, and wily policy; and one enthusiast,
+John Bunyan, the immortal author of the
+<i>Pilgrim&rsquo;s Progress</i>. It seemed that if he came into
+the room, dreams would follow him, and that each
+person would nod under his golden cloud, &lsquo;nigh-sphered
+in heaven,&rsquo; a canopy as strange and stately
+as any in Homer.</p>
+
+<p>Of all persons near our own time, Garrick&rsquo;s name
+was received with the greatest enthusiasm, who was
+proposed by Barron Field. He presently superseded
+both Hogarth and Handel, who had been talked of,
+but then it was on condition that he should act in
+tragedy and comedy, in the play and the farce, <i>Lear</i>
+and <i>Wildair</i> and <i>Abel Drugger</i>. What a <em>sight for sore
+eyes</em> that would be! Who would not part with a
+year&rsquo;s income at least, almost with a year of his
+natural life, to be present at it? Besides, as he
+could not act alone, and recitations are unsatisfactory
+things, what a troop he must bring with him&mdash;the
+silver-tongued Barry, and Quin, and Shuter and
+Weston, and Mrs. Clive and Mrs. Pritchard, of
+whom I have heard my father speak as so great a
+favourite when he was young. This would indeed be
+a revival of the dead, the restoring of art; and so
+much the more desirable, as such is the lurking
+scepticism mingled with our overstrained admiration
+of past excellence, that though we have the speeches
+of Burke, the portraits of Reynolds, the writings of
+Goldsmith, and the conversation of Johnson, to show
+what people could do at that period, and to confirm
+the universal testimony to the merits of Garrick; yet,
+as it was before our time, we have our misgivings, as
+if he was probably, after all, little better than a
+Bartlemy-fair actor, dressed out to play <i>Macbeth</i> in
+a scarlet coat and laced cocked-hat. For one, I
+should like to have seen and heard with my own eyes
+and ears. Certainly, by all accounts, if any one was
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>34]</a></span>
+ever moved by the true histrionic <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">&aelig;stus</i>, it was
+Garrick. When he followed the Ghost in <i>Hamlet</i>,
+he did not drop the sword, as most actors do, behind
+the scenes, but kept the point raised the whole way
+round, so fully was he possessed with the idea, or so
+anxious not to lose sight of his part for a moment.
+Once at a splendid dinner-party at Lord &mdash;&mdash;&rsquo;s, they
+suddenly missed Garrick, and could not imagine
+what was become of him, till they were drawn to the
+window by the convulsive screams and peals of
+laughter of a young negro boy, who was rolling on
+the ground in an ecstasy of delight to see Garrick
+mimicking a turkey-cock in the court-yard, with his
+coat-tail stuck out behind, and in a seeming flutter
+of feathered rage and pride. Of our party only two
+persons present had seen the British Roscius; and
+they seemed as willing as the rest to renew their
+acquaintance with their old favourite.</p>
+
+<p>We were interrupted in the hey-day and mid-career
+of this fanciful speculation, by a grumbler in
+a corner, who declared it was a shame to make all
+this rout about a mere player and farce-writer, to the
+neglect and exclusion of the fine old dramatists, the
+contemporaries and rivals of Shakspeare. Lamb said
+he had anticipated this objection when he had named
+the author of <i>Mustapha</i> and <i>Alaham</i>; and, out of
+caprice, insisted upon keeping him to represent
+the set, in preference to the wild, hare-brained enthusiast,
+Kit Marlowe; to the sexton of St. Ann&rsquo;s,
+Webster, with his melancholy yew-trees and death&rsquo;s-heads;
+to Decker, who was but a garrulous proser;
+to the voluminous Heywood; and even to Beaumont
+and Fletcher, whom we might offend by complimenting
+the wrong author on their joint productions.
+Lord Brooke, on the contrary, stood quite by himself,
+or, in Cowley&rsquo;s words, was &lsquo;a vast species alone.&rsquo;
+Some one hinted at the circumstance of his being
+a lord, which rather startled Lamb, but he said a
+<em>ghost</em> would perhaps dispense with strict etiquette, on
+being regularly addressed by his title. Ben Jonson
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>35]</a></span>
+divided our suffrages pretty equally. Some were
+afraid he would begin to traduce Shakspeare, who
+was not present to defend himself. &lsquo;If he grows disagreeable,&rsquo;
+it was whispered aloud, &lsquo;there is Godwin
+can match him.&rsquo; At length, his romantic visit to
+Drummond of Hawthornden was mentioned, and
+turned the scale in his favour.</p>
+
+<p>Lamb inquired if there was any one that was hanged
+that I would choose to mention? And I answered,
+Eugene Aram. The name of the &lsquo;Admirable Chrichton&rsquo;
+was suddenly started as a splendid example of <em>waste</em>
+talents, so different from the generality of his countrymen.
+This choice was mightily approved by a North-Briton
+present, who declared himself descended from
+that prodigy of learning and accomplishment, and
+said he had family plate in his possession as vouchers
+for the fact, with the initials A.&nbsp;C.&mdash;<em>Admirable
+Chrichton!</em> Hunt laughed, or rather roared, as
+heartily at this as I should think he has done for
+many years.</p>
+
+<p>The last named Mitre-courtier<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> then wished to know
+whether there were any metaphysicians to whom one
+might be tempted to apply the wizard spell? I replied,
+there were only six in modern times deserving the
+name&mdash;Hobbes, Berkeley, Butler, Hartley, Hume,
+Leibnitz; and perhaps Jonathan Edwards, a Massachusetts
+man.<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> As to the French, who talked fluently
+of having <em>created</em> this science, there was not a tittle in
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>36]</a></span>
+any of their writings that was not to be found literally
+in the authors I had mentioned. [Horne Tooke, who
+might have a claim to come in under the head of
+Grammar, was still living.] None of these names
+seemed to excite much interest, and I did not plead
+for the re-appearance of those who might be thought
+best fitted by the abstracted nature of their studies
+for the present spiritual and disembodied state, and
+who, even while on this living stage, were nearly
+divested of common flesh and blood. As Ayrton,
+with an uneasy, fidgety face, was about to put some
+question about Mr. Locke and Dugald Stewart, he
+was prevented by Martin Burney, who observed, &lsquo;If
+J&mdash;&mdash; was here, he would undoubtedly be for having
+up those profound and redoubted socialists, Thomas
+Aquinas and Duns Scotus.&rsquo; I said this might be fair
+enough in him who had read, or fancied he had read,
+the original works, but I did not see how we could
+have any right to call up these authors to give an
+account of themselves in person, till we had looked
+into their writings.</p>
+
+<p>By this time it should seem that some rumour of
+our whimsical deliberation had got wind, and had
+disturbed the <em>irritable genus</em>, in their shadowy abodes,
+for we received messages from several candidates that
+we had just been thinking of. Gray declined our
+invitation, though he had not yet been asked: Gay
+offered to come, and bring in his hand the Duchess of
+Bolton, the original Polly: Steele and Addison left
+their cards as Captain Sentry and Sir Roger de
+Coverley: Swift came in and sat down without speaking
+a word, and quitted the room as abruptly: Otway
+and Chatterton were seen lingering on the opposite
+side of the Styx, but could not muster enough between
+them to pay Charon his fare: Thomson fell asleep in
+the boat, and was rowed back again; and Burns sent
+a low fellow, one John Barleycorn, an old companion
+of his, who had conducted him to the other world, to
+say that he had during his lifetime been drawn out of
+his retirement as a show, only to be made an exciseman
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>37]</a></span>
+of, and that he would rather remain where he
+was. He desired, however, to shake hands by his
+representative&mdash;the hand, thus held out, was in a
+burning fever, and shook prodigiously.</p>
+
+<p>The room was hung round with several portraits of
+eminent painters. While we were debating whether
+we should demand speech with these masters of mute
+eloquence, whose features were so familiar to us, it
+seemed that all at once they glided from their frames,
+and seated themselves at some little distance from us.
+There was Leonardo, with his majestic beard and
+watchful eye, having a bust of Archimedes before
+him; next him was Raphael&rsquo;s graceful head turned
+round to the Fornarina; and on his other side was
+Lucretia Borgia, with calm, golden locks; Michael
+Angelo had placed the model of St. Peter&rsquo;s on the
+table before him; Correggio had an angel at his side;
+Titian was seated with his mistress between himself
+and Giorgione; Guido was accompanied by his own
+Aurora, who took a dice-box from him; Claude held
+a mirror in his hand; Rubens patted a beautiful
+panther (led in by a satyr) on the head; Vandyke
+appeared as his own Paris, and Rembrandt was hid
+under firs, gold chains, and jewels, which Sir Joshua
+eyed closely, holding his hand so as to shade his
+forehead. Not a word was spoken; and as we rose to
+do them homage, they still presented the same surface
+to the view. Not being <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">bon&acirc;-fide</i> representations of
+living people, we got rid of the splendid apparitions
+by signs and dumb show. As soon as they had melted
+into thin air, there was a loud noise at the outer door,
+and we found it was Giotto, Cimabue, and Ghirlandaio,
+who had been raised from the dead by their earnest
+desire to see their illustrious successors&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem22">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">&lsquo;Whose names on earth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In Fame&rsquo;s eternal records live for aye!&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Finding them gone, they had no ambition to be seen
+after them, and mournfully withdrew. &lsquo;Egad!&rsquo; said
+Lamb, &lsquo;these are the very fellows I should like to
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>38]</a></span>
+have had some talk with, to know how they could see
+to paint when all was dark around them.&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p>&lsquo;But shall we have nothing to say,&rsquo; interrogated
+G.&nbsp;J&mdash;&mdash;, &lsquo;to the <i>Legend of Good Women</i>?&rsquo;&mdash;&lsquo;Name,
+name, Mr. J&mdash;&mdash;,&rsquo; cried Hunt in a boisterous tone of
+friendly exultation, &lsquo;name as many as you please,
+without reserve or fear of molestation!&rsquo; J&mdash;&mdash; was
+perplexed between so many amiable recollections,
+that the name of the lady of his choice expired in a
+pensive whiff of his pipe; and Lamb impatiently
+declared for the Duchess of Newcastle. Mrs. Hutchinson
+was no sooner mentioned, than she carried the
+day from the Duchess. We were the less solicitous
+on this subject of filling up the posthumous lists of
+Good Women, as there was already one in the room
+as good, as sensible, and in all respects as exemplary,
+as the best of them could be for their lives! &lsquo;I should
+like vastly to have seen Ninon de l&rsquo;Enclos,&rsquo; said that
+incomparable person; and this immediately put us in
+mind that we had neglected to pay honour due to our
+friends on the other side of the Channel: Voltaire,
+the patriarch of levity, and Rousseau, the father of
+sentiment; Montaigne and Rabelais (great in wisdom
+and in wit); Moli&egrave;re and that illustrious group that
+are collected round him (in the print of that subject)
+to hear him read his comedy of the <i>Tartuffe</i> at the
+house of Ninon; Racine, La Fontaine, Rochefoucalt,
+St. Evremont, etc.</p>
+
+<p>&lsquo;There is one person,&rsquo; said a shrill, querulous
+voice, &lsquo;I would rather see than all these&mdash;Don
+Quixote!&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p>&lsquo;Come, come!&rsquo; said Hunt; &lsquo;I thought we should
+have no heroes, real or fabulous. What say you, Mr.
+Lamb? Are you for eking out your shadowy list with
+such names as Alexander, Julius C&aelig;sar, Tamerlane,
+or Ghengis Khan?&rsquo;&mdash;&lsquo;Excuse me,&rsquo; said Lamb; &lsquo;on
+the subject of characters in active life, plotters and
+disturbers of the world, I have a crotchet of my own,
+which I beg leave to reserve.&rsquo;&mdash;&lsquo;No, no! come, out
+with your worthies!&rsquo;&mdash;&lsquo;What do you think of Guy
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>39]</a></span>
+Fawkes and Judas Iscariot?&rsquo; Hunt turned an eye
+upon him like a wild Indian, but cordial and full of
+smothered glee. &lsquo;Your most exquisite reason!&rsquo; was
+echoed on all sides; and Ayrton thought that Lamb
+had now fairly entangled himself. &lsquo;Why I cannot
+but think,&rsquo; retorted he of the wistful countenance,
+&lsquo;that Guy Fawkes, that poor, fluttering annual scarecrow
+of straw and rags, is an ill-used gentleman. I
+would give something to see him sitting pale and
+emaciated, surrounded by his matches and his barrels
+of gunpowder, and expecting the moment that was to
+transport him to Paradise for his heroic self-devotion;
+but if I say any more, there is that fellow Godwin
+will make something of it. And as to Judas Iscariot,
+my reason is different. I would fain see the face of
+him who, having dipped his hand in the same dish
+with the Son of Man, could afterwards betray him.
+I have no conception of such a thing; nor have I ever
+seen any picture (not even Leonardo&rsquo;s very fine one)
+that gave me the least idea of it.&rsquo;&mdash;&lsquo;You have said
+enough, Mr. Lamb, to justify your choice.&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p>&lsquo;Oh! ever right, Menenius&mdash;ever right!&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p>&lsquo;There is only one other person I can ever think of
+after this,&rsquo; continued Lamb; but without mentioning
+a name that once put on a semblance of mortality.
+&lsquo;If Shakspeare was to come into the room, we should
+all rise up to meet him; but if that person was to
+come into it, we should all fall down and try to kiss
+the hem of his garment!&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p>As a lady present seemed now to get uneasy at the
+turn the conversation had taken, we rose up to go.
+The morning broke with that dim, dubious light by
+which Giotto, Cimabue, and Ghirlandaio must have
+seen to paint their earliest works; and we parted to
+meet again and renew similar topics at night, the next
+night, and the night after that, till that night overspread
+Europe which saw no dawn. The same event,
+in truth, broke up our little Congress that broke up
+the great one. But that was to meet again: our
+deliberations have never been resumed.</p>
+
+<h3>FOOTNOTES</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a>
+Lamb at this time occupied chambers in Mitre-court,
+Temple.</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a>
+Bacon is not included in this list, nor do I know where he
+should come in. It is not easy to make room for him and his
+reputation together. This great and celebrated man in some
+of his works recommends it to pour a bottle of claret into the
+ground of a morning, and to stand over it, inhaling the
+perfumes. So he sometimes enriched the dry and barren soil
+of speculation with the fine aromatic spirit of his genius. His
+<i>Essays</i> and his <i>Advancement of Learning</i> are works of vast
+depth and scope of observation. The last, though it contains no
+positive discoveries, is a noble chart of the human intellect,
+and a guide to all future inquirers.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<p class="ptop"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>40]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>ESSAY III<br />
+<br />
+<span class="vsmlfont">ON PARTY SPIRIT</span></h2>
+
+
+<p>Party spirit is one of the <em>profoundnesses of Satan</em>, or,
+in modern language, one of the dexterous <i>equivoques</i>
+and contrivances of our self-love, to prove that we,
+and those who agree with us, combine all that is
+excellent and praiseworthy in our own persons (as in
+a ring-fence), and that all the vices and deformity of
+human nature take refuge with those who differ from
+us. It is extending and fortifying the principle of the
+<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">amour-propre</i>, by calling to its aid the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">esprit de corps</i>,
+and screening and surrounding our favourite propensities
+and obstinate caprices in the hollow squares
+or dense phalanxes of sects and parties. This is a
+happy mode of pampering our self-complacency, and
+persuading ourselves that we, and those that side with
+us, are &lsquo;the salt of the earth&rsquo;; of giving vent to the
+morbid humours of our pride, envy, hatred, malice,
+and all uncharitableness, those natural secretions of
+the human heart, under the pretext of self-defence,
+the public safety, or a voice from heaven, as it may
+happen; and of heaping every excellence into one
+scale, and throwing all the obloquy and contempt
+into the other, in virtue of a nickname, a watchword
+of party, a badge, the colour of a ribbon, the cut of a
+dress. We thus desolate the globe, or tear a country
+in pieces, to show that we are the only people fit to live
+in it; and fancy ourselves angels, while we are playing
+the devil. In this manner the Huron devours the
+Iroquois, because he is an Iroquois; and the Iroquois
+the Huron, for a similar reason: neither suspects that
+he does it because he himself is a savage, and no
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>41]</a></span>
+better than a wild beast; and is convinced in his own
+breast that the difference of man and tribe makes a
+total difference in the case. The Papist persecutes
+the Protestant, the Protestant persecutes the Papist
+in his turn; and each fancies that he has a plenary
+right to do so, while he keeps in view only the
+offensive epithet which &lsquo;cuts the common link of
+brotherhood between them.&rsquo; The Church of England
+ill-treated the Dissenters, and the Dissenters, when
+they had the opportunity, did not spare the Church of
+England. The Whig calls the Tory a knave, the
+Tory compliments the Whig with the same title, and
+each thinks the abuse sticks to the party-name, and
+has nothing to do with himself or the generic name of
+<em>man</em>. On the contrary, it cuts both ways; but while
+the Whigs say &lsquo;The Tory is a knave, because he is a
+Tory,&rsquo; this is as much as to say, &lsquo;I cannot be a knave,
+because I am a Whig&rsquo;; and by exaggerating the profligacy
+of his opponent, he imagines he is laying the
+sure foundation, and raising the lofty superstructure,
+of his own praises. But if he says, which is the truth,
+&lsquo;The Tory is not a rascal, because he is a Tory, but
+because human nature in power, and with the temptation,
+is a rascal,&rsquo; then this would imply that the seeds
+of depravity are sown in his own bosom, and might
+shoot out into full growth and luxuriance if he got
+into place, and this he does not wish to develop till
+he <em>does</em> get into place.</p>
+
+<p>We may be intolerant even in advocating the cause
+of toleration, and so bent on making proselytes to
+freethinking as to allow no one to think freely but
+ourselves. The most boundless liberality in appearance
+may amount in reality to the most monstrous
+ostracism of opinion&mdash;not condemning this or that
+tenet, or standing up for this or that sect or party,
+but in a supercilious superiority to all sects and parties
+alike, and proscribing in one sweeping clause, all arts,
+sciences, opinions, and pursuits but our own. Till
+the time of Locke and Toland a general toleration was
+never dreamt of: it was thought right on all hands
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>42]</a></span>
+to punish and discountenance heretics and schismatics,
+but each party alternately claimed to be true Christians
+and Orthodox believers. Daniel De Foe, who spent
+his whole life, and wasted his strength, in asserting
+the right of the Dissenters to a Toleration (and got
+nothing for his pains but the pillory), was scandalised
+at the proposal of the general principle, and was
+equally strenuous in excluding Quakers, Anabaptists,
+Socinians, Sceptics, and all who did not agree in the
+<em>essentials</em> of Christianity&mdash;that is, who did not agree
+with him&mdash;from the benefit of such an indulgence to
+tender consciences. We wonder at the cruelties
+formerly practised upon the Jews: is there anything
+wonderful in it? They were at that time the only
+people to make a butt and a bugbear of, to set up as
+a mark of indignity, and as a foil to our self-love, for
+the <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">fer&aelig; natur&aelig;</i> principle that is within us, and always
+craving its prey to run down, to worry and make
+sport of at discretion, and without mercy&mdash;the unvarying
+uniformity and implicit faith of the Catholic
+Church had imposed silence, and put a curb on our
+jarring dissensions, heartburnings, and ill-blood, so
+that we had no pretence for quarrelling among ourselves
+for the glory of God or the salvation of men:&mdash;a
+<em class="smallcap">Jordanus Bruno</em>, an Atheist or sorcerer, once in a
+way, would hardly suffice to stay the stomach of our
+theological rancour; we therefore fell with might and
+main upon the Jews as a <em>forlorn hope</em> in this dearth
+of objects of spite or zeal; or when the whole of
+Europe was reconciled to the bosom of holy Mother
+Church, went to the Holy Land in search of a
+difference of opinion, and a ground of mortal offence:
+but no sooner was there a division of the Christian
+World, than Papist fell on Protestants or Schismatics,
+and Schismatics upon one another, with the same
+loving fury as they had before fallen upon Turks and
+Jews. The disposition is always there, like a muzzled
+mastiff; the pretext only is wanting; and this is
+furnished by a name, which, as soon as it is affixed to
+different sects or parties, gives us a licence, we think,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>43]</a></span>
+to let loose upon them all our malevolence, domineering
+humour, love of power, and wanton mischief, as
+if they were of different species. The sentiment of
+the pious English Bishop was good, who, on seeing a
+criminal led to execution, exclaimed, &lsquo;There goes my
+wicked self!&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p>If we look at common patriotism, it will furnish an
+illustration of party spirit. One would think by an
+Englishman&rsquo;s hatred of the French, and his readiness
+to die fighting with and for his countrymen, that all
+the nation were united as one man, in heart and hand&mdash;and
+so they are in war-time and as an exercise of
+their loyalty and courage: but let the crisis be over,
+and they cool wonderfully; begin to feel the distinctions
+of English, Irish, and Scotch; fall out among
+themselves upon some minor distinction; the same
+hand that was eager to shed the blood of a Frenchman,
+will not give a crust of bread or a cup of cold water
+to a fellow countryman in distress; and the heroes
+who defended the &lsquo;wooden walls of old England&rsquo; are
+left to expose their wounds and crippled limbs to gain
+a pittance from the passengers, or to perish of hunger,
+cold, and neglect, in our highways. Such is the effect
+of our boasted nationality: it is active, fierce in doing
+mischief; dormantly lukewarm in doing good. We
+may also see why the greatest stress is laid on trifles
+in religion, and why the most violent animosities
+arise out of the smallest differences, either in this
+or in politics.</p>
+
+<p>In the first place, it would never do to establish
+our superiority over others by the acquisition of
+greater virtues, or by discarding our vices; but it is
+charming to do this by merely repeating a different
+formula of prayer, turning to the east instead of the
+west. He should fight boldly for such a distinction,
+who is persuaded it will furnish him a passport to the
+other world, and entitle him to look down on the rest
+of his fellows as <em>given over to perdition</em>. Secondly, we
+often hate those most with whom we have only a
+slight shade of difference, whether in politics or
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>44]</a></span>
+religion; because as the whole is a contest for precedence
+and infallibility, we find it more difficult to
+draw the line of distinction where so many points are
+conceded, and are staggered in our conviction by the
+arguments of those whom we cannot despise as totally
+and incorrigibly in the wrong. The High Church
+party in Queen Anne&rsquo;s time were disposed to sacrifice
+the Low Church and Dissenters to the Papists, because
+they were more galled by their arguments and disconcerted
+with their pretensions. In private life the
+reverse of the foregoing holds good: that is, trades
+and professions present a direct contrast to sects and
+parties. A conformity in sentiment strengthens our
+party and opinion, but those who have a similarity
+of pursuit, are rivals in interest; and hence the old
+maxim, that <em>two of a trade can never agree</em>.</p>
+
+<p>1830.</p>
+
+
+
+<p class="ptop"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>45]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>ESSAY IV<br />
+<br />
+<span class="vsmlfont">ON THE FEELING OF IMMORTALITY IN YOUTH</span></h2>
+
+
+<p>No young man believes he shall ever die. It was a
+saying of my brother&rsquo;s, and a fine one. There is a
+feeling of Eternity in youth which makes us amends
+for everything. To be young is to be as one of the
+Immortals. One half of time indeed is spent&mdash;the
+other half remains in store for us with all its countless
+treasures, for there is no line drawn, and we see no
+limit to our hopes and wishes. We make the coming
+age our own&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem28">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;The vast, the unbounded prospect lies before us.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Death, old age, are words without a meaning, a
+dream, a fiction, with which we have nothing to do.
+Others may have undergone, or may still undergo
+them&mdash;we &lsquo;bear a charmed life,&rsquo; which laughs to
+scorn all such idle fancies. As, in setting out on a
+delightful journey, we strain our eager sight forward,</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem24">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;Bidding the lovely scenes at distance hail,&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>and see no end to prospect after prospect, new objects
+presenting themselves as we advance, so in the outset
+of life we see no end to our desires nor to the
+opportunities of gratifying them. We have as yet
+found no obstacle, no disposition to flag, and it seems
+that we can go on so for ever. We look round in a
+new world, full of life and motion, and ceaseless
+progress, and feel in ourselves all the vigour and
+spirit to keep pace with it, and do not foresee from any
+present signs how we shall be left behind in the race,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>46]</a></span>
+decline into old age, and drop into the grave. It is
+the simplicity and, as it were, abstractedness of our
+feelings in youth that (so to speak) identifies us with
+nature and (our experience being weak and our passions
+strong) makes us fancy ourselves immortal like it.
+Our short-lived connection with being, we fondly
+flatter ourselves, is an indissoluble and lasting union.
+As infants smile and sleep, we are rocked in the
+cradle of our desires, and hushed into fancied security
+by the roar of the universe around us&mdash;we quaff the
+cup of life with eager thirst without draining it, and
+joy and hope seem ever mantling to the brim&mdash;objects
+press around us, filling the mind with their magnitude
+and with the throng of desires that wait upon
+them, so that there is no room for the thoughts of
+death. We are too much dazzled by the gorgeousness
+and novelty of the bright waking dream about us
+to discern the dim shadow lingering for us in the
+distance. Nor would the hold that life has taken of
+us permit us to detach our thoughts that way, even if
+we could. We are too much absorbed in present
+objects and pursuits. While the spirit of youth
+remains unimpaired, ere &lsquo;the wine of life is drunk,&rsquo;
+we are like people intoxicated or in a fever, who are
+hurried away by the violence of their own sensations:
+it is only as present objects begin to pall upon the
+sense, as we have been disappointed in our favourite
+pursuits, cut off from our closest ties, that we by
+degrees become weaned from the world, that passion
+loosens its hold upon futurity, and that we begin to
+contemplate as in a glass darkly the possibility of
+parting with it for good. Till then, the example
+of others has no effect upon us. Casualties we avoid;
+the slow approaches of age we play at <em>hide and seek</em>
+with. Like the foolish fat scullion in Sterne, who
+hears that Master Bobby is dead, our only reflection
+is, &lsquo;So am not I!&rsquo; The idea of death, instead of
+staggering our confidence, only seems to strengthen
+and enhance our sense of the possession and enjoyment
+of life. Others may fall around us like leaves,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>47]</a></span>
+or be mowed down by the scythe of Time like grass:
+these are but metaphors to the unreflecting, buoyant
+ears and overweening presumption of youth. It is
+not till we see the flowers of Love, Hope, and Joy
+withering around us, that we give up the flattering
+delusions that before led us on, and that the emptiness
+and dreariness of the prospect before us reconciles
+us hypothetically to the silence of the grave.</p>
+
+<p>Life is indeed a strange gift, and its privileges are
+most mysterious. No wonder when it is first granted
+to us, that our gratitude, our admiration, and our
+delight should prevent us from reflecting on our own
+nothingness, or from thinking it will ever be recalled.
+Our first and strongest impressions are borrowed from
+the mighty scene that is opened to us, and we unconsciously
+transfer its durability as well as its splendour
+to ourselves. So newly found, we cannot think of
+parting with it yet, or at least put off that consideration
+<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">sine die</i>. Like a rustic at a fair, we are full of
+amazement and rapture, and have no thought of going
+home, or that it will soon be night. We know our
+existence only by ourselves, and confound our knowledge
+with the objects of it. We and Nature are
+therefore one. Otherwise the illusion, the &lsquo;feast of
+reason and the flow of soul,&rsquo; to which we are invited,
+is a mockery and a cruel insult. We do not go from
+a play till the last act is ended, and the lights are
+about to be extinguished. But the fairy face of Nature
+still shines on: shall we be called away before the
+curtain falls, or ere we have scarce had a glimpse of
+what is going on? Like children, our step-mother
+Nature holds us up to see the raree-show of the
+universe, and then, as if we were a burden to her to
+support, lets us fall down again. Yet what brave sublunary
+things does not this pageant present, like a
+ball or <i>f&ecirc;te</i> of the universe!</p>
+
+<p>To see the golden sun, the azure sky, the outstretched
+ocean; to walk upon the green earth, and
+be lord of a thousand creatures; to look down yawning
+precipices or over distant sunny vales; to see the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>48]</a></span>
+world spread out under one&rsquo;s feet on a map; to bring
+the stars near; to view the smallest insects through a
+microscope; to read history, and consider the revolutions
+of empire and the successions of generations;
+to hear of the glory of Tyre, of Sidon, of Babylon,
+and of Susa, and to say all these were before me and
+are now nothing; to say I exist in such a point of
+time, and in such a point of space; to be a spectator
+and a part of its ever-moving scene; to witness the
+change of season, of spring and autumn, of winter and
+summer; to feel hot and cold, pleasure and pain,
+beauty and deformity, right and wrong; to be
+sensible to the accidents of nature; to consider the
+mighty world of eye and ear; to listen to the stock-dove&rsquo;s
+notes amid the forest deep; to journey over
+moor and mountain; to hear the midnight sainted
+choir; to visit lighted halls, or the cathedral&rsquo;s gloom,
+or sit in crowded theatres and see life itself mocked; to
+study the works of art and refine the sense of beauty
+to agony; to worship fame, and to dream of immortality;
+to look upon the Vatican, and to read
+Shakspeare; to gather up the wisdom of the ancients,
+and to pry into the future; to listen to the trump of
+war, the shout of victory; to question history as to
+the movements of the human heart; to seek for truth;
+to plead the cause of humanity; to overlook the
+world as if time and nature poured their treasures at
+our feet&mdash;to be and to do all this, and then in a
+moment to be nothing&mdash;to have it all snatched from
+us as by a juggler&rsquo;s trick, or a phantasmagoria!
+There is something in this transition from all to
+nothing that shocks us and damps the enthusiasm of
+youth new flushed with hope and pleasure, and we
+cast the comfortless thought as far from us as we can.
+In the first enjoyment of the state of life we discard
+the fear of debts and duns, and never think of the
+final payment of our great debt to Nature. Art we
+know is long; life, we flatter ourselves, should be so
+too. We see no end of the difficulties and delays we
+have to encounter: perfection is slow of attainment,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>49]</a></span>
+and we must have time to accomplish it in. The fame
+of the great names we look up to is immortal: and
+shall not we who contemplate it imbibe a portion of
+ethereal fire, the <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">divin&aelig; particula aur&aelig;</i>, which nothing
+can extinguish? A wrinkle in Rembrandt or in
+Nature takes whole days to resolve itself into its component
+parts, its softenings and its sharpnesses; we
+refine upon our perfections, and unfold the intricacies
+of nature. What a prospect for the future! What
+a task have we not begun! And shall we be arrested
+in the middle of it? We do not count our time thus
+employed lost, or our pains thrown away; we do not
+flag or grow tired, but gain new vigour at our endless
+task. Shall Time, then, grudge us to finish what we
+have begun, and have formed a compact with Nature
+to do? Why not fill up the blank that is left us in
+this manner? I have looked for hours at a Rembrandt
+without being conscious of the flight of time,
+but with ever new wonder and delight, have thought
+that not only my own but another existence I could
+pass in the same manner. This rarefied, refined
+existence seemed to have no end, nor stint, nor
+principle of decay in it. The print would remain
+long after I who looked on it had become the prey
+of worms. The thing seems in itself out of all reason:
+health, strength, appetite are opposed to the idea of
+death, and we are not ready to credit it till we have
+found our illusions vanished, and our hopes grown
+cold. Objects in youth, from novelty, etc., are
+stamped upon the brain with such force and integrity
+that one thinks nothing can remove or obliterate
+them. They are riveted there, and appear to us as
+an element of our nature. It must be a mere violence
+that destroys them, not a natural decay. In the very
+strength of this persuasion we seem to enjoy an age
+by anticipation. We melt down years into a single
+moment of intense sympathy, and by anticipating the
+fruits defy the ravages of time. If, then, a single
+moment of our lives is worth years, shall we set any
+limits to its total value and extent? Again, does it
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>50]</a></span>
+not happen that so secure do we think ourselves of an
+indefinite period of existence, that at times, when
+left to ourselves, and impatient of novelty, we feel
+annoyed at what seems to us the slow and creeping
+progress of time, and argue that if it always moves
+at this tedious snail&rsquo;s pace it will never come to an
+end? How ready are we to sacrifice any space of
+time which separates us from a favourite object, little
+thinking that before long we shall find it move too
+fast.</p>
+
+<p>For my part, I started in life with the French
+Revolution, and I have lived, alas! to see the end
+of it. But I did not foresee this result. My sun
+arose with the first dawn of liberty, and I did not
+think how soon both must set. The new impulse to
+ardour given to men&rsquo;s minds imparted a congenial
+warmth and glow to mine; we were strong to run a
+race together, and I little dreamed that long before
+mine was set, the sun of liberty would turn to blood,
+or set once more in the night of despotism. Since
+then, I confess, I have no longer felt myself young,
+for with that my hopes fell.</p>
+
+<p>I have since turned my thoughts to gathering up
+some of the fragments of my early recollections, and
+putting them into a form to which I might occasionally
+revert. The future was barred to my progress, and
+I turned for consolation and encouragement to the
+past. It is thus that, while we find our personal
+and substantial identity vanishing from us, we strive
+to gain a reflected and vicarious one in our thoughts:
+we do not like to perish wholly, and wish to bequeath
+our names, at least, to posterity. As long as we can
+make our cherished thoughts and nearest interests
+live in the minds of others, we do not appear to have
+retired altogether from the stage. We still occupy
+the breasts of others, and exert an influence and
+power over them, and it is only our bodies that are
+reduced to dust and powder. Our favourite speculations
+still find encouragement, and we make as great
+a figure in the eye of the world, or perhaps a greater,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>51]</a></span>
+than in our lifetime. The demands of our self-love
+are thus satisfied, and these are the most imperious
+and unremitting. Besides, if by our intellectual
+superiority we survive ourselves in this world, by our
+virtues and faith we may attain an interest in another,
+and a higher state of being, and may thus be recipients
+at the same time of men and of angels.</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem26">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;E&rsquo;en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">E&rsquo;en in our ashes live their wonted fires.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>As we grow old, our sense of the value of time
+becomes vivid. Nothing else, indeed, seems of any
+consequence. We can never cease wondering that
+that which has ever been should cease to be. We
+find many things remain the same: why then should
+there be change in us. This adds a convulsive grasp
+of whatever is, a sense of a fallacious hollowness in
+all we see. Instead of the full, pulpy feeling of
+youth tasting existence and every object in it, all is
+flat and vapid,&mdash;a whited sepulchre, fair without but
+full of ravening and all uncleanness within. The
+world is a witch that puts us off with false shows and
+appearances. The simplicity of youth, the confiding
+expectation, the boundless raptures, are gone: we
+only think of getting out of it as well as we can, and
+without any great mischance or annoyance. The
+flush of illusion, even the complacent retrospect of
+past joys and hopes, is over: if we can slip out of
+life without indignity, can escape with little bodily
+infirmity, and frame our minds to the calm and
+respectable composure of <em>still-life</em> before we return to
+physical nothingness, it is as much as we can expect.
+We do not die wholly at our deaths: we have
+mouldered away gradually long before. Faculty after
+faculty, interest after interest, attachment after
+attachment disappear: we are torn from ourselves
+while living, year after year sees us no longer the
+same, and death only consigns the last fragment of
+what we were to the grave. That we should wear
+out by slow stages, and dwindle at last into nothing,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>52]</a></span>
+is not wonderful, when even in our prime our
+strongest impressions leave little trace but for the
+moment, and we are the creatures of petty circumstance.
+How little effect is made on us in our best
+days by the books we have read, the scenes we have
+witnessed, the sensations we have gone through!
+Think only of the feelings we experience in reading
+a fine romance (one of Sir Walter&rsquo;s, for instance);
+what beauty, what sublimity, what interest, what
+heart-rending emotions! You would suppose the
+feelings you then experienced would last for ever, or
+subdue the mind to their own harmony and tone:
+while we are reading it seems as if nothing could
+ever put us out of our way, or trouble us:&mdash;the first
+splash of mud that we get on entering the street, the
+first twopence we are cheated out of, the feeling
+vanishes clean out of our minds, and we become the
+prey of petty and annoying circumstance. The mind
+soars to the lofty: it is at home in the grovelling,
+the disagreeable, and the little. And yet we wonder
+that age should be feeble and querulous,&mdash;that the
+freshness of youth should fade away. Both worlds
+would hardly satisfy the extravagance of our desires
+and of our presumption.</p>
+
+
+
+<p class="ptop"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>53]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>ESSAY V<br />
+<br />
+<span class="vsmlfont">ON PUBLIC OPINION</span></h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem21">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;Scared at the sound itself has made.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>Once asking a friend why he did not bring forward
+an explanation of a circumstance, in which his conduct
+had been called in question, he said, &lsquo;His friends
+were satisfied on the subject, and he cared very little
+about the opinion of the world.&rsquo; I made answer that
+I did not consider this a good ground to rest his
+defence upon, for that a man&rsquo;s friends seldom thought
+better of him than the world did. I see no reason to
+alter this opinion. Our friends, indeed, are more
+apt than a mere stranger to join in with, or be silent
+under any imputation thrown out against us, because
+they are apprehensive they may be indirectly implicated
+in it, and they are bound to betray us to save
+their own credit. To judge of our jealousy, our
+sensibility, our high notions of responsibility, on this
+score, only consider if a single individual lets fall a
+solitary remark implying a doubt of the wit, the
+sense, the courage of a friend&mdash;how it staggers us&mdash;how
+it makes us shake with fear&mdash;how it makes us
+call up all our eloquence and airs of self-consequence
+in his defence, lest our partiality should be supposed
+to have blinded our perceptions, and we should be
+regarded as the dupes of a mistaken admiration. We
+already begin to meditate an escape from a losing
+cause, and try to find out some other fault in the
+character under discussion, to show that we are not
+behind-hand (if the truth must be spoken) in sagacity,
+and a sense of the ridiculous. If, then, this is the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>54]</a></span>
+case with the first flaw, the first doubt, the first speck
+that dims the sun of friendship, so that we are ready
+to turn our backs on our sworn attachments and
+well-known professions the instant we have not all
+the world with us, what must it be when we have all
+the world against us; when our friend, instead of a
+single stain, is covered with mud from head to foot;
+how shall we expect our feeble voices not to be
+drowned in the general clamour? how shall we dare
+to oppose our partial and mis-timed suffrages to the
+just indignation of the public? Or if it should not
+amount to this, how shall we answer the silence and
+contempt with which his name is received. How
+shall we animate the great mass of indifference or
+distrust with our private enthusiasm? how defeat the
+involuntary smile, or the suppressed sneer, with the
+burst of generous feeling and the glow of honest
+conviction? It is a thing not to be thought of, unless
+we would enter into a crusade against prejudice and
+malignity, devote ourselves as martyrs to friendship,
+raise a controversy in every company we go into,
+quarrel with every person we meet, and after making
+ourselves and every one else uncomfortable, leave off,
+not by clearing our friend&rsquo;s reputation, but by involving
+our own pretensions to decency and common
+sense. People will not fail to observe that a man
+may have his reasons for his faults or vices; but that
+for another to volunteer a defence of them, is without
+excuse. It is, in fact, an attempt to deprive them of
+the great and only benefit they derive from the
+supposed errors of their neighbours and contemporaries&mdash;the
+pleasure of backbiting and railing at
+them, which they call <em>seeing justice done</em>. It is not
+a single breath of rumour or opinion; but the whole
+atmosphere is infected with a sort of aguish taint of
+anger and suspicion, that relaxes the nerves of fidelity,
+and makes our most sanguine resolutions sicken and
+turn pale; and he who is proof against it, must either
+be armed with a love of truth, or a contempt for mankind,
+which places him out of the reach of ordinary
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>55]</a></span>
+rules and calculations. For myself, I do not shrink
+from defending a cause or a friend <em>under a cloud</em>;
+though in neither case will cheap or common efforts
+suffice. But, in the first, you merely stand up for
+your own judgment and principles against fashion
+and prejudice, and thus assume a sort of manly and
+heroic attitude of defiance: in the last (which makes
+it a matter of greater nicety and nervous sensibility),
+you sneak behind another to throw your gauntlet at
+the whole world, and it requires a double stock of
+stoical firmness not to be laughed out of your boasted
+zeal and independence as a romantic and <em>amiable
+weakness</em>.<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a></p>
+
+<p>There is nothing in which all the world agree but in
+running down some obnoxious individual. It may be
+supposed that this is not for nothing, and that they
+have good reasons for what they do. On the contrary,
+I will undertake to say, that so far from there
+being invariably just grounds for such an universal
+outcry, the universality of the outcry is often the
+only ground of the opinion; and that it is purposely
+raised upon this principle, that all other proof or
+evidence against the person meant to be run down is
+wanting. Nay, further, it may happen, that while
+the clamour is at the loudest; while you hear it from
+all quarters; while it blows a perfect hurricane;
+while &lsquo;the world rings with the vain stir&rsquo;&mdash;not one
+of those who are most eager in hearing and echoing
+knows what it is about, or is not fully persuaded that
+the charge is equally false, malicious, and absurd. It
+is like the wind, that &lsquo;no man knoweth whence it
+cometh, or whither it goeth.&rsquo; It is <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">vox et pr&aelig;terea
+nihil</i>. What, then, is it that gives it its confident
+circulation and its irresistible force. It is the loudness
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>56]</a></span>
+of the organ with which it is pronounced, the
+stentorian lungs of the multitude; the number of
+voices that take it up and repeat it, because others
+have done so; the rapid flight and the impalpable
+nature of common fame, that makes it a desperate
+undertaking for any individual to inquire into or
+arrest the mischief that, in the deafening buzz or
+loosened roar of laughter or indignation, renders it
+impossible for the still small voice of reason to be
+heard, and leaves no other course to honesty or
+prudence than to fall flat on the face before it, as
+before the pestilential blast of the desert, and wait till
+it has passed over. Thus every one joins in asserting,
+propagating, and in outwardly approving what every
+one, in his private and unbiassed judgment, believes
+and knows to be scandalous and untrue. For every
+one in such circumstances keeps his own opinion to
+himself, and only attends to or acts upon that which
+he conceives to be the opinion of every one but himself.
+So that public opinion is not seldom a farce,
+equal to any acted upon the stage. Not only is it
+spurious and hollow in the way that Mr. Locke
+points out, by one man&rsquo;s taking up at second hand
+the opinion of another, but worse than this, one man
+takes up what he believes another <em>will</em> think, and
+which the latter professes only because he believes it
+held by the first! All, therefore, that is necessary
+to control public opinion, is to gain possession of
+some organ loud and lofty enough to make yourself
+heard, that has power and interest on its side; and
+then, no sooner do you blow a blast in this trump of
+<em>ill-fame</em>, like the horn hung up on an old castle-wall,
+than you are answered, echoed, and accredited on all
+sides: the gates are thrown open to receive you, and
+you are admitted into the very heart of the fortress
+of public opinion, and can assail from the ramparts
+with every engine of abuse, and with privileged impunity,
+all those who may come forward to vindicate
+the truth, or to rescue their good name from the unprincipled
+keeping of authority, servility, sophistry,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>57]</a></span>
+and venal falsehood! The only thing wanted is to
+give an alarm&mdash;to excite a panic in the public mind of
+being left <em>in the lurch</em>, and the rabble (whether in the
+ranks of literature or war) will throw away their arms,
+and surrender at discretion to any bully or impostor
+who, for a <em>consideration</em>, shall choose to try the experiment
+upon them!</p>
+
+<p>What I have here described is the effect even upon
+the candid and well-disposed: what must it be to the
+malicious and idle, who are eager to believe all the ill
+they can hear of every one; or to the prejudiced and
+interested, who are determined to credit all the ill
+they hear against those who are not of their own
+side? To these last it is only requisite to be understood
+that the butt of ridicule or slander is of an
+opposite party, and they presently give you <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">carte
+blanche</i> to say what you please of him. Do they
+know that it is true? No; but they believe what
+all the world says, till they have evidence to the
+contrary. Do you prove that it is false? They dare
+say, that if not that something worse remains behind;
+and they retain the same opinion as before, for the
+honour of their party. They hire some one to pelt
+you with mud, and then affect to avoid you in the
+street as a dirty fellow. They are told that you have
+a hump on your back, and then wonder at your
+assurance or want of complaisance in walking into
+a room where they are, without it. Instead of apologising
+for the mistake, and, from finding one aspersion
+false, doubting all the rest, they are only the more confirmed
+in the remainder from being deprived of one
+handle against you, and resent their disappointment,
+instead of being ashamed of their credulity. People
+talk of the bigotry of the Catholics, and treat with
+contempt the absurd claim of the Popes to infallibility&mdash;I
+think with little right to do so. Walk
+into a church in Paris, you are struck with a number
+of idle forms and ceremonies, the chanting of the
+service in Latin, the shifting of the surplices, the
+sprinkling of holy water, the painted windows &lsquo;casting
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>58]</a></span>
+a dim religious light,&rsquo; the wax tapers, the pealing
+organ: the common people seem attentive and devout,
+and to put entire faith in all this&mdash;Why? Because
+they imagine others to do so; they see and hear
+certain signs and supposed evidences of it, and it
+amuses and fills up the void of the mind, the love of
+the mysterious and wonderful, to lend their assent to
+it. They have assuredly, in general, no better reason&mdash;all
+our Protestant divines will tell you so. Well,
+step out of the church of St. Roche, and drop into an
+English reading-room hard by: what are you the
+better? You see a dozen or score of your countrymen
+with their faces fixed, and their eyes glued to a
+newspaper, a magazine, a review&mdash;reading, swallowing,
+profoundly ruminating on the lie, the cant, the
+sophism of the day! Why? It saves them the
+trouble of thinking; it gratifies their ill-humour, and
+keeps off <i>ennui</i>! Does a gleam of doubt, an air of
+ridicule, or a glance of impatience pass across their
+features at the shallow and monstrous things they
+find? No, it is all passive faith and dull security;
+they cannot take their eyes from the page, they cannot
+live without it. They believe in their adopted
+oracle (you see it in their faces) as implicitly as in
+Sir John Barleycorn, as in a sirloin of beef, as in
+quarter-day&mdash;as they hope to receive their rents, or
+to see Old England again! Are not the Popes, the
+Fathers, the Councils, as good as their oracles and
+champions? They know the paper before them to be
+a hoax, but do they believe in the ribaldry, the
+calumny, the less on that account? They believe the
+more in it, because it is got up solely and expressly
+to serve a cause that needs such support&mdash;and they
+swear by whatever is devoted to this object.</p>
+
+<p>The greater the profligacy, the effrontery, the
+servility, the greater the faith. Strange! That the
+British public, whether at home or abroad, should
+shake their heads at the Lady of Loretto, and repose
+deliciously on Mr. Theodore Hook. It may well be
+thought that the enlightened part of the British
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>59]</a></span>
+public, persons of family and fortunes, who have had
+a college education, and received the benefit of foreign
+travel, see through the quackery, which they encourage
+for a political purpose, without being themselves
+the dupes of it. This scarcely mends the
+matter. Suppose an individual, of whom it has been
+repeatedly asserted that he has warts on his nose,
+were to enter the reading-room aforesaid, is there a
+single red-faced country squire who would not be
+surprised at not finding this story true, would not
+persuade himself five minutes after that he could not
+have seen correctly, or that some art had been used
+to conceal the defects, or would be led to doubt, from
+this instance, the general candour and veracity of his
+oracle? He would disbelieve his own senses rather.
+Seeing is believing, it is said: lying is believing, I
+say. We do not even see with our own eyes, but
+must &lsquo;wink and shut our apprehension up,&rsquo; that we
+may be able to agree to the report of others, as a
+piece of good manners and a point of established
+etiquette. Besides, the supposed deformity answered
+his wishes, the abuse fed fat the ancient grudge he
+owed some presumptuous scribbler, for not agreeing
+in a number of points with his betters; it gave him a
+personal advantage over a man he did not like&mdash;and
+who will give up what tends to strengthen his
+aversion for another? To Tory prejudice, dire as it
+is&mdash;to English imagination, morbid as it is, a nickname,
+a ludicrous epithet, a malignant falsehood, when
+it has been once propagated and taken to the bosom
+as a welcome consolation, becomes a precious property,
+a vested right; and people would as soon give
+up a sinecure, or a share in a close borough, as this
+sort of plenary indulgence to speak and think with
+contempt of those who would abolish the one, or
+throw open the other. Party-spirit is the best
+reason in the world for personal antipathy and vulgar
+abuse.</p>
+
+<p>&lsquo;But, do you not think, Sir&rsquo; (some dialectician may
+ask), &lsquo;that belief is involuntary, and that we judge in
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>60]</a></span>
+all cases according to the precise degree of evidence
+and the positive facts before us?&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p>No, Sir.</p>
+
+<p>&lsquo;You believe, then, in the doctrine of philosophical
+free-will?&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p>Indeed, Sir, I do not.</p>
+
+<p>&lsquo;How then, Sir, am I to understand so unaccountable
+a diversity of opinion from the most approved
+writers on the philosophy of the human mind?&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p>May I ask, my dear Sir, did you ever read Mr.
+Wordsworth&rsquo;s poem of <i>Michael</i>?</p>
+
+<p>&lsquo;I cannot charge my memory with the fact.&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p>Well, Sir, this Michael is an old shepherd, who
+has a son who goes to sea, and who turns out a great
+reprobate, by all the accounts received of him.
+Before he went, however, the father took the boy
+with him into a mountain-glen, and made him lay the
+first stone of a sheep-fold, which was to be a covenant
+and a remembrance between them if anything ill
+happened. For years after, the old man used to go
+and work at the sheep-fold&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem24">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">&lsquo;Among the rocks<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He went, and still look&rsquo;d up upon the sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And listen&rsquo;d to the wind,&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>and sat by the half-finished work, expecting the lad&rsquo;s
+return, or hoping to hear some better tidings of him.
+Was this hope founded on reason&mdash;or was it not
+owing to the strength of affection, which in spite of
+everything could not relinquish its hold of a favourite
+object, indeed the only one that bound it to existence?</p>
+
+<p>Not being able to make my dialectician answer
+kindly to interrogatories, I must get on without him.
+In matters of absolute demonstration and speculative
+indifferences, I grant, that belief is involuntary, and
+the proof not to be resisted; but then, in such matters,
+there is no difference of opinion, or the difference is
+adjusted amicably and rationally. Hobbes is of
+opinion, that if their passions or interests could be
+implicated in the question, men would deny stoutly
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>61]</a></span>
+that the three angles of a right-angled triangle are
+equal to two right ones: and the disputes in religion
+look something like it. I only contend, however,
+that in all cases not of this peremptory and determinate
+cast, and where disputes commonly arise,
+inclination, habit, and example have a powerful share
+in throwing in the casting-weight to our opinions,
+and that he who is only tolerably free from these, and
+not their regular dupe or slave, is indeed &lsquo;a man of
+ten thousand.&rsquo; Take, for instance, the example of a
+Catholic clergyman in a Popish country: it will
+generally be found that he lives and dies in the faith
+in which he was brought up, as the Protestant clergyman
+does in his&mdash;shall we say that the necessity of
+gaining a livelihood, or the prospect of preferment,
+that the early bias given to his mind by education and
+study, the pride of victory, the shame of defeat, the
+example and encouragement of all about him, the
+respect and love of his flock, the flattering notice of
+the great, have no effect in giving consistency to his
+opinions and carrying them through to the last?
+Yet, who will suppose that in either case this apparent
+uniformity is mere hypocrisy, or that the intellects
+of the two classes of divines are naturally adapted to
+the arguments in favour of the two religions they
+have occasion to profess? No; but the understanding
+takes a tincture from outward impulses and circumstances,
+and is led to dwell on those suggestions
+which favour, and to blind itself to the objections
+which impugn, the side to which it previously and
+morally inclines. Again, even in those who oppose
+established opinions, and form the little, firm, formidable
+phalanx of dissent, have not early instruction,
+spiritual pride, the love of contradiction, a resistance
+to usurped authority, as much to do with keeping up
+the war of sects and schisms as the abstract love of
+truth or conviction of the understanding? Does not
+persecution fan the flame in such fiery tempers, and
+does it not expire, or grow lukewarm, with indulgence
+and neglect? I have a sneaking kindness for a Popish
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>62]</a></span>
+priest in this country; and to a Catholic peer I would
+willingly bow in passing. What are national antipathies,
+individual attachments, but so many expressions
+of the <em>moral</em> principle in forming our opinions?
+All our opinions become grounds on which we act,
+and build our expectations of good or ill; and this
+good or ill mixed up with them is soon changed into
+the ruling principle which modifies or violently supersedes
+the original cool determination of the reason
+and senses. The will, when it once gets a footing,
+turns the sober judgment out of doors. If we form
+an attachment to any one, are we not slow in giving
+it up? Or, if our suspicions are once excited, are we
+not equally rash and violent in believing the worst?
+Othello characterises himself as one</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem26">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&mdash;&mdash;&lsquo;That loved not wisely, but too well;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of one not easily jealous&mdash;but, being wrought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perplex&rsquo;d in the extreme.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>And this answers to the movements and irregularities
+of passion and opinion which take place in human
+nature. If we wish a thing we are disposed to believe
+it: if we have been accustomed to believe it, we are
+the more obstinate in defending it on that account: if
+all the world differ from us in any question of moment,
+we are ashamed to own it; or are hurried by peevishness
+and irritation into extravagance and paradox.
+The weight of example presses upon us (whether we
+feel it or not) like the law of gravitation. He who
+sustains his opinion by the strength of conviction and
+evidence alone, unmoved by ridicule, neglect, obloquy,
+or privation, shows no less resolution than the Hindoo
+who makes and keeps a vow to hold his right arm in
+the air till it grows rigid and callous.</p>
+
+<p>To have all the world against us is trying to a man&rsquo;s
+temper and philosophy. It unhinges even our opinion
+of our own motives and intentions. It is like striking
+the actual world from under our feet: the void that
+is left, the death-like pause, the chilling suspense, is
+fearful. The growth of an opinion is like the growth
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>63]</a></span>
+of a limb; it receives its actual support and nourishment
+from the general body of the opinions, feelings,
+and practice of the world; without that, it soon
+withers, festers, and becomes useless. To what purpose
+write a good book, if it is sure to be pronounced
+a bad one, even before it is read? If our thoughts
+are to be blown stifling back upon ourselves, why
+utter them at all? It is only exposing what we love
+most to contumely and insult, and thus depriving
+ourselves of our own relish and satisfaction in them.
+Language is only made to communicate our sentiments,
+and if we can find no one to receive them, we
+are reduced to the silence of dumbness, we live but in
+the solitude of a dungeon. If we do not vindicate
+our opinions, we seem poor creatures who have no
+right to them; if we speak out, we are involved in
+continual brawls and controversy. If we contemn
+what others admire, we make ourselves odious; if we
+admire what they despise, we are equally ridiculous.
+We have not the applause of the world nor the support
+of a party; we can neither enjoy the freedom of
+social intercourse, nor the calm of privacy. With
+our respect for others, we lose confidence in ourselves:
+everything seems to be a subject of litigation&mdash;to
+want proof or confirmation; we doubt, by degrees,
+whether we stand on our head or our heels&mdash;whether
+we know our right hand from our left. If I am
+assured that I never wrote a sentence of common
+English in my life, how can I know that this is not
+the case? If I am told at one time that my writings
+are as heavy as lead, and at another, that they are
+more light and flimsy than the gossamer&mdash;what
+resource have I but to choose between the two? I
+could say, if this were the place, what those writings
+are.&mdash;&lsquo;Make it the place, and never stand upon punctilio!&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p>They are not, then, so properly the works of an
+author by profession, as the thoughts of a metaphysician
+expressed by a painter. They are subtle and
+difficult problems translated into hieroglyphics. I
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>64]</a></span>
+thought for several years on the hardest subjects,
+on Fate, Free-will, Foreknowledge absolute, without
+ever making use of words or images at all, and that
+has made them come in such throngs and confused
+heaps when I burst from that void of abstraction.
+In proportion to the tenuity to which my ideas had
+been drawn, and my abstinence from ornament and
+sensible objects, was the tenaciousness with which
+actual circumstances and picturesque imagery laid
+hold of my mind, when I turned my attention to
+them, or had to look round for illustrations. Till I
+began to paint, or till I became acquainted with the
+author of <i>The Ancient Mariner</i>, I could neither write
+nor speak. He encouraged me to write a book, which
+I did according to the original bent of my mind,
+making it as dry and meagre as I could, so that it fell
+still-born from the press, and none of those who
+abuse me for a shallow <em>catch-penny</em> writer have so
+much as heard of it. Yet, let me say, that work
+contains an important metaphysical discovery, supported
+by a continuous and severe train of reasoning,
+nearly as subtle and original as anything in Hume or
+Berkeley. I am not accustomed to speak of myself
+in this manner, but impudence may provoke modesty
+to justify itself. Finding this method did not answer,
+I despaired for a time; but some trifle I wrote in
+the <i>Morning Chronicle</i>, meeting the approbation of the
+editor and the town, I resolved to turn over a new
+leaf&mdash;to take the public at its word, to muster all the
+tropes and figures I could lay hands on, and, though
+I am a plain man, never to appear abroad but in an
+embroidered dress. Still, old habits will prevail; and
+I hardly ever set about a paragraph or a criticism, but
+there was an undercurrent of thought, or some generic
+distinction on which the whole turned. Having got
+my clue, I had no difficulty in stringing pearls upon it;
+and the more recondite the point, the more I laboured
+to bring it out and set it off by a variety of ornaments
+and allusions. This puzzled the scribes whose business
+it was to crush me. They could not see the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>65]</a></span>
+meaning: they would not see the colouring, for it
+hurt their eyes. One cried out, it was dull; another,
+that it was too fine by half: my friends took up this
+last alternative as the most favourable; and since
+then it has been agreed that I am a florid writer,
+somewhat flighty and paradoxical. Yet, when I wished
+to unburthen my mind in the <i>Edinburgh</i> by an article
+on English metaphysics, the editor, who echoes this
+<em>florid</em> charge, said he preferred what I wrote for effect,
+and was afraid of its being thought heavy! I have
+accounted for the flowers; the paradoxes may be
+accounted for in the same way. All abstract reasoning
+is in extremes, or only takes up one view of a
+question, or what is called the principle of the thing;
+and if you want to give this popularity and effect,
+you are in danger of running into extravagance and
+hyperbole. I have had to bring out some obscure
+distinction, or to combat some strong prejudice, and
+in doing this with all my might, may have often overshot
+the mark. It was easy to correct the excess of
+truth afterwards. I have been accused of inconsistency,
+for writing an essay, for instance, on the
+<i>Advantages of Pedantry</i>, and another on the <i>Ignorance
+of the Learned</i>, as if ignorance had not its comforts as
+well as knowledge. The personalities I have fallen
+into have never been gratuitous. If I have sacrificed
+my friends, it has always been to a theory. I have
+been found fault with for repeating myself, and for a
+narrow range of ideas. To a want of general reading,
+I plead guilty, and am sorry for it; but perhaps if I
+had read more, I might have thought less. As to my
+barrenness of invention, I have at least glanced over a
+number of subjects&mdash;painting, poetry, prose, plays,
+politics, parliamentary speakers, metaphysical lore,
+books, men, and things. There is some point, some
+fancy, some feeling, some taste, shown in treating of
+these. Which of my conclusions has been reversed?
+Is it what I said ten years ago of the Bourbons which
+raised the war-whoop against me? Surely all the
+world are of that opinion now. I have, then, given
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>66]</a></span>
+proofs of some talent, and of more honesty: if there
+is haste or want of method, there is no commonplace,
+nor a line that licks the dust; and if I do not appear
+to more advantage, I at least appear such as I am.
+If the Editor of the <i>Atlas</i> will do me the favour to
+look over my <i>Essay on the Principles of Human Action</i>,
+will dip into any essay I ever wrote, and will take a
+sponge and clear the dust from the face of my <i>Old
+Woman</i>, I hope he will, upon second thoughts, acquit
+me of an absolute dearth of resources and want of
+versatility in the direction of my studies.</p>
+
+<p>1828.</p>
+
+<h3>FOOTNOTE</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a>
+The only friends whom we defend with zeal and obstinacy
+are our relations. They seem part of ourselves. For our
+other friends we are only answerable, so long as we countenance
+them; and therefore cut the connection as soon as
+possible. But who ever willingly gave up the good dispositions
+of a child or the honour of a parent?</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<p class="ptop"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>67]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>ESSAY VI<br />
+<br />
+<span class="vsmlfont">ON PERSONAL IDENTITY</span></h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem27">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;Ha! here&rsquo;s three of us are sophisticated.&rsquo;&mdash;<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>&lsquo;If I were not Alexander, I would be Diogenes!&rsquo;
+said the Macedonian hero; and the cynic might have
+retorted the compliment upon the prince by saying,
+that, &lsquo;were he not Diogenes, he would be Alexander!&rsquo;
+This is the universal exception, the invariable reservation
+that our self-love makes, the utmost point at
+which our admiration or envy ever arrives&mdash;to wish,
+if we were not ourselves, to be some other individual.
+No one ever wishes to be another, <em>instead</em> of himself.
+We may feel a desire to change places with others&mdash;to
+have one man&rsquo;s fortune&mdash;another&rsquo;s health or
+strength&mdash;his wit or learning, or accomplishments of
+various kinds&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem28">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;Wishing to be like one more rich in hope,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Desiring this man&rsquo;s art, and that man&rsquo;s scope&rsquo;;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>but we would still be ourselves, to possess and enjoy
+all these, or we would not give a doit for them. But,
+on this supposition, what in truth should we be the
+better for them? It is not we, but another, that
+would reap the benefit; and what do we care about
+that other? In that case, the present owner might
+as well continue to enjoy them. <em>We</em> should not be
+gainers by the change. If the meanest beggar who
+crouches at a palace gate, and looks up with awe and
+suppliant fear to the proud inmate as he passes, could
+be put in possession of all the finery, the pomp, the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>68]</a></span>
+luxury, and wealth that he sees and envies, on the
+sole condition of getting rid, together with his rags
+and misery, of all recollection that there ever was
+such a wretch as himself, he would reject the proffered
+boon with scorn. He might be glad to change situations;
+but he would insist on keeping his own thoughts,
+to <em>compare notes</em>, and point the transition by the force
+of contrast. He would not, on any account, forego
+his self-congratulation on the unexpected accession of
+good fortune, and his escape from past suffering. All
+that excites his cupidity, his envy, his repining or
+despair, is the alternative of some great good to
+himself; and if, in order to attain that object, he is
+to part with his own existence to take that of another,
+he can feel no farther interest in it. This is the
+language both of passion and reason.</p>
+
+<p>Here lies &lsquo;the rub that makes calamity of so long
+life&rsquo;: for it is not barely the apprehension of the ills
+that &lsquo;in that sleep of death may come,&rsquo; but also our
+ignorance and indifference to the promised good, that
+produces our repugnance and backwardness to quit
+the present scene. No man, if he had his choice,
+would be the angel Gabriel to-morrow! What is the
+angel Gabriel to him but a splendid vision? He
+might as well have an ambition to be turned into a
+bright cloud, or a particular star. The interpretation
+of which is, he can have no sympathy with the angel
+Gabriel. Before he can be transformed into so bright
+and ethereal an essence, he must necessarily &lsquo;put off
+this mortal coil&rsquo;&mdash;be divested of all his old habits,
+passions, thoughts, and feelings&mdash;to be endowed with
+other attributes, lofty and beatific, of which he has
+no notion; and, therefore, he would rather remain a
+little longer in this mansion of clay, which, with all
+its flaws, inconveniences, and perplexities, contains
+all that he has any real knowledge of, or any affection
+for. When, indeed, he is about to quit it in spite of
+himself and has no other chance left to escape the
+darkness of the tomb he may then have no objection
+(making a virtue of necessity) to put on angel&rsquo;s wings,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>69]</a></span>
+to have radiant locks, to wear a wreath of amaranth,
+and thus to masquerade it in the skies.</p>
+
+<p>It is an instance of the truthful beauty of the
+ancient mythology, that the various transmutations it
+recounts are never voluntary, or of favourable omen,
+but are interposed as a timely release to those who,
+driven on by fate, and urged to the last extremity of
+fear or anguish, are turned into a flower, a plant, an
+animal, a star, a precious stone, or into some object
+that may inspire pity or mitigate our regret for their
+misfortunes. Narcissus was transformed into a flower;
+Daphne into a laurel; Arethusa into a fountain (by
+the favour of the gods)&mdash;but not till no other remedy
+was left for their despair. It is a sort of smiling
+cheat upon death, and graceful compromise with
+annihilation. It is better to exist by proxy, in some
+softened type and soothing allegory, than not at all&mdash;to
+breathe in a flower or shine in a constellation, than
+to be utterly forgot; but no one would change his
+natural condition (if he could help it) for that of a
+bird, an insect, a beast, or a fish, however delightful
+their mode of existence, or however enviable he might
+deem their lot compared to his own. Their thoughts
+are not our thoughts&mdash;their happiness is not our
+happiness; nor can we enter into it, except with a
+passing smile of approbation, or as a refinement of
+fancy. As the poet sings:</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem28">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;What more felicity can fall to creature<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Than to enjoy delight with liberty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And to be lord of all the works of nature?<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To reign in the air from earth to highest sky;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To feed on flowers and weeds of glorious feature;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To taste whatever thing doth please the eye?&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who rests not pleased with such happiness,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Well worthy he to taste of wretchedness!&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>This is gorgeous description and fine declamation:
+yet who would be found to act upon it, even in the
+forming of a wish; or would not rather be the thrall
+of wretchedness, than launch out (by the aid of some
+magic spell) into all the delights of such a butterfly
+state of existence? The French (if any people can)
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>70]</a></span>
+may be said to enjoy this airy, heedless gaiety and
+unalloyed exuberance of satisfaction: yet what Englishman
+would deliberately change with them? We
+would sooner be miserable after our own fashion than
+happy after theirs. It is not happiness, then, in the
+abstract, which we seek, that can be addressed as</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem28">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;That something still that prompts th&rsquo; eternal sigh,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For which we wish to live or dare to die,&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>but a happiness suited to our tastes and faculties&mdash;that
+has become a part of ourselves, by habit and
+enjoyment&mdash;that is endeared to us by a thousand
+recollections, privations, and sufferings. No one,
+then, would willingly change his country or his kind
+for the most plausible pretences held out to him.
+The most humiliating punishment inflicted in ancient
+fable is the change of sex: not that it was any degradation
+in itself&mdash;but that it must occasion a total
+derangement of the moral economy and confusion of
+the sense of personal propriety. The thing is said
+to have happened <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">au sens contraire</i>, in our time. The
+story is to be met with in &lsquo;very choice Italian&rsquo;; and
+Lord D&mdash;&mdash; tells it in very plain English!</p>
+
+<p>We may often find ourselves envying the possessions
+of others, and sometimes inadvertently indulging
+a wish to change places with them altogether;
+but our self-love soon discovers some excuse to be off
+the bargain we were ready to strike, and retracts
+&lsquo;vows made in haste, as violent and void.&rsquo; We might
+make up our minds to the alteration in every other
+particular; but, when it comes to the point, there is
+sure to be some trait or feature of character in the
+object of our admiration to which we cannot reconcile
+ourselves&mdash;some favourite quality or darling foible of
+our own, with which we can by no means resolve to
+part. The more enviable the situation of another,
+the more entirely to our taste, the more reluctant
+we are to leave any part of ourselves behind that
+would be so fully capable of appreciating all the
+exquisiteness of its new situation, or not to enter
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>71]</a></span>
+into the possession of such an imaginary reversion
+of good fortune with all our previous inclinations
+and sentiments. The outward circumstances were
+fine: they only wanted a <em>soul</em> to enjoy them, and that
+soul is ours (as the costly ring wants the peerless
+jewel to perfect and set it off). The humble prayer
+and petition to sneak into visionary felicity by
+personal adoption, or the surrender of our own
+personal pretentions, always ends in a daring project
+of usurpation, and a determination to expel the
+actual proprietor, and supply his place so much more
+worthily with our own identity&mdash;not bating a single
+jot of it. Thus, in passing through a fine collection
+of pictures, who has not envied the privilege of visiting
+it every day, and wished to be the owner? But
+the rising sigh is soon checked, and &lsquo;the native hue
+of emulation is sicklied o&rsquo;er with the pale cast of
+thought,&rsquo; when we come to ask ourselves, not merely
+whether the owner has any taste at all for these
+splendid works, and does not look upon them as so
+much expensive furniture, like his chairs and tables&mdash;but
+whether he has the same precise (and only true)
+taste that we have&mdash;whether he has the very same
+favourites that we have&mdash;whether he may not be so
+blind as to prefer a Vandyke to a Titian, a Ruysdael
+to a Claude; nay, whether he may not have other
+pursuits and avocations that draw off his attention
+from the sole objects of our idolatry, and which seem
+to us mere impertinences and waste of time? In
+that case, we at once lose all patience, and exclaim
+indignantly, &lsquo;Give us back our taste, and keep your
+pictures!&rsquo; It is not we who should envy them the
+possession of the treasure, but they who should envy
+us the true and exclusive enjoyment of it. A similar
+train of feeling seems to have dictated Warton&rsquo;s
+spirited <i>Sonnet on visiting Wilton House</i>:</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem29">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;From Pembroke&rsquo;s princely dome, where mimic art<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Decks with a magic hand the dazzling bowers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its living hues where the warm pencil pours,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And breathing forms from the rude marble start,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>72]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">How to life&rsquo;s humbler scene can I depart?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My breast all glowing from those gorgeous towers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In my low cell how cheat the sullen hours?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Vain the complaint! For fancy can impart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(To fate superior and to fortune&rsquo;s power)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whate&rsquo;er adorns the stately storied-hall:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She, &rsquo;mid the dungeon&rsquo;s solitary gloom,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can dress the Graces in their attic-pall;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did the green landscape&rsquo;s vernal beauty bloom;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in bright trophies clothe the twilight wall.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>One sometimes passes by a gentleman&rsquo;s park, an old
+family-seat, with its moss-grown, ruinous paling, its
+&lsquo;glades mild-opening to the genial day,&rsquo; or embrowned
+with forest-trees. Here one would be glad to spend
+one&rsquo;s life, &lsquo;shut up in measureless content,&rsquo; and to
+grow old beneath ancestral oaks, instead of gaining a
+precarious, irksome, and despised livelihood, by indulging
+romantic sentiments, and writing disjointed
+descriptions of them. The thought has scarcely risen
+to the lips, when we learn that the owner of so blissful
+a seclusion is a thoroughbred fox-hunter, a preserver
+of the game, a brawling electioneerer, a Tory
+member of parliament, a &lsquo;No-Popery&rsquo; man!&mdash;&lsquo;I&rsquo;d
+sooner be a dog, and bay the moon!&rsquo; Who would be
+Sir Thomas Lethbridge for his title and estate? asks
+one man. But would not almost any one wish to be
+Sir Francis Burdett, the man of the people, the idol
+of the electors of Westminster? says another. I can
+only answer for myself. Respectable and honest as
+he is, there is something in his white boots, and white
+breeches, and white coat, and white hair, and white
+hat, and red face, that I cannot, by any effort of
+candour, confound my personal identity with! If
+Mr. &mdash;&mdash; can prevail on Sir Francis to exchange, let
+him do so by all means. Perhaps they might contrive
+to <em>club</em> a soul between them! Could I have had
+my will, I should have been born a lord: but one
+would not be a booby lord neither. I am haunted by
+an odd fancy of driving down the Great North Road
+in a chaise and four, about fifty years ago, and coming
+to the inn at Ferry-bridge with outriders, white
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>73]</a></span>
+favours, and a coronet on the panels; and then, too,
+I choose my companion in the coach. Really there
+is a witchcraft in all this that makes it necessary to
+turn away from it, lest, in the conflict between
+imagination and impossibility, I should grow feverish
+and light-headed! But, on the other hand, if one
+was a born lord, should one have the same idea (that
+every one else has) of <em>a peeress in her own right</em>? Is
+not distance, giddy elevation, mysterious awe, an
+impassable gulf, necessary to form this idea in the
+mind, that fine ligament of &lsquo;ethereal braid, sky-woven,&rsquo;
+that lets down heaven upon earth, fair as
+enchantment, soft as Berenice&rsquo;s hair, bright and garlanded
+like Ariadne&rsquo;s crown; and is it not better to
+have had this idea all through life&mdash;to have caught
+but glimpses of it, to have known it but in a dream&mdash;than
+to have been born a lord ten times over, with
+twenty pampered menials at one&rsquo;s beck, and twenty
+descents to boast of? It is the envy of certain
+privileges, the sharp privations we have undergone,
+the cutting neglect we have met with from the want
+of birth or title that gives its zest to the distinction:
+the thing itself may be indifferent or contemptible
+enough. It is the <em>becoming</em> a lord that is to be desired;
+but he who becomes a lord in reality may be
+an upstart&mdash;a mere pretender, without the sterling
+essence; so that all that is of any worth in this
+supposed transition is purely imaginary and impossible.<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a>
+Kings are so accustomed to look down on all
+the rest of the world, that they consider the condition
+of mortality as vile and intolerable, if stripped of royal
+state, and cry out in the bitterness of their despair,
+&lsquo;Give me a crown, or a tomb!&rsquo; It should seem from
+this as if all mankind would change with the first
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>74]</a></span>
+crowned head that could propose the alternative, or
+that it would be only the presumption of the supposition,
+or a sense of their own unworthiness, that
+would deter them. Perhaps there is not a single
+throne that, if it was to be filled by this sort of
+voluntary metempsychosis, would not remain empty.
+Many would, no doubt, be glad to &lsquo;monarchise, be
+feared, and kill with looks&rsquo; in their own persons and
+after their own fashion: but who would be the <em>double</em>
+of those shadows of a shade&mdash;those &lsquo;tenth transmitters
+of a foolish face&rsquo;&mdash;Charles <small>X.</small> and Ferdinand <small>VII.</small>?
+If monarchs have little sympathy with mankind, mankind
+have even less with monarchs. They are merely
+to us a sort of state-puppets, or royal wax-work, which
+we may gaze at with superstitious wonder, but have
+no wish to become; and he who should meditate such
+a change must not only feel by anticipation an utter
+contempt for the <em>slough</em> of humanity which he is prepared
+to cast, but must feel an absolute void and
+want of attraction in those lofty and incomprehensible
+sentiments which are to supply its place. With
+respect to actual royalty, the spell is in a great
+measure broken. But, among ancient monarchs, there
+is no one, I think, who envies Darius or Xerxes.
+One has a different feeling with respect to Alexander
+or Pyrrhus; but this is because they were great
+men as well as great kings, and the soul is up in
+arms at the mention of their names as at the sound
+of a trumpet. But as to all the rest&mdash;those &lsquo;in the
+catalogue who go for kings&rsquo;&mdash;the praying, eating,
+drinking, dressing monarchs of the earth, in time
+past or present&mdash;one would as soon think of wishing
+to personate the Golden Calf, or to turn out with
+Nebuchadnezzar to graze, as to be transformed into
+one of that &lsquo;swinish multitude.&rsquo; There is no point of
+affinity. The extrinsic circumstances are imposing;
+but, within, there is nothing but morbid humours and
+proud flesh! Some persons might vote for Charlemagne;
+and there are others who would have no objection to
+be the modern Charlemagne, with all he inflicted and
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>75]</a></span>
+suffered, even after the necromantic field of Waterloo,
+and the bloody wreath on the vacant brow of the
+conqueror, and that fell jailer, set over him by a
+craven foe, that &lsquo;glared round his soul, and mocked
+his closing eyelids!&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p>It has been remarked, that could we at pleasure
+change our situation in life, more persons would be
+found anxious to descend than to ascend in the scale
+of society. One reason may be, that we have it
+more in our power to do so; and this encourages the
+thought, and makes it familiar to us. A second is,
+that we naturally wish to throw off the cares of
+state, of fortune or business, that oppress us, and to
+seek repose before we find it in the grave. A third
+reason is, that, as we descend to common life, the
+pleasures are simple, natural, such as all can enter
+into, and therefore excite a general interest, and
+combine all suffrages. Of the different occupations
+of life, none is beheld with a more pleasing emotion,
+or less aversion to a change for our own, than that
+of a shepherd tending his flock: the pastoral ages
+have been the envy and the theme of all succeeding
+ones; and a beggar with his crutch is more closely
+allied than the monarch and his crown to the associations
+of mirth and heart&rsquo;s-ease. On the other hand,
+it must be admitted that our pride is too apt to
+prefer grandeur to happiness; and that our passions
+make us envy great vices oftener than great virtues.</p>
+
+<p>The world show their sense in nothing more than
+in a distrust and aversion to those changes of situation
+which only tend to make the successful candidates
+ridiculous, and which do not carry along with them
+a mind adequate to the circumstances. The common
+people, in this respect, are more shrewd and judicious
+than their superiors, from feeling their own awkwardness
+and incapacity, and often decline, with an
+instinctive modesty, the troublesome honours intended
+for them. They do not overlook their original
+defects so readily as others overlook their acquired
+advantages. It is not wonderful, therefore, that
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>76]</a></span>
+opera-singers and dancers refuse or only <em>condescend</em>
+as it were, to accept lords, though the latter are too
+often fascinated by them. The fair performer knows
+(better than her unsuspecting admirer) how little
+connection there is between the dazzling figure she
+makes on the stage and that which she may make in
+private life, and is in no hurry to convert &lsquo;the
+drawing-room into a Green-room.&rsquo; The nobleman
+(supposing him not to be very wise) is astonished at
+the miraculous powers of art in</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem24">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;The fair, the chaste, the inexpressive <em>she</em>&rsquo;;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>and thinks such a paragon must easily conform to
+the routine of manners and society which every
+trifling woman of quality of his acquaintance, from
+sixteen to sixty, goes through without effort. This
+is a hasty or a wilful conclusion. Things of habit
+only come by habit, and inspiration here avails
+nothing. A man of fortune who marries an actress
+for her fine performance of tragedy, has been well
+compared to the person who bought Punch. The
+lady is not unfrequently aware of the inconsequentiality,
+and unwilling to be put on the shelf, and hid
+in the nursery of some musty country mansion.
+Servant girls, of any sense and spirit, treat their
+masters (who make serious love to them) with suitable
+contempt. What is it but a proposal to drag an
+unmeaning trollop at his heels through life, to her
+own annoyance and the ridicule of all his friends?
+No woman, I suspect, ever forgave a man who raised
+her from a low condition in life (it is a perpetual
+obligation and reproach); though I believe, men often
+feel the most disinterested regard for women under
+such circumstances. Sancho Panza discovered no
+less folly in his eagerness to enter upon his new
+government, than wisdom in quitting it as fast as
+possible. Why will Mr. Cobbett persist in getting
+into Parliament? He would find himself no longer
+the same man. What member of Parliament, I
+should like to know, could write his <i>Register</i>? As
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>77]</a></span>
+a popular partisan, he may (for aught I can say) be
+a match for the whole Honourable House; but, by
+obtaining a seat in St. Stephen&rsquo;s Chapel, he would
+only be equal to a 576th part of it. It was surely a
+puerile ambition in Mr. Addington to succeed Mr. Pitt
+as prime minister. The situation was only a foil to
+his imbecility. Gipsies have a fine faculty of evasion;
+catch them who can in the same place or story twice!
+Take them; teach them the comforts of civilisation;
+confine them in warm rooms, with thick carpets and
+down beds; and they will fly out of the window&mdash;like
+the bird, described by Chaucer, out of its golden cage.
+I maintain that there is no common language or
+medium of understanding between people of education
+and without it&mdash;between those who judge of things
+from books or from their senses. Ignorance has so
+far the advantage over learning; for it can make an
+appeal to you from what you know; but you cannot
+react upon it through that which it is a perfect
+stranger to. Ignorance is, therefore, power. This
+is what foiled Buonaparte in Spain and Russia. The
+people can only be gained over by informing them,
+though they may be enslaved by fraud or force.
+&lsquo;What is it, then, he does like?&rsquo;&mdash;&lsquo;Good victuals
+and drink!&rsquo; As if you had these not too; but
+because he has them not, he thinks of nothing else,
+and laughs at you and your refinements, supposing
+you live upon air. To those who are deprived of
+every other advantage, even nature is a <em>book sealed</em>.
+I have made this capital mistake all my life, in
+imagining that those objects which lay open to all,
+and excited an interest merely from the <em>idea</em> of them,
+spoke a common language to all; and that nature
+was a kind of universal home, where ages, sexes,
+classes meet. Not so. The vital air, the sky, the
+woods, the streams&mdash;all these go for nothing, except
+with a favoured few. The poor are taken up with
+their bodily wants&mdash;the rich, with external acquisitions:
+the one, with the sense of property&mdash;the other,
+of its privation. Both have the same distaste for
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>78]</a></span>
+<em>sentiment</em>. The <em>genteel</em> are the slaves of appearances&mdash;the
+vulgar, of necessity; and neither has the
+smallest regard to worth, refinement, generosity. All
+savages are irreclaimable. I can understand the
+Irish character better than the Scotch. I hate the
+formal crust of circumstances and the mechanism of
+society. I have been recommended, indeed, to settle
+down into some respectable profession for life:</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem21">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;Ah! why so soon the blossom tear?&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>I am &lsquo;in no haste to be venerable!&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p>In thinking of those one might wish to have been,
+many people will exclaim, &lsquo;Surely, you would like
+to have been Shakspeare?&rsquo; Would Garrick have
+consented to the change? No, nor should he; for
+the applause which he received, and on which he
+lived, was more adapted to his genius and taste. If
+Garrick had agreed to be Shakspeare, he would have
+made it a previous condition that he was to be a
+better player. He would have insisted on taking
+some higher part than <i>Polonius</i> or the <i>Gravedigger</i>.
+Ben Jonson and his companions at the Mermaid
+would not have known their old friend Will in his
+new disguise. The modern Roscius would have
+scouted the halting player. He would have shrunk
+from the parts of the inspired poet. If others are
+unlike us, we feel it as a presumption and an impertinence
+to usurp their place; if they are like us,
+it seems a work of supererogation. We are not to
+be cozened out of our existence for nothing. It has
+been ingeniously urged, as an objection to having
+been Milton, that &lsquo;then we should not have had the
+pleasure of reading <i>Paradise Lost</i>.&rsquo; Perhaps I should
+incline to draw lots with Pope, but that he was
+deformed, and did not sufficiently relish Milton and
+Shakspeare. As it is, we can enjoy his verses and
+theirs too. Why, having these, need we ever be
+dissatisfied with ourselves? Goldsmith is a person
+whom I considerably affect notwithstanding his
+blunders and his misfortunes. The author of the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>79]</a></span>
+<i>Vicar of Wakefield</i>, and of <i>Retaliation</i>, is one whose
+temper must have had something eminently amiable,
+delightful, gay, and happy in it.</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem26">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;A certain tender bloom his fame o&rsquo;erspreads.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>But then I could never make up my mind to his preferring
+Rowe and Dryden to the worthies of the
+Elizabethan age; nor could I, in like manner, forgive
+Sir Joshua&mdash;whom I number among those whose
+existence was marked with a <em>white stone</em>, and on whose
+tomb might be inscribed &lsquo;Thrice Fortunate!&rsquo;&mdash;his
+treating Nicholas Poussin with contempt. Differences
+in matters of taste and opinion are points of honour&mdash;&lsquo;stuff
+o&rsquo; the conscience&rsquo;&mdash;stumbling-blocks not to be
+got over. Others, we easily grant, may have more
+wit, learning, imagination, riches, strength, beauty,
+which we should be glad to borrow of them; but that
+they have sounder or better views of things, or that
+we should act wisely in changing in this respect, is
+what we can by no means persuade ourselves. We
+may not be the lucky possessors of what is best or
+most desirable; but our notion of what is best and
+most desirable we will give up to no man by choice
+or compulsion; and unless others (the greatest wits
+or brightest geniuses) can come into our way of
+thinking, we must humbly beg leave to remain as
+we are. A Calvinistic preacher would not relinquish
+a single point of faith to be the Pope of Rome; nor
+would a strict Unitarian acknowledge the mystery of
+the Holy Trinity to have painted Raphael&rsquo;s <i>Assembly
+of the Just</i>. In the range of <em>ideal</em> excellence, we are
+distracted by variety and repelled by differences: the
+imagination is fickle and fastidious, and requires a
+combination of all possible qualifications, which never
+met. Habit alone is blind and tenacious of the most
+homely advantages; and after running the tempting
+round of nature, fame and fortune, we wrap ourselves
+up in our familiar recollections and humble pretensions&mdash;as
+the lark, after long fluttering on sunny
+wing, sinks into its lowly bed!</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>80]</a></span>
+We can have no very importunate craving, nor very
+great confidence, in wishing to change characters,
+except with those with whom we are intimately
+acquainted by their works; and having these by us
+(which is all we know or covet in them), what would
+we have more? We can have <em>no more of a cat than
+her skin</em>; nor of an author than his brains. By becoming
+Shakspeare in reality we cut ourselves out of
+reading Milton, Pope, Dryden, and a thousand more&mdash;all
+of whom we have in our possession, enjoy, and
+<em>are</em>, by turns, in the best part of them, their thoughts,
+without any metamorphosis or miracle at all. What a
+microcosm is ours! What a Proteus is the human
+mind! All that we know, think of, or can admire,
+in a manner becomes ourselves. We are not (the
+meanest of us) a volume, but a whole library! In
+this calculation of problematical contingencies, the
+lapse of time makes no difference. One would as
+soon have been Raphael as any modern artist.
+Twenty, thirty, or forty years of elegant enjoyment
+and lofty feeling were as great a luxury in the fifteenth
+as in the nineteenth century. But Raphael did not
+live to see Claude, nor Titian Rembrandt. Those
+who found arts and sciences are not witnesses of their
+accumulated results and benefits; nor, in general, do
+they reap the meed of praise which is their due. We
+who come after in some &lsquo;laggard age&rsquo; have more
+enjoyment of their fame than they had. Who would
+have missed the sight of the Louvre in all its glory
+to have been one of those whose works enriched it?
+Would it not have been giving a certain good for an uncertain
+advantage? No: I am as sure (if it is not presumption
+to say so) of what passed through Raphael&rsquo;s
+mind as of what passes through my own; and I know
+the difference between seeing (though even that is a
+rare privilege) and producing such perfection. At
+one time I was so devoted to Rembrandt, that I think
+if the Prince of Darkness had made me the offer in
+some rash mood, I should have been tempted to close
+with it, and should have become (in happy hour,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>81]</a></span>
+and in downright earnest) the great master of light
+and shade!</p>
+
+<p>I have run myself out of my materials for this
+Essay, and want a well-turned sentence or two to
+conclude with; like Benvenuto Cellini, who complains
+that, with all the brass, tin, iron, and lead he
+could muster in the house, his statue of Perseus was
+left imperfect, with a dent in the heel of it. Once
+more, then&mdash;I believe there is one character that all
+the world would like to change with&mdash;which is that
+of a favoured rival. Even hatred gives way to envy.
+We would be anything&mdash;a toad in a dungeon&mdash;to live
+upon her smile, which is our all of earthly hope and
+happiness; nor can we, in our infatuation, conceive
+that there is any difference of feeling on the subject,
+or that the pressure of her hand is not in itself divine,
+making those to whom such bliss is deigned like the
+Immortal Gods!</p>
+
+<p>1828.</p>
+
+<h3>FOOTNOTE</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a>
+When Lord Byron was cut by the great, on account of his
+quarrel with his wife, he stood leaning on a marble slab at
+the entrance of a room, while troops of duchesses and countesses
+passed out. One little, pert, red-haired girl staid a few
+paces behind the rest; and, as she passed him, said with a
+nod, &lsquo;Aye, you should have married me, and then all this
+wouldn&rsquo;t have happened to you!&rsquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<p class="ptop"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>82]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>ESSAY VII<br />
+<br />
+<span class="vsmlfont">MIND AND MOTIVE</span></h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem24">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;The web of our lives is of a mingled yarn.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>&lsquo;Anthony Codrus Urceus, a most learned and unfortunate
+Italian, born 1446, was a striking instance&rsquo;
+(says his biographer) &lsquo;of the miseries men bring upon
+themselves by setting their affections unreasonably on
+trifles. This learned man lived at Forli, and had an
+apartment in the palace. His room was so very dark,
+that he was forced to use a candle in the day time;
+and one day, going abroad without putting it out, his
+library was set on fire, and some papers which he
+had prepared for the press were burned. The instant
+he was informed of this ill news, he was affected even
+to madness. He ran furiously to the palace, and,
+stopping at the door of his apartment, he cried aloud,
+&ldquo;Christ Jesus! what mighty crime have I committed?
+whom of your followers have I ever injured,
+that you thus rage with inexpiable hatred against
+me?&rdquo; Then turning himself to an image of the
+Virgin Mary near at hand, &ldquo;Virgin&rdquo; (says he)
+&ldquo;hear what I have to say, for I speak in earnest,
+and with a composed spirit. If I shall happen to
+address you in my dying moments, I humbly entreat
+you not to hear me, nor receive me into heaven,
+for I am determined to spend all eternity in hell.&rdquo;
+Those who heard these blasphemous expressions endeavoured
+to comfort him, but all to no purpose; for
+the society of mankind being no longer supportable
+to him, he left the city, and retired, like a savage,
+to the deep solitude of a wood. Some say that he
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>83]</a></span>
+was murdered there by ruffians; others that he died
+at Bologna, in 1500, after much contrition and
+penitence.&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p>Almost every one may here read the history of his
+own life. There is scarcely a moment in which we
+are not in some degree guilty of the same kind of
+absurdity, which was here carried to such a singular
+excess. We waste our regrets on what cannot be
+recalled, or fix our desires on what we know cannot
+be attained. Every hour is the slave of the last; and
+we are seldom masters either of our thoughts or of
+our actions. We are the creatures of imagination,
+passion, and self-will, more than of reason or self-interest.
+Rousseau, in his <i>Emilius</i>, proposed to
+educate a perfectly reasonable man, who was to have
+passions and affections like other men, but with an
+absolute control over them. He was to love and to
+be wise. This is a contradiction in terms. Even in
+the common transactions and daily intercourse of
+life, we are governed by whim, caprice, prejudice, or
+accident. The falling of a tea-cup puts us out of
+temper for the day; and a quarrel that commenced
+about the pattern of a gown may end only with our
+lives.</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem31">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i5">&lsquo;Friends now fast sworn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On a dissension of a doit, break out<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To bitterest enmity. So fellest foes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose passions and whose plots have broke their sleep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To take the one the other, by some chance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And interjoin their issues.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>We are little better than humoured children to the
+last, and play a mischievous game at cross purposes
+with our own happiness and that of others.</p>
+
+<p>We have given the above story as a striking contradiction
+to the prevailing doctrine of modern
+systems of morals and metaphysics, that man is
+purely a sensual and selfish animal, governed solely
+by a regard either to his immediate gratification or
+future interest. This doctrine we mean to oppose
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>84]</a></span>
+with all our might, whenever we meet with it. We
+are, however, less disposed to quarrel with it, as it is
+opposed to reason and philosophy, than as it interferes
+with common sense and observation. If the
+absurdity in question had been confined to the schools,
+we should not have gone out of our way to meddle
+with it: but it has gone abroad in the world, has
+crept into ladies&rsquo; boudoirs, is entered in the commonplace
+book of beaux, is in the mouth of the learned
+and ignorant, and forms a part of popular opinion. It
+is perpetually applied as a false measure to the
+characters and conduct of men in the common affairs
+of the world, and it is therefore our business to rectify
+it, if we can. In fact, whoever sets out on the idea
+of reducing all our motives and actions to a simple
+principle, must either take a very narrow and superficial
+view of human nature, or make a very perverse
+use of his understanding in reasoning on what he
+sees. The frame of our minds, like that of his body,
+is exceedingly complicated. Besides mere sensibility
+to pleasure and pain, there are other original independent
+principles, necessarily interwoven with the
+nature of man as an active and intelligent being, and
+which, blended together in different proportions, give
+their form and colour to our lives. Without some
+other essential faculties, such as will, imagination,
+etc., to give effect and direction to our physical
+sensibility, this faculty could be of no possible use or
+influence; and with those other faculties joined to it,
+this pretended instinct of self-love will be subject to
+be everlastingly modified and controlled by those
+faculties, both in what regards our own good and that
+of others; that is, must itself become in a great
+measure dependent on the very instruments it uses.
+The two most predominant principles in the mind,
+besides sensibility and self-interest, are imagination
+and self-will, or (in general) the love of strong excitement,
+both in thought and action. To these sources
+may be traced the various passions, pursuits, habits,
+affections, follies and caprices, virtues and vices of
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>85]</a></span>
+mankind. We shall confine ourselves, in the present
+article, to give some account of the influence exercised
+by the imagination over the feelings. To an intellectual
+being, it cannot be altogether arbitrary what
+ideas it shall have, whether pleasurable or painful.
+Our ideas do not originate in our love of pleasure,
+and they cannot, therefore, depend absolutely upon
+it. They have another principle. If the imagination
+were &lsquo;the servile slave&rsquo; of our self-love, if our ideas
+were emanations of our sensitive nature, encouraged
+if agreeable, and excluded the instant they became
+otherwise, or encroached on the former principle,
+then there might be a tolerable pretence for the
+epicurean philosophy which is here spoken of. But
+for any such entire and mechanical subserviency of
+the operations of the one principle to the dictates of
+the other, there is not the slightest foundation in
+reality. The attention which the mind gives to its
+ideas is not always owing to the gratification derived
+from them, but to the strength and truth of the impressions
+themselves, <i>i.e.</i> to their involuntary power
+over the mind. This observation will account for a
+very general principle in the mind, which cannot, we
+conceive, be satisfactorily explained in any other way,
+we mean <em>the power of fascination</em>. Every one has heard
+the story of the girl who, being left alone by her
+companions, in order to frighten her, in a room with
+a dead body, at first attempted to get out, and
+shrieked violently for assistance, but finding herself
+shut in, ran and embraced the corpse, and was found
+senseless in its arms.</p>
+
+<p>It is said that in such cases there is a desperate
+effort made to get rid of the dread by converting it
+into the reality. There may be some truth in this
+account, but we do not think it contains the whole
+truth. The event produced in the present instance
+does not bear out the conclusion. The progress of the
+passion does not seem to have been that of diminishing
+or removing the terror by coming in contact with
+the object, but of carrying this terror to its height
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>86]</a></span>
+from an intense and irresistible impulse overcoming
+every other feeling.</p>
+
+<p>It is a well-known fact that few persons can stand
+safely on the edge of a precipice, or walk along the
+parapet wall of a house, without being in danger of
+throwing themselves down; not, we presume, from
+a principle of self-preservation; but in consequence
+of a strong idea having taken possession of the mind
+from which it cannot well escape, which absorbs every
+other consideration, and confounds and overrules all
+self-regards. The impulse cannot in this case be
+resolved into a desire to remove the uneasiness of
+fear, for the only danger arises from the fear. We
+have been told by a person not at all given to
+exaggeration, that he once felt a strong propensity
+to throw himself into a cauldron of boiling lead,
+into which he was looking. These are what Shakspeare
+calls &lsquo;the toys of desperation.&rsquo; People sometimes
+marry, and even fall in love on this principle&mdash;that
+is, through mere apprehension, or what is
+called a fatality. In like manner, we find instances
+of persons who are, as it were, naturally delighted
+with whatever is disagreeable&mdash;who catch all sorts of
+unbecoming tones and gestures&mdash;who always say what
+they should not, and what they do not mean to say&mdash;in
+whom intemperance of imagination and incontinence
+of tongue are a disease, and who are governed by
+an almost infallible instinct of absurdity.</p>
+
+<p>The love of imitation has the same general source.
+We dispute for ever about Hogarth, and the question
+can never be decided according to the common ideas
+on the subject of taste. His pictures appeal to the
+love of truth, not to the sense of beauty: but the one
+is as much an essential principle of our nature as the
+other. They fill up the void of the mind; they
+present an everlasting succession and variety of ideas.
+There is a fine observation somewhere made by
+Aristotle, that the mind has a natural appetite of
+curiosity or desire to know; and most of that knowledge
+which comes in by the eye, for this presents
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>87]</a></span>
+us with the greatest variety of differences. Hogarth
+is relished only by persons of a certain strength of
+mind and penetration into character; for the subjects
+in themselves are not pleasing, and this objection is
+only redeemed by the exercise and activity which
+they give to the understanding. The great difference
+between what is meant by a severe and an effeminate
+taste or style, depends on the distinction here made.</p>
+
+<p>Our teasing ourselves to recollect the names of
+places or persons we have forgotten, the love of
+riddles and of abstruse philosophy, are all illustrations
+of the same general principle of curiosity, or
+the love of intellectual excitement. Again, our
+impatience to be delivered of a secret that we know;
+the necessity which lovers have for confidants, auricular
+confession, and the declarations so commonly
+made by criminals of their guilt, are effects of the
+involuntary power exerted by the imagination over
+the feelings. Nothing can be more untrue, than
+that the whole course of our ideas, passions, and
+pursuits, is regulated by a regard to self-interest.
+Our attachment to certain objects is much oftener
+in proportion to the strength of the impression they
+make on us, to their power of riveting and fixing the
+attention, than to the gratification we derive from
+them. We are, perhaps, more apt to dwell upon
+circumstances that excite disgust and shock our feelings,
+than on those of an agreeable nature. This, at
+least, is the case where this disposition is particularly
+strong, as in people of nervous feelings and morbid
+habits of thinking. Thus the mind is often haunted
+with painful images and recollections, from the hold
+they have taken of the imagination. We cannot
+shake them off, though we strive to do it: nay, we
+even court their company; we will not part with them
+out of our presence; we strain our aching sight after
+them; we anxiously recall every feature, and contemplate
+them in all their aggravated colours. There
+are a thousand passions and fancies that thwart our
+purposes, and disturb our repose. Grief and fear are
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>88]</a></span>
+almost as welcome inmates of the breast as hope or
+joy, and more obstinately cherished. We return to
+the objects which have excited them, we brood over
+them, they become almost inseparable from the mind,
+necessary to it; they assimilate all objects to the
+gloom of our own thoughts, and make the will a
+party against itself. This is one chief source of most
+of the passions that prey like vultures on the heart,
+and embitter human life. We hear moralists and
+divines perpetually exclaiming, with mingled indignation
+and surprise, at the folly of mankind in
+obstinately persisting in these tormenting and violent
+passions, such as envy, revenge, sullenness, despair,
+etc. This is to them a mystery; and it will always
+remain an inexplicable one, while the love of happiness
+is considered as the only spring of human
+conduct and desires.<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a></p>
+
+<p>The love of power or action is another independent
+principle of the human mind, in the different degrees
+in which it exists, and which are not by any means in
+exact proportion to its physical sensibility. It seems
+evidently absurd to suppose that sensibility to pleasure
+or pain is the only principle of action. It is almost
+too obvious to remark, that sensibility alone, without
+an active principle in the mind, could never produce
+action. The soul might lie dissolved in pleasure, or
+be agonised with woe; but the impulses of feeling,
+in order to excite passion, desire, or will, must be
+first communicated to some other faculty. There
+must be a principle, a fund of activity somewhere, by
+and through which our sensibility operates; and that
+this active principle owes all its force, its precise
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>89]</a></span>
+degree of direction, to the sensitive faculty, is neither
+self-evident nor true. Strength of will is not always
+nor generally in proportion to strength of feeling.
+There are different degrees of activity, as of sensibility,
+in the mind; and our passions, characters, and
+pursuits, often depend no less upon the one than
+on the other. We continually make a distinction
+in common discourse between sensibility and irritability,
+between passion and feeling, between the nerves
+and muscles; and we find that the most voluptuous
+people are in general the most indolent. Every one
+who has looked closely into human nature must have
+observed persons who are naturally and habitually
+restless in the extreme, but without any extraordinary
+susceptibility to pleasure or pain, always making or
+finding excuses to do something&mdash;whose actions constantly
+outrun the occasion, and who are eager in the
+pursuit of the greatest trifles&mdash;whose impatience of
+the smallest repose keeps them always employed about
+nothing&mdash;and whose whole lives are a continued work
+of supererogation. There are others, again, who seem
+born to act from a spirit of contradiction only, that
+is, who are ready to act not only without a reason,
+but against it&mdash;who are ever at cross-purposes with
+themselves and others&mdash;who are not satisfied unless
+they are doing two opposite things at a time&mdash;who
+contradict what you say, and if you assent to them,
+contradict what they have said&mdash;who regularly leave
+the pursuit in which they are successful to engage in
+some other in which they have no chance of success&mdash;who
+make a point of encountering difficulties and
+aiming at impossibilities, that there may be no end of
+their exhaustless task: while there is a third class
+whose <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">vis inerti&aelig;</i> scarcely any motives can overcome&mdash;who
+are devoured by their feelings, and the slaves
+of their passions, but who can take no pains and use
+no means to gratify them&mdash;who, if roused to action
+by any unforeseen accident, require a continued
+stimulus to urge them on&mdash;who fluctuate between
+desire and want of resolution&mdash;whose brightest
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>90]</a></span>
+projects burst like a bubble as soon as formed&mdash;who yield
+to every obstacle&mdash;who almost sink under the weight
+of the atmosphere&mdash;who cannot brush aside a cobweb
+in their path, and are stopped by an insect&rsquo;s wing.
+Indolence is want of will&mdash;the absence or defect of
+the active principle&mdash;a repugnance to motion; and
+whoever has been much tormented with this passion,
+must, we are sure, have felt that the inclination to
+indulge it is something very distinct from the love of
+pleasure or actual enjoyment. Ambition is the reverse
+of indolence, and is the love of power or action in
+great things. Avarice, also, as it relates to the acquisition
+of riches, is, in a great measure, an active and
+enterprising feeling; nor does the hoarding of wealth,
+after it is acquired, seem to have much connection
+with the love of pleasure. What is called niggardliness,
+very often, we are convinced from particular
+instances that we have known, arises less from a
+selfish principle than from a love of contrivance&mdash;from
+the study of economy as an art, for want of a
+better&mdash;from a pride in making the most of a little,
+and in not exceeding a certain expense previously
+determined upon; all which is wilfulness, and is perfectly
+consistent, as it is frequently found united,
+with the utmost lavish expenditure and the utmost
+disregard for money on other occasions. A miser
+may, in general, be looked upon as a particular
+species of <i>virtuoso</i>. The constant desire in the rich to
+leave wealth in large masses, by aggrandising some
+branch of their families, or sometimes in such a
+manner as to accumulate for centuries, shows that
+the imagination has a considerable share in this
+passion. Intemperance, debauchery, gluttony, and
+other vices of that kind, may be attributed to an
+excess of sensuality or gross sensibility; though, even
+here, we think it evident that habits of intoxication
+are produced quite as much by the strength as by the
+agreeableness of the excitement; and with respect
+to some other vicious habits, curiosity makes many
+more votaries than inclination. The love of truth,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>91]</a></span>
+when it predominates, produces inquisitive characters,
+the whole tribe of gossips, tale-bearers, harmless
+busybodies, your blunt honest creatures, who never
+conceal what they think, and who are the more sure
+to tell it you the less you want to hear it&mdash;and now
+and then a philosopher.</p>
+
+<p>Our passions in general are to be traced more
+immediately to the active part of our nature, to the
+love of power, or to strength of will. Such are all
+those which arise out of the difficulty of accomplishment,
+which become more intense from the efforts
+made to attain the object, and which derive their
+strength from opposition. Mr. Hobbes says well on
+this subject:</p>
+
+<p>&lsquo;But for an utmost end, in which the ancient
+philosophers placed felicity, and disputed much concerning
+the way thereto, there is no such thing in
+this world, nor way to it, more than to Utopia; for
+while we live, we have desires, and desire presupposeth
+a further end. Seeing all delight is appetite, and
+desire of something further, there can be no contentment
+but in proceeding, and therefore we are not to
+marvel, when we see that as men attain to more
+riches, honour, or other power, so their appetite
+continually groweth more and more; and when they
+are come to the utmost degree of some kind of power
+they pursue some other, as long as in any kind they
+think themselves behind any other. Of those, therefore,
+that have attained the highest degree of honour
+and riches, some have affected mastery, in some art,
+as Nero in music and poetry, Commodus in the art of
+a gladiator; and such as affect not some such thing,
+must find diversion and recreation of their thoughts
+in the contention either of play or business, and men
+justly complain as of a great grief that they know not
+what to do. Felicity, therefore, by which we mean
+continual delight, consists not in having prospered,
+but in prospering.&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p>This account of human nature, true as it is, would
+be a mere romance, if physical sensibility were the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>92]</a></span>
+only faculty essential to man, that is, if we were the
+slaves of voluptuous indolence. But our desires are
+kindled by their own heat, the will is urged on by
+a restless impulse, and without action, enjoyment
+becomes insipid. The passions of men are not in
+proportion only to their sensibility, or to the desirableness
+of the object, but to the violence and irritability
+of their tempers, and the obstacles to their success.
+Thus an object to which we were almost indifferent
+while we thought it in our power, often excites the
+most ardent pursuit or the most painful regret, as
+soon as it is placed out of our reach. How eloquently
+is the contradiction between our desires and our
+success described in <i>Don Quixote</i>, where it is said of
+the lover, that &lsquo;he courted a statue, hunted the wind,
+cried aloud to the desert!&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p>The necessity of action to the mind, and the keen
+edge it gives to our desires, is shown in the different
+value we set on past and future objects. It is commonly,
+and we might almost say universally, supposed,
+that there is an essential difference in the two cases.
+In this instance, however, the strength of our passions
+has converted an evident absurdity into one of the
+most inveterate prejudices of the human mind. That
+the future is really or in itself of more consequence
+than the past, is what we can neither assent to
+nor even conceive. It is true, the past has ceased to
+be, and is no longer anything, except to the mind;
+but the future is still to come, and has an existence
+in the mind only. The one is at an end, the other has
+not even had a beginning; both are purely ideal:
+so that this argument would prove that the present
+only is of any real value, and that both past and
+future objects are equally indifferent, alike nothing.
+Indeed, the future is, if possible, more imaginary
+than the past; for the past may in some sense be said
+to exist in its consequences; it acts still; it is present
+to us in its effects; the mouldering ruins and broken
+fragments still remain; but of the future there is no
+trace. What a blank does the history of the world
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>93]</a></span>
+for the next six thousand years present to the mind,
+compared with that of the last? All that strikes the
+imagination, or excites any interest in the mighty
+scene is <em>what has been</em>. Neither in reality, then, nor
+as a subject of general contemplation, has the future
+any advantage over the past; but with respect to our
+own passions and pursuits it has. We regret the
+pleasures we have enjoyed, and eagerly anticipate
+those which are to come; we dwell with satisfaction
+on the evils from which we have escaped, and dread
+future pain. The good that is past is like money that
+is spent, which is of no use, and about which we give
+no further concern. The good we expect is like a
+store yet untouched, in the enjoyment of which we
+promise ourselves infinite gratification. What has
+happened to us we think of no consequence&mdash;what is
+to happen to us, of the greatest. Why so? Because
+the one is in our power, and the other not; because
+the efforts of the will to bring an object to pass or to
+avert it, strengthen our attachment to or our aversion
+from that object; because the habitual pursuit of any
+purpose redoubles the ardour of our pursuit, and
+converts the speculative and indolent interest we
+should otherwise take in it into real passion. Our
+regrets, anxiety, and wishes, are thrown away upon
+the past, but we encourage our disposition to exaggerate
+the importance of the future, as of the
+utmost use in aiding our resolutions and stimulating
+our exertions.</p>
+
+<p>It in some measure confirms this theory, that men
+attach more or less importance to past and future
+events, according as they are more or else engaged
+in action and the busy scenes of life. Those who
+have a fortune to make, or are in pursuit of rank and
+power, are regardless of the past, for it does not contribute
+to their views: those who have nothing to do
+but to think, take nearly the same interest in the
+past as in the future. The contemplation of the one
+is as delightful and real as of the other. The season
+of hope comes to an end, but the remembrance of it
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>94]</a></span>
+is left. The past still lives in the memory of those
+who have leisure to look back upon the way that they
+have trod, and can from it &lsquo;catch glimpses that may
+make them less forlorn.&rsquo; The turbulence of action
+and uneasiness of desire <em>must</em> dwell upon the future;
+it is only amidst the innocence of shepherds, in the
+simplicity of the pastoral ages, that a tomb was found
+with this inscription&mdash;&lsquo;<em class="smallcap">I also was an Arcadian!</em>&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p>We feel that some apology is necessary for having
+thus plunged our readers all at once into the middle
+of metaphysics. If it should be asked what use such
+studies are of, we might answer with Hume, <em>perhaps of
+none, except that there are certain persons who find more
+entertainment in them than in any other</em>. An account
+of this matter, with which we were amused ourselves,
+and which may therefore amuse others, we met with
+some time ago in a metaphysical allegory, which
+begins in this manner:</p>
+
+<p>&lsquo;In the depth of a forest, in the kingdom of
+Indostan, lived a monkey, who, before his last step
+of transmigration, had occupied a human tenement.
+He had been a Bramin, skilful in theology, and in all
+abstruse learning. He was wont to hold in admiration
+the ways of nature, and delighted to penetrate
+the mysteries in which she was enrobed; but in
+pursuing the footsteps of philosophy, he wandered
+too far from the abode of the social Virtues. In order
+to pursue his studies, he had retired to a cave on the
+banks of the Jumna. There he forgot society, and
+neglected ablution; and therefore his soul was degraded
+to a condition below humanity. So inveterate
+were the habits which he had contracted in his human
+state, that his spirit was still influenced by his passion
+for abstruse study. He sojourned in this wood
+from youth to age, regardless of everything, <em>save
+cocoa-nuts and metaphysics</em>.&rsquo; For our own part, we
+should be content to pass our time much in the same
+manner as this learned savage, if we could only find
+a substitute for his cocoa-nuts! We do not, however,
+wish to recommend the same pursuit to others, nor
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>95]</a></span>
+to dissuade them from it. It has its pleasures and
+its pains&mdash;its successes and its disappointments. It
+is neither quite so sublime nor quite so uninteresting
+as it is sometimes represented. The worst is, that
+much thought on difficult subjects tends, after a
+certain time, to destroy the natural gaiety and dancing
+of the spirits; it deadens the elastic force of the
+mind, weighs upon the heart, and makes us insensible
+to the common enjoyments and pursuits of life.</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem24">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;Sithence no fairy lights, no quick&rsquo;ning ray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor stir of pulse, nor objects to entice<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Abroad the spirits; but the cloyster&rsquo;d heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sits squat at home, like pagod in a niche<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Obscure.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Metaphysical reasoning is also one branch of the
+tree of the knowledge of good and evil. The study
+of man, however, does, perhaps, less harm than a
+knowledge of the world, though it must be owned
+that the practical knowledge of vice and misery makes
+a stronger impression on the mind, when it has
+imbibed a habit of abstract reasoning. Evil thus
+becomes embodied in a general principle, and shows
+its harpy form in all things. It is a fatal, inevitable
+necessity hanging over us. It follows us wherever
+we go: if we fly into the uttermost parts of the
+earth, it is there: whether we turn to the right or
+the left, we cannot escape from it. This, it is true,
+is the disease of philosophy; but it is one to which
+it is liable in minds of a certain cast, after the
+first ardour of expectation has been disabused by
+experience, and the finer feelings have received an
+irrecoverable shock from the jarring of the world.</p>
+
+<p>Happy are they who live in the dream of their own
+existence, and see all things in the light of their own
+minds; who walk by faith and hope; to whom the
+guiding star of their youth still shines from afar, and
+into whom the spirit of the world has not entered!
+They have not been &lsquo;hurt by the archers,&rsquo; nor has
+the iron entered their souls. They live in the midst
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>96]</a></span>
+of arrows and of death, unconscious of harm. The
+evil things come not nigh them. The shafts of
+ridicule pass unheeded by, and malice loses its sting.
+The example of vice does not rankle in their breasts,
+like the poisoned shirt of Nessus. Evil impressions
+fall off from them like drops of water. The yoke of
+life is to them light and supportable. The world has
+no hold on them. They are in it, not of it; and a
+dream and a glory is ever around them!</p>
+
+<p>1815.</p>
+
+<h3>FOOTNOTE</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a>
+As a contrast to the story at the beginning of this article,
+it will be not amiss to mention that of Sir Isaac Newton, on
+a somewhat similar occasion. He had prepared some papers
+for the press with great care and study, but happening to
+leave a lighted candle on the table with them, his dog
+Diamond overturned the candle, and the labour of several
+years was destroyed. This great man, on seeing what was
+done, only shook his head, and said with a smile, &lsquo;Ah,
+Diamond, you don&rsquo;t know what mischief you have done!&rsquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<p class="ptop"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>97]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>ESSAY VIII<br />
+<br />
+<span class="vsmlfont">ON MEANS AND ENDS</span></h2>
+
+
+<p>It is impossible to have things done without doing
+them. This seems a truism; and yet what is more
+common than to suppose that we shall find things
+done, merely by wishing it? To put the will for the
+deed is as usual in practice as it is contrary to common
+sense. There is, in fact, no absurdity, no contradiction,
+of which the will is not capable. This is,
+I think, more remarkable in the English than in any
+other people, in whom (to judge by what I discover
+in myself) the will bears great and disproportioned
+sway. We will a thing: we contemplate the end
+intensely, and think it done, neglecting the necessary
+means to accomplish it. The strong tendency of the
+mind towards it, the internal effort it makes to give
+being to the object of its idolatry, seems an adequate
+cause to produce the effect, and in a manner identified
+with it. This is more particularly the case in what
+relates to the <em>fine arts</em>, and will account for some
+phenomena of the national character. The English
+school is distinguished by what are called <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">&eacute;bauches</i>,
+rude, violent attempts at effect, and a total inattention
+to the details or delicacy of finishing. Now this,
+I think, proceeds, not exactly from grossness of perception,
+but from the wilfulness of our character;
+our desire to have things our own way, without any
+trouble or distraction of purpose. An object strikes
+us: we see and feel the whole effect. We wish to
+produce a likeness of it; but we want to transfer this
+impression to the canvas as it is conveyed to us,
+simultaneously and intuitively, that is, to stamp it
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>98]</a></span>
+there at a blow, or otherwise we turn away with impatience
+and disgust, as if the means were an obstacle
+to the end, and every attention to the mechanical
+part of art were a deviation from our original purpose.
+We thus degenerate, after repeated failures, into a
+slovenly style of art; and that which was at first an
+undisciplined and irregular impulse becomes a habit,
+and then a theory. It seems strange that the love of
+the end should produce aversion to the means&mdash;but so
+it is; neither is it altogether unnatural. That which
+we are struck with, which we are enamoured of, is
+the general appearance and result; and it would
+certainly be most desirable to produce the effect
+in the same manner by a mere word or wish, if it
+were possible, without entering into any mechanical
+drudgery or minuteness of detail or dexterity of
+execution, which though they are essential and component
+parts of the work do not enter into our
+thoughts, and form no part of our contemplation.
+We may find it necessary, on a cool calculation to go
+through and learn these, but in so doing we only
+submit to necessity, and they are still a diversion to
+and a suspension of our purpose for the time, at
+least, unless practice gives that facility which almost
+identifies the two together, or makes the process an
+unconscious one. The end thus devours up the
+means, or our eagerness for the one, where it is
+strong and unchecked, is in proportion to our impatience
+of the other. We view an object at a
+distance that excites an inclination to visit it, which
+we do after many tedious steps and intricate ways;
+but if we could fly, we should never walk. The
+mind, however, has wings, though the body has not,
+and it is this that produces the contradiction in
+question. The first and strongest impulse of the
+mind is to produce any work at once and by the most
+energetic means; but as this cannot always be done,
+we should not neglect other more mechanical ones,
+but that delusions of passion overrule the convictions
+of the understanding, and what we strongly wish we
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>99]</a></span>
+fancy to be possible and true. We are full of the
+effect we intend to produce, and imagine we have
+produced it, in spite of the evidence of our senses,
+and the suggestions of our friends. In fact, after a
+number of fruitless efforts and violent throes to produce
+an effect which we passionately long for, it
+seems all injustice not to have produced it; if we
+have not commanded success, we have done more, we
+have deserved it; we have copied nature or Titian in
+the spirit in which they ought to be copied, and we
+see them before us in our mind&rsquo;s eye; there is the
+look, the expression, the something or other which
+we chiefly aim at, and thus we persist and make fifty
+excuses to deceive ourselves and confirm our errors;
+or if the light breaks upon us through all the disguises
+of sophistry and self-love, it is so painful that
+we shut our eyes to it; the greater the mortification
+the more violent the effort to throw it off; and thus
+we stick to our determination, and end where we
+began. What makes me think that this is the process
+of our minds, and not merely rusticity or want of
+apprehension, is, that you will see an English artist
+admiring and thrown into raptures by the tucker of
+Titian&rsquo;s mistress, made up of an infinite number of
+little folds, but if he attempts to copy it, he proceeds
+to omit all these details, and dash it off by a single
+smear of his brush. This is not ignorance, or even
+laziness, but what is called jumping at a conclusion.
+It is, in a word, all overweening purpose. He sees
+the details, the varieties, and their effects, and he
+admires them; but he sees them with a glance of his
+eye, and as a wilful man must have his way, he would
+reproduce them by a single dash of the pencil. The
+mixing his colours, the putting in and out, the giving
+his attention to a minute break, or softening in the
+particular lights and shades, is a mechanical and everlasting
+operation, very different from the delight he
+feels in contemplating the effect of all this when properly
+and finely done. Such details are foreign to
+his refined taste, and some doubts arise in his mind
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>100]</a></span>
+in the midst of his gratitude and his raptures, as to
+how Titian could resolve upon the drudgery of going
+through them, and whether it was not done by
+extreme facility of hand, and a sort of trick, abridging
+the mechanical labour. No one wrote or talked more
+enthusiastically about Titian&rsquo;s harmony of colouring
+than the late Mr. Barry, yet his own colouring was
+dead and dry; and if he had copied a Titian, he
+would have made it a mere splash, leaving out all
+that caused his wonder or admiration, after his
+English, or rather Irish fashion. We not only
+grudge the labour of beginning, but we give up, for
+the same reason, when we are near touching the goal
+of success; and to save a few last touches, leave a
+work unfinished, and an object unattained. The
+immediate process, the daily gradual improvement,
+the completion of parts giving us no pleasure, we
+strain at the whole result; we wish to have it done,
+and in our anxiety to have it off our hands, say it will
+do, and lose the benefit of all our labour by grudging
+a little pains, and not commanding a little patience.
+In a day or two, suppose a copy of a fine Titian would
+be as complete as we could make it: the prospect of
+this so enchants us that we skip the intermediate
+days, see no great use in going on with it, fancy that
+we may spoil it, and in order to have the job done,
+take it home with us, when we immediately see our
+error, and spend the rest of our lives in repenting
+that we did not finish it properly at the time. We
+see the whole nature of a picture at once; we only do
+a part: <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Hinc ill&aelig; lachrym&aelig;</i>. A French artist, on the
+contrary, has none of this uneasy, anxious feeling;
+of this desire to grasp the whole of his subject, and
+anticipate his good fortune at a blow; of this massing
+and concentrating principle. He takes the thing
+more easily and rationally. Suppose he undertakes
+to copy a picture, he looks at it and copies it bit by
+bit. He does not set off headlong without knowing
+where he is going, or plunge into all sorts of difficulties
+and absurdities, from impatience to begin and
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>101]</a></span>
+thinking that &lsquo;no sooner said than done&rsquo;; but takes
+time to consider, lays his plans, gets in his outline
+and his distances, and lays a foundation before he
+attempts a superstructure which he may have to pull
+to pieces again. He looks before he leaps, which is
+contrary to the true blindfold English principle; and
+I should think that we had invented this proverb
+from seeing so many fatal examples of the neglect of
+it. He does not make the picture all black or all
+white, because one part of it is so, and because he
+cannot alter an idea he has once got into his head,
+and must always run into extremes, but varies from
+green to red, from orange tawney to yellow, from
+grey to brown, according as they vary in the original:
+he sees no inconsistency or forfeiture of a principle in
+this, but a great deal of right reason, and indeed an
+absolute necessity, if he wishes to succeed in what he
+is about. This is the last thing an Englishman thinks
+of: he only wants to have his own way, though it
+ends in defeat and ruin: he sets about a thing which
+he had little prospect of accomplishing, and if he
+finds he can do it, gives it over and leaves the matter
+short of success, which is too agreeable an idea for
+him to indulge in. The French artist proceeds bit by
+bit. He takes one part, a hand, a piece of drapery,
+a part of the background, and finishes it carefully;
+then another, and so on to the end. He does not,
+from a childish impatience, when he is near the conclusion,
+destroy the effect of the whole by leaving
+some one part eminently defective, nor fly from what
+he is about to something else that catches his eye,
+neglecting the one and spoiling the other. He is
+constrained by mastery, by the mastery of common
+sense and pleasurable feeling. He is in no hurry
+to finish, for he has a satisfaction in the work, and
+touches and retouches, perhaps a single head, day after
+day and week after week, without repining, uneasiness,
+or apparent progress. The very lightness and
+indifference of his feelings renders him patient and
+laborious: an Englishman, whatever he is about or
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>102]</a></span>
+undertakes is as if he was carrying a heavy load that
+oppresses both his body and mind, and which he is
+anxious to throw down. A Frenchman&rsquo;s hopes or fears
+are not excited to that pitch of intolerable agony that
+compels him, in mere compassion to himself to bring
+the question to a speedy issue, even to the loss of his
+object; he is calm, easy, and indifferent, and can take
+his time and make the most of his advantages with
+impunity. Pleased with himself, he is pleased with
+whatever occupies his attention nearly alike. It is
+the same to him whether he paints an angel or a
+joint-stool; it is the same to him whether it is
+landscape or history; it is he who paints it, that
+is sufficient. Nothing puts him out of conceit with
+his work, for nothing puts him out of conceit with
+himself. This self-complacency produces admirable
+patience and docility in certain particulars, besides
+charity and toleration towards others. I remember
+a ludicrous instance of this deliberate process, in a
+young French artist who was copying the <i>Titian&rsquo;s
+Mistress</i>, in the Louvre, some twenty years ago. After
+getting it in chalk-lines, one would think he would
+have been attracted to the face, that heaven of beauty
+which makes a sunshine in the shady place, or to
+some part of the poetry of the picture; instead of
+which he began to finish a square he had marked out
+in the right-hand corner of the picture. He set to
+work like a cabinetmaker or an engraver, and seemed
+to have no sympathy with the soul of the picture.
+Indeed, to a Frenchman there is no distinction between
+the great and little, the pleasurable and the
+painful; the utmost he arrives at a conception of is
+the indifferent and the light. Another young man,
+at the time I speak of, was for eleven weeks (I think
+it was) daily employed in making a blacklead pencil
+drawing of a small Leonardo; he sat cross-legged on
+a rail to do it, kept his hat on, rose up, went to the
+fire to warm himself, talked constantly of the excellence
+of the different masters&mdash;Titian for colour,
+Raphael for expression, Poussin for composition&mdash;all
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>103]</a></span>
+being alike to him, provided there was a word to
+express it, for all he thought about was his own
+harangue; and, having consulted some friend on his
+progress, he returned to &lsquo;perfectionate,&rsquo; as he called
+it, his copy. This would drive an Englishman mad
+or stupid. The perseverance and the indifference,
+the labour without impulse, the attention to the parts
+in succession, and disregard of the whole together,
+are to him absolutely inconceivable. A Frenchman
+only exists in his present sensations, and provided he
+is left free to these as they arise, he cares about
+nothing farther, looking neither backward nor forward.
+With all this affectation and artifice, there
+is on this account a kind of simplicity and nature
+about them, after all. They lend themselves to the
+impression before them with good humour and good
+will, making it neither better nor worse than it is.
+The English overdo or underdo everything, and are
+either drunk or in despair. I do not speak of all
+Frenchmen or of all Englishmen, but of the most
+characteristic specimens of each class. The extreme
+slowness and methodical regularity of the French has
+arisen out of this indifference, and even frivolity
+(their usually-supposed natural character), for owing
+to it their laborious minuteness costs them nothing;
+they have no strong impulses or ardent longings that
+urge them to the violation of rules, or hurry them
+away with a subject and with the interest belonging
+to it. Everything is matter of calculation, and
+measured beforehand, in order to assist their fluttering
+and their feebleness. When they get beyond the
+literal and the formal, and attempt the impressive
+and the grand, as in David&rsquo;s and Girardot&rsquo;s pictures,
+defend us from sublimity heaped on insipidity and
+petit-ma&icirc;treism. You see a Frenchman in the Louvre
+copying the finest pictures, standing on one leg, with
+his hat on; or after copying a Raphael, thinking
+David much finer, more truly one of themselves, more
+a combination of the Greek sculptor and the French
+posture-master. Even if a French artist fails, he is
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>104]</a></span>
+not disconcerted; there is something else he excels
+in: if he cannot paint, he can dance! If an Englishman,
+save the mark! fails in anything, he thinks he
+can do nothing; enraged at the mention of his ability
+to do anything else, and at any consolation offered to
+him, he banishes all other thought but of his disappointment,
+and discarding hope from his breast,
+neither eats nor sleeps (it is well if he does not cut his
+throat), will not attend to any other thing in which
+he before took an interest and pride, and is in despair
+till he recovers his good opinion of himself in the
+point in which he has been disgraced, though, from his
+very anxiety and disorder of mind, he is incapacitated
+from applying to the only means of doing so, as much
+as if he were drunk with liquor, instead of with pride
+and passion. The character I have here drawn of an
+Englishman I am clear about, for it is the character
+of myself, and, I am sorry to add, no exaggerated
+one. As my object is to paint the varieties of human
+nature, and as I can have it best from myself, I will
+confess a weakness. I lately tried to copy a Titian
+(after many years&rsquo; want of practice), in order to give
+a friend in England some idea of the picture. I
+floundered on for several days, but failed, as might be
+expected. My sky became overcast. Everything
+seemed of the colour of the paint I used. Nature
+was one great daub. I had no feeling left but a sense
+of want of power, and of an abortive struggle to do
+what I could not do. I was ashamed of being seen to
+look at the picture with admiration, as if I had no
+right to do so. I was ashamed even to have written
+or spoken about the picture or about art at all: it
+seemed a piece of presumption or affectation in me,
+whose whole notions and refinements on the subject
+ended in an inexcusable daub. Why did I think of
+attempting such a thing heedlessly, of exposing my
+presumption and incapacity? It was blotting from
+my memory, covering with a dark veil, all that I
+remembered of those pictures formerly, my hopes
+when young, my regrets since; it was wresting from
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>105]</a></span>
+me one of the consolations of my life and of my
+declining years. I was even afraid to walk out by the
+barrier of Neuilly, or to recall to memory that I had
+ever seen the picture; all was turned to bitterness
+and gall: to feel anything but a sense of my own
+helplessness and absurdity seemed a want of sincerity,
+a mockery and a piece of injustice. The only comfort
+I had was in the excess of pain I felt; this was at
+least some distinction: I was not insensible on that
+side. No Frenchman, I thought, would regret the
+not copying a Titian so much as I did, or so far show
+the same value for it. Besides, I had copied this
+identical picture very well formerly. If ever I got out
+of this scrape, I had received a lesson, at least, not
+to run the same risk of gratuitous vexation again, or
+even to attempt what was uncertain and unnecessary.</p>
+
+<p>It is the same in love and in literature. A man
+makes love without thinking of the chances of success,
+his own disabilities, or the character of his mistress;
+that is, without connecting means with ends, and
+consulting only his own will and passion. The author
+sets about writing history, with the full intention of
+rendering all documents, dates, and facts secondary
+to his own opinion and will. In business it is not
+altogether the same; for interest acts obviously as a
+counterpoise to caprice and will, and is the moving
+principle; nor is it so in war, for then the spirit of
+contradiction does everything, and an Englishman
+will go to the devil rather than give up to any odds.
+Courage is pure will without regard to consequences,
+and this the English have in perfection. Again,
+poetry is our element, for the essence of poetry is
+will and passion. The French poetry is detail and
+verbiage. I have thus shown why the English fail,
+as a people, in the Fine Arts, namely, because with
+them the end absorbs the means. I have mentioned
+Barry as an individual instance. No man spoke or
+wrote with more <i>gusto</i> about painting, and yet no one
+painted with less. His pictures were dry and coarse,
+and wanted all that his description of those of others
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>106]</a></span>
+contained. For instance, he speaks of the dull, dead,
+watery look in the Medusa&rsquo;s head of Leonardo, which
+conveys a perfect idea of it: if he had copied it, you
+would never have suspected anything of the kind.
+Again, he has, I believe, somewhere spoken of the
+uneasy effect of the tucker of the <i>Titian&rsquo;s Mistress</i>,
+bursting with the full treasures it contains. What a
+daub he would have made of it! He is like a person
+admiring the grace of a fine rope-dancer; placed on
+the rope himself his head turns, and he falls: or like
+a man admiring fine horsemanship; set him upon a
+horse, and he tumbles over on the other side. Why
+was this? His mind was essentially ardent and discursive,
+not sensitive or observing; and though the
+immediate object acted as a stimulus to his imagination,
+it was only as it does to a poet&rsquo;s, that is, as a
+link in the chain of association, as suggesting other
+strong feelings and ideas, and not for its intrinsic
+beauty or hidden details. He had not the painter&rsquo;s
+eye though he had the painter&rsquo;s knowledge. There
+is as great a difference in this respect as between the
+telescope and microscope. People in general see
+objects only to distinguish them in practice and by
+name; to know that a hat is a hat, that a chair is not
+a table, that John is not William; and there are
+painters (particularly of history) in England who look
+no farther. They cannot finish anything, or go over
+a head twice; the first view is all they would arrive
+at; nor can they reduce their impressions to their
+component parts without losing the spirit. The effect
+of this is grossness and want of force; for in reality
+the component parts cannot be separated from the
+whole. Such people have no pleasure in the exercise
+of their art as such: it is all to astonish or to get money
+that they follow it; or if they are thrown out of it,
+they regret it only as a bankrupt does a business
+which was a livelihood to him. Barry did not live,
+like Titian, in the taste of colours; they were not a
+<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">pabulum</i> to his sense; he did not hold green, blue,
+red, and yellow as the precious darlings of his eye.
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>107]</a></span>
+They did not therefore sink into his mind, or nourish
+and enrich it with the sense of beauty, though he
+knew enough of them to furnish hints and topics of
+discourse. If he had had the most beautiful object in
+nature before him in his painting-room in the Adelphi,
+he would have neglected it, after a moment&rsquo;s burst
+of admiration, to talk of his last composition, or to
+scrawl some new and vast design. Art was nothing to
+him, or if anything, merely a stalking-horse to his
+ambition and display of intellectual power in general;
+and therefore he neglected it to daub huge allegories,
+or cabal with the Academy, where the violence of his
+will or the extent of his views found ample scope.
+As a painter he was valuable merely as a draughtsman,
+in that part of the art which may be reduced to lines
+and precepts, or positive measurement. There is
+neither colour, nor expression, nor delicacy, nor
+beauty, in his works.</p>
+
+<p>1827.</p>
+
+
+
+<p class="ptop"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>108]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>ESSAY IX<br />
+<br />
+<span class="vsmlfont">MATTER AND MANNER</span></h2>
+
+
+<p>Nothing can frequently be more striking than the
+difference of style or manner, where the <em>matter</em>
+remains the same, as in paraphrases and translations.
+The most remarkable example which occurs to us is
+in the beginning of the <i>Flower and Leaf</i>, by Chaucer,
+and in the modernisation of the same passage by
+Dryden. We shall give an extract from both, that
+the reader may judge for himself. The original runs
+thus:</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem28">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;And I that all this pleasaunt sight <em>ay</em> sie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thought sodainly I felt<i>e</i> so sweet an aire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><em>Con</em> of the eglentere, that certainely<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There is no heart, I deme, in such dispaire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ne with <em>no</em> thought<i>e</i>s froward and contraire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So overlaid, but it should<i>e</i> soone have bote,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If it had ones felt this savour sote.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And as I stood and cast aside mine eie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I was of ware the fairest medler tree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That ever yet in all my life I sie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As full of blossomes as it might<i>e</i> be;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Therein a goldfinch leaping pretil<i>e</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fro bough to bough; and, as him list, <em>gan</em> eete<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of bud<i>de</i>s here and there and floures sweet<i>e</i>.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And to the herber side <em>ther</em> was joyning<i>e</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This faire tree, of which I have you told;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And at the last the brid began to sing<i>e</i>,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When he had eaten what he eat<i>e</i> wold<i>e</i>,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So passing sweetly, that by manifold<i>e</i>,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It was more pleasaunt than I coud<i>e</i> devise.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when his song was ended in this wise,<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>109]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">The nightingale with so mery a note<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Answered him, that all the wood<i>e</i> rong<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So sodainly, that, as it were a sote,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I stood astonied; so was I with the song<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thorow ravished, that till late and longe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ne wist I in what place I was, ne where;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And ay, me thought<i>e</i>, she song even by mine ere.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Wherefore about I waited busily,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On every side, if <em>that</em> I her might<i>e</i> see;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, at the last, I gan full well aspie<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where she sat in a fresh grene laurer tree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On the further side, even right by me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That gave so passing a delicious smell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">According to the eglentere full well.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Whereof I had<i>de</i> so inly great pleasure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That, as me thought, I surely ravished was<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into Paradice, where <em>as</em> my desire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was for to be, and no ferther to passe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As for that day; and on the sote grasse<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I sat me downe; for, as for mine entent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The bird<i>de</i>s song was more convenient,<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And more pleasaunt to me by many fold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than meat or drinke, or any other thing.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thereto the herber was so fresh and cold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The wholesome savours eke so comforting<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That, as I demed<i>e</i>, sith the beginning<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of th<i>ilke</i> world was never seene or than<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So pleasaunt a ground of none earthly man.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And as I sat, the bird<i>de</i>s harkening thus,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Me thought<i>e</i> that I heard<i>e</i> voices sodainly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The most sweetest and most delicious<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That ever any wight, I trow truly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heard in <em>here</em> life; for <em>sothe</em> the armony<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sweet accord was in so good musike,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That the voices to angels most was like.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>In this passage the poet has let loose the very soul
+of pleasure. There is a spirit of enjoyment in it, of
+which there seems no end. It is the intense delight
+which accompanies the description of every object,
+the fund of natural sensibility which it displays, which
+constitutes its whole essence and beauty. Now this
+is shown chiefly in the manner in which the different
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>110]</a></span>
+objects are anticipated, and the eager welcome which
+is given to them; in his repeating and varying the
+circumstances with a restless delight; in his quitting
+the subject for a moment, and then returning to it
+again, as if he could never have his fill of enjoyment.
+There is little of this in Dryden&rsquo;s paraphrase. The
+same ideas are introduced, but not in the same
+manner, nor with the same spirit. The imagination
+of the poet is not borne along with the tide of pleasure&mdash;the
+verse is not poured out, like the natural strains
+it describes, from pure delight, but according to rule
+and measure. Instead of being absorbed in his
+subject, he is dissatisfied with it, tries to give an air
+of dignity to it by factitious ornaments, to amuse the
+reader by ingenious allusions, and divert his attention
+from the progress of the story by the artifices of the
+style:</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem28">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;The painted birds, companions of the spring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hopping from spray to spray, were heard to sing.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Both eyes and ears receiv&rsquo;d a like delight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Enchanting music, and a charming sight.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On Philomel I fix&rsquo;d my whole desire;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And listen&rsquo;d for the queen of all the quire;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fain would I hear her heavenly voice to sing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wanted yet an omen to the spring.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Thus as I mus&rsquo;d I cast aside my eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And saw a medlar-tree was planted nigh.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The spreading branches made a goodly show,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And full of opening blooms was every bough:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A goldfinch there I saw with gawdy pride<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of painted plumes, that hopp&rsquo;d from side to side,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still pecking as she pass&rsquo;d; and still she drew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sweets from every flower and suck&rsquo;d the dew:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Suffic&rsquo;d at length, she warbled in her throat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And tun&rsquo;d her voice to many a merry note,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But indistinct, and neither sweet nor clear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet such as sooth&rsquo;d my soul, and pleas&rsquo;d my ear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Her short performance was no sooner tried,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When she I sought, the nightingale, replied:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So sweet, so shrill, so variously she sung,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That the grove echoed, and the valleys rung:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I so ravish&rsquo;d with her heavenly note,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I stood entranced, and had no room for thought.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>111]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">But all o&rsquo;erpower&rsquo;d with ecstasy of bliss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was in a pleasing dream of paradise;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At length I wak&rsquo;d, and looking round the bower,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Search&rsquo;d every tree, and pry&rsquo;d on every flower,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If any where by chance I might espy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The rural poet of the melody:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For still methought she sung not far away:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At last I found her on a laurel spray.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Close by my side she sat, and fair in sight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Full in a line, against her opposite;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where stood with eglantine the laurel twin&rsquo;d;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And both their native sweets were well conjoin&rsquo;d.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">On the green bank I sat, and listen&rsquo;d long<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Sitting was more convenient for the song);<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor till her lay was ended could I move,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But wish&rsquo;d to dwell for ever in the grove.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Only methought the time too swiftly pass&rsquo;d,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And every note I fear&rsquo;d would be the last.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My sight, and smell and hearing were employ&rsquo;d,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all three senses in full gust enjoy&rsquo;d.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And what alone did all the rest surpass<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sweet possession of the fairy place;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Single, and conscious to myself alone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of pleasures to the excluded world unknown:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pleasures which no where else were to be found,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all Elysium in a spot of ground.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Thus while I sat intent to see and hear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And drew perfumes of more than vital air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All suddenly I heard the approaching sound<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of vocal music on the enchanted ground:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A host of saints it seem&rsquo;d, so full the quire;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if the bless&rsquo;d above did all conspire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To join their voices, and neglect the lyre.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Compared with Chaucer, Dryden and the rest of
+that school were merely <em>verbal poets</em>. They had a
+great deal of wit, sense, and fancy; they only wanted
+truth and depth of feeling. But I shall have to say
+more on this subject, when I come to consider the
+old question which I have got marked down in my
+list, whether Pope was a poet.</p>
+
+<p>Lord Chesterfield&rsquo;s character of the Duke of Marlborough
+is a good illustration of his general theory.
+He says, &lsquo;Of all the men I ever knew in my life (and
+I knew him extremely well) the late Duke of
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>112]</a></span>
+Marlborough possessed the graces in the highest degree,
+not to say engrossed them; for I will venture (contrary
+to the custom of profound historians, who
+always assign deep causes for great events) to ascribe
+the better half of the Duke of Marlborough&rsquo;s greatness
+and riches to those graces. He was eminently
+illiterate: wrote bad English, and spelt it worse.
+He had no share of what is commonly called parts;
+that is, no brightness, nothing shining in his genius.
+He had, most undoubtedly, an excellent good plain
+understanding, with sound judgment. But these
+alone would probably have raised him but something
+higher than they found him, which was page to King
+James <small>II.</small>&rsquo;s Queen. There the graces protected and
+promoted him; for while he was Ensign of the
+Guards, the Duchess of Cleveland, then favourite
+mistress of Charles <small>II.</small>, struck by these very graces,
+gave him five thousand pounds; with which he immediately
+bought an annuity of five hundred pounds
+a year, which was the foundation of his subsequent
+fortune. His figure was beautiful, but his manner
+was irresistible by either man or woman. It was by
+this engaging, graceful manner, that he was enabled
+during all his wars to connect the various and jarring
+powers of the grand alliance, and to carry them on
+to the main object of the war, notwithstanding their
+private and separate views, jealousies, and wrongheadedness.
+Whatever court he went to (and he was
+often obliged to go himself to some resty and refractory
+ones) he as constantly prevailed, and brought
+them into his measures.&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p>Grace in women has often more effect than beauty.
+We sometimes see a certain fine self-possession, an
+habitual voluptuousness of character, which reposes
+on its own sensations, and derives pleasure from all
+around it, that is more irresistible than any other
+attraction. There is an air of languid enjoyment in
+such persons, &lsquo;in their eyes, in their arms, and their
+hands, and their face,&rsquo; which robs us of ourselves, and
+draws us by a secret sympathy towards them. Their
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>113]</a></span>
+minds are a shrine where pleasure reposes. Their
+smile diffuses a sensation like the breath of spring.
+Petrarch&rsquo;s description of Laura answers exactly to
+this character, which is indeed the Italian character.
+Titian&rsquo;s pictures are full of it; they seem sustained
+by sentiment, or as if the persons whom he painted
+sat to music. There is one in the Louvre (or there
+was) which had the most of this expression I ever
+remember. It did not look downward; &lsquo;it looked
+forward beyond this world.&rsquo; It was a look that never
+passed away, but remained unalterable as the deep
+sentiment which gave birth to it. It is the same
+constitutional character (together with infinite activity
+of mind) which has enabled the greatest man in
+modern history to bear his reverses of fortune with
+gay magnanimity, and to submit to the loss of the
+empire of the world with as little discomposure as if
+he had been playing a game at chess.</p>
+
+<p>After all, I would not be understood to say that
+manner is everything.<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> Nor would I put Euclid or
+Sir Isaac Newton on a level with the first <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">petit-ma&icirc;tre</i>
+we might happen to meet. I consider <i>&AElig;sop&rsquo;s Fables</i>
+to have been a greater work of genius than Fontaine&rsquo;s
+translation of them; though I am not sure that I
+should not prefer Fontaine, for his style only, to
+Gay, who has shown a great deal of original invention.
+The elegant manners of people of fashion have
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>114]</a></span>
+been objected to me, to show the frivolity of external
+accomplishments, and the facility with which they are
+acquired. As to the last point, I demur. There are
+no class of people who lead so laborious a life, or who
+take more pains to cultivate their minds as well as
+persons, than people of fashion. A young lady of
+quality who has to devote so many hours a day to
+music, so many to dancing, so many to drawing, so
+many to French, Italian, etc., certainly does not pass
+her time in idleness: and these accomplishments are
+afterwards called into action by every kind of external
+or mental stimulus, by the excitements of pleasure,
+vanity, and interest. A Ministerial or Opposition
+Lord goes through more drudgery than half-a-dozen
+literary hacks; nor does a reviewer by profession
+read half the same number of publications as a modern
+fine lady is obliged to labour through. I confess,
+however, I am not a competent judge of the degree
+of elegance or refinement implied in the general tone
+of fashionable manners. The successful experiment
+made by <i>Peregrine Pickle</i>, in introducing his strolling
+mistress into genteel company, does not redound
+greatly to their credit.</p>
+
+<p>1815.</p>
+
+<h3>FOOTNOTE</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a>
+Sheer impudence answers almost the same purpose.
+&lsquo;Those impenetrable whiskers have confronted flames.&rsquo; Many
+persons, by looking big and talking loud, make their way
+through the world without any one good quality. I have here
+said nothing of mere personal qualifications, which are another
+set-off against sterling merit. Fielding was of opinion that
+&lsquo;the more solid pretensions of virtue and understanding vanish
+before perfect beauty.&rsquo; &lsquo;A certain lady of a manor&rsquo; (says
+<i>Don Quixote</i> in defence of his attachment to <i>Dulcinea</i>, which,
+however, was quite of the Platonic kind), &lsquo;had cast the eyes
+of affection on a certain squat, brawny lay brother of a neighbouring
+monastery, to whom she was lavish of her favours.
+The head of the order remonstrated with her on this preference
+shown to one whom he represented as a very low,
+ignorant fellow, and set forth the superior pretensions of
+himself, and his more learned brethren. The lady having
+heard him to an end, made answer: All that you have said
+may be very true; but know that in those points which I
+admire, Brother Chrysostom is as great a philosopher, nay
+greater, than Aristotle himself!&rsquo; So the <i>Wife of Bath</i>:</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem27">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;To chirche was myn housbond brought on morwe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With neighebors that for him made sorwe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Jankyn oure clerk was oon of tho.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As help me God, whan that I saugh him go<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">After the beere, methought he had a paire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of legges and of feet so clene and faire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That al myn hert I yaf unto his hold.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>&lsquo;All which, though we most potently believe, yet we hold
+it not honesty to have it thus set down.&rsquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<p class="ptop"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>115]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>ESSAY X<br />
+<br />
+<span class="vsmlfont">ON CONSISTENCY OF OPINION</span></h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem25">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i7">&lsquo;&mdash;&mdash;Servetur ad imum<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Qualis ab inceptu processerit, et sibi constet.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>Many people boast of being masters in their own
+house. I pretend to be master of my own mind. I
+should be sorry to have an ejectment served upon me
+for any notions I may choose to entertain there.
+Within that little circle I would fain be an absolute
+monarch. I do not profess the spirit of martyrdom;
+I have no ambition to march to the stake, or up to a
+masked battery, in defence of an hypothesis: I do
+not court the rack: I do not wish to be flayed alive
+for affirming that two and two make four, or any
+other intricate proposition: I am shy of bodily pains
+and penalties, which some are fond of&mdash;imprisonment,
+fine, banishment, confiscation of goods: but if I do
+not prefer the independence of my mind to that of my
+body, I at least prefer it to everything else. I would
+avoid the arm of power, as I would escape from the
+fangs of a wild beast: but as to the opinion of the
+world, I see nothing formidable in it. &lsquo;It is the eye
+of childhood that fears a painted devil.&rsquo; I am not to
+be browbeat or wheedled out of any of my settled
+convictions. Opinion to opinion, I will face any man.
+Prejudice, fashion, the cant of the moment, go for
+nothing; and as for the reason of the thing, it can
+only be supposed to rest with me or another, in proportion
+to the pains we have taken to ascertain it.
+Where the pursuit of truth has been the habitual
+study of any man&rsquo;s life, the love of truth will be his
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>116]</a></span>
+ruling passion. &lsquo;Where the treasure is, there the
+heart is also.&rsquo; Every one is most tenacious of that to
+which he owes his distinction from others. Kings
+love power, misers gold, women flattery, poets reputation&mdash;and
+philosophers truth, when they can find it.
+They are right in cherishing the only privilege they
+inherit. If &lsquo;to be wise were to be obstinate,&rsquo; I might
+set up for as great a philosopher as the best of them;
+for some of my conclusions are as fixed and as incorrigible
+to proof as need be. I am attached to them
+in consequence of the pains, and anxiety, and the
+waste of time they have cost me. In fact, I should
+not well know what to do without them at this time
+of day; nor how to get others to supply their place.
+I would quarrel with the best friend I have sooner
+than acknowledge the absolute right of the Bourbons.
+I see Mr. Northcote seldomer than I did, because I
+cannot agree with him about the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Catalogue Raisonn&eacute;</i>.
+I remember once saying to this gentleman, a great
+while ago, that I did not seem to have altered any of
+my ideas since I was sixteen years old. &lsquo;Why then,&rsquo;
+said he, &lsquo;you are no wiser now than you were then!&rsquo;
+I might make the same confession, and the same
+retort would apply still. Coleridge used to tell me,
+that this pertinacity was owing to a want of sympathy
+with others. What he calls <em>sympathising with others</em>
+is their admiring him; and it must be admitted that
+he varies his battery pretty often, in order to accommodate
+himself to this sort of mutual understanding.
+But I do not agree in what he says of me. On the
+other hand, I think that it is my sympathising <em>beforehand</em>
+with the different views and feelings that may be
+entertained on a subject, that prevents me retracting
+my judgment, and flinging myself into the contrary
+extreme <em>afterwards</em>. If you proscribe all opinion
+opposite to your own, and impertinently exclude all
+the evidence that does not make for you, it stares you
+in the face with double force when it breaks in unexpectedly
+upon you, or if at any subsequent period it
+happens to suit your interest or convenience to listen
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>117]</a></span>
+to objections which vanity or prudence had hitherto
+overlooked. But if you are aware from the first suggestion
+of a subject, either by subtlety, or tact, or
+close attention, of the full force of what others possibly
+feel and think of it, you are not exposed to the
+same vacillation of opinion. The number of grains
+and scruples, of doubts and difficulties, thrown into
+the scale while the balance is yet undecided, add to
+the weight and steadiness of the determination. He
+who anticipates his opponent&rsquo;s arguments, confirms
+while he corrects his own reasonings. When a
+question has been carefully examined in all its bearings,
+and a principle is once established, it is not
+liable to be overthrown by any new facts which have
+been arbitrarily and petulantly set aside, nor by every
+wind of idle doctrine rushing into the interstices of a
+hollow speculation, shattering it in pieces, and leaving
+it a mockery and a bye-word; like those tall, gawky,
+staring, pyramidal erections which are seen scattered
+over different parts of the country, and are called the
+<em>Follies</em> of different gentlemen! A man may be confident
+in maintaining a side, as he has been cautious
+in choosing it. If after making up his mind strongly
+in one way, to the best of his capacity and judgment,
+he feels himself inclined to a very violent revulsion
+of sentiment, he may generally rest assured that the
+change is in himself and his motives, not in the
+reason of things.</p>
+
+<p>I cannot say that, from my own experience, I have
+found that the persons most remarkable for sudden
+and violent changes of principle have been cast in the
+softest or most susceptible mould. All their notions
+have been exclusive, bigoted, and intolerant. Their
+want of consistency and moderation has been in exact
+proportion to their want of candour and comprehensiveness
+of mind. Instead of being the creatures of
+sympathy, open to conviction, unwilling to give offence
+by the smallest difference of sentiment, they have (for
+the most part) been made up of mere antipathies&mdash;a
+very repulsive sort of personages&mdash;at odds with
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>118]</a></span>
+themselves, and with everybody else. The slenderness
+of their pretensions to philosophical inquiry has been
+accompanied with the most presumptuous dogmatism.
+They have been persons of that narrowness of view
+and headstrong self-sufficiency of purpose, that they
+could see only one side of a question at a time, and
+whichever they pleased. There is a story somewhere
+in <i>Don Quixote</i>, of two champions coming to a shield
+hung up against a tree with an inscription written on
+each side of it. Each of them maintained, that the
+words were what was written on the side next him,
+and never dreamt, till the fray was over, that they
+might be different on the opposite side of the shield.
+It would have been a little more extraordinary if the
+combatants had changed sides in the heat of the
+scuffle, and stoutly denied that there were any such
+words on the opposite side as they had before been
+bent on sacrificing their lives to prove were the only
+ones it contained. Yet such is the very situation of
+some of our modern polemics. They have been of all
+sides of the question, and yet they cannot conceive
+how an honest man can be of any but one&mdash;that which
+they hold at present. It seems that they are afraid
+to look their old opinions in the face, lest they should
+be fascinated by them once more. They banish all
+doubts of their own sincerity by inveighing against
+the motives of their antagonists. There is no salvation
+out of the pale of their strange inconsistency.
+They reduce common sense and probity to the straitest
+possible limits&mdash;the breasts of themselves and their
+patrons. They are like people out at sea on a very
+narrow plank, who try to push everybody else off. Is
+it that they have so little faith in the course to which
+they have become such staunch converts, as to suppose
+that, should they allow a grain of sense to their old
+allies and new antagonists, they will have more than
+they? Is it that they have so little consciousness
+of their own disinterestedness, that they feel, if they
+allow a particle of honesty to those who now differ
+with them, they will have more than they? Those
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>119]</a></span>
+opinions must needs be of a very fragile texture which
+will not stand the shock of the least acknowledged
+opposition, and which lay claim to respectability by
+stigmatising all who do not hold them as &lsquo;sots, and
+knaves, and cowards.&rsquo; There is a want of well-balanced
+feeling in every such instance of extravagant
+versatility; a something crude, unripe, and harsh,
+that does not hit a judicious palate, but sets the teeth
+on edge to think of. &lsquo;I had rather hear my mother&rsquo;s
+cat mew, or a wheel grate on the axletree, than one
+of these same metre-ballad-mongers&rsquo; chaunt his incondite,
+retrograde lays, without rhyme and without
+reason.</p>
+
+<p>The principles and professions change: the man
+remains the same. There is the same spirit at the
+bottom of all this pragmatical fickleness and virulence,
+whether it runs into one extreme or another: to
+wit, a confinement of view, a jealousy of others, an
+impatience of contradiction, a want of liberality in
+construing the motives of others, either from monkish
+pedantry, or a conceited overweening reference of
+everything to our own fancies and feelings. There is
+something to be said, indeed, for the nature of the
+political machinery, for the whirling motion of the
+revolutionary wheel which has of late wrenched men&rsquo;s
+understandings almost asunder, and &lsquo;amazed the very
+faculties of eyes and ears&rsquo;; but still this is hardly a
+sufficient reason, why the adept in the old as well as
+the new school should take such a prodigious latitude
+himself, while at the same time he makes so little
+allowance for others. His whole creed need not be
+turned topsy-turvy, from the top to the bottom, even
+in times like these. He need not, in the rage of
+party spirit, discard the proper attributes of humanity,
+the common dictates of reason. He need not outrage
+every former feeling, nor trample on every customary
+decency, in his zeal for reform, or in his greater zeal
+against it. If his mind, like his body, has undergone
+a total change of essence, and purged off the taint of
+all its early opinions, he need not carry about with
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>120]</a></span>
+him, or be haunted in the persons of others with, the
+phantoms of his altered principles to loathe and
+execrate them. He need not (as it were) pass an act
+of attainder on all his thoughts, hopes, wishes, from
+youth upwards, to offer them at the shrine of matured
+servility: he need not become one vile antithesis,
+a living and ignominious satire on himself.</p>
+
+<p>A gentleman went to live, some years ago, in a
+remote part of the country, and as he did not wish to
+affect singularity, he used to have two candles on his
+table of an evening. A romantic acquaintance of his
+in the neighbourhood, smit with the love of simplicity
+and equality, used to come in, and without ceremony
+snuff one of them out, saying, it was a shame to
+indulge in such extravagance, while many poor
+cottagers had not even a rushlight to see to do their
+evening&rsquo;s work by. This might be about the year
+1802, and was passed over as among the ordinary
+occurrences of the day. In 1816 (oh! fearful lapse
+of time, pregnant with strange mutability) the same
+enthusiastic lover of economy, and hater of luxury,
+asked his thoughtless friend to dine with him in company
+with a certain lord, and to lend him his manservant
+to wait at table; and just before they were
+sitting down to dinner, he heard him say to the
+servant in a sonorous whisper&mdash;&lsquo;and be sure you
+don&rsquo;t forget to have six candles on the table!&rsquo; Extremes
+meet. The event here was as true to itself as
+the oscillation of the pendulum. My informant, who
+understands moral equations, had looked for this
+reaction, and noted it down as characteristic. The
+impertinence in the first instance was the cue to the
+ostentatious servility in the second. The one was the
+fulfilment of the other, like the type and anti-type of
+a prophecy. No&mdash;the keeping of the character at the
+end of fourteen years was as unique as the keeping
+of the thought to the end of the fourteen lines of a
+sonnet! Would it sound strange if I were to whisper
+it in the reader&rsquo;s ear, that it was the same person who
+was thus anxious to see six candles on the table to
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>121]</a></span>
+receive a lord, who once (in ages past) said to me,
+that &lsquo;he saw nothing to admire in the eloquence of
+such men as Mansfield and Chatham; and what did
+it all end in, but their being made lords?&rsquo; It is
+better to be a lord than a lacquey to a lord! So we
+see that the swelling pride and preposterous self-opinion
+which exalts itself above the mightiest, looking
+down upon and braving the boasted pretensions
+of the highest rank and the most brilliant talents as
+nothing, compared with its own conscious powers and
+silent unmoved self-respect, grovels and licks the
+dust before titled wealth, like a lacquered slave, the
+moment it can get wages and a livery! Would
+Milton or Marvel have done this?</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Coleridge, indeed, sets down this outrageous
+want of keeping to an excess of sympathy, and there
+is, after all, some truth in his suggestion. There is
+a craving after the approbation and concurrence of
+others natural to the mind of man. It is difficult
+to sustain the weight of an opinion singly for any
+length of way. The intellect languishes without
+cordial encouragement and support. It exhausts both
+strength and patience to be always striving against
+the stream. <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Contra audentior ito</i> is the motto but of
+few. Public opinion is always pressing upon the
+mind, and, like the air we breathe, acts unseen, unfelt.
+It supplies the living current of our thoughts, and
+infects without our knowledge. It taints the blood,
+and is taken into the smallest pores. The most
+sanguine constitutions are, perhaps, the most exposed
+to its influence. But public opinion has its source in
+power, in popular prejudice, and is not always in
+accord with right reason, or a high and abstracted
+imagination. Which path to follow where the two
+roads part? The heroic and romantic resolution
+prevails at first in high and heroic tempers. They
+think to scale the heights of truth and virtue at once
+with him &lsquo;whose genius had angelic wings, and fed
+on manna,&rsquo;&mdash;but after a time find themselves baffled,
+toiling on in an uphill road, without friends, in a
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>122]</a></span>
+cold neighbourhood, without aid or prospect of success.
+The poet</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem18">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;Like a worm goes by the way.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>He hears murmurs loud or suppressed, meets blank
+looks or scowling faces, is exposed to the pelting
+of the pitiless press, and is stunned by the shout of
+the mob, that gather round him to see what sort of a
+creature a poet and a philosopher is. What is there
+to make him proof against all this? A strength of
+understanding steeled against temptation, and a dear
+love of truth that smiles opinion to scorn. These he
+perhaps has not. A lord passes in his coach. Might
+he not get up, and ride out of the reach of the rabble-rout?
+He is invited to stop dinner. If he stays he
+might insinuate some wholesome truths. He drinks
+in rank poison&mdash;flattery! He recites some verses to
+the ladies, who smile delicious praise, and thank him
+through their tears. The master of the house suggests
+a happy allusion in the turn of an expression. &lsquo;There&rsquo;s
+sympathy.&rsquo; This is better than the company he lately
+left. Pictures, statues meet his raptured eye. Our
+Ulysses finds himself in the gardens of Alcinous: our
+truant is fairly caught. He wanders through enchanted
+ground. Groves, classic groves, nod unto
+him, and he hears &lsquo;ancestral voices&rsquo; hailing him as
+brother bard! He sleeps, dreams, and wakes cured
+of his thriftless prejudices and morose philanthropy.
+He likes this courtly and popular sympathy better.
+&lsquo;He looks up with awe to kings; with honour to
+nobility; with reverence to magistrates,&rsquo; etc. He
+no longer breathes the air of heaven and his own
+thoughts, but is steeped in that of palaces and courts,
+and finds it agree better with his constitutional temperament.
+Oh! how sympathy alters a man from
+what he was!</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem18">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;I&rsquo;ve heard of hearts unkind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kind deeds with cold returning;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Alas! the gratitude of man<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Has oftener set me mourning.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>123]</a></span>
+A spirit of contradiction, a wish to monopolise all
+wisdom, will not account for uniform consistency, for
+it is sure to defeat and turn against itself. It is
+&lsquo;everything by turns, and nothing long.&rsquo; It is
+warped and crooked. It cannot bear the least opposition,
+and sooner than acquiesce in what others
+approve it will change sides in a day. It is offended
+at every resistance to its captious, domineering
+humour, and will quarrel for straws with its best
+friends. A person under the guidance of this demon,
+if every whimsy or occult discovery of his own is not
+received with acclamation by one party, will wreak
+his spite by deserting to the other, and carry all his
+talent for disputation with him, sharpened by rage
+and disappointment. A man, to be steady in a cause,
+should be more attached to the truth than to the
+acquiescence of his fellow citizens.</p>
+
+<p>I can hardly consider Mr. Coleridge a deserter
+from the cause he first espoused, unless one could
+tell what cause he ever heartily espoused, or what
+party he ever belonged to, in downright earnest. He
+has not been inconsistent with himself at different
+times, but at all times. He is a sophist, a casuist, a
+rhetorician, what you please, and might have argued
+or declaimed to the end of his breath on one side of
+a question or another, but he never was a pragmatical
+fellow. He lived in a round of contradictions, and
+never came to a settled point. His fancy gave the
+cue to his judgment, and his vanity set his invention
+afloat in whatever direction he could find most scope
+for it, or most <em>sympathy</em>, that is, admiration. His
+Life and Opinions might naturally receive the title
+of one of Hume&rsquo;s Essays&mdash;<i>A Sceptical Solution of
+Sceptical Doubts</i>. To be sure, his <i>Watchman</i> and his
+<i>Friend</i> breathe a somewhat different tone on subjects
+of a particular description, both of them apparently
+pretty high-raised, but whoever will be at the pains
+to examine them closely, will find them to be <em>voluntaries</em>,
+fugues, solemn capriccios, not set compositions
+with any malice prepense in them, or much practical
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>124]</a></span>
+meaning. I believe some of his friends, who were indebted
+to him for the suggestion of plausible reasons
+for conformity, and an opening to a more qualified
+view of the letter of their paradoxical principles, have
+lately disgusted him by the virulence and extravagance
+to which they have carried hints, of which he never
+suspected that they would make the least possible use.
+But if Mr. Coleridge is satisfied with the wandering
+Moods of his Mind, perhaps this is no reason that
+others may not reap the solid benefit. He himself is
+like the idle seaweed on the ocean, tossed from shore
+to shore: they are like barnacles fastened to the
+vessel of state, rotting its goodly timbers!</p>
+
+<p>There are some persons who are of too fastidious a
+turn of mind to like anything long, or to assent twice
+to the same opinion. &mdash;&mdash; always sets himself to
+prop the falling cause, to nurse the rickety bantling.
+He takes the part which he thinks in most need of
+his support, not so much out of magnanimity, as to
+prevent too great a degree of presumption or self-complacency
+on the triumphant side. &lsquo;Though truth
+be truth, yet he contrives to throw such changes of
+vexation on it as it may lose some colour.&rsquo; I have
+been delighted to hear him expatiate with the most
+natural and affecting simplicity on a favourite passage
+or picture, and all the while afraid of agreeing with
+him, lest he should instantly turn round and unsay
+all that he had said, for fear of my going away with
+too good an opinion of my own taste, or too great an
+admiration of my idol&mdash;and his own. I dare not ask
+his opinion twice, if I have got a favourable sentence
+once, lest he should belie his own sentiments to
+stagger mine. I have heard him talk divinely (like
+one inspired) of Boccaccio, and the story of the Pot
+of Basil, describing &lsquo;how it grew, and it grew, and it
+grew,&rsquo; till you saw it spread its tender leaves in the
+light of his eye, and wave in the tremulous sound of
+his voice; and yet if you asked him about it another
+time, he would, perhaps, affect to think little of it, or
+to have forgotten the circumstance. His enthusiasm
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>125]</a></span>
+is fickle and treacherous. The instant he finds it
+shared in common, he backs out of it. His enmity is
+equally refined, but hardly so unsocial. His exquisitely-turned
+invectives display all the beauty of
+scorn, and impart elegance to vulgarity. He sometimes
+finds out minute excellences, and cries up one
+thing to put you out of conceit with another. If you
+want him to praise Sir Joshua <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">con amore</i>, in his best
+manner, you should begin with saying something
+about Titian&mdash;if you seem an idoliser of Sir Joshua,
+he will immediately turn off the discourse, gliding
+like the serpent before Eve, wary and beautiful, to
+the graces of Sir Peter Lely, or ask if you saw a
+Vandyke the other day, which he does not think Sir
+Joshua could stand near. But find fault with the
+Lake Poets, and mention some pretended patron of
+rising genius, and you need not fear but he will join
+in with you and go all lengths that you can wish him.
+You may calculate upon him there. &lsquo;Pride elevates,
+and joy brightens his face.&rsquo; And, indeed, so eloquent is
+he, and so beautiful in his eloquence, that I myself, with
+all my freedom from gall and bitterness, could listen
+to him untired, and without knowing how the time went,
+losing and neglecting many a meal and hour,</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem24">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">&mdash;&mdash;&lsquo;From morn to noon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From noon to dewy eve, a summer&rsquo;s day.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>When I cease to hear him quite, other tongues,
+turned to what accents they may of praise or blame,
+would sound dull, ungrateful, out of tune, and harsh,
+in the comparison.</p>
+
+<p>An overstrained enthusiasm produces a capriciousness
+in taste, as well as too much indifference. A
+person who sets no bounds to his admiration takes a
+surfeit of his favourites. He overdoes the thing.
+He gets sick of his own everlasting praises, and
+affected raptures. His preferences are a great deal
+too violent to last. He wears out an author in a
+week, that might last him a year, or his life, by the
+eagerness with which he devours him. Every such
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>126]</a></span>
+favourite is in his turn the greatest writer in the
+world. Compared with the lord of the ascendent for
+the time being, Shakspeare is commonplace, and
+Milton a pedant, a little insipid or so. Some of these
+prodigies require to be dragged out of their lurking-places,
+and cried up to the top of the compass; their
+traits are subtle, and must be violently obtruded on
+the sight. But the effort of exaggerated praise,
+though it may stagger others, tires the maker, and
+we hear of them no more after a while. Others take
+their turns, are swallowed whole, undigested, ravenously,
+and disappear in the same manner. Good
+authors share the fate of bad, and a library in a
+few years is nearly dismantled. It is a pity thus to
+outlive our admiration, and exhaust our relish of what
+is excellent. Actors and actresses are disposed of in
+the same conclusive peremptory way: some of them
+are talked of for months, nay, years; then it is almost
+an offence to mention them. Friends, acquaintance,
+go the same road: are now asked to come six
+days in the week, then warned against coming the
+seventh. The smallest faults are soon magnified in
+those we think too highly of: but where shall we
+find perfection? If we will put up with nothing
+short of that, we shall have neither pictures, books,
+nor friends left&mdash;we shall have nothing but our own
+absurdities to keep company with! &lsquo;In all things a
+regular and moderate indulgence is the best security
+for a lasting enjoyment.&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p>There are numbers who judge by the event, and
+change with fortune. They extol the hero of the day,
+and join the prevailing clamour, whatever it is; so
+that the fluctuating state of public opinion regulates
+their feverish, restless enthusiasm, like a thermometer.
+They blow hot or cold, according as the wind sets
+favourably or otherwise. With such people the only
+infallible test of merit is success; and no arguments
+are true that have not a large or powerful majority on
+their side. They go by appearances. Their vanity,
+not the truth, is their ruling object. They are not
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>127]</a></span>
+the last to quit a falling cause, and they are the first
+to hail the rising sun. Their minds want sincerity,
+modesty, and keeping. With them&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem21">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i1">&mdash;&mdash;&lsquo;To have done is to hang<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In monumental mockery.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>They still, &lsquo;with one consent, praise new-born gauds,&rsquo;
+and Fame, as they construe it, is</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem28">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i1">&mdash;&mdash;&lsquo;Like a fashionable host,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with his arms outstretch&rsquo;d, as he would fly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Grasps the in comer. Welcome ever smiles,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Farewell goes out sighing.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Such servile flatterers made an idol of Buonaparte
+while fortune smiled upon him, but when it left him,
+they removed him from his pedestal in the cabinet of
+their vanity, as we take down the picture of a relation
+that has died without naming us in his will. The
+opinion of such triflers is worth nothing; it is merely
+an echo. We do not want to be told the event of a
+question, but the rights of it. Truth is in their theory
+nothing but &lsquo;noise and inexplicable dumb show.&rsquo;
+They are the heralds, outriders, and trumpeters in
+the procession of fame; are more loud and boisterous
+than the rest, and give themselves great airs, as the
+avowed patrons and admirers of genius and merit.
+As there are many who change their sentiments with
+circumstances (as they decided lawsuits in Rabelais
+with the dice), so there are others who change them
+with their acquaintance. &lsquo;Tell me your company,
+and I&rsquo;ll tell you your opinions,&rsquo; might be said to
+many a man who piques himself on a select and
+superior view of things, distinct from the vulgar.
+Individuals of this class are quick and versatile, but
+they are not beforehand with opinion. They catch it,
+when it is pointed out to them, and take it at the
+rebound, instead of giving the first impulse. Their
+minds are a light, luxuriant soil, into which thoughts
+are easily transplanted, and shoot up with uncommon
+sprightliness and vigour. They wear the dress of other
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>128]</a></span>
+people&rsquo;s minds very gracefully and unconsciously.
+They tell you your own opinion, or very gravely repeat
+an observation you have made to them about half a
+year afterwards. They let you into the delicacies and
+luxuries of Spenser with great disinterestedness, in
+return for your having introduced that author to their
+notice. They prefer West to Raphael, Stothard to
+Rubens, till they are told better. Still they are acute
+in the main, and good judges in their way. By trying
+to improve their tastes, and reform their notions
+according to an ideal standard, they perhaps spoil and
+muddle their native faculties, rather than do them any
+good. Their first manner is their best, because it is
+the most natural. It is well not to go out of ourselves,
+and to be contented to take up with what we are, for
+better for worse. We can neither beg, borrow, nor steal
+characteristic excellences. Some views and modes
+of thinking suit certain minds, as certain colours
+suit certain complexions. We may part with very
+shining and very useful qualities, without getting
+better ones to supply them. Mocking is catching, only
+in regard to defects. Mimicry is always dangerous.</p>
+
+<p>It is not necessary to change our road in order to
+advance on our journey. We should cultivate the
+spot of ground we possess, to the utmost of our power,
+though it may be circumscribed and comparatively
+barren. <em>A rolling stone gathers no moss.</em> People may
+collect all the wisdom they will ever attain, quite as
+well by staying at home as by travelling abroad.
+There is no use in shifting from place to place, from
+side to side, or from subject to subject. You have
+always to begin again, and never finish any course of
+study or observation. By adhering to the same principles
+you do not become stationary. You enlarge,
+correct, and consolidate your reasonings, without
+contradicting and shuffling about in your conclusions.
+If truth consisted in hasty assumptions and petulant
+contradictions, there might be some ground for this
+whiffling and violent inconsistency. But the face of
+truth, like that of nature, is different and the same.
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>129]</a></span>
+The first outline of an opinion, and the general tone
+of thinking, may be sound and correct, though we
+may spend any quantity of time and pains in working
+up and uniting the parts at subsequent sittings. If
+we have misconceived the character of the countenance
+altogether at first, no alterations will bring it right
+afterwards. Those who mistake white for black in
+the first instance, may as well mistake black for white
+when they reverse their canvas. I do not see what
+security they can have in their present opinions, who
+build their pretensions to wisdom on the total folly,
+rashness, and extravagance (to say no worse) of their
+former ones. The perspective may change with years
+and experience: we may see certain things nearer,
+and others more remote; but the great masses and
+landmarks will remain, though thrown into shadow
+and tinged by the intervening atmosphere: so the
+laws of the understanding, the truth of nature, will
+remain, and cannot be thrown into utter confusion
+and perplexity by our blunders or caprice, like the
+objects in Hogarth&rsquo;s <i>Rules of Perspective</i>, where everything
+is turned upside down, or thrust out of its well-known
+place. I cannot understand how our political
+Harlequins feel after all their summersaults and
+metamorphoses. They can hardly, I should think,
+look at themselves in the glass, or walk across the
+room without stumbling. This at least would be the
+case if they had the least reflection or self-knowledge.
+But they judge from pique and vanity solely. There
+should be a certain decorum in life, as in a picture,
+without which it is neither useful nor agreeable. If
+my opinions are not right, at any rate they are the best
+I have been able to form, and better than any others
+I could take up at random, or out of perversity, now.
+Contrary opinions vitiate one another, and destroy
+the simplicity and clearness of the mind: nothing is
+good that has not a beginning, a middle, and an end;
+and I would wish my thoughts to be</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem22">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;Linked each to each by natural piety.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>1821.</p>
+
+
+
+<p class="ptop"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>130]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>ESSAY XI<br />
+<br />
+<span class="vsmlfont">PROJECT FOR A NEW THEORY OF CIVIL AND
+CRIMINAL LEGISLATION</span></h2>
+
+
+<p>When I was about fourteen (as long ago as the year
+1792), in consequence of a dispute, one day after
+coming out of meeting, between my father and an old
+lady of the congregation, respecting the repeal of the
+Corporation and Test Acts and the limits of religious
+toleration, I set about forming in my head (the first
+time I ever attempted to think) the following system
+of political rights and general jurisprudence.</p>
+
+<p>It was this circumstance that decided the fate of my
+future life; or rather, I would say it was from an
+original bias or craving to be satisfied of the reason
+of things, that I seized hold of this accidental opportunity
+to indulge in its uneasy and unconscious
+determination. Mr. Currie, my old tutor at Hackney,
+may still have the rough draught of this speculation,
+which I gave him with tears in my eyes, and which he
+good-naturedly accepted in lieu of the customary
+<em>themes</em>, and as a proof that I was no idler, but that
+my inability to produce a line on the ordinary school
+topics arose from my being involved in more difficult
+and abstruse matters. He must smile at the so oft-repeated
+charge against me of florid flippancy and
+tinsel. If from those briars I have since plucked
+roses, what labour has it not cost me? The Test and
+Corporation Acts were repealed the other day. How
+would my father have rejoiced if this had happened
+in his time, and in concert with his old friends Dr.
+Price, Dr. Priestly, and others! but now that there
+is no one to care about it, they give as a boon to
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>131]</a></span>
+indifference what they so long refused to justice, and
+thus ascribed by some to the liberality of the age!
+Spirit of contradiction! when wilt thou cease to rule
+over sublunary affairs, as the moon governs the tides?
+Not till the unexpected stroke of a comet throws up a
+new breed of men and animals from the bowels of the
+earth; nor then neither, since it is included in the
+very idea of all life, power, and motion. <em>For</em> and
+<em>against</em> are inseparable terms. But not to wander
+any farther from the point&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>I began with trying to define what a <em>right</em> meant;
+and this I settled with myself was not simply that
+which is good or useful in itself, but that which is
+thought so by the individual, and which has the
+sanction of his will as such. 1. Because the determining
+what is good in itself is an endless question.
+2. Because one person&rsquo;s having a right to any good,
+and another being made the judge of it, leaves him
+without any security for its being exercised to his
+advantage, whereas self-love is a natural guarantee for
+our self-interest. 3. A thing being willed is the most
+absolute moral reason for its existence: that a thing
+is good in itself is no reason whatever why it should
+exist, till the will clothes it with a power to act as a
+motive; and there is certainly nothing to prevent this
+will from taking effect (no law or admitted plea above
+it) but another will opposed to it, and which forms a
+right on the same principle. A good is only so far a
+right, inasmuch as it virtually determines the will;
+for a <em>right</em> meant that which contains within itself,
+and as respects the bosom in which it is lodged, a
+cogent and unanswerable reason why it should exist.
+Suppose I have a violent aversion to one thing and
+as strong an attachment to something else, and that
+there is no other being in the world but myself, shall
+I not have a self-evident right, full title, liberty, to
+pursue the one and avoid the other? That is to say,
+in other words, there can be no authority to interpose
+between the strong natural tendency of the will and
+its desired effect, but the will of another. It may be
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>132]</a></span>
+replied that reason, that affection, may interpose
+between the will and the act; but there are motives
+that influence the conduct by first altering the will;
+and the point at issue is, that these being away, what
+other principle or lever is there always left to appeal
+to, before we come to blows? Now, such a principle
+is to be found in self-interest; and such a barrier
+against the violent will is erected by the limits which
+this principle necessarily sets to itself in the claims
+of different individuals. Thus, then, a right is not
+that which is right in itself, or best for the whole, or
+even for the individual, but that which is good in his
+own eyes, and according to his own will; and to
+which, among a number of equally selfish and self-willed
+beings, he can lay claim, allowing the same latitude
+and allowance to others. Political justice is that
+which assigns the limits of these individual rights in
+society, or it is the adjustment of force against force,
+of will against will, to prevent worse consequences.
+In the savage state there is nothing but an appeal to
+brute force, or the right of the strongest; Politics
+lays down a rule to curb and measure out the wills of
+individuals in equal portions; Morals has a higher
+standard still, and ought never to appeal to force in
+any case whatever. Hence I always found something
+wanting in Mr. Godwin&rsquo;s <i>Enquiry concerning Political
+Justice</i> (which I read soon after with great avidity,
+and hoped, from its title and its vast reputation, to
+get entire satisfaction from it), for he makes no distinction
+between political justice, which implies an
+appeal to force, and moral justice, which implies only
+an appeal to reason. It is surely a distinct question,
+what you can persuade people to do by argument and
+fair discussion, and what you may lawfully compel
+them to do, when reason and remonstrance fail. But
+in Mr. Godwin&rsquo;s system the &lsquo;omnipotence of reason&rsquo;
+supersedes the use of law and government, merges
+the imperfection of the means in the grandeur of the
+end, and leaves but one class of ideas or motives, the
+highest and the least attainable possible. So promises
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>133]</a></span>
+and oaths are said to be of no more value than common
+breath; nor would they, if every word we uttered was
+infallible and oracular, as if delivered from a Tripod.
+But this is pragmatical, and putting an imaginary for
+a real state of things. Again, right and duties,
+according to Mr. Godwin, are reciprocal. I could
+not comprehend this without an arbitrary definition
+that took away the meaning. In my sense, a man
+might have a right, a discriminating power, to do
+something, which others could not deprive him of,
+without a manifest infraction of certain rules laid down
+for the peace and order of society, but which it might
+be his duty to waive upon good reasons shown; rights
+are seconded by force, duties are things of choice.
+This is the import of the words in common speech:
+why then pass over this distinction in a work confessedly
+rhetorical as well as logical, that is, which
+laid an equal stress on sound and sense? Right,
+therefore, has a personal or selfish reference, as it is
+founded on the law which determines a man&rsquo;s actions
+in regard to his own being and well-being; and
+political justice is that which assigns the limits of
+these individual rights on their compatibility or incompatibility
+with each other in society. Right, in a
+word, is the duty which each man owes to himself;
+or it is that portion of the general good of which (as
+being principally interested) he is made the special
+judge, and which is put under his immediate keeping.</p>
+
+<p>The next question I asked myself was, what is law
+and the real and necessary ground of civil government?
+The answer to this is found in the former
+statement. <em>Law</em> is something to abridge, or, more
+properly speaking, to ascertain, the bounds of the
+original right, and to coerce the will of individuals in
+the community. Whence, then, has the community
+such a right? It can only arise in self-defence, or
+from the necessity of maintaining the equal rights of
+every one, and of opposing force to force in case of
+any violent and unwarrantable infringement of them.
+Society consists of a given number of individuals; and
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>134]</a></span>
+the aggregate right of government is only the consequence
+of these inherent rights, balancing and
+neutralising one another. How those who deny
+natural rights get at any sort of right, divine or
+human, I am at a loss to discover; for whatever exists
+in combination, exists beforehand in an elementary
+state. The world is composed of atoms, and a
+machine cannot be made without materials. First,
+then, it follows that law or government is not the
+mere creature of a social compact, since each person
+has a certain right which he is bound to defend against
+another without asking that other&rsquo;s leave, or else the
+right would always be at the mercy of whoever chose
+to invade it. There would be a right to do wrong,
+but none to resist it. Thus I have a natural right
+to defend my life against a murderer, without any
+mutual compact between us; hence society has an
+aggregate right of the same kind, and to make a law
+to that effect, forbidding and punishing murder. If
+there be no such immediate value and attachment to
+life felt by the individual, and a consequent justifiable
+determination to defend it, then the formal pretension
+of society to vindicate a right, which, according to
+this reasoning, has no existence in itself, must be
+founded on air, on a word, or a lawyer&rsquo;s <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">ipse dixit</i>.
+Secondly, society, or government, as such, has no
+right to trench upon the liberty or rights of the
+individuals its members, except as these last are, as
+it were, forfeited by interfering with and destroying
+one another, like opposite mechanical forces or quantities
+in arithmetic. Put the basis that each man&rsquo;s
+will is a sovereign law to itself: this can only hold in
+society as long as he does not meddle with others;
+but so long as he does not do this, the first principle
+retains its force, for there is no other principle to
+impeach or overrule it. The will of society is not a
+sufficient plea; since this is, or ought to be, made up
+of the wills or rights of the individuals composing it,
+which by the supposition remain entire, and consequently
+without power to act. The good of society
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>135]</a></span>
+is not a sufficient plea, for individuals are only bound
+(on compulsion) not to do it harm, or to be barely
+just: benevolence and virtue are voluntary qualities.
+For instance, if two persons are obliged to do all that
+is possible for the good of both, this must either
+be settled voluntarily between them, and then it is
+friendship, and not force; or if this is not the case, it
+is plain that one must be the slave, and lie at the
+caprice and mercy of the other: it will be one will
+forcibly regulating two bodies. But if each is left
+master of his own person and actions, with only the
+implied proviso of not encroaching on those of the
+other, then both may continue free and independent,
+and contented in their several spheres. One individual
+has no right to interfere with the employment
+of my muscular powers, or to put violence on my
+person, to force me to contribute to the most laudable
+undertaking if I do not approve of it, any more than
+I have to force him to assist me in the direct contrary:
+if one has not, ten have not, nor a million, any such
+arbitrary right over me. What one can be <em>made</em> to
+do for a million is very trifling: what a million may
+do by being left free in all that merely concerns
+themselves, and not subject to the perpetual caprice
+and insolence of authority, and pretext of the public
+good, is a very different calculation. By giving up
+the principle of political independence, it is not the
+million that will govern the one, but the one that will
+in time give law to the million. There are some
+things that cannot be free in natural society, and
+against which there is a natural law; for instance, no
+one can be allowed to knock out another&rsquo;s brains or
+to fetter his limbs with impunity. And government
+is bound to prevent the same violations of liberty and
+justice. The question is, whether it would not be
+possible for a government to exist, and for a system
+of laws to be framed, that confined itself to the
+punishment of such offences, and left all the rest
+(except the suppression of force by force) optional or
+matter of mutual compact. What are a man&rsquo;s natural
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>136]</a></span>
+rights? Those, the infringement of which cannot on
+any supposition go unpunished: by leaving all but
+cases of necessity to choice and reason, much would
+be perhaps gained, and nothing lost.</p>
+
+<p><em class="smallcap">Corollary 1.</em> It results from the foregoing statement,
+that there is nothing naturally to restrain or
+oppose the will of one man, but the will of another
+meeting it. Thus, in a desert island, it is evident
+that my will and rights would be absolute and unlimited,
+and I might say with Robinson Crusoe, &lsquo;I am
+monarch of all I survey.&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p><em class="smallcap">Corollary 2.</em> It is coming into society that circumscribes
+my will and rights, by establishing equal and
+mutual rights, instead of the original uncircumscribed
+ones. They are still &lsquo;founded as the rock,&rsquo; though not
+so broad and general as the casing air, for the only
+thing that limits them is the solidity of another right,
+no better than my own, and, like stones in a building,
+or a mosaic pavement, each remains not the less firmly
+riveted to its place, though it cannot encroach upon
+the next to it. I do not belong to the state, nor am
+I a nonentity in it, but I am one part of it, and independent
+in it, for that very reason that every one in
+it is independent of me. Equality, instead of being
+destroyed by society, results from and is improved by
+it; for in politics, as in physics, the action and reaction
+are the same: the right of resistance on their
+part implies the right of self-defence on mine. In a
+theatre, each person has a right to his own seat, by
+the supposition that he has no right to intrude into
+any one else&rsquo;s. They are convertible propositions.
+Away, then, with the notion that liberty and equality
+are inconsistent. But here is the artifice: by merging
+the rights and independence of the individual in the
+fictitious order of society, those rights become arbitrary,
+capricious, equivocal, removable at the pleasure
+of the state or ruling power; there is nothing substantial
+or durable implied in them: if each has no
+positive claim, naturally, those of all taken together
+can mount up to nothing; right and justice are mere
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>137]</a></span>
+blanks to be filled up with arbitrary will, and the
+people have thenceforward no defence against the
+government. On the other hand, suppose these
+rights to be not empty names or artificial arrangements,
+but original and inherent like solid atoms,
+then it is not in the power of government to annihilate
+one of them, whatever may be the confusion
+arising from their struggle for mastery, or before
+they can settle into order and harmony. Mr. Burke
+talks of the reflections and refractions of the rays of
+light as altering their primary essence and direction.
+But if there were no original rays of light, there
+could be neither refraction, nor reflections. Why,
+then, does he try by cloudy sophistry to blot the sun
+out of heaven? One body impinges against and
+impedes another in the fall, but it could not do this,
+but for the principle of gravity. The author of the
+<i>Sublime and Beautiful</i> would have a single atom outweigh
+the great globe itself; or all empty title, a
+bloated privilege, or a grievous wrong overturn the
+entire mass of truth and justice. The question
+between the author and his opponents appears to be
+simply this: whether politics, or the general good, is
+all affair of reason or imagination! and this seems
+decided by another consideration, viz. that Imagination
+is the judge of individual things, and Reason
+of generals. Hence the great importance of the principle
+of universal suffrage; for if the vote and choice
+of a single individual goes for nothing, so, by parity
+of reasoning, may that of all the rest of the community:
+but if the choice of every man in the community
+is held sacred, then what must be the weight
+and value of the whole.</p>
+
+<p>Many persons object that by this means property is
+not represented, and so, to avoid that, they would
+have nothing but property represented, at the same
+time that they pretend that if the elective franchise
+were thrown open to the poor, they would be wholly
+at the command of the rich, to the prejudice and
+exclusion of the middle and independent classes of
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>138]</a></span>
+society. Property always has a natural influence and
+authority: it is only people without property that
+have no natural protection, and require every artificial
+and legal one. <em>Those that have much, shall have more;
+and those that have little, shall have less.</em> This proverb
+is no less true in public than in private life. The
+<em>better orders</em> (as they are called, and who, in virtue of
+this title, would assume a monopoly in the direction
+of state affairs) are merely and in plain English those
+who are <em>better off</em> than others; and as they get the
+wished-for monopoly into their hands, others will
+uniformly be <em>worse off</em>, and will sink lower and lower
+in the scale; so that it is essentially requisite to extend
+the elective franchise in order to counteract the excess
+of the great and increasing goodness of the better
+orders to themselves. I see no reason to suppose that
+in any case popular feeling (if free course were given
+to it) would bear down public opinion. Literature is
+at present pretty nearly on the footing of universal
+suffrage, yet the public defer sufficiently to the critics;
+and when no party bias interferes, and the government
+do not make a point of running a writer down,
+the verdict is tolerably fair and just. I do not say
+that the result might not be equally satisfactory, when
+literature was patronised more immediately by the
+great; but then lords and ladies had no interest in
+praising a bad piece and condemning a good one. If
+they could have laid a tax on the town for not going
+to it, they would have run a bad play forty nights
+together, or the whole year round, without scruple.
+As things stand, the worse the law, the better for the
+lawmakers: it takes everything from others to give to
+<em>them</em>. It is common to insist on universal suffrage
+and the ballot together. But if the first were allowed,
+the second would be unnecessary. The ballot is only
+useful as a screen from arbitrary power. There is
+nothing manly or independent to recommend it.</p>
+
+<p><em class="smallcap">Corollary 3.</em> If I was out at sea in a boat with a
+<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">jure divino</i> monarch, and he wanted to throw me
+overboard, I would not let him. No gentleman would
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>139]</a></span>
+ask such a thing, no freeman would submit to it.
+Has he, then, a right to dispose of the lives and
+liberties of thirty millions of men? Or have they
+more right than I have to resist his demands? They
+have thirty millions of times that right, if they had a
+particle of the same spirit that I have. It is not the
+individual, then, whom in this case I fear (to me
+&lsquo;there&rsquo;s <em>no</em> divinity doth hedge a king&rsquo;), but thirty
+millions of his subjects that call me to account in his
+name, and who are of a most approved and indisputable
+loyalty, and who have both the right and power.
+The power rests with the multitude, but let them
+beware how the exercise of it turns against their own
+rights! It is not the idol but the worshippers that
+are to be dreaded, and who, by degrading one of their
+fellows, render themselves liable to be branded with
+the same indignities.</p>
+
+<p><em class="smallcap">Corollary 4.</em> No one can be born a slave; for my
+limbs are my own, and the power and the will to use
+them are anterior to all laws, and independent of the
+control of every other person. No one acquires a
+right over another but that other acquires some reciprocal
+right over him; therefore the relation of
+master and slave is a contradiction in political logic.
+Hence, also, it follows that combinations among
+labourers for the rise of wages are always just and
+lawful, as much as those among master manufacturers
+to keep them down. A man&rsquo;s labour is his own, at
+least as much as another&rsquo;s goods; and he may starve
+if he pleases, but he may refuse to work except on
+his own terms. The right of property is reducible to
+this simple principle, that one man has not a right to
+the produce of another&rsquo;s labour, but each man has a
+right to the benefit of his own exertions and the use
+of his natural and inalienable powers, unless for a
+supposed equivalent and by mutual consent. Personal
+liberty and property therefore rest upon the same
+foundation. I am glad to see that Mr. Macculloch,
+in his <i>Essay on Wages</i>, admits the right of combination
+among journeymen and others. I laboured this point
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>140]</a></span>
+hard, and, I think, satisfactorily, a good while ago, in
+my <i>Reply to Mr. Malthus</i>. &lsquo;Throw your bread upon the
+waters, and after many days you shall find it again.&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p>There are four things that a man may especially
+call his own. 1. His person. 2. His actions. 3. His
+property. 4. His opinions. Let us see how each of
+these claims unavoidably circumscribes and modifies
+those of others, on the principle of abstract equity
+and necessity and independence above laid down.</p>
+
+<p><em class="smallcap">First, as to the Rights of Persons.</em> My intention
+is to show that the right of society to make laws to
+coerce the will of others, is founded on the necessity
+of repelling the wanton encroachment of that will on
+their rights; that is, strictly on the right of self-defence
+or resistance to aggression. Society comes
+forward and says, &lsquo;Let us alone, and we will let you
+alone, otherwise we must see which is strongest&rsquo;; its
+object is not to patronise or advise individuals for
+their good, and against their will, but to protect
+itself: meddling with others forcibly on any other
+plea or for any other purpose is impertinence. But
+equal rights destroy one another; nor can there be a
+right to impossible or impracticable things. Let A,
+B, C, D, etc., be different component parts of any
+society, each claiming to be the centre and master of
+a certain sphere of activity and self-determination:
+as long as each keeps within his own line of demarcation
+there is no harm done, nor any penalty incurred&mdash;it
+is only the superfluous and overbearing will of
+particular persons that must be restrained or lopped
+off by the axe of the law. Let A be the culprit: B,
+C, D, etc., or the rest of the community, are plaintiffs
+against A, and wish to prevent his taking any unfair
+or unwarranted advantage over them. They set up
+no pretence to dictate or domineer over him, but
+merely to hinder his dictating to and domineering
+over them; and in this, having both might and right
+on their side, they have no difficulty in putting it in
+execution. Every man&rsquo;s independence and discretionary
+power over what peculiarly and exclusively
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>141]</a></span>
+concerns himself, is his <em>castle</em> (whether round, square,
+or, according to Mr. Owen&rsquo;s new map of improvements,
+in the form of a parallelogram). As long as
+he keeps within this, he is safe&mdash;society has no hold
+of him: it is when he quits it to attack his neighbours
+that they resort to reprisals, and make short work
+of the interloper. It is, however, time to endeavour
+to point out in what this natural division of right, and
+separate advantage consists. In the first place, A, B,
+C, D have the common and natural rights of persons,
+in so far that none of these has a right to offer violence
+to, or cause bodily pain or injury to any of the others.
+Sophists laugh at natural rights: they might as well
+deny that we have natural persons; for while the last
+distinction holds true and good by the constitution
+of things, certain consequences must and will follow
+from it&mdash;&lsquo;while this machine is to us Hamlet,&rsquo; etc.
+For instance, I should like to know whether Mr.
+Burke, with his <i>Sublime and Beautiful</i> fancies, would
+deny that each person has a particular body and senses
+belonging to him, so that he feels a peculiar and
+natural interest in whatever affects these more than
+another can, and whether such a peculiar and paramount
+interest does not imply a direct and unavoidable
+right in maintaining this circle of individuality
+inviolate. To argue otherwise is to assert that indifference,
+or that which does not feel either the good
+or the ill, is as capable a judge and zealous a discriminator
+of right and wrong as that which does. The
+right, then, is coeval and co-extended with the interest,
+not a product of convention, but inseparable
+from the order of the universe; the doctrine itself is
+natural and solid; it is the contrary fallacy that is
+made of air and words. Mr. Burke, in such a question,
+was like a man out at sea in a haze, and could
+never tell the difference between land and clouds.
+If another break my arm by violence, this will not
+certainly give him additional health or strength; if
+he stun me by a blow or inflict torture on my limbs,
+it is I who feel the pain, and not he; and it is hard if
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>142]</a></span>
+I, who am the sufferer, am not allowed to be the
+judge. That another should pretend to deprive me
+of it, or pretend to judge for me, and set up his will
+against mine, in what concerns this portion of my
+existence&mdash;where I have all at stake and he nothing&mdash;is
+not merely injustice, but impudence. The circle
+of personal security and right, then, is not an imaginary
+and arbitrary line fixed by law and the will of
+the prince, or the scaly finger of Mr. Hobbes&rsquo;s <i>Leviathan</i>,
+but is real and inherent in the nature of things,
+and itself the foundation of law and justice. &lsquo;Hands
+off is fair play&rsquo;&mdash;according to the old adage. One,
+therefore, has not a right to lay violent hands on
+another, or to infringe on the sphere of his personal
+identity; one must not run foul of another, or he is
+liable to be repelled and punished for the offence. If
+you meet an Englishman suddenly in the street, he
+will run up against you sooner than get out of your
+way, which last he thinks a compromise of his dignity
+and a relinquishment of his purpose, though he
+expects you to get out of his. A Frenchman in the
+same circumstances will come up close to you, and
+try to walk over you, as if there was no one in his
+way; but if you take no notice of him, he will step
+on one side, and make you a low bow. The one is a
+fellow of stubborn will, the other a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">petit-ma&icirc;tre</i>. An
+Englishman at a play mounts upon a bench, and
+refuses to get down at the request of another, who
+threatens to call him to account the next day. &lsquo;Yes,&rsquo;
+is the answer of the first, &lsquo;if your master will let
+you!&rsquo; His abuse of liberty, he thinks, is justified by
+the other&rsquo;s want of it. All an Englishman&rsquo;s ideas
+are modifications of his will; which shows, in one
+way, that right is founded on will, since the English
+are at once the freest and most wilful of all people.
+If you meet another on the ridge of a precipice, are you
+to throw each other down? Certainly not. You are
+to pass as well as you can. &lsquo;Give and take,&rsquo; is the
+rule of natural right, where the right is not all on
+one side and cannot be claimed entire. Equal weights
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>143]</a></span>
+and scales produce a balance, as much as where the
+scales are empty: so it does not follow (as our votaries
+of absolute power would insinuate) that one man&rsquo;s
+right is nothing because another&rsquo;s is something. But
+suppose there is not time to pass, and one or other
+must perish, in the case just mentioned, then each
+must do the best for himself that he can, and the
+instinct of self-preservation prevails over everything
+else. In the streets of London, the passengers take
+the right hand of one another and the wall alternately;
+he who should not conform to this rule would be
+guilty of a breach of the peace. But if a house were
+falling, or a mad ox driven furiously by, the rule would
+be, of course, suspended, because the case would
+be out of the ordinary. Yet I think I can conceive,
+and have even known, persons capable of carrying the
+point of gallantry in political right to such a pitch as
+to refuse to take a precedence which did not belong
+to them in the most perilous circumstances, just as a
+soldier may waive a right to quit his post, and takes
+his turn in battle. The actual collision or case of personal
+assault and battery, is, then, clearly prohibited,
+inasmuch as each person&rsquo;s body is clearly defined:
+but how if A use other means of annoyance against B,
+such as a sword or poison, or resort to what causes
+other painful sensations besides tangible ones, for
+instance, certain disagreeable sounds and smells? Or,
+if these are included as a violation of personal rights,
+then how draw the line between them and the employing
+certain offensive words and gestures or uttering
+opinions which I disapprove? This is a puzzler
+for the dogmatic school; but they solve the whole
+difficulty by an assumption of <em>utility</em>, which is as much
+as to tell a person that the way to any place to which
+he asks a direction is &lsquo;to follow his nose.&rsquo; We want
+to know by given marks and rules what is best and
+useful; and they assure us very wisely, that this is
+infallibly and clearly determined by what is best and
+useful. Let us try something else. It seems no
+less necessary to erect certain little <i>fortalices</i>, with
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>144]</a></span>
+palisades and outworks about them, for <em class="smallcap">Right</em> to
+establish and maintain itself in, than as landmarks to
+guide us across the wide waste of <em class="smallcap">Utility</em>. If a person
+runs a sword through me, or administers poison, or
+procures it to be administered, the effect, the pain,
+disease or death is the same, and I have the same
+right to prevent it, on the principle that I am the
+sufferer; that the injury is offered to me, and he is
+no gainer by it, except for mere malice or caprice,
+and I therefore remain master and judge of my own
+remedy, as in the former case; the principle and
+definition of right being to secure to each individual
+the determination and protection of that portion of
+sensation in which he has the greatest, if not a sole
+interest, and, as it were, identity with it. Again, as
+to what are called <em>nuisances</em>, to wit offensive smells,
+sounds, etc., it is more difficult to determine, on the
+ground that <em>one man&rsquo;s meat is another man&rsquo;s poison</em>.
+I remember a case occurred in the neighbourhood
+where I was, and at the time I was trying my best
+at this question, which puzzled me a good deal. A
+rector of a little town in Shropshire, who was at
+variance with all his parishioners, had conceived a
+particular spite to a lawyer who lived next door to him,
+and as a means of annoying him, used to get together
+all sorts of rubbish, weeds, and unsavoury materials,
+and set them on fire, so that the smoke should blow
+over into his neighbour&rsquo;s garden; whenever the wind
+set in that direction, he said, as a signal to his
+gardener, &lsquo;It&rsquo;s a fine Wicksteed wind to-day&rsquo;; and
+the operation commenced. Was this an action of
+assault and battery, or not? I think it was, for this
+reason, that the offence was unequivocal, and that the
+only motive for the proceeding was the giving this
+offence. The assailant would not like to be served so
+himself. Mr. Bentham would say, the malice of the
+motive was a set-off to the injury. I shall leave that
+<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">prima philosophia</i> consideration out of the question.
+A man who knocks out another&rsquo;s brains with a
+bludgeon may say it pleases him to do so; but will it
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>145]</a></span>
+please him to have the compliment returned? If he
+still persists, in spite of this punishment, there is no
+preventing him; but if not, then it is a proof that he
+thinks the pleasure less than the pain to himself, and
+consequently to another in the scales of justice. The
+<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">lex talionis</i> is an excellent test. Suppose a third
+person (the physician of the place) had said, &lsquo;It is a
+fine Egerton wind to-day,&rsquo; our rector would have
+been non-plussed; for he would have found that, as
+he suffered all the hardship, he had the right to
+complain of and to resist an action of another, the
+consequences of which affected principally himself.
+Now mark: if he had himself had any advantage to
+derive from the action, which he could not obtain in
+any other way, then he would feel that his neighbour
+also had the same plea and right to follow his own
+course (still this might be a doubtful point); but in the
+other case it would be sheer malice and wanton interference;
+that is, not the exercise of a right, but the
+invasion of another&rsquo;s comfort and independence. Has
+a person, then, a right to play on the horn or on a
+flute, on the same staircase? I say, yes; because it
+is for his own improvement and pleasure, and not to
+annoy another; and because, accordingly, every one
+in his own case would wish to reserve this or a similar
+privilege to himself. I do not think a person has a
+right to beat a drum under one&rsquo;s window, because
+this is altogether disagreeable, and if there is an
+extraordinary motive for it, then it is fit that the
+person should be put to some little inconvenience in
+removing his sphere of liberty of action to a reasonable
+distance. A tallow-chandler&rsquo;s shop or a steam-engine
+is a nuisance in a town, and ought to be
+removed into the suburbs; but they are to be tolerated
+where they are least inconvenient, because they are
+necessary somewhere, and there is no remedying the
+inconvenience. The right to protest against and to
+prohibit them rests with the suffering party; but
+because this point of the greatest interest is less clear
+in some cases than in others, it does not follow that
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>146]</a></span>
+there is no right or principle of justice in the case.
+3. As to matters of contempt and the expression of
+opinion, I think these do not fall under the head of
+force, and are not, on that ground, subjects of coercion
+and law. For example, if a person inflicts a
+sensation upon me by material means, whether tangible
+or otherwise, I cannot help that sensation; I am
+so far the slave of that other, and have no means of
+resisting him but by force, which I would define to be
+material agency. But if another proposes an opinion
+to me, I am not bound to be of this opinion; my
+judgment and will is left free, and therefore I have
+no right to resort to force to recover a liberty which
+I have not lost. If I do this to prevent that other
+from pressing that opinion, it is I who invade his
+liberty, without warrant, because without necessity.
+It may be urged that material agency, or force,
+is used in the adoption of sounds or letters of the
+alphabet, which I cannot help seeing or hearing.
+But the injury is not here, but in the moral and
+artificial inference, which I am at liberty to admit or
+reject, according to the evidence. There is no force
+but argument in the case, and it is reason, not the
+will of another, that gives the law. Further, the
+opinion expressed, generally concerns not one individual,
+but the general interest; and of that my
+approbation or disapprobation is not a commensurate
+or the sole judge. I am judge of my own interests,
+because it is my affair, and no one&rsquo;s else; but by the
+same rule, I am not judge, nor have I a <i>veto</i> on that
+which appeals to all the world, merely because I have
+a prejudice or fancy against it. But suppose another
+expresses by signs or words a contempt for me?
+<i>Answer.</i> I do not know that he is bound to have a
+respect for me. Opinion is free; for if I wish him to
+have that respect, then he must be left free to judge
+for himself, and consequently to arrive at and to
+express the contrary opinion, or otherwise the verdict
+and testimony I aim at could not be obtained; just
+as players must consent to be hissed if they expect
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>147]</a></span>
+to be applauded. Opinion cannot be forced, for it is
+not grounded on force, but on evidence and reason,
+and therefore these last are the proper instruments to
+control that opinion, and to make it favourable to
+what we wish, or hostile to what we disapprove. In
+what relates to action, the will of another is force,
+or the determining power: in what relates to opinion,
+the mere will or <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">ipse dixit</i> of another is of no avail but
+as it gains over other opinions to its side, and therefore
+neither needs nor admits of force as a counteracting
+means to be used against it. But in the case
+of calumny or indecency: 1. I would say that it is
+the suppression of truth that gives falsehood its
+worst edge. What transpires (however maliciously or
+secretly) in spite of the law, is taken for gospel, and as
+it is impossible to prevent calumny, so it is impossible
+to counteract it on the present system, or while every
+attempt to answer it is attributed to the people&rsquo;s not
+daring to speak the truth. If any single fact or accident
+peeps out, the whole character, having this legal
+screen before it, is supposed to be of a piece; and
+the world, defrauded of the means of coming to their
+own conclusion, naturally infer the worst. Hence the
+saying, that reputation once gone never returns. If,
+however, we grant the general licence or liberty of
+the press, in a scheme where publicity is the great
+object, it seems a manifest <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">contre-sens</i> that the author
+should be the only thing screened or kept a secret:
+either, therefore, an anonymous libeller would be
+heard with contempt, or if he signed his name thus &mdash;,
+or thus &mdash; &mdash;, it would be equivalent to being branded
+publicly as a calumniator, or marked with the T.&nbsp;F.
+(<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">travail forc&eacute;</i>) or the broad R. (rogue) on his back.
+These are thought sufficient punishments, and yet
+they rest on opinion without stripes or labour. As to
+indecency, in proportion as it is flagrant is the shock
+and resentment against it; and as vanity is the source
+of indecency, so the universal discountenance and
+shame is its most effectual antidote. If it is public,
+it produces immediate reprisals from public opinion
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>148]</a></span>
+which no brow can stand; and if secret, it had better
+be left so. No one can then say it is obtruded on
+him; and if he will go in search of it, it seems odd
+he should call upon the law to frustrate the object of
+his pursuit. Further, at the worst, society has its
+remedy in its own hands whenever its moral sense
+is outraged, that is, it may send to Coventry, or excommunicate
+like the church of old; for though it
+may have no right to prosecute, it is not bound to
+protect or patronise, unless by voluntary consent of
+all parties concerned. Secondly, as to rights of
+action, or personal liberty. These have no limit but
+the rights of persons or property aforesaid, or to be
+hereafter named. They are the channels in which
+the others run without injury and without impediment,
+as a river within its banks. Every one has a
+right to use his natural powers in the way most
+agreeable to himself, and which he deems most conducive
+to his own advantage, provided he does not
+interfere with the corresponding rights and liberties
+of others. He has no right to coerce them by a
+decision of his individual will, and as long as he
+abstains from this he has no right to be coerced by
+an expression of the aggregate will, that is, by law.
+The law is the emanation of the aggregate will, and
+this will receives its warrant to act only from the
+forcible pressure from without, and its indispensable
+resistance to it. Let us see how this will operate to
+the pruning and curtailment of law. The rage of
+legislation is the first vice of society; it ends by limiting
+it to as few things as possible. 1. There can,
+according to the principle here imperfectly sketched,
+be no laws for the enforcement of morals; because
+morals have to do with the will and affections, and
+the law only puts a restraint on these. Every one is
+politically constituted the judge of what is best for
+himself; it is only when he encroaches on others that
+he can be called to account. He has no right to say
+to others, You shall do as I do: how then should they
+have a right to say to him, You shall do as we do?
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>149]</a></span>
+Mere numbers do not convey the right, for the law
+addresses not one, but the whole community. For
+example, there cannot rightly be a law to set a man
+in the stocks for getting drunk. It injures his health,
+you say. That is his concern, and not mine. But it
+is detrimental to his affairs: if so, he suffers most by
+it. But it is ruinous to his wife and family: he is
+their natural and legal guardian. But they are thrown
+upon the parish: the parish need not take the burden
+upon itself, unless it chooses or has agreed to do so.
+If a man is not kind to or fond of his wife I see no
+law to make him. If he beats her, or threatens her
+life, she as clearly has a right to call in the aid of a
+constable or justice of peace. I do not see, in like
+manner, how there can be law against gambling
+(against cheating there may), nor against usury. A
+man gives twenty, forty, a hundred per cent. with his
+eyes open, but would he do it if strong necessity did
+not impel him? Certainly no man would give double if
+he could get the same advantage for half. There are
+circumstances in which a rope to save me from drowning,
+or a draught of water, would be worth all I have.
+In like manner, lotteries are fair things; for the loss
+is inconsiderable, and the advantage may be incalculable.
+I do not believe the poor put into them, but
+the reduced rich, the <em>shabby-genteel</em>. Players were
+formerly prohibited as a nuisance, and fortune-tellers
+still are liable to the Vagrant Act, which the parson
+of the parish duly enforces, in his zeal to prevent
+cheating and imposture, while he himself has his two
+livings, and carries off a tenth of the produce of the
+soil. Rape is an offence clearly punishable by law;
+but I would not say that simple incontinence is so.
+I will give one more example, which, though quaint,
+may explain the distinction I aim at. A man may
+commit suicide if he pleases, without being responsible
+to any one. He may quit the world as he would quit
+the country where he was born. But if any person
+were to fling himself from the gallery into the pit of
+a playhouse, so as to endanger the lives of others, if
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>150]</a></span>
+he did not succeed in killing himself, he would render
+himself liable to punishment for the attempt, if it were
+to be supposed that a person so desperately situated
+would care about consequences. Duelling is lawful
+on the same principle, where every precaution is taken
+to show that the act is voluntary and fair on both
+sides. I might give other instances, but these will
+suffice. 2. There should be a perfect toleration in
+matters of religion. In what relates to the salvation of
+a man&rsquo;s soul, he is infinitely more concerned than I
+can be; and to pretend to dictate to him in this particular
+is an infinite piece of impertinence and presumption.
+But if a man has no religion at all? That does
+not hinder me from having any. If he stood at the
+church door and would not let me enter, I should
+have a right to push him aside; but if he lets me pass
+by without interruption, I have no right to turn back
+and drag him in after me. He might as well force
+me to have no religion as I force him to have one,
+or burn me at a stake for believing what he does not.
+Opinion, &lsquo;like the wild goose, flies unclaimed of any
+man&rsquo;: heaven is like &lsquo;the marble air, accessible to
+all&rsquo;; and therefore there is no occasion to trip up one
+another&rsquo;s heels on the road, or to erect a turnpike gate
+to collect large sums from the passengers. How have
+I a right to make another pay for the saving of my
+soul, or to assist me in damning his? There should
+be no secular interference in sacred things; no laws
+to suppress or establish any church or sect in religion,
+no religious persecutions, tests, or disqualifications;
+the different sects should be left to inveigh and hate
+each other as much as they please; but without the
+love of exclusive domination and spiritual power there
+would be little temptation to bigotry and intolerance.</p>
+
+<p>3. <em class="smallcap">As to the Rights of Property.</em> It is of no use
+a man&rsquo;s being left to enjoy security, or to exercise his
+freedom of action, unless he has a right to appropriate
+certain other things necessary to his comfort and
+subsistence to his own use. In a state of nature, or
+rather of solitary independence, he has a right to all
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>151]</a></span>
+he can lay his hands on: what then limits this right?
+Its being inconsistent with the same right in others.
+This strikes a mathematical or logical balance between
+two extreme and equal pretensions. As there is not
+a natural and indissoluble connection between the
+individual and his property, or those outward objects
+of which he may have need (they being detached,
+unlimited, and transferable), as there is between the
+individual and his person, either as an organ of
+sensation or action, it is necessary, in order to prevent
+endless debate and quarrels, to fix upon some
+other criterion or common ground of preference.
+Animals, or savages, have no idea of any other right
+than that of the strongest, and seize on all they can
+get by force, without any regard to justice or an
+equal claim. 1. One mode of settling the point is
+to divide the spoil. That is allowing an equal advantage
+to both. Thus boys, when they unexpectedly
+find anything, are accustomed to cry &lsquo;<em>Halves!</em>&rsquo; But
+this is liable to other difficulties, and applies only to
+the case of joint finding. 2. Priority of possession is
+a fair way of deciding the right of property; first, on
+the mere principle of a lottery, or the old saying,
+&lsquo;<em>First come, first served</em>&rsquo;; secondly, because the
+expectation having been excited, and the will more
+set upon it, this constitutes a powerful reason for not
+violently forcing it to let go its hold. The greater
+strength of volition is, we have seen, one foundation
+of right; for supposing a person to be absolutely indifferent
+to anything, he could properly set up no
+claim to it. 3. Labour, or the having produced a
+thing or fitted it for use by previous exertion, gives
+this right, chiefly, indeed, for moral and final causes;
+because if one enjoyed what another had produced,
+there would be nothing but idleness and rapacity;
+but also in the sense we are inquiring into, because
+on a merely selfish ground the labour undergone,
+or the time lost, is entitled to an equivalent <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">c&aelig;teris
+manentibus</i>. 4. If another, voluntarily, or for a
+consideration, resigns to me his right in anything,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>152]</a></span>
+it to all intents and purposes becomes mine. This
+accounts not only for gifts, the transfer of property
+by bargains, etc., but for legacies, and the transmission
+of property in families or otherwise. It is
+hard to make a law to circumscribe this right of disposing
+of what we have as we please; yet the boasted
+law of primogeniture, which is professedly the bulwark
+and guardian of property, is in direct violation
+of this principle. 5, and lastly. Where a thing is
+common, and there is enough for all, and no one
+contributes to it, as air or water, there can be no
+property in it. The proximity to a herring-fishery,
+or the having been the first to establish a particular
+traffic in such commodities, may perhaps give this
+right by aggravating our will, as having a nearer or
+longer power over them; but the rule is the other
+way. It is on the same principle that poaching is
+a kind of honest thieving, for that which costs no
+trouble and is confined to no limits seems to belong
+to no one exclusively (why else do poachers or country
+people seize on this kind of property with the least
+reluctance, but that it is the least like stealing?);
+and as the game laws and the tenaciousness of the
+rights to that which has least the character of property,
+as most a point of honour, produced a revolution
+in one country, so they are not unlikely to
+produce it in another. The object and principle of
+the laws of property, then, is this: 1. To supply
+individuals and the community with what they need.
+2. To secure an equal share to each individual, other
+circumstances being the same. 3. To keep the peace
+and promote industry and plenty, by proportioning
+each man&rsquo;s share to his own exertions, or to the
+good-will and discretion of others. The intention,
+then, being that no individual should rob another,
+or be starved but by his refusing to work (the earth
+and its produce being the natural estate of the community,
+subject to these regulations of individual
+right and public welfare), the question is, whether
+any individual can have a right to rob or starve the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>153]</a></span>
+whole community: or if the necessary discretion left
+in the application of the principle has led to a state
+of things subversive of the principle itself, and
+destructive to the welfare and existence of the state,
+whether the end being defeated, the law does not fall
+to the ground, or require either a powerful corrective
+or a total reconstruction. The end is superior to the
+means, and the use of a thing does not justify its
+abuse. If a clock is quite out of order and always
+goes wrong, it is no argument to say it was set
+right at first and on true mechanical principles, and
+therefore it must go on as it has done, according to
+all the rules of art; on the contrary, it is taken
+to pieces, repaired, and the whole restored to the
+original state, or, if this is impossible, a new one
+is made. So society, when out of order, which it is
+whenever the interests of the many are regularly and
+outrageously sacrificed to those of the few, must be
+repaired, and either a reform or a revolution cleanse
+its corruptions and renew its elasticity. People talk
+of the poor laws as a grievance. Either they or a
+national bankruptcy, or a revolution, are necessary.
+The labouring population have not doubled in the
+last forty years; there are still no more than are
+necessary to do the work in husbandry, etc., that is
+indispensably required; but the wages of a labouring
+man are no higher than they were forty years
+ago, and the price of food and necessaries is at least
+double what it was then, owing to taxes, grants,
+monopolies, and immense fortunes gathered during
+the war by the richer or more prosperous classes,
+who have not ceased to propagate in the geometrical
+ratio, though the poor have not done it, and the
+maintaining of whose younger and increasing branches
+in becoming splendour and affluence presses with
+double weight on the poor and labouring classes.
+The greater part of a community ought not to be
+paupers or starving; and when a government by
+obstinacy and madness has reduced them to that
+state, it must either take wise and effectual measures
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>154]</a></span>
+to relieve them from it, or pay the forfeit of its own
+wickedness and folly.</p>
+
+<p>It seems, then, that a system of just and useful
+laws may be constructed nearly, if not wholly, on the
+principle of the right of self-defence, or the security for
+person, liberty, and property. There are exceptions,
+such, for instance, as in the case of children, idiots,
+and insane persons. These common-sense dictates
+for a general principle can only hold good where the
+general conditions are complied with. There are
+also mixed cases, partaking of civil and moral justice.
+Is a man bound to support his children? Not in
+strict political right; but he may be compelled to
+forego all the benefits of civil society, if he does not
+fulfil an engagement which, according to the feelings
+and principles of that society, he has undertaken.
+So in respect to marriage. It is a voluntary contract,
+and the violation of it is punishable on the same plea
+of sympathy and custom. Government is not necessarily
+founded on common consent, but on the right
+which society has to defend itself against all aggression.
+But am I bound to pay or support the government
+for defending the society against any violence
+or injustice? No: but then they may withdraw the
+protection of the law from me if I refuse, and it is
+on this ground that the contributions of each individual
+to the maintenance of the state are demanded.
+Laws are, or ought to be, founded on the supposed
+infraction of individual rights. If these rights, and
+the best means of maintaining them, are always clear,
+and there could be no injustice or abuse of power on
+the part of the government, every government might
+be its own lawgiver: but as neither of these is the
+case, it is necessary to recur to the general voice for
+settling the boundaries of right and wrong, and even
+more for preventing the government, under pretence
+of the general peace and safety, from subjecting the
+whole liberties, rights, and resources of the community
+to its own advantage and sole will.</p>
+
+<p>1828.</p>
+
+
+
+<p class="ptop"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>155]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>ESSAY XII<br />
+<br />
+<span class="vsmlfont">ON THE CHARACTER OF BURKE</span></h2>
+
+
+<p>There is no single speech of Mr. Burke which can
+convey a satisfactory idea of his powers of mind: to
+do him justice, it would be necessary to quote all his
+works; the only specimen of Burke is, <em>all that he
+wrote</em>. With respect to most other speakers, a specimen
+is generally enough, or more than enough.
+When you are acquainted with their manner, and
+see what proficiency they have made in the mechanical
+exercise of their profession, with what facility
+they can borrow a simile, or round a period, how
+dexterously they can argue, and object, and rejoin,
+you are satisfied; there is no other difference in their
+speeches than what arises from the difference of the
+subjects. But this was not the case with Burke.
+He brought his subjects along with him; he drew
+his materials from himself. The only limits which
+circumscribed his variety were the stores of his own
+mind. His stock of ideas did not consist of a few
+meagre facts, meagrely stated, of half-a-dozen commonplaces
+tortured into a thousand different ways;
+but his mine of wealth was a profound understanding,
+inexhaustible as the human heart, and various as the
+sources of human nature. He therefore enriched
+every subject to which he applied himself, and new
+subjects were only the occasions of calling forth fresh
+powers of mind which had not been before exerted.
+It would therefore be in vain to look for the proof of
+his powers in any one of his speeches or writings:
+they all contain some additional proof of power. In
+speaking of Burke, then, I shall speak of the whole
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>156]</a></span>
+compass and circuit of his mind&mdash;not of that small
+part or section of him which I have been able to give:
+to do otherwise would be like the story of the man
+who put the brick in his pocket, thinking to show it
+as the model of a house. I have been able to manage
+pretty well with respect to all my other speakers, and
+curtailed them down without remorse. It was easy
+to reduce them within certain limits, to fix their spirit,
+and condense their variety; by having a certain
+quantity given, you might infer all the rest; it was
+only the same thing over again. But who can bind
+Proteus, or confine the roving flight of genius?</p>
+
+<p>Burke&rsquo;s writings are better than his speeches, and
+indeed his speeches are writings. But he seemed to
+feel himself more at ease, to have a fuller possession
+of his faculties in addressing the public, than in
+addressing the House of Commons. Burke was
+<em>raised</em> into public life; and he seems to have been
+prouder of this new dignity than became so great a
+man. For this reason, most of his speeches have a
+sort of parliamentary preamble to them: he seems
+fond of coquetting with the House of Commons, and
+is perpetually calling the Speaker out to dance a
+minuet with him before he begins. There is also
+something like an attempt to stimulate the superficial
+dulness of his hearers by exciting their surprise, by
+running into extravagance: and he sometimes demeans
+himself by condescending to what may be
+considered as bordering too much upon buffoonery,
+for the amusement of the company. Those lines of
+Milton were admirably applied to him by some one&mdash;&lsquo;The
+elephant to make them sport wreathed his
+proboscis lithe.&rsquo; The truth is, that he was out of his
+place in the House of Commons; he was eminently
+qualified to shine as a man of genius, as the instructor
+of mankind, as the brightest luminary of his age;
+but he had nothing in common with that motley crew
+of knights, citizens, and burgesses. He could not be
+said to be &lsquo;native and endued unto that element.&rsquo; He
+was above it; and never appeared like himself, but
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>157]</a></span>
+when, forgetful of the idle clamours of party, and
+of the little views of little men, he applied to his
+country and the enlightened judgment of mankind.</p>
+
+<p>I am not going to make an idle panegyric on Burke
+(he has no need of it); but I cannot help looking
+upon him as the chief boast and ornament of the
+English House of Commons. What has been said of
+him is, I think, strictly true, that &lsquo;he was the most
+eloquent man of his time: his wisdom was greater
+than his eloquence.&rsquo; The only public man that in
+my opinion can be put in any competition with him,
+is Lord Chatham; and he moved in a sphere so very
+remote, that it is almost impossible to compare them.
+But though it would perhaps be difficult to determine
+which of them excelled most in his particular way,
+there is nothing in the world more easy than to point
+out in what their peculiar excellences consisted.
+They were in every respect the reverse of each other.
+Chatham&rsquo;s eloquence was popular: his wisdom was
+altogether plain and practical. Burke&rsquo;s eloquence
+was that of the poet; of the man of high and
+unbounded fancy: his wisdom was profound and
+contemplative. Chatham&rsquo;s eloquence was calculated
+to make men <em>act</em>: Burke&rsquo;s was calculated to make
+them <em>think</em>. Chatham could have roused the fury
+of a multitude, and wielded their physical energy
+as he pleased: Burke&rsquo;s eloquence carried conviction
+into the mind of the retired and lonely student,
+opened the recesses of the human breast, and lighted
+up the face of nature around him. Chatham supplied
+his hearers with motives to immediate action: Burke
+furnished them with <em>reasons</em> for action which might
+have little effect upon them at the time, but for which
+they would be the wiser and better all their lives
+after. In research, in originality, in variety of knowledge,
+in richness of invention, in depth and comprehension
+of mind, Burke had as much the advantage of
+Lord Chatham as he was excelled by him in plain
+common sense, in strong feeling, in steadiness of purpose,
+in vehemence, in warmth, in enthusiasm, and
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>158]</a></span>
+energy of mind. Burke was the man of genius, of
+fine sense, and subtle reasoning; Chatham was a
+man of clear understanding, of strong sense, and
+violent passions. Burke&rsquo;s mind was satisfied with
+speculation: Chatham&rsquo;s was essentially <em>active</em>; it
+could not rest without an object. The power which
+governed Burke&rsquo;s mind was his Imagination; that
+which gave its <em>impetus</em> to Chatham was Will. The
+one was almost the creature of pure intellect, the
+other of physical temperament.</p>
+
+<p>There are two very different ends which a man of
+genius may propose to himself, either in writing or
+speaking, and which will accordingly give birth to
+very different styles. He can have but one of these
+two objects; either to enrich or strengthen the mind;
+either to furnish us with new ideas, to lead the mind
+into new trains of thought, to which it was before
+unused, and which it was incapable of striking out for
+itself; or else to collect and embody what we already
+knew, to rivet our old impressions more deeply; to
+make what was before plain still plainer, and to give
+to that which was familiar all the effect of novelty.
+In the one case we receive an accession to the stock of
+our ideas; in the other, an additional degree of life
+and energy is infused into them: our thoughts continue
+to flow in the same channels, but their pulse
+is quickened and invigorated. I do not know how to
+distinguish these different styles better than by calling
+them severally the inventive and refined, or the
+impressive and vigorous styles. It is only the subject-matter
+of eloquence, however, which is allowed to be
+remote or obscure. The things themselves may be
+subtle and recondite, but they must be dragged out of
+their obscurity and brought struggling to the light;
+they must be rendered plain and palpable (as far as it
+is in the wit of man to do so), or they are no longer
+eloquence. That which by its natural impenetrability,
+and in spite of every effort, remains dark
+and difficult, which is impervious to every ray, on
+which the imagination can shed no lustre, which can
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>159]</a></span>
+be clothed with no beauty, is not a subject for the
+orator or poet. At the same time it cannot be
+expected that abstract truths or profound observations
+should ever be placed in the same strong and dazzling
+points of view as natural objects and mere matters of
+fact. It is enough if they receive a reflex and borrowed
+lustre, like that which cheers the first dawn of morning,
+where the effect of surprise and novelty gilds
+every object, and the joy of beholding another world
+gradually emerging out of the gloom of night, &lsquo;a
+new creation rescued from his reign,&rsquo; fills the mind
+with a sober rapture. Philosophical eloquence is in
+writing what <i>chiaro-scuro</i> is in painting; he would be
+a fool who should object that the colours in the shaded
+part of a picture were not so bright as those on the
+opposite side; the eye of the connoisseur receives an
+equal delight from both, balancing the want of
+brilliancy and effect with the greater delicacy of
+the tints, and difficulty of the execution. In judging
+of Burke, therefore, we are to consider, first, the
+style of eloquence which he adopted, and, secondly,
+the effects which he produced with it. If he did not
+produce the same effects on vulgar minds as some
+others have done, it was not for want of power,
+but from the turn and direction of his mind.<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> It was
+because his subjects, his ideas, his arguments, were
+less vulgar. The question is not whether he brought
+certain truths equally home to us, but how much
+nearer he brought them than they were before. In
+my opinion, he united the two extremes of refinement
+and strength in a higher degree than any other
+writer whatever.</p>
+
+<p>The subtlety of his mind was undoubtedly that
+which rendered Burke a less popular writer and
+speaker than he otherwise would have been. It
+weakened the impression of his observations upon
+others, but I cannot admit that it weakened the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>160]</a></span>
+observations themselves; that it took anything from
+their real weight or solidity. Coarse minds think all
+that is subtle, futile: that because it is not gross and
+obvious and palpable to the senses, it is therefore
+light and frivolous, and of no importance in the real
+affairs of life; thus making their own confined understandings
+the measure of truth, and supposing that
+whatever they do not distinctly perceive, is nothing.
+Seneca, who was not one of the vulgar, also says, that
+subtle truths are those which have the least substance
+in them, and consequently approach nearest to nonentity.
+But for my own part I cannot help thinking
+that the most important truths must be the most
+refined and subtle; for that very reason, that they
+must comprehend a great number of particulars,
+and instead of referring to any distinct or positive
+fact, must point out the combined effects of an
+extensive chain of causes, operating gradually, remotely,
+and collectively, and therefore imperceptibly.
+General principles are not the less true or important
+because from their nature they elude immediate
+observation; they are like the air, which is not
+the less necessary because we neither see nor feel
+it, or like that secret influence which binds the world
+together, and holds the planets in their orbits. The
+very same persons who are the most forward to laugh
+at all systematic reasoning as idle and impertinent,
+you will the next moment hear exclaiming bitterly
+against the baleful effects of new-fangled systems
+of philosophy, or gravely descanting on the immense
+importance of instilling sound principles of morality
+into the mind. It would not be a bold conjecture,
+but an obvious truism, to say, that all the great
+changes which have been brought about in the mortal
+world, either for the better or worse, have been introduced,
+not by the bare statement of facts, which are
+things already known, and which must always operate
+nearly in the same manner, but by the development
+of certain opinions and abstract principles of reasoning
+on life and manners, or the origin of society and
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>161]</a></span>
+man&rsquo;s nature in general, which being obscure and
+uncertain, vary from time to time, and produce
+corresponding changes in the human mind. They
+are the wholesome dew and rain, or the mildew
+and pestilence that silently destroy. To this principle
+of generalisation all wise lawgivers, and the
+systems of philosophers, owe their influence.</p>
+
+<p>It has always been with me a test of the sense and
+candour of any one belonging to the opposite party,
+whether he allowed Burke to be a great man. Of all
+the persons of this description that I have ever known,
+I never met with above one or two who would make
+this concession; whether it was that party feelings
+ran too high to admit of any real candour, or whether
+it was owing to an essential vulgarity in their habits
+of thinking, they all seemed to be of opinion that he
+was a wild enthusiast, or a hollow sophist, who was to
+be answered by bits of facts, by smart logic, by shrewd
+questions, and idle songs. They looked upon him as
+a man of disordered intellects, because he reasoned in
+a style to which they had not been used, and which
+confounded their dim perceptions. If you said that
+though you differed with him in sentiment, yet you
+thought him an admirable reasoner, and a close observer
+of human nature, you were answered with a
+loud laugh, and some hackneyed quotation. &lsquo;Alas!
+Leviathan was not so tamed!&rsquo; They did not know
+whom they had to contend with. The corner-stone,
+which the builders rejected, became the head-corner,
+though to the Jews a stumbling-block, and to the
+Greeks foolishness; for, indeed, I cannot discover
+that he was much better understood by those of his
+own party, if we may judge from the little affinity
+there is between his mode of reasoning and theirs.
+The simple clue to all his reasonings on politics is, I
+think, as follows. He did not agree with some writers
+that that mode of government is necessarily the best
+which is the cheapest. He saw in the construction of
+society other principles at work, and other capacities
+of fulfilling the desires, and perfecting the nature of
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>162]</a></span>
+man, besides those of securing the equal enjoyment
+of the means of animal life, and doing this at as little
+expense as possible. He thought that the wants and
+happiness of men were not to be provided for, as we
+provide for those of a herd of cattle, merely by
+attending to their physical necessities. He thought
+more nobly of his fellows. He knew that man had
+affections and passions and powers of imagination, as
+well as hunger and thirst, and the sense of heat and
+cold. He took his idea of political society from the
+pattern of private life, wishing, as he himself expresses
+it, to incorporate the domestic charities with the
+orders of the state, and to blend them together. He
+strove to establish an analogy between the compact
+that binds together the community at large, and that
+which binds together the several families that compose
+it. He knew that the rules that form the basis of private
+morality are not founded in reason, that is, in the abstract
+properties of those things which are the subjects
+of them, but in the nature of man, and his capacity
+of being affected by certain things from habit, from
+imagination, and sentiment, as well as from reason.</p>
+
+<p>Thus, the reason why a man ought to be attached to
+his wife and children is not, surely, that they are
+better than others (for in this case every one else
+ought to be of the same opinion), but because he
+must be chiefly interested in those things which are
+nearest to him, and with which he is best acquainted,
+since his understanding cannot reach equally to everything;
+because he must be most attached to those
+objects which he has known the longest, and which
+by their situation have actually affected him the
+most, not those which in themselves are the most
+affecting whether they have ever made any impression
+on him or no; that is, because he is by his nature
+the creature of habit and feeling, and because it is
+reasonable that he should act in conformity to his
+nature. Burke was so far right in saying that it is
+no objection to an institution that it is founded in
+<em>prejudice</em>, but the contrary, if that prejudice is natural
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>163]</a></span>
+and right; that is, if it arises from those circumstances
+which are properly subjects of feeling and association,
+not from any defect or perversion of the understanding
+in those things which fall strictly under its jurisdiction.
+On this profound maxim he took his stand.
+Thus he contended, that the prejudice in favour of
+nobility was natural and proper, and fit to be encouraged
+by the positive institutions of society: not on account
+of the real or personal merit of the individuals, but
+because such an institution has a tendency to enlarge
+and raise the mind, to keep alive the memory of past
+greatness, to connect the different ages of the world
+together, to carry back the imagination over a long
+tract of time, and feed it with the contemplation of
+remote events: because it is natural to think highly
+of that which inspires us with high thoughts, which has
+been connected for many generations with splendour,
+and affluence, and dignity, and power, and privilege.
+He also conceived, that by transferring the respect
+from the person to the thing, and thus rendering it
+steady and permanent, the mind would be habitually
+formed to sentiments of deference, attachment, and
+fealty, to whatever else demanded its respect: that it
+would be led to fix its view on what was elevated and
+lofty, and be weaned from that low and narrow
+jealousy which never willingly or heartily admits of
+any superiority in others, and is glad of every opportunity
+to bring down all excellence to a level with its
+own miserable standard. Nobility did not, therefore,
+exist to the prejudice of the other orders of the state,
+but by, and for them. The inequality of the different
+orders of society did not destroy the unity and
+harmony of the whole. The health and well-being
+of the moral world was to be promoted by the same
+means as the beauty of the natural world; by contrast,
+by change, by light and shade, by variety of parts, by
+order and proportion. To think of reducing all mankind
+to the same insipid level, seemed to him the
+same absurdity as to destroy the inequalities of surface
+in a country, for the benefit of agriculture and
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>164]</a></span>
+commerce. In short, he believed that the interests of
+men in society should be consulted, and their several
+stations and employments assigned, with a view to
+their nature, not as physical, but as moral beings, so
+as to nourish their hopes, to lift their imagination,
+to enliven their fancy, to rouse their activity, to
+strengthen their virtue, and to furnish the greatest
+number of objects of pursuit and means of enjoyment
+to beings constituted as man is, consistently with the
+order and stability of the whole.</p>
+
+<p>The same reasoning might be extended farther. I
+do not say that his arguments are conclusive: but
+they are profound and <em>true</em>, as far as they go. There
+may be disadvantages and abuses necessarily interwoven
+with his scheme, or opposite advantages of
+infinitely greater value, to be derived from another
+order of things and state of society. This, however,
+does not invalidate either the truth or importance of
+Burke&rsquo;s reasoning; since the advantages he points
+out as connected with the mixed form of government
+are really and necessarily inherent in it: since they
+are compatible, in the same degree, with no other;
+since the principle itself on which he rests his argument
+(whatever we may think of the application) is
+of the utmost weight and moment; and since, on
+whichever side the truth lies, it is impossible to make
+a fair decision without having the opposite side of the
+question clearly and fully stated to us. This Burke
+has done in a masterly manner. He presents to you
+one view or face of society. Let him who thinks he
+can, give the reverse side with equal force, beauty,
+and clearness. It is said, I know, that truth is <em>one</em>;
+but to this I cannot subscribe, for it appears to me
+that truth is <em>many</em>. There are as many truths as
+there are things and causes of action and contradictory
+principles at work in society. In making up the
+account of good and evil, indeed, the final result
+must be one way or the other; but the particulars on
+which that result depends are infinite and various.</p>
+
+<p>It will be seen from what I have said, that I am
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>165]</a></span>
+very far from agreeing with those who think that
+Burke was a man without understanding, and a merely
+florid writer. There are two causes which have given
+rise to this calumny; namely, that narrowness of
+mind which leads men to suppose that the truth lies
+entirely on the side of their own opinions, and that
+whatever does not make for them is absurd and irrational;
+secondly, a trick we have of confounding
+reason with judgment, and supposing that it is merely
+the province of the understanding to pronounce
+sentence, and not to give evidence, or argue the case;
+in short, that it is a passive, not an active faculty.
+Thus there are persons who never run into any extravagance,
+because they are so buttressed up with the
+opinions of others on all sides, that they cannot lean
+much to one side or the other; they are so little
+moved with any kind of reasoning, that they remain
+at an equal distance from every extreme, and are
+never very far from the truth, because the slowness
+of their faculties will not suffer them to make much
+progress in error. These are persons of great judgment.
+The scales of the mind are pretty sure to
+remain even, when there is nothing in them. In this
+sense of the word, Burke must be allowed to have
+wanted judgment, by all those who think that he was
+wrong in his conclusions. The accusation of want of
+judgment, in fact, only means that you yourself are
+of a different opinion. But if in arriving at one error
+he discovered a hundred truths, I should consider
+myself a hundred times more indebted to him than if,
+stumbling on that which I consider as the right side
+of the question, he had committed a hundred absurdities
+in striving to establish his point. I speak of
+him now merely as an author, or as far as I and other
+readers are concerned with him; at the same time, I
+should not differ from any one who may be disposed
+to contend that the consequences of his writings as
+instruments of political power have been tremendous,
+fatal, such as no exertion of wit or knowledge or
+genius can ever counteract or atone for.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>166]</a></span>
+Burke also gave a hold to his antagonists by mixing
+up sentiment and imagery with his reasoning; so that
+being unused to such a sight in the region of politics,
+they were deceived, and could not discern the fruit
+from the flowers. Gravity is the cloak of wisdom;
+and those who have nothing else think it an insult to
+affect the one without the other, because it destroys
+the only foundation on which their pretensions are
+built. The easiest part of reason is dulness; the
+generality of the world are therefore concerned in
+discouraging any example of unnecessary brilliancy
+that might tend to show that the two things do not
+always go together. Burke in some measure dissolved
+the spell. It was discovered, that his gold was not
+the less valuable for being wrought into elegant
+shapes, and richly embossed with curious figures;
+that the solidity of a building is not destroyed by
+adding to it beauty and ornament; and that the
+strength of a man&rsquo;s understanding is not always to
+be estimated in exact proportion to his want of
+imagination. His understanding was not the less
+real, because it was not the only faculty he possessed.
+He justified the description of the poet&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem25">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;How charming is divine philosophy!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not harsh and crabbed as dull fools suppose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But musical as is Apollo&rsquo;s lute!&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Those who object to this union of grace and beauty
+with reason, are in fact weak-sighted people, who
+cannot distinguish the noble and majestic form of
+Truth from that of her sister Folly, if they are
+dressed both alike! But there is always a difference
+even in the adventitious ornaments they wear, which
+is sufficient to distinguish them.</p>
+
+<p>Burke was so far from being a gaudy or flowery
+writer, that he was one of the severest writers we
+have. His words are the most like things; his style
+is the most strictly suited to the subject. He unites
+every extreme and every variety of composition; the
+lowest and the meanest words and descriptions with
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>167]</a></span>
+the highest. He exults in the display of power,
+in showing the extent, the force, and intensity of
+his ideas; he is led on by the mere impulse and
+vehemence of his fancy, not by the affectation of
+dazzling his readers by gaudy conceits or pompous
+images. He was completely carried away by his
+subject. He had no other object but to produce the
+strongest impression on his reader, by giving the
+truest, the most characteristic, the fullest, and most
+forcible description of things, trusting to the power
+of his own mind to mould them into grace and
+beauty. He did not produce a splendid effect by
+setting fire to the light vapours that float in the
+regions of fancy, as the chemists make fine colours
+with phosphorus, but by the eagerness of his blows
+struck fire from the flint, and melted the hardest
+substances in the furnace of his imagination. The
+wheels of his imagination did not catch fire from
+the rottenness of the materials, but from the rapidity
+of their motion. One would suppose, to hear people
+talk of Burke, that his style was such as would have
+suited the <i>Lady&rsquo;s Magazine</i>; soft, smooth, showy,
+tender, insipid, full of fine words, without any
+meaning. The essence of the gaudy or glittering
+style consists in producing a momentary effect by
+fine words and images brought together, without
+order or connection. Burke most frequently produced
+an effect by the remoteness and novelty of
+his combinations, by the force of contrast, by the
+striking manner in which the most opposite and
+unpromising materials were harmoniously blended
+together; not by laying his hands on all the fine
+things he could think of, but by bringing together
+those things which he knew would blaze out into
+glorious light by their collision. The florid style
+is a mixture of affectation and commonplace. Burke&rsquo;s
+was an union of untameable vigour and originality.</p>
+
+<p>Burke was not a verbose writer. If he sometimes
+multiplies words, it is not for want of ideas, but
+because there are no words that fully express his
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>168]</a></span>
+ideas, and he tries to do it as well as he can by
+different ones. He had nothing of the <em>set</em> or formal
+style, the measured cadence, and stately phraseology
+of Johnson, and most of our modern writers. This
+style, which is what we understand by the <em>artificial</em>, is
+all in one key. It selects a certain set of words to
+represent all ideas whatever, as the most dignified
+and elegant, and excludes all others as low and
+vulgar. The words are not fitted to the things,
+but the things to the words. Everything is seen
+through a false medium. It is putting a mask on
+the face of nature, which may indeed hide some
+specks and blemishes, but takes away all beauty,
+delicacy, and variety. It destroys all dignity or
+elevation, because nothing can be raised where all
+is on a level, and completely destroys all force,
+expression, truth, and character, by arbitrarily confounding
+the differences of things, and reducing
+everything to the same insipid standard. To suppose
+that this stiff uniformity can add anything to
+real grace or dignity, is like supposing that the
+human body, in order to be perfectly graceful, should
+never deviate from its upright posture. Another
+mischief of this method is, that it confounds all
+ranks in literature. Where there is no room for
+variety, no discrimination, no nicety to be shown
+in matching the idea with its proper word, there
+can be no room for taste or elegance. A man must
+easily learn the art of writing, when every sentence
+is to be cast in the same mould: where he is only
+allowed the use of one word he cannot choose wrong,
+nor will he be in much danger of making himself
+ridiculous by affectation or false glitter, when, whatever
+subject he treats of, he must treat of it in the
+same way. This indeed is to wear golden chains for
+the sake of ornament.</p>
+
+<p>Burke was altogether free from the pedantry which
+I have here endeavoured to expose. His style was as
+original, as expressive, as rich and varied, as it was
+possible; his combinations were as exquisite, as playful,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>169]</a></span>
+as happy, as unexpected, as bold and daring, as
+his fancy. If anything, he ran into the opposite
+extreme of too great an inequality, if truth and
+nature could ever be carried to an extreme.</p>
+
+<p>Those who are best acquainted with the writings
+and speeches of Burke will not think the praise I
+have here bestowed on them exaggerated. Some
+proof will be found of this in the following extracts.
+But the full proof must be sought in his works at
+large, and particularly in the <i>Thoughts on the Discontents</i>;
+in his <i>Reflections on the French Revolution</i>;
+in his <i>Letter to the Duke of Bedford</i>; and in the <i>Regicide
+Peace</i>. The two last of these are perhaps the most
+remarkable of all his writings, from the contrast they
+afford to each other. The one is the most delightful
+exhibition of wild and brilliant fancy that is to be
+found in English prose, but it is too much like a
+beautiful picture painted upon gauze; it wants something
+to support it: the other is without ornament,
+but it has all the solidity, the weight, the gravity of a
+judicial record. It seems to have been written with a
+certain constraint upon himself, and to show those
+who said he could not <em>reason</em>, that his arguments
+might be stripped of their ornaments without losing
+anything of their force. It is certainly, of all his
+works, that in which he has shown most power of
+logical deduction, and the only one in which he
+has made any important use of facts. In general
+he certainly paid little attention to them: they were
+the playthings of his mind. He saw them as he
+pleased, not as they were; with the eye of the
+philosopher or the poet, regarding them only in
+their general principle, or as they might serve to
+decorate his subject. This is the natural consequence
+of much imagination: things that are probable are
+elevated into the rank of realities. To those who can
+reason on the essences of things, or who can invent
+according to nature, the experimental proof is of little
+value. This was the case with Burke. In the present
+instance, however, he seems to have forced his mind
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>170]</a></span>
+into the service of facts; and he succeeded completely.
+His comparison between our connection with France
+or Algiers, and his account of the conduct of the
+war, are as clear, as convincing, as forcible examples
+of this kind of reasoning, as are anywhere to be met
+with. Indeed I do not think there is anything in Fox
+(whose mind was purely historical), or in Chatham
+(who attended to feelings more than facts), that will
+bear a comparison with them.</p>
+
+<p>Burke has been compared to Cicero&mdash;I do not know
+for what reason. Their excellences are as different,
+and indeed as opposite, as they can well be. Burke had
+not the polished elegance, the glossy neatness, the
+artful regularity, the exquisite modulation of Cicero:
+he had a thousand times more richness and originality
+of mind, more strength and pomp of diction.</p>
+
+<p>It has been well observed, that the ancients had no
+word that properly expresses what we mean by the
+word <em>genius</em>. They perhaps had not the thing.
+Their minds appear to have been too exact, too
+retentive, too minute and subtle, too sensible to the
+external differences of things, too passive under their
+impressions, to admit of those bold and rapid combinations,
+those lofty flights of fancy, which, glancing
+from heaven to earth, unite the most opposite extremes,
+and draw the happiest illustrations from
+things the most remote. Their ideas were kept too
+confined and distinct by the material form or vehicle
+in which they were conveyed, to unite cordially
+together, to be melted down in the imagination.
+Their metaphors are taken from things of the same
+class, not from things of different classes; the general
+analogy, not the individual feeling, directs them in
+their choice. Hence, as Dr. Johnson observed, their
+similes are either repetitions of the same idea, or so
+obvious and general as not to lend any additional
+force to it; as when a huntress is compared to Diana,
+or a warrior rushing into battle to a lion rushing on
+his prey. Their <i>forte</i> was exquisite art and perfect
+imitation. Witness their statues and other things of
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>171]</a></span>
+the same kind. But they had not that high and
+enthusiastic fancy which some of our own writers
+have shown. For the proof of this, let any one
+compare Milton and Shakspeare with Homer and
+Sophocles, or Burke with Cicero.</p>
+
+<p>It may be asked whether Burke was a poet. He
+was so only in the general vividness of his fancy, and
+in richness of invention. There may be poetical
+passages in his works, but I certainly think that his
+writings in general are quite distinct from poetry; and
+that for the reason before given, namely, that the
+subject-matter of them is not poetical. The finest
+part of them are illustrations or personifications of
+dry abstract ideas;<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> and the union between the idea
+and the illustration is not of that perfect and pleasing
+kind as to constitute poetry, or indeed to be admissible,
+but for the effect intended to be produced by
+it; that is, by every means in our power to give
+animation and attraction to subjects in themselves
+barren of ornament, but which at the same time are
+pregnant with the most important consequences, and
+in which the understanding and the passions are
+equally interested.</p>
+
+<p>I have heard it remarked by a person, to whose
+opinion I would sooner submit than to a general
+council of critics, that the sound of Burke&rsquo;s prose is
+not musical; that it wants cadence; and that instead
+of being so lavish of his imagery as is generally supposed,
+he seemed to him to be rather parsimonious in
+the use of it, always expanding and making the most
+of his ideas. This may be true if we compare him
+with some of our poets, or perhaps with some of our
+early prose writers, but not if we compare him with
+any of our political writers or parliamentary speakers.
+There are some very fine things of Lord Bolingbroke&rsquo;s
+on the same subjects, but not equal to Burke&rsquo;s. As
+for Junius, he is at the head of his class; but that
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>172]</a></span>
+class is not the highest. He has been said to have
+more dignity than Burke. Yes&mdash;if the stalk of a
+giant is less dignified than the strut of a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">petit-ma&icirc;tre</i>.
+I do not mean to speak disrespectfully of Junius, but
+grandeur is not the character of his composition;
+and if it is not to be found in Burke it is to be found
+nowhere.</p>
+
+<p>1807.</p>
+
+<h3>FOOTNOTES</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a>
+For instance, he produced less effect on the mob that
+compose the English House of Commons, than Chatham or
+Fox, or even Pitt.</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a>
+As in the comparison of the British Constitution to the
+&lsquo;proud keep of Windsor,&rsquo; etc., the most splendid passage in
+his works.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<p class="ptop"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>173]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>ESSAY XIII<br />
+<br />
+<span class="vsmlfont">ON THE CHARACTER OF FOX</span></h2>
+
+
+<p>I shall begin with observing generally, that Mr. Fox
+excelled all his contemporaries in the extent of his
+knowledge, in the clearness and distinctness of his
+views, in quickness of apprehension, in plain practical
+common sense, in the full, strong, and absolute possession
+of his subject. A measure was no sooner
+proposed than he seemed to have an instantaneous
+and intuitive perception of its various bearings and
+consequences; of the manner in which it would
+operate on the different classes of society, on commerce
+or agriculture, on our domestic or foreign
+policy; of the difficulties attending its execution; in
+a word, of all its practical results, and the comparative
+advantages to be gained either by adopting or
+rejecting it. He was intimately acquainted with the
+interests of the different parts of the community,
+with the minute and complicated details of political
+economy, with our external relations, with the views,
+the resources, and the maxims of other states. He
+was master of all those facts and circumstances which
+it was necessary to know in order to judge fairly and
+determine wisely; and he knew them not loosely or
+lightly, but in number, weight, and measure. He
+had also stored his memory by reading and general
+study, and improved his understanding by the lamp
+of history. He was well acquainted with the opinions
+and sentiments of the best authors, with the maxims
+of the most profound politicians, with the causes of
+the rise and fall of states, with the general passions
+of men, with the characters of different nations, and
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>174]</a></span>
+the laws and constitution of his own country. He
+was a man of large, capacious, powerful, and highly
+cultivated intellect. No man could know more than
+he knew; no man&rsquo;s knowledge could be more sound,
+more plain and useful; no man&rsquo;s knowledge could lie
+in more connected and tangible masses; no man
+could be more perfectly master of his ideas, could
+reason upon them more closely, or decide upon them
+more impartially. His mind was full, even to overflowing.
+He was so habitually conversant with the
+most intricate and comprehensive trains of thought,
+or such was the natural vigour and exuberance of his
+mind, that he seemed to recall them without any
+effort. His ideas quarrelled for utterance. So far
+from ever being at a loss for them, he was obliged
+rather to repress and rein them in, lest they should
+overwhelm and confound, instead of informing the
+understandings of his hearers.</p>
+
+<p>If to this we add the ardour and natural impetuosity
+of his mind, his quick sensibility, his eagerness in the
+defence of truth, and his impatience of everything
+that looked like trick or artifice or affectation, we
+shall be able in some measure to account for the
+character of his eloquence. His thoughts came
+crowding in too fast for the slow and mechanical
+process of speech. What he saw in an instant, he
+could only express imperfectly, word by word, and
+sentence after sentence. He would, if he could,
+&lsquo;have bared his swelling heart,&rsquo; and laid open at once
+the rich treasures of knowledge with which his bosom
+was fraught. It is no wonder that this difference
+between the rapidity of his feelings, and the formal
+round-about method of communicating them, should
+produce some disorder in his frame; that the throng
+of his ideas should try to overleap the narrow boundaries
+which confined them, and tumultuously break
+down their prison-doors, instead of waiting to be let
+out one by one, and following patiently at due intervals
+and with mock dignity, like poor dependents, in the
+train of words; that he should express himself in
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>175]</a></span>
+hurried sentences, in involuntary exclamations, by
+vehement gestures, by sudden starts and bursts of
+passion. Everything showed the agitation of his
+mind. His tongue faltered, his voice became almost
+suffocated, and his face was bathed in tears. He was
+lost in the magnitude of his subject. He reeled and
+staggered under the load of feeling which oppressed
+him. He rolled like the sea beaten by a tempest.
+Whoever, having the feelings of a man, compared
+him at these times with his boasted rival&mdash;his stiff,
+straight, upright figure, his gradual contortions,
+turning round as if moved by a pivot, his solemn
+pauses, his deep tones, &lsquo;whose sound reverbed their
+own hollowness,&rsquo; must have said, This is a man; that
+is an automaton. If Fox had needed grace, he would
+have had it; but it was not the character of his
+mind, nor would it have suited with the style of his
+eloquence. It was Pitt&rsquo;s object to smooth over the
+abruptness and intricacies of his argument by the
+gracefulness of his manner, and to fix the attention
+of his hearers on the pomp and sound of his words.
+Lord Chatham, again, strove to <em>command</em> others;
+he did not try to convince them, but to overpower
+their understandings by the greater strength and vehemence
+of his own; to awe them by a sense of personal
+superiority: and he therefore was obliged to assume
+a lofty and dignified manner. It was to him they
+bowed, not to truth; and whatever related to <em>himself</em>,
+must therefore have a tendency to inspire respect and
+admiration. Indeed, he would never have attempted
+to gain that ascendant over men&rsquo;s minds that he did,
+if either his mind or body had been different from
+what they were; if his temper had not urged him to
+control and command others, or if his personal
+advantages had not enabled him to secure that kind
+of authority which he coveted. But it would have
+been ridiculous in Fox to have affected either the
+smooth plausibility, the stately gravity of the one,
+or the proud domineering, imposing dignity of the
+other; or even if he could have succeeded, it would
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>176]</a></span>
+only have injured the effect of his speeches.<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> What
+he had to rely on was the strength, the solidity of his
+ideas, his complete and thorough knowledge of his
+subject. It was his business therefore to fix the
+attention of his hearers, not on himself, but on his
+subject, to rivet it there, to hurry it on from words
+to things:&mdash;the only circumstance of which they
+required to be convinced with respect to himself, was
+the sincerity of his opinions; and this would be best
+done by the earnestness of his manner, by giving a
+loose to his feelings, and by showing the most perfect
+forgetfulness of himself, and of what others thought
+of him. The moment a man shows you either by
+affected words or looks or gestures, that he is thinking
+of himself, and you, that he is trying either to please
+or terrify you into compliance, there is an end at
+once to that kind of eloquence which owes its effect
+to the force of truth, and to your confidence in the
+sincerity of the speaker. It was, however, to the
+confidence inspired by the earnestness and simplicity
+of his manner, that Mr. Fox was indebted for more
+than half the effect of his speeches. Some others
+might possess nearly as much information, as exact
+a knowledge of the situation and interests of the
+country; but they wanted that zeal, that animation,
+that enthusiasm, that deep sense of the importance
+of the subject, which removes all doubt or suspicion
+from the minds of the hearers, and communicates its
+own warmth to every breast. We may convince by
+argument alone; but it is by the interest we discover
+in the success of our reasonings, that we persuade
+others to feel and act with us. There are two
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>177]</a></span>
+circumstances which Fox&rsquo;s speeches and Lord Chatham&rsquo;s
+had in common: they are alike distinguished by a
+kind of plain downright common sense, and by the
+vehemence of their manner. But still there is a great
+difference between them, in both these respects. Fox
+in his opinions was governed by facts&mdash;Chatham was
+more influenced by the feelings of others respecting
+those facts. Fox endeavoured to find out what the
+consequences of any measure would be; Chatham
+attended more to what people would think of it. Fox
+appealed to the practical reason of mankind; Chatham
+to popular prejudice. The one repelled the encroachments
+of power by supplying his hearers with arguments
+against it; the other by rousing their passions
+and arming their resentment against those who would
+rob them of their birthright. Their vehemence and
+impetuosity arose also from very different feelings.
+In Chatham it was pride, passion, self-will, impatience
+of control, a determination to have his own way, to
+carry everything before him; in Fox it was pure, good
+nature, a sincere love of truth, an ardent attachment
+to what he conceived to be right; all anxious concern
+for the welfare and liberties of mankind. Or if we
+suppose that ambition had taken a strong hold of both
+their minds, yet their ambition was of a very different
+kind: in the one it was the love of power, in the
+other it was the love of fame. Nothing can be more
+opposite than these two principles, both in their
+origin and tendency. The one originates in a selfish,
+haughty, domineering spirit; the other in a social
+and generous sensibility, desirous of the love and
+esteem of others, and anxiously bent upon gaining
+merited applause. The one grasps at immediate
+power by any means within its reach; the other, if it
+does not square its actions by the rules of virtue, at
+least refers them to a standard which comes the
+nearest to it&mdash;the disinterested applause of our
+country, and the enlightened judgment of posterity.
+The love of fame is consistent with the steadiest
+attachment to principle, and indeed strengthens and
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>178]</a></span>
+supports it; whereas the love of power, where this is
+the ruling passion, requires the sacrifice of principle,
+at every turn, and is inconsistent even with the
+shadow of it. I do not mean to say that Fox had no
+love of power, or Chatham no love of fame (this would
+be reversing all we know of human nature), but that
+the one principle predominated in the one, and the
+other in the other. My reader will do me great
+injustice if he supposes that in attempting to describe
+the characters of different speakers by contrasting
+their general qualities, I mean anything beyond the
+<em>more</em> or <em>less</em>: but it is necessary to describe those
+qualities simply and in the abstract, in order to make
+the distinction intelligible. Chatham resented any
+attack made upon the cause of liberty, of which he
+was the avowed champion, as an indignity offered to
+himself. Fox felt it as a stain upon the honour of his
+country, and as an injury to the rights of his fellow-citizens.
+The one was swayed by his own passions
+and purposes, with very little regard to the consequences;
+the sensibility of the other was roused,
+and his passions kindled into a generous flame, by a
+real interest in whatever related to the welfare of
+mankind, and by an intense and earnest contemplation
+of the consequences of the measures he opposed. It
+was this union of the zeal of the patriot with the
+enlightened knowledge of the statesman, that gave to
+the eloquence of Fox its more than mortal energy;
+that warmed, expanded, penetrated every bosom. He
+relied on the force of truth and nature alone; the
+refinements of philosophy, the pomp and pageantry
+of the imagination were forgotten, or seemed light
+and frivolous; the fate of nations, the welfare of
+millions, hung suspended as he spoke; a torrent
+of manly eloquence poured from his heart, bore
+down everything in its course, and surprised into a
+momentary sense of human feeling the breathing
+corpses, the wire-moved puppets, the stuffed figures,
+the flexible machinery, the &lsquo;deaf and dumb things&rsquo;
+of a court.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>179]</a></span>
+I find (I do not know how the reader feels) that it
+is difficult to write a character of Fox without running
+into insipidity or extravagance. And the reason of
+this is, there are no splendid contrasts, no striking
+irregularities, no curious distinctions to work upon;
+no &lsquo;jutting frieze, buttress, nor coigne of &rsquo;vantage,&rsquo;
+for the imagination to take hold of. It was a plain
+marble slab, inscribed in plain legible characters,
+without either hieroglyphics or carving. There was
+the same directness and manly simplicity in everything
+that he did. The whole of his character may
+indeed be summed up in two words&mdash;strength and
+simplicity. Fox was in the class of common men,
+but he was the first in that class. Though it is easy
+to describe the differences of things, nothing is more
+difficult than to describe their degrees or quantities.
+In what I am going to say, I hope I shall not be
+suspected of a design to under-rate his powers of
+mind, when in fact I am only trying to ascertain
+their nature and direction. The degree and extent
+to which he possessed them can only be known by
+reading, or indeed by having heard his speeches.</p>
+
+<p>His mind, as I have already said, was, I conceive,
+purely <em>historical</em>; and having said this, I have I
+believe said all. But perhaps it will be necessary to
+explain a little farther what I mean. I mean then,
+that his memory was in an extraordinary degree
+tenacious of facts; that they were crowded together
+in his mind without the least perplexity or confusion;
+that there was no chain of consequences too vast for
+his powers of comprehension; that the different parts
+and ramifications of his subject were never so involved
+and intricate but that they were easily disentangled
+in the clear prism of his understanding.
+The basis of his wisdom was experience: he not only
+knew what had happened, but by an exact knowledge
+of the real state of things, he could always tell what
+in the common course of events would happen in
+future. The force of his mind was exerted on facts:
+as long as he could lean directly upon these, as long
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>180]</a></span>
+as he had the actual objects to refer to, to steady
+himself by, he could analyse, he could combine, he
+could compare and reason upon them, with the
+utmost exactness; but he could not reason <em>out of</em>
+them. He was what is understood by a <em>matter-of-fact</em>
+reasoner. He was better acquainted with the concrete
+masses of things, their substantial forms and
+practical connections, than with their abstract nature
+or general definitions. He was a man of extensive
+information, of sound knowledge, and clear understanding,
+rather than the acute observer or profound
+thinker. He was the man of business, the accomplished
+statesman, rather than the philosopher. His
+reasonings were, generally speaking, calculations of
+certain positive results, which, the <em>data</em> being given,
+must follow as matters of course, rather than unexpected
+and remote truths drawn from a deep
+insight into human nature, and the subtle application
+of general principles to particular cases. They consisted
+chiefly in the detail and combination of a vast
+number of items in an account, worked by the known
+rules of political arithmetic; not in the discovery of
+bold, comprehensive, and original theorems in the
+science. They were rather acts of memory, of continued
+attention, of a power of bringing all his ideas
+to bear at once upon a single point, than of reason
+or invention. He was the attentive observer who
+watches the various effects and successive movements
+of a machine already constructed, and can tell how to
+manage it while it goes on as it has always done; but
+who knows little or nothing of the principles on
+which it is constructed, nor how to set it right, if it
+becomes disordered, except by the most common and
+obvious expedients. Burke was to Fox what the
+geometrician is to the mechanic. Much has been
+said of the &lsquo;prophetic mind&rsquo; of Mr. Fox. The same
+epithet has been applied to Mr. Burke, till it has
+become proverbial. It has, I think, been applied
+without much reason to either. Fox wanted the
+scientific part. Burke wanted the practical. Fox
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>181]</a></span>
+had too little imagination, Burke had too much:
+that is, he was careless of facts, and was led away by
+his passions to look at one side of a question only.
+He had not that fine sensibility to outward impressions,
+that nice <em>tact</em> of circumstances, which is necessary
+to the consummate politician. Indeed, his
+wisdom was more that of the legislator than of the
+active statesman. They both tried their strength in
+the Ulysses&rsquo; bow of politicians, the French Revolution:
+and they were both foiled. Fox indeed foretold
+the success of the French in combating with
+foreign powers. But this was no more than what
+every friend of the liberty of France foresaw or foretold
+as well as he. All those on the same side of the
+question were inspired with the same sagacity on the
+subject. Burke, on the other hand, seems to have
+been beforehand with the public in foreboding the
+internal disorders that would attend the Revolution,
+and its ultimate failure; but then it is at least a
+question whether he did not make good his own
+predictions: and certainly he saw into the causes
+and connection of events much more clearly after
+they had happened than before. He was however
+undoubtedly a profound commentator on that apocalyptical
+chapter in the history of human nature,
+which I do not think Fox was. Whether led to it by
+the events or not, he saw thoroughly into the principles
+that operated to produce them; and he pointed
+them out to others in a manner which could not be
+mistaken. I can conceive of Burke, as the genius of
+the storm, perched over Paris, the centre and focus
+of anarchy (so he would have us believe), hovering
+&lsquo;with mighty wings outspread over the abyss, and
+rendering it pregnant,&rsquo; watching the passions of men
+gradually unfolding themselves in new situations,
+penetrating those hidden motives which hurried them
+from one extreme into another, arranging and analysing
+the principles that alternately pervaded the
+vast chaotic mass, and extracting the elements of
+order and the cement of social life from the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>182]</a></span>
+decomposition of all society; while Charles Fox in the
+meantime dogged the heels of the allies (all the
+while calling out to them to stop) with his sutler&rsquo;s
+bag, his muster roll, and army estimates at his back.
+He said, You have only fifty thousand troops, the
+enemy have a hundred thousand: this place is dismantled,
+it can make no resistance: your troops
+were beaten last year, they must therefore be disheartened
+this. This is excellent sense and sound
+reasoning, but I do not see what it has to do with
+philosophy. But why was it necessary that Fox
+should be a philosopher? Why, in the first place,
+Burke was a philosopher, and Fox, to keep up with
+him, must be so too. In the second place, it was
+necessary in order that his indiscreet admirers, who
+have no idea of greatness but as it consists in certain
+names and pompous titles, might be able to talk big
+about their patron. It is a bad compliment we pay
+to our idol when we endeavour to make him out
+something different from himself; it shows that we
+are not satisfied with what he is. I have heard it said
+that he had as much imagination as Burke. To this
+extravagant assertion I shall make what I conceive
+to be a very cautious and moderate answer: that
+Burke was as superior to Fox in this respect as Fox
+perhaps was to the first person you would meet in the
+street. There is, in fact, hardly an instance of imagination
+to be met with in any of his speeches; what
+there is, is of the rhetorical kind. I may, however,
+be wrong. He might excel as much in profound
+thought, and richness of fancy, as he did in other
+things; though I cannot perceive it. However, when
+any one publishes a book called The Beauties of Fox,
+containing the original reflections, brilliant passages,
+lofty metaphors, etc., to be found in his speeches,
+without the detail or connection, I shall be very ready
+to give the point up.</p>
+
+<p>In logic Fox was inferior to Pitt&mdash;indeed, in all
+the formalities of eloquence, in which the latter
+excelled as much as he was deficient in the soul of
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>183]</a></span>
+substance. When I say that Pitt was superior to
+Fox in logic, I mean that he excelled him in the
+formal division of the subject, in always keeping it in
+view, as far as he chose; in being able to detect any
+deviation from it in others; in the management of
+his general topics; in being aware of the mood and
+figure in which the argument must move, with all its
+nonessentials, dilemmas, and alternatives; in never
+committing himself, nor ever suffering his antagonist
+to occupy an inch of the plainest ground, but under
+cover of a syllogism. He had more of &lsquo;the dazzling
+fence of argument,&rsquo; as it has been called. He was,
+in short, better at his weapon. But then, unfortunately,
+it was only a dagger of lath that the wind
+could turn aside; whereas Fox wore a good trusty
+blade, of solid metal, and real execution.</p>
+
+<p>I shall not trouble myself to inquire whether Fox
+was a man of strict virtue and principle; or in other
+words, how far he was one of those who screw themselves
+up to a certain pitch of ideal perfection, who,
+as it were, set themselves in the stocks of morality,
+and make mouths at their own situation. He was
+not one of that tribe, and shall not be tried by their
+self-denying ordinances. But he was endowed with
+one of the most excellent natures that ever fell to the
+lot of any of God&rsquo;s creatures. It has been said, that
+&lsquo;an honest man&rsquo;s the noblest work of God.&rsquo; There is
+indeed a purity, a rectitude, an integrity of heart, a
+freedom from every selfish bias, and sinister motive,
+a manly simplicity and noble disinterestedness of
+feeling, which is in my opinion to be preferred before
+every other gift of nature or art. There is a greatness
+of soul that is superior to all the brilliancy of
+the understanding. This strength of moral character,
+which is not only a more valuable but a rarer quality
+than strength of understanding (as we are oftener led
+astray by the narrowness of our feelings, than want of
+knowledge), Fox possessed in the highest degree.
+He was superior to every kind of jealousy, of suspicion,
+of malevolence; to every narrow and sordid
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>184]</a></span>
+motive. He was perfectly above every species of
+duplicity, of low art and cunning. He judged of
+everything in the downright sincerity of his nature,
+without being able to impose upon himself by any
+hollow disguise, or to lend his support to anything
+unfair or dishonourable. He had an innate love of
+truth, of justice, of probity, of whatever was generous
+or liberal. Neither his education, nor his connections,
+nor his situation in life, nor the low intrigues
+and virulence of party, could ever alter the simplicity
+of his taste, nor the candid openness of his nature.
+There was an elastic force about his heart, a freshness
+of social feeling, a warm glowing humanity, which
+remained unimpaired to the last. He was by nature
+a gentleman. By this I mean that he felt a certain
+deference and respect for the person of every man;
+he had an unaffected frankness and benignity in his
+behaviour to others, the utmost liberality in judging
+of their conduct and motives. A refined humanity
+constitutes the character of a gentleman. He was
+the true friend of his country, as far as it is possible
+for a statesman to be so. But his love of his country
+did not consist in his hatred of the rest of mankind.
+I shall conclude this account by repeating what Burke
+said of him at a time when his testimony was of the
+most value. &lsquo;To his great and masterly understanding
+he joined the utmost possible degree of
+moderation: he was of the most artless, candid,
+open, and benevolent disposition; disinterested in
+the extreme; of a temper mild and placable, even
+to a fault; and without one drop of gall in his
+constitution.&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p>1807.</p>
+
+<h3>FOOTNOTE</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a>
+There is an admirable, judicious, and truly useful remark
+in the preface to Spenser (not by Dr. Johnson, for he left
+Spenser out of his poets, but by <em>one</em> Upton), that the question
+was not whether a better poem might not have been written
+on a different plan, but whether Spenser would have written
+a better one on a different plan. I wish to apply this to Fox&rsquo;s
+<em>ungainly</em> manner. I do not mean to say, that his manner
+was the best possible (for that would be to say that he was the
+greatest man conceivable), but that it was the best for him.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="ptop"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>185]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>ESSAY XIV<br />
+<br />
+<span class="vsmlfont">ON THE CHARACTER OF MR. PITT</span></h2>
+
+
+<p>The character of Mr. Pitt was, perhaps, one of the
+most singular that ever existed. With few talents,
+and fewer virtues, he acquired and preserved in one
+of the most trying situations, and in spite of all opposition,
+the highest reputation for the possession of
+every moral excellence, and as having carried the
+attainments of eloquence and wisdom as far as human
+abilities could go. This he did (strange as it appears)
+by a negation (together with the common virtues) of
+the common vices of human nature, and by the complete
+negation of every other talent that might interfere
+with the only one which he possessed in a supreme
+degree, and which indeed may be made to include the
+appearance of all others&mdash;an artful use of words, and
+a certain dexterity of logical arrangement. In these
+alone his power consisted; and the defect of all other
+qualities which usually constitute greatness, contributed
+to the more complete success of these. Having
+no strong feelings, no distinct perceptions, his mind
+having no link as it were, to connect it with the world
+of external nature, every subject presented to him
+nothing more than a <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">tabula rasa</i>, on which he was at
+liberty to lay whatever colouring of language he
+pleased; having no general principles, no comprehensive
+views of things, no moral habits of thinking, no
+system of action, there was nothing to hinder him
+from pursuing any particular purpose, by any means
+that offered; having never any plan, he could not be
+convicted of inconsistency, and his own pride and obstinacy
+were the only rules of his conduct. Having
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>186]</a></span>
+no insight into human nature, no sympathy with the
+passions of men, or apprehension of their real designs,
+he seemed perfectly insensible to the consequences of
+things, and would believe nothing till it actually
+happened. The fog and haze in which he saw everything
+communicated itself to others; and the total
+indistinctness and uncertainty of his own ideas tended
+to confound the perceptions of his hearers more
+effectually, than the most ingenious misrepresentation
+could have done. Indeed, in defending his conduct
+he never seemed to consider himself as at all responsible
+for the success of his measures, or to suppose
+that future events were in our own power; but that
+as the best-laid schemes might fail, and there was no
+providing against all possible contingencies, this was
+a sufficient excuse for our plunging at once into any
+dangerous or absurd enterprise, without the least
+regard to consequences. His reserved logic confined
+itself solely to the <em>possible</em> and the <em>impossible</em>; and he
+appeared to regard the <em>probable</em> and <em>improbable</em>, the
+only foundation of moral prudence or political wisdom,
+as beneath the notice of a profound statesman; as if
+the pride of the human intellect were concerned in
+never entrusting itself with subjects, where it may
+be compelled to acknowledge its weakness.<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> From his
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>187]</a></span>
+manner of reasoning, he seemed not to have believed
+that the truth of his statements depended on the
+reality of the facts, but that the things depended on
+the order in which he arranged them in words: you
+would not suppose him to be agitating a serious
+question which had real grounds to go upon, but to
+be declaiming upon an imaginary thesis, proposed as
+an exercise in the schools. He never set himself to
+examine the force of the objections that were brought
+against his measures, or attempted to establish these
+upon clear, solid grounds of his own; but constantly
+contented himself with first gravely stating the
+logical form, or dilemma, to which the question
+reduced itself, and then, after having declared his
+opinion, proceeded to amuse his hearers by a series
+of rhetorical commonplaces, connected together in
+grave, sonorous, and elaborately, constructed periods,
+without ever showing their real application to the
+subject in dispute. Thus, if any member of the
+Opposition disapproved of any measure, and enforced
+his objections by pointing out the many evils with
+which it was fraught, or the difficulties attending its
+execution, his only answer was, &lsquo;That it was true
+there might be inconveniences attending the measure
+proposed, but we were to remember, that every expedient
+that could be devised might be said to be
+nothing more than a choice of difficulties, and that
+all that human prudence could do was to consider on
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>188]</a></span>
+which side the advantages lay; that for his part, he
+conceived that the present measure was attended with
+more advantages and fewer disadvantages than any
+other that could be adopted; that if we were diverted
+from our object by every appearance of difficulty, the
+wheels of government would be clogged by endless
+delays and imaginary grievances; that most of the
+objections made to the measure appeared to him to
+be trivial, others of them unfounded and improbable;
+or that if a scheme free from all these objections could
+be proposed, it might after all prove inefficient; while,
+in the meantime, a material object remained unprovided
+for, or the opportunity of action was lost.&rsquo; This
+mode of reasoning is admirably described by Hobbes,
+in speaking of the writings of some of the Schoolmen,
+of whom he says, that &lsquo;They had learned the trick of
+imposing what they list upon their readers, and declining
+the force of true reason by verbal forks: that is,
+distinctions which signify nothing, but serve only to
+astonish the multitude of ignorant men.&rsquo; That what
+I have here stated comprehends the whole force of his
+mind, which consisted solely in this evasive dexterity
+and perplexing formality, assisted by a copiousness
+of words and commonplace topics, will, I think, be
+evident in any one who carefully looks over his
+speeches, undazzled by the reputation or personal
+influence of the speaker. It will be in vain to look in
+them for any of the common proofs of human genius
+or wisdom. He has not left behind him a single
+memorable saying&mdash;not one profound maxim&mdash;one
+solid observation&mdash;one forcible description&mdash;one
+beautiful thought&mdash;one humorous picture&mdash;one affecting
+sentiment.<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> He has made no addition whatever
+to the stock of human knowledge. He did not possess
+any one of those faculties which contribute to the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>189]</a></span>
+instruction and delight of mankind&mdash;depth of understanding,
+imagination, sensibility, wit, vivacity, clear
+and solid judgment. But it may be asked, If these
+qualities are not to be found in him, where are we to
+look for them? And I may be required to point out
+instances of them. I shall answer, then, that he had
+none of the profound legislative wisdom, piercing
+sagacity, or rich, impetuous, high-wrought imagination
+of Burke; the manly eloquence, strong sense,
+exact knowledge, vehemence, and natural simplicity
+of Fox: the ease, brilliancy, and acuteness of Sheridan.
+It is not merely that he had not all these qualities
+in the degree that they were severally possessed
+by his rivals, but he had not any of them in any striking
+degree. His reasoning is a technical arrangement
+of unmeaning commonplaces; his eloquence merely
+rhetorical; his style monotonous and artificial. If he
+could pretend to any one excellence in an eminent
+degree, it was to taste in composition. There is
+certainly nothing low, nothing puerile, nothing far-fetched
+or abrupt in his speeches; there is a kind of
+faultless regularity pervading them throughout; but
+in the confined, mechanical, passive mode of eloquence
+which he adopted, it seemed rather more difficult to
+commit errors than to avoid them. A man who is
+determined never to move out of the beaten road,
+cannot lose his way. However, habit, joined to the
+peculiar mechanical memory which he possessed,
+carried this correctness to a degree which, in an
+extemporaneous speaker, was almost miraculous; he
+perhaps hardly ever uttered a sentence that was not
+perfectly regular and connected. In this respect he
+not only had the advantage over his own contemporaries,
+but perhaps no one that ever lived equalled
+him in this singular faculty. But for this, he would
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>190]</a></span>
+always have passed for a common man; and to this
+the constant sameness, and, if I may so say, vulgarity
+of his ideas, must have contributed not a little, as
+there was nothing to distract his mind from this one
+object of his unintermitted attention; and as even
+in his choice of words he never aimed at anything
+more than a certain general propriety, and stately
+uniformity of style. His talents were exactly fitted
+for the situation in which he was placed; where it
+was his business, not to overcome others, but to avoid
+being overcome. He was able to baffle opposition, not
+from strength or firmness, but from the evasive
+ambiguity and impalpable nature of his resistance,
+which gave no hold to the rude grasp of his
+opponents: no force could bind the loose phantom,
+and his mind (though &lsquo;not matchless, and his pride
+humbled by such rebuke&rsquo;), soon rose from defeat
+unhurt,</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem25">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;And in its liquid texture mortal wound<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Receiv&rsquo;d no more than can the fluid air.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a><br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>1806.</p>
+
+<h3>FOOTNOTES</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a>
+One instance may serve as an example for all the rest:&mdash;When
+Mr. Fox last summer (1805) predicted the failure of
+the new confederacy against France, from a consideration of
+the circumstances and relative situation of both parties, that
+is, from an exact knowledge of the actual state of things, Mr.
+Pitt contented himself with answering&mdash;and, as in the blindness
+of his infatuation, he seemed to think quite satisfactorily&mdash;&lsquo;That
+he could not assent to the honourable gentleman&rsquo;s
+reasoning, for that it went to this, that we were never to
+attempt to mend the situation of our affairs, because in so
+doing we might possibly make them worse.&rsquo; No; it was not
+on account of this abstract possibility in human affairs, or
+because we were not absolutely sure of succeeding (for that
+any child might know), but because it was in the highest
+degree probable, or <em>morally</em> certain, that the scheme would
+fail, and leave us in a worse situation than we were before,
+that Mr. Fox disapproved of the attempt. There is in this a
+degree of weakness and imbecility, a defect of understanding
+bordering on idiotism, a fundamental ignorance of the first
+principles of human reason and prudence, that in a great
+minister is utterly astonishing, and almost incredible.
+Nothing could ever drive him out of his dull forms, and
+naked generalities; which, as they are susceptible neither of
+degree nor variation, are therefore equally applicable to every
+emergency that can happen: and in the most critical aspect
+of affairs, he saw nothing but the same flimsy web of remote
+possibilities and metaphysical uncertainty. In his mind the
+wholesome pulp of practical wisdom and salutary advice was
+immediately converted into the dry chaff and husks of a
+miserable logic.</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a>
+I do remember one passage which has some meaning in
+it. At the time of the Regency Bill, speaking of the proposal
+to take the king&rsquo;s servants from him, he says, &lsquo;What must
+that great personage feel when he waked from the trance of
+his faculties, and asked for his attendants, if he were told
+that his subjects had taken advantage of his momentary
+absence of mind, and stripped him of the symbols of his
+personal elevation.&rsquo; There is some grandeur in this. His
+admirers should have it inscribed in letters of gold; for they
+will not find another instance of the same kind.</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a>
+I will only add, that it is the property of true genius to
+force the admiration even of enemies. No one was ever hated
+or envied for his powers of mind, if others were convinced of
+their real excellence. The jealousy and uneasiness produced
+in the mind by the display of superior talents almost always
+arises from a suspicion that there is some trick or deception
+in the case, and that we are imposed on by an appearance of
+what is not really there. True warmth and vigour communicate
+warmth and vigour; and we are no longer inclined to
+dispute the inspiration of the oracle, when we feel the &lsquo;<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">presens
+Divus</i>&rsquo; in our own bosoms. But when, without gaining any
+new light or heat, we only find our ideas thrown into perplexity
+and confusion by an art that we cannot comprehend,
+this is a kind of superiority which must always be painful,
+and can be cordially admitted. For this reason the
+extraordinary talents of Mr. Pitt were always viewed, except
+by those of his own party, with a sort of jealousy, and <em>grudgingly</em>
+acknowledged; while those of his rivals were admitted
+by all parties in the most unreserved manner, and carried by
+acclamation.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="ptop"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>191]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>ESSAY XV<br />
+<br />
+<span class="vsmlfont">ON THE CHARACTER OF LORD CHATHAM</span></h2>
+
+
+<p>Lord Chatham&rsquo;s genius burnt brightest at the last.
+The spark of liberty, which had lain concealed and
+dormant, buried under the dirt and rubbish of state
+intrigue and vulgar faction, now met with congenial
+matter, and kindled up &lsquo;a flame of sacred vehemence&rsquo;
+in his breast. It burst forth with a fury and a
+splendour that might have awed the world, and made
+kings tremble. He spoke as a man should speak,
+because he felt as a man should feel, in such circumstances.
+He came forward as the advocate of liberty,
+as the defender of the rights of his fellow-citizens, as
+the enemy of tyranny, as the friend of his country,
+and of mankind. He did not stand up to make a
+vain display of his talents, but to discharge a duty,
+to maintain that cause which lay nearest to his
+heart, to preserve the ark of the British constitution
+from every sacrilegious touch, as the high-priest of
+his calling, with a pious zeal. The feelings and the
+rights of Englishmen were enshrined in his heart;
+and with their united force braced every nerve, possessed
+every faculty, and communicated warmth and
+vital energy to every part of his being. The whole
+man moved under this impulse. He felt the cause of
+liberty as his own. He resented every injury done to
+her as an injury to himself, and every attempt to defend
+it as an insult upon his understanding. He did not
+stay to dispute about words, about nice distinctions,
+about trifling forms. Be laughed at the little attempts
+of little retailers of logic to entangle him in senseless
+argument. He did not come there as to a debating club,
+or law court, to start questions and hunt them down;
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>192]</a></span>
+to wind and unwind the web of sophistry; to pick out
+the threads, and untie every knot with scrupulous
+exactness; to bandy logic with every pretender to a
+paradox; to examine, to sift evidence; to dissect a
+doubt and halve a scruple; to weigh folly and knavery
+in scales together, and see on which side the balance
+preponderated; to prove that liberty, truth, virtue,
+and justice were good things, or that slavery and corruption
+were bad things. He did not try to prove
+those truths which did not require any proof, but to
+make others feel them with the same force that he
+did; and to tear off the flimsy disguises with which the
+sycophants of power attempted to cover them. The
+business of an orator is not to convince, but persuade;
+not to inform, but to rouse the mind; to build upon
+the habitual prejudices of mankind (for reason of itself
+will do nothing), and to add feeling to prejudice, and
+action to feeling. There is nothing new or curious or
+profound in Lord Chatham&rsquo;s speeches. All is obvious
+and common; there is nothing but what we already
+knew, or might have found out for ourselves. We
+see nothing but the familiar everyday face of nature.
+We are always in broad daylight. But then there is
+the same difference between our own conceptions of
+things and his representation of them, as there is
+between the same objects seen on a dull cloudy day
+or in the blaze of sunshine. His common sense has
+the effect of inspiration. He electrifies his hearers,
+not by the novelty of his ideas, but by their force and
+intensity. He has the same ideas as other men, but
+he has them in a thousand times greater clearness and
+strength and vividness. Perhaps there is no man so
+poorly furnished with thoughts and feelings but that
+if he could recollect all that he knew, and had all his
+ideas at perfect command, he would be able to confound
+the puny arts of the most dexterous sophist that
+pretended to make a dupe of his understanding. But
+in the mind of Chatham, the great substantial truths of
+common sense, the leading maxims of the Constitution,
+the real interests and general feelings of mankind
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>193]</a></span>
+were in a manner embodied. He comprehended the
+whole of his subject at a single glance&mdash;everything
+was firmly riveted to its place; there was no feebleness,
+no forgetfulness, no pause, no distraction; the
+ardour of his mind overcame every obstacle, and he
+crushed the objections of his adversaries as we crush
+an insect under our feet. His imagination was of the
+same character with his understanding, and was under
+the same guidance. Whenever he gave way to it, it &lsquo;flew
+an eagle flight, forth and right on&rsquo;; but it did not become
+enamoured of its own emotion, wantoning in giddy
+circles, or &lsquo;sailing with supreme dominion through
+the azure deep of air.&rsquo; It never forgot its errand, but
+went straight forward, like an arrow to its mark, with
+an unerring aim. It was his servant, not his master.</p>
+
+<p>To be a great orator does not require the highest
+faculties of the human mind, but it requires the highest
+exertion of the common faculties of our nature.
+He has no occasion to dive into the depths of science,
+or to soar aloft on angels&rsquo; wings. He keeps upon the
+surface, he stands firm upon the ground, but his form
+is majestic, and his eye sees far and near: he moves
+among his fellows, but he moves among them as a
+giant among common men. He has no need to read
+the heavens, to unfold the system of the universe, or
+create new worlds for the delighted fancy to dwell in;
+it is enough that he see things as they are; that he
+knows and feels and remembers the common circumstances
+and daily transactions that are passing in the
+world around him. He is not raised above others by
+being superior to the common interests, prejudices,
+and passions of mankind, but by feeling them in a
+more intense degree than they do. Force, then, is
+the sole characteristic excellence of an orator; it is
+almost the only one that can be of any service to him.
+Refinement, depth, elevation, delicacy, originality,
+ingenuity, invention, are not wanted; he must appeal
+to the sympathies of human nature, and whatever is
+not founded in these, is foreign to his purpose. He
+does not create, he can only imitate or echo back the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>194]</a></span>
+public sentiment. His object is to call up the feelings
+of the human breast; but he cannot call up what is
+not already there. The first duty of an orator is to be
+understood by every one; but it is evident that what
+all can understand, is not in itself difficult of comprehension.
+He cannot add anything to the materials
+afforded him by the knowledge and experience of others.</p>
+
+<p>Lord Chatham, in his speeches, was neither philosopher
+nor poet. As to the latter, the difference between
+poetry and eloquence I take to be this: that the object
+of the one is to delight the imagination, that of the
+other to impel the will. The one ought to enrich and
+feed the mind itself with tenderness and beauty, the
+other furnishes it with motives of action. The one
+seeks to give immediate pleasure, to make the mind
+dwell with rapture on its own workings&mdash;it is to itself
+&lsquo;both end and use&rsquo;: the other endeavours to call up
+such images as will produce the strongest effect upon
+the mind, and makes use of the passions only as instruments
+to attain a particular purpose. The poet
+lulls and soothes the mind into a forgetfulness of itself,
+and &lsquo;laps it in Elysium&rsquo;: the orator strives to awaken it
+to a sense of its real interests, and to make it feel the
+necessity of taking the most effectual means for securing
+them. The one dwells in an ideal world; the
+other is only conversant with realities. Hence poetry
+must be more ornamented, must be richer and fuller
+and more delicate, because it is at liberty to select
+whatever images are naturally most beautiful, and
+likely to give most pleasure; whereas the orator is
+confined to particular facts, which he may adorn as
+well as he can, and make the most of, but which he
+cannot strain beyond a certain point without running
+into extravagance and affectation, and losing his end.
+However, from the very nature of the case, the orator
+is allowed a greater latitude, and is compelled to
+make use of harsher and more abrupt combinations
+in the decoration of his subject; for his art is an
+attempt to reconcile beauty and deformity together:
+on the contrary, the materials of poetry, which are
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>195]</a></span>
+chosen at pleasure, are in themselves beautiful, and
+naturally combine with whatever else is beautiful.
+Grace and harmony are therefore essential to poetry,
+because they naturally arise out of the subject; but
+whatever adds to the effect, whatever tends to
+strengthen the idea or give energy to the mind, is of
+the nature of eloquence. The orator is only concerned
+to give a tone of masculine firmness to the will, to
+brace the sinews and muscles of the mind; not to
+delight our nervous sensibilities, or soften the mind
+into voluptuous indolence. The flowery and sentimental
+style is of all others the most intolerable in a
+speaker.&mdash;I shall only add on this subject, that
+modesty, impartiality, and candour, are not the virtues
+of a public speaker. He must be confident,
+inflexible, uncontrollable, overcoming all opposition
+by his ardour and impetuosity. We do not <em>command</em>
+others by sympathy with them, but by power, by
+passion, by will. Calm inquiry, sober truth, and
+speculative indifference will never carry any point.
+The passions are contagious; and we cannot contend
+against opposite passions with nothing but naked
+reason. Concessions to an enemy are clear loss; he
+will take advantage of them, but make us none in
+return. He will magnify the weak sides of our argument,
+but will be blind to whatever makes against
+himself. The multitude will always be inclined to
+side with that party whose passions are the most
+inflamed, and whose prejudices are the most inveterate.
+Passion should therefore never be sacrificed
+to punctilio. It should indeed be governed by prudence,
+but it should itself govern and lend its impulse
+and direction to abstract reason. Fox was a reasoner,
+Lord Chatham was an orator. Burke was both a
+reasoner and a poet; and was therefore still farther
+removed from that conformity with the vulgar notions
+and mechanical feelings of mankind, which will always
+be necessary to give a man the chief sway in a popular
+assembly.</p>
+
+<p>1806.</p>
+
+
+
+<p class="ptop"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>196]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>ESSAY XVI<br />
+<br />
+<span class="vsmlfont">BELIEF, WHETHER VOLUNTARY?</span></h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem26">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>It is an axiom in modern philosophy (among many
+other false ones) that belief is absolutely involuntary,
+since we draw our inferences from the premises laid
+before us, and cannot possibly receive any other
+impression of things than that which they naturally
+make upon us. This theory, that the understanding
+is purely passive in the reception of truth, and that
+our convictions are not in the power of our will, was
+probably first invented or insisted upon as a screen
+against religious persecution, and as an answer to
+those who imputed bad motives to all who differed
+from the established faith, and thought they could
+reform heresy and impiety by the application of fire
+and the sword. No doubt, that is not the way: for
+the will in that case irritates itself and grows refractory
+against the doctrines thus absurdly forced upon
+it; and as it has been said, the blood of the martyrs is
+the seed of the Church. But though force and terror
+may not be always the surest way to make converts, it
+does not follow that there may not be other means of
+influencing our opinions, besides the naked and abstract
+evidence for any proposition: the sun melts the resolution
+which the storm could not shake. In such points
+as, whether an object is black or white or whether two
+and two make four,<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> we may not be able to believe as
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>197]</a></span>
+we please or to deny the evidence of our reason and
+senses: but in those points on which mankind differ,
+or where we can be at all in suspense as to which side
+we shall take, the truth is not quite so plain or
+palpable; it admits of a variety of views and shades
+of colouring, and it should appear that we can dwell
+upon whichever of these we choose, and heighten or
+soften the circumstances adduced in proof, according
+as passion and inclination throw their casting-weight
+into the scale. Let any one, for instance, have been
+brought up in an opinion, let him have remained in it
+all his life, let him have attached all his notions of
+respectability, of the approbation of his fellow-citizens
+or his own self-esteem to it, let him then first hear it
+called in question, and a strong and unforeseen objection
+stated to it, will not this startle and shock him as
+if he had seen a spectre, and will he not struggle to
+resist the arguments that would unsettle his habitual
+convictions, as he would resist the divorcing of soul
+and body? Will he come to the consideration of the
+question impartially, indifferently, and without any
+wrong bias, or give the painful and revolting truth
+the same cordial welcome as the long-cherished and
+favourite prejudice? To say that the truth or falsehood
+of a proposition is the only circumstance that
+gains it admittance into the mind, independently of
+the pleasure or pain it affords us, is itself an assertion
+made in pure caprice or desperation. A person may
+have a profession or employment connected with a
+certain belief, it may be the means of livelihood to
+him, and the changing it may require considerable
+sacrifices, or may leave him almost without resource
+(to say nothing of mortified pride)&mdash;this will not mend
+the matter. The evidence against his former opinion
+may be so strong (or may appear so to him) that he
+may be obliged to give it up, but not without a pang
+and after having tried every artifice and strained every
+nerve to give the utmost weight to the arguments
+favouring his own side, and to make light of and
+throw those against him into the background. And
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>198]</a></span>
+nine times in ten this bias of the will and tampering
+with the proofs will prevail. It is only with very
+vigorous or very candid minds that the understanding
+exercises its just and boasted prerogative, and induces
+its votaries to relinquish a profitable delusion and
+embrace the dowerless truth. Even then they have
+the sober and discreet part of the world, all the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bons
+p&egrave;res de famille</i>, who look principally to the main
+chance, against them, and they are regarded as little
+better than lunatics or profligates to fling up a good
+salary and a provision for themselves and families for
+the sake of that foolish thing, a <em>Conscience</em>! With
+the herd, belief on all abstract and disputed topics is
+voluntary, that is, is determined by considerations of
+personal ease and convenience, in the teeth of logical
+analysis and demonstration, which are set aside as
+mere waste of words. In short, generally speaking,
+people stick to an opinion that they have long supported
+and that supports them. How else shall we
+account for the regular order and progression of
+society: for the maintenance of certain opinions
+in particular professions and classes of men, as we
+keep water in cisterns, till in fact they stagnate
+and corrupt: and that the world and every individual
+in it is not &lsquo;blown about with every wind of doctrine&rsquo;
+and whisper of uncertainty? There is some more solid
+ballast required to keep things in their established
+order than the restless fluctuation of opinion and
+&lsquo;infinite agitation of wit.&rsquo; We find that people in Protestant
+countries continue Protestants, and in Catholic
+countries Papists. This, it may be answered, is owing
+to the ignorance of the great mass of them; but is
+their faith less bigoted, because it is not founded on a
+regular investigation of the proofs, and is merely an
+obstinate determination to believe what they have
+been told and accustomed to believe? Or is it not
+the same with the doctors of the church and its most
+learned champions, who read the same texts, turn
+over the same authorities, and discuss the same
+knotty points through their whole lives, only to
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>199]</a></span>
+arrive at opposite conclusions? How few are shaken
+in their opinions, or have the grace to confess it?
+Shall we then suppose them all impostors, and that
+they keep up the farce of a system, of which they do
+not believe a syllable? Far from it: there may be
+individual instances, but the generality are not only
+sincere but bigots. Those who are unbelievers and
+hypocrites scarcely know it themselves, or if a man is
+not quite a knave, what pains will he not take to
+make a fool of his reason, that his opinions may tally
+with his professions? Is there then a Papist and a
+Protestant understanding&mdash;one prepared to receive
+the doctrine of transubstantiation and the other to
+reject it? No such thing: but in either case the
+ground of reason is pre-occupied by passion, habit,
+example&mdash;<em>the scales are falsified</em>. Nothing can therefore
+be more inconsequential than to bring the
+authority of great names in favour of opinions long
+established and universally received. Cicero&rsquo;s being
+a Pagan was no proof in support of the Heathen
+mythology, but simply of his being born at Rome
+before the Christian era; though his lurking scepticism
+on the subject and sneers at the augurs told
+against it, for this was an acknowledgment drawn
+from him in spite of a prevailing prejudice. Sir
+Isaac Newton and Napier of Merchiston both wrote
+on the <i>Apocalypse</i>; but this is neither a ground for a
+speedy anticipation of the Millennium, nor does it
+invalidate the doctrine of the gravitation of the
+planets or the theory of logarithms. One party
+would borrow the sanction of these great names in
+support of their wildest and most mystical opinions;
+others would arraign them of folly and weakness for
+having attended to such subjects at all. Neither
+inference is just. It is a simple question of chronology,
+or of the time when these celebrated mathematicians
+lived, and of the studies and pursuits which
+were then chiefly in vogue. The wisest man is the
+slave of opinion, except on one or two points on which
+he strikes out a light for himself and holds a torch to
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>200]</a></span>
+the rest of the world. But we are disposed to make it
+out that all opinions are the result of reason, because
+they profess to be so; and when they are <em>right</em>, that
+is, when they agree with ours, that there can be no
+alloy of human frailty or perversity in them; the
+very strength of our prejudice making it pass for pure
+reason, and leading us to attribute any deviation from
+it to bad faith or some unaccountable singularity or
+infatuation. <em>Alas, poor human nature!</em> Opinion is
+for the most part only a battle, in which we take part
+and defend the side we have adopted, in the one case
+or the other, with a view to share the honour of the
+spoil. Few will stand up for a losing cause, or have
+the fortitude to adhere to a proscribed opinion; and
+when they do, it is not always from superior strength
+of understanding or a disinterested love of truth, but
+from obstinacy and sullenness of temper. To affirm
+that we do not cultivate an acquaintance with truth as
+she presents herself to us in a more or less pleasing
+shape, or is shabbily attired or well-dressed, is as
+much as to say that we do not shut our eyes to
+the light when it dazzles us, or withdraw our hands
+from the fire when it scorches us.</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem24">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;Masterless passion sways us to the mood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of what it likes or loathes.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Are we not averse to believe bad news relating to
+ourselves&mdash;forward enough if it relates to others?
+If something is said reflecting on the character of an
+intimate friend or near relative, how unwilling we
+are to lend an ear to it, how we catch at every excuse
+or palliating circumstance, and hold out against the
+clearest proof, while we instantly believe any idle
+report against an enemy, magnify the commonest
+trifles into crimes, and torture the evidence against
+him to our heart&rsquo;s content! Do not we change our
+opinion of the same person, and make him out to be
+<em>black</em> or <em>white</em> according to the terms we happen to be
+on? If we have a favourite author, do we not exaggerate
+his beauties and pass over his defects, and
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>201]</a></span>
+<i>vice vers&acirc;</i>? The human mind plays the interested
+advocate much oftener than the upright and inflexible
+judge, in the colouring and relief it gives to the facts
+brought before it. We believe things not more
+because they are true or probable, than because we
+desire, or (if the imagination once takes that turn)
+because we dread them. &lsquo;Fear has more devils than
+vast hell can hold.&rsquo; The sanguine always hope, the
+gloomy always despond, from temperament and not
+from forethought. Do we not disguise the plainest
+facts from ourselves if they are disagreeable? Do we
+not flatter ourselves with impossibilities? What girl
+does not look in the glass to persuade herself she
+is handsome? What woman ever believes herself
+old, or does not hate to be called so: though she
+knows the exact year and day of her age, the more she
+tries to keep up the appearance of youth to herself and
+others? What lover would ever acknowledge a flaw in
+the character of his mistress, or would not construe her
+turning her back on him into a proof of attachment?
+The story of <i>January and May</i> is pat to our purpose; for
+the credulity of mankind as to what touches our inclinations
+has been proverbial in all ages: yet we are
+told that the mind is passive in making up these wilful
+accounts and is guided by nothing but the <i>pros</i> and
+<i>cons</i> of evidence. Even in action and where we may
+determine by proper precaution the event of things,
+instead of being compelled to shut our eyes to what
+we cannot help, we still are the dupes of the feeling
+of the moment, and prefer amusing ourselves with
+fair appearances to securing more solid benefits by a
+sacrifice of Imagination and stubborn Will to Truth.
+The blindness of passion to the most obvious and
+well-known consequences is deplorable. There seems
+to be a particular fatality in this respect. Because a
+thing is in our power <em>till</em> we have committed ourselves,
+we appear to dally, to trifle with, to make
+light of it, and to think it will still be in our power
+<em>after</em> we have committed ourselves. Strange perversion
+of the reasoning faculties, which is little short of
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>202]</a></span>
+madness, and which yet is one of the constant and
+practical sophisms of human life! It is as if one should
+say&mdash;I am in no danger from a tremendous machine
+unless I touch such a spring and therefore I will
+approach it, I will play with the danger, I will laugh
+at it, and at last in pure sport and wantonness of
+heart, from my sense of previous security, I <em>will</em> touch
+it&mdash;and <em>there&rsquo;s an end</em>. While the thing remains in
+contemplation, we may be said to stand safe and smiling
+on the brink: as soon as we proceed to action we
+are drawn into the vortex of passion and hurried to
+our destruction. A person taken up with some one
+purpose or passion is intent only upon that: he drives
+out the thought of everything but its gratification: in
+the pursuit of that he is blind to consequences: his
+first object being attained, they all at once, and as if
+by magic, rush upon his mind. The engine recoils, he
+is caught in his own snare. A servant girl, for some
+pique, or for an angry word, determines to poison her
+mistress. She knows beforehand (just as well as she
+does afterwards) that it is at least a hundred chances
+to one she will be hanged if she succeeds, yet this has
+no more effect upon her than if she had never heard
+of any such matter. The only idea that occupies her
+mind and hardens it against every other, is that of
+the affront she has received, and the desire of revenge;
+she broods over it; she meditates the mode, she is
+haunted with her scheme night and day; it works
+like poison; it grows into a madness, and she can
+have no peace till it is accomplished and <em>off her mind</em>;
+but the moment this is the case, and her passion is
+assuaged, fear takes place of hatred, the slightest suspicion
+alarms her with the certainty of her fate, from
+which she before wilfully averted her thoughts; she
+runs wildly from the officers before they know anything
+of the matter; the gallows stares her in the
+face, and if none else accuses her, so full is she of her
+danger and her guilt, that she probably betrays herself.
+She at first would see no consequences to result
+from her crime but the getting rid of a present
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>203]</a></span>
+uneasiness; she now sees the very worst. The whole
+seems to depend on the turn given to the imagination,
+on our immediate disposition to attend to this or that
+view of the subject, the evil or the good. As long as
+our intention is unknown to the world, before it
+breaks out into action, it seems to be deposited in our
+own bosoms, to be a mere feverish dream, and to be
+left with all its consequences under our imaginary
+control: but no sooner is it realised and known to
+others, than it appears to have escaped from our
+reach, we fancy the whole world are up in arms
+against us, and vengeance is ready to pursue and
+overtake us. So in the pursuit of pleasure, we see
+only that side of the question which we approve; the
+disagreeable consequences (which may take place)
+make no part of our intention or concern, or of the
+wayward exercise of our will: if they should happen
+we cannot help it; they form an ugly and unwished-for
+contrast to our favourite speculation: we turn
+our thoughts another way, repeating the adage <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Quod
+sic mihi ostendis incredulus odi</i>. It is a good remark
+in <i>Vivian Grey</i> that a bankrupt walks in the streets
+the day before his name is in the Gazette with the
+same erect and confident brow as ever, and only feels
+the mortification of his situation after it becomes
+known to others. Such is the force of sympathy, and
+its power to take off the edge of internal conviction!
+As long we can impose upon the world, we can
+impose upon ourselves, and trust to the flattering
+appearances, though we know them to be false. We
+put off the evil day as long as we can, make a jest of
+it as the certainty becomes more painful, and refuse
+to acknowledge the secret to ourselves till it can no
+longer be kept from all the world. In short, we
+believe just as little or as much as we please of those
+things in which our will can be supposed to interfere;
+and it is only by setting aside our own interests and
+inclinations on more general questions that we stand
+any chance of arriving at a fair and rational judgment.
+Those who have the largest hearts have the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>204]</a></span>
+soundest understandings; and he is the truest philosopher
+who can forget himself. This is the reason
+why philosophers are often said to be mad, for thinking
+only of the abstract truth and of none of its
+worldly adjuncts&mdash;it seems like an absence of mind,
+or as if the devil had got into them! If belief were
+not in some degree voluntary, or were grounded
+entirely on strict evidence and absolute proof, every
+one would be a martyr to his opinions, and we should
+have no power of evading or glossing over those
+matter-of-fact conclusions for which positive vouchers
+could be produced, however painful these conclusions
+might be to our own feelings, or offensive to the
+prejudices of others.</p>
+
+<h3>FOOTNOTE</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a>
+Hobbes is of opinion that men would deny this, if they
+had any interest in doing so.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="ptop"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>205]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>ESSAY XVII<br />
+<br />
+<span class="vsmlfont">A FAREWELL TO ESSAY-WRITING</span></h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem21">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;This life is best, if quiet life is best.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>Food, warmth, sleep, and a book; these are all I
+at present ask&mdash;the <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">ultima Thule</i> of my wandering
+desires. Do you not then wish for</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem25">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">&lsquo;A friend in your retreat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whom you may whisper, solitude is sweet?&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Expected, well enough:&mdash;gone, still better. Such
+attractions are strengthened by distance. Nor a
+mistress? &lsquo;Beautiful mask! I know thee!&rsquo; When
+I can judge of the heart from the face, of the
+thoughts from the lips, I may again trust myself.
+Instead of these give me the robin red-breast, pecking
+the crumbs at the door, or warbling on the leafless
+spray, the same glancing form that has followed
+me wherever I have been, and &lsquo;done its spiriting
+gently&rsquo;; or the rich notes of the thrush that startle
+the ear of winter, and seem to have drunk up the
+full draught of joy from the very sense of contrast.
+To these I adhere, and am faithful, for they are true
+to me; and, dear in themselves, are dearer for the
+sake of what is departed, leading me back (by the
+hand) to that dreaming world, in the innocence of
+which they sat and made sweet music, waking the
+promise of future years, and answered by the eager
+throbbings of my own breast. But now &lsquo;the credulous
+hope of mutual minds is o&rsquo;er,&rsquo; and I turn back
+from the world that has deceived me, to nature that
+lent it a false beauty, and that keeps up the illusion
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>206]</a></span>
+of the past. As I quaff my libations of tea in a
+morning, I love to watch the clouds sailing from the
+west, and fancy that &lsquo;the spring comes slowly up
+this way.&rsquo; In this hope, while &lsquo;fields are dank and
+ways are mire,&rsquo; I follow the same direction to a
+neighbouring wood, where, having gained the dry,
+level greensward, I can see my way for a mile before
+me, closed in on each side by copse-wood, and ending
+in a point of light more or less brilliant, as the day is
+bright or cloudy. What a walk is this to me! I
+have no need of book or companion&mdash;the days, the
+hours, the thoughts of my youth are at my side, and
+blend with the air that fans my cheek. Here I can
+saunter for hours, bending my eye forward, stopping
+and turning to look back, thinking to strike off into
+some less trodden path, yet hesitating to quit the one
+I am in, afraid to snap the brittle threads of memory.
+I remark the shining trunks and slender branches of
+the birch trees, waving in the idle breeze; or a
+pheasant springs up on whirring wing; or I recall
+the spot where I once found a wood-pigeon at the
+foot of a tree, weltering in its gore, and think how
+many seasons have flown since &lsquo;it left its little life
+in air.&rsquo; Dates, names, faces come back&mdash;to what
+purpose? Or why think of them now? Or rather why
+not think of them oftener? We walk through life,
+as through a narrow path, with a thin curtain drawn
+around it; behind are ranged rich portraits, airy
+harps are strung&mdash;yet we will not stretch forth our
+hands and lift aside the veil, to catch glimpses of
+the one, or sweep the chords of the other. As in a
+theatre, when the old-fashioned green curtain drew
+up, groups of figures, fantastic dresses, laughing faces,
+rich banquets, stately columns, gleaming vistas appeared
+beyond; so we have only at any time to
+&lsquo;peep through the blanket of the past,&rsquo; to possess
+ourselves at once of all that has regaled our senses,
+that is stored up in our memory, that has struck our
+fancy, that has pierced our hearts:&mdash;yet to all this
+we are indifferent, insensible, and seem intent only
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>207]</a></span>
+on the present vexation, the future disappointment.
+If there is a Titian hanging up in the room with me,
+I scarcely regard it: how then should I be expected
+to strain the mental eye so far, or to throw down,
+by the magic spells of the will, the stone walls that
+enclose it in the Louvre? There is one head there of
+which I have often thought, when looking at it, that
+nothing should ever disturb me again, and I would
+become the character it represents&mdash;such perfect
+calmness and self-possession reigns in it! Why do I
+not hang all image of this in some dusky corner of
+my brain, and turn all eye upon it ever and anon,
+as I have need of some such talisman to calm my
+troubled thoughts? The attempt is fruitless, if not
+natural; or, like that of the French, to hang garlands
+on the grave, and to conjure back the dead by miniature
+pictures of them while living! It is only some
+actual coincidence or local association that tends,
+without violence, to &lsquo;open all the cells where memory
+slept.&rsquo; I can easily, by stooping over the long-sprent
+grass and clay cold clod, recall the tufts of primroses,
+or purple hyacinths, that formerly grew on the same
+spot, and cover the bushes with leaves and singing-birds,
+as they were eighteen summers ago; or prolonging
+my walk and hearing the sighing gale rustle
+through a tall, straight wood at the end of it, call
+fancy that I distinguish the cry of hounds, and
+the fatal group issuing from it, as in the tale of
+Theodore and Honoria. A moaning gust of wind
+aids the belief; I look once more to see whether the
+trees before me answer to the idea of the horror-stricken
+grove, and an air-built city towers over their
+grey tops.</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem28">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;Of all the cities in Romanian lands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The chief and most renown&rsquo;d Ravenna stands.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a><br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>I return home resolved to read the entire poem
+through, and, after dinner, drawing my chair to the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>208]</a></span>
+fire, and holding a small print close to my eyes,
+launch into the full tide of Dryden&rsquo;s couplets (a
+stream of sound), comparing his didactic and descriptive
+pomp with the simple pathos and picturesque
+truth of Boccaccio&rsquo;s story, and tasting with a pleasure,
+which none but all habitual reader can feel, some
+quaint examples of pronunciation in this accomplished
+versifier.</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem27">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">&lsquo;Which when Honoria view&rsquo;d,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The fresh <em>impulse</em> her former fright renew&rsquo;d.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_18_18" id="FNanchor_18_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a><br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="cpoem28">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;And made th&rsquo; <em>insult</em>, which in his grief appears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The means to mourn thee with my pious tears.&rsquo;<a name="FNanchor_19_19" id="FNanchor_19_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a><br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>These trifling instances of the wavering and unsettled
+state of the language give double effect to the firm
+and stately march of the verse, and make me dwell
+with a sort of tender interest on the difficulties and
+doubts of all earlier period of literature. They pronounced
+words then in a manner which we should
+laugh at now; and they wrote verse in a manner
+which we can do anything but laugh at. The pride of
+a new acquisition seems to give fresh confidence to it;
+to impel the rolling syllables through the moulds
+provided for them, and to overflow the envious bounds
+of rhyme into time-honoured triplets.</p>
+
+<p>What sometimes surprises me in looking back to
+the past, is, with the exception already stated, to find
+myself so little changed in the time. The same
+images and trains of thought stick by me: I have
+the same tastes, likings, sentiments, and wishes that
+I had then. One great ground of confidence and
+support has, indeed, been struck from under my
+feet; but I have made it up to myself by proportionable
+pertinacity of opinion. The success of the great
+cause, to which I had vowed myself, was to me more
+than all the world: I had a strength in its strength,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>209]</a></span>
+a resource which I knew not of, till it failed me for
+the second time.</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem21">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;Fall&rsquo;n was Glenartny&rsquo;s stately tree!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh! ne&rsquo;er to see Lord Ronald more!&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>It was not till I saw the axe laid to the root, that I
+found the full extent of what I had to lose and suffer.
+But my conviction of the right was only established
+by the triumph of the wrong; and my earliest hopes
+will be my last regrets. One source of this unbendingness
+(which some may call obstinacy), is that,
+though living much alone, I have never worshipped
+the Echo. I see plainly enough that black is not
+white, that the grass is green, that kings are not
+their subjects; and, in such self-evident cases, do
+not think it necessary to collate my opinions with
+the received prejudices. In subtler questions, and
+matters that admit of doubt, as I do not impose my
+opinion on others without a reason, so I will not give
+up mine to them without a better reason; and a
+person calling me names, or giving himself airs of
+authority, does not convince me of his having taken
+more pains to find out the truth than I have, but the
+contrary. Mr. Gifford once said, that &lsquo;while I was
+sitting over my gin and tobacco-pipes, I fancied
+myself a Leibnitz.&rsquo; He did not so much as know
+that I had ever read a metaphysical book:&mdash;was I
+therefore, out of complaisance or deference to him,
+to forget whether I had or not? Leigh Hunt is
+puzzled to reconcile the shyness of my pretensions
+with the inveteracy and sturdiness of my principles.
+I should have thought they were nearly the same
+thing. Both from disposition and habit, I can <em>assume</em>
+nothing in word, look, or manner. I cannot steal a
+march upon public opinion in any way. My standing
+upright, speaking loud, entering a room gracefully,
+proves nothing; therefore I neglect these ordinary
+means of recommending myself to the good graces and
+admiration of strangers (and, as it appears, even of
+philosophers and friends). Why? Because I have
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>210]</a></span>
+other resources, or, at least, am absorbed in other
+studies and pursuits. Suppose this absorption to be
+extreme, and even morbid&mdash;that I have brooded over
+an idea till it has become a kind of substance in my
+brain, that I have reasons for a thing which I have
+found out with much labour and pains, and to which
+I can scarcely do justice without the utmost violence
+of exertion (and that only to a few persons)&mdash;is this a
+reason for my playing off my out-of-the-way notions
+in all companies, wearing a prim and self-complacent
+air, as if I were &lsquo;the admired of all observers&rsquo;? or is
+it not rather an argument (together with a want of
+animal spirits), why I should retire into myself, and
+perhaps acquire a nervous and uneasy look, from a
+consciousness of the disproportion between the interest
+and conviction I feel on certain subjects, and
+my ability to communicate what weighs upon my own
+mind to others? If my ideas, which I do not avouch,
+but suppose, lie below the surface, why am I to be
+always attempting to dazzle superficial people with
+them, or smiling, delighted, at my own want of success?</p>
+
+<p>In matters of taste and feeling, one proof that my
+conclusions have not been quite shallow or hasty, is
+the circumstance of their having been lasting. I
+have the same favourite books, pictures, passages that
+I ever had: I may therefore presume that they will
+last me my life&mdash;nay, I may indulge a hope that my
+thoughts will survive me. This continuity of impression
+is the only thing on which I pride myself. Even
+Lamb, whose relish of certain things is as keen and
+earnest as possible, takes a surfeit of admiration, and
+I should be afraid to ask about his select authors or
+particular friends, after a lapse of ten years. As to
+myself, any one knows where to have me. What I
+have once made up my mind to, I abide by to the
+end of the chapter. One cause of my independence
+of opinion is, I believe, the liberty I give to others,
+or the very diffidence and distrust of making converts.
+I should be an excellent man on a jury. I might say
+little, but should starve &lsquo;the other eleven obstinate
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>211]</a></span>
+fellows&rsquo; out. I remember Mr. Godwin writing to
+Mr. Wordsworth, that &lsquo;his tragedy of <i>Antonio</i> could
+not fail of success.&rsquo; It was damned past all redemption.
+I said to Mr. Wordsworth that I thought this
+a natural consequence; for how could any one have a
+dramatic turn of mind who judged entirely of others
+from himself? Mr. Godwin might be convinced of
+the excellence of his work; but how could he know
+that others would be convinced of it, unless by supposing
+that they were as wise as himself, and as infallible
+critics of dramatic poetry&mdash;so many Aristotles
+sitting in judgment on Euripides! This shows why
+pride is connected with shyness and reserve; for the
+really proud have not so high an opinion of the
+generality as to suppose that they can understand
+them, or that there is any common measure between
+them. So Dryden exclaims of his opponents with
+bitter disdain&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem28">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;Nor can I think what thoughts they can conceive.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>I have not sought to make partisans, still less did I
+dream of making enemies; and have therefore kept
+my opinions myself, whether they were currently
+adopted or not. To get others to come into our ways
+of thinking, we must go over to theirs; and it is
+necessary to follow, in order to lead. At the time
+I lived here formerly, I had no suspicion that I should
+ever become a voluminous writer, yet I had just the
+same confidence in my feelings before I had ventured
+to air them in public as I have now. Neither the
+outcry <em>for</em> or <em>against</em> moves me a jot: I do not say
+that the one is not more agreeable than the other.</p>
+
+<p>Not far from the spot where I write, I first read
+Chaucer&rsquo;s <i>Flower and Leaf</i>, and was charmed with that
+young beauty, shrouded in her bower, and listening
+with ever-fresh delight to the repeated song of the
+nightingale close by her&mdash;the impression of the scene,
+the vernal landscape, the cool of the morning, the
+gushing notes of the songstress,</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem28">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;And ayen methought she sung close by mine ear,&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>212]</a></span>
+is as vivid as if it had been of yesterday; and nothing
+can persuade me that that is not a fine poem. I do
+not find this impression conveyed in Dryden&rsquo;s version,
+and therefore nothing can persuade me that that is as
+fine. I used to walk out at this time with Mr. and
+Miss Lamb of an evening, to look at the Claude
+Lorraine skies over our heads melting from azure into
+purple and gold, and to gather mushrooms, that
+sprung up at our feet, to throw into our hashed
+mutton at supper. I was at that time an enthusiastic
+admirer of Claude, and could dwell for ever on one or
+two of the finest prints from him hung round my
+little room; the fleecy flocks, the bending trees, the
+winding streams, the groves, the nodding temples,
+the air-wove hills, and distant sunny vales; and tried
+to translate them into their lovely living hues. People
+then told me that Wilson was much superior to
+Claude: I did not believe them. Their pictures have
+since been seen together at the British Institution,
+and all the world have come into my opinion. I have
+not, on that account, given it up. I will not compare
+our hashed mutton with Amelia&rsquo;s; but it put us in
+mind of it, and led to a discussion, sharply seasoned
+and well sustained, till midnight, the result of which
+appeared some years after in the <i>Edinburgh Review</i>.
+Have I a better opinion of those criticisms on that
+account, or should I therefore maintain them with
+greater vehemence and tenaciousness? Oh no: Both
+rather with less, now that they are before the public,
+and it is for them to make their election.</p>
+
+<p>It is in looking back to such scenes that I draw my
+best consolation for the future. Later impressions
+come and go, and serve to fill till the intervals; but
+these are my standing resource, my true classics. If
+I have had few real pleasures or advantages, my ideas,
+from their sinewy texture, have been to me in the
+nature of realities; and if I should not be able to add
+to the stock, I can live by husbanding the interest.
+As to my speculations, there is little to admire in
+them but my admiration of others; and whether they
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>213]</a></span>
+have an echo in time to come or not, I have learned
+to set a grateful value on the past, and am content to
+wind up the account of what is personal only to
+myself and the immediate circle of objects in which
+I have moved, with an act of easy oblivion,</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem30">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;And curtain-close such scene from every future view.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Winterslow</span>, <i>Feb. 20, 1828</i>.</p>
+
+<h3>FOOTNOTE</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a>
+Dryden&rsquo;s <i>Theodore and Honoria</i>, princip.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="Footnote_18_18" id="Footnote_18_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a>
+Dryden&rsquo;s <i>Theodore and Honoria</i>, princip.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="Footnote_19_19" id="Footnote_19_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a>
+Dryden&rsquo;s <i>Sigismonda and Guiscardo</i>.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="center padtop padbase smlfont">Edinburgh: Printed by T. and A. <span class="smcap">Constable</span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="bbox">
+<p><b>Transcriber's Note</b></p>
+
+<p>Minor punctuation errors have been repaired.</p>
+
+<p>Archaic spelling is preserved as printed.</p>
+
+<p>The following typographic errors have been repaired:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>Page <a href="#Page_35">35</a>&mdash;Crichton amended to Chrichton (with reference to the "Cabinet
+of Curiosities," which also contains the story of Eugene Aram)&mdash;"The
+name of the &lsquo;Admirable Chrichton&rsquo; was suddenly started ..."</p>
+
+<p>Page <a href="#Page_134">134</a>&mdash;lawer&rsquo;s amended to lawyer&rsquo;s&mdash;"... on a word, or a lawyer&rsquo;s
+<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">ipse dixit</i>."</p>
+
+<p>Page <a href="#Page_156">156</a>&mdash;stimulute amended to stimulate&mdash;"... something like an
+attempt to stimulate the superficial dulness ..."</p>
+
+<p>Page <a href="#Page_162">162</a>&mdash;on amended to no&mdash;"Burke was so far right in saying that it
+is no objection ..."</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Winterslow, by William Hazlitt
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+</body>
+</html>
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Winterslow, by William Hazlitt
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Winterslow
+       Essays and Characters Written There
+
+Author: William Hazlitt
+
+Release Date: March 25, 2012 [EBook #39269]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WINTERSLOW ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Sam W. and the Online Distributed Proofreading
+Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+       WINTERSLOW
+
+  ESSAYS AND CHARACTERS
+      WRITTEN THERE
+
+           BY
+
+     WILLIAM HAZLITT
+
+
+      [Decoration]
+
+
+         LONDON
+     GRANT RICHARDS
+   48 LEICESTER SQUARE
+          1902
+
+
+
+
+  The World's Classics
+
+           XXV
+
+      THE WORKS OF
+  WILLIAM HAZLITT--III
+
+       WINTERSLOW
+
+  ESSAYS AND CHARACTERS
+      WRITTEN THERE
+
+
+_These Essays were first published collectively in the year
+1839. In 'The World's Classics' they were first published in
+1902._
+
+Edinburgh: Printed by T. and A. Constable
+
+
+
+
+The World's Classics
+
+
+  I.
+  JANE EYRE. By Charlotte Bronte. [_Second Impression._
+
+  II.
+  THE ESSAYS OF ELIA. By Charles Lamb. [_Second Impression._
+
+  III.
+  THE POEMS OF ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON, 1830-1858. [_Second
+    Impression._
+
+  IV.
+  THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. By Oliver Goldsmith.
+
+  V.
+  TABLE-TALK: Essays on Men and Manners. By William Hazlitt.
+    [_Second Impression._
+
+  VI.
+  ESSAYS. By Ralph Waldo Emerson. [_Second Impression._
+
+  VII.
+  THE POETICAL WORKS OF JOHN KEATS. [_Second Impression._
+
+  VIII.
+  OLIVER TWIST. By Charles Dickens.
+
+  IX.
+  THE INGOLDSBY LEGENDS. By Thomas Ingoldsby. [_Second
+    Impression._
+
+  X.
+  WUTHERING HEIGHTS. By Emily Bronte.
+
+  XI.
+  ON THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES. By Charles Darwin. [_Second
+    Impression._
+
+  XII.
+  THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. By John Bunyan.
+
+  XIII.
+  ENGLISH SONGS AND BALLADS. Selected by T. W. H. Crosland.
+
+  XIV.
+  SHIRLEY. By Charlotte Bronte.
+
+  XV.
+  SKETCHES AND ESSAYS. By William Hazlitt.
+
+  XVI.
+  THE POEMS OF ROBERT HERRICK.
+
+  XVII.
+  ROBINSON CRUSOE. By Daniel Defoe.
+
+  XVIII.
+  HOMER'S ILIAD. Translated by Alexander Pope.
+
+  XIX.
+  SARTOR RESARTUS. By Thomas Carlyle.
+
+  XX.
+  GULLIVER'S TRAVELS. By Jonathan Swift.
+
+  XXI.
+  TALES OF MYSTERY AND IMAGINATION. By Edgar Allan Poe.
+
+  XXII.
+  NATURAL HISTORY OF SELBORNE. By Gilbert White.
+
+  XXIII.
+  CONFESSIONS OF AN ENGLISH OPIUM EATER. By T. De Quincey.
+
+  XXIV.
+  BACON'S ESSAYS.
+
+  XXV.
+  WINTERSLOW. By William Hazlitt.
+
+  XXVI.
+  THE SCARLET LETTER. By Nathaniel Hawthorne.
+
+  XXVII.
+  LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME. By Lord Macaulay.
+
+  XXVIII.
+  HENRY ESMOND. By W. M. Thackeray.
+
+  XXIX.
+  IVANHOE. By Sir Walter Scott.
+
+  _Other volumes in preparation._
+
+  Pott 8vo. Cloth, 1s. net. Leather, 2s. net.
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE TO THE EDITION OF 1850
+
+
+Winterslow is a village of Wiltshire, between Salisbury and Andover,
+where my father, during a considerable portion of his life, spent
+several months of each year, latterly, at an ancient inn on the Great
+Western Road, called Winterslow Hut. One of his chief attractions
+hither were the noble woods of Tytherleigh or Tudorleigh, round Norman
+Court, the seat of Mr. Baring Wall, M.P., whose proffered kindness to
+my father, on a critical occasion, was thoroughly appreciated by the
+very sensitiveness which declined its acceptance, and will always be
+gratefully remembered by myself. Another feature was Clarendon
+Wood--whence the noble family of Clarendon derived their title--famous
+besides for the Constitutions signed in the palace which once rose
+proudly amongst its stately trees, but of which scarce a vestige
+remains. In another direction, within easy distance, gloams
+Stonehenge, visited by my father, less perhaps for its historical
+associations than for its appeal to the imagination, the upright
+stones seeming in the dim twilight, or in the drizzling mist, almost
+continuous in the locality, so many spectre-Druids, moaning over the
+past, and over their brethren prostrate about them. At no great
+distance, in another direction, are the fine pictures of Lord Radnor,
+and somewhat further, those of Wilton House. But the chief happiness
+was the thorough quiet of the place, the sole interruption of which
+was the passage, to and fro, of the London mails. The Hut stands in a
+valley, equidistant about a mile from two tolerably high hills, at the
+summit of which, on their approach either way, the guards used to blow
+forth their admonition to the hostler. The sound, coming through the
+clear, pure air, was another agreeable feature in the day,
+reminiscentiary of the great city that my father so loved and so
+loathed. In olden times, when we lived in the village itself--a mile
+up the hill opposite--behind the Hut, Salisbury Plain stretches away
+mile after mile of open space--the reminiscence of the metropolis
+would be, from time to time, furnished in the pleasantest of ways by
+the presence of some London friends; among these, dearly loved and
+honoured there, as everywhere else, Charles and Mary Lamb paid us
+frequent visits, rambling about all the time, thorough Londoners in a
+thoroughly country place, delighted and wondering and wondered at. For
+such reasons, and for the other reason, which I mention incidentally,
+that Winterslow is my own native place, I have given its name to this
+collection of 'Essays and Characters written there'; as, indeed,
+practically were very many of his works, for it was there that most of
+his thinking was done.
+
+                                            William Hazlitt.
+
+    Chelsea, _Jan. 1850_.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+                                                        PAGE
+       I. MY FIRST ACQUAINTANCE WITH POETS                 1
+
+      II. OF PERSONS ONE WOULD WISH TO HAVE SEEN          24
+
+     III. ON PARTY SPIRIT                                 40
+
+      IV. ON THE FEELING OF IMMORTALITY IN YOUTH          45
+
+       V. ON PUBLIC OPINION                               53
+
+      VI. ON PERSONAL IDENTITY                            67
+
+     VII. MIND AND MOTIVE                                 82
+
+    VIII. ON MEANS AND ENDS                               97
+
+      IX. MATTER AND MANNER                              108
+
+       X. ON CONSISTENCY OF OPINION                      115
+
+      XI. PROJECT FOR A NEW THEORY OF CIVIL AND
+            CRIMINAL LEGISLATION                         130
+
+     XII. ON THE CHARACTER OF BURKE                      155
+
+    XIII. ON THE CHARACTER OF FOX                        173
+
+     XIV. ON THE CHARACTER OF MR. PITT                   185
+
+      XV. ON THE CHARACTER OF LORD CHATHAM               191
+
+     XVI. BELIEF, WHETHER VOLUNTARY?                     196
+
+    XVII. A FAREWELL TO ESSAY-WRITING                    205
+
+
+
+
+HAZLITT'S ESSAYS
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY I
+
+MY FIRST ACQUAINTANCE WITH POETS
+
+
+My father was a Dissenting Minister, at Wem, in Shropshire; and in the
+year 1798 (the figures that compose the date are to me like the
+'dreaded name of Demogorgon') Mr. Coleridge came to Shrewsbury, to
+succeed Mr. Rowe in the spiritual charge of a Unitarian Congregation
+there. He did not come till late on the Saturday afternoon before he
+was to preach; and Mr. Rowe, who himself went down to the coach, in a
+state of anxiety and expectation, to look for the arrival of his
+successor, could find no one at all answering the description but a
+round-faced man, in a short black coat (like a shooting-jacket) which
+hardly seemed to have been made for him, but who seemed to be talking
+at a great rate to his fellow passengers. Mr. Rowe had scarce returned
+to give an account of his disappointment when the round-faced man in
+black entered, and dissipated all doubts on the subject by beginning
+to talk. He did not cease while he stayed; nor has he since, that I
+know of. He held the good town of Shrewsbury in delightful suspense
+for three weeks that he remained there, 'fluttering the _proud
+Salopians_, like an eagle in a dove-cote'; and the Welch mountains
+that skirt the horizon with their tempestuous confusion, agree to have
+heard no such mystic sounds since the days of
+
+    'High-born Hoel's harp or soft Llewellyn's lay.'
+
+As we passed along between Wem and Shrewsbury, and I eyed their blue
+tops seen through the wintry branches, or the red rustling leaves of
+the sturdy oak-trees by the road-side, a sound was in my ears as of a
+Syren's song; I was stunned, startled with it, as from deep sleep; but
+I had no notion then that I should ever be able to express my
+admiration to others in motley imagery or quaint allusion, till the
+light of his genius shone into my soul, like the sun's rays glittering
+in the puddles of the road. I was at that time dumb, inarticulate,
+helpless, like a worm by the way-side, crushed, bleeding, lifeless;
+but now, bursting the deadly bands that bound them,
+
+    'With Styx nine times round them,'
+
+my ideas float on winged words, and as they expand their plumes, catch
+the golden light of other years. My soul has indeed remained in its
+original bondage, dark, obscure, with longings infinite and
+unsatisfied; my heart, shut up in the prison-house of this rude clay,
+has never found, nor will it ever find, a heart to speak to; but that
+my understanding also did not remain dumb and brutish, or at length
+found a language to express itself, I owe to Coleridge. But this is
+not to my purpose.
+
+My father lived ten miles from Shrewsbury, and was in the habit of
+exchanging visits with Mr. Rowe, and with Mr. Jenkins of Whitchurch
+(nine miles farther on), according to the custom of Dissenting
+Ministers in each other's neighbourhood. A line of communication is
+thus established, by which the flame of civil and religious liberty is
+kept alive, and nourishes its smouldering fire unquenchable, like the
+fires in the _Agamemnon_ of AEschylus, placed at different stations,
+that waited for ten long years to announce with their blazing pyramids
+the destruction of Troy. Coleridge had agreed to come over and see my
+father, according to the courtesy of the country, as Mr. Rowe's
+probable successor; but in the meantime, I had gone to hear him preach
+the Sunday after his arrival. A poet and a philosopher getting up
+into a Unitarian pulpit to preach the gospel, was a romance in these
+degenerate days, a sort of revival of the primitive spirit of
+Christianity, which was not to be resisted.
+
+It was in January of 1798, that I rose one morning before daylight, to
+walk ten miles in the mud, to hear this celebrated person preach.
+Never, the longest day I have to live, shall I have such another walk
+as this cold, raw, comfortless one, in the winter of the year 1798.
+_Il y a des impressions que ni le tems ni les circonstances peuvent
+effacer. Dusse-je vivre des siecles entiers, le doux tems de ma
+jeunesse ne peut renaitre pour moi, ni s'effacer jamais dans ma
+memoire._ When I got there, the organ was playing the 100th Psalm, and
+when it was done, Mr. Coleridge rose and gave out his text, 'And he
+went up into the mountain to pray, HIMSELF, ALONE.' As he gave out
+this text, his voice 'rose like a steam of rich distilled perfumes,'
+and when he came to the two last words, which he pronounced loud,
+deep, and distinct, it seemed to me, who was then young, as if the
+sounds had echoed from the bottom of the human heart, and as if that
+prayer might have floated in solemn silence through the universe. The
+idea of St. John came into my mind, 'of one crying in the wilderness,
+who had his loins girt about, and whose food was locusts and wild
+honey.' The preacher then launched into his subject, like an eagle
+dallying with the wind. The sermon was upon peace and war; upon church
+and state--not their alliance but their separation--on the spirit of
+the world and the spirit of Christianity, not as the same, but as
+opposed to one another. He talked of those who had 'inscribed the
+cross of Christ on banners dripping with human gore.' He made a
+poetical and pastoral excursion--and to show the fatal effects of war,
+drew a striking contrast between the simple shepherd-boy, driving his
+team afield, or sitting under the hawthorn, piping to his flock, 'as
+though he should never be old.' and the same poor country lad,
+crimped, kidnapped, brought into town, made drunk at an alehouse,
+turned into a wretched drummer-boy, with his hair sticking on end with
+powder and pomatum, a long cue at his back, and tricked out in the
+loathsome finery of the profession of blood:
+
+    'Such were the notes our once-loved poet sung.'
+
+And for myself, I could not have been more delighted if I had heard
+the music of the spheres. Poetry and Philosophy had met together.
+Truth and Genius had embraced, under the eye and with the sanction of
+Religion. This was even beyond my hopes. I returned home well
+satisfied. The sun that was still labouring pale and wan through the
+sky, obscured by thick mists, seemed an emblem of the _good cause_;
+and the cold dank drops of dew, that hung half melted on the beard of
+the thistle, had something genial and refreshing in them; for there
+was a spirit of hope and youth in all nature, that turned everything
+into good. The face of nature had not then the brand of JUS DIVINUM on
+it:
+
+    'Like to that sanguine flower inscrib'd with woe.'
+
+On the Tuesday following, the half-inspired speaker came. I was called
+down into the room where he was, and went half-hoping, half-afraid. He
+received me very graciously, and I listened for a long time without
+uttering a word. I did not suffer in his opinion by my silence. 'For
+those two hours,' he afterwards was pleased to say, 'he was conversing
+with William Hazlitt's forehead!' His appearance was different from
+what I had anticipated from seeing him before. At a distance, and in
+the dim light of the chapel, there was to me a strange wildness in his
+aspect, a dusky obscurity, and I thought him pitted with the
+small-pox. His complexion was at that time clear, and even bright--
+
+    'As are the children of yon azure sheen.'
+
+His forehead was broad and high, light as if built of ivory, with
+large projecting eyebrows, and his eyes rolling beneath them, like a
+sea with darkened lustre. 'A certain tender bloom his face
+o'erspread,' a purple tinge as we see it in the pale thoughtful
+complexions of the Spanish portrait-painters, Murillo and Valasquez.
+His mouth was gross, voluptuous, open, eloquent; his chin
+good-humoured and round; but his nose, the rudder of the face, the
+index of the will, was small, feeble, nothing--like what he has done.
+It might seem that the genius of his face as from a height surveyed
+and projected him (with sufficient capacity and huge aspiration) into
+the world unknown of thought and imagination, with nothing to support
+or guide his veering purpose, as if Columbus had launched his
+adventurous course for the New World in a scallop, without oars or
+compass. So, at least, I comment on it after the event. Coleridge, in
+his person, was rather above the common size, inclining to the
+corpulent, or like Lord Hamlet, 'somewhat fat and pursy.' His hair
+(now, alas! grey) was then black and glossy as the raven's, and fell
+in smooth masses over his forehead. This long pendulous hair is
+peculiar to enthusiasts, to those whose minds tend heavenward; and is
+traditionally inseparable (though of a different colour) from the
+pictures of Christ. It ought to belong, as a character, to all who
+preach _Christ crucified_, and Coleridge was at that time one of
+those!
+
+It was curious to observe the contrast between him and my father, who
+was a veteran in the cause, and then declining into the vale of years.
+He had been a poor Irish lad, carefully brought up by his parents, and
+sent to the University of Glasgow (where he studied under Adam Smith)
+to prepare him for his future destination. It was his mother's
+proudest wish to see her son a Dissenting Minister. So, if we look
+back to past generations (as far as eye can reach), we see the same
+hopes, fears, wishes, followed by the same disappointments, throbbing
+in the human heart; and so we may see them (if we look forward) rising
+up for ever, and disappearing, like vapourish bubbles, in the human
+breast! After being tossed about from congregation to congregation in
+the heats of the Unitarian controversy, and squabbles about the
+American war, he had been relegated to an obscure village, where he
+was to spend the last thirty years of his life, far from the only
+converse that he loved, the talk about disputed texts of Scripture,
+and the cause of civil and religious liberty. Here he passed his days,
+repining, but resigned, in the study of the Bible, and the perusal of
+the Commentators--huge folios, not easily got through, one of which
+would outlast a winter! Why did he pore on these from morn to night
+(with the exception of a walk in the fields or a turn in the garden to
+gather broccoli-plants or kidney beans of his own rearing, with no
+small degree of pride and pleasure)? Here were 'no figures nor no
+fantasies'--neither poetry nor philosophy--nothing to dazzle, nothing
+to excite modern curiosity; but to his lack-lustre eyes there appeared
+within the pages of the ponderous, unwieldy, neglected tomes, the
+sacred name of JEHOVAH in Hebrew capitals: pressed down by the weight
+of the style, worn to the last fading thinness of the understanding,
+there were glimpses, glimmering notions of the patriarchal wanderings,
+with palm-trees hovering in the horizon, and processions of camels at
+the distance of three thousand years; there was Moses with the Burning
+Bush, the number of the Twelve Tribes, types, shadows, glosses on the
+law and the prophets; there were discussions (dull enough) on the age
+of Methuselah, a mighty speculation! there were outlines, rude guesses
+at the shape of Noah's Ark and of the riches of Solomon's Temple;
+questions as to the date of the creation, predictions of the end of
+all things; the great lapses of time, the strange mutations of the
+globe were unfolded with the voluminous leaf, as it turned over; and
+though the soul might slumber with an hieroglyphic veil of inscrutable
+mysteries drawn over it, yet it was in a slumber ill-exchanged for all
+the sharpened realities of sense, wit, fancy, or reason. My father's
+life was comparatively a dream; but it was a dream of infinity and
+eternity, of death, the resurrection, and a judgment to come!
+
+No two individuals were ever more unlike than were the host and his
+guest. A poet was to my father a sort of nondescript; yet whatever
+added grace to the Unitarian cause was to him welcome. He could hardly
+have been more surprised or pleased, if our visitor had worn wings.
+Indeed, his thoughts had wings: and as the silken sounds rustled round
+our little wainscoted parlour, my father threw back his spectacles
+over his forehead, his white hairs mixing with its sanguine hue; and a
+smile of delight beamed across his rugged, cordial face, to think that
+Truth had found a new ally in Fancy![1] Besides, Coleridge seemed to
+take considerable notice of me, and that of itself was enough. He
+talked very familiarly, but agreeably, and glanced over a variety of
+subjects. At dinner-time he grew more animated, and dilated in a very
+edifying manner on Mary Wolstonecraft and Mackintosh. The last, he
+said, he considered (on my father's speaking of his _Vindiciae Gallicae_
+as a capital performance) as a clever, scholastic man--a master of the
+topics--or, as the ready warehouseman of letters, who knew exactly
+where to lay his hand on what he wanted, though the goods were not his
+own. He thought him no match for Burke, either in style or matter.
+Burke was a metaphysician, Mackintosh a mere logician. Burke was an
+orator (almost a poet) who reasoned in figures, because he had an eye
+for nature: Mackintosh, on the other hand, was a rhetorician, who had
+only an eye to commonplaces. On this I ventured to say that I had
+always entertained a great opinion of Burke, and that (as far as I
+could find) the speaking of him with contempt might be made the test
+of a vulgar, democratical mind. This was the first observation I ever
+made to Coleridge, and he said it was a very just and striking one. I
+remember the leg of Welsh mutton and the turnips on the table that day
+had the finest flavour imaginable. Coleridge added that Mackintosh and
+Tom Wedgwood (of whom, however, he spoke highly) had expressed a very
+indifferent opinion of his friend Mr. Wordsworth, on which he remarked
+to them--'He strides on so far before you, that he dwindles in the
+distance!' Godwin had once boasted to him of having carried on an
+argument with Mackintosh for three hours with dubious success;
+Coleridge told him--'If there had been a man of genius in the room he
+would have settled the question in five minutes.' He asked me if I had
+ever seen Mary Wolstonecraft, and I said, I had once for a few
+moments, and that she seemed to me to turn off Godwin's objections to
+something she advanced with quite a playful, easy air. He replied,
+that 'this was only one instance of the ascendency which people of
+imagination exercised over those of mere intellect.' He did not rate
+Godwin very high[2] (this was caprice or prejudice, real or affected),
+but he had a great idea of Mrs. Wolstonecraft's powers of
+conversation; none at all of her talent for bookmaking. We talked a
+little about Holcroft. He had been asked if he was not much struck
+_with_ him, and he said, he thought himself in more danger of being
+struck _by_ him. I complained that he would not let me get on at all,
+for he required a definition of every the commonest word, exclaiming,
+'What do you mean by a _sensation_, Sir? What do you mean by an
+_idea_?' This, Coleridge said, was barricadoing the road to truth; it
+was setting up a turnpike-gate at every step we took. I forget a great
+number of things, many more than I remember; but the day passed off
+pleasantly, and the next morning Mr. Coleridge was to return to
+Shrewsbury. When I came down to breakfast, I found that he had just
+received a letter from his friend, T. Wedgwood, making him an offer of
+150_l._ a year if he chose to waive his present pursuit, and devote
+himself entirely to the study of poetry and philosophy. Coleridge
+seemed to make up his mind to close with this proposal in the act of
+tying on one of his shoes. It threw an additional damp on his
+departure. It took the wayward enthusiast quite from us to cast him
+into Deva's winding vales, or by the shores of old romance. Instead of
+living at ten miles' distance, of being the pastor of a Dissenting
+congregation at Shrewsbury, he was henceforth to inhabit the Hill of
+Parnassus, to be a Shepherd on the Delectable Mountains. Alas! I knew
+not the way thither, and felt very little gratitude for Mr. Wedgwood's
+bounty. I was presently relieved from this dilemma; for Mr. Coleridge,
+asking for a pen and ink, and going to a table to write something on a
+bit of card, advanced towards me with undulating step, and giving me
+the precious document, said that that was his address, _Mr. Coleridge,
+Nether-Stowey, Somersetshire_; and that he should be glad to see me
+there in a few weeks' time, and, if I chose, would come half-way to
+meet me. I was not less surprised than the shepherd-boy (this simile
+is to be found in _Cassandra_), when he sees a thunderbolt fall close
+at his feet. I stammered out my acknowledgments and acceptance of this
+offer (I thought Mr. Wedgwood's annuity a trifle to it) as well as I
+could; and this mighty business being settled, the poet preacher took
+leave, and I accompanied him six miles on the road. It was a fine
+morning in the middle of winter, and he talked the whole way. The
+scholar in Chaucer is described as going
+
+    ----'Sounding on his way.'
+
+So Coleridge went on his. In digressing, in dilating, in passing from
+subject to subject, he appeared to me to float in air, to slide on
+ice. He told me in confidence (going along) that he should have
+preached two sermons before he accepted the situation at Shrewsbury,
+one on Infant Baptism, the other on the Lord's Supper, showing that he
+could not administer either, which would have effectually disqualified
+him for the object in view. I observed that he continually crossed me
+on the way by shifting from one side of the footpath to the other.
+This struck me as an odd movement; but I did not at that time connect
+it with any instability of purpose or involuntary change of principle,
+as I have done since. He seemed unable to keep on in a straight line.
+He spoke slightingly of Hume (whose _Essay on Miracles_ he said was
+stolen from an objection started in one of South's sermons--_Credat
+Judaeus Appella!_) I was not very much pleased at this account of Hume,
+for I had just been reading, with infinite relish, that completest of
+all metaphysical _chokepears_, his _Treatise on Human Nature_, to
+which the _Essays_ in point of scholastic subtility and close
+reasoning, are mere elegant trifling, light summer reading. Coleridge
+even denied the excellence of Hume's general style, which I think
+betrayed a want of taste or candour. He however made me amends by the
+manner in which he spoke of Berkeley. He dwelt particularly on his
+_Essay on Vision_ as a masterpiece of analytical reasoning. So it
+undoubtedly is. He was exceedingly angry with Dr. Johnson for striking
+the stone with his foot, in allusion to this author's _Theory of
+Matter and Spirit_, and saying, 'Thus I confute him, Sir.' Coleridge
+drew a parallel (I don't know how he brought about the connection)
+between Bishop Berkeley and Tom Paine. He said the one was an instance
+of a subtle, the other of an acute mind, than which no two things
+could be more distinct. The one was a shop-boy's quality, the other
+the characteristic of a philosopher. He considered Bishop Butler as a
+true philosopher, a profound and conscientious thinker, a genuine
+reader of nature and his own mind. He did not speak of his _Analogy_,
+but of his _Sermons at the Rolls' Chapel_, of which I had never heard.
+Coleridge somehow always contrived to prefer the _unknown_ to the
+_known_. In this instance he was right. The _Analogy_ is a tissue of
+sophistry, of wire-drawn, theological special-pleading; the _Sermons_
+(with the preface to them) are in a fine vein of deep, matured
+reflection, a candid appeal to our observation of human nature,
+without pedantry and without bias. I told Coleridge I had written a
+few remarks, and was sometimes foolish enough to believe that I had
+made a discovery on the same subject (the _Natural disinterestedness
+of the Human Mind_)--and I tried to explain my view of it to
+Coleridge, who listened with great willingness, but I did not succeed
+in making myself understood. I sat down to the task shortly afterwards
+for the twentieth time, got new pens and paper, determined to make
+clear work of it, wrote a few meagre sentences in the skeleton style
+of a mathematical demonstration, stopped half-way down the second
+page; and, after trying in vain to pump up any words, images, notions,
+apprehensions, facts, or observations, from that gulf of abstraction
+in which I had plunged myself for four or five years preceding, gave
+up the attempt as labour in vain, and shed tears of helpless
+despondency on the blank, unfinished paper. I can write fast enough
+now. Am I better than I was then? Oh no! One truth discovered, one
+pang of regret at not being able to express it, is better than all the
+fluency and flippancy in the world. Would that I could go back to what
+I then was! Why can we not revive past times as we can revisit old
+places? If I had the quaint Muse of Sir Philip Sidney to assist me, I
+would write a _Sonnet to the Road between Wem and Shrewsbury_, and
+immortalise every step of it by some fond enigmatical conceit. I would
+swear that the very milestones had ears, and that Harmer hill stooped
+with all its pines, to listen to a poet, as he passed! I remember but
+one other topic of discourse in this walk. He mentioned Paley,
+praised the naturalness and clearness of his style, but condemned his
+sentiments, thought him a mere time-serving casuist, and said that
+'the fact of his work on Moral and Political Philosophy being made a
+text-book in our Universities was a disgrace to the national
+character.' We parted at the six-mile stone; and I returned homeward,
+pensive, but much pleased. I had met with unexpected notice from a
+person whom I believed to have been prejudiced against me. 'Kind and
+affable to me had been his condescension, and should be honoured ever
+with suitable regard.' He was the first poet I had known, and he
+certainly answered to that inspired name. I had heard a great deal of
+his powers of conversation and was not disappointed. In fact, I never
+met with anything at all like them, either before or since. I could
+easily credit the accounts which were circulated of his holding forth
+to a large party of ladies and gentlemen, an evening or two before, on
+the Berkeleian Theory, when he made the whole material universe look
+like a transparency of fine words; and another story (which I believe
+he has somewhere told himself) of his being asked to a party at
+Birmingham, of his smoking tobacco and going to sleep after dinner on
+a sofa, where the company found him, to their no small surprise, which
+was increased to wonder when he started up of a sudden, and rubbing
+his eyes, looked about him, and launched into a three hours'
+description of the third heaven, of which he had had a dream, very
+different from Mr. Southey's _Vision of Judgment_, and also from that
+other _Vision of Judgment_, which Mr. Murray, the Secretary of the
+Bridge-street Junta, took into his especial keeping.
+
+On my way back I had a sound in my ears--it was the voice of Fancy; I
+had a light before me--it was the face of Poetry. The one still
+lingers there, the other has not quitted my side! Coleridge, in truth,
+met me half-way on the ground of philosophy, or I should not have been
+won over to his imaginative creed. I had an uneasy, pleasurable
+sensation all the time, till I was to visit him. During those months
+the chill breath of winter gave me a welcoming; the vernal air was
+balm and inspiration to me. The golden sunsets, the silver star of
+evening, lighted me on my way to new hopes and prospects. _I was to
+visit Coleridge in the spring._ This circumstance was never absent
+from my thoughts, and mingled with all my feelings. I wrote to him at
+the time proposed, and received an answer postponing my intended visit
+for a week or two, but very cordially urging me to complete my promise
+then. This delay did not damp, but rather increased my ardour. In the
+meantime, I went to Llangollen Vale, by way of initiating myself in
+the mysteries of natural scenery; and I must say I was enchanted with
+it. I had been reading Coleridge's description of England in his fine
+_Ode on the Departing Year_, and I applied it, _con amore_, to the
+objects before me. That valley was to me (in a manner) the cradle of a
+new existence: in the river that winds through it, my spirit was
+baptized in the waters of Helicon!
+
+I returned home, and soon after set out on my journey with unworn
+heart, and untired feet. My way lay through Worcester and Gloucester,
+and by Upton, where I thought of Tom Jones and the adventure of the
+muff. I remember getting completely wet through one day, and stopping
+at an inn (I think it was at Tewkesbury) where I sat up all night to
+read _Paul and Virginia_. Sweet were the showers in early youth that
+drenched my body, and sweet the drops of pity that fell upon the books
+I read! I recollect a remark of Coleridge's upon this very book that
+nothing could show the gross indelicacy of French manners and the
+entire corruption of their imagination more strongly than the
+behaviour of the heroine in the last fatal scene, who turns away from
+a person on board the sinking vessel, that offers to save her life,
+because he has thrown off his clothes to assist him in swimming. Was
+this a time to think of such a circumstance? I once hinted to
+Wordsworth, as we were sailing in his boat on Grasmere lake, that I
+thought he had borrowed the idea of his _Poems on the Naming of
+Places_ from the local inscriptions of the same kind in _Paul and
+Virginia_. He did not own the obligation, and stated some distinction
+without a difference in defence of his claim to originality. Any, the
+slightest variation, would be sufficient for this purpose in his mind;
+for whatever _he_ added or altered would inevitably be worth all that
+any one else had done, and contain the marrow of the sentiment. I was
+still two days before the time fixed for my arrival, for I had taken
+care to set out early enough. I stopped these two days at Bridgewater;
+and when I was tired of sauntering on the banks of its muddy river,
+returned to the inn and read _Camilla_. So have I loitered my life
+away, reading books, looking at pictures, going to plays, hearing,
+thinking, writing on what pleased me best. I have wanted only one
+thing to make me happy; but wanting that have wanted everything!
+
+I arrived, and was well received. The country about Nether Stowey is
+beautiful, green and hilly, and near the sea-shore. I saw it but the
+other day, after an interval of twenty years, from a hill near
+Taunton. How was the map of my life spread out before me, as the map
+of the country lay at my feet! In the afternoon, Coleridge took me
+over to All-Foxden, a romantic old family mansion of the St. Aubins,
+where Wordsworth lived. It was then in the possession of a friend of
+the poet's, who gave him the free use of it. Somehow, that period (the
+time just after the French Revolution) was not a time when _nothing
+was given for nothing_. The mind opened and a softness might be
+perceived coming over the heart of individuals, beneath 'the scales
+that fence' our self-interest. Wordsworth himself was from home, but
+his sister kept house, and set before us a frugal repast; and we had
+free access to her brother's poems, the _Lyrical Ballads_, which were
+still in manuscript, or in the form of _Sybilline Leaves_. I dipped
+into a few of these with great satisfaction, and with the faith of a
+novice. I slept that night in an old room with blue hangings, and
+covered with the round-faced family portraits of the age of George I.
+and II., and from the wooded declivity of the adjoining park that
+overlooked my window, at the dawn of day, could
+
+    ----'hear the loud stag speak.'
+
+In the outset of life (and particularly at this time I felt it so) our
+imagination has a body to it. We are in a state between sleeping and
+waking, and have indistinct but glorious glimpses of strange shapes,
+and there is always something to come better than what we see. As in
+our dreams the fulness of the blood gives warmth and reality to the
+coinage of the brain, so in youth our ideas are clothed, and fed, and
+pampered with our good spirits; we breathe thick with thoughtless
+happiness, the weight of future years presses on the strong pulses of
+the heart, and we repose with undisturbed faith in truth and good. As
+we advance, we exhaust our fund of enjoyment and of hope. We are no
+longer wrapped in _lamb's-wool_, lulled in Elysium. As we taste the
+pleasures of life, their spirit evaporates, the sense palls; and
+nothing is left but the phantoms, the lifeless shadows of what _has
+been_!
+
+That morning, as soon as breakfast was over, we strolled out into the
+park, and seating ourselves on the trunk of an old ash-tree that
+stretched along the ground, Coleridge read aloud with a sonorous and
+musical voice, the ballad of _Betty Foy_. I was not critically or
+sceptically inclined. I saw touches of truth and nature, and took the
+rest for granted. But in the _Thorn_, the _Mad Mother_, and the
+_Complaint of a Poor Indian Woman_, I felt that deeper power and
+pathos which have been since acknowledged,
+
+    'In spite of pride, in erring reason's spite,'
+
+as the characteristics of this author; and the sense of a new style
+and a new spirit in poetry came over me. It had to me something of the
+effect that arises from the turning up of the fresh soil, or of the
+first welcome breath of Spring:
+
+    'While yet the trembling year is unconfirmed.'
+
+Coleridge and myself walked back to Stowey that evening, and his voice
+sounded high
+
+    'Of Providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate,
+    Fix'd fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute,'
+
+as we passed through echoing grove, by fairy stream or waterfall,
+gleaming in the summer moonlight! He lamented that Wordsworth was not
+prone enough to believe in the traditional superstitions of the place,
+and that there was a something corporeal, a _matter-of-fact-ness_, a
+clinging to the palpable, or often to the petty, in his poetry, in
+consequence. His genius was not a spirit that descended to him through
+the air; it sprung out of the ground like a flower, or unfolded itself
+from a green spray, on which the goldfinch sang. He said, however (if
+I remember right), that this objection must be confined to his
+descriptive pieces, that his philosophic poetry had a grand and
+comprehensive spirit in it, so that his soul seemed to inhabit the
+universe like a palace, and to discover truth by intuition, rather
+than by deduction. The next day Wordsworth arrived from Bristol at
+Coleridge's cottage. I think I see him now. He answered in some degree
+to his friend's description of him, but was more gaunt and Don
+Quixote-like. He was quaintly dressed (according to the _costume_ of
+that unconstrained period) in a brown fustian jacket and striped
+pantaloons. There was something of a roll, a lounge in his gait, not
+unlike his own _Peter Bell_. There was a severe, worn pressure of
+thought about his temples, a fire in his eye (as if he saw something
+in objects more than the outward appearance), an intense, high,
+narrow forehead, a Roman nose, cheeks furrowed by strong purpose and
+feeling, and a convulsive inclination to laughter about the mouth, a
+good deal at variance with the solemn, stately expression of the rest
+of his face. Chantrey's bust wants the marking traits; but he was
+teased into making it regular and heavy: Haydon's head of him,
+introduced into the _Entrance of Christ into Jerusalem_, is the most
+like his drooping weight of thought and expression. He sat down and
+talked very naturally and freely, with a mixture of clear, gushing
+accents in his voice, a deep guttural intonation, and a strong
+tincture of the northern _burr_, like the crust on wine. He instantly
+began to make havoc of the half of a Cheshire cheese on the table, and
+said, triumphantly, that 'his marriage with experience had not been so
+productive as Mr. Southey's in teaching him a knowledge of the good
+things of this life.' He had been to see the _Castle Spectre_ by Monk
+Lewis, while at Bristol, and described it very well. He said 'it
+fitted the taste of the audience like a glove.' This _ad captandum_
+merit was however by no means a recommendation of it, according to the
+severe principles of the new school, which reject rather than court
+popular effect. Wordsworth, looking out of the low, latticed window,
+said, 'How beautifully the sun sets on that yellow bank!' I thought
+within myself, 'With what eyes these poets see nature!' and ever
+after, when I saw the sun-set stream upon the objects facing it,
+conceived I had made a discovery, or thanked Mr. Wordsworth for having
+made one for me! We went over to All-Foxden again the day following,
+and Wordsworth read us the story of _Peter Bell_ in the open air; and
+the comment upon it by his face and voice was very different from that
+of some later critics! Whatever might be thought of the poem, 'his
+face was as a book where men might read strange matters,' and he
+announced the fate of his hero in prophetic tones. There is a _chaunt_
+in the recitation both of Coleridge and Wordsworth, which acts as a
+spell upon the hearer, and disarms the judgment. Perhaps they have
+deceived themselves by making habitual use of this ambiguous
+accompaniment. Coleridge's manner is more full, animated, and varied;
+Wordsworth's more equable, sustained, and internal. The one might be
+termed more _dramatic_, the other more _lyrical_. Coleridge has told
+me that he himself liked to compose in walking over uneven ground, or
+breaking through the straggling branches of a copse-wood; whereas
+Wordsworth always wrote (if he could) walking up and down a straight
+gravel walk, or in some spot where the continuity of his verse met
+with no collateral interruption. Returning that same evening, I got
+into a metaphysical argument with Wordsworth, while Coleridge was
+explaining the different notes of the nightingale to his sister, in
+which we neither of us succeeded in making ourselves perfectly clear
+and intelligible. Thus I passed three weeks at Nether Stowey and in
+the neighbourhood, generally devoting the afternoons to a delightful
+chat in an arbour made of bark by the poet's friend Tom Poole, sitting
+under two fine elm-trees, and listening to the bees humming round us,
+while we quaffed our _flip_. It was agreed, among other things, that
+we should make a jaunt down the Bristol Channel, as far as Linton. We
+set off together on foot, Coleridge, John Chester, and I. This Chester
+was a native of Nether Stowey, one of those who were attracted to
+Coleridge's discourse as flies are to honey, or bees in swarming-time
+to the sound of a brass pan. He 'followed in the chase like a dog who
+hunts, not like one that made up the cry.' He had on a brown cloth
+coat, boots, and corduroy breeches, was low in stature, bow-legged,
+had a drag in his walk like a drover, which he assisted by a hazel
+switch, and kept on a sort of trot by the side of Coleridge, like a
+running footman by a state coach, that he might not lose a syllable or
+sound that fell from Coleridge's lips. He told me his private
+opinion, that Coleridge was a wonderful man. He scarcely opened his
+lips, much less offered an opinion the whole way: yet of the three,
+had I to choose during that journey, I would be John Chester. He
+afterwards followed Coleridge into Germany, where the Kantean
+philosophers were puzzled how to bring him under any of their
+categories. When he sat down at table with his idol, John's felicity
+was complete; Sir Walter Scott's, or Mr. Blackwood's, when they sat
+down at the same table with the King, was not more so. We passed
+Dunster on our right, a small town between the brow of a hill and the
+sea. I remember eyeing it wistfully as it lay below us: contrasted
+with the woody scene around, it looked as clear, as pure, as
+_embrowned_ and ideal as any landscape I have seen since, of Gaspar
+Poussin's or Domenichino's. We had a long day's march (our feet kept
+time to the echoes of Coleridge's tongue) through Minehead and by the
+Blue Anchor, and on to Linton, which we did not reach till near
+midnight, and where we had some difficulty in making a lodgment. We,
+however, knocked the people of the house up at last, and we were
+repaid for our apprehensions and fatigue by some excellent rashers of
+fried bacon and eggs. The view in coming along had been splendid. We
+walked for miles and miles on dark brown heaths overlooking the
+Channel, with the Welsh hills beyond, and at times descended into
+little sheltered valleys close by the sea-side, with a smuggler's face
+scowling by us, and then had to ascend conical hills with a path
+winding up through a coppice to a barren top, like a monk's shaven
+crown, from one of which I pointed out to Coleridge's notice the bare
+masts of a vessel on the very edge of the horizon, and within the
+red-orbed disk of the setting sun, like his own spectre-ship in the
+_Ancient Mariner_. At Linton the character of the sea-coast becomes
+more marked and rugged. There is a place called the _Valley of Rocks_
+(I suspect this was only the poetical name for it), bedded among
+precipices overhanging the sea, with rocky caverns beneath, into
+which the waves dash, and where the sea-gull for ever wheels its
+screaming flight. On the tops of these are huge stones thrown
+transverse, as if an earthquake had tossed them there, and behind
+these is a fretwork of perpendicular rocks, something like the
+_Giant's Causeway_. A thunder-storm came on while we were at the inn,
+and Coleridge was running out bare-headed to enjoy the commotion of
+the elements in the _Valley of Rocks_, but as if in spite, the clouds
+only muttered a few angry sounds, and let fall a few refreshing drops.
+Coleridge told me that he and Wordsworth were to have made this place
+the scene of a prose-tale, which was to have been in the manner of,
+but far superior to, the _Death of Abel_, but they had relinquished
+the design. In the morning of the second day, we breakfasted
+luxuriously in an old-fashioned parlour on tea, toast, eggs, and
+honey, in the very sight of the bee-hives from which it had been
+taken, and a garden full of thyme and wild flowers that had produced
+it. On this occasion Coleridge spoke of Virgil's _Georgics_, but not
+well. I do not think he had much feeling for the classical or
+elegant.[3] It was in this room that we found a little worn-out copy
+of the _Seasons_, lying in a window-seat, on which Coleridge
+exclaimed, '_That_ is true fame!' He said Thomson was a great poet,
+rather than a good one; his style was as meretricious as his thoughts
+were natural. He spoke of Cowper as the best modern poet. He said the
+_Lyrical Ballads_ were an experiment about to be tried by him and
+Wordsworth, to see how far the public taste would endure poetry
+written in a more natural and simple style than had hitherto been
+attempted; totally discarding the artifices of poetical diction, and
+making use only of such words as had probably been common in the most
+ordinary language since the days of Henry II. Some comparison was
+introduced between Shakspeare and Milton. He said 'he hardly knew
+which to prefer. Shakspeare appeared to him a mere stripling in the
+art; he was as tall and as strong, with infinitely more activity than
+Milton, but he never appeared to have come to man's estate; or if he
+had, he would not have been a man, but a monster.' He spoke with
+contempt of Gray, and with intolerance of Pope. He did not like the
+versification of the latter. He observed that 'the ears of these
+couplet-writers might be charged with having short memories, that
+could not retain the harmony of whole passages.' He thought little of
+Junius as a writer; he had a dislike of Dr. Johnson; and a much higher
+opinion of Burke as an orator and politician, than of Fox or Pitt. He,
+however, thought him very inferior in richness of style and imagery to
+some of our elder prose-writers, particularly Jeremy Taylor. He liked
+Richardson, but not Fielding; nor could I get him to enter into the
+merits of _Caleb Williams_. In short, he was profound and
+discriminating with respect to those authors whom he liked, and where
+he gave his judgment fair play; capricious, perverse, and prejudiced
+in his antipathies and distastes. We loitered on the 'ribbed
+sea-sands,' in such talk as this a whole morning, and, I recollect,
+met with a curious seaweed, of which John Chester told us the country
+name! A fisherman gave Coleridge an account of a boy that had been
+drowned the day before, and that they had tried to save him at the
+risk of their own lives. He said 'he did not know how it was that they
+ventured, but, Sir, we have a _nature_ towards one another.' This
+expression, Coleridge remarked to me, was a fine illustration of that
+theory of disinterestedness which I (in common with Butler) had
+adopted. I broached to him an argument of mine to prove that
+_likeness_ was not mere association of ideas. I said that the mark in
+the sand put one in mind of a man's foot, not because it was part of a
+former impression of a man's foot (for it was quite new), but because
+it was like the shape of a man's foot. He assented to the justness of
+this distinction (which I have explained at length elsewhere, for the
+benefit of the curious) and John Chester listened; not from any
+interest in the subject, but because he was astonished that I should
+be able to suggest anything to Coleridge that he did not already know.
+We returned on the third morning, and Coleridge remarked the silent
+cottage-smoke curling up the valleys where, a few evenings before, we
+had seen the lights gleaming through the dark.
+
+In a day or two after we arrived at Stowey, we set out, I on my return
+home, and he for Germany. It was a Sunday morning, and he was to
+preach that day for Dr. Toulmin of Taunton. I asked him if he had
+prepared anything for the occasion? He said he had not even thought of
+the text, but should as soon as we parted. I did not go to hear
+him--this was a fault--but we met in the evening at Bridgewater. The
+next day we had a long day's walk to Bristol, and sat down, I
+recollect, by a well-side on the road, to cool ourselves and satisfy
+our thirst, when Coleridge repeated to me some descriptive lines of
+his tragedy of _Remorse_; which I must say became his mouth and that
+occasion better than they, some years after, did Mr. Elliston's and
+the Drury-lane boards--
+
+    'Oh memory! shield me from the world's poor strife,
+    And give those scenes thine everlasting life.'
+
+I saw no more of him for a year or two, during which period he had
+been wandering in the Hartz Forest, in Germany; and his return was
+cometary, meteorous, unlike his setting out. It was not till some time
+after that I knew his friends Lamb and Southey. The last always
+appears to me (as I first saw him) with a commonplace book under his
+arm, and the first with a _bon-mot_ in his mouth. It was at Godwin's
+that I met him with Holcroft and Coleridge, where they were disputing
+fiercely which was the best--_Man as he was, or man as he is to be_.
+'Give me,' says Lamb, 'man as he is _not_ to be.' This saying was the
+beginning of a friendship between us, which I believe still continues.
+Enough of this for the present.
+
+    'But there is matter for another rhyme,
+    And I to this may add a second tale.'
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[1] My father was one of those who mistook his talent, after all. He
+used to be very much dissatisfied that I preferred his _Letters_ to
+his _Sermons_. The last were forced and dry; the first came naturally
+from him. For ease, half-plays on words, and a supine, monkish,
+indolent pleasantry, I have never seen them equalled.
+
+[2] He complained in particular of the presumption of his attempting
+to establish the future immortality of man, 'without' (as he said)
+'knowing what Death was or what Life was'--and the tone in which he
+pronounced these two words seemed to convey a complete image of both.
+
+[3] He had no idea of pictures, of Claude or Raphael, and at this time
+I had as little as he. He sometimes gives a striking account at
+present of the Cartoons at Pisa by Buffamalco and others; of one in
+particular, where Death is seen in the air brandishing his scythe, and
+the great and mighty of the earth shudder at his approach, while the
+beggars and the wretched kneel to him as their deliverer. He would, of
+course, understand so broad and fine a moral as this at any time.
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY II
+
+OF PERSONS ONE WOULD WISH TO HAVE SEEN
+
+    'Come like shadows--so depart.'
+
+
+Lamb it was, I think, who suggested this subject, as well as the
+defence of Guy Faux, which I urged him to execute. As, however, he
+would undertake neither, I suppose I must do both, a task for which he
+would have been much fitter, no less from the temerity than the
+felicity of his pen--
+
+    'Never so sure our rapture to create
+    As when it touch'd the brink of all we hate.'
+
+Compared with him, I shall, I fear, make but a commonplace piece of
+business of it; but I should be loth the idea was entirely lost, and
+besides I may avail myself of some hints of his in the progress of it.
+I am sometimes, I suspect, a better reporter of the ideas of other
+people than expounder of my own. I pursue the one too far into paradox
+or mysticism; the others I am not bound to follow farther than I like,
+or than seems fair and reasonable.
+
+On the question being started, Ayrton said, 'I suppose the two first
+persons you would choose to see would be the two greatest names in
+English literature, Sir Isaac Newton and Mr. Locke?' In this Ayrton,
+as usual, reckoned without his host. Every one burst out a laughing at
+the expression of Lamb's face, in which impatience was restrained by
+courtesy. 'Yes, the greatest names,' he stammered out hastily, 'but
+they were not persons--not persons.'--'Not persons?' said Ayrton,
+looking wise and foolish at the same time, afraid his triumph might be
+premature. 'That is,' rejoined Lamb, 'not characters, you know. By Mr.
+Locke and Sir Isaac Newton, you mean the _Essay on the Human
+Understanding_, and the _Principia_, which we have to this day. Beyond
+their contents there is nothing personally interesting in the men. But
+what we want to see any one _bodily_ for, is when there is something
+peculiar, striking in the individuals, more than we can learn from
+their writings, and yet are curious to know. I dare say Locke and
+Newton were very like Kneller's portraits of them. But who could paint
+Shakspeare?'--'Ay,' retorted Ayrton, 'there it is; then I suppose you
+would prefer seeing him and Milton instead?'--'No,' said Lamb,
+'neither. I have seen so much of Shakspeare on the stage and on
+bookstalls, in frontispieces and on mantel-pieces, that I am quite
+tired of the everlasting repetition: and as to Milton's face, the
+impressions that have come down to us of it I do not like; it is too
+starched and puritanical; and I should be afraid of losing some of the
+manna of his poetry in the leaven of his countenance and the
+precisian's band and gown.'--'I shall guess no more,' said Ayrton.
+'Who is it, then, you would like to see "in his habit as he lived," if
+you had your choice of the whole range of English literature?' Lamb
+then named Sir Thomas Browne and Fulke Greville, the friend of Sir
+Philip Sidney, as the two worthies whom he should feel the greatest
+pleasure to encounter on the floor of his apartment in their nightgown
+and slippers, and to exchange friendly greeting with them. At this
+Ayrton laughed outright, and conceived Lamb was jesting with him; but
+as no one followed his example, he thought there might be something in
+it, and waited for an explanation in a state of whimsical suspense.
+Lamb then (as well as I can remember a conversation that passed twenty
+years ago--how time slips!) went on as follows. 'The reason why I
+pitch upon these two authors is, that their writings are riddles, and
+they themselves the most mysterious of personages. They resemble the
+soothsayers of old, who dealt in dark hints and doubtful oracles; and
+I should like to ask them the meaning of what no mortal but
+themselves, I should suppose, can fathom. There is Dr. Johnson: I have
+no curiosity, no strange uncertainty about him; he and Boswell
+together have pretty well let me into the secret of what passed
+through his mind. He and other writers like him are sufficiently
+explicit: my friends whose repose I should be tempted to disturb (were
+it in my power), are implicit, inextricable, inscrutable.
+
+'When I look at that obscure but gorgeous prose composition the
+_Urn-burial_, I seem to myself to look into a deep abyss, at the
+bottom of which are hid pearls and rich treasure; or it is like a
+stately labyrinth of doubt and withering speculation, and I would
+invoke the spirit of the author to lead me through it. Besides, who
+would not be curious to see the lineaments of a man who, having
+himself been twice married, wished that mankind were propagated like
+trees! As to Fulke Greville, he is like nothing but one of his own
+"Prologues spoken by the ghost of an old king of Ormus," a truly
+formidable and inviting personage: his style is apocalyptical,
+cabalistical, a knot worthy of such an apparition to untie; and for
+the unravelling a passage or two, I would stand the brunt of an
+encounter with so portentous a commentator!'--'I am afraid, in that
+case,' said Ayrton, 'that if the mystery were once cleared up, the
+merit might be lost'; and turning to me, whispered a friendly
+apprehension, that while Lamb continued to admire these old crabbed
+authors, he would never become a popular writer. Dr. Donne was
+mentioned as a writer of the same period, with a very interesting
+countenance, whose history was singular, and whose meaning was often
+quite as _uncomeatable_, without a personal citation from the dead, as
+that of any of his contemporaries. The volume was produced; and while
+some one was expatiating on the exquisite simplicity and beauty of the
+portrait prefixed to the old edition, Ayrton got hold of the poetry,
+and exclaiming 'What have we here?' read the following:
+
+    'Here lies a She-Sun and a He-Moon there--
+    She gives the best light to his sphear,
+    Or each is both, and all, and so
+    They unto one another nothing owe.'
+
+There was no resisting this, till Lamb, seizing the volume, turned to
+the beautiful _Lines to his Mistress_, dissuading her from
+accompanying him abroad, and read them with suffused features and a
+faltering tongue:
+
+    'By our first strange and fatal interview,
+    By all desires which thereof did ensue,
+    By our long starving hopes, by that remorse
+    Which my words' masculine perswasive force
+    Begot in thee, and by the memory
+    Of hurts, which spies and rivals threatned me,
+    I calmely beg. But by thy father's wrath,
+    By all paines which want and divorcement hath,
+    I conjure thee; and all the oathes which I
+    And thou have sworne to seale joynt constancy
+    Here I unsweare, and overswear them thus--
+    Thou shalt not love by wayes so dangerous.
+    Temper, O fair love! love's impetuous rage,
+    Be my true mistris still, not my faign'd Page;
+    I'll goe, and, by thy kinde leave, leave behinde
+    Thee! onely worthy to nurse in my minde.
+    Thirst to come backe; O, if thou die before,
+    My soule, from other lands to thee shall soare.
+    Thy (else almighty) beauty cannot move
+    Rage from the seas, nor thy love teach them love.
+    Nor tame wild Boreas' harshnesse; thou hast reade
+    How roughly hee in pieces shivered
+    Fair Orithea, whom he swore he lov'd.
+    Fall ill or good, 'tis madnesse to have prov'd
+    Dangers unurg'd: Feed on this flattery,
+    That absent lovers one in th' other be.
+    Dissemble nothing, not a boy; nor change
+    Thy bodie's habite, nor minde; be not strange
+    To thyeselfe onely. All will spie in thy face
+    A blushing, womanly, discovering grace.
+    Richly-cloath'd apes are call'd apes, and as soone
+    Eclips'd as bright, we call the moone the moon.
+    Men of France, changeable camelions,
+    Spittles of diseases, shops of fashions,
+    Love's fuellers, and the rightest company
+    Of players, which upon the world's stage be,
+    Will quickly know thee ...
+    O stay here! for for thee
+    England is onely a worthy gallerie,
+    To walke in expectation; till from thence
+    Our greatest King call thee to his presence.
+    When I am gone, dreame me some happinesse,
+    Nor let thy lookes our long-hid love confesse,
+    Nor praise, nor dispraise me; nor blesse, nor curse
+    Openly love's force, nor in bed fright thy nurse
+    With midnight's startings, crying out, Oh, oh,
+    Nurse, oh, my love is slaine, I saw him goe
+    O'er the white Alpes alone; I saw him, I,
+    Assail'd, fight, taken, stabb'd, bleed, fall, and die.
+    Augure me better chance, except dread Jove
+    Thinke it enough for me to have had thy love.'
+
+Some one then inquired of Lamb if we could not see from the window the
+Temple walk in which Chaucer used to take his exercise; and on his
+name being put to the vote, I was pleased to find that there was a
+general sensation in his favour in all but Ayrton, who said something
+about the ruggedness of the metre, and even objected to the quaintness
+of the orthography. I was vexed at this superficial gloss,
+pertinaciously reducing everything to its own trite level, and asked
+'if he did not think it would be worth while to scan the eye that had
+first greeted the Muse in that dim twilight and early dawn of English
+literature; to see the head round which the visions of fancy must have
+played like gleams of inspiration or a sudden glory; to watch those
+lips that "lisped in numbers, for the numbers came"--as by a miracle,
+or as if the dumb should speak? Nor was it alone that he had been the
+first to tune his native tongue (however imperfectly to modern ears);
+but he was himself a noble, manly character, standing before his age
+and striving to advance it; a pleasant humourist withal, who has not
+only handed down to us the living manners of his time, but had, no
+doubt, store of curious and quaint devices, and would make as hearty a
+companion as mine Host of the Tabard. His interview with Petrarch is
+fraught with interest. Yet I would rather have seen Chaucer in company
+with the author of the _Decameron_, and have heard them exchange their
+best stories together--the _Squire's Tale_ against the Story of the
+_Falcon_, the _Wife of Bath's Prologue_ against the _Adventures of
+Friar Albert_. How fine to see the high mysterious brow which learning
+then wore, relieved by the gay, familiar tone of men of the world, and
+by the courtesies of genius! Surely, the thoughts and feelings which
+passed through the minds of these great revivers of learning, these
+Cadmuses who sowed the teeth of letters, must have stamped an
+expression on their features as different from the moderns as their
+books, and well worth the perusal. Dante,' I continued, 'is as
+interesting a person as his own Ugolino, one whose lineaments
+curiosity would as eagerly devour in order to penetrate his spirit,
+and the only one of the Italian poets I should care much to see. There
+is a fine portrait of Ariosto by no less a hand than Titian's; light,
+Moorish, spirited, but not answering our idea. The same artist's large
+colossal profile of Peter Aretine is the only likeness of the kind
+that has the effect of conversing with "the mighty dead"; and this is
+truly spectral, ghastly, necromantic.' Lamb put it to me if I should
+like to see Spenser as well as Chaucer; and I answered, without
+hesitation, 'No; for that his beauties were ideal, visionary, not
+palpable or personal, and therefore connected with less curiosity
+about the man. His poetry was the essence of romance, a very halo
+round the bright orb of fancy; and the bringing in the individual
+might dissolve the charm. No tones of voice could come up to the
+mellifluous cadence of his verse; no form but of a winged angel could
+vie with the airy shapes he has described. He was (to my apprehension)
+rather a "creature of the element, that lived in the rainbow and
+played in the plighted clouds," than an ordinary mortal. Or if he did
+appear, I should wish it to be as a mere vision, like one of his own
+pageants, and that he should pass by unquestioned like a dream or
+sound--
+
+    ----"_That_ was Arion crown'd:
+    So went he playing on the wat'ry plain."'
+
+Captain Burney muttered something about Columbus, and Martin Burney
+hinted at the Wandering Jew; but the last was set aside as spurious,
+and the first made over to the New World.
+
+'I should like,' said Mrs. Reynolds, 'to have seen Pope talk with
+Patty Blount; and I _have_ seen Goldsmith.' Every one turned round to
+look at Mrs. Reynolds, as if by so doing they could get a sight at
+Goldsmith.
+
+'Where,' asked a harsh, croaking voice, 'was Dr. Johnson in the years
+1745-6? He did not write anything that we know of, nor is there any
+account of him in Boswell during those two years. Was he in Scotland
+with the Pretender? He seems to have passed through the scenes in the
+Highlands in company with Boswell, many years after, "with lack-lustre
+eye," yet as if they were familiar to him, or associated in his mind
+with interests that he durst not explain. If so, it would be an
+additional reason for my liking him; and I would give something to
+have seen him seated in the tent with the youthful Majesty of Britain,
+and penning the Proclamation to all true subjects and adherents of the
+legitimate Government.'
+
+'I thought,' said Ayrton, turning short round upon Lamb, 'that you of
+the Lake School did not like Pope?'--'Not like Pope! My dear sir, you
+must be under a mistake--I can read him over and over for
+ever!'--'Why, certainly, the _Essay on Man_ must be allowed to be a
+masterpiece.'--'It may be so, but I seldom look into it.'--'Oh! then
+it's his Satires you admire?'--'No, not his Satires, but his friendly
+Epistles and his compliments.'--'Compliments! I did not know he ever
+made any.'--'The finest,' said Lamb, 'that were ever paid by the wit
+of man. Each of them is worth an estate for life--nay, is an
+immortality. There is that superb one to Lord Cornbury:
+
+    "Despise low joys, low gains;
+    Disdain whatever Cornbury disdains;
+    Be virtuous, and be happy for your pains."
+
+Was there ever more artful insinuation of idolatrous praise? And then
+that noble apotheosis of his friend Lord Mansfield (however little
+deserved), when, speaking of the House of Lords, he adds:
+
+    "Conspicuous scene! another yet is nigh,
+    (More silent far) where kings and poets lie;
+    Where Murray (long enough his country's pride)
+    Shall be no more than Tully or than Hyde."
+
+And with what a fine turn of indignant flattery he addresses Lord
+Bolingbroke:
+
+    "Why rail they then, if but one wreath of mine,
+    Oh! all accomplish'd St. John, deck thy shrine?"
+
+Or turn,' continued Lamb, with a slight hectic on his cheek and his
+eye glistening, 'to his list of early friends:
+
+    "But why then publish? Granville the polite,
+    And knowing Walsh, would tell me I could write;
+    Well-natured Garth inflamed with early praise,
+    And Congreve loved, and Swift endured my lays;
+    The courtly Talbot, Somers, Sheffield read,
+    Ev'n mitred Rochester would nod the head;
+    And St. John's self (great Dryden's friend before)
+    Received with open arms one poet more.
+    Happy my studies, if by these approved!
+    Happier their author, if by these beloved!
+    From these the world will judge of men and books,
+    Not from the Burnets, Oldmixons, and Cooks."'
+
+Here his voice totally failed him, and throwing down the book, he
+said, 'Do you think I would not wish to have been friends with such a
+man as this?'
+
+'What say you to Dryden?'--'He rather made a show of himself, and
+courted popularity in that lowest temple of fame, a coffee-shop, so as
+in some measure to vulgarise one's idea of him. Pope, on the
+contrary, reached the very _beau ideal_ of what a poet's life should
+be; and his fame while living seemed to be an emanation from that
+which was to circle his name after death. He was so far enviable (and
+one would feel proud to have witnessed the rare spectacle in him) that
+he was almost the only poet and man of genius who met with his reward
+on this side of the tomb, who realised in friends, fortune, the esteem
+of the world, the most sanguine hopes of a youthful ambition, and who
+found that sort of patronage from the great during his lifetime which
+they would be thought anxious to bestow upon him after his death. Read
+Gay's verses to him on his supposed return from Greece, after his
+translation of Homer was finished, and say if you would not gladly
+join the bright procession that welcomed him home, or see it once more
+land at Whitehall stairs.'--'Still,' said Mrs. Reynolds, 'I would
+rather have seen him talking with Patty Blount, or riding by in a
+coronet-coach with Lady Mary Wortley Montagu!'
+
+Erasmus Phillips, who was deep in a game of piquet at the other end of
+the room, whispered to Martin Burney to ask if Junius would not be a
+fit person to invoke from the dead. 'Yes,' said Lamb, 'provided he
+would agree to lay aside his mask.'
+
+We were now at a stand for a short time, when Fielding was mentioned
+as a candidate; only one, however, seconded the proposition.
+'Richardson?'--'By all means, but only to look at him through the
+glass door of his back shop, hard at work upon one of his novels (the
+most extraordinary contrast that ever was presented between an author
+and his works); not to let him come behind his counter, lest he should
+want you to turn customer, or to go upstairs with him, lest he should
+offer to read the first manuscript of Sir Charles Grandison, which was
+originally written in eight-and-twenty volumes octavo, or get out the
+letters of his female correspondents, to prove that Joseph Andrews was
+low.'
+
+There was but one statesman in the whole of English history that any
+one expressed the least desire to see--Oliver Cromwell, with his fine,
+frank, rough, pimply face, and wily policy; and one enthusiast, John
+Bunyan, the immortal author of the _Pilgrim's Progress_. It seemed
+that if he came into the room, dreams would follow him, and that each
+person would nod under his golden cloud, 'nigh-sphered in heaven,' a
+canopy as strange and stately as any in Homer.
+
+Of all persons near our own time, Garrick's name was received with the
+greatest enthusiasm, who was proposed by Barron Field. He presently
+superseded both Hogarth and Handel, who had been talked of, but then
+it was on condition that he should act in tragedy and comedy, in the
+play and the farce, _Lear_ and _Wildair_ and _Abel Drugger_. What a
+_sight for sore eyes_ that would be! Who would not part with a year's
+income at least, almost with a year of his natural life, to be present
+at it? Besides, as he could not act alone, and recitations are
+unsatisfactory things, what a troop he must bring with him--the
+silver-tongued Barry, and Quin, and Shuter and Weston, and Mrs. Clive
+and Mrs. Pritchard, of whom I have heard my father speak as so great a
+favourite when he was young. This would indeed be a revival of the
+dead, the restoring of art; and so much the more desirable, as such is
+the lurking scepticism mingled with our overstrained admiration of
+past excellence, that though we have the speeches of Burke, the
+portraits of Reynolds, the writings of Goldsmith, and the conversation
+of Johnson, to show what people could do at that period, and to
+confirm the universal testimony to the merits of Garrick; yet, as it
+was before our time, we have our misgivings, as if he was probably,
+after all, little better than a Bartlemy-fair actor, dressed out to
+play _Macbeth_ in a scarlet coat and laced cocked-hat. For one, I
+should like to have seen and heard with my own eyes and ears.
+Certainly, by all accounts, if any one was ever moved by the true
+histrionic _aestus_, it was Garrick. When he followed the Ghost in
+_Hamlet_, he did not drop the sword, as most actors do, behind the
+scenes, but kept the point raised the whole way round, so fully was he
+possessed with the idea, or so anxious not to lose sight of his part
+for a moment. Once at a splendid dinner-party at Lord ----'s, they
+suddenly missed Garrick, and could not imagine what was become of him,
+till they were drawn to the window by the convulsive screams and peals
+of laughter of a young negro boy, who was rolling on the ground in an
+ecstasy of delight to see Garrick mimicking a turkey-cock in the
+court-yard, with his coat-tail stuck out behind, and in a seeming
+flutter of feathered rage and pride. Of our party only two persons
+present had seen the British Roscius; and they seemed as willing as
+the rest to renew their acquaintance with their old favourite.
+
+We were interrupted in the hey-day and mid-career of this fanciful
+speculation, by a grumbler in a corner, who declared it was a shame to
+make all this rout about a mere player and farce-writer, to the
+neglect and exclusion of the fine old dramatists, the contemporaries
+and rivals of Shakspeare. Lamb said he had anticipated this objection
+when he had named the author of _Mustapha_ and _Alaham_; and, out of
+caprice, insisted upon keeping him to represent the set, in preference
+to the wild, hare-brained enthusiast, Kit Marlowe; to the sexton of
+St. Ann's, Webster, with his melancholy yew-trees and death's-heads;
+to Decker, who was but a garrulous proser; to the voluminous Heywood;
+and even to Beaumont and Fletcher, whom we might offend by
+complimenting the wrong author on their joint productions. Lord
+Brooke, on the contrary, stood quite by himself, or, in Cowley's
+words, was 'a vast species alone.' Some one hinted at the circumstance
+of his being a lord, which rather startled Lamb, but he said a _ghost_
+would perhaps dispense with strict etiquette, on being regularly
+addressed by his title. Ben Jonson divided our suffrages pretty
+equally. Some were afraid he would begin to traduce Shakspeare, who
+was not present to defend himself. 'If he grows disagreeable,' it was
+whispered aloud, 'there is Godwin can match him.' At length, his
+romantic visit to Drummond of Hawthornden was mentioned, and turned
+the scale in his favour.
+
+Lamb inquired if there was any one that was hanged that I would choose
+to mention? And I answered, Eugene Aram. The name of the 'Admirable
+Chrichton' was suddenly started as a splendid example of _waste_
+talents, so different from the generality of his countrymen. This
+choice was mightily approved by a North-Briton present, who declared
+himself descended from that prodigy of learning and accomplishment,
+and said he had family plate in his possession as vouchers for the
+fact, with the initials A. C.--_Admirable Chrichton!_ Hunt laughed, or
+rather roared, as heartily at this as I should think he has done for
+many years.
+
+The last named Mitre-courtier[4] then wished to know whether there
+were any metaphysicians to whom one might be tempted to apply the
+wizard spell? I replied, there were only six in modern times deserving
+the name--Hobbes, Berkeley, Butler, Hartley, Hume, Leibnitz; and
+perhaps Jonathan Edwards, a Massachusetts man.[5] As to the French,
+who talked fluently of having _created_ this science, there was not a
+tittle in any of their writings that was not to be found literally in
+the authors I had mentioned. [Horne Tooke, who might have a claim to
+come in under the head of Grammar, was still living.] None of these
+names seemed to excite much interest, and I did not plead for the
+re-appearance of those who might be thought best fitted by the
+abstracted nature of their studies for the present spiritual and
+disembodied state, and who, even while on this living stage, were
+nearly divested of common flesh and blood. As Ayrton, with an uneasy,
+fidgety face, was about to put some question about Mr. Locke and
+Dugald Stewart, he was prevented by Martin Burney, who observed, 'If
+J---- was here, he would undoubtedly be for having up those profound
+and redoubted socialists, Thomas Aquinas and Duns Scotus.' I said this
+might be fair enough in him who had read, or fancied he had read, the
+original works, but I did not see how we could have any right to call
+up these authors to give an account of themselves in person, till we
+had looked into their writings.
+
+By this time it should seem that some rumour of our whimsical
+deliberation had got wind, and had disturbed the _irritable genus_, in
+their shadowy abodes, for we received messages from several candidates
+that we had just been thinking of. Gray declined our invitation,
+though he had not yet been asked: Gay offered to come, and bring in
+his hand the Duchess of Bolton, the original Polly: Steele and Addison
+left their cards as Captain Sentry and Sir Roger de Coverley: Swift
+came in and sat down without speaking a word, and quitted the room as
+abruptly: Otway and Chatterton were seen lingering on the opposite
+side of the Styx, but could not muster enough between them to pay
+Charon his fare: Thomson fell asleep in the boat, and was rowed back
+again; and Burns sent a low fellow, one John Barleycorn, an old
+companion of his, who had conducted him to the other world, to say
+that he had during his lifetime been drawn out of his retirement as a
+show, only to be made an exciseman of, and that he would rather
+remain where he was. He desired, however, to shake hands by his
+representative--the hand, thus held out, was in a burning fever, and
+shook prodigiously.
+
+The room was hung round with several portraits of eminent painters.
+While we were debating whether we should demand speech with these
+masters of mute eloquence, whose features were so familiar to us, it
+seemed that all at once they glided from their frames, and seated
+themselves at some little distance from us. There was Leonardo, with
+his majestic beard and watchful eye, having a bust of Archimedes
+before him; next him was Raphael's graceful head turned round to the
+Fornarina; and on his other side was Lucretia Borgia, with calm,
+golden locks; Michael Angelo had placed the model of St. Peter's on
+the table before him; Correggio had an angel at his side; Titian was
+seated with his mistress between himself and Giorgione; Guido was
+accompanied by his own Aurora, who took a dice-box from him; Claude
+held a mirror in his hand; Rubens patted a beautiful panther (led in
+by a satyr) on the head; Vandyke appeared as his own Paris, and
+Rembrandt was hid under firs, gold chains, and jewels, which Sir
+Joshua eyed closely, holding his hand so as to shade his forehead. Not
+a word was spoken; and as we rose to do them homage, they still
+presented the same surface to the view. Not being _bona-fide_
+representations of living people, we got rid of the splendid
+apparitions by signs and dumb show. As soon as they had melted into
+thin air, there was a loud noise at the outer door, and we found it
+was Giotto, Cimabue, and Ghirlandaio, who had been raised from the
+dead by their earnest desire to see their illustrious successors--
+
+            'Whose names on earth
+    In Fame's eternal records live for aye!'
+
+Finding them gone, they had no ambition to be seen after them, and
+mournfully withdrew. 'Egad!' said Lamb, 'these are the very fellows I
+should like to have had some talk with, to know how they could see to
+paint when all was dark around them.'
+
+'But shall we have nothing to say,' interrogated G. J----, 'to the
+_Legend of Good Women_?'--'Name, name, Mr. J----,' cried Hunt in a
+boisterous tone of friendly exultation, 'name as many as you please,
+without reserve or fear of molestation!' J---- was perplexed between
+so many amiable recollections, that the name of the lady of his choice
+expired in a pensive whiff of his pipe; and Lamb impatiently declared
+for the Duchess of Newcastle. Mrs. Hutchinson was no sooner mentioned,
+than she carried the day from the Duchess. We were the less solicitous
+on this subject of filling up the posthumous lists of Good Women, as
+there was already one in the room as good, as sensible, and in all
+respects as exemplary, as the best of them could be for their lives!
+'I should like vastly to have seen Ninon de l'Enclos,' said that
+incomparable person; and this immediately put us in mind that we had
+neglected to pay honour due to our friends on the other side of the
+Channel: Voltaire, the patriarch of levity, and Rousseau, the father
+of sentiment; Montaigne and Rabelais (great in wisdom and in wit);
+Moliere and that illustrious group that are collected round him (in
+the print of that subject) to hear him read his comedy of the
+_Tartuffe_ at the house of Ninon; Racine, La Fontaine, Rochefoucalt,
+St. Evremont, etc.
+
+'There is one person,' said a shrill, querulous voice, 'I would rather
+see than all these--Don Quixote!'
+
+'Come, come!' said Hunt; 'I thought we should have no heroes, real or
+fabulous. What say you, Mr. Lamb? Are you for eking out your shadowy
+list with such names as Alexander, Julius Caesar, Tamerlane, or Ghengis
+Khan?'--'Excuse me,' said Lamb; 'on the subject of characters in
+active life, plotters and disturbers of the world, I have a crotchet
+of my own, which I beg leave to reserve.'--'No, no! come, out with
+your worthies!'--'What do you think of Guy Fawkes and Judas
+Iscariot?' Hunt turned an eye upon him like a wild Indian, but cordial
+and full of smothered glee. 'Your most exquisite reason!' was echoed
+on all sides; and Ayrton thought that Lamb had now fairly entangled
+himself. 'Why I cannot but think,' retorted he of the wistful
+countenance, 'that Guy Fawkes, that poor, fluttering annual scarecrow
+of straw and rags, is an ill-used gentleman. I would give something to
+see him sitting pale and emaciated, surrounded by his matches and his
+barrels of gunpowder, and expecting the moment that was to transport
+him to Paradise for his heroic self-devotion; but if I say any more,
+there is that fellow Godwin will make something of it. And as to Judas
+Iscariot, my reason is different. I would fain see the face of him
+who, having dipped his hand in the same dish with the Son of Man,
+could afterwards betray him. I have no conception of such a thing; nor
+have I ever seen any picture (not even Leonardo's very fine one) that
+gave me the least idea of it.'--'You have said enough, Mr. Lamb, to
+justify your choice.'
+
+'Oh! ever right, Menenius--ever right!'
+
+'There is only one other person I can ever think of after this,'
+continued Lamb; but without mentioning a name that once put on a
+semblance of mortality. 'If Shakspeare was to come into the room, we
+should all rise up to meet him; but if that person was to come into
+it, we should all fall down and try to kiss the hem of his garment!'
+
+As a lady present seemed now to get uneasy at the turn the
+conversation had taken, we rose up to go. The morning broke with that
+dim, dubious light by which Giotto, Cimabue, and Ghirlandaio must have
+seen to paint their earliest works; and we parted to meet again and
+renew similar topics at night, the next night, and the night after
+that, till that night overspread Europe which saw no dawn. The same
+event, in truth, broke up our little Congress that broke up the great
+one. But that was to meet again: our deliberations have never been
+resumed.
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[4] Lamb at this time occupied chambers in Mitre-court, Temple.
+
+[5] Bacon is not included in this list, nor do I know where he should
+come in. It is not easy to make room for him and his reputation
+together. This great and celebrated man in some of his works
+recommends it to pour a bottle of claret into the ground of a morning,
+and to stand over it, inhaling the perfumes. So he sometimes enriched
+the dry and barren soil of speculation with the fine aromatic spirit
+of his genius. His _Essays_ and his _Advancement of Learning_ are
+works of vast depth and scope of observation. The last, though it
+contains no positive discoveries, is a noble chart of the human
+intellect, and a guide to all future inquirers.
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY III
+
+ON PARTY SPIRIT
+
+
+Party spirit is one of the _profoundnesses of Satan_, or, in modern
+language, one of the dexterous _equivoques_ and contrivances of our
+self-love, to prove that we, and those who agree with us, combine all
+that is excellent and praiseworthy in our own persons (as in a
+ring-fence), and that all the vices and deformity of human nature take
+refuge with those who differ from us. It is extending and fortifying
+the principle of the _amour-propre_, by calling to its aid the _esprit
+de corps_, and screening and surrounding our favourite propensities
+and obstinate caprices in the hollow squares or dense phalanxes of
+sects and parties. This is a happy mode of pampering our
+self-complacency, and persuading ourselves that we, and those that
+side with us, are 'the salt of the earth'; of giving vent to the
+morbid humours of our pride, envy, hatred, malice, and all
+uncharitableness, those natural secretions of the human heart, under
+the pretext of self-defence, the public safety, or a voice from
+heaven, as it may happen; and of heaping every excellence into one
+scale, and throwing all the obloquy and contempt into the other, in
+virtue of a nickname, a watchword of party, a badge, the colour of a
+ribbon, the cut of a dress. We thus desolate the globe, or tear a
+country in pieces, to show that we are the only people fit to live in
+it; and fancy ourselves angels, while we are playing the devil. In
+this manner the Huron devours the Iroquois, because he is an Iroquois;
+and the Iroquois the Huron, for a similar reason: neither suspects
+that he does it because he himself is a savage, and no better than a
+wild beast; and is convinced in his own breast that the difference of
+man and tribe makes a total difference in the case. The Papist
+persecutes the Protestant, the Protestant persecutes the Papist in his
+turn; and each fancies that he has a plenary right to do so, while he
+keeps in view only the offensive epithet which 'cuts the common link
+of brotherhood between them.' The Church of England ill-treated the
+Dissenters, and the Dissenters, when they had the opportunity, did not
+spare the Church of England. The Whig calls the Tory a knave, the Tory
+compliments the Whig with the same title, and each thinks the abuse
+sticks to the party-name, and has nothing to do with himself or the
+generic name of _man_. On the contrary, it cuts both ways; but while
+the Whigs say 'The Tory is a knave, because he is a Tory,' this is as
+much as to say, 'I cannot be a knave, because I am a Whig'; and by
+exaggerating the profligacy of his opponent, he imagines he is laying
+the sure foundation, and raising the lofty superstructure, of his own
+praises. But if he says, which is the truth, 'The Tory is not a
+rascal, because he is a Tory, but because human nature in power, and
+with the temptation, is a rascal,' then this would imply that the
+seeds of depravity are sown in his own bosom, and might shoot out into
+full growth and luxuriance if he got into place, and this he does not
+wish to develop till he _does_ get into place.
+
+We may be intolerant even in advocating the cause of toleration, and
+so bent on making proselytes to freethinking as to allow no one to
+think freely but ourselves. The most boundless liberality in
+appearance may amount in reality to the most monstrous ostracism of
+opinion--not condemning this or that tenet, or standing up for this or
+that sect or party, but in a supercilious superiority to all sects and
+parties alike, and proscribing in one sweeping clause, all arts,
+sciences, opinions, and pursuits but our own. Till the time of Locke
+and Toland a general toleration was never dreamt of: it was thought
+right on all hands to punish and discountenance heretics and
+schismatics, but each party alternately claimed to be true Christians
+and Orthodox believers. Daniel De Foe, who spent his whole life, and
+wasted his strength, in asserting the right of the Dissenters to a
+Toleration (and got nothing for his pains but the pillory), was
+scandalised at the proposal of the general principle, and was equally
+strenuous in excluding Quakers, Anabaptists, Socinians, Sceptics, and
+all who did not agree in the _essentials_ of Christianity--that is,
+who did not agree with him--from the benefit of such an indulgence to
+tender consciences. We wonder at the cruelties formerly practised upon
+the Jews: is there anything wonderful in it? They were at that time
+the only people to make a butt and a bugbear of, to set up as a mark
+of indignity, and as a foil to our self-love, for the _ferae naturae_
+principle that is within us, and always craving its prey to run down,
+to worry and make sport of at discretion, and without mercy--the
+unvarying uniformity and implicit faith of the Catholic Church had
+imposed silence, and put a curb on our jarring dissensions,
+heartburnings, and ill-blood, so that we had no pretence for
+quarrelling among ourselves for the glory of God or the salvation of
+men:--a JORDANUS BRUNO, an Atheist or sorcerer, once in a way, would
+hardly suffice to stay the stomach of our theological rancour; we
+therefore fell with might and main upon the Jews as a _forlorn hope_
+in this dearth of objects of spite or zeal; or when the whole of
+Europe was reconciled to the bosom of holy Mother Church, went to the
+Holy Land in search of a difference of opinion, and a ground of mortal
+offence: but no sooner was there a division of the Christian World,
+than Papist fell on Protestants or Schismatics, and Schismatics upon
+one another, with the same loving fury as they had before fallen upon
+Turks and Jews. The disposition is always there, like a muzzled
+mastiff; the pretext only is wanting; and this is furnished by a name,
+which, as soon as it is affixed to different sects or parties, gives
+us a licence, we think, to let loose upon them all our malevolence,
+domineering humour, love of power, and wanton mischief, as if they
+were of different species. The sentiment of the pious English Bishop
+was good, who, on seeing a criminal led to execution, exclaimed,
+'There goes my wicked self!'
+
+If we look at common patriotism, it will furnish an illustration of
+party spirit. One would think by an Englishman's hatred of the French,
+and his readiness to die fighting with and for his countrymen, that
+all the nation were united as one man, in heart and hand--and so they
+are in war-time and as an exercise of their loyalty and courage: but
+let the crisis be over, and they cool wonderfully; begin to feel the
+distinctions of English, Irish, and Scotch; fall out among themselves
+upon some minor distinction; the same hand that was eager to shed the
+blood of a Frenchman, will not give a crust of bread or a cup of cold
+water to a fellow countryman in distress; and the heroes who defended
+the 'wooden walls of old England' are left to expose their wounds and
+crippled limbs to gain a pittance from the passengers, or to perish of
+hunger, cold, and neglect, in our highways. Such is the effect of our
+boasted nationality: it is active, fierce in doing mischief; dormantly
+lukewarm in doing good. We may also see why the greatest stress is
+laid on trifles in religion, and why the most violent animosities
+arise out of the smallest differences, either in this or in politics.
+
+In the first place, it would never do to establish our superiority
+over others by the acquisition of greater virtues, or by discarding
+our vices; but it is charming to do this by merely repeating a
+different formula of prayer, turning to the east instead of the west.
+He should fight boldly for such a distinction, who is persuaded it
+will furnish him a passport to the other world, and entitle him to
+look down on the rest of his fellows as _given over to perdition_.
+Secondly, we often hate those most with whom we have only a slight
+shade of difference, whether in politics or religion; because as the
+whole is a contest for precedence and infallibility, we find it more
+difficult to draw the line of distinction where so many points are
+conceded, and are staggered in our conviction by the arguments of
+those whom we cannot despise as totally and incorrigibly in the wrong.
+The High Church party in Queen Anne's time were disposed to sacrifice
+the Low Church and Dissenters to the Papists, because they were more
+galled by their arguments and disconcerted with their pretensions. In
+private life the reverse of the foregoing holds good: that is, trades
+and professions present a direct contrast to sects and parties. A
+conformity in sentiment strengthens our party and opinion, but those
+who have a similarity of pursuit, are rivals in interest; and hence
+the old maxim, that _two of a trade can never agree_.
+
+1830.
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY IV
+
+ON THE FEELING OF IMMORTALITY IN YOUTH
+
+
+No young man believes he shall ever die. It was a saying of my
+brother's, and a fine one. There is a feeling of Eternity in youth
+which makes us amends for everything. To be young is to be as one of
+the Immortals. One half of time indeed is spent--the other half
+remains in store for us with all its countless treasures, for there is
+no line drawn, and we see no limit to our hopes and wishes. We make
+the coming age our own--
+
+    'The vast, the unbounded prospect lies before us.'
+
+Death, old age, are words without a meaning, a dream, a fiction, with
+which we have nothing to do. Others may have undergone, or may still
+undergo them--we 'bear a charmed life,' which laughs to scorn all such
+idle fancies. As, in setting out on a delightful journey, we strain
+our eager sight forward,
+
+    'Bidding the lovely scenes at distance hail,'
+
+and see no end to prospect after prospect, new objects presenting
+themselves as we advance, so in the outset of life we see no end to
+our desires nor to the opportunities of gratifying them. We have as
+yet found no obstacle, no disposition to flag, and it seems that we
+can go on so for ever. We look round in a new world, full of life and
+motion, and ceaseless progress, and feel in ourselves all the vigour
+and spirit to keep pace with it, and do not foresee from any present
+signs how we shall be left behind in the race, decline into old age,
+and drop into the grave. It is the simplicity and, as it were,
+abstractedness of our feelings in youth that (so to speak) identifies
+us with nature and (our experience being weak and our passions strong)
+makes us fancy ourselves immortal like it. Our short-lived connection
+with being, we fondly flatter ourselves, is an indissoluble and
+lasting union. As infants smile and sleep, we are rocked in the cradle
+of our desires, and hushed into fancied security by the roar of the
+universe around us--we quaff the cup of life with eager thirst without
+draining it, and joy and hope seem ever mantling to the brim--objects
+press around us, filling the mind with their magnitude and with the
+throng of desires that wait upon them, so that there is no room for
+the thoughts of death. We are too much dazzled by the gorgeousness and
+novelty of the bright waking dream about us to discern the dim shadow
+lingering for us in the distance. Nor would the hold that life has
+taken of us permit us to detach our thoughts that way, even if we
+could. We are too much absorbed in present objects and pursuits. While
+the spirit of youth remains unimpaired, ere 'the wine of life is
+drunk,' we are like people intoxicated or in a fever, who are hurried
+away by the violence of their own sensations: it is only as present
+objects begin to pall upon the sense, as we have been disappointed in
+our favourite pursuits, cut off from our closest ties, that we by
+degrees become weaned from the world, that passion loosens its hold
+upon futurity, and that we begin to contemplate as in a glass darkly
+the possibility of parting with it for good. Till then, the example of
+others has no effect upon us. Casualties we avoid; the slow approaches
+of age we play at _hide and seek_ with. Like the foolish fat scullion
+in Sterne, who hears that Master Bobby is dead, our only reflection
+is, 'So am not I!' The idea of death, instead of staggering our
+confidence, only seems to strengthen and enhance our sense of the
+possession and enjoyment of life. Others may fall around us like
+leaves, or be mowed down by the scythe of Time like grass: these are
+but metaphors to the unreflecting, buoyant ears and overweening
+presumption of youth. It is not till we see the flowers of Love, Hope,
+and Joy withering around us, that we give up the flattering delusions
+that before led us on, and that the emptiness and dreariness of the
+prospect before us reconciles us hypothetically to the silence of the
+grave.
+
+Life is indeed a strange gift, and its privileges are most mysterious.
+No wonder when it is first granted to us, that our gratitude, our
+admiration, and our delight should prevent us from reflecting on our
+own nothingness, or from thinking it will ever be recalled. Our first
+and strongest impressions are borrowed from the mighty scene that is
+opened to us, and we unconsciously transfer its durability as well as
+its splendour to ourselves. So newly found, we cannot think of parting
+with it yet, or at least put off that consideration _sine die_. Like a
+rustic at a fair, we are full of amazement and rapture, and have no
+thought of going home, or that it will soon be night. We know our
+existence only by ourselves, and confound our knowledge with the
+objects of it. We and Nature are therefore one. Otherwise the
+illusion, the 'feast of reason and the flow of soul,' to which we are
+invited, is a mockery and a cruel insult. We do not go from a play
+till the last act is ended, and the lights are about to be
+extinguished. But the fairy face of Nature still shines on: shall we
+be called away before the curtain falls, or ere we have scarce had a
+glimpse of what is going on? Like children, our step-mother Nature
+holds us up to see the raree-show of the universe, and then, as if we
+were a burden to her to support, lets us fall down again. Yet what
+brave sublunary things does not this pageant present, like a ball or
+_fete_ of the universe!
+
+To see the golden sun, the azure sky, the outstretched ocean; to walk
+upon the green earth, and be lord of a thousand creatures; to look
+down yawning precipices or over distant sunny vales; to see the world
+spread out under one's feet on a map; to bring the stars near; to view
+the smallest insects through a microscope; to read history, and
+consider the revolutions of empire and the successions of generations;
+to hear of the glory of Tyre, of Sidon, of Babylon, and of Susa, and
+to say all these were before me and are now nothing; to say I exist in
+such a point of time, and in such a point of space; to be a spectator
+and a part of its ever-moving scene; to witness the change of season,
+of spring and autumn, of winter and summer; to feel hot and cold,
+pleasure and pain, beauty and deformity, right and wrong; to be
+sensible to the accidents of nature; to consider the mighty world of
+eye and ear; to listen to the stock-dove's notes amid the forest deep;
+to journey over moor and mountain; to hear the midnight sainted choir;
+to visit lighted halls, or the cathedral's gloom, or sit in crowded
+theatres and see life itself mocked; to study the works of art and
+refine the sense of beauty to agony; to worship fame, and to dream of
+immortality; to look upon the Vatican, and to read Shakspeare; to
+gather up the wisdom of the ancients, and to pry into the future; to
+listen to the trump of war, the shout of victory; to question history
+as to the movements of the human heart; to seek for truth; to plead
+the cause of humanity; to overlook the world as if time and nature
+poured their treasures at our feet--to be and to do all this, and then
+in a moment to be nothing--to have it all snatched from us as by a
+juggler's trick, or a phantasmagoria! There is something in this
+transition from all to nothing that shocks us and damps the enthusiasm
+of youth new flushed with hope and pleasure, and we cast the
+comfortless thought as far from us as we can. In the first enjoyment
+of the state of life we discard the fear of debts and duns, and never
+think of the final payment of our great debt to Nature. Art we know is
+long; life, we flatter ourselves, should be so too. We see no end of
+the difficulties and delays we have to encounter: perfection is slow
+of attainment, and we must have time to accomplish it in. The fame of
+the great names we look up to is immortal: and shall not we who
+contemplate it imbibe a portion of ethereal fire, the _divinae
+particula aurae_, which nothing can extinguish? A wrinkle in Rembrandt
+or in Nature takes whole days to resolve itself into its component
+parts, its softenings and its sharpnesses; we refine upon our
+perfections, and unfold the intricacies of nature. What a prospect for
+the future! What a task have we not begun! And shall we be arrested in
+the middle of it? We do not count our time thus employed lost, or our
+pains thrown away; we do not flag or grow tired, but gain new vigour
+at our endless task. Shall Time, then, grudge us to finish what we
+have begun, and have formed a compact with Nature to do? Why not fill
+up the blank that is left us in this manner? I have looked for hours
+at a Rembrandt without being conscious of the flight of time, but with
+ever new wonder and delight, have thought that not only my own but
+another existence I could pass in the same manner. This rarefied,
+refined existence seemed to have no end, nor stint, nor principle of
+decay in it. The print would remain long after I who looked on it had
+become the prey of worms. The thing seems in itself out of all reason:
+health, strength, appetite are opposed to the idea of death, and we
+are not ready to credit it till we have found our illusions vanished,
+and our hopes grown cold. Objects in youth, from novelty, etc., are
+stamped upon the brain with such force and integrity that one thinks
+nothing can remove or obliterate them. They are riveted there, and
+appear to us as an element of our nature. It must be a mere violence
+that destroys them, not a natural decay. In the very strength of this
+persuasion we seem to enjoy an age by anticipation. We melt down years
+into a single moment of intense sympathy, and by anticipating the
+fruits defy the ravages of time. If, then, a single moment of our
+lives is worth years, shall we set any limits to its total value and
+extent? Again, does it not happen that so secure do we think
+ourselves of an indefinite period of existence, that at times, when
+left to ourselves, and impatient of novelty, we feel annoyed at what
+seems to us the slow and creeping progress of time, and argue that if
+it always moves at this tedious snail's pace it will never come to an
+end? How ready are we to sacrifice any space of time which separates
+us from a favourite object, little thinking that before long we shall
+find it move too fast.
+
+For my part, I started in life with the French Revolution, and I have
+lived, alas! to see the end of it. But I did not foresee this result.
+My sun arose with the first dawn of liberty, and I did not think how
+soon both must set. The new impulse to ardour given to men's minds
+imparted a congenial warmth and glow to mine; we were strong to run a
+race together, and I little dreamed that long before mine was set, the
+sun of liberty would turn to blood, or set once more in the night of
+despotism. Since then, I confess, I have no longer felt myself young,
+for with that my hopes fell.
+
+I have since turned my thoughts to gathering up some of the fragments
+of my early recollections, and putting them into a form to which I
+might occasionally revert. The future was barred to my progress, and I
+turned for consolation and encouragement to the past. It is thus that,
+while we find our personal and substantial identity vanishing from us,
+we strive to gain a reflected and vicarious one in our thoughts: we do
+not like to perish wholly, and wish to bequeath our names, at least,
+to posterity. As long as we can make our cherished thoughts and
+nearest interests live in the minds of others, we do not appear to
+have retired altogether from the stage. We still occupy the breasts of
+others, and exert an influence and power over them, and it is only our
+bodies that are reduced to dust and powder. Our favourite speculations
+still find encouragement, and we make as great a figure in the eye of
+the world, or perhaps a greater, than in our lifetime. The demands of
+our self-love are thus satisfied, and these are the most imperious and
+unremitting. Besides, if by our intellectual superiority we survive
+ourselves in this world, by our virtues and faith we may attain an
+interest in another, and a higher state of being, and may thus be
+recipients at the same time of men and of angels.
+
+    'E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,
+    E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.'
+
+As we grow old, our sense of the value of time becomes vivid. Nothing
+else, indeed, seems of any consequence. We can never cease wondering
+that that which has ever been should cease to be. We find many things
+remain the same: why then should there be change in us. This adds a
+convulsive grasp of whatever is, a sense of a fallacious hollowness in
+all we see. Instead of the full, pulpy feeling of youth tasting
+existence and every object in it, all is flat and vapid,--a whited
+sepulchre, fair without but full of ravening and all uncleanness
+within. The world is a witch that puts us off with false shows and
+appearances. The simplicity of youth, the confiding expectation, the
+boundless raptures, are gone: we only think of getting out of it as
+well as we can, and without any great mischance or annoyance. The
+flush of illusion, even the complacent retrospect of past joys and
+hopes, is over: if we can slip out of life without indignity, can
+escape with little bodily infirmity, and frame our minds to the calm
+and respectable composure of _still-life_ before we return to physical
+nothingness, it is as much as we can expect. We do not die wholly at
+our deaths: we have mouldered away gradually long before. Faculty
+after faculty, interest after interest, attachment after attachment
+disappear: we are torn from ourselves while living, year after year
+sees us no longer the same, and death only consigns the last fragment
+of what we were to the grave. That we should wear out by slow stages,
+and dwindle at last into nothing, is not wonderful, when even in our
+prime our strongest impressions leave little trace but for the moment,
+and we are the creatures of petty circumstance. How little effect is
+made on us in our best days by the books we have read, the scenes we
+have witnessed, the sensations we have gone through! Think only of the
+feelings we experience in reading a fine romance (one of Sir Walter's,
+for instance); what beauty, what sublimity, what interest, what
+heart-rending emotions! You would suppose the feelings you then
+experienced would last for ever, or subdue the mind to their own
+harmony and tone: while we are reading it seems as if nothing could
+ever put us out of our way, or trouble us:--the first splash of mud
+that we get on entering the street, the first twopence we are cheated
+out of, the feeling vanishes clean out of our minds, and we become the
+prey of petty and annoying circumstance. The mind soars to the lofty:
+it is at home in the grovelling, the disagreeable, and the little. And
+yet we wonder that age should be feeble and querulous,--that the
+freshness of youth should fade away. Both worlds would hardly satisfy
+the extravagance of our desires and of our presumption.
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY V
+
+ON PUBLIC OPINION
+
+    'Scared at the sound itself has made.'
+
+
+Once asking a friend why he did not bring forward an explanation of a
+circumstance, in which his conduct had been called in question, he
+said, 'His friends were satisfied on the subject, and he cared very
+little about the opinion of the world.' I made answer that I did not
+consider this a good ground to rest his defence upon, for that a man's
+friends seldom thought better of him than the world did. I see no
+reason to alter this opinion. Our friends, indeed, are more apt than a
+mere stranger to join in with, or be silent under any imputation
+thrown out against us, because they are apprehensive they may be
+indirectly implicated in it, and they are bound to betray us to save
+their own credit. To judge of our jealousy, our sensibility, our high
+notions of responsibility, on this score, only consider if a single
+individual lets fall a solitary remark implying a doubt of the wit,
+the sense, the courage of a friend--how it staggers us--how it makes
+us shake with fear--how it makes us call up all our eloquence and airs
+of self-consequence in his defence, lest our partiality should be
+supposed to have blinded our perceptions, and we should be regarded as
+the dupes of a mistaken admiration. We already begin to meditate an
+escape from a losing cause, and try to find out some other fault in
+the character under discussion, to show that we are not behind-hand
+(if the truth must be spoken) in sagacity, and a sense of the
+ridiculous. If, then, this is the case with the first flaw, the first
+doubt, the first speck that dims the sun of friendship, so that we are
+ready to turn our backs on our sworn attachments and well-known
+professions the instant we have not all the world with us, what must
+it be when we have all the world against us; when our friend, instead
+of a single stain, is covered with mud from head to foot; how shall we
+expect our feeble voices not to be drowned in the general clamour? how
+shall we dare to oppose our partial and mis-timed suffrages to the
+just indignation of the public? Or if it should not amount to this,
+how shall we answer the silence and contempt with which his name is
+received. How shall we animate the great mass of indifference or
+distrust with our private enthusiasm? how defeat the involuntary
+smile, or the suppressed sneer, with the burst of generous feeling and
+the glow of honest conviction? It is a thing not to be thought of,
+unless we would enter into a crusade against prejudice and malignity,
+devote ourselves as martyrs to friendship, raise a controversy in
+every company we go into, quarrel with every person we meet, and after
+making ourselves and every one else uncomfortable, leave off, not by
+clearing our friend's reputation, but by involving our own pretensions
+to decency and common sense. People will not fail to observe that a
+man may have his reasons for his faults or vices; but that for another
+to volunteer a defence of them, is without excuse. It is, in fact, an
+attempt to deprive them of the great and only benefit they derive from
+the supposed errors of their neighbours and contemporaries--the
+pleasure of backbiting and railing at them, which they call _seeing
+justice done_. It is not a single breath of rumour or opinion; but the
+whole atmosphere is infected with a sort of aguish taint of anger and
+suspicion, that relaxes the nerves of fidelity, and makes our most
+sanguine resolutions sicken and turn pale; and he who is proof against
+it, must either be armed with a love of truth, or a contempt for
+mankind, which places him out of the reach of ordinary rules and
+calculations. For myself, I do not shrink from defending a cause or a
+friend _under a cloud_; though in neither case will cheap or common
+efforts suffice. But, in the first, you merely stand up for your own
+judgment and principles against fashion and prejudice, and thus assume
+a sort of manly and heroic attitude of defiance: in the last (which
+makes it a matter of greater nicety and nervous sensibility), you
+sneak behind another to throw your gauntlet at the whole world, and it
+requires a double stock of stoical firmness not to be laughed out of
+your boasted zeal and independence as a romantic and _amiable
+weakness_.[6]
+
+There is nothing in which all the world agree but in running down some
+obnoxious individual. It may be supposed that this is not for nothing,
+and that they have good reasons for what they do. On the contrary, I
+will undertake to say, that so far from there being invariably just
+grounds for such an universal outcry, the universality of the outcry
+is often the only ground of the opinion; and that it is purposely
+raised upon this principle, that all other proof or evidence against
+the person meant to be run down is wanting. Nay, further, it may
+happen, that while the clamour is at the loudest; while you hear it
+from all quarters; while it blows a perfect hurricane; while 'the
+world rings with the vain stir'--not one of those who are most eager
+in hearing and echoing knows what it is about, or is not fully
+persuaded that the charge is equally false, malicious, and absurd. It
+is like the wind, that 'no man knoweth whence it cometh, or whither it
+goeth.' It is _vox et praeterea nihil_. What, then, is it that gives it
+its confident circulation and its irresistible force. It is the
+loudness of the organ with which it is pronounced, the stentorian
+lungs of the multitude; the number of voices that take it up and
+repeat it, because others have done so; the rapid flight and the
+impalpable nature of common fame, that makes it a desperate
+undertaking for any individual to inquire into or arrest the mischief
+that, in the deafening buzz or loosened roar of laughter or
+indignation, renders it impossible for the still small voice of reason
+to be heard, and leaves no other course to honesty or prudence than to
+fall flat on the face before it, as before the pestilential blast of
+the desert, and wait till it has passed over. Thus every one joins in
+asserting, propagating, and in outwardly approving what every one, in
+his private and unbiassed judgment, believes and knows to be
+scandalous and untrue. For every one in such circumstances keeps his
+own opinion to himself, and only attends to or acts upon that which he
+conceives to be the opinion of every one but himself. So that public
+opinion is not seldom a farce, equal to any acted upon the stage. Not
+only is it spurious and hollow in the way that Mr. Locke points out,
+by one man's taking up at second hand the opinion of another, but
+worse than this, one man takes up what he believes another _will_
+think, and which the latter professes only because he believes it held
+by the first! All, therefore, that is necessary to control public
+opinion, is to gain possession of some organ loud and lofty enough to
+make yourself heard, that has power and interest on its side; and
+then, no sooner do you blow a blast in this trump of _ill-fame_, like
+the horn hung up on an old castle-wall, than you are answered, echoed,
+and accredited on all sides: the gates are thrown open to receive you,
+and you are admitted into the very heart of the fortress of public
+opinion, and can assail from the ramparts with every engine of abuse,
+and with privileged impunity, all those who may come forward to
+vindicate the truth, or to rescue their good name from the
+unprincipled keeping of authority, servility, sophistry, and venal
+falsehood! The only thing wanted is to give an alarm--to excite a
+panic in the public mind of being left _in the lurch_, and the rabble
+(whether in the ranks of literature or war) will throw away their
+arms, and surrender at discretion to any bully or impostor who, for a
+_consideration_, shall choose to try the experiment upon them!
+
+What I have here described is the effect even upon the candid and
+well-disposed: what must it be to the malicious and idle, who are
+eager to believe all the ill they can hear of every one; or to the
+prejudiced and interested, who are determined to credit all the ill
+they hear against those who are not of their own side? To these last
+it is only requisite to be understood that the butt of ridicule or
+slander is of an opposite party, and they presently give you _carte
+blanche_ to say what you please of him. Do they know that it is true?
+No; but they believe what all the world says, till they have evidence
+to the contrary. Do you prove that it is false? They dare say, that if
+not that something worse remains behind; and they retain the same
+opinion as before, for the honour of their party. They hire some one
+to pelt you with mud, and then affect to avoid you in the street as a
+dirty fellow. They are told that you have a hump on your back, and
+then wonder at your assurance or want of complaisance in walking into
+a room where they are, without it. Instead of apologising for the
+mistake, and, from finding one aspersion false, doubting all the rest,
+they are only the more confirmed in the remainder from being deprived
+of one handle against you, and resent their disappointment, instead of
+being ashamed of their credulity. People talk of the bigotry of the
+Catholics, and treat with contempt the absurd claim of the Popes to
+infallibility--I think with little right to do so. Walk into a church
+in Paris, you are struck with a number of idle forms and ceremonies,
+the chanting of the service in Latin, the shifting of the surplices,
+the sprinkling of holy water, the painted windows 'casting a dim
+religious light,' the wax tapers, the pealing organ: the common people
+seem attentive and devout, and to put entire faith in all this--Why?
+Because they imagine others to do so; they see and hear certain signs
+and supposed evidences of it, and it amuses and fills up the void of
+the mind, the love of the mysterious and wonderful, to lend their
+assent to it. They have assuredly, in general, no better reason--all
+our Protestant divines will tell you so. Well, step out of the church
+of St. Roche, and drop into an English reading-room hard by: what are
+you the better? You see a dozen or score of your countrymen with their
+faces fixed, and their eyes glued to a newspaper, a magazine, a
+review--reading, swallowing, profoundly ruminating on the lie, the
+cant, the sophism of the day! Why? It saves them the trouble of
+thinking; it gratifies their ill-humour, and keeps off _ennui_! Does a
+gleam of doubt, an air of ridicule, or a glance of impatience pass
+across their features at the shallow and monstrous things they find?
+No, it is all passive faith and dull security; they cannot take their
+eyes from the page, they cannot live without it. They believe in their
+adopted oracle (you see it in their faces) as implicitly as in Sir
+John Barleycorn, as in a sirloin of beef, as in quarter-day--as they
+hope to receive their rents, or to see Old England again! Are not the
+Popes, the Fathers, the Councils, as good as their oracles and
+champions? They know the paper before them to be a hoax, but do they
+believe in the ribaldry, the calumny, the less on that account? They
+believe the more in it, because it is got up solely and expressly to
+serve a cause that needs such support--and they swear by whatever is
+devoted to this object.
+
+The greater the profligacy, the effrontery, the servility, the greater
+the faith. Strange! That the British public, whether at home or
+abroad, should shake their heads at the Lady of Loretto, and repose
+deliciously on Mr. Theodore Hook. It may well be thought that the
+enlightened part of the British public, persons of family and
+fortunes, who have had a college education, and received the benefit
+of foreign travel, see through the quackery, which they encourage for
+a political purpose, without being themselves the dupes of it. This
+scarcely mends the matter. Suppose an individual, of whom it has been
+repeatedly asserted that he has warts on his nose, were to enter the
+reading-room aforesaid, is there a single red-faced country squire who
+would not be surprised at not finding this story true, would not
+persuade himself five minutes after that he could not have seen
+correctly, or that some art had been used to conceal the defects, or
+would be led to doubt, from this instance, the general candour and
+veracity of his oracle? He would disbelieve his own senses rather.
+Seeing is believing, it is said: lying is believing, I say. We do not
+even see with our own eyes, but must 'wink and shut our apprehension
+up,' that we may be able to agree to the report of others, as a piece
+of good manners and a point of established etiquette. Besides, the
+supposed deformity answered his wishes, the abuse fed fat the ancient
+grudge he owed some presumptuous scribbler, for not agreeing in a
+number of points with his betters; it gave him a personal advantage
+over a man he did not like--and who will give up what tends to
+strengthen his aversion for another? To Tory prejudice, dire as it
+is--to English imagination, morbid as it is, a nickname, a ludicrous
+epithet, a malignant falsehood, when it has been once propagated and
+taken to the bosom as a welcome consolation, becomes a precious
+property, a vested right; and people would as soon give up a sinecure,
+or a share in a close borough, as this sort of plenary indulgence to
+speak and think with contempt of those who would abolish the one, or
+throw open the other. Party-spirit is the best reason in the world for
+personal antipathy and vulgar abuse.
+
+'But, do you not think, Sir' (some dialectician may ask), 'that belief
+is involuntary, and that we judge in all cases according to the
+precise degree of evidence and the positive facts before us?'
+
+No, Sir.
+
+'You believe, then, in the doctrine of philosophical free-will?'
+
+Indeed, Sir, I do not.
+
+'How then, Sir, am I to understand so unaccountable a diversity of
+opinion from the most approved writers on the philosophy of the human
+mind?'
+
+May I ask, my dear Sir, did you ever read Mr. Wordsworth's poem of
+_Michael_?
+
+'I cannot charge my memory with the fact.'
+
+Well, Sir, this Michael is an old shepherd, who has a son who goes to
+sea, and who turns out a great reprobate, by all the accounts received
+of him. Before he went, however, the father took the boy with him into
+a mountain-glen, and made him lay the first stone of a sheep-fold,
+which was to be a covenant and a remembrance between them if anything
+ill happened. For years after, the old man used to go and work at the
+sheep-fold--
+
+                  'Among the rocks
+    He went, and still look'd up upon the sun,
+    And listen'd to the wind,'
+
+and sat by the half-finished work, expecting the lad's return, or
+hoping to hear some better tidings of him. Was this hope founded on
+reason--or was it not owing to the strength of affection, which in
+spite of everything could not relinquish its hold of a favourite
+object, indeed the only one that bound it to existence?
+
+Not being able to make my dialectician answer kindly to
+interrogatories, I must get on without him. In matters of absolute
+demonstration and speculative indifferences, I grant, that belief is
+involuntary, and the proof not to be resisted; but then, in such
+matters, there is no difference of opinion, or the difference is
+adjusted amicably and rationally. Hobbes is of opinion, that if their
+passions or interests could be implicated in the question, men would
+deny stoutly that the three angles of a right-angled triangle are
+equal to two right ones: and the disputes in religion look something
+like it. I only contend, however, that in all cases not of this
+peremptory and determinate cast, and where disputes commonly arise,
+inclination, habit, and example have a powerful share in throwing in
+the casting-weight to our opinions, and that he who is only tolerably
+free from these, and not their regular dupe or slave, is indeed 'a man
+of ten thousand.' Take, for instance, the example of a Catholic
+clergyman in a Popish country: it will generally be found that he
+lives and dies in the faith in which he was brought up, as the
+Protestant clergyman does in his--shall we say that the necessity of
+gaining a livelihood, or the prospect of preferment, that the early
+bias given to his mind by education and study, the pride of victory,
+the shame of defeat, the example and encouragement of all about him,
+the respect and love of his flock, the flattering notice of the great,
+have no effect in giving consistency to his opinions and carrying them
+through to the last? Yet, who will suppose that in either case this
+apparent uniformity is mere hypocrisy, or that the intellects of the
+two classes of divines are naturally adapted to the arguments in
+favour of the two religions they have occasion to profess? No; but the
+understanding takes a tincture from outward impulses and
+circumstances, and is led to dwell on those suggestions which favour,
+and to blind itself to the objections which impugn, the side to which
+it previously and morally inclines. Again, even in those who oppose
+established opinions, and form the little, firm, formidable phalanx of
+dissent, have not early instruction, spiritual pride, the love of
+contradiction, a resistance to usurped authority, as much to do with
+keeping up the war of sects and schisms as the abstract love of truth
+or conviction of the understanding? Does not persecution fan the flame
+in such fiery tempers, and does it not expire, or grow lukewarm, with
+indulgence and neglect? I have a sneaking kindness for a Popish
+priest in this country; and to a Catholic peer I would willingly bow
+in passing. What are national antipathies, individual attachments, but
+so many expressions of the _moral_ principle in forming our opinions?
+All our opinions become grounds on which we act, and build our
+expectations of good or ill; and this good or ill mixed up with them
+is soon changed into the ruling principle which modifies or violently
+supersedes the original cool determination of the reason and senses.
+The will, when it once gets a footing, turns the sober judgment out of
+doors. If we form an attachment to any one, are we not slow in giving
+it up? Or, if our suspicions are once excited, are we not equally rash
+and violent in believing the worst? Othello characterises himself as
+one
+
+    ----'That loved not wisely, but too well;
+    Of one not easily jealous--but, being wrought,
+    Perplex'd in the extreme.'
+
+And this answers to the movements and irregularities of passion and
+opinion which take place in human nature. If we wish a thing we are
+disposed to believe it: if we have been accustomed to believe it, we
+are the more obstinate in defending it on that account: if all the
+world differ from us in any question of moment, we are ashamed to own
+it; or are hurried by peevishness and irritation into extravagance and
+paradox. The weight of example presses upon us (whether we feel it or
+not) like the law of gravitation. He who sustains his opinion by the
+strength of conviction and evidence alone, unmoved by ridicule,
+neglect, obloquy, or privation, shows no less resolution than the
+Hindoo who makes and keeps a vow to hold his right arm in the air till
+it grows rigid and callous.
+
+To have all the world against us is trying to a man's temper and
+philosophy. It unhinges even our opinion of our own motives and
+intentions. It is like striking the actual world from under our feet:
+the void that is left, the death-like pause, the chilling suspense, is
+fearful. The growth of an opinion is like the growth of a limb; it
+receives its actual support and nourishment from the general body of
+the opinions, feelings, and practice of the world; without that, it
+soon withers, festers, and becomes useless. To what purpose write a
+good book, if it is sure to be pronounced a bad one, even before it is
+read? If our thoughts are to be blown stifling back upon ourselves,
+why utter them at all? It is only exposing what we love most to
+contumely and insult, and thus depriving ourselves of our own relish
+and satisfaction in them. Language is only made to communicate our
+sentiments, and if we can find no one to receive them, we are reduced
+to the silence of dumbness, we live but in the solitude of a dungeon.
+If we do not vindicate our opinions, we seem poor creatures who have
+no right to them; if we speak out, we are involved in continual brawls
+and controversy. If we contemn what others admire, we make ourselves
+odious; if we admire what they despise, we are equally ridiculous. We
+have not the applause of the world nor the support of a party; we can
+neither enjoy the freedom of social intercourse, nor the calm of
+privacy. With our respect for others, we lose confidence in ourselves:
+everything seems to be a subject of litigation--to want proof or
+confirmation; we doubt, by degrees, whether we stand on our head or
+our heels--whether we know our right hand from our left. If I am
+assured that I never wrote a sentence of common English in my life,
+how can I know that this is not the case? If I am told at one time
+that my writings are as heavy as lead, and at another, that they are
+more light and flimsy than the gossamer--what resource have I but to
+choose between the two? I could say, if this were the place, what
+those writings are.--'Make it the place, and never stand upon
+punctilio!'
+
+They are not, then, so properly the works of an author by profession,
+as the thoughts of a metaphysician expressed by a painter. They are
+subtle and difficult problems translated into hieroglyphics. I
+thought for several years on the hardest subjects, on Fate, Free-will,
+Foreknowledge absolute, without ever making use of words or images at
+all, and that has made them come in such throngs and confused heaps
+when I burst from that void of abstraction. In proportion to the
+tenuity to which my ideas had been drawn, and my abstinence from
+ornament and sensible objects, was the tenaciousness with which actual
+circumstances and picturesque imagery laid hold of my mind, when I
+turned my attention to them, or had to look round for illustrations.
+Till I began to paint, or till I became acquainted with the author of
+_The Ancient Mariner_, I could neither write nor speak. He encouraged
+me to write a book, which I did according to the original bent of my
+mind, making it as dry and meagre as I could, so that it fell
+still-born from the press, and none of those who abuse me for a
+shallow _catch-penny_ writer have so much as heard of it. Yet, let me
+say, that work contains an important metaphysical discovery, supported
+by a continuous and severe train of reasoning, nearly as subtle and
+original as anything in Hume or Berkeley. I am not accustomed to speak
+of myself in this manner, but impudence may provoke modesty to justify
+itself. Finding this method did not answer, I despaired for a time;
+but some trifle I wrote in the _Morning Chronicle_, meeting the
+approbation of the editor and the town, I resolved to turn over a new
+leaf--to take the public at its word, to muster all the tropes and
+figures I could lay hands on, and, though I am a plain man, never to
+appear abroad but in an embroidered dress. Still, old habits will
+prevail; and I hardly ever set about a paragraph or a criticism, but
+there was an undercurrent of thought, or some generic distinction on
+which the whole turned. Having got my clue, I had no difficulty in
+stringing pearls upon it; and the more recondite the point, the more I
+laboured to bring it out and set it off by a variety of ornaments and
+allusions. This puzzled the scribes whose business it was to crush me.
+They could not see the meaning: they would not see the colouring, for
+it hurt their eyes. One cried out, it was dull; another, that it was
+too fine by half: my friends took up this last alternative as the most
+favourable; and since then it has been agreed that I am a florid
+writer, somewhat flighty and paradoxical. Yet, when I wished to
+unburthen my mind in the _Edinburgh_ by an article on English
+metaphysics, the editor, who echoes this _florid_ charge, said he
+preferred what I wrote for effect, and was afraid of its being thought
+heavy! I have accounted for the flowers; the paradoxes may be
+accounted for in the same way. All abstract reasoning is in extremes,
+or only takes up one view of a question, or what is called the
+principle of the thing; and if you want to give this popularity and
+effect, you are in danger of running into extravagance and hyperbole.
+I have had to bring out some obscure distinction, or to combat some
+strong prejudice, and in doing this with all my might, may have often
+overshot the mark. It was easy to correct the excess of truth
+afterwards. I have been accused of inconsistency, for writing an
+essay, for instance, on the _Advantages of Pedantry_, and another on
+the _Ignorance of the Learned_, as if ignorance had not its comforts
+as well as knowledge. The personalities I have fallen into have never
+been gratuitous. If I have sacrificed my friends, it has always been
+to a theory. I have been found fault with for repeating myself, and
+for a narrow range of ideas. To a want of general reading, I plead
+guilty, and am sorry for it; but perhaps if I had read more, I might
+have thought less. As to my barrenness of invention, I have at least
+glanced over a number of subjects--painting, poetry, prose, plays,
+politics, parliamentary speakers, metaphysical lore, books, men, and
+things. There is some point, some fancy, some feeling, some taste,
+shown in treating of these. Which of my conclusions has been reversed?
+Is it what I said ten years ago of the Bourbons which raised the
+war-whoop against me? Surely all the world are of that opinion now. I
+have, then, given proofs of some talent, and of more honesty: if
+there is haste or want of method, there is no commonplace, nor a line
+that licks the dust; and if I do not appear to more advantage, I at
+least appear such as I am. If the Editor of the _Atlas_ will do me the
+favour to look over my _Essay on the Principles of Human Action_, will
+dip into any essay I ever wrote, and will take a sponge and clear the
+dust from the face of my _Old Woman_, I hope he will, upon second
+thoughts, acquit me of an absolute dearth of resources and want of
+versatility in the direction of my studies.
+
+1828.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[6] The only friends whom we defend with zeal and obstinacy are our
+relations. They seem part of ourselves. For our other friends we are
+only answerable, so long as we countenance them; and therefore cut the
+connection as soon as possible. But who ever willingly gave up the
+good dispositions of a child or the honour of a parent?
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY VI
+
+ON PERSONAL IDENTITY
+
+    'Ha! here's three of us are sophisticated.'--Lear.
+
+
+'If I were not Alexander, I would be Diogenes!' said the Macedonian
+hero; and the cynic might have retorted the compliment upon the prince
+by saying, that, 'were he not Diogenes, he would be Alexander!' This
+is the universal exception, the invariable reservation that our
+self-love makes, the utmost point at which our admiration or envy ever
+arrives--to wish, if we were not ourselves, to be some other
+individual. No one ever wishes to be another, _instead_ of himself. We
+may feel a desire to change places with others--to have one man's
+fortune--another's health or strength--his wit or learning, or
+accomplishments of various kinds--
+
+    'Wishing to be like one more rich in hope,
+    Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
+    Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope';
+
+but we would still be ourselves, to possess and enjoy all these, or we
+would not give a doit for them. But, on this supposition, what in
+truth should we be the better for them? It is not we, but another,
+that would reap the benefit; and what do we care about that other? In
+that case, the present owner might as well continue to enjoy them.
+_We_ should not be gainers by the change. If the meanest beggar who
+crouches at a palace gate, and looks up with awe and suppliant fear to
+the proud inmate as he passes, could be put in possession of all the
+finery, the pomp, the luxury, and wealth that he sees and envies, on
+the sole condition of getting rid, together with his rags and misery,
+of all recollection that there ever was such a wretch as himself, he
+would reject the proffered boon with scorn. He might be glad to change
+situations; but he would insist on keeping his own thoughts, to
+_compare notes_, and point the transition by the force of contrast. He
+would not, on any account, forego his self-congratulation on the
+unexpected accession of good fortune, and his escape from past
+suffering. All that excites his cupidity, his envy, his repining or
+despair, is the alternative of some great good to himself; and if, in
+order to attain that object, he is to part with his own existence to
+take that of another, he can feel no farther interest in it. This is
+the language both of passion and reason.
+
+Here lies 'the rub that makes calamity of so long life': for it is not
+barely the apprehension of the ills that 'in that sleep of death may
+come,' but also our ignorance and indifference to the promised good,
+that produces our repugnance and backwardness to quit the present
+scene. No man, if he had his choice, would be the angel Gabriel
+to-morrow! What is the angel Gabriel to him but a splendid vision? He
+might as well have an ambition to be turned into a bright cloud, or a
+particular star. The interpretation of which is, he can have no
+sympathy with the angel Gabriel. Before he can be transformed into so
+bright and ethereal an essence, he must necessarily 'put off this
+mortal coil'--be divested of all his old habits, passions, thoughts,
+and feelings--to be endowed with other attributes, lofty and beatific,
+of which he has no notion; and, therefore, he would rather remain a
+little longer in this mansion of clay, which, with all its flaws,
+inconveniences, and perplexities, contains all that he has any real
+knowledge of, or any affection for. When, indeed, he is about to quit
+it in spite of himself and has no other chance left to escape the
+darkness of the tomb he may then have no objection (making a virtue of
+necessity) to put on angel's wings, to have radiant locks, to wear a
+wreath of amaranth, and thus to masquerade it in the skies.
+
+It is an instance of the truthful beauty of the ancient mythology,
+that the various transmutations it recounts are never voluntary, or of
+favourable omen, but are interposed as a timely release to those who,
+driven on by fate, and urged to the last extremity of fear or anguish,
+are turned into a flower, a plant, an animal, a star, a precious
+stone, or into some object that may inspire pity or mitigate our
+regret for their misfortunes. Narcissus was transformed into a flower;
+Daphne into a laurel; Arethusa into a fountain (by the favour of the
+gods)--but not till no other remedy was left for their despair. It is
+a sort of smiling cheat upon death, and graceful compromise with
+annihilation. It is better to exist by proxy, in some softened type
+and soothing allegory, than not at all--to breathe in a flower or
+shine in a constellation, than to be utterly forgot; but no one would
+change his natural condition (if he could help it) for that of a bird,
+an insect, a beast, or a fish, however delightful their mode of
+existence, or however enviable he might deem their lot compared to his
+own. Their thoughts are not our thoughts--their happiness is not our
+happiness; nor can we enter into it, except with a passing smile of
+approbation, or as a refinement of fancy. As the poet sings:
+
+    'What more felicity can fall to creature
+      Than to enjoy delight with liberty,
+    And to be lord of all the works of nature?
+      To reign in the air from earth to highest sky;
+    To feed on flowers and weeds of glorious feature;
+      To taste whatever thing doth please the eye?--
+    Who rests not pleased with such happiness,
+    Well worthy he to taste of wretchedness!'
+
+This is gorgeous description and fine declamation: yet who would be
+found to act upon it, even in the forming of a wish; or would not
+rather be the thrall of wretchedness, than launch out (by the aid of
+some magic spell) into all the delights of such a butterfly state of
+existence? The French (if any people can) may be said to enjoy this
+airy, heedless gaiety and unalloyed exuberance of satisfaction: yet
+what Englishman would deliberately change with them? We would sooner
+be miserable after our own fashion than happy after theirs. It is not
+happiness, then, in the abstract, which we seek, that can be addressed
+as
+
+    'That something still that prompts th' eternal sigh,
+    For which we wish to live or dare to die,'
+
+but a happiness suited to our tastes and faculties--that has become a
+part of ourselves, by habit and enjoyment--that is endeared to us by a
+thousand recollections, privations, and sufferings. No one, then,
+would willingly change his country or his kind for the most plausible
+pretences held out to him. The most humiliating punishment inflicted
+in ancient fable is the change of sex: not that it was any degradation
+in itself--but that it must occasion a total derangement of the moral
+economy and confusion of the sense of personal propriety. The thing is
+said to have happened _au sens contraire_, in our time. The story is
+to be met with in 'very choice Italian'; and Lord D---- tells it in
+very plain English!
+
+We may often find ourselves envying the possessions of others, and
+sometimes inadvertently indulging a wish to change places with them
+altogether; but our self-love soon discovers some excuse to be off the
+bargain we were ready to strike, and retracts 'vows made in haste, as
+violent and void.' We might make up our minds to the alteration in
+every other particular; but, when it comes to the point, there is sure
+to be some trait or feature of character in the object of our
+admiration to which we cannot reconcile ourselves--some favourite
+quality or darling foible of our own, with which we can by no means
+resolve to part. The more enviable the situation of another, the more
+entirely to our taste, the more reluctant we are to leave any part of
+ourselves behind that would be so fully capable of appreciating all
+the exquisiteness of its new situation, or not to enter into the
+possession of such an imaginary reversion of good fortune with all our
+previous inclinations and sentiments. The outward circumstances were
+fine: they only wanted a _soul_ to enjoy them, and that soul is ours
+(as the costly ring wants the peerless jewel to perfect and set it
+off). The humble prayer and petition to sneak into visionary felicity
+by personal adoption, or the surrender of our own personal
+pretentions, always ends in a daring project of usurpation, and a
+determination to expel the actual proprietor, and supply his place so
+much more worthily with our own identity--not bating a single jot of
+it. Thus, in passing through a fine collection of pictures, who has
+not envied the privilege of visiting it every day, and wished to be
+the owner? But the rising sigh is soon checked, and 'the native hue of
+emulation is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,' when we
+come to ask ourselves, not merely whether the owner has any taste at
+all for these splendid works, and does not look upon them as so much
+expensive furniture, like his chairs and tables--but whether he has
+the same precise (and only true) taste that we have--whether he has
+the very same favourites that we have--whether he may not be so blind
+as to prefer a Vandyke to a Titian, a Ruysdael to a Claude; nay,
+whether he may not have other pursuits and avocations that draw off
+his attention from the sole objects of our idolatry, and which seem to
+us mere impertinences and waste of time? In that case, we at once lose
+all patience, and exclaim indignantly, 'Give us back our taste, and
+keep your pictures!' It is not we who should envy them the possession
+of the treasure, but they who should envy us the true and exclusive
+enjoyment of it. A similar train of feeling seems to have dictated
+Warton's spirited _Sonnet on visiting Wilton House_:
+
+    'From Pembroke's princely dome, where mimic art
+    Decks with a magic hand the dazzling bowers,
+    Its living hues where the warm pencil pours,
+    And breathing forms from the rude marble start,
+    How to life's humbler scene can I depart?
+    My breast all glowing from those gorgeous towers,
+    In my low cell how cheat the sullen hours?
+    Vain the complaint! For fancy can impart
+    (To fate superior and to fortune's power)
+    Whate'er adorns the stately storied-hall:
+    She, 'mid the dungeon's solitary gloom,
+    Can dress the Graces in their attic-pall;
+    Did the green landscape's vernal beauty bloom;
+    And in bright trophies clothe the twilight wall.'
+
+One sometimes passes by a gentleman's park, an old family-seat, with
+its moss-grown, ruinous paling, its 'glades mild-opening to the genial
+day,' or embrowned with forest-trees. Here one would be glad to spend
+one's life, 'shut up in measureless content,' and to grow old beneath
+ancestral oaks, instead of gaining a precarious, irksome, and despised
+livelihood, by indulging romantic sentiments, and writing disjointed
+descriptions of them. The thought has scarcely risen to the lips, when
+we learn that the owner of so blissful a seclusion is a thoroughbred
+fox-hunter, a preserver of the game, a brawling electioneerer, a Tory
+member of parliament, a 'No-Popery' man!--'I'd sooner be a dog, and
+bay the moon!' Who would be Sir Thomas Lethbridge for his title and
+estate? asks one man. But would not almost any one wish to be Sir
+Francis Burdett, the man of the people, the idol of the electors of
+Westminster? says another. I can only answer for myself. Respectable
+and honest as he is, there is something in his white boots, and white
+breeches, and white coat, and white hair, and white hat, and red face,
+that I cannot, by any effort of candour, confound my personal identity
+with! If Mr. ---- can prevail on Sir Francis to exchange, let him do
+so by all means. Perhaps they might contrive to _club_ a soul between
+them! Could I have had my will, I should have been born a lord: but
+one would not be a booby lord neither. I am haunted by an odd fancy of
+driving down the Great North Road in a chaise and four, about fifty
+years ago, and coming to the inn at Ferry-bridge with outriders,
+white favours, and a coronet on the panels; and then, too, I choose
+my companion in the coach. Really there is a witchcraft in all this
+that makes it necessary to turn away from it, lest, in the conflict
+between imagination and impossibility, I should grow feverish and
+light-headed! But, on the other hand, if one was a born lord, should
+one have the same idea (that every one else has) of _a peeress in her
+own right_? Is not distance, giddy elevation, mysterious awe, an
+impassable gulf, necessary to form this idea in the mind, that fine
+ligament of 'ethereal braid, sky-woven,' that lets down heaven upon
+earth, fair as enchantment, soft as Berenice's hair, bright and
+garlanded like Ariadne's crown; and is it not better to have had this
+idea all through life--to have caught but glimpses of it, to have
+known it but in a dream--than to have been born a lord ten times over,
+with twenty pampered menials at one's beck, and twenty descents to
+boast of? It is the envy of certain privileges, the sharp privations
+we have undergone, the cutting neglect we have met with from the want
+of birth or title that gives its zest to the distinction: the thing
+itself may be indifferent or contemptible enough. It is the _becoming_
+a lord that is to be desired; but he who becomes a lord in reality may
+be an upstart--a mere pretender, without the sterling essence; so that
+all that is of any worth in this supposed transition is purely
+imaginary and impossible.[7] Kings are so accustomed to look down on
+all the rest of the world, that they consider the condition of
+mortality as vile and intolerable, if stripped of royal state, and cry
+out in the bitterness of their despair, 'Give me a crown, or a tomb!'
+It should seem from this as if all mankind would change with the
+first crowned head that could propose the alternative, or that it
+would be only the presumption of the supposition, or a sense of their
+own unworthiness, that would deter them. Perhaps there is not a single
+throne that, if it was to be filled by this sort of voluntary
+metempsychosis, would not remain empty. Many would, no doubt, be glad
+to 'monarchise, be feared, and kill with looks' in their own persons
+and after their own fashion: but who would be the _double_ of those
+shadows of a shade--those 'tenth transmitters of a foolish
+face'--Charles X. and Ferdinand VII.? If monarchs have little sympathy
+with mankind, mankind have even less with monarchs. They are merely to
+us a sort of state-puppets, or royal wax-work, which we may gaze at
+with superstitious wonder, but have no wish to become; and he who
+should meditate such a change must not only feel by anticipation an
+utter contempt for the _slough_ of humanity which he is prepared to
+cast, but must feel an absolute void and want of attraction in those
+lofty and incomprehensible sentiments which are to supply its place.
+With respect to actual royalty, the spell is in a great measure
+broken. But, among ancient monarchs, there is no one, I think, who
+envies Darius or Xerxes. One has a different feeling with respect to
+Alexander or Pyrrhus; but this is because they were great men as well
+as great kings, and the soul is up in arms at the mention of their
+names as at the sound of a trumpet. But as to all the rest--those 'in
+the catalogue who go for kings'--the praying, eating, drinking,
+dressing monarchs of the earth, in time past or present--one would as
+soon think of wishing to personate the Golden Calf, or to turn out
+with Nebuchadnezzar to graze, as to be transformed into one of that
+'swinish multitude.' There is no point of affinity. The extrinsic
+circumstances are imposing; but, within, there is nothing but morbid
+humours and proud flesh! Some persons might vote for Charlemagne; and
+there are others who would have no objection to be the modern
+Charlemagne, with all he inflicted and suffered, even after the
+necromantic field of Waterloo, and the bloody wreath on the vacant
+brow of the conqueror, and that fell jailer, set over him by a craven
+foe, that 'glared round his soul, and mocked his closing eyelids!'
+
+It has been remarked, that could we at pleasure change our situation
+in life, more persons would be found anxious to descend than to ascend
+in the scale of society. One reason may be, that we have it more in
+our power to do so; and this encourages the thought, and makes it
+familiar to us. A second is, that we naturally wish to throw off the
+cares of state, of fortune or business, that oppress us, and to seek
+repose before we find it in the grave. A third reason is, that, as we
+descend to common life, the pleasures are simple, natural, such as all
+can enter into, and therefore excite a general interest, and combine
+all suffrages. Of the different occupations of life, none is beheld
+with a more pleasing emotion, or less aversion to a change for our
+own, than that of a shepherd tending his flock: the pastoral ages have
+been the envy and the theme of all succeeding ones; and a beggar with
+his crutch is more closely allied than the monarch and his crown to
+the associations of mirth and heart's-ease. On the other hand, it must
+be admitted that our pride is too apt to prefer grandeur to happiness;
+and that our passions make us envy great vices oftener than great
+virtues.
+
+The world show their sense in nothing more than in a distrust and
+aversion to those changes of situation which only tend to make the
+successful candidates ridiculous, and which do not carry along with
+them a mind adequate to the circumstances. The common people, in this
+respect, are more shrewd and judicious than their superiors, from
+feeling their own awkwardness and incapacity, and often decline, with
+an instinctive modesty, the troublesome honours intended for them.
+They do not overlook their original defects so readily as others
+overlook their acquired advantages. It is not wonderful, therefore,
+that opera-singers and dancers refuse or only _condescend_ as it
+were, to accept lords, though the latter are too often fascinated by
+them. The fair performer knows (better than her unsuspecting admirer)
+how little connection there is between the dazzling figure she makes
+on the stage and that which she may make in private life, and is in no
+hurry to convert 'the drawing-room into a Green-room.' The nobleman
+(supposing him not to be very wise) is astonished at the miraculous
+powers of art in
+
+    'The fair, the chaste, the inexpressive _she_';
+
+and thinks such a paragon must easily conform to the routine of
+manners and society which every trifling woman of quality of his
+acquaintance, from sixteen to sixty, goes through without effort. This
+is a hasty or a wilful conclusion. Things of habit only come by habit,
+and inspiration here avails nothing. A man of fortune who marries an
+actress for her fine performance of tragedy, has been well compared to
+the person who bought Punch. The lady is not unfrequently aware of the
+inconsequentiality, and unwilling to be put on the shelf, and hid in
+the nursery of some musty country mansion. Servant girls, of any sense
+and spirit, treat their masters (who make serious love to them) with
+suitable contempt. What is it but a proposal to drag an unmeaning
+trollop at his heels through life, to her own annoyance and the
+ridicule of all his friends? No woman, I suspect, ever forgave a man
+who raised her from a low condition in life (it is a perpetual
+obligation and reproach); though I believe, men often feel the most
+disinterested regard for women under such circumstances. Sancho Panza
+discovered no less folly in his eagerness to enter upon his new
+government, than wisdom in quitting it as fast as possible. Why will
+Mr. Cobbett persist in getting into Parliament? He would find himself
+no longer the same man. What member of Parliament, I should like to
+know, could write his _Register_? As a popular partisan, he may (for
+aught I can say) be a match for the whole Honourable House; but, by
+obtaining a seat in St. Stephen's Chapel, he would only be equal to a
+576th part of it. It was surely a puerile ambition in Mr. Addington to
+succeed Mr. Pitt as prime minister. The situation was only a foil to
+his imbecility. Gipsies have a fine faculty of evasion; catch them who
+can in the same place or story twice! Take them; teach them the
+comforts of civilisation; confine them in warm rooms, with thick
+carpets and down beds; and they will fly out of the window--like the
+bird, described by Chaucer, out of its golden cage. I maintain that
+there is no common language or medium of understanding between people
+of education and without it--between those who judge of things from
+books or from their senses. Ignorance has so far the advantage over
+learning; for it can make an appeal to you from what you know; but you
+cannot react upon it through that which it is a perfect stranger to.
+Ignorance is, therefore, power. This is what foiled Buonaparte in
+Spain and Russia. The people can only be gained over by informing
+them, though they may be enslaved by fraud or force. 'What is it,
+then, he does like?'--'Good victuals and drink!' As if you had these
+not too; but because he has them not, he thinks of nothing else, and
+laughs at you and your refinements, supposing you live upon air. To
+those who are deprived of every other advantage, even nature is a
+_book sealed_. I have made this capital mistake all my life, in
+imagining that those objects which lay open to all, and excited an
+interest merely from the _idea_ of them, spoke a common language to
+all; and that nature was a kind of universal home, where ages, sexes,
+classes meet. Not so. The vital air, the sky, the woods, the
+streams--all these go for nothing, except with a favoured few. The
+poor are taken up with their bodily wants--the rich, with external
+acquisitions: the one, with the sense of property--the other, of its
+privation. Both have the same distaste for _sentiment_. The _genteel_
+are the slaves of appearances--the vulgar, of necessity; and neither
+has the smallest regard to worth, refinement, generosity. All savages
+are irreclaimable. I can understand the Irish character better than
+the Scotch. I hate the formal crust of circumstances and the mechanism
+of society. I have been recommended, indeed, to settle down into some
+respectable profession for life:
+
+    'Ah! why so soon the blossom tear?'
+
+I am 'in no haste to be venerable!'
+
+In thinking of those one might wish to have been, many people will
+exclaim, 'Surely, you would like to have been Shakspeare?' Would
+Garrick have consented to the change? No, nor should he; for the
+applause which he received, and on which he lived, was more adapted to
+his genius and taste. If Garrick had agreed to be Shakspeare, he would
+have made it a previous condition that he was to be a better player.
+He would have insisted on taking some higher part than _Polonius_ or
+the _Gravedigger_. Ben Jonson and his companions at the Mermaid would
+not have known their old friend Will in his new disguise. The modern
+Roscius would have scouted the halting player. He would have shrunk
+from the parts of the inspired poet. If others are unlike us, we feel
+it as a presumption and an impertinence to usurp their place; if they
+are like us, it seems a work of supererogation. We are not to be
+cozened out of our existence for nothing. It has been ingeniously
+urged, as an objection to having been Milton, that 'then we should not
+have had the pleasure of reading _Paradise Lost_.' Perhaps I should
+incline to draw lots with Pope, but that he was deformed, and did not
+sufficiently relish Milton and Shakspeare. As it is, we can enjoy his
+verses and theirs too. Why, having these, need we ever be dissatisfied
+with ourselves? Goldsmith is a person whom I considerably affect
+notwithstanding his blunders and his misfortunes. The author of the
+_Vicar of Wakefield_, and of _Retaliation_, is one whose temper must
+have had something eminently amiable, delightful, gay, and happy in
+it.
+
+    'A certain tender bloom his fame o'erspreads.'
+
+But then I could never make up my mind to his preferring Rowe and
+Dryden to the worthies of the Elizabethan age; nor could I, in like
+manner, forgive Sir Joshua--whom I number among those whose existence
+was marked with a _white stone_, and on whose tomb might be inscribed
+'Thrice Fortunate!'--his treating Nicholas Poussin with contempt.
+Differences in matters of taste and opinion are points of
+honour--'stuff o' the conscience'--stumbling-blocks not to be got
+over. Others, we easily grant, may have more wit, learning,
+imagination, riches, strength, beauty, which we should be glad to
+borrow of them; but that they have sounder or better views of things,
+or that we should act wisely in changing in this respect, is what we
+can by no means persuade ourselves. We may not be the lucky possessors
+of what is best or most desirable; but our notion of what is best and
+most desirable we will give up to no man by choice or compulsion; and
+unless others (the greatest wits or brightest geniuses) can come into
+our way of thinking, we must humbly beg leave to remain as we are. A
+Calvinistic preacher would not relinquish a single point of faith to
+be the Pope of Rome; nor would a strict Unitarian acknowledge the
+mystery of the Holy Trinity to have painted Raphael's _Assembly of the
+Just_. In the range of _ideal_ excellence, we are distracted by
+variety and repelled by differences: the imagination is fickle and
+fastidious, and requires a combination of all possible qualifications,
+which never met. Habit alone is blind and tenacious of the most homely
+advantages; and after running the tempting round of nature, fame and
+fortune, we wrap ourselves up in our familiar recollections and humble
+pretensions--as the lark, after long fluttering on sunny wing, sinks
+into its lowly bed!
+
+We can have no very importunate craving, nor very great confidence,
+in wishing to change characters, except with those with whom we are
+intimately acquainted by their works; and having these by us (which is
+all we know or covet in them), what would we have more? We can have
+_no more of a cat than her skin_; nor of an author than his brains. By
+becoming Shakspeare in reality we cut ourselves out of reading Milton,
+Pope, Dryden, and a thousand more--all of whom we have in our
+possession, enjoy, and _are_, by turns, in the best part of them,
+their thoughts, without any metamorphosis or miracle at all. What a
+microcosm is ours! What a Proteus is the human mind! All that we know,
+think of, or can admire, in a manner becomes ourselves. We are not
+(the meanest of us) a volume, but a whole library! In this calculation
+of problematical contingencies, the lapse of time makes no difference.
+One would as soon have been Raphael as any modern artist. Twenty,
+thirty, or forty years of elegant enjoyment and lofty feeling were as
+great a luxury in the fifteenth as in the nineteenth century. But
+Raphael did not live to see Claude, nor Titian Rembrandt. Those who
+found arts and sciences are not witnesses of their accumulated results
+and benefits; nor, in general, do they reap the meed of praise which
+is their due. We who come after in some 'laggard age' have more
+enjoyment of their fame than they had. Who would have missed the sight
+of the Louvre in all its glory to have been one of those whose works
+enriched it? Would it not have been giving a certain good for an
+uncertain advantage? No: I am as sure (if it is not presumption to say
+so) of what passed through Raphael's mind as of what passes through my
+own; and I know the difference between seeing (though even that is a
+rare privilege) and producing such perfection. At one time I was so
+devoted to Rembrandt, that I think if the Prince of Darkness had made
+me the offer in some rash mood, I should have been tempted to close
+with it, and should have become (in happy hour, and in downright
+earnest) the great master of light and shade!
+
+I have run myself out of my materials for this Essay, and want a
+well-turned sentence or two to conclude with; like Benvenuto Cellini,
+who complains that, with all the brass, tin, iron, and lead he could
+muster in the house, his statue of Perseus was left imperfect, with a
+dent in the heel of it. Once more, then--I believe there is one
+character that all the world would like to change with--which is that
+of a favoured rival. Even hatred gives way to envy. We would be
+anything--a toad in a dungeon--to live upon her smile, which is our
+all of earthly hope and happiness; nor can we, in our infatuation,
+conceive that there is any difference of feeling on the subject, or
+that the pressure of her hand is not in itself divine, making those to
+whom such bliss is deigned like the Immortal Gods!
+
+1828.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[7] When Lord Byron was cut by the great, on account of his quarrel
+with his wife, he stood leaning on a marble slab at the entrance of a
+room, while troops of duchesses and countesses passed out. One little,
+pert, red-haired girl staid a few paces behind the rest; and, as she
+passed him, said with a nod, 'Aye, you should have married me, and
+then all this wouldn't have happened to you!'
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY VII
+
+MIND AND MOTIVE
+
+    'The web of our lives is of a mingled yarn.'
+
+
+'Anthony Codrus Urceus, a most learned and unfortunate Italian, born
+1446, was a striking instance' (says his biographer) 'of the miseries
+men bring upon themselves by setting their affections unreasonably on
+trifles. This learned man lived at Forli, and had an apartment in the
+palace. His room was so very dark, that he was forced to use a candle
+in the day time; and one day, going abroad without putting it out, his
+library was set on fire, and some papers which he had prepared for the
+press were burned. The instant he was informed of this ill news, he
+was affected even to madness. He ran furiously to the palace, and,
+stopping at the door of his apartment, he cried aloud, "Christ Jesus!
+what mighty crime have I committed? whom of your followers have I ever
+injured, that you thus rage with inexpiable hatred against me?" Then
+turning himself to an image of the Virgin Mary near at hand, "Virgin"
+(says he) "hear what I have to say, for I speak in earnest, and with a
+composed spirit. If I shall happen to address you in my dying moments,
+I humbly entreat you not to hear me, nor receive me into heaven, for I
+am determined to spend all eternity in hell." Those who heard these
+blasphemous expressions endeavoured to comfort him, but all to no
+purpose; for the society of mankind being no longer supportable to
+him, he left the city, and retired, like a savage, to the deep
+solitude of a wood. Some say that he was murdered there by ruffians;
+others that he died at Bologna, in 1500, after much contrition and
+penitence.'
+
+Almost every one may here read the history of his own life. There is
+scarcely a moment in which we are not in some degree guilty of the
+same kind of absurdity, which was here carried to such a singular
+excess. We waste our regrets on what cannot be recalled, or fix our
+desires on what we know cannot be attained. Every hour is the slave of
+the last; and we are seldom masters either of our thoughts or of our
+actions. We are the creatures of imagination, passion, and self-will,
+more than of reason or self-interest. Rousseau, in his _Emilius_,
+proposed to educate a perfectly reasonable man, who was to have
+passions and affections like other men, but with an absolute control
+over them. He was to love and to be wise. This is a contradiction in
+terms. Even in the common transactions and daily intercourse of life,
+we are governed by whim, caprice, prejudice, or accident. The falling
+of a tea-cup puts us out of temper for the day; and a quarrel that
+commenced about the pattern of a gown may end only with our lives.
+
+                'Friends now fast sworn,
+    On a dissension of a doit, break out
+    To bitterest enmity. So fellest foes,
+    Whose passions and whose plots have broke their sleep,
+    To take the one the other, by some chance,
+    Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends,
+    And interjoin their issues.'
+
+We are little better than humoured children to the last, and play a
+mischievous game at cross purposes with our own happiness and that of
+others.
+
+We have given the above story as a striking contradiction to the
+prevailing doctrine of modern systems of morals and metaphysics, that
+man is purely a sensual and selfish animal, governed solely by a
+regard either to his immediate gratification or future interest. This
+doctrine we mean to oppose with all our might, whenever we meet with
+it. We are, however, less disposed to quarrel with it, as it is
+opposed to reason and philosophy, than as it interferes with common
+sense and observation. If the absurdity in question had been confined
+to the schools, we should not have gone out of our way to meddle with
+it: but it has gone abroad in the world, has crept into ladies'
+boudoirs, is entered in the commonplace book of beaux, is in the mouth
+of the learned and ignorant, and forms a part of popular opinion. It
+is perpetually applied as a false measure to the characters and
+conduct of men in the common affairs of the world, and it is therefore
+our business to rectify it, if we can. In fact, whoever sets out on
+the idea of reducing all our motives and actions to a simple
+principle, must either take a very narrow and superficial view of
+human nature, or make a very perverse use of his understanding in
+reasoning on what he sees. The frame of our minds, like that of his
+body, is exceedingly complicated. Besides mere sensibility to pleasure
+and pain, there are other original independent principles, necessarily
+interwoven with the nature of man as an active and intelligent being,
+and which, blended together in different proportions, give their form
+and colour to our lives. Without some other essential faculties, such
+as will, imagination, etc., to give effect and direction to our
+physical sensibility, this faculty could be of no possible use or
+influence; and with those other faculties joined to it, this pretended
+instinct of self-love will be subject to be everlastingly modified and
+controlled by those faculties, both in what regards our own good and
+that of others; that is, must itself become in a great measure
+dependent on the very instruments it uses. The two most predominant
+principles in the mind, besides sensibility and self-interest, are
+imagination and self-will, or (in general) the love of strong
+excitement, both in thought and action. To these sources may be traced
+the various passions, pursuits, habits, affections, follies and
+caprices, virtues and vices of mankind. We shall confine ourselves,
+in the present article, to give some account of the influence
+exercised by the imagination over the feelings. To an intellectual
+being, it cannot be altogether arbitrary what ideas it shall have,
+whether pleasurable or painful. Our ideas do not originate in our love
+of pleasure, and they cannot, therefore, depend absolutely upon it.
+They have another principle. If the imagination were 'the servile
+slave' of our self-love, if our ideas were emanations of our sensitive
+nature, encouraged if agreeable, and excluded the instant they became
+otherwise, or encroached on the former principle, then there might be
+a tolerable pretence for the epicurean philosophy which is here spoken
+of. But for any such entire and mechanical subserviency of the
+operations of the one principle to the dictates of the other, there is
+not the slightest foundation in reality. The attention which the mind
+gives to its ideas is not always owing to the gratification derived
+from them, but to the strength and truth of the impressions
+themselves, _i.e._ to their involuntary power over the mind. This
+observation will account for a very general principle in the mind,
+which cannot, we conceive, be satisfactorily explained in any other
+way, we mean _the power of fascination_. Every one has heard the story
+of the girl who, being left alone by her companions, in order to
+frighten her, in a room with a dead body, at first attempted to get
+out, and shrieked violently for assistance, but finding herself shut
+in, ran and embraced the corpse, and was found senseless in its arms.
+
+It is said that in such cases there is a desperate effort made to get
+rid of the dread by converting it into the reality. There may be some
+truth in this account, but we do not think it contains the whole
+truth. The event produced in the present instance does not bear out
+the conclusion. The progress of the passion does not seem to have been
+that of diminishing or removing the terror by coming in contact with
+the object, but of carrying this terror to its height from an intense
+and irresistible impulse overcoming every other feeling.
+
+It is a well-known fact that few persons can stand safely on the edge
+of a precipice, or walk along the parapet wall of a house, without
+being in danger of throwing themselves down; not, we presume, from a
+principle of self-preservation; but in consequence of a strong idea
+having taken possession of the mind from which it cannot well escape,
+which absorbs every other consideration, and confounds and overrules
+all self-regards. The impulse cannot in this case be resolved into a
+desire to remove the uneasiness of fear, for the only danger arises
+from the fear. We have been told by a person not at all given to
+exaggeration, that he once felt a strong propensity to throw himself
+into a cauldron of boiling lead, into which he was looking. These are
+what Shakspeare calls 'the toys of desperation.' People sometimes
+marry, and even fall in love on this principle--that is, through mere
+apprehension, or what is called a fatality. In like manner, we find
+instances of persons who are, as it were, naturally delighted with
+whatever is disagreeable--who catch all sorts of unbecoming tones and
+gestures--who always say what they should not, and what they do not
+mean to say--in whom intemperance of imagination and incontinence of
+tongue are a disease, and who are governed by an almost infallible
+instinct of absurdity.
+
+The love of imitation has the same general source. We dispute for ever
+about Hogarth, and the question can never be decided according to the
+common ideas on the subject of taste. His pictures appeal to the love
+of truth, not to the sense of beauty: but the one is as much an
+essential principle of our nature as the other. They fill up the void
+of the mind; they present an everlasting succession and variety of
+ideas. There is a fine observation somewhere made by Aristotle, that
+the mind has a natural appetite of curiosity or desire to know; and
+most of that knowledge which comes in by the eye, for this presents
+us with the greatest variety of differences. Hogarth is relished only
+by persons of a certain strength of mind and penetration into
+character; for the subjects in themselves are not pleasing, and this
+objection is only redeemed by the exercise and activity which they
+give to the understanding. The great difference between what is meant
+by a severe and an effeminate taste or style, depends on the
+distinction here made.
+
+Our teasing ourselves to recollect the names of places or persons we
+have forgotten, the love of riddles and of abstruse philosophy, are
+all illustrations of the same general principle of curiosity, or the
+love of intellectual excitement. Again, our impatience to be delivered
+of a secret that we know; the necessity which lovers have for
+confidants, auricular confession, and the declarations so commonly
+made by criminals of their guilt, are effects of the involuntary power
+exerted by the imagination over the feelings. Nothing can be more
+untrue, than that the whole course of our ideas, passions, and
+pursuits, is regulated by a regard to self-interest. Our attachment to
+certain objects is much oftener in proportion to the strength of the
+impression they make on us, to their power of riveting and fixing the
+attention, than to the gratification we derive from them. We are,
+perhaps, more apt to dwell upon circumstances that excite disgust and
+shock our feelings, than on those of an agreeable nature. This, at
+least, is the case where this disposition is particularly strong, as
+in people of nervous feelings and morbid habits of thinking. Thus the
+mind is often haunted with painful images and recollections, from the
+hold they have taken of the imagination. We cannot shake them off,
+though we strive to do it: nay, we even court their company; we will
+not part with them out of our presence; we strain our aching sight
+after them; we anxiously recall every feature, and contemplate them in
+all their aggravated colours. There are a thousand passions and
+fancies that thwart our purposes, and disturb our repose. Grief and
+fear are almost as welcome inmates of the breast as hope or joy, and
+more obstinately cherished. We return to the objects which have
+excited them, we brood over them, they become almost inseparable from
+the mind, necessary to it; they assimilate all objects to the gloom of
+our own thoughts, and make the will a party against itself. This is
+one chief source of most of the passions that prey like vultures on
+the heart, and embitter human life. We hear moralists and divines
+perpetually exclaiming, with mingled indignation and surprise, at the
+folly of mankind in obstinately persisting in these tormenting and
+violent passions, such as envy, revenge, sullenness, despair, etc.
+This is to them a mystery; and it will always remain an inexplicable
+one, while the love of happiness is considered as the only spring of
+human conduct and desires.[8]
+
+The love of power or action is another independent principle of the
+human mind, in the different degrees in which it exists, and which are
+not by any means in exact proportion to its physical sensibility. It
+seems evidently absurd to suppose that sensibility to pleasure or pain
+is the only principle of action. It is almost too obvious to remark,
+that sensibility alone, without an active principle in the mind, could
+never produce action. The soul might lie dissolved in pleasure, or be
+agonised with woe; but the impulses of feeling, in order to excite
+passion, desire, or will, must be first communicated to some other
+faculty. There must be a principle, a fund of activity somewhere, by
+and through which our sensibility operates; and that this active
+principle owes all its force, its precise degree of direction, to the
+sensitive faculty, is neither self-evident nor true. Strength of will
+is not always nor generally in proportion to strength of feeling.
+There are different degrees of activity, as of sensibility, in the
+mind; and our passions, characters, and pursuits, often depend no less
+upon the one than on the other. We continually make a distinction in
+common discourse between sensibility and irritability, between passion
+and feeling, between the nerves and muscles; and we find that the most
+voluptuous people are in general the most indolent. Every one who has
+looked closely into human nature must have observed persons who are
+naturally and habitually restless in the extreme, but without any
+extraordinary susceptibility to pleasure or pain, always making or
+finding excuses to do something--whose actions constantly outrun the
+occasion, and who are eager in the pursuit of the greatest
+trifles--whose impatience of the smallest repose keeps them always
+employed about nothing--and whose whole lives are a continued work of
+supererogation. There are others, again, who seem born to act from a
+spirit of contradiction only, that is, who are ready to act not only
+without a reason, but against it--who are ever at cross-purposes with
+themselves and others--who are not satisfied unless they are doing two
+opposite things at a time--who contradict what you say, and if you
+assent to them, contradict what they have said--who regularly leave
+the pursuit in which they are successful to engage in some other in
+which they have no chance of success--who make a point of encountering
+difficulties and aiming at impossibilities, that there may be no end
+of their exhaustless task: while there is a third class whose _vis
+inertiae_ scarcely any motives can overcome--who are devoured by their
+feelings, and the slaves of their passions, but who can take no pains
+and use no means to gratify them--who, if roused to action by any
+unforeseen accident, require a continued stimulus to urge them on--who
+fluctuate between desire and want of resolution--whose brightest
+projects burst like a bubble as soon as formed--who yield to every
+obstacle--who almost sink under the weight of the atmosphere--who
+cannot brush aside a cobweb in their path, and are stopped by an
+insect's wing. Indolence is want of will--the absence or defect of the
+active principle--a repugnance to motion; and whoever has been much
+tormented with this passion, must, we are sure, have felt that the
+inclination to indulge it is something very distinct from the love of
+pleasure or actual enjoyment. Ambition is the reverse of indolence,
+and is the love of power or action in great things. Avarice, also, as
+it relates to the acquisition of riches, is, in a great measure, an
+active and enterprising feeling; nor does the hoarding of wealth,
+after it is acquired, seem to have much connection with the love of
+pleasure. What is called niggardliness, very often, we are convinced
+from particular instances that we have known, arises less from a
+selfish principle than from a love of contrivance--from the study of
+economy as an art, for want of a better--from a pride in making the
+most of a little, and in not exceeding a certain expense previously
+determined upon; all which is wilfulness, and is perfectly consistent,
+as it is frequently found united, with the utmost lavish expenditure
+and the utmost disregard for money on other occasions. A miser may, in
+general, be looked upon as a particular species of _virtuoso_. The
+constant desire in the rich to leave wealth in large masses, by
+aggrandising some branch of their families, or sometimes in such a
+manner as to accumulate for centuries, shows that the imagination has
+a considerable share in this passion. Intemperance, debauchery,
+gluttony, and other vices of that kind, may be attributed to an excess
+of sensuality or gross sensibility; though, even here, we think it
+evident that habits of intoxication are produced quite as much by the
+strength as by the agreeableness of the excitement; and with respect
+to some other vicious habits, curiosity makes many more votaries than
+inclination. The love of truth, when it predominates, produces
+inquisitive characters, the whole tribe of gossips, tale-bearers,
+harmless busybodies, your blunt honest creatures, who never conceal
+what they think, and who are the more sure to tell it you the less you
+want to hear it--and now and then a philosopher.
+
+Our passions in general are to be traced more immediately to the
+active part of our nature, to the love of power, or to strength of
+will. Such are all those which arise out of the difficulty of
+accomplishment, which become more intense from the efforts made to
+attain the object, and which derive their strength from opposition.
+Mr. Hobbes says well on this subject:
+
+'But for an utmost end, in which the ancient philosophers placed
+felicity, and disputed much concerning the way thereto, there is no
+such thing in this world, nor way to it, more than to Utopia; for
+while we live, we have desires, and desire presupposeth a further end.
+Seeing all delight is appetite, and desire of something further, there
+can be no contentment but in proceeding, and therefore we are not to
+marvel, when we see that as men attain to more riches, honour, or
+other power, so their appetite continually groweth more and more; and
+when they are come to the utmost degree of some kind of power they
+pursue some other, as long as in any kind they think themselves behind
+any other. Of those, therefore, that have attained the highest degree
+of honour and riches, some have affected mastery, in some art, as Nero
+in music and poetry, Commodus in the art of a gladiator; and such as
+affect not some such thing, must find diversion and recreation of
+their thoughts in the contention either of play or business, and men
+justly complain as of a great grief that they know not what to do.
+Felicity, therefore, by which we mean continual delight, consists not
+in having prospered, but in prospering.'
+
+This account of human nature, true as it is, would be a mere romance,
+if physical sensibility were the only faculty essential to man, that
+is, if we were the slaves of voluptuous indolence. But our desires are
+kindled by their own heat, the will is urged on by a restless impulse,
+and without action, enjoyment becomes insipid. The passions of men are
+not in proportion only to their sensibility, or to the desirableness
+of the object, but to the violence and irritability of their tempers,
+and the obstacles to their success. Thus an object to which we were
+almost indifferent while we thought it in our power, often excites the
+most ardent pursuit or the most painful regret, as soon as it is
+placed out of our reach. How eloquently is the contradiction between
+our desires and our success described in _Don Quixote_, where it is
+said of the lover, that 'he courted a statue, hunted the wind, cried
+aloud to the desert!'
+
+The necessity of action to the mind, and the keen edge it gives to our
+desires, is shown in the different value we set on past and future
+objects. It is commonly, and we might almost say universally,
+supposed, that there is an essential difference in the two cases. In
+this instance, however, the strength of our passions has converted an
+evident absurdity into one of the most inveterate prejudices of the
+human mind. That the future is really or in itself of more consequence
+than the past, is what we can neither assent to nor even conceive. It
+is true, the past has ceased to be, and is no longer anything, except
+to the mind; but the future is still to come, and has an existence in
+the mind only. The one is at an end, the other has not even had a
+beginning; both are purely ideal: so that this argument would prove
+that the present only is of any real value, and that both past and
+future objects are equally indifferent, alike nothing. Indeed, the
+future is, if possible, more imaginary than the past; for the past may
+in some sense be said to exist in its consequences; it acts still; it
+is present to us in its effects; the mouldering ruins and broken
+fragments still remain; but of the future there is no trace. What a
+blank does the history of the world for the next six thousand years
+present to the mind, compared with that of the last? All that strikes
+the imagination, or excites any interest in the mighty scene is _what
+has been_. Neither in reality, then, nor as a subject of general
+contemplation, has the future any advantage over the past; but with
+respect to our own passions and pursuits it has. We regret the
+pleasures we have enjoyed, and eagerly anticipate those which are to
+come; we dwell with satisfaction on the evils from which we have
+escaped, and dread future pain. The good that is past is like money
+that is spent, which is of no use, and about which we give no further
+concern. The good we expect is like a store yet untouched, in the
+enjoyment of which we promise ourselves infinite gratification. What
+has happened to us we think of no consequence--what is to happen to
+us, of the greatest. Why so? Because the one is in our power, and the
+other not; because the efforts of the will to bring an object to pass
+or to avert it, strengthen our attachment to or our aversion from that
+object; because the habitual pursuit of any purpose redoubles the
+ardour of our pursuit, and converts the speculative and indolent
+interest we should otherwise take in it into real passion. Our
+regrets, anxiety, and wishes, are thrown away upon the past, but we
+encourage our disposition to exaggerate the importance of the future,
+as of the utmost use in aiding our resolutions and stimulating our
+exertions.
+
+It in some measure confirms this theory, that men attach more or less
+importance to past and future events, according as they are more or
+else engaged in action and the busy scenes of life. Those who have a
+fortune to make, or are in pursuit of rank and power, are regardless
+of the past, for it does not contribute to their views: those who have
+nothing to do but to think, take nearly the same interest in the past
+as in the future. The contemplation of the one is as delightful and
+real as of the other. The season of hope comes to an end, but the
+remembrance of it is left. The past still lives in the memory of
+those who have leisure to look back upon the way that they have trod,
+and can from it 'catch glimpses that may make them less forlorn.' The
+turbulence of action and uneasiness of desire _must_ dwell upon the
+future; it is only amidst the innocence of shepherds, in the
+simplicity of the pastoral ages, that a tomb was found with this
+inscription--'I ALSO WAS AN ARCADIAN!'
+
+We feel that some apology is necessary for having thus plunged our
+readers all at once into the middle of metaphysics. If it should be
+asked what use such studies are of, we might answer with Hume,
+_perhaps of none, except that there are certain persons who find more
+entertainment in them than in any other_. An account of this matter,
+with which we were amused ourselves, and which may therefore amuse
+others, we met with some time ago in a metaphysical allegory, which
+begins in this manner:
+
+'In the depth of a forest, in the kingdom of Indostan, lived a monkey,
+who, before his last step of transmigration, had occupied a human
+tenement. He had been a Bramin, skilful in theology, and in all
+abstruse learning. He was wont to hold in admiration the ways of
+nature, and delighted to penetrate the mysteries in which she was
+enrobed; but in pursuing the footsteps of philosophy, he wandered too
+far from the abode of the social Virtues. In order to pursue his
+studies, he had retired to a cave on the banks of the Jumna. There he
+forgot society, and neglected ablution; and therefore his soul was
+degraded to a condition below humanity. So inveterate were the habits
+which he had contracted in his human state, that his spirit was still
+influenced by his passion for abstruse study. He sojourned in this
+wood from youth to age, regardless of everything, _save cocoa-nuts and
+metaphysics_.' For our own part, we should be content to pass our time
+much in the same manner as this learned savage, if we could only find
+a substitute for his cocoa-nuts! We do not, however, wish to recommend
+the same pursuit to others, nor to dissuade them from it. It has its
+pleasures and its pains--its successes and its disappointments. It is
+neither quite so sublime nor quite so uninteresting as it is sometimes
+represented. The worst is, that much thought on difficult subjects
+tends, after a certain time, to destroy the natural gaiety and dancing
+of the spirits; it deadens the elastic force of the mind, weighs upon
+the heart, and makes us insensible to the common enjoyments and
+pursuits of life.
+
+    'Sithence no fairy lights, no quick'ning ray,
+    Nor stir of pulse, nor objects to entice
+    Abroad the spirits; but the cloyster'd heart
+    Sits squat at home, like pagod in a niche
+    Obscure.'
+
+Metaphysical reasoning is also one branch of the tree of the knowledge
+of good and evil. The study of man, however, does, perhaps, less harm
+than a knowledge of the world, though it must be owned that the
+practical knowledge of vice and misery makes a stronger impression on
+the mind, when it has imbibed a habit of abstract reasoning. Evil thus
+becomes embodied in a general principle, and shows its harpy form in
+all things. It is a fatal, inevitable necessity hanging over us. It
+follows us wherever we go: if we fly into the uttermost parts of the
+earth, it is there: whether we turn to the right or the left, we
+cannot escape from it. This, it is true, is the disease of philosophy;
+but it is one to which it is liable in minds of a certain cast, after
+the first ardour of expectation has been disabused by experience, and
+the finer feelings have received an irrecoverable shock from the
+jarring of the world.
+
+Happy are they who live in the dream of their own existence, and see
+all things in the light of their own minds; who walk by faith and
+hope; to whom the guiding star of their youth still shines from afar,
+and into whom the spirit of the world has not entered! They have not
+been 'hurt by the archers,' nor has the iron entered their souls. They
+live in the midst of arrows and of death, unconscious of harm. The
+evil things come not nigh them. The shafts of ridicule pass unheeded
+by, and malice loses its sting. The example of vice does not rankle in
+their breasts, like the poisoned shirt of Nessus. Evil impressions
+fall off from them like drops of water. The yoke of life is to them
+light and supportable. The world has no hold on them. They are in it,
+not of it; and a dream and a glory is ever around them!
+
+1815.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[8] As a contrast to the story at the beginning of this article, it
+will be not amiss to mention that of Sir Isaac Newton, on a somewhat
+similar occasion. He had prepared some papers for the press with great
+care and study, but happening to leave a lighted candle on the table
+with them, his dog Diamond overturned the candle, and the labour of
+several years was destroyed. This great man, on seeing what was done,
+only shook his head, and said with a smile, 'Ah, Diamond, you don't
+know what mischief you have done!'
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY VIII
+
+ON MEANS AND ENDS
+
+
+It is impossible to have things done without doing them. This seems a
+truism; and yet what is more common than to suppose that we shall find
+things done, merely by wishing it? To put the will for the deed is as
+usual in practice as it is contrary to common sense. There is, in
+fact, no absurdity, no contradiction, of which the will is not
+capable. This is, I think, more remarkable in the English than in any
+other people, in whom (to judge by what I discover in myself) the will
+bears great and disproportioned sway. We will a thing: we contemplate
+the end intensely, and think it done, neglecting the necessary means
+to accomplish it. The strong tendency of the mind towards it, the
+internal effort it makes to give being to the object of its idolatry,
+seems an adequate cause to produce the effect, and in a manner
+identified with it. This is more particularly the case in what relates
+to the _fine arts_, and will account for some phenomena of the
+national character. The English school is distinguished by what are
+called _ebauches_, rude, violent attempts at effect, and a total
+inattention to the details or delicacy of finishing. Now this, I
+think, proceeds, not exactly from grossness of perception, but from
+the wilfulness of our character; our desire to have things our own
+way, without any trouble or distraction of purpose. An object strikes
+us: we see and feel the whole effect. We wish to produce a likeness of
+it; but we want to transfer this impression to the canvas as it is
+conveyed to us, simultaneously and intuitively, that is, to stamp it
+there at a blow, or otherwise we turn away with impatience and
+disgust, as if the means were an obstacle to the end, and every
+attention to the mechanical part of art were a deviation from our
+original purpose. We thus degenerate, after repeated failures, into a
+slovenly style of art; and that which was at first an undisciplined
+and irregular impulse becomes a habit, and then a theory. It seems
+strange that the love of the end should produce aversion to the
+means--but so it is; neither is it altogether unnatural. That which we
+are struck with, which we are enamoured of, is the general appearance
+and result; and it would certainly be most desirable to produce the
+effect in the same manner by a mere word or wish, if it were possible,
+without entering into any mechanical drudgery or minuteness of detail
+or dexterity of execution, which though they are essential and
+component parts of the work do not enter into our thoughts, and form
+no part of our contemplation. We may find it necessary, on a cool
+calculation to go through and learn these, but in so doing we only
+submit to necessity, and they are still a diversion to and a
+suspension of our purpose for the time, at least, unless practice
+gives that facility which almost identifies the two together, or makes
+the process an unconscious one. The end thus devours up the means, or
+our eagerness for the one, where it is strong and unchecked, is in
+proportion to our impatience of the other. We view an object at a
+distance that excites an inclination to visit it, which we do after
+many tedious steps and intricate ways; but if we could fly, we should
+never walk. The mind, however, has wings, though the body has not, and
+it is this that produces the contradiction in question. The first and
+strongest impulse of the mind is to produce any work at once and by
+the most energetic means; but as this cannot always be done, we should
+not neglect other more mechanical ones, but that delusions of passion
+overrule the convictions of the understanding, and what we strongly
+wish we fancy to be possible and true. We are full of the effect we
+intend to produce, and imagine we have produced it, in spite of the
+evidence of our senses, and the suggestions of our friends. In fact,
+after a number of fruitless efforts and violent throes to produce an
+effect which we passionately long for, it seems all injustice not to
+have produced it; if we have not commanded success, we have done more,
+we have deserved it; we have copied nature or Titian in the spirit in
+which they ought to be copied, and we see them before us in our mind's
+eye; there is the look, the expression, the something or other which
+we chiefly aim at, and thus we persist and make fifty excuses to
+deceive ourselves and confirm our errors; or if the light breaks upon
+us through all the disguises of sophistry and self-love, it is so
+painful that we shut our eyes to it; the greater the mortification the
+more violent the effort to throw it off; and thus we stick to our
+determination, and end where we began. What makes me think that this
+is the process of our minds, and not merely rusticity or want of
+apprehension, is, that you will see an English artist admiring and
+thrown into raptures by the tucker of Titian's mistress, made up of an
+infinite number of little folds, but if he attempts to copy it, he
+proceeds to omit all these details, and dash it off by a single smear
+of his brush. This is not ignorance, or even laziness, but what is
+called jumping at a conclusion. It is, in a word, all overweening
+purpose. He sees the details, the varieties, and their effects, and he
+admires them; but he sees them with a glance of his eye, and as a
+wilful man must have his way, he would reproduce them by a single dash
+of the pencil. The mixing his colours, the putting in and out, the
+giving his attention to a minute break, or softening in the particular
+lights and shades, is a mechanical and everlasting operation, very
+different from the delight he feels in contemplating the effect of all
+this when properly and finely done. Such details are foreign to his
+refined taste, and some doubts arise in his mind in the midst of his
+gratitude and his raptures, as to how Titian could resolve upon the
+drudgery of going through them, and whether it was not done by extreme
+facility of hand, and a sort of trick, abridging the mechanical
+labour. No one wrote or talked more enthusiastically about Titian's
+harmony of colouring than the late Mr. Barry, yet his own colouring
+was dead and dry; and if he had copied a Titian, he would have made it
+a mere splash, leaving out all that caused his wonder or admiration,
+after his English, or rather Irish fashion. We not only grudge the
+labour of beginning, but we give up, for the same reason, when we are
+near touching the goal of success; and to save a few last touches,
+leave a work unfinished, and an object unattained. The immediate
+process, the daily gradual improvement, the completion of parts giving
+us no pleasure, we strain at the whole result; we wish to have it
+done, and in our anxiety to have it off our hands, say it will do, and
+lose the benefit of all our labour by grudging a little pains, and not
+commanding a little patience. In a day or two, suppose a copy of a
+fine Titian would be as complete as we could make it: the prospect of
+this so enchants us that we skip the intermediate days, see no great
+use in going on with it, fancy that we may spoil it, and in order to
+have the job done, take it home with us, when we immediately see our
+error, and spend the rest of our lives in repenting that we did not
+finish it properly at the time. We see the whole nature of a picture
+at once; we only do a part: _Hinc illae lachrymae_. A French artist, on
+the contrary, has none of this uneasy, anxious feeling; of this desire
+to grasp the whole of his subject, and anticipate his good fortune at
+a blow; of this massing and concentrating principle. He takes the
+thing more easily and rationally. Suppose he undertakes to copy a
+picture, he looks at it and copies it bit by bit. He does not set off
+headlong without knowing where he is going, or plunge into all sorts
+of difficulties and absurdities, from impatience to begin and
+thinking that 'no sooner said than done'; but takes time to consider,
+lays his plans, gets in his outline and his distances, and lays a
+foundation before he attempts a superstructure which he may have to
+pull to pieces again. He looks before he leaps, which is contrary to
+the true blindfold English principle; and I should think that we had
+invented this proverb from seeing so many fatal examples of the
+neglect of it. He does not make the picture all black or all white,
+because one part of it is so, and because he cannot alter an idea he
+has once got into his head, and must always run into extremes, but
+varies from green to red, from orange tawney to yellow, from grey to
+brown, according as they vary in the original: he sees no
+inconsistency or forfeiture of a principle in this, but a great deal
+of right reason, and indeed an absolute necessity, if he wishes to
+succeed in what he is about. This is the last thing an Englishman
+thinks of: he only wants to have his own way, though it ends in defeat
+and ruin: he sets about a thing which he had little prospect of
+accomplishing, and if he finds he can do it, gives it over and leaves
+the matter short of success, which is too agreeable an idea for him to
+indulge in. The French artist proceeds bit by bit. He takes one part,
+a hand, a piece of drapery, a part of the background, and finishes it
+carefully; then another, and so on to the end. He does not, from a
+childish impatience, when he is near the conclusion, destroy the
+effect of the whole by leaving some one part eminently defective, nor
+fly from what he is about to something else that catches his eye,
+neglecting the one and spoiling the other. He is constrained by
+mastery, by the mastery of common sense and pleasurable feeling. He is
+in no hurry to finish, for he has a satisfaction in the work, and
+touches and retouches, perhaps a single head, day after day and week
+after week, without repining, uneasiness, or apparent progress. The
+very lightness and indifference of his feelings renders him patient
+and laborious: an Englishman, whatever he is about or undertakes is
+as if he was carrying a heavy load that oppresses both his body and
+mind, and which he is anxious to throw down. A Frenchman's hopes or
+fears are not excited to that pitch of intolerable agony that compels
+him, in mere compassion to himself to bring the question to a speedy
+issue, even to the loss of his object; he is calm, easy, and
+indifferent, and can take his time and make the most of his advantages
+with impunity. Pleased with himself, he is pleased with whatever
+occupies his attention nearly alike. It is the same to him whether he
+paints an angel or a joint-stool; it is the same to him whether it is
+landscape or history; it is he who paints it, that is sufficient.
+Nothing puts him out of conceit with his work, for nothing puts him
+out of conceit with himself. This self-complacency produces admirable
+patience and docility in certain particulars, besides charity and
+toleration towards others. I remember a ludicrous instance of this
+deliberate process, in a young French artist who was copying the
+_Titian's Mistress_, in the Louvre, some twenty years ago. After
+getting it in chalk-lines, one would think he would have been
+attracted to the face, that heaven of beauty which makes a sunshine in
+the shady place, or to some part of the poetry of the picture; instead
+of which he began to finish a square he had marked out in the
+right-hand corner of the picture. He set to work like a cabinetmaker
+or an engraver, and seemed to have no sympathy with the soul of the
+picture. Indeed, to a Frenchman there is no distinction between the
+great and little, the pleasurable and the painful; the utmost he
+arrives at a conception of is the indifferent and the light. Another
+young man, at the time I speak of, was for eleven weeks (I think it
+was) daily employed in making a blacklead pencil drawing of a small
+Leonardo; he sat cross-legged on a rail to do it, kept his hat on,
+rose up, went to the fire to warm himself, talked constantly of the
+excellence of the different masters--Titian for colour, Raphael for
+expression, Poussin for composition--all being alike to him, provided
+there was a word to express it, for all he thought about was his own
+harangue; and, having consulted some friend on his progress, he
+returned to 'perfectionate,' as he called it, his copy. This would
+drive an Englishman mad or stupid. The perseverance and the
+indifference, the labour without impulse, the attention to the parts
+in succession, and disregard of the whole together, are to him
+absolutely inconceivable. A Frenchman only exists in his present
+sensations, and provided he is left free to these as they arise, he
+cares about nothing farther, looking neither backward nor forward.
+With all this affectation and artifice, there is on this account a
+kind of simplicity and nature about them, after all. They lend
+themselves to the impression before them with good humour and good
+will, making it neither better nor worse than it is. The English
+overdo or underdo everything, and are either drunk or in despair. I do
+not speak of all Frenchmen or of all Englishmen, but of the most
+characteristic specimens of each class. The extreme slowness and
+methodical regularity of the French has arisen out of this
+indifference, and even frivolity (their usually-supposed natural
+character), for owing to it their laborious minuteness costs them
+nothing; they have no strong impulses or ardent longings that urge
+them to the violation of rules, or hurry them away with a subject and
+with the interest belonging to it. Everything is matter of
+calculation, and measured beforehand, in order to assist their
+fluttering and their feebleness. When they get beyond the literal and
+the formal, and attempt the impressive and the grand, as in David's
+and Girardot's pictures, defend us from sublimity heaped on insipidity
+and petit-maitreism. You see a Frenchman in the Louvre copying the
+finest pictures, standing on one leg, with his hat on; or after
+copying a Raphael, thinking David much finer, more truly one of
+themselves, more a combination of the Greek sculptor and the French
+posture-master. Even if a French artist fails, he is not
+disconcerted; there is something else he excels in: if he cannot
+paint, he can dance! If an Englishman, save the mark! fails in
+anything, he thinks he can do nothing; enraged at the mention of his
+ability to do anything else, and at any consolation offered to him, he
+banishes all other thought but of his disappointment, and discarding
+hope from his breast, neither eats nor sleeps (it is well if he does
+not cut his throat), will not attend to any other thing in which he
+before took an interest and pride, and is in despair till he recovers
+his good opinion of himself in the point in which he has been
+disgraced, though, from his very anxiety and disorder of mind, he is
+incapacitated from applying to the only means of doing so, as much as
+if he were drunk with liquor, instead of with pride and passion. The
+character I have here drawn of an Englishman I am clear about, for it
+is the character of myself, and, I am sorry to add, no exaggerated
+one. As my object is to paint the varieties of human nature, and as I
+can have it best from myself, I will confess a weakness. I lately
+tried to copy a Titian (after many years' want of practice), in order
+to give a friend in England some idea of the picture. I floundered on
+for several days, but failed, as might be expected. My sky became
+overcast. Everything seemed of the colour of the paint I used. Nature
+was one great daub. I had no feeling left but a sense of want of
+power, and of an abortive struggle to do what I could not do. I was
+ashamed of being seen to look at the picture with admiration, as if I
+had no right to do so. I was ashamed even to have written or spoken
+about the picture or about art at all: it seemed a piece of
+presumption or affectation in me, whose whole notions and refinements
+on the subject ended in an inexcusable daub. Why did I think of
+attempting such a thing heedlessly, of exposing my presumption and
+incapacity? It was blotting from my memory, covering with a dark veil,
+all that I remembered of those pictures formerly, my hopes when young,
+my regrets since; it was wresting from me one of the consolations of
+my life and of my declining years. I was even afraid to walk out by
+the barrier of Neuilly, or to recall to memory that I had ever seen
+the picture; all was turned to bitterness and gall: to feel anything
+but a sense of my own helplessness and absurdity seemed a want of
+sincerity, a mockery and a piece of injustice. The only comfort I had
+was in the excess of pain I felt; this was at least some distinction:
+I was not insensible on that side. No Frenchman, I thought, would
+regret the not copying a Titian so much as I did, or so far show the
+same value for it. Besides, I had copied this identical picture very
+well formerly. If ever I got out of this scrape, I had received a
+lesson, at least, not to run the same risk of gratuitous vexation
+again, or even to attempt what was uncertain and unnecessary.
+
+It is the same in love and in literature. A man makes love without
+thinking of the chances of success, his own disabilities, or the
+character of his mistress; that is, without connecting means with
+ends, and consulting only his own will and passion. The author sets
+about writing history, with the full intention of rendering all
+documents, dates, and facts secondary to his own opinion and will. In
+business it is not altogether the same; for interest acts obviously as
+a counterpoise to caprice and will, and is the moving principle; nor
+is it so in war, for then the spirit of contradiction does everything,
+and an Englishman will go to the devil rather than give up to any
+odds. Courage is pure will without regard to consequences, and this
+the English have in perfection. Again, poetry is our element, for the
+essence of poetry is will and passion. The French poetry is detail and
+verbiage. I have thus shown why the English fail, as a people, in the
+Fine Arts, namely, because with them the end absorbs the means. I have
+mentioned Barry as an individual instance. No man spoke or wrote with
+more _gusto_ about painting, and yet no one painted with less. His
+pictures were dry and coarse, and wanted all that his description of
+those of others contained. For instance, he speaks of the dull, dead,
+watery look in the Medusa's head of Leonardo, which conveys a perfect
+idea of it: if he had copied it, you would never have suspected
+anything of the kind. Again, he has, I believe, somewhere spoken of
+the uneasy effect of the tucker of the _Titian's Mistress_, bursting
+with the full treasures it contains. What a daub he would have made of
+it! He is like a person admiring the grace of a fine rope-dancer;
+placed on the rope himself his head turns, and he falls: or like a man
+admiring fine horsemanship; set him upon a horse, and he tumbles over
+on the other side. Why was this? His mind was essentially ardent and
+discursive, not sensitive or observing; and though the immediate
+object acted as a stimulus to his imagination, it was only as it does
+to a poet's, that is, as a link in the chain of association, as
+suggesting other strong feelings and ideas, and not for its intrinsic
+beauty or hidden details. He had not the painter's eye though he had
+the painter's knowledge. There is as great a difference in this
+respect as between the telescope and microscope. People in general see
+objects only to distinguish them in practice and by name; to know that
+a hat is a hat, that a chair is not a table, that John is not William;
+and there are painters (particularly of history) in England who look
+no farther. They cannot finish anything, or go over a head twice; the
+first view is all they would arrive at; nor can they reduce their
+impressions to their component parts without losing the spirit. The
+effect of this is grossness and want of force; for in reality the
+component parts cannot be separated from the whole. Such people have
+no pleasure in the exercise of their art as such: it is all to
+astonish or to get money that they follow it; or if they are thrown
+out of it, they regret it only as a bankrupt does a business which was
+a livelihood to him. Barry did not live, like Titian, in the taste of
+colours; they were not a _pabulum_ to his sense; he did not hold
+green, blue, red, and yellow as the precious darlings of his eye.
+They did not therefore sink into his mind, or nourish and enrich it
+with the sense of beauty, though he knew enough of them to furnish
+hints and topics of discourse. If he had had the most beautiful object
+in nature before him in his painting-room in the Adelphi, he would
+have neglected it, after a moment's burst of admiration, to talk of
+his last composition, or to scrawl some new and vast design. Art was
+nothing to him, or if anything, merely a stalking-horse to his
+ambition and display of intellectual power in general; and therefore
+he neglected it to daub huge allegories, or cabal with the Academy,
+where the violence of his will or the extent of his views found ample
+scope. As a painter he was valuable merely as a draughtsman, in that
+part of the art which may be reduced to lines and precepts, or
+positive measurement. There is neither colour, nor expression, nor
+delicacy, nor beauty, in his works.
+
+1827.
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY IX
+
+MATTER AND MANNER
+
+
+Nothing can frequently be more striking than the difference of style
+or manner, where the _matter_ remains the same, as in paraphrases and
+translations. The most remarkable example which occurs to us is in the
+beginning of the _Flower and Leaf_, by Chaucer, and in the
+modernisation of the same passage by Dryden. We shall give an extract
+from both, that the reader may judge for himself. The original runs
+thus:
+
+    'And I that all this pleasaunt sight _ay_ sie,
+    Thought sodainly I felt_e_ so sweet an aire
+    _Con_ of the eglentere, that certainely
+    There is no heart, I deme, in such dispaire,
+    Ne with _no_ thought_e_s froward and contraire
+    So overlaid, but it should_e_ soone have bote,
+    If it had ones felt this savour sote.
+
+    And as I stood and cast aside mine eie,
+    I was of ware the fairest medler tree,
+    That ever yet in all my life I sie,
+    As full of blossomes as it might_e_ be;
+    Therein a goldfinch leaping pretil_e_
+    Fro bough to bough; and, as him list, _gan_ eete
+    Of bud_de_s here and there and floures sweet_e_.
+
+    And to the herber side _ther_ was joyning_e_
+    This faire tree, of which I have you told;
+    And at the last the brid began to sing_e_,
+    When he had eaten what he eat_e_ wold_e_,
+    So passing sweetly, that by manifold_e_,
+    It was more pleasaunt than I coud_e_ devise.
+    And when his song was ended in this wise,
+
+    The nightingale with so mery a note
+    Answered him, that all the wood_e_ rong
+    So sodainly, that, as it were a sote,
+    I stood astonied; so was I with the song
+    Thorow ravished, that till late and longe,
+    Ne wist I in what place I was, ne where;
+    And ay, me thought_e_, she song even by mine ere.
+
+    Wherefore about I waited busily,
+    On every side, if _that_ I her might_e_ see;
+    And, at the last, I gan full well aspie
+    Where she sat in a fresh grene laurer tree,
+    On the further side, even right by me,
+    That gave so passing a delicious smell,
+    According to the eglentere full well.
+
+    Whereof I had_de_ so inly great pleasure,
+    That, as me thought, I surely ravished was
+    Into Paradice, where _as_ my desire
+    Was for to be, and no ferther to passe
+    As for that day; and on the sote grasse
+    I sat me downe; for, as for mine entent,
+    The bird_de_s song was more convenient,
+
+    And more pleasaunt to me by many fold,
+    Than meat or drinke, or any other thing.
+    Thereto the herber was so fresh and cold,
+    The wholesome savours eke so comforting
+    That, as I demed_e_, sith the beginning
+    Of th_ilke_ world was never seene or than
+    So pleasaunt a ground of none earthly man.
+
+    And as I sat, the bird_de_s harkening thus,
+    Me thought_e_ that I heard_e_ voices sodainly,
+    The most sweetest and most delicious
+    That ever any wight, I trow truly,
+    Heard in _here_ life; for _sothe_ the armony
+    And sweet accord was in so good musike,
+    That the voices to angels most was like.'
+
+In this passage the poet has let loose the very soul of pleasure.
+There is a spirit of enjoyment in it, of which there seems no end. It
+is the intense delight which accompanies the description of every
+object, the fund of natural sensibility which it displays, which
+constitutes its whole essence and beauty. Now this is shown chiefly in
+the manner in which the different objects are anticipated, and the
+eager welcome which is given to them; in his repeating and varying the
+circumstances with a restless delight; in his quitting the subject for
+a moment, and then returning to it again, as if he could never have
+his fill of enjoyment. There is little of this in Dryden's paraphrase.
+The same ideas are introduced, but not in the same manner, nor with
+the same spirit. The imagination of the poet is not borne along with
+the tide of pleasure--the verse is not poured out, like the natural
+strains it describes, from pure delight, but according to rule and
+measure. Instead of being absorbed in his subject, he is dissatisfied
+with it, tries to give an air of dignity to it by factitious
+ornaments, to amuse the reader by ingenious allusions, and divert his
+attention from the progress of the story by the artifices of the
+style:
+
+    'The painted birds, companions of the spring,
+    Hopping from spray to spray, were heard to sing.
+    Both eyes and ears receiv'd a like delight,
+    Enchanting music, and a charming sight.
+    On Philomel I fix'd my whole desire;
+    And listen'd for the queen of all the quire;
+    Fain would I hear her heavenly voice to sing;
+    And wanted yet an omen to the spring.
+      Thus as I mus'd I cast aside my eye,
+    And saw a medlar-tree was planted nigh.
+    The spreading branches made a goodly show,
+    And full of opening blooms was every bough:
+    A goldfinch there I saw with gawdy pride
+    Of painted plumes, that hopp'd from side to side,
+    Still pecking as she pass'd; and still she drew
+    The sweets from every flower and suck'd the dew:
+    Suffic'd at length, she warbled in her throat,
+    And tun'd her voice to many a merry note,
+    But indistinct, and neither sweet nor clear,
+    Yet such as sooth'd my soul, and pleas'd my ear.
+      Her short performance was no sooner tried,
+    When she I sought, the nightingale, replied:
+    So sweet, so shrill, so variously she sung,
+    That the grove echoed, and the valleys rung:
+    And I so ravish'd with her heavenly note,
+    I stood entranced, and had no room for thought.
+    But all o'erpower'd with ecstasy of bliss,
+    Was in a pleasing dream of paradise;
+    At length I wak'd, and looking round the bower,
+    Search'd every tree, and pry'd on every flower,
+    If any where by chance I might espy
+    The rural poet of the melody:
+    For still methought she sung not far away:
+    At last I found her on a laurel spray.
+    Close by my side she sat, and fair in sight,
+    Full in a line, against her opposite;
+    Where stood with eglantine the laurel twin'd;
+    And both their native sweets were well conjoin'd.
+      On the green bank I sat, and listen'd long
+    (Sitting was more convenient for the song);
+    Nor till her lay was ended could I move,
+    But wish'd to dwell for ever in the grove.
+    Only methought the time too swiftly pass'd,
+    And every note I fear'd would be the last.
+    My sight, and smell and hearing were employ'd,
+    And all three senses in full gust enjoy'd.
+    And what alone did all the rest surpass
+    The sweet possession of the fairy place;
+    Single, and conscious to myself alone
+    Of pleasures to the excluded world unknown:
+    Pleasures which no where else were to be found,
+    And all Elysium in a spot of ground.
+      Thus while I sat intent to see and hear,
+    And drew perfumes of more than vital air,
+    All suddenly I heard the approaching sound
+    Of vocal music on the enchanted ground:
+    A host of saints it seem'd, so full the quire;
+    As if the bless'd above did all conspire
+    To join their voices, and neglect the lyre.'
+
+Compared with Chaucer, Dryden and the rest of that school were merely
+_verbal poets_. They had a great deal of wit, sense, and fancy; they
+only wanted truth and depth of feeling. But I shall have to say more
+on this subject, when I come to consider the old question which I have
+got marked down in my list, whether Pope was a poet.
+
+Lord Chesterfield's character of the Duke of Marlborough is a good
+illustration of his general theory. He says, 'Of all the men I ever
+knew in my life (and I knew him extremely well) the late Duke of
+Marlborough possessed the graces in the highest degree, not to say
+engrossed them; for I will venture (contrary to the custom of profound
+historians, who always assign deep causes for great events) to ascribe
+the better half of the Duke of Marlborough's greatness and riches to
+those graces. He was eminently illiterate: wrote bad English, and
+spelt it worse. He had no share of what is commonly called parts; that
+is, no brightness, nothing shining in his genius. He had, most
+undoubtedly, an excellent good plain understanding, with sound
+judgment. But these alone would probably have raised him but something
+higher than they found him, which was page to King James II.'s Queen.
+There the graces protected and promoted him; for while he was Ensign
+of the Guards, the Duchess of Cleveland, then favourite mistress of
+Charles II., struck by these very graces, gave him five thousand
+pounds; with which he immediately bought an annuity of five hundred
+pounds a year, which was the foundation of his subsequent fortune. His
+figure was beautiful, but his manner was irresistible by either man or
+woman. It was by this engaging, graceful manner, that he was enabled
+during all his wars to connect the various and jarring powers of the
+grand alliance, and to carry them on to the main object of the war,
+notwithstanding their private and separate views, jealousies, and
+wrongheadedness. Whatever court he went to (and he was often obliged
+to go himself to some resty and refractory ones) he as constantly
+prevailed, and brought them into his measures.'
+
+Grace in women has often more effect than beauty. We sometimes see a
+certain fine self-possession, an habitual voluptuousness of character,
+which reposes on its own sensations, and derives pleasure from all
+around it, that is more irresistible than any other attraction. There
+is an air of languid enjoyment in such persons, 'in their eyes, in
+their arms, and their hands, and their face,' which robs us of
+ourselves, and draws us by a secret sympathy towards them. Their
+minds are a shrine where pleasure reposes. Their smile diffuses a
+sensation like the breath of spring. Petrarch's description of Laura
+answers exactly to this character, which is indeed the Italian
+character. Titian's pictures are full of it; they seem sustained by
+sentiment, or as if the persons whom he painted sat to music. There is
+one in the Louvre (or there was) which had the most of this expression
+I ever remember. It did not look downward; 'it looked forward beyond
+this world.' It was a look that never passed away, but remained
+unalterable as the deep sentiment which gave birth to it. It is the
+same constitutional character (together with infinite activity of
+mind) which has enabled the greatest man in modern history to bear his
+reverses of fortune with gay magnanimity, and to submit to the loss of
+the empire of the world with as little discomposure as if he had been
+playing a game at chess.
+
+After all, I would not be understood to say that manner is
+everything.[9] Nor would I put Euclid or Sir Isaac Newton on a level
+with the first _petit-maitre_ we might happen to meet. I consider
+_AEsop's Fables_ to have been a greater work of genius than Fontaine's
+translation of them; though I am not sure that I should not prefer
+Fontaine, for his style only, to Gay, who has shown a great deal of
+original invention. The elegant manners of people of fashion have been
+objected to me, to show the frivolity of external accomplishments, and
+the facility with which they are acquired. As to the last point, I
+demur. There are no class of people who lead so laborious a life, or
+who take more pains to cultivate their minds as well as persons, than
+people of fashion. A young lady of quality who has to devote so many
+hours a day to music, so many to dancing, so many to drawing, so many
+to French, Italian, etc., certainly does not pass her time in idleness:
+and these accomplishments are afterwards called into action by every
+kind of external or mental stimulus, by the excitements of pleasure,
+vanity, and interest. A Ministerial or Opposition Lord goes through
+more drudgery than half-a-dozen literary hacks; nor does a reviewer by
+profession read half the same number of publications as a modern fine
+lady is obliged to labour through. I confess, however, I am not a
+competent judge of the degree of elegance or refinement implied in the
+general tone of fashionable manners. The successful experiment made by
+_Peregrine Pickle_, in introducing his strolling mistress into genteel
+company, does not redound greatly to their credit.
+
+1815.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[9] Sheer impudence answers almost the same purpose. 'Those
+impenetrable whiskers have confronted flames.' Many persons, by
+looking big and talking loud, make their way through the world without
+any one good quality. I have here said nothing of mere personal
+qualifications, which are another set-off against sterling merit.
+Fielding was of opinion that 'the more solid pretensions of virtue and
+understanding vanish before perfect beauty.' 'A certain lady of a
+manor' (says _Don Quixote_ in defence of his attachment to _Dulcinea_,
+which, however, was quite of the Platonic kind), 'had cast the eyes of
+affection on a certain squat, brawny lay brother of a neighbouring
+monastery, to whom she was lavish of her favours. The head of the
+order remonstrated with her on this preference shown to one whom he
+represented as a very low, ignorant fellow, and set forth the superior
+pretensions of himself, and his more learned brethren. The lady having
+heard him to an end, made answer: All that you have said may be very
+true; but know that in those points which I admire, Brother Chrysostom
+is as great a philosopher, nay greater, than Aristotle himself!' So
+the _Wife of Bath_:
+
+    'To chirche was myn housbond brought on morwe
+    With neighebors that for him made sorwe,
+    And Jankyn oure clerk was oon of tho.
+    As help me God, whan that I saugh him go
+    After the beere, methought he had a paire
+    Of legges and of feet so clene and faire,
+    That al myn hert I yaf unto his hold.'
+
+'All which, though we most potently believe, yet we hold it not
+honesty to have it thus set down.'
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY X
+
+ON CONSISTENCY OF OPINION
+
+                      '----Servetur ad imum
+    Qualis ab inceptu processerit, et sibi constet.'
+
+
+Many people boast of being masters in their own house. I pretend to be
+master of my own mind. I should be sorry to have an ejectment served
+upon me for any notions I may choose to entertain there. Within that
+little circle I would fain be an absolute monarch. I do not profess
+the spirit of martyrdom; I have no ambition to march to the stake, or
+up to a masked battery, in defence of an hypothesis: I do not court
+the rack: I do not wish to be flayed alive for affirming that two and
+two make four, or any other intricate proposition: I am shy of bodily
+pains and penalties, which some are fond of--imprisonment, fine,
+banishment, confiscation of goods: but if I do not prefer the
+independence of my mind to that of my body, I at least prefer it to
+everything else. I would avoid the arm of power, as I would escape
+from the fangs of a wild beast: but as to the opinion of the world, I
+see nothing formidable in it. 'It is the eye of childhood that fears a
+painted devil.' I am not to be browbeat or wheedled out of any of my
+settled convictions. Opinion to opinion, I will face any man.
+Prejudice, fashion, the cant of the moment, go for nothing; and as for
+the reason of the thing, it can only be supposed to rest with me or
+another, in proportion to the pains we have taken to ascertain it.
+Where the pursuit of truth has been the habitual study of any man's
+life, the love of truth will be his ruling passion. 'Where the
+treasure is, there the heart is also.' Every one is most tenacious of
+that to which he owes his distinction from others. Kings love power,
+misers gold, women flattery, poets reputation--and philosophers truth,
+when they can find it. They are right in cherishing the only privilege
+they inherit. If 'to be wise were to be obstinate,' I might set up for
+as great a philosopher as the best of them; for some of my conclusions
+are as fixed and as incorrigible to proof as need be. I am attached to
+them in consequence of the pains, and anxiety, and the waste of time
+they have cost me. In fact, I should not well know what to do without
+them at this time of day; nor how to get others to supply their place.
+I would quarrel with the best friend I have sooner than acknowledge
+the absolute right of the Bourbons. I see Mr. Northcote seldomer than
+I did, because I cannot agree with him about the _Catalogue Raisonne_.
+I remember once saying to this gentleman, a great while ago, that I
+did not seem to have altered any of my ideas since I was sixteen years
+old. 'Why then,' said he, 'you are no wiser now than you were then!' I
+might make the same confession, and the same retort would apply still.
+Coleridge used to tell me, that this pertinacity was owing to a want
+of sympathy with others. What he calls _sympathising with others_ is
+their admiring him; and it must be admitted that he varies his battery
+pretty often, in order to accommodate himself to this sort of mutual
+understanding. But I do not agree in what he says of me. On the other
+hand, I think that it is my sympathising _beforehand_ with the
+different views and feelings that may be entertained on a subject,
+that prevents me retracting my judgment, and flinging myself into the
+contrary extreme _afterwards_. If you proscribe all opinion opposite
+to your own, and impertinently exclude all the evidence that does not
+make for you, it stares you in the face with double force when it
+breaks in unexpectedly upon you, or if at any subsequent period it
+happens to suit your interest or convenience to listen to objections
+which vanity or prudence had hitherto overlooked. But if you are aware
+from the first suggestion of a subject, either by subtlety, or tact,
+or close attention, of the full force of what others possibly feel and
+think of it, you are not exposed to the same vacillation of opinion.
+The number of grains and scruples, of doubts and difficulties, thrown
+into the scale while the balance is yet undecided, add to the weight
+and steadiness of the determination. He who anticipates his opponent's
+arguments, confirms while he corrects his own reasonings. When a
+question has been carefully examined in all its bearings, and a
+principle is once established, it is not liable to be overthrown by
+any new facts which have been arbitrarily and petulantly set aside,
+nor by every wind of idle doctrine rushing into the interstices of a
+hollow speculation, shattering it in pieces, and leaving it a mockery
+and a bye-word; like those tall, gawky, staring, pyramidal erections
+which are seen scattered over different parts of the country, and are
+called the _Follies_ of different gentlemen! A man may be confident in
+maintaining a side, as he has been cautious in choosing it. If after
+making up his mind strongly in one way, to the best of his capacity
+and judgment, he feels himself inclined to a very violent revulsion of
+sentiment, he may generally rest assured that the change is in himself
+and his motives, not in the reason of things.
+
+I cannot say that, from my own experience, I have found that the
+persons most remarkable for sudden and violent changes of principle
+have been cast in the softest or most susceptible mould. All their
+notions have been exclusive, bigoted, and intolerant. Their want of
+consistency and moderation has been in exact proportion to their want
+of candour and comprehensiveness of mind. Instead of being the
+creatures of sympathy, open to conviction, unwilling to give offence
+by the smallest difference of sentiment, they have (for the most part)
+been made up of mere antipathies--a very repulsive sort of
+personages--at odds with themselves, and with everybody else. The
+slenderness of their pretensions to philosophical inquiry has been
+accompanied with the most presumptuous dogmatism. They have been
+persons of that narrowness of view and headstrong self-sufficiency of
+purpose, that they could see only one side of a question at a time,
+and whichever they pleased. There is a story somewhere in _Don
+Quixote_, of two champions coming to a shield hung up against a tree
+with an inscription written on each side of it. Each of them
+maintained, that the words were what was written on the side next him,
+and never dreamt, till the fray was over, that they might be different
+on the opposite side of the shield. It would have been a little more
+extraordinary if the combatants had changed sides in the heat of the
+scuffle, and stoutly denied that there were any such words on the
+opposite side as they had before been bent on sacrificing their lives
+to prove were the only ones it contained. Yet such is the very
+situation of some of our modern polemics. They have been of all sides
+of the question, and yet they cannot conceive how an honest man can be
+of any but one--that which they hold at present. It seems that they
+are afraid to look their old opinions in the face, lest they should be
+fascinated by them once more. They banish all doubts of their own
+sincerity by inveighing against the motives of their antagonists.
+There is no salvation out of the pale of their strange inconsistency.
+They reduce common sense and probity to the straitest possible
+limits--the breasts of themselves and their patrons. They are like
+people out at sea on a very narrow plank, who try to push everybody
+else off. Is it that they have so little faith in the course to which
+they have become such staunch converts, as to suppose that, should
+they allow a grain of sense to their old allies and new antagonists,
+they will have more than they? Is it that they have so little
+consciousness of their own disinterestedness, that they feel, if they
+allow a particle of honesty to those who now differ with them, they
+will have more than they? Those opinions must needs be of a very
+fragile texture which will not stand the shock of the least
+acknowledged opposition, and which lay claim to respectability by
+stigmatising all who do not hold them as 'sots, and knaves, and
+cowards.' There is a want of well-balanced feeling in every such
+instance of extravagant versatility; a something crude, unripe, and
+harsh, that does not hit a judicious palate, but sets the teeth on
+edge to think of. 'I had rather hear my mother's cat mew, or a wheel
+grate on the axletree, than one of these same metre-ballad-mongers'
+chaunt his incondite, retrograde lays, without rhyme and without
+reason.
+
+The principles and professions change: the man remains the same. There
+is the same spirit at the bottom of all this pragmatical fickleness
+and virulence, whether it runs into one extreme or another: to wit, a
+confinement of view, a jealousy of others, an impatience of
+contradiction, a want of liberality in construing the motives of
+others, either from monkish pedantry, or a conceited overweening
+reference of everything to our own fancies and feelings. There is
+something to be said, indeed, for the nature of the political
+machinery, for the whirling motion of the revolutionary wheel which
+has of late wrenched men's understandings almost asunder, and 'amazed
+the very faculties of eyes and ears'; but still this is hardly a
+sufficient reason, why the adept in the old as well as the new school
+should take such a prodigious latitude himself, while at the same time
+he makes so little allowance for others. His whole creed need not be
+turned topsy-turvy, from the top to the bottom, even in times like
+these. He need not, in the rage of party spirit, discard the proper
+attributes of humanity, the common dictates of reason. He need not
+outrage every former feeling, nor trample on every customary decency,
+in his zeal for reform, or in his greater zeal against it. If his
+mind, like his body, has undergone a total change of essence, and
+purged off the taint of all its early opinions, he need not carry
+about with him, or be haunted in the persons of others with, the
+phantoms of his altered principles to loathe and execrate them. He
+need not (as it were) pass an act of attainder on all his thoughts,
+hopes, wishes, from youth upwards, to offer them at the shrine of
+matured servility: he need not become one vile antithesis, a living
+and ignominious satire on himself.
+
+A gentleman went to live, some years ago, in a remote part of the
+country, and as he did not wish to affect singularity, he used to have
+two candles on his table of an evening. A romantic acquaintance of his
+in the neighbourhood, smit with the love of simplicity and equality,
+used to come in, and without ceremony snuff one of them out, saying,
+it was a shame to indulge in such extravagance, while many poor
+cottagers had not even a rushlight to see to do their evening's work
+by. This might be about the year 1802, and was passed over as among
+the ordinary occurrences of the day. In 1816 (oh! fearful lapse of
+time, pregnant with strange mutability) the same enthusiastic lover of
+economy, and hater of luxury, asked his thoughtless friend to dine
+with him in company with a certain lord, and to lend him his
+manservant to wait at table; and just before they were sitting down to
+dinner, he heard him say to the servant in a sonorous whisper--'and be
+sure you don't forget to have six candles on the table!' Extremes
+meet. The event here was as true to itself as the oscillation of the
+pendulum. My informant, who understands moral equations, had looked
+for this reaction, and noted it down as characteristic. The
+impertinence in the first instance was the cue to the ostentatious
+servility in the second. The one was the fulfilment of the other, like
+the type and anti-type of a prophecy. No--the keeping of the character
+at the end of fourteen years was as unique as the keeping of the
+thought to the end of the fourteen lines of a sonnet! Would it sound
+strange if I were to whisper it in the reader's ear, that it was the
+same person who was thus anxious to see six candles on the table to
+receive a lord, who once (in ages past) said to me, that 'he saw
+nothing to admire in the eloquence of such men as Mansfield and
+Chatham; and what did it all end in, but their being made lords?' It
+is better to be a lord than a lacquey to a lord! So we see that the
+swelling pride and preposterous self-opinion which exalts itself above
+the mightiest, looking down upon and braving the boasted pretensions
+of the highest rank and the most brilliant talents as nothing,
+compared with its own conscious powers and silent unmoved
+self-respect, grovels and licks the dust before titled wealth, like a
+lacquered slave, the moment it can get wages and a livery! Would
+Milton or Marvel have done this?
+
+Mr. Coleridge, indeed, sets down this outrageous want of keeping to an
+excess of sympathy, and there is, after all, some truth in his
+suggestion. There is a craving after the approbation and concurrence
+of others natural to the mind of man. It is difficult to sustain the
+weight of an opinion singly for any length of way. The intellect
+languishes without cordial encouragement and support. It exhausts both
+strength and patience to be always striving against the stream.
+_Contra audentior ito_ is the motto but of few. Public opinion is
+always pressing upon the mind, and, like the air we breathe, acts
+unseen, unfelt. It supplies the living current of our thoughts, and
+infects without our knowledge. It taints the blood, and is taken into
+the smallest pores. The most sanguine constitutions are, perhaps, the
+most exposed to its influence. But public opinion has its source in
+power, in popular prejudice, and is not always in accord with right
+reason, or a high and abstracted imagination. Which path to follow
+where the two roads part? The heroic and romantic resolution prevails
+at first in high and heroic tempers. They think to scale the heights
+of truth and virtue at once with him 'whose genius had angelic wings,
+and fed on manna,'--but after a time find themselves baffled, toiling
+on in an uphill road, without friends, in a cold neighbourhood,
+without aid or prospect of success. The poet
+
+    'Like a worm goes by the way.'
+
+He hears murmurs loud or suppressed, meets blank looks or scowling
+faces, is exposed to the pelting of the pitiless press, and is stunned
+by the shout of the mob, that gather round him to see what sort of a
+creature a poet and a philosopher is. What is there to make him proof
+against all this? A strength of understanding steeled against
+temptation, and a dear love of truth that smiles opinion to scorn.
+These he perhaps has not. A lord passes in his coach. Might he not get
+up, and ride out of the reach of the rabble-rout? He is invited to
+stop dinner. If he stays he might insinuate some wholesome truths. He
+drinks in rank poison--flattery! He recites some verses to the ladies,
+who smile delicious praise, and thank him through their tears. The
+master of the house suggests a happy allusion in the turn of an
+expression. 'There's sympathy.' This is better than the company he
+lately left. Pictures, statues meet his raptured eye. Our Ulysses
+finds himself in the gardens of Alcinous: our truant is fairly caught.
+He wanders through enchanted ground. Groves, classic groves, nod unto
+him, and he hears 'ancestral voices' hailing him as brother bard! He
+sleeps, dreams, and wakes cured of his thriftless prejudices and
+morose philanthropy. He likes this courtly and popular sympathy
+better. 'He looks up with awe to kings; with honour to nobility; with
+reverence to magistrates,' etc. He no longer breathes the air of
+heaven and his own thoughts, but is steeped in that of palaces and
+courts, and finds it agree better with his constitutional temperament.
+Oh! how sympathy alters a man from what he was!
+
+    'I've heard of hearts unkind,
+    Kind deeds with cold returning;
+    Alas! the gratitude of man
+    Has oftener set me mourning.'
+
+A spirit of contradiction, a wish to monopolise all wisdom, will not
+account for uniform consistency, for it is sure to defeat and turn
+against itself. It is 'everything by turns, and nothing long.' It is
+warped and crooked. It cannot bear the least opposition, and sooner
+than acquiesce in what others approve it will change sides in a day.
+It is offended at every resistance to its captious, domineering
+humour, and will quarrel for straws with its best friends. A person
+under the guidance of this demon, if every whimsy or occult discovery
+of his own is not received with acclamation by one party, will wreak
+his spite by deserting to the other, and carry all his talent for
+disputation with him, sharpened by rage and disappointment. A man, to
+be steady in a cause, should be more attached to the truth than to the
+acquiescence of his fellow citizens.
+
+I can hardly consider Mr. Coleridge a deserter from the cause he first
+espoused, unless one could tell what cause he ever heartily espoused,
+or what party he ever belonged to, in downright earnest. He has not
+been inconsistent with himself at different times, but at all times.
+He is a sophist, a casuist, a rhetorician, what you please, and might
+have argued or declaimed to the end of his breath on one side of a
+question or another, but he never was a pragmatical fellow. He lived
+in a round of contradictions, and never came to a settled point. His
+fancy gave the cue to his judgment, and his vanity set his invention
+afloat in whatever direction he could find most scope for it, or most
+_sympathy_, that is, admiration. His Life and Opinions might naturally
+receive the title of one of Hume's Essays--_A Sceptical Solution of
+Sceptical Doubts_. To be sure, his _Watchman_ and his _Friend_ breathe
+a somewhat different tone on subjects of a particular description,
+both of them apparently pretty high-raised, but whoever will be at the
+pains to examine them closely, will find them to be _voluntaries_,
+fugues, solemn capriccios, not set compositions with any malice
+prepense in them, or much practical meaning. I believe some of his
+friends, who were indebted to him for the suggestion of plausible
+reasons for conformity, and an opening to a more qualified view of the
+letter of their paradoxical principles, have lately disgusted him by
+the virulence and extravagance to which they have carried hints, of
+which he never suspected that they would make the least possible use.
+But if Mr. Coleridge is satisfied with the wandering Moods of his
+Mind, perhaps this is no reason that others may not reap the solid
+benefit. He himself is like the idle seaweed on the ocean, tossed from
+shore to shore: they are like barnacles fastened to the vessel of
+state, rotting its goodly timbers!
+
+There are some persons who are of too fastidious a turn of mind to
+like anything long, or to assent twice to the same opinion. ----
+always sets himself to prop the falling cause, to nurse the rickety
+bantling. He takes the part which he thinks in most need of his
+support, not so much out of magnanimity, as to prevent too great a
+degree of presumption or self-complacency on the triumphant side.
+'Though truth be truth, yet he contrives to throw such changes of
+vexation on it as it may lose some colour.' I have been delighted to
+hear him expatiate with the most natural and affecting simplicity on a
+favourite passage or picture, and all the while afraid of agreeing
+with him, lest he should instantly turn round and unsay all that he
+had said, for fear of my going away with too good an opinion of my own
+taste, or too great an admiration of my idol--and his own. I dare not
+ask his opinion twice, if I have got a favourable sentence once, lest
+he should belie his own sentiments to stagger mine. I have heard him
+talk divinely (like one inspired) of Boccaccio, and the story of the
+Pot of Basil, describing 'how it grew, and it grew, and it grew,' till
+you saw it spread its tender leaves in the light of his eye, and wave
+in the tremulous sound of his voice; and yet if you asked him about it
+another time, he would, perhaps, affect to think little of it, or to
+have forgotten the circumstance. His enthusiasm is fickle and
+treacherous. The instant he finds it shared in common, he backs out of
+it. His enmity is equally refined, but hardly so unsocial. His
+exquisitely-turned invectives display all the beauty of scorn, and
+impart elegance to vulgarity. He sometimes finds out minute
+excellences, and cries up one thing to put you out of conceit with
+another. If you want him to praise Sir Joshua _con amore_, in his best
+manner, you should begin with saying something about Titian--if you
+seem an idoliser of Sir Joshua, he will immediately turn off the
+discourse, gliding like the serpent before Eve, wary and beautiful, to
+the graces of Sir Peter Lely, or ask if you saw a Vandyke the other
+day, which he does not think Sir Joshua could stand near. But find
+fault with the Lake Poets, and mention some pretended patron of rising
+genius, and you need not fear but he will join in with you and go all
+lengths that you can wish him. You may calculate upon him there.
+'Pride elevates, and joy brightens his face.' And, indeed, so eloquent
+is he, and so beautiful in his eloquence, that I myself, with all my
+freedom from gall and bitterness, could listen to him untired, and
+without knowing how the time went, losing and neglecting many a meal
+and hour,
+
+            ----'From morn to noon,
+    From noon to dewy eve, a summer's day.'
+
+When I cease to hear him quite, other tongues, turned to what accents
+they may of praise or blame, would sound dull, ungrateful, out of
+tune, and harsh, in the comparison.
+
+An overstrained enthusiasm produces a capriciousness in taste, as well
+as too much indifference. A person who sets no bounds to his
+admiration takes a surfeit of his favourites. He overdoes the thing.
+He gets sick of his own everlasting praises, and affected raptures.
+His preferences are a great deal too violent to last. He wears out an
+author in a week, that might last him a year, or his life, by the
+eagerness with which he devours him. Every such favourite is in his
+turn the greatest writer in the world. Compared with the lord of the
+ascendent for the time being, Shakspeare is commonplace, and Milton a
+pedant, a little insipid or so. Some of these prodigies require to be
+dragged out of their lurking-places, and cried up to the top of the
+compass; their traits are subtle, and must be violently obtruded on
+the sight. But the effort of exaggerated praise, though it may stagger
+others, tires the maker, and we hear of them no more after a while.
+Others take their turns, are swallowed whole, undigested, ravenously,
+and disappear in the same manner. Good authors share the fate of bad,
+and a library in a few years is nearly dismantled. It is a pity thus
+to outlive our admiration, and exhaust our relish of what is
+excellent. Actors and actresses are disposed of in the same conclusive
+peremptory way: some of them are talked of for months, nay, years;
+then it is almost an offence to mention them. Friends, acquaintance,
+go the same road: are now asked to come six days in the week, then
+warned against coming the seventh. The smallest faults are soon
+magnified in those we think too highly of: but where shall we find
+perfection? If we will put up with nothing short of that, we shall
+have neither pictures, books, nor friends left--we shall have nothing
+but our own absurdities to keep company with! 'In all things a regular
+and moderate indulgence is the best security for a lasting enjoyment.'
+
+There are numbers who judge by the event, and change with fortune.
+They extol the hero of the day, and join the prevailing clamour,
+whatever it is; so that the fluctuating state of public opinion
+regulates their feverish, restless enthusiasm, like a thermometer.
+They blow hot or cold, according as the wind sets favourably or
+otherwise. With such people the only infallible test of merit is
+success; and no arguments are true that have not a large or powerful
+majority on their side. They go by appearances. Their vanity, not the
+truth, is their ruling object. They are not the last to quit a
+falling cause, and they are the first to hail the rising sun. Their
+minds want sincerity, modesty, and keeping. With them--
+
+      ----'To have done is to hang
+    Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail
+    In monumental mockery.'
+
+They still, 'with one consent, praise new-born gauds,' and Fame, as
+they construe it, is
+
+      ----'Like a fashionable host,
+    That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand;
+    And with his arms outstretch'd, as he would fly,
+    Grasps the in comer. Welcome ever smiles,
+    And Farewell goes out sighing.'
+
+Such servile flatterers made an idol of Buonaparte while fortune
+smiled upon him, but when it left him, they removed him from his
+pedestal in the cabinet of their vanity, as we take down the picture
+of a relation that has died without naming us in his will. The opinion
+of such triflers is worth nothing; it is merely an echo. We do not
+want to be told the event of a question, but the rights of it. Truth
+is in their theory nothing but 'noise and inexplicable dumb show.'
+They are the heralds, outriders, and trumpeters in the procession of
+fame; are more loud and boisterous than the rest, and give themselves
+great airs, as the avowed patrons and admirers of genius and merit. As
+there are many who change their sentiments with circumstances (as they
+decided lawsuits in Rabelais with the dice), so there are others who
+change them with their acquaintance. 'Tell me your company, and I'll
+tell you your opinions,' might be said to many a man who piques
+himself on a select and superior view of things, distinct from the
+vulgar. Individuals of this class are quick and versatile, but they
+are not beforehand with opinion. They catch it, when it is pointed out
+to them, and take it at the rebound, instead of giving the first
+impulse. Their minds are a light, luxuriant soil, into which thoughts
+are easily transplanted, and shoot up with uncommon sprightliness and
+vigour. They wear the dress of other people's minds very gracefully
+and unconsciously. They tell you your own opinion, or very gravely
+repeat an observation you have made to them about half a year
+afterwards. They let you into the delicacies and luxuries of Spenser
+with great disinterestedness, in return for your having introduced
+that author to their notice. They prefer West to Raphael, Stothard to
+Rubens, till they are told better. Still they are acute in the main,
+and good judges in their way. By trying to improve their tastes, and
+reform their notions according to an ideal standard, they perhaps
+spoil and muddle their native faculties, rather than do them any good.
+Their first manner is their best, because it is the most natural. It
+is well not to go out of ourselves, and to be contented to take up
+with what we are, for better for worse. We can neither beg, borrow,
+nor steal characteristic excellences. Some views and modes of thinking
+suit certain minds, as certain colours suit certain complexions. We
+may part with very shining and very useful qualities, without getting
+better ones to supply them. Mocking is catching, only in regard to
+defects. Mimicry is always dangerous.
+
+It is not necessary to change our road in order to advance on our
+journey. We should cultivate the spot of ground we possess, to the
+utmost of our power, though it may be circumscribed and comparatively
+barren. _A rolling stone gathers no moss._ People may collect all the
+wisdom they will ever attain, quite as well by staying at home as by
+travelling abroad. There is no use in shifting from place to place,
+from side to side, or from subject to subject. You have always to
+begin again, and never finish any course of study or observation. By
+adhering to the same principles you do not become stationary. You
+enlarge, correct, and consolidate your reasonings, without
+contradicting and shuffling about in your conclusions. If truth
+consisted in hasty assumptions and petulant contradictions, there
+might be some ground for this whiffling and violent inconsistency. But
+the face of truth, like that of nature, is different and the same.
+The first outline of an opinion, and the general tone of thinking, may
+be sound and correct, though we may spend any quantity of time and
+pains in working up and uniting the parts at subsequent sittings. If
+we have misconceived the character of the countenance altogether at
+first, no alterations will bring it right afterwards. Those who
+mistake white for black in the first instance, may as well mistake
+black for white when they reverse their canvas. I do not see what
+security they can have in their present opinions, who build their
+pretensions to wisdom on the total folly, rashness, and extravagance
+(to say no worse) of their former ones. The perspective may change
+with years and experience: we may see certain things nearer, and
+others more remote; but the great masses and landmarks will remain,
+though thrown into shadow and tinged by the intervening atmosphere: so
+the laws of the understanding, the truth of nature, will remain, and
+cannot be thrown into utter confusion and perplexity by our blunders
+or caprice, like the objects in Hogarth's _Rules of Perspective_,
+where everything is turned upside down, or thrust out of its
+well-known place. I cannot understand how our political Harlequins
+feel after all their summersaults and metamorphoses. They can hardly,
+I should think, look at themselves in the glass, or walk across the
+room without stumbling. This at least would be the case if they had
+the least reflection or self-knowledge. But they judge from pique and
+vanity solely. There should be a certain decorum in life, as in a
+picture, without which it is neither useful nor agreeable. If my
+opinions are not right, at any rate they are the best I have been able
+to form, and better than any others I could take up at random, or out
+of perversity, now. Contrary opinions vitiate one another, and destroy
+the simplicity and clearness of the mind: nothing is good that has not
+a beginning, a middle, and an end; and I would wish my thoughts to be
+
+    'Linked each to each by natural piety.'
+
+1821.
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY XI
+
+PROJECT FOR A NEW THEORY OF CIVIL AND CRIMINAL LEGISLATION
+
+
+When I was about fourteen (as long ago as the year 1792), in
+consequence of a dispute, one day after coming out of meeting, between
+my father and an old lady of the congregation, respecting the repeal
+of the Corporation and Test Acts and the limits of religious
+toleration, I set about forming in my head (the first time I ever
+attempted to think) the following system of political rights and
+general jurisprudence.
+
+It was this circumstance that decided the fate of my future life; or
+rather, I would say it was from an original bias or craving to be
+satisfied of the reason of things, that I seized hold of this
+accidental opportunity to indulge in its uneasy and unconscious
+determination. Mr. Currie, my old tutor at Hackney, may still have the
+rough draught of this speculation, which I gave him with tears in my
+eyes, and which he good-naturedly accepted in lieu of the customary
+_themes_, and as a proof that I was no idler, but that my inability to
+produce a line on the ordinary school topics arose from my being
+involved in more difficult and abstruse matters. He must smile at the
+so oft-repeated charge against me of florid flippancy and tinsel. If
+from those briars I have since plucked roses, what labour has it not
+cost me? The Test and Corporation Acts were repealed the other day.
+How would my father have rejoiced if this had happened in his time,
+and in concert with his old friends Dr. Price, Dr. Priestly, and
+others! but now that there is no one to care about it, they give as a
+boon to indifference what they so long refused to justice, and thus
+ascribed by some to the liberality of the age! Spirit of
+contradiction! when wilt thou cease to rule over sublunary affairs, as
+the moon governs the tides? Not till the unexpected stroke of a comet
+throws up a new breed of men and animals from the bowels of the earth;
+nor then neither, since it is included in the very idea of all life,
+power, and motion. _For_ and _against_ are inseparable terms. But not
+to wander any farther from the point--
+
+I began with trying to define what a _right_ meant; and this I settled
+with myself was not simply that which is good or useful in itself, but
+that which is thought so by the individual, and which has the sanction
+of his will as such. 1. Because the determining what is good in itself
+is an endless question. 2. Because one person's having a right to any
+good, and another being made the judge of it, leaves him without any
+security for its being exercised to his advantage, whereas self-love
+is a natural guarantee for our self-interest. 3. A thing being willed
+is the most absolute moral reason for its existence: that a thing is
+good in itself is no reason whatever why it should exist, till the
+will clothes it with a power to act as a motive; and there is
+certainly nothing to prevent this will from taking effect (no law or
+admitted plea above it) but another will opposed to it, and which
+forms a right on the same principle. A good is only so far a right,
+inasmuch as it virtually determines the will; for a _right_ meant that
+which contains within itself, and as respects the bosom in which it is
+lodged, a cogent and unanswerable reason why it should exist. Suppose
+I have a violent aversion to one thing and as strong an attachment to
+something else, and that there is no other being in the world but
+myself, shall I not have a self-evident right, full title, liberty, to
+pursue the one and avoid the other? That is to say, in other words,
+there can be no authority to interpose between the strong natural
+tendency of the will and its desired effect, but the will of another.
+It may be replied that reason, that affection, may interpose between
+the will and the act; but there are motives that influence the conduct
+by first altering the will; and the point at issue is, that these
+being away, what other principle or lever is there always left to
+appeal to, before we come to blows? Now, such a principle is to be
+found in self-interest; and such a barrier against the violent will is
+erected by the limits which this principle necessarily sets to itself
+in the claims of different individuals. Thus, then, a right is not
+that which is right in itself, or best for the whole, or even for the
+individual, but that which is good in his own eyes, and according to
+his own will; and to which, among a number of equally selfish and
+self-willed beings, he can lay claim, allowing the same latitude and
+allowance to others. Political justice is that which assigns the
+limits of these individual rights in society, or it is the adjustment
+of force against force, of will against will, to prevent worse
+consequences. In the savage state there is nothing but an appeal to
+brute force, or the right of the strongest; Politics lays down a rule
+to curb and measure out the wills of individuals in equal portions;
+Morals has a higher standard still, and ought never to appeal to force
+in any case whatever. Hence I always found something wanting in Mr.
+Godwin's _Enquiry concerning Political Justice_ (which I read soon
+after with great avidity, and hoped, from its title and its vast
+reputation, to get entire satisfaction from it), for he makes no
+distinction between political justice, which implies an appeal to
+force, and moral justice, which implies only an appeal to reason. It
+is surely a distinct question, what you can persuade people to do by
+argument and fair discussion, and what you may lawfully compel them to
+do, when reason and remonstrance fail. But in Mr. Godwin's system the
+'omnipotence of reason' supersedes the use of law and government,
+merges the imperfection of the means in the grandeur of the end, and
+leaves but one class of ideas or motives, the highest and the least
+attainable possible. So promises and oaths are said to be of no more
+value than common breath; nor would they, if every word we uttered was
+infallible and oracular, as if delivered from a Tripod. But this is
+pragmatical, and putting an imaginary for a real state of things.
+Again, right and duties, according to Mr. Godwin, are reciprocal. I
+could not comprehend this without an arbitrary definition that took
+away the meaning. In my sense, a man might have a right, a
+discriminating power, to do something, which others could not deprive
+him of, without a manifest infraction of certain rules laid down for
+the peace and order of society, but which it might be his duty to
+waive upon good reasons shown; rights are seconded by force, duties
+are things of choice. This is the import of the words in common
+speech: why then pass over this distinction in a work confessedly
+rhetorical as well as logical, that is, which laid an equal stress on
+sound and sense? Right, therefore, has a personal or selfish
+reference, as it is founded on the law which determines a man's
+actions in regard to his own being and well-being; and political
+justice is that which assigns the limits of these individual rights on
+their compatibility or incompatibility with each other in society.
+Right, in a word, is the duty which each man owes to himself; or it is
+that portion of the general good of which (as being principally
+interested) he is made the special judge, and which is put under his
+immediate keeping.
+
+The next question I asked myself was, what is law and the real and
+necessary ground of civil government? The answer to this is found in
+the former statement. _Law_ is something to abridge, or, more properly
+speaking, to ascertain, the bounds of the original right, and to
+coerce the will of individuals in the community. Whence, then, has the
+community such a right? It can only arise in self-defence, or from the
+necessity of maintaining the equal rights of every one, and of
+opposing force to force in case of any violent and unwarrantable
+infringement of them. Society consists of a given number of
+individuals; and the aggregate right of government is only the
+consequence of these inherent rights, balancing and neutralising one
+another. How those who deny natural rights get at any sort of right,
+divine or human, I am at a loss to discover; for whatever exists in
+combination, exists beforehand in an elementary state. The world is
+composed of atoms, and a machine cannot be made without materials.
+First, then, it follows that law or government is not the mere
+creature of a social compact, since each person has a certain right
+which he is bound to defend against another without asking that
+other's leave, or else the right would always be at the mercy of
+whoever chose to invade it. There would be a right to do wrong, but
+none to resist it. Thus I have a natural right to defend my life
+against a murderer, without any mutual compact between us; hence
+society has an aggregate right of the same kind, and to make a law to
+that effect, forbidding and punishing murder. If there be no such
+immediate value and attachment to life felt by the individual, and a
+consequent justifiable determination to defend it, then the formal
+pretension of society to vindicate a right, which, according to this
+reasoning, has no existence in itself, must be founded on air, on a
+word, or a lawyer's _ipse dixit_. Secondly, society, or government, as
+such, has no right to trench upon the liberty or rights of the
+individuals its members, except as these last are, as it were,
+forfeited by interfering with and destroying one another, like
+opposite mechanical forces or quantities in arithmetic. Put the basis
+that each man's will is a sovereign law to itself: this can only hold
+in society as long as he does not meddle with others; but so long as
+he does not do this, the first principle retains its force, for there
+is no other principle to impeach or overrule it. The will of society
+is not a sufficient plea; since this is, or ought to be, made up of
+the wills or rights of the individuals composing it, which by the
+supposition remain entire, and consequently without power to act. The
+good of society is not a sufficient plea, for individuals are only
+bound (on compulsion) not to do it harm, or to be barely just:
+benevolence and virtue are voluntary qualities. For instance, if two
+persons are obliged to do all that is possible for the good of both,
+this must either be settled voluntarily between them, and then it is
+friendship, and not force; or if this is not the case, it is plain
+that one must be the slave, and lie at the caprice and mercy of the
+other: it will be one will forcibly regulating two bodies. But if each
+is left master of his own person and actions, with only the implied
+proviso of not encroaching on those of the other, then both may
+continue free and independent, and contented in their several spheres.
+One individual has no right to interfere with the employment of my
+muscular powers, or to put violence on my person, to force me to
+contribute to the most laudable undertaking if I do not approve of it,
+any more than I have to force him to assist me in the direct contrary:
+if one has not, ten have not, nor a million, any such arbitrary right
+over me. What one can be _made_ to do for a million is very trifling:
+what a million may do by being left free in all that merely concerns
+themselves, and not subject to the perpetual caprice and insolence of
+authority, and pretext of the public good, is a very different
+calculation. By giving up the principle of political independence, it
+is not the million that will govern the one, but the one that will in
+time give law to the million. There are some things that cannot be
+free in natural society, and against which there is a natural law; for
+instance, no one can be allowed to knock out another's brains or to
+fetter his limbs with impunity. And government is bound to prevent the
+same violations of liberty and justice. The question is, whether it
+would not be possible for a government to exist, and for a system of
+laws to be framed, that confined itself to the punishment of such
+offences, and left all the rest (except the suppression of force by
+force) optional or matter of mutual compact. What are a man's natural
+rights? Those, the infringement of which cannot on any supposition go
+unpunished: by leaving all but cases of necessity to choice and
+reason, much would be perhaps gained, and nothing lost.
+
+COROLLARY 1. It results from the foregoing statement, that there is
+nothing naturally to restrain or oppose the will of one man, but the
+will of another meeting it. Thus, in a desert island, it is evident
+that my will and rights would be absolute and unlimited, and I might
+say with Robinson Crusoe, 'I am monarch of all I survey.'
+
+COROLLARY 2. It is coming into society that circumscribes my will and
+rights, by establishing equal and mutual rights, instead of the
+original uncircumscribed ones. They are still 'founded as the rock,'
+though not so broad and general as the casing air, for the only thing
+that limits them is the solidity of another right, no better than my
+own, and, like stones in a building, or a mosaic pavement, each
+remains not the less firmly riveted to its place, though it cannot
+encroach upon the next to it. I do not belong to the state, nor am I a
+nonentity in it, but I am one part of it, and independent in it, for
+that very reason that every one in it is independent of me. Equality,
+instead of being destroyed by society, results from and is improved by
+it; for in politics, as in physics, the action and reaction are the
+same: the right of resistance on their part implies the right of
+self-defence on mine. In a theatre, each person has a right to his own
+seat, by the supposition that he has no right to intrude into any one
+else's. They are convertible propositions. Away, then, with the notion
+that liberty and equality are inconsistent. But here is the artifice:
+by merging the rights and independence of the individual in the
+fictitious order of society, those rights become arbitrary,
+capricious, equivocal, removable at the pleasure of the state or
+ruling power; there is nothing substantial or durable implied in them:
+if each has no positive claim, naturally, those of all taken together
+can mount up to nothing; right and justice are mere blanks to be
+filled up with arbitrary will, and the people have thenceforward no
+defence against the government. On the other hand, suppose these
+rights to be not empty names or artificial arrangements, but original
+and inherent like solid atoms, then it is not in the power of
+government to annihilate one of them, whatever may be the confusion
+arising from their struggle for mastery, or before they can settle
+into order and harmony. Mr. Burke talks of the reflections and
+refractions of the rays of light as altering their primary essence and
+direction. But if there were no original rays of light, there could be
+neither refraction, nor reflections. Why, then, does he try by cloudy
+sophistry to blot the sun out of heaven? One body impinges against and
+impedes another in the fall, but it could not do this, but for the
+principle of gravity. The author of the _Sublime and Beautiful_ would
+have a single atom outweigh the great globe itself; or all empty
+title, a bloated privilege, or a grievous wrong overturn the entire
+mass of truth and justice. The question between the author and his
+opponents appears to be simply this: whether politics, or the general
+good, is all affair of reason or imagination! and this seems decided
+by another consideration, viz. that Imagination is the judge of
+individual things, and Reason of generals. Hence the great importance
+of the principle of universal suffrage; for if the vote and choice of
+a single individual goes for nothing, so, by parity of reasoning, may
+that of all the rest of the community: but if the choice of every man
+in the community is held sacred, then what must be the weight and
+value of the whole.
+
+Many persons object that by this means property is not represented,
+and so, to avoid that, they would have nothing but property
+represented, at the same time that they pretend that if the elective
+franchise were thrown open to the poor, they would be wholly at the
+command of the rich, to the prejudice and exclusion of the middle and
+independent classes of society. Property always has a natural
+influence and authority: it is only people without property that have
+no natural protection, and require every artificial and legal one.
+_Those that have much, shall have more; and those that have little,
+shall have less._ This proverb is no less true in public than in
+private life. The _better orders_ (as they are called, and who, in
+virtue of this title, would assume a monopoly in the direction of
+state affairs) are merely and in plain English those who are _better
+off_ than others; and as they get the wished-for monopoly into their
+hands, others will uniformly be _worse off_, and will sink lower and
+lower in the scale; so that it is essentially requisite to extend the
+elective franchise in order to counteract the excess of the great and
+increasing goodness of the better orders to themselves. I see no
+reason to suppose that in any case popular feeling (if free course
+were given to it) would bear down public opinion. Literature is at
+present pretty nearly on the footing of universal suffrage, yet the
+public defer sufficiently to the critics; and when no party bias
+interferes, and the government do not make a point of running a writer
+down, the verdict is tolerably fair and just. I do not say that the
+result might not be equally satisfactory, when literature was
+patronised more immediately by the great; but then lords and ladies
+had no interest in praising a bad piece and condemning a good one. If
+they could have laid a tax on the town for not going to it, they would
+have run a bad play forty nights together, or the whole year round,
+without scruple. As things stand, the worse the law, the better for
+the lawmakers: it takes everything from others to give to _them_. It
+is common to insist on universal suffrage and the ballot together. But
+if the first were allowed, the second would be unnecessary. The ballot
+is only useful as a screen from arbitrary power. There is nothing
+manly or independent to recommend it.
+
+COROLLARY 3. If I was out at sea in a boat with a _jure divino_
+monarch, and he wanted to throw me overboard, I would not let him. No
+gentleman would ask such a thing, no freeman would submit to it. Has
+he, then, a right to dispose of the lives and liberties of thirty
+millions of men? Or have they more right than I have to resist his
+demands? They have thirty millions of times that right, if they had a
+particle of the same spirit that I have. It is not the individual,
+then, whom in this case I fear (to me 'there's _no_ divinity doth
+hedge a king'), but thirty millions of his subjects that call me to
+account in his name, and who are of a most approved and indisputable
+loyalty, and who have both the right and power. The power rests with
+the multitude, but let them beware how the exercise of it turns
+against their own rights! It is not the idol but the worshippers that
+are to be dreaded, and who, by degrading one of their fellows, render
+themselves liable to be branded with the same indignities.
+
+COROLLARY 4. No one can be born a slave; for my limbs are my own, and
+the power and the will to use them are anterior to all laws, and
+independent of the control of every other person. No one acquires a
+right over another but that other acquires some reciprocal right over
+him; therefore the relation of master and slave is a contradiction in
+political logic. Hence, also, it follows that combinations among
+labourers for the rise of wages are always just and lawful, as much as
+those among master manufacturers to keep them down. A man's labour is
+his own, at least as much as another's goods; and he may starve if he
+pleases, but he may refuse to work except on his own terms. The right
+of property is reducible to this simple principle, that one man has
+not a right to the produce of another's labour, but each man has a
+right to the benefit of his own exertions and the use of his natural
+and inalienable powers, unless for a supposed equivalent and by mutual
+consent. Personal liberty and property therefore rest upon the same
+foundation. I am glad to see that Mr. Macculloch, in his _Essay on
+Wages_, admits the right of combination among journeymen and others. I
+laboured this point hard, and, I think, satisfactorily, a good while
+ago, in my _Reply to Mr. Malthus_. 'Throw your bread upon the waters,
+and after many days you shall find it again.'
+
+There are four things that a man may especially call his own. 1. His
+person. 2. His actions. 3. His property. 4. His opinions. Let us see
+how each of these claims unavoidably circumscribes and modifies those
+of others, on the principle of abstract equity and necessity and
+independence above laid down.
+
+FIRST, AS TO THE RIGHTS OF PERSONS. My intention is to show that the
+right of society to make laws to coerce the will of others, is
+founded on the necessity of repelling the wanton encroachment of
+that will on their rights; that is, strictly on the right of
+self-defence or resistance to aggression. Society comes forward and
+says, 'Let us alone, and we will let you alone, otherwise we must
+see which is strongest'; its object is not to patronise or advise
+individuals for their good, and against their will, but to protect
+itself: meddling with others forcibly on any other plea or for any
+other purpose is impertinence. But equal rights destroy one another;
+nor can there be a right to impossible or impracticable things. Let
+A, B, C, D, etc., be different component parts of any society, each
+claiming to be the centre and master of a certain sphere of activity
+and self-determination: as long as each keeps within his own line of
+demarcation there is no harm done, nor any penalty incurred--it is
+only the superfluous and overbearing will of particular persons that
+must be restrained or lopped off by the axe of the law. Let A be the
+culprit: B, C, D, etc., or the rest of the community, are plaintiffs
+against A, and wish to prevent his taking any unfair or unwarranted
+advantage over them. They set up no pretence to dictate or domineer
+over him, but merely to hinder his dictating to and domineering over
+them; and in this, having both might and right on their side, they
+have no difficulty in putting it in execution. Every man's
+independence and discretionary power over what peculiarly and
+exclusively concerns himself, is his _castle_ (whether round,
+square, or, according to Mr. Owen's new map of improvements, in the
+form of a parallelogram). As long as he keeps within this, he is
+safe--society has no hold of him: it is when he quits it to attack
+his neighbours that they resort to reprisals, and make short work of
+the interloper. It is, however, time to endeavour to point out in
+what this natural division of right, and separate advantage
+consists. In the first place, A, B, C, D have the common and natural
+rights of persons, in so far that none of these has a right to offer
+violence to, or cause bodily pain or injury to any of the others.
+Sophists laugh at natural rights: they might as well deny that we
+have natural persons; for while the last distinction holds true and
+good by the constitution of things, certain consequences must and
+will follow from it--'while this machine is to us Hamlet,' etc. For
+instance, I should like to know whether Mr. Burke, with his _Sublime
+and Beautiful_ fancies, would deny that each person has a particular
+body and senses belonging to him, so that he feels a peculiar and
+natural interest in whatever affects these more than another can,
+and whether such a peculiar and paramount interest does not imply a
+direct and unavoidable right in maintaining this circle of
+individuality inviolate. To argue otherwise is to assert that
+indifference, or that which does not feel either the good or the
+ill, is as capable a judge and zealous a discriminator of right and
+wrong as that which does. The right, then, is coeval and co-extended
+with the interest, not a product of convention, but inseparable from
+the order of the universe; the doctrine itself is natural and solid;
+it is the contrary fallacy that is made of air and words. Mr. Burke,
+in such a question, was like a man out at sea in a haze, and could
+never tell the difference between land and clouds. If another break
+my arm by violence, this will not certainly give him additional
+health or strength; if he stun me by a blow or inflict torture on my
+limbs, it is I who feel the pain, and not he; and it is hard if I,
+who am the sufferer, am not allowed to be the judge. That another
+should pretend to deprive me of it, or pretend to judge for me, and
+set up his will against mine, in what concerns this portion of my
+existence--where I have all at stake and he nothing--is not merely
+injustice, but impudence. The circle of personal security and right,
+then, is not an imaginary and arbitrary line fixed by law and the
+will of the prince, or the scaly finger of Mr. Hobbes's _Leviathan_,
+but is real and inherent in the nature of things, and itself the
+foundation of law and justice. 'Hands off is fair play'--according
+to the old adage. One, therefore, has not a right to lay violent
+hands on another, or to infringe on the sphere of his personal
+identity; one must not run foul of another, or he is liable to be
+repelled and punished for the offence. If you meet an Englishman
+suddenly in the street, he will run up against you sooner than get
+out of your way, which last he thinks a compromise of his dignity
+and a relinquishment of his purpose, though he expects you to get
+out of his. A Frenchman in the same circumstances will come up close
+to you, and try to walk over you, as if there was no one in his way;
+but if you take no notice of him, he will step on one side, and make
+you a low bow. The one is a fellow of stubborn will, the other a
+_petit-maitre_. An Englishman at a play mounts upon a bench, and
+refuses to get down at the request of another, who threatens to call
+him to account the next day. 'Yes,' is the answer of the first, 'if
+your master will let you!' His abuse of liberty, he thinks, is
+justified by the other's want of it. All an Englishman's ideas are
+modifications of his will; which shows, in one way, that right is
+founded on will, since the English are at once the freest and most
+wilful of all people. If you meet another on the ridge of a
+precipice, are you to throw each other down? Certainly not. You are
+to pass as well as you can. 'Give and take,' is the rule of natural
+right, where the right is not all on one side and cannot be claimed
+entire. Equal weights and scales produce a balance, as much as
+where the scales are empty: so it does not follow (as our votaries
+of absolute power would insinuate) that one man's right is nothing
+because another's is something. But suppose there is not time to
+pass, and one or other must perish, in the case just mentioned, then
+each must do the best for himself that he can, and the instinct of
+self-preservation prevails over everything else. In the streets of
+London, the passengers take the right hand of one another and the
+wall alternately; he who should not conform to this rule would be
+guilty of a breach of the peace. But if a house were falling, or a
+mad ox driven furiously by, the rule would be, of course, suspended,
+because the case would be out of the ordinary. Yet I think I can
+conceive, and have even known, persons capable of carrying the point
+of gallantry in political right to such a pitch as to refuse to take
+a precedence which did not belong to them in the most perilous
+circumstances, just as a soldier may waive a right to quit his post,
+and takes his turn in battle. The actual collision or case of
+personal assault and battery, is, then, clearly prohibited, inasmuch
+as each person's body is clearly defined: but how if A use other
+means of annoyance against B, such as a sword or poison, or resort
+to what causes other painful sensations besides tangible ones, for
+instance, certain disagreeable sounds and smells? Or, if these are
+included as a violation of personal rights, then how draw the line
+between them and the employing certain offensive words and gestures
+or uttering opinions which I disapprove? This is a puzzler for the
+dogmatic school; but they solve the whole difficulty by an
+assumption of _utility_, which is as much as to tell a person that
+the way to any place to which he asks a direction is 'to follow his
+nose.' We want to know by given marks and rules what is best and
+useful; and they assure us very wisely, that this is infallibly and
+clearly determined by what is best and useful. Let us try something
+else. It seems no less necessary to erect certain little
+_fortalices_, with palisades and outworks about them, for RIGHT to
+establish and maintain itself in, than as landmarks to guide us
+across the wide waste of UTILITY. If a person runs a sword through
+me, or administers poison, or procures it to be administered, the
+effect, the pain, disease or death is the same, and I have the same
+right to prevent it, on the principle that I am the sufferer; that
+the injury is offered to me, and he is no gainer by it, except for
+mere malice or caprice, and I therefore remain master and judge of
+my own remedy, as in the former case; the principle and definition
+of right being to secure to each individual the determination and
+protection of that portion of sensation in which he has the
+greatest, if not a sole interest, and, as it were, identity with it.
+Again, as to what are called _nuisances_, to wit offensive smells,
+sounds, etc., it is more difficult to determine, on the ground that
+_one man's meat is another man's poison_. I remember a case occurred
+in the neighbourhood where I was, and at the time I was trying my
+best at this question, which puzzled me a good deal. A rector of a
+little town in Shropshire, who was at variance with all his
+parishioners, had conceived a particular spite to a lawyer who lived
+next door to him, and as a means of annoying him, used to get
+together all sorts of rubbish, weeds, and unsavoury materials, and
+set them on fire, so that the smoke should blow over into his
+neighbour's garden; whenever the wind set in that direction, he
+said, as a signal to his gardener, 'It's a fine Wicksteed wind
+to-day'; and the operation commenced. Was this an action of assault
+and battery, or not? I think it was, for this reason, that the
+offence was unequivocal, and that the only motive for the proceeding
+was the giving this offence. The assailant would not like to be
+served so himself. Mr. Bentham would say, the malice of the motive
+was a set-off to the injury. I shall leave that _prima philosophia_
+consideration out of the question. A man who knocks out another's
+brains with a bludgeon may say it pleases him to do so; but will it
+please him to have the compliment returned? If he still persists, in
+spite of this punishment, there is no preventing him; but if not,
+then it is a proof that he thinks the pleasure less than the pain to
+himself, and consequently to another in the scales of justice. The
+_lex talionis_ is an excellent test. Suppose a third person (the
+physician of the place) had said, 'It is a fine Egerton wind
+to-day,' our rector would have been non-plussed; for he would have
+found that, as he suffered all the hardship, he had the right to
+complain of and to resist an action of another, the consequences of
+which affected principally himself. Now mark: if he had himself had
+any advantage to derive from the action, which he could not obtain
+in any other way, then he would feel that his neighbour also had the
+same plea and right to follow his own course (still this might be a
+doubtful point); but in the other case it would be sheer malice and
+wanton interference; that is, not the exercise of a right, but the
+invasion of another's comfort and independence. Has a person, then,
+a right to play on the horn or on a flute, on the same staircase? I
+say, yes; because it is for his own improvement and pleasure, and
+not to annoy another; and because, accordingly, every one in his own
+case would wish to reserve this or a similar privilege to himself. I
+do not think a person has a right to beat a drum under one's window,
+because this is altogether disagreeable, and if there is an
+extraordinary motive for it, then it is fit that the person should
+be put to some little inconvenience in removing his sphere of
+liberty of action to a reasonable distance. A tallow-chandler's shop
+or a steam-engine is a nuisance in a town, and ought to be removed
+into the suburbs; but they are to be tolerated where they are least
+inconvenient, because they are necessary somewhere, and there is no
+remedying the inconvenience. The right to protest against and to
+prohibit them rests with the suffering party; but because this point
+of the greatest interest is less clear in some cases than in others,
+it does not follow that there is no right or principle of justice
+in the case. 3. As to matters of contempt and the expression of
+opinion, I think these do not fall under the head of force, and are
+not, on that ground, subjects of coercion and law. For example, if a
+person inflicts a sensation upon me by material means, whether
+tangible or otherwise, I cannot help that sensation; I am so far the
+slave of that other, and have no means of resisting him but by
+force, which I would define to be material agency. But if another
+proposes an opinion to me, I am not bound to be of this opinion; my
+judgment and will is left free, and therefore I have no right to
+resort to force to recover a liberty which I have not lost. If I do
+this to prevent that other from pressing that opinion, it is I who
+invade his liberty, without warrant, because without necessity. It
+may be urged that material agency, or force, is used in the adoption
+of sounds or letters of the alphabet, which I cannot help seeing or
+hearing. But the injury is not here, but in the moral and artificial
+inference, which I am at liberty to admit or reject, according to
+the evidence. There is no force but argument in the case, and it is
+reason, not the will of another, that gives the law. Further, the
+opinion expressed, generally concerns not one individual, but the
+general interest; and of that my approbation or disapprobation is
+not a commensurate or the sole judge. I am judge of my own
+interests, because it is my affair, and no one's else; but by the
+same rule, I am not judge, nor have I a _veto_ on that which appeals
+to all the world, merely because I have a prejudice or fancy against
+it. But suppose another expresses by signs or words a contempt for
+me? _Answer._ I do not know that he is bound to have a respect for
+me. Opinion is free; for if I wish him to have that respect, then he
+must be left free to judge for himself, and consequently to arrive
+at and to express the contrary opinion, or otherwise the verdict and
+testimony I aim at could not be obtained; just as players must
+consent to be hissed if they expect to be applauded. Opinion cannot
+be forced, for it is not grounded on force, but on evidence and
+reason, and therefore these last are the proper instruments to
+control that opinion, and to make it favourable to what we wish, or
+hostile to what we disapprove. In what relates to action, the will
+of another is force, or the determining power: in what relates to
+opinion, the mere will or _ipse dixit_ of another is of no avail but
+as it gains over other opinions to its side, and therefore neither
+needs nor admits of force as a counteracting means to be used
+against it. But in the case of calumny or indecency: 1. I would say
+that it is the suppression of truth that gives falsehood its worst
+edge. What transpires (however maliciously or secretly) in spite of
+the law, is taken for gospel, and as it is impossible to prevent
+calumny, so it is impossible to counteract it on the present system,
+or while every attempt to answer it is attributed to the people's
+not daring to speak the truth. If any single fact or accident peeps
+out, the whole character, having this legal screen before it, is
+supposed to be of a piece; and the world, defrauded of the means of
+coming to their own conclusion, naturally infer the worst. Hence the
+saying, that reputation once gone never returns. If, however, we
+grant the general licence or liberty of the press, in a scheme where
+publicity is the great object, it seems a manifest _contre-sens_
+that the author should be the only thing screened or kept a secret:
+either, therefore, an anonymous libeller would be heard with
+contempt, or if he signed his name thus --, or thus -- --, it would
+be equivalent to being branded publicly as a calumniator, or marked
+with the T. F. (_travail force_) or the broad R. (rogue) on his
+back. These are thought sufficient punishments, and yet they rest on
+opinion without stripes or labour. As to indecency, in proportion as
+it is flagrant is the shock and resentment against it; and as vanity
+is the source of indecency, so the universal discountenance and
+shame is its most effectual antidote. If it is public, it produces
+immediate reprisals from public opinion which no brow can stand;
+and if secret, it had better be left so. No one can then say it is
+obtruded on him; and if he will go in search of it, it seems odd he
+should call upon the law to frustrate the object of his pursuit.
+Further, at the worst, society has its remedy in its own hands
+whenever its moral sense is outraged, that is, it may send to
+Coventry, or excommunicate like the church of old; for though it may
+have no right to prosecute, it is not bound to protect or patronise,
+unless by voluntary consent of all parties concerned. Secondly, as
+to rights of action, or personal liberty. These have no limit but
+the rights of persons or property aforesaid, or to be hereafter
+named. They are the channels in which the others run without injury
+and without impediment, as a river within its banks. Every one has a
+right to use his natural powers in the way most agreeable to
+himself, and which he deems most conducive to his own advantage,
+provided he does not interfere with the corresponding rights and
+liberties of others. He has no right to coerce them by a decision of
+his individual will, and as long as he abstains from this he has no
+right to be coerced by an expression of the aggregate will, that is,
+by law. The law is the emanation of the aggregate will, and this
+will receives its warrant to act only from the forcible pressure
+from without, and its indispensable resistance to it. Let us see how
+this will operate to the pruning and curtailment of law. The rage of
+legislation is the first vice of society; it ends by limiting it to
+as few things as possible. 1. There can, according to the principle
+here imperfectly sketched, be no laws for the enforcement of morals;
+because morals have to do with the will and affections, and the law
+only puts a restraint on these. Every one is politically constituted
+the judge of what is best for himself; it is only when he encroaches
+on others that he can be called to account. He has no right to say
+to others, You shall do as I do: how then should they have a right
+to say to him, You shall do as we do? Mere numbers do not convey
+the right, for the law addresses not one, but the whole community.
+For example, there cannot rightly be a law to set a man in the
+stocks for getting drunk. It injures his health, you say. That is
+his concern, and not mine. But it is detrimental to his affairs: if
+so, he suffers most by it. But it is ruinous to his wife and family:
+he is their natural and legal guardian. But they are thrown upon the
+parish: the parish need not take the burden upon itself, unless it
+chooses or has agreed to do so. If a man is not kind to or fond of
+his wife I see no law to make him. If he beats her, or threatens her
+life, she as clearly has a right to call in the aid of a constable
+or justice of peace. I do not see, in like manner, how there can be
+law against gambling (against cheating there may), nor against
+usury. A man gives twenty, forty, a hundred per cent. with his eyes
+open, but would he do it if strong necessity did not impel him?
+Certainly no man would give double if he could get the same
+advantage for half. There are circumstances in which a rope to save
+me from drowning, or a draught of water, would be worth all I have.
+In like manner, lotteries are fair things; for the loss is
+inconsiderable, and the advantage may be incalculable. I do not
+believe the poor put into them, but the reduced rich, the
+_shabby-genteel_. Players were formerly prohibited as a nuisance,
+and fortune-tellers still are liable to the Vagrant Act, which the
+parson of the parish duly enforces, in his zeal to prevent cheating
+and imposture, while he himself has his two livings, and carries off
+a tenth of the produce of the soil. Rape is an offence clearly
+punishable by law; but I would not say that simple incontinence is
+so. I will give one more example, which, though quaint, may explain
+the distinction I aim at. A man may commit suicide if he pleases,
+without being responsible to any one. He may quit the world as he
+would quit the country where he was born. But if any person were to
+fling himself from the gallery into the pit of a playhouse, so as to
+endanger the lives of others, if he did not succeed in killing
+himself, he would render himself liable to punishment for the
+attempt, if it were to be supposed that a person so desperately
+situated would care about consequences. Duelling is lawful on the
+same principle, where every precaution is taken to show that the act
+is voluntary and fair on both sides. I might give other instances,
+but these will suffice. 2. There should be a perfect toleration in
+matters of religion. In what relates to the salvation of a man's
+soul, he is infinitely more concerned than I can be; and to pretend
+to dictate to him in this particular is an infinite piece of
+impertinence and presumption. But if a man has no religion at all?
+That does not hinder me from having any. If he stood at the church
+door and would not let me enter, I should have a right to push him
+aside; but if he lets me pass by without interruption, I have no
+right to turn back and drag him in after me. He might as well force
+me to have no religion as I force him to have one, or burn me at a
+stake for believing what he does not. Opinion, 'like the wild goose,
+flies unclaimed of any man': heaven is like 'the marble air,
+accessible to all'; and therefore there is no occasion to trip up
+one another's heels on the road, or to erect a turnpike gate to
+collect large sums from the passengers. How have I a right to make
+another pay for the saving of my soul, or to assist me in damning
+his? There should be no secular interference in sacred things; no
+laws to suppress or establish any church or sect in religion, no
+religious persecutions, tests, or disqualifications; the different
+sects should be left to inveigh and hate each other as much as they
+please; but without the love of exclusive domination and spiritual
+power there would be little temptation to bigotry and intolerance.
+
+3. AS TO THE RIGHTS OF PROPERTY. It is of no use a man's being left to
+enjoy security, or to exercise his freedom of action, unless he has a
+right to appropriate certain other things necessary to his comfort and
+subsistence to his own use. In a state of nature, or rather of
+solitary independence, he has a right to all he can lay his hands on:
+what then limits this right? Its being inconsistent with the same
+right in others. This strikes a mathematical or logical balance
+between two extreme and equal pretensions. As there is not a natural
+and indissoluble connection between the individual and his property,
+or those outward objects of which he may have need (they being
+detached, unlimited, and transferable), as there is between the
+individual and his person, either as an organ of sensation or action,
+it is necessary, in order to prevent endless debate and quarrels, to
+fix upon some other criterion or common ground of preference. Animals,
+or savages, have no idea of any other right than that of the
+strongest, and seize on all they can get by force, without any regard
+to justice or an equal claim. 1. One mode of settling the point is to
+divide the spoil. That is allowing an equal advantage to both. Thus
+boys, when they unexpectedly find anything, are accustomed to cry
+'_Halves!_' But this is liable to other difficulties, and applies only
+to the case of joint finding. 2. Priority of possession is a fair way
+of deciding the right of property; first, on the mere principle of a
+lottery, or the old saying, '_First come, first served_'; secondly,
+because the expectation having been excited, and the will more set
+upon it, this constitutes a powerful reason for not violently forcing
+it to let go its hold. The greater strength of volition is, we have
+seen, one foundation of right; for supposing a person to be absolutely
+indifferent to anything, he could properly set up no claim to it. 3.
+Labour, or the having produced a thing or fitted it for use by
+previous exertion, gives this right, chiefly, indeed, for moral and
+final causes; because if one enjoyed what another had produced, there
+would be nothing but idleness and rapacity; but also in the sense we
+are inquiring into, because on a merely selfish ground the labour
+undergone, or the time lost, is entitled to an equivalent _caeteris
+manentibus_. 4. If another, voluntarily, or for a consideration,
+resigns to me his right in anything, it to all intents and purposes
+becomes mine. This accounts not only for gifts, the transfer of
+property by bargains, etc., but for legacies, and the transmission of
+property in families or otherwise. It is hard to make a law to
+circumscribe this right of disposing of what we have as we please; yet
+the boasted law of primogeniture, which is professedly the bulwark and
+guardian of property, is in direct violation of this principle. 5, and
+lastly. Where a thing is common, and there is enough for all, and no
+one contributes to it, as air or water, there can be no property in
+it. The proximity to a herring-fishery, or the having been the first
+to establish a particular traffic in such commodities, may perhaps
+give this right by aggravating our will, as having a nearer or longer
+power over them; but the rule is the other way. It is on the same
+principle that poaching is a kind of honest thieving, for that which
+costs no trouble and is confined to no limits seems to belong to no
+one exclusively (why else do poachers or country people seize on this
+kind of property with the least reluctance, but that it is the least
+like stealing?); and as the game laws and the tenaciousness of the
+rights to that which has least the character of property, as most a
+point of honour, produced a revolution in one country, so they are not
+unlikely to produce it in another. The object and principle of the
+laws of property, then, is this: 1. To supply individuals and the
+community with what they need. 2. To secure an equal share to each
+individual, other circumstances being the same. 3. To keep the peace
+and promote industry and plenty, by proportioning each man's share to
+his own exertions, or to the good-will and discretion of others. The
+intention, then, being that no individual should rob another, or be
+starved but by his refusing to work (the earth and its produce being
+the natural estate of the community, subject to these regulations of
+individual right and public welfare), the question is, whether any
+individual can have a right to rob or starve the whole community: or
+if the necessary discretion left in the application of the principle
+has led to a state of things subversive of the principle itself, and
+destructive to the welfare and existence of the state, whether the end
+being defeated, the law does not fall to the ground, or require either
+a powerful corrective or a total reconstruction. The end is superior
+to the means, and the use of a thing does not justify its abuse. If a
+clock is quite out of order and always goes wrong, it is no argument
+to say it was set right at first and on true mechanical principles,
+and therefore it must go on as it has done, according to all the rules
+of art; on the contrary, it is taken to pieces, repaired, and the
+whole restored to the original state, or, if this is impossible, a new
+one is made. So society, when out of order, which it is whenever the
+interests of the many are regularly and outrageously sacrificed to
+those of the few, must be repaired, and either a reform or a
+revolution cleanse its corruptions and renew its elasticity. People
+talk of the poor laws as a grievance. Either they or a national
+bankruptcy, or a revolution, are necessary. The labouring population
+have not doubled in the last forty years; there are still no more than
+are necessary to do the work in husbandry, etc., that is indispensably
+required; but the wages of a labouring man are no higher than they
+were forty years ago, and the price of food and necessaries is at
+least double what it was then, owing to taxes, grants, monopolies, and
+immense fortunes gathered during the war by the richer or more
+prosperous classes, who have not ceased to propagate in the
+geometrical ratio, though the poor have not done it, and the
+maintaining of whose younger and increasing branches in becoming
+splendour and affluence presses with double weight on the poor and
+labouring classes. The greater part of a community ought not to be
+paupers or starving; and when a government by obstinacy and madness
+has reduced them to that state, it must either take wise and effectual
+measures to relieve them from it, or pay the forfeit of its own
+wickedness and folly.
+
+It seems, then, that a system of just and useful laws may be
+constructed nearly, if not wholly, on the principle of the right of
+self-defence, or the security for person, liberty, and property. There
+are exceptions, such, for instance, as in the case of children,
+idiots, and insane persons. These common-sense dictates for a general
+principle can only hold good where the general conditions are complied
+with. There are also mixed cases, partaking of civil and moral
+justice. Is a man bound to support his children? Not in strict
+political right; but he may be compelled to forego all the benefits of
+civil society, if he does not fulfil an engagement which, according to
+the feelings and principles of that society, he has undertaken. So in
+respect to marriage. It is a voluntary contract, and the violation of
+it is punishable on the same plea of sympathy and custom. Government
+is not necessarily founded on common consent, but on the right which
+society has to defend itself against all aggression. But am I bound to
+pay or support the government for defending the society against any
+violence or injustice? No: but then they may withdraw the protection
+of the law from me if I refuse, and it is on this ground that the
+contributions of each individual to the maintenance of the state are
+demanded. Laws are, or ought to be, founded on the supposed infraction
+of individual rights. If these rights, and the best means of
+maintaining them, are always clear, and there could be no injustice or
+abuse of power on the part of the government, every government might
+be its own lawgiver: but as neither of these is the case, it is
+necessary to recur to the general voice for settling the boundaries of
+right and wrong, and even more for preventing the government, under
+pretence of the general peace and safety, from subjecting the whole
+liberties, rights, and resources of the community to its own advantage
+and sole will.
+
+1828.
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY XII
+
+ON THE CHARACTER OF BURKE
+
+
+There is no single speech of Mr. Burke which can convey a satisfactory
+idea of his powers of mind: to do him justice, it would be necessary
+to quote all his works; the only specimen of Burke is, _all that he
+wrote_. With respect to most other speakers, a specimen is generally
+enough, or more than enough. When you are acquainted with their
+manner, and see what proficiency they have made in the mechanical
+exercise of their profession, with what facility they can borrow a
+simile, or round a period, how dexterously they can argue, and object,
+and rejoin, you are satisfied; there is no other difference in their
+speeches than what arises from the difference of the subjects. But
+this was not the case with Burke. He brought his subjects along with
+him; he drew his materials from himself. The only limits which
+circumscribed his variety were the stores of his own mind. His stock
+of ideas did not consist of a few meagre facts, meagrely stated, of
+half-a-dozen commonplaces tortured into a thousand different ways; but
+his mine of wealth was a profound understanding, inexhaustible as the
+human heart, and various as the sources of human nature. He therefore
+enriched every subject to which he applied himself, and new subjects
+were only the occasions of calling forth fresh powers of mind which
+had not been before exerted. It would therefore be in vain to look for
+the proof of his powers in any one of his speeches or writings: they
+all contain some additional proof of power. In speaking of Burke,
+then, I shall speak of the whole compass and circuit of his mind--not
+of that small part or section of him which I have been able to give:
+to do otherwise would be like the story of the man who put the brick
+in his pocket, thinking to show it as the model of a house. I have
+been able to manage pretty well with respect to all my other speakers,
+and curtailed them down without remorse. It was easy to reduce them
+within certain limits, to fix their spirit, and condense their
+variety; by having a certain quantity given, you might infer all the
+rest; it was only the same thing over again. But who can bind Proteus,
+or confine the roving flight of genius?
+
+Burke's writings are better than his speeches, and indeed his speeches
+are writings. But he seemed to feel himself more at ease, to have a
+fuller possession of his faculties in addressing the public, than in
+addressing the House of Commons. Burke was _raised_ into public life;
+and he seems to have been prouder of this new dignity than became so
+great a man. For this reason, most of his speeches have a sort of
+parliamentary preamble to them: he seems fond of coquetting with the
+House of Commons, and is perpetually calling the Speaker out to dance
+a minuet with him before he begins. There is also something like an
+attempt to stimulate the superficial dulness of his hearers by
+exciting their surprise, by running into extravagance: and he
+sometimes demeans himself by condescending to what may be considered
+as bordering too much upon buffoonery, for the amusement of the
+company. Those lines of Milton were admirably applied to him by some
+one--'The elephant to make them sport wreathed his proboscis lithe.'
+The truth is, that he was out of his place in the House of Commons; he
+was eminently qualified to shine as a man of genius, as the instructor
+of mankind, as the brightest luminary of his age; but he had nothing
+in common with that motley crew of knights, citizens, and burgesses.
+He could not be said to be 'native and endued unto that element.' He
+was above it; and never appeared like himself, but when, forgetful of
+the idle clamours of party, and of the little views of little men, he
+applied to his country and the enlightened judgment of mankind.
+
+I am not going to make an idle panegyric on Burke (he has no need of
+it); but I cannot help looking upon him as the chief boast and
+ornament of the English House of Commons. What has been said of him
+is, I think, strictly true, that 'he was the most eloquent man of his
+time: his wisdom was greater than his eloquence.' The only public man
+that in my opinion can be put in any competition with him, is Lord
+Chatham; and he moved in a sphere so very remote, that it is almost
+impossible to compare them. But though it would perhaps be difficult
+to determine which of them excelled most in his particular way, there
+is nothing in the world more easy than to point out in what their
+peculiar excellences consisted. They were in every respect the reverse
+of each other. Chatham's eloquence was popular: his wisdom was
+altogether plain and practical. Burke's eloquence was that of the
+poet; of the man of high and unbounded fancy: his wisdom was profound
+and contemplative. Chatham's eloquence was calculated to make men
+_act_: Burke's was calculated to make them _think_. Chatham could have
+roused the fury of a multitude, and wielded their physical energy as
+he pleased: Burke's eloquence carried conviction into the mind of the
+retired and lonely student, opened the recesses of the human breast,
+and lighted up the face of nature around him. Chatham supplied his
+hearers with motives to immediate action: Burke furnished them with
+_reasons_ for action which might have little effect upon them at the
+time, but for which they would be the wiser and better all their lives
+after. In research, in originality, in variety of knowledge, in
+richness of invention, in depth and comprehension of mind, Burke had
+as much the advantage of Lord Chatham as he was excelled by him in
+plain common sense, in strong feeling, in steadiness of purpose, in
+vehemence, in warmth, in enthusiasm, and energy of mind. Burke was
+the man of genius, of fine sense, and subtle reasoning; Chatham was a
+man of clear understanding, of strong sense, and violent passions.
+Burke's mind was satisfied with speculation: Chatham's was essentially
+_active_; it could not rest without an object. The power which
+governed Burke's mind was his Imagination; that which gave its
+_impetus_ to Chatham was Will. The one was almost the creature of pure
+intellect, the other of physical temperament.
+
+There are two very different ends which a man of genius may propose to
+himself, either in writing or speaking, and which will accordingly
+give birth to very different styles. He can have but one of these two
+objects; either to enrich or strengthen the mind; either to furnish us
+with new ideas, to lead the mind into new trains of thought, to which
+it was before unused, and which it was incapable of striking out for
+itself; or else to collect and embody what we already knew, to rivet
+our old impressions more deeply; to make what was before plain still
+plainer, and to give to that which was familiar all the effect of
+novelty. In the one case we receive an accession to the stock of our
+ideas; in the other, an additional degree of life and energy is
+infused into them: our thoughts continue to flow in the same channels,
+but their pulse is quickened and invigorated. I do not know how to
+distinguish these different styles better than by calling them
+severally the inventive and refined, or the impressive and vigorous
+styles. It is only the subject-matter of eloquence, however, which is
+allowed to be remote or obscure. The things themselves may be subtle
+and recondite, but they must be dragged out of their obscurity and
+brought struggling to the light; they must be rendered plain and
+palpable (as far as it is in the wit of man to do so), or they are no
+longer eloquence. That which by its natural impenetrability, and in
+spite of every effort, remains dark and difficult, which is impervious
+to every ray, on which the imagination can shed no lustre, which can
+be clothed with no beauty, is not a subject for the orator or poet. At
+the same time it cannot be expected that abstract truths or profound
+observations should ever be placed in the same strong and dazzling
+points of view as natural objects and mere matters of fact. It is
+enough if they receive a reflex and borrowed lustre, like that which
+cheers the first dawn of morning, where the effect of surprise and
+novelty gilds every object, and the joy of beholding another world
+gradually emerging out of the gloom of night, 'a new creation rescued
+from his reign,' fills the mind with a sober rapture. Philosophical
+eloquence is in writing what _chiaro-scuro_ is in painting; he would
+be a fool who should object that the colours in the shaded part of a
+picture were not so bright as those on the opposite side; the eye of
+the connoisseur receives an equal delight from both, balancing the
+want of brilliancy and effect with the greater delicacy of the tints,
+and difficulty of the execution. In judging of Burke, therefore, we
+are to consider, first, the style of eloquence which he adopted, and,
+secondly, the effects which he produced with it. If he did not produce
+the same effects on vulgar minds as some others have done, it was not
+for want of power, but from the turn and direction of his mind.[10] It
+was because his subjects, his ideas, his arguments, were less vulgar.
+The question is not whether he brought certain truths equally home to
+us, but how much nearer he brought them than they were before. In my
+opinion, he united the two extremes of refinement and strength in a
+higher degree than any other writer whatever.
+
+The subtlety of his mind was undoubtedly that which rendered Burke a
+less popular writer and speaker than he otherwise would have been. It
+weakened the impression of his observations upon others, but I cannot
+admit that it weakened the observations themselves; that it took
+anything from their real weight or solidity. Coarse minds think all
+that is subtle, futile: that because it is not gross and obvious and
+palpable to the senses, it is therefore light and frivolous, and of no
+importance in the real affairs of life; thus making their own confined
+understandings the measure of truth, and supposing that whatever they
+do not distinctly perceive, is nothing. Seneca, who was not one of the
+vulgar, also says, that subtle truths are those which have the least
+substance in them, and consequently approach nearest to nonentity. But
+for my own part I cannot help thinking that the most important truths
+must be the most refined and subtle; for that very reason, that they
+must comprehend a great number of particulars, and instead of
+referring to any distinct or positive fact, must point out the
+combined effects of an extensive chain of causes, operating gradually,
+remotely, and collectively, and therefore imperceptibly. General
+principles are not the less true or important because from their
+nature they elude immediate observation; they are like the air, which
+is not the less necessary because we neither see nor feel it, or like
+that secret influence which binds the world together, and holds the
+planets in their orbits. The very same persons who are the most
+forward to laugh at all systematic reasoning as idle and impertinent,
+you will the next moment hear exclaiming bitterly against the baleful
+effects of new-fangled systems of philosophy, or gravely descanting on
+the immense importance of instilling sound principles of morality into
+the mind. It would not be a bold conjecture, but an obvious truism, to
+say, that all the great changes which have been brought about in the
+mortal world, either for the better or worse, have been introduced,
+not by the bare statement of facts, which are things already known,
+and which must always operate nearly in the same manner, but by the
+development of certain opinions and abstract principles of reasoning
+on life and manners, or the origin of society and man's nature in
+general, which being obscure and uncertain, vary from time to time,
+and produce corresponding changes in the human mind. They are the
+wholesome dew and rain, or the mildew and pestilence that silently
+destroy. To this principle of generalisation all wise lawgivers, and
+the systems of philosophers, owe their influence.
+
+It has always been with me a test of the sense and candour of any one
+belonging to the opposite party, whether he allowed Burke to be a
+great man. Of all the persons of this description that I have ever
+known, I never met with above one or two who would make this
+concession; whether it was that party feelings ran too high to admit
+of any real candour, or whether it was owing to an essential vulgarity
+in their habits of thinking, they all seemed to be of opinion that he
+was a wild enthusiast, or a hollow sophist, who was to be answered by
+bits of facts, by smart logic, by shrewd questions, and idle songs.
+They looked upon him as a man of disordered intellects, because he
+reasoned in a style to which they had not been used, and which
+confounded their dim perceptions. If you said that though you differed
+with him in sentiment, yet you thought him an admirable reasoner, and
+a close observer of human nature, you were answered with a loud laugh,
+and some hackneyed quotation. 'Alas! Leviathan was not so tamed!' They
+did not know whom they had to contend with. The corner-stone, which
+the builders rejected, became the head-corner, though to the Jews a
+stumbling-block, and to the Greeks foolishness; for, indeed, I cannot
+discover that he was much better understood by those of his own party,
+if we may judge from the little affinity there is between his mode of
+reasoning and theirs. The simple clue to all his reasonings on
+politics is, I think, as follows. He did not agree with some writers
+that that mode of government is necessarily the best which is the
+cheapest. He saw in the construction of society other principles at
+work, and other capacities of fulfilling the desires, and perfecting
+the nature of man, besides those of securing the equal enjoyment of
+the means of animal life, and doing this at as little expense as
+possible. He thought that the wants and happiness of men were not to
+be provided for, as we provide for those of a herd of cattle, merely
+by attending to their physical necessities. He thought more nobly of
+his fellows. He knew that man had affections and passions and powers
+of imagination, as well as hunger and thirst, and the sense of heat
+and cold. He took his idea of political society from the pattern of
+private life, wishing, as he himself expresses it, to incorporate the
+domestic charities with the orders of the state, and to blend them
+together. He strove to establish an analogy between the compact that
+binds together the community at large, and that which binds together
+the several families that compose it. He knew that the rules that form
+the basis of private morality are not founded in reason, that is, in
+the abstract properties of those things which are the subjects of
+them, but in the nature of man, and his capacity of being affected by
+certain things from habit, from imagination, and sentiment, as well as
+from reason.
+
+Thus, the reason why a man ought to be attached to his wife and
+children is not, surely, that they are better than others (for in this
+case every one else ought to be of the same opinion), but because he
+must be chiefly interested in those things which are nearest to him,
+and with which he is best acquainted, since his understanding cannot
+reach equally to everything; because he must be most attached to those
+objects which he has known the longest, and which by their situation
+have actually affected him the most, not those which in themselves are
+the most affecting whether they have ever made any impression on him
+or no; that is, because he is by his nature the creature of habit and
+feeling, and because it is reasonable that he should act in conformity
+to his nature. Burke was so far right in saying that it is no
+objection to an institution that it is founded in _prejudice_, but the
+contrary, if that prejudice is natural and right; that is, if it
+arises from those circumstances which are properly subjects of feeling
+and association, not from any defect or perversion of the
+understanding in those things which fall strictly under its
+jurisdiction. On this profound maxim he took his stand. Thus he
+contended, that the prejudice in favour of nobility was natural and
+proper, and fit to be encouraged by the positive institutions of
+society: not on account of the real or personal merit of the
+individuals, but because such an institution has a tendency to enlarge
+and raise the mind, to keep alive the memory of past greatness, to
+connect the different ages of the world together, to carry back the
+imagination over a long tract of time, and feed it with the
+contemplation of remote events: because it is natural to think highly
+of that which inspires us with high thoughts, which has been connected
+for many generations with splendour, and affluence, and dignity, and
+power, and privilege. He also conceived, that by transferring the
+respect from the person to the thing, and thus rendering it steady and
+permanent, the mind would be habitually formed to sentiments of
+deference, attachment, and fealty, to whatever else demanded its
+respect: that it would be led to fix its view on what was elevated and
+lofty, and be weaned from that low and narrow jealousy which never
+willingly or heartily admits of any superiority in others, and is glad
+of every opportunity to bring down all excellence to a level with its
+own miserable standard. Nobility did not, therefore, exist to the
+prejudice of the other orders of the state, but by, and for them. The
+inequality of the different orders of society did not destroy the
+unity and harmony of the whole. The health and well-being of the moral
+world was to be promoted by the same means as the beauty of the
+natural world; by contrast, by change, by light and shade, by variety
+of parts, by order and proportion. To think of reducing all mankind to
+the same insipid level, seemed to him the same absurdity as to destroy
+the inequalities of surface in a country, for the benefit of
+agriculture and commerce. In short, he believed that the interests of
+men in society should be consulted, and their several stations and
+employments assigned, with a view to their nature, not as physical,
+but as moral beings, so as to nourish their hopes, to lift their
+imagination, to enliven their fancy, to rouse their activity, to
+strengthen their virtue, and to furnish the greatest number of objects
+of pursuit and means of enjoyment to beings constituted as man is,
+consistently with the order and stability of the whole.
+
+The same reasoning might be extended farther. I do not say that his
+arguments are conclusive: but they are profound and _true_, as far as
+they go. There may be disadvantages and abuses necessarily interwoven
+with his scheme, or opposite advantages of infinitely greater value,
+to be derived from another order of things and state of society. This,
+however, does not invalidate either the truth or importance of Burke's
+reasoning; since the advantages he points out as connected with the
+mixed form of government are really and necessarily inherent in it:
+since they are compatible, in the same degree, with no other; since
+the principle itself on which he rests his argument (whatever we may
+think of the application) is of the utmost weight and moment; and
+since, on whichever side the truth lies, it is impossible to make a
+fair decision without having the opposite side of the question clearly
+and fully stated to us. This Burke has done in a masterly manner. He
+presents to you one view or face of society. Let him who thinks he
+can, give the reverse side with equal force, beauty, and clearness. It
+is said, I know, that truth is _one_; but to this I cannot subscribe,
+for it appears to me that truth is _many_. There are as many truths as
+there are things and causes of action and contradictory principles at
+work in society. In making up the account of good and evil, indeed,
+the final result must be one way or the other; but the particulars on
+which that result depends are infinite and various.
+
+It will be seen from what I have said, that I am very far from
+agreeing with those who think that Burke was a man without
+understanding, and a merely florid writer. There are two causes which
+have given rise to this calumny; namely, that narrowness of mind which
+leads men to suppose that the truth lies entirely on the side of their
+own opinions, and that whatever does not make for them is absurd and
+irrational; secondly, a trick we have of confounding reason with
+judgment, and supposing that it is merely the province of the
+understanding to pronounce sentence, and not to give evidence, or
+argue the case; in short, that it is a passive, not an active faculty.
+Thus there are persons who never run into any extravagance, because
+they are so buttressed up with the opinions of others on all sides,
+that they cannot lean much to one side or the other; they are so
+little moved with any kind of reasoning, that they remain at an equal
+distance from every extreme, and are never very far from the truth,
+because the slowness of their faculties will not suffer them to make
+much progress in error. These are persons of great judgment. The
+scales of the mind are pretty sure to remain even, when there is
+nothing in them. In this sense of the word, Burke must be allowed to
+have wanted judgment, by all those who think that he was wrong in his
+conclusions. The accusation of want of judgment, in fact, only means
+that you yourself are of a different opinion. But if in arriving at
+one error he discovered a hundred truths, I should consider myself a
+hundred times more indebted to him than if, stumbling on that which I
+consider as the right side of the question, he had committed a hundred
+absurdities in striving to establish his point. I speak of him now
+merely as an author, or as far as I and other readers are concerned
+with him; at the same time, I should not differ from any one who may
+be disposed to contend that the consequences of his writings as
+instruments of political power have been tremendous, fatal, such as no
+exertion of wit or knowledge or genius can ever counteract or atone
+for.
+
+Burke also gave a hold to his antagonists by mixing up sentiment and
+imagery with his reasoning; so that being unused to such a sight in
+the region of politics, they were deceived, and could not discern the
+fruit from the flowers. Gravity is the cloak of wisdom; and those who
+have nothing else think it an insult to affect the one without the
+other, because it destroys the only foundation on which their
+pretensions are built. The easiest part of reason is dulness; the
+generality of the world are therefore concerned in discouraging any
+example of unnecessary brilliancy that might tend to show that the two
+things do not always go together. Burke in some measure dissolved the
+spell. It was discovered, that his gold was not the less valuable for
+being wrought into elegant shapes, and richly embossed with curious
+figures; that the solidity of a building is not destroyed by adding to
+it beauty and ornament; and that the strength of a man's understanding
+is not always to be estimated in exact proportion to his want of
+imagination. His understanding was not the less real, because it was
+not the only faculty he possessed. He justified the description of the
+poet--
+
+    'How charming is divine philosophy!
+    Not harsh and crabbed as dull fools suppose,
+    But musical as is Apollo's lute!'
+
+Those who object to this union of grace and beauty with reason, are in
+fact weak-sighted people, who cannot distinguish the noble and
+majestic form of Truth from that of her sister Folly, if they are
+dressed both alike! But there is always a difference even in the
+adventitious ornaments they wear, which is sufficient to distinguish
+them.
+
+Burke was so far from being a gaudy or flowery writer, that he was one
+of the severest writers we have. His words are the most like things;
+his style is the most strictly suited to the subject. He unites every
+extreme and every variety of composition; the lowest and the meanest
+words and descriptions with the highest. He exults in the display of
+power, in showing the extent, the force, and intensity of his ideas;
+he is led on by the mere impulse and vehemence of his fancy, not by
+the affectation of dazzling his readers by gaudy conceits or pompous
+images. He was completely carried away by his subject. He had no other
+object but to produce the strongest impression on his reader, by
+giving the truest, the most characteristic, the fullest, and most
+forcible description of things, trusting to the power of his own mind
+to mould them into grace and beauty. He did not produce a splendid
+effect by setting fire to the light vapours that float in the regions
+of fancy, as the chemists make fine colours with phosphorus, but by
+the eagerness of his blows struck fire from the flint, and melted the
+hardest substances in the furnace of his imagination. The wheels of
+his imagination did not catch fire from the rottenness of the
+materials, but from the rapidity of their motion. One would suppose,
+to hear people talk of Burke, that his style was such as would have
+suited the _Lady's Magazine_; soft, smooth, showy, tender, insipid,
+full of fine words, without any meaning. The essence of the gaudy or
+glittering style consists in producing a momentary effect by fine
+words and images brought together, without order or connection. Burke
+most frequently produced an effect by the remoteness and novelty of
+his combinations, by the force of contrast, by the striking manner in
+which the most opposite and unpromising materials were harmoniously
+blended together; not by laying his hands on all the fine things he
+could think of, but by bringing together those things which he knew
+would blaze out into glorious light by their collision. The florid
+style is a mixture of affectation and commonplace. Burke's was an
+union of untameable vigour and originality.
+
+Burke was not a verbose writer. If he sometimes multiplies words, it
+is not for want of ideas, but because there are no words that fully
+express his ideas, and he tries to do it as well as he can by
+different ones. He had nothing of the _set_ or formal style, the
+measured cadence, and stately phraseology of Johnson, and most of our
+modern writers. This style, which is what we understand by the
+_artificial_, is all in one key. It selects a certain set of words to
+represent all ideas whatever, as the most dignified and elegant, and
+excludes all others as low and vulgar. The words are not fitted to the
+things, but the things to the words. Everything is seen through a
+false medium. It is putting a mask on the face of nature, which may
+indeed hide some specks and blemishes, but takes away all beauty,
+delicacy, and variety. It destroys all dignity or elevation, because
+nothing can be raised where all is on a level, and completely destroys
+all force, expression, truth, and character, by arbitrarily
+confounding the differences of things, and reducing everything to the
+same insipid standard. To suppose that this stiff uniformity can add
+anything to real grace or dignity, is like supposing that the human
+body, in order to be perfectly graceful, should never deviate from its
+upright posture. Another mischief of this method is, that it confounds
+all ranks in literature. Where there is no room for variety, no
+discrimination, no nicety to be shown in matching the idea with its
+proper word, there can be no room for taste or elegance. A man must
+easily learn the art of writing, when every sentence is to be cast in
+the same mould: where he is only allowed the use of one word he cannot
+choose wrong, nor will he be in much danger of making himself
+ridiculous by affectation or false glitter, when, whatever subject he
+treats of, he must treat of it in the same way. This indeed is to wear
+golden chains for the sake of ornament.
+
+Burke was altogether free from the pedantry which I have here
+endeavoured to expose. His style was as original, as expressive, as
+rich and varied, as it was possible; his combinations were as
+exquisite, as playful, as happy, as unexpected, as bold and daring,
+as his fancy. If anything, he ran into the opposite extreme of too
+great an inequality, if truth and nature could ever be carried to an
+extreme.
+
+Those who are best acquainted with the writings and speeches of Burke
+will not think the praise I have here bestowed on them exaggerated.
+Some proof will be found of this in the following extracts. But the
+full proof must be sought in his works at large, and particularly in
+the _Thoughts on the Discontents_; in his _Reflections on the French
+Revolution_; in his _Letter to the Duke of Bedford_; and in the
+_Regicide Peace_. The two last of these are perhaps the most
+remarkable of all his writings, from the contrast they afford to each
+other. The one is the most delightful exhibition of wild and brilliant
+fancy that is to be found in English prose, but it is too much like a
+beautiful picture painted upon gauze; it wants something to support
+it: the other is without ornament, but it has all the solidity, the
+weight, the gravity of a judicial record. It seems to have been
+written with a certain constraint upon himself, and to show those who
+said he could not _reason_, that his arguments might be stripped of
+their ornaments without losing anything of their force. It is
+certainly, of all his works, that in which he has shown most power of
+logical deduction, and the only one in which he has made any important
+use of facts. In general he certainly paid little attention to them:
+they were the playthings of his mind. He saw them as he pleased, not
+as they were; with the eye of the philosopher or the poet, regarding
+them only in their general principle, or as they might serve to
+decorate his subject. This is the natural consequence of much
+imagination: things that are probable are elevated into the rank of
+realities. To those who can reason on the essences of things, or who
+can invent according to nature, the experimental proof is of little
+value. This was the case with Burke. In the present instance, however,
+he seems to have forced his mind into the service of facts; and he
+succeeded completely. His comparison between our connection with
+France or Algiers, and his account of the conduct of the war, are as
+clear, as convincing, as forcible examples of this kind of reasoning,
+as are anywhere to be met with. Indeed I do not think there is
+anything in Fox (whose mind was purely historical), or in Chatham (who
+attended to feelings more than facts), that will bear a comparison
+with them.
+
+Burke has been compared to Cicero--I do not know for what reason.
+Their excellences are as different, and indeed as opposite, as they
+can well be. Burke had not the polished elegance, the glossy neatness,
+the artful regularity, the exquisite modulation of Cicero: he had a
+thousand times more richness and originality of mind, more strength
+and pomp of diction.
+
+It has been well observed, that the ancients had no word that properly
+expresses what we mean by the word _genius_. They perhaps had not the
+thing. Their minds appear to have been too exact, too retentive, too
+minute and subtle, too sensible to the external differences of things,
+too passive under their impressions, to admit of those bold and rapid
+combinations, those lofty flights of fancy, which, glancing from
+heaven to earth, unite the most opposite extremes, and draw the
+happiest illustrations from things the most remote. Their ideas were
+kept too confined and distinct by the material form or vehicle in
+which they were conveyed, to unite cordially together, to be melted
+down in the imagination. Their metaphors are taken from things of the
+same class, not from things of different classes; the general analogy,
+not the individual feeling, directs them in their choice. Hence, as
+Dr. Johnson observed, their similes are either repetitions of the same
+idea, or so obvious and general as not to lend any additional force to
+it; as when a huntress is compared to Diana, or a warrior rushing into
+battle to a lion rushing on his prey. Their _forte_ was exquisite art
+and perfect imitation. Witness their statues and other things of the
+same kind. But they had not that high and enthusiastic fancy which
+some of our own writers have shown. For the proof of this, let any one
+compare Milton and Shakspeare with Homer and Sophocles, or Burke with
+Cicero.
+
+It may be asked whether Burke was a poet. He was so only in the general
+vividness of his fancy, and in richness of invention. There may be
+poetical passages in his works, but I certainly think that his writings
+in general are quite distinct from poetry; and that for the reason
+before given, namely, that the subject-matter of them is not poetical.
+The finest part of them are illustrations or personifications of dry
+abstract ideas;[11] and the union between the idea and the illustration
+is not of that perfect and pleasing kind as to constitute poetry, or
+indeed to be admissible, but for the effect intended to be produced by
+it; that is, by every means in our power to give animation and
+attraction to subjects in themselves barren of ornament, but which at
+the same time are pregnant with the most important consequences, and in
+which the understanding and the passions are equally interested.
+
+I have heard it remarked by a person, to whose opinion I would sooner
+submit than to a general council of critics, that the sound of Burke's
+prose is not musical; that it wants cadence; and that instead of being
+so lavish of his imagery as is generally supposed, he seemed to him to
+be rather parsimonious in the use of it, always expanding and making
+the most of his ideas. This may be true if we compare him with some of
+our poets, or perhaps with some of our early prose writers, but not if
+we compare him with any of our political writers or parliamentary
+speakers. There are some very fine things of Lord Bolingbroke's on the
+same subjects, but not equal to Burke's. As for Junius, he is at the
+head of his class; but that class is not the highest. He has been
+said to have more dignity than Burke. Yes--if the stalk of a giant is
+less dignified than the strut of a _petit-maitre_. I do not mean to
+speak disrespectfully of Junius, but grandeur is not the character of
+his composition; and if it is not to be found in Burke it is to be
+found nowhere.
+
+1807.
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[10] For instance, he produced less effect on the mob that compose the
+English House of Commons, than Chatham or Fox, or even Pitt.
+
+[11] As in the comparison of the British Constitution to the 'proud
+keep of Windsor,' etc., the most splendid passage in his works.
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY XIII
+
+ON THE CHARACTER OF FOX
+
+
+I shall begin with observing generally, that Mr. Fox excelled all his
+contemporaries in the extent of his knowledge, in the clearness and
+distinctness of his views, in quickness of apprehension, in plain
+practical common sense, in the full, strong, and absolute possession
+of his subject. A measure was no sooner proposed than he seemed to
+have an instantaneous and intuitive perception of its various bearings
+and consequences; of the manner in which it would operate on the
+different classes of society, on commerce or agriculture, on our
+domestic or foreign policy; of the difficulties attending its
+execution; in a word, of all its practical results, and the
+comparative advantages to be gained either by adopting or rejecting
+it. He was intimately acquainted with the interests of the different
+parts of the community, with the minute and complicated details of
+political economy, with our external relations, with the views, the
+resources, and the maxims of other states. He was master of all those
+facts and circumstances which it was necessary to know in order to
+judge fairly and determine wisely; and he knew them not loosely or
+lightly, but in number, weight, and measure. He had also stored his
+memory by reading and general study, and improved his understanding by
+the lamp of history. He was well acquainted with the opinions and
+sentiments of the best authors, with the maxims of the most profound
+politicians, with the causes of the rise and fall of states, with the
+general passions of men, with the characters of different nations,
+and the laws and constitution of his own country. He was a man of
+large, capacious, powerful, and highly cultivated intellect. No man
+could know more than he knew; no man's knowledge could be more sound,
+more plain and useful; no man's knowledge could lie in more connected
+and tangible masses; no man could be more perfectly master of his
+ideas, could reason upon them more closely, or decide upon them more
+impartially. His mind was full, even to overflowing. He was so
+habitually conversant with the most intricate and comprehensive trains
+of thought, or such was the natural vigour and exuberance of his mind,
+that he seemed to recall them without any effort. His ideas quarrelled
+for utterance. So far from ever being at a loss for them, he was
+obliged rather to repress and rein them in, lest they should overwhelm
+and confound, instead of informing the understandings of his hearers.
+
+If to this we add the ardour and natural impetuosity of his mind, his
+quick sensibility, his eagerness in the defence of truth, and his
+impatience of everything that looked like trick or artifice or
+affectation, we shall be able in some measure to account for the
+character of his eloquence. His thoughts came crowding in too fast for
+the slow and mechanical process of speech. What he saw in an instant,
+he could only express imperfectly, word by word, and sentence after
+sentence. He would, if he could, 'have bared his swelling heart,' and
+laid open at once the rich treasures of knowledge with which his bosom
+was fraught. It is no wonder that this difference between the rapidity
+of his feelings, and the formal round-about method of communicating
+them, should produce some disorder in his frame; that the throng of
+his ideas should try to overleap the narrow boundaries which confined
+them, and tumultuously break down their prison-doors, instead of
+waiting to be let out one by one, and following patiently at due
+intervals and with mock dignity, like poor dependents, in the train of
+words; that he should express himself in hurried sentences, in
+involuntary exclamations, by vehement gestures, by sudden starts and
+bursts of passion. Everything showed the agitation of his mind. His
+tongue faltered, his voice became almost suffocated, and his face was
+bathed in tears. He was lost in the magnitude of his subject. He
+reeled and staggered under the load of feeling which oppressed him. He
+rolled like the sea beaten by a tempest. Whoever, having the feelings
+of a man, compared him at these times with his boasted rival--his
+stiff, straight, upright figure, his gradual contortions, turning
+round as if moved by a pivot, his solemn pauses, his deep tones,
+'whose sound reverbed their own hollowness,' must have said, This is a
+man; that is an automaton. If Fox had needed grace, he would have had
+it; but it was not the character of his mind, nor would it have suited
+with the style of his eloquence. It was Pitt's object to smooth over
+the abruptness and intricacies of his argument by the gracefulness of
+his manner, and to fix the attention of his hearers on the pomp and
+sound of his words. Lord Chatham, again, strove to _command_ others;
+he did not try to convince them, but to overpower their understandings
+by the greater strength and vehemence of his own; to awe them by a
+sense of personal superiority: and he therefore was obliged to assume
+a lofty and dignified manner. It was to him they bowed, not to truth;
+and whatever related to _himself_, must therefore have a tendency to
+inspire respect and admiration. Indeed, he would never have attempted
+to gain that ascendant over men's minds that he did, if either his
+mind or body had been different from what they were; if his temper had
+not urged him to control and command others, or if his personal
+advantages had not enabled him to secure that kind of authority which
+he coveted. But it would have been ridiculous in Fox to have affected
+either the smooth plausibility, the stately gravity of the one, or the
+proud domineering, imposing dignity of the other; or even if he could
+have succeeded, it would only have injured the effect of his
+speeches.[12] What he had to rely on was the strength, the solidity of
+his ideas, his complete and thorough knowledge of his subject. It was
+his business therefore to fix the attention of his hearers, not on
+himself, but on his subject, to rivet it there, to hurry it on from
+words to things:--the only circumstance of which they required to be
+convinced with respect to himself, was the sincerity of his opinions;
+and this would be best done by the earnestness of his manner, by
+giving a loose to his feelings, and by showing the most perfect
+forgetfulness of himself, and of what others thought of him. The
+moment a man shows you either by affected words or looks or gestures,
+that he is thinking of himself, and you, that he is trying either to
+please or terrify you into compliance, there is an end at once to that
+kind of eloquence which owes its effect to the force of truth, and to
+your confidence in the sincerity of the speaker. It was, however, to
+the confidence inspired by the earnestness and simplicity of his
+manner, that Mr. Fox was indebted for more than half the effect of his
+speeches. Some others might possess nearly as much information, as
+exact a knowledge of the situation and interests of the country; but
+they wanted that zeal, that animation, that enthusiasm, that deep
+sense of the importance of the subject, which removes all doubt or
+suspicion from the minds of the hearers, and communicates its own
+warmth to every breast. We may convince by argument alone; but it is
+by the interest we discover in the success of our reasonings, that we
+persuade others to feel and act with us. There are two circumstances
+which Fox's speeches and Lord Chatham's had in common: they are alike
+distinguished by a kind of plain downright common sense, and by the
+vehemence of their manner. But still there is a great difference
+between them, in both these respects. Fox in his opinions was governed
+by facts--Chatham was more influenced by the feelings of others
+respecting those facts. Fox endeavoured to find out what the
+consequences of any measure would be; Chatham attended more to what
+people would think of it. Fox appealed to the practical reason of
+mankind; Chatham to popular prejudice. The one repelled the
+encroachments of power by supplying his hearers with arguments against
+it; the other by rousing their passions and arming their resentment
+against those who would rob them of their birthright. Their vehemence
+and impetuosity arose also from very different feelings. In Chatham it
+was pride, passion, self-will, impatience of control, a determination
+to have his own way, to carry everything before him; in Fox it was
+pure, good nature, a sincere love of truth, an ardent attachment to
+what he conceived to be right; all anxious concern for the welfare and
+liberties of mankind. Or if we suppose that ambition had taken a
+strong hold of both their minds, yet their ambition was of a very
+different kind: in the one it was the love of power, in the other it
+was the love of fame. Nothing can be more opposite than these two
+principles, both in their origin and tendency. The one originates in a
+selfish, haughty, domineering spirit; the other in a social and
+generous sensibility, desirous of the love and esteem of others, and
+anxiously bent upon gaining merited applause. The one grasps at
+immediate power by any means within its reach; the other, if it does
+not square its actions by the rules of virtue, at least refers them to
+a standard which comes the nearest to it--the disinterested applause
+of our country, and the enlightened judgment of posterity. The love of
+fame is consistent with the steadiest attachment to principle, and
+indeed strengthens and supports it; whereas the love of power, where
+this is the ruling passion, requires the sacrifice of principle, at
+every turn, and is inconsistent even with the shadow of it. I do not
+mean to say that Fox had no love of power, or Chatham no love of fame
+(this would be reversing all we know of human nature), but that the
+one principle predominated in the one, and the other in the other. My
+reader will do me great injustice if he supposes that in attempting to
+describe the characters of different speakers by contrasting their
+general qualities, I mean anything beyond the _more_ or _less_: but it
+is necessary to describe those qualities simply and in the abstract,
+in order to make the distinction intelligible. Chatham resented any
+attack made upon the cause of liberty, of which he was the avowed
+champion, as an indignity offered to himself. Fox felt it as a stain
+upon the honour of his country, and as an injury to the rights of his
+fellow-citizens. The one was swayed by his own passions and purposes,
+with very little regard to the consequences; the sensibility of the
+other was roused, and his passions kindled into a generous flame, by a
+real interest in whatever related to the welfare of mankind, and by an
+intense and earnest contemplation of the consequences of the measures
+he opposed. It was this union of the zeal of the patriot with the
+enlightened knowledge of the statesman, that gave to the eloquence of
+Fox its more than mortal energy; that warmed, expanded, penetrated
+every bosom. He relied on the force of truth and nature alone; the
+refinements of philosophy, the pomp and pageantry of the imagination
+were forgotten, or seemed light and frivolous; the fate of nations,
+the welfare of millions, hung suspended as he spoke; a torrent of
+manly eloquence poured from his heart, bore down everything in its
+course, and surprised into a momentary sense of human feeling the
+breathing corpses, the wire-moved puppets, the stuffed figures, the
+flexible machinery, the 'deaf and dumb things' of a court.
+
+I find (I do not know how the reader feels) that it is difficult to
+write a character of Fox without running into insipidity or
+extravagance. And the reason of this is, there are no splendid
+contrasts, no striking irregularities, no curious distinctions to work
+upon; no 'jutting frieze, buttress, nor coigne of 'vantage,' for the
+imagination to take hold of. It was a plain marble slab, inscribed in
+plain legible characters, without either hieroglyphics or carving.
+There was the same directness and manly simplicity in everything that
+he did. The whole of his character may indeed be summed up in two
+words--strength and simplicity. Fox was in the class of common men,
+but he was the first in that class. Though it is easy to describe the
+differences of things, nothing is more difficult than to describe
+their degrees or quantities. In what I am going to say, I hope I shall
+not be suspected of a design to under-rate his powers of mind, when in
+fact I am only trying to ascertain their nature and direction. The
+degree and extent to which he possessed them can only be known by
+reading, or indeed by having heard his speeches.
+
+His mind, as I have already said, was, I conceive, purely
+_historical_; and having said this, I have I believe said all. But
+perhaps it will be necessary to explain a little farther what I mean.
+I mean then, that his memory was in an extraordinary degree tenacious
+of facts; that they were crowded together in his mind without the
+least perplexity or confusion; that there was no chain of consequences
+too vast for his powers of comprehension; that the different parts and
+ramifications of his subject were never so involved and intricate but
+that they were easily disentangled in the clear prism of his
+understanding. The basis of his wisdom was experience: he not only
+knew what had happened, but by an exact knowledge of the real state of
+things, he could always tell what in the common course of events would
+happen in future. The force of his mind was exerted on facts: as long
+as he could lean directly upon these, as long as he had the actual
+objects to refer to, to steady himself by, he could analyse, he could
+combine, he could compare and reason upon them, with the utmost
+exactness; but he could not reason _out of_ them. He was what is
+understood by a _matter-of-fact_ reasoner. He was better acquainted
+with the concrete masses of things, their substantial forms and
+practical connections, than with their abstract nature or general
+definitions. He was a man of extensive information, of sound
+knowledge, and clear understanding, rather than the acute observer or
+profound thinker. He was the man of business, the accomplished
+statesman, rather than the philosopher. His reasonings were, generally
+speaking, calculations of certain positive results, which, the _data_
+being given, must follow as matters of course, rather than unexpected
+and remote truths drawn from a deep insight into human nature, and the
+subtle application of general principles to particular cases. They
+consisted chiefly in the detail and combination of a vast number of
+items in an account, worked by the known rules of political
+arithmetic; not in the discovery of bold, comprehensive, and original
+theorems in the science. They were rather acts of memory, of continued
+attention, of a power of bringing all his ideas to bear at once upon a
+single point, than of reason or invention. He was the attentive
+observer who watches the various effects and successive movements of a
+machine already constructed, and can tell how to manage it while it
+goes on as it has always done; but who knows little or nothing of the
+principles on which it is constructed, nor how to set it right, if it
+becomes disordered, except by the most common and obvious expedients.
+Burke was to Fox what the geometrician is to the mechanic. Much has
+been said of the 'prophetic mind' of Mr. Fox. The same epithet has
+been applied to Mr. Burke, till it has become proverbial. It has, I
+think, been applied without much reason to either. Fox wanted the
+scientific part. Burke wanted the practical. Fox had too little
+imagination, Burke had too much: that is, he was careless of facts,
+and was led away by his passions to look at one side of a question
+only. He had not that fine sensibility to outward impressions, that
+nice _tact_ of circumstances, which is necessary to the consummate
+politician. Indeed, his wisdom was more that of the legislator than of
+the active statesman. They both tried their strength in the Ulysses'
+bow of politicians, the French Revolution: and they were both foiled.
+Fox indeed foretold the success of the French in combating with
+foreign powers. But this was no more than what every friend of the
+liberty of France foresaw or foretold as well as he. All those on the
+same side of the question were inspired with the same sagacity on the
+subject. Burke, on the other hand, seems to have been beforehand with
+the public in foreboding the internal disorders that would attend the
+Revolution, and its ultimate failure; but then it is at least a
+question whether he did not make good his own predictions: and
+certainly he saw into the causes and connection of events much more
+clearly after they had happened than before. He was however
+undoubtedly a profound commentator on that apocalyptical chapter in
+the history of human nature, which I do not think Fox was. Whether led
+to it by the events or not, he saw thoroughly into the principles that
+operated to produce them; and he pointed them out to others in a
+manner which could not be mistaken. I can conceive of Burke, as the
+genius of the storm, perched over Paris, the centre and focus of
+anarchy (so he would have us believe), hovering 'with mighty wings
+outspread over the abyss, and rendering it pregnant,' watching the
+passions of men gradually unfolding themselves in new situations,
+penetrating those hidden motives which hurried them from one extreme
+into another, arranging and analysing the principles that alternately
+pervaded the vast chaotic mass, and extracting the elements of order
+and the cement of social life from the decomposition of all society;
+while Charles Fox in the meantime dogged the heels of the allies (all
+the while calling out to them to stop) with his sutler's bag, his
+muster roll, and army estimates at his back. He said, You have only
+fifty thousand troops, the enemy have a hundred thousand: this place
+is dismantled, it can make no resistance: your troops were beaten last
+year, they must therefore be disheartened this. This is excellent
+sense and sound reasoning, but I do not see what it has to do with
+philosophy. But why was it necessary that Fox should be a philosopher?
+Why, in the first place, Burke was a philosopher, and Fox, to keep up
+with him, must be so too. In the second place, it was necessary in
+order that his indiscreet admirers, who have no idea of greatness but
+as it consists in certain names and pompous titles, might be able to
+talk big about their patron. It is a bad compliment we pay to our idol
+when we endeavour to make him out something different from himself; it
+shows that we are not satisfied with what he is. I have heard it said
+that he had as much imagination as Burke. To this extravagant
+assertion I shall make what I conceive to be a very cautious and
+moderate answer: that Burke was as superior to Fox in this respect as
+Fox perhaps was to the first person you would meet in the street.
+There is, in fact, hardly an instance of imagination to be met with in
+any of his speeches; what there is, is of the rhetorical kind. I may,
+however, be wrong. He might excel as much in profound thought, and
+richness of fancy, as he did in other things; though I cannot perceive
+it. However, when any one publishes a book called The Beauties of Fox,
+containing the original reflections, brilliant passages, lofty
+metaphors, etc., to be found in his speeches, without the detail or
+connection, I shall be very ready to give the point up.
+
+In logic Fox was inferior to Pitt--indeed, in all the formalities of
+eloquence, in which the latter excelled as much as he was deficient in
+the soul of substance. When I say that Pitt was superior to Fox in
+logic, I mean that he excelled him in the formal division of the
+subject, in always keeping it in view, as far as he chose; in being
+able to detect any deviation from it in others; in the management of
+his general topics; in being aware of the mood and figure in which the
+argument must move, with all its nonessentials, dilemmas, and
+alternatives; in never committing himself, nor ever suffering his
+antagonist to occupy an inch of the plainest ground, but under cover
+of a syllogism. He had more of 'the dazzling fence of argument,' as it
+has been called. He was, in short, better at his weapon. But then,
+unfortunately, it was only a dagger of lath that the wind could turn
+aside; whereas Fox wore a good trusty blade, of solid metal, and real
+execution.
+
+I shall not trouble myself to inquire whether Fox was a man of strict
+virtue and principle; or in other words, how far he was one of those
+who screw themselves up to a certain pitch of ideal perfection, who,
+as it were, set themselves in the stocks of morality, and make mouths
+at their own situation. He was not one of that tribe, and shall not be
+tried by their self-denying ordinances. But he was endowed with one of
+the most excellent natures that ever fell to the lot of any of God's
+creatures. It has been said, that 'an honest man's the noblest work of
+God.' There is indeed a purity, a rectitude, an integrity of heart, a
+freedom from every selfish bias, and sinister motive, a manly
+simplicity and noble disinterestedness of feeling, which is in my
+opinion to be preferred before every other gift of nature or art.
+There is a greatness of soul that is superior to all the brilliancy of
+the understanding. This strength of moral character, which is not only
+a more valuable but a rarer quality than strength of understanding (as
+we are oftener led astray by the narrowness of our feelings, than want
+of knowledge), Fox possessed in the highest degree. He was superior to
+every kind of jealousy, of suspicion, of malevolence; to every narrow
+and sordid motive. He was perfectly above every species of duplicity,
+of low art and cunning. He judged of everything in the downright
+sincerity of his nature, without being able to impose upon himself by
+any hollow disguise, or to lend his support to anything unfair or
+dishonourable. He had an innate love of truth, of justice, of probity,
+of whatever was generous or liberal. Neither his education, nor his
+connections, nor his situation in life, nor the low intrigues and
+virulence of party, could ever alter the simplicity of his taste, nor
+the candid openness of his nature. There was an elastic force about
+his heart, a freshness of social feeling, a warm glowing humanity,
+which remained unimpaired to the last. He was by nature a gentleman.
+By this I mean that he felt a certain deference and respect for the
+person of every man; he had an unaffected frankness and benignity in
+his behaviour to others, the utmost liberality in judging of their
+conduct and motives. A refined humanity constitutes the character of a
+gentleman. He was the true friend of his country, as far as it is
+possible for a statesman to be so. But his love of his country did not
+consist in his hatred of the rest of mankind. I shall conclude this
+account by repeating what Burke said of him at a time when his
+testimony was of the most value. 'To his great and masterly
+understanding he joined the utmost possible degree of moderation: he
+was of the most artless, candid, open, and benevolent disposition;
+disinterested in the extreme; of a temper mild and placable, even to a
+fault; and without one drop of gall in his constitution.'
+
+1807.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[12] There is an admirable, judicious, and truly useful remark in the
+preface to Spenser (not by Dr. Johnson, for he left Spenser out of his
+poets, but by _one_ Upton), that the question was not whether a better
+poem might not have been written on a different plan, but whether
+Spenser would have written a better one on a different plan. I wish to
+apply this to Fox's _ungainly_ manner. I do not mean to say, that his
+manner was the best possible (for that would be to say that he was the
+greatest man conceivable), but that it was the best for him.
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY XIV
+
+ON THE CHARACTER OF MR. PITT
+
+
+The character of Mr. Pitt was, perhaps, one of the most singular that
+ever existed. With few talents, and fewer virtues, he acquired and
+preserved in one of the most trying situations, and in spite of all
+opposition, the highest reputation for the possession of every moral
+excellence, and as having carried the attainments of eloquence and
+wisdom as far as human abilities could go. This he did (strange as it
+appears) by a negation (together with the common virtues) of the common
+vices of human nature, and by the complete negation of every other
+talent that might interfere with the only one which he possessed in a
+supreme degree, and which indeed may be made to include the appearance
+of all others--an artful use of words, and a certain dexterity of
+logical arrangement. In these alone his power consisted; and the defect
+of all other qualities which usually constitute greatness, contributed
+to the more complete success of these. Having no strong feelings, no
+distinct perceptions, his mind having no link as it were, to connect it
+with the world of external nature, every subject presented to him
+nothing more than a _tabula rasa_, on which he was at liberty to lay
+whatever colouring of language he pleased; having no general
+principles, no comprehensive views of things, no moral habits of
+thinking, no system of action, there was nothing to hinder him from
+pursuing any particular purpose, by any means that offered; having
+never any plan, he could not be convicted of inconsistency, and his own
+pride and obstinacy were the only rules of his conduct. Having no
+insight into human nature, no sympathy with the passions of men, or
+apprehension of their real designs, he seemed perfectly insensible to
+the consequences of things, and would believe nothing till it actually
+happened. The fog and haze in which he saw everything communicated
+itself to others; and the total indistinctness and uncertainty of his
+own ideas tended to confound the perceptions of his hearers more
+effectually, than the most ingenious misrepresentation could have done.
+Indeed, in defending his conduct he never seemed to consider himself as
+at all responsible for the success of his measures, or to suppose that
+future events were in our own power; but that as the best-laid schemes
+might fail, and there was no providing against all possible
+contingencies, this was a sufficient excuse for our plunging at once
+into any dangerous or absurd enterprise, without the least regard to
+consequences. His reserved logic confined itself solely to the
+_possible_ and the _impossible_; and he appeared to regard the
+_probable_ and _improbable_, the only foundation of moral prudence or
+political wisdom, as beneath the notice of a profound statesman; as if
+the pride of the human intellect were concerned in never entrusting
+itself with subjects, where it may be compelled to acknowledge its
+weakness.[13] From his manner of reasoning, he seemed not to have
+believed that the truth of his statements depended on the reality of
+the facts, but that the things depended on the order in which he
+arranged them in words: you would not suppose him to be agitating a
+serious question which had real grounds to go upon, but to be
+declaiming upon an imaginary thesis, proposed as an exercise in the
+schools. He never set himself to examine the force of the objections
+that were brought against his measures, or attempted to establish these
+upon clear, solid grounds of his own; but constantly contented himself
+with first gravely stating the logical form, or dilemma, to which the
+question reduced itself, and then, after having declared his opinion,
+proceeded to amuse his hearers by a series of rhetorical commonplaces,
+connected together in grave, sonorous, and elaborately, constructed
+periods, without ever showing their real application to the subject in
+dispute. Thus, if any member of the Opposition disapproved of any
+measure, and enforced his objections by pointing out the many evils
+with which it was fraught, or the difficulties attending its execution,
+his only answer was, 'That it was true there might be inconveniences
+attending the measure proposed, but we were to remember, that every
+expedient that could be devised might be said to be nothing more than a
+choice of difficulties, and that all that human prudence could do was
+to consider on which side the advantages lay; that for his part, he
+conceived that the present measure was attended with more advantages
+and fewer disadvantages than any other that could be adopted; that if
+we were diverted from our object by every appearance of difficulty, the
+wheels of government would be clogged by endless delays and imaginary
+grievances; that most of the objections made to the measure appeared to
+him to be trivial, others of them unfounded and improbable; or that if
+a scheme free from all these objections could be proposed, it might
+after all prove inefficient; while, in the meantime, a material object
+remained unprovided for, or the opportunity of action was lost.' This
+mode of reasoning is admirably described by Hobbes, in speaking of the
+writings of some of the Schoolmen, of whom he says, that 'They had
+learned the trick of imposing what they list upon their readers, and
+declining the force of true reason by verbal forks: that is,
+distinctions which signify nothing, but serve only to astonish the
+multitude of ignorant men.' That what I have here stated comprehends
+the whole force of his mind, which consisted solely in this evasive
+dexterity and perplexing formality, assisted by a copiousness of words
+and commonplace topics, will, I think, be evident in any one who
+carefully looks over his speeches, undazzled by the reputation or
+personal influence of the speaker. It will be in vain to look in them
+for any of the common proofs of human genius or wisdom. He has not left
+behind him a single memorable saying--not one profound maxim--one solid
+observation--one forcible description--one beautiful thought--one
+humorous picture--one affecting sentiment.[14] He has made no addition
+whatever to the stock of human knowledge. He did not possess any one of
+those faculties which contribute to the instruction and delight of
+mankind--depth of understanding, imagination, sensibility, wit,
+vivacity, clear and solid judgment. But it may be asked, If these
+qualities are not to be found in him, where are we to look for them?
+And I may be required to point out instances of them. I shall answer,
+then, that he had none of the profound legislative wisdom, piercing
+sagacity, or rich, impetuous, high-wrought imagination of Burke; the
+manly eloquence, strong sense, exact knowledge, vehemence, and natural
+simplicity of Fox: the ease, brilliancy, and acuteness of Sheridan. It
+is not merely that he had not all these qualities in the degree that
+they were severally possessed by his rivals, but he had not any of them
+in any striking degree. His reasoning is a technical arrangement of
+unmeaning commonplaces; his eloquence merely rhetorical; his style
+monotonous and artificial. If he could pretend to any one excellence in
+an eminent degree, it was to taste in composition. There is certainly
+nothing low, nothing puerile, nothing far-fetched or abrupt in his
+speeches; there is a kind of faultless regularity pervading them
+throughout; but in the confined, mechanical, passive mode of eloquence
+which he adopted, it seemed rather more difficult to commit errors than
+to avoid them. A man who is determined never to move out of the beaten
+road, cannot lose his way. However, habit, joined to the peculiar
+mechanical memory which he possessed, carried this correctness to a
+degree which, in an extemporaneous speaker, was almost miraculous; he
+perhaps hardly ever uttered a sentence that was not perfectly regular
+and connected. In this respect he not only had the advantage over his
+own contemporaries, but perhaps no one that ever lived equalled him in
+this singular faculty. But for this, he would always have passed for a
+common man; and to this the constant sameness, and, if I may so say,
+vulgarity of his ideas, must have contributed not a little, as there
+was nothing to distract his mind from this one object of his
+unintermitted attention; and as even in his choice of words he never
+aimed at anything more than a certain general propriety, and stately
+uniformity of style. His talents were exactly fitted for the situation
+in which he was placed; where it was his business, not to overcome
+others, but to avoid being overcome. He was able to baffle opposition,
+not from strength or firmness, but from the evasive ambiguity and
+impalpable nature of his resistance, which gave no hold to the rude
+grasp of his opponents: no force could bind the loose phantom, and his
+mind (though 'not matchless, and his pride humbled by such rebuke'),
+soon rose from defeat unhurt,
+
+    'And in its liquid texture mortal wound
+    Receiv'd no more than can the fluid air.'[15]
+
+1806.
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[13] One instance may serve as an example for all the rest:--When Mr.
+Fox last summer (1805) predicted the failure of the new confederacy
+against France, from a consideration of the circumstances and relative
+situation of both parties, that is, from an exact knowledge of the
+actual state of things, Mr. Pitt contented himself with
+answering--and, as in the blindness of his infatuation, he seemed to
+think quite satisfactorily--'That he could not assent to the
+honourable gentleman's reasoning, for that it went to this, that we
+were never to attempt to mend the situation of our affairs, because in
+so doing we might possibly make them worse.' No; it was not on account
+of this abstract possibility in human affairs, or because we were not
+absolutely sure of succeeding (for that any child might know), but
+because it was in the highest degree probable, or _morally_ certain,
+that the scheme would fail, and leave us in a worse situation than we
+were before, that Mr. Fox disapproved of the attempt. There is in this
+a degree of weakness and imbecility, a defect of understanding
+bordering on idiotism, a fundamental ignorance of the first principles
+of human reason and prudence, that in a great minister is utterly
+astonishing, and almost incredible. Nothing could ever drive him out
+of his dull forms, and naked generalities; which, as they are
+susceptible neither of degree nor variation, are therefore equally
+applicable to every emergency that can happen: and in the most
+critical aspect of affairs, he saw nothing but the same flimsy web of
+remote possibilities and metaphysical uncertainty. In his mind the
+wholesome pulp of practical wisdom and salutary advice was immediately
+converted into the dry chaff and husks of a miserable logic.
+
+[14] I do remember one passage which has some meaning in it. At the
+time of the Regency Bill, speaking of the proposal to take the king's
+servants from him, he says, 'What must that great personage feel when
+he waked from the trance of his faculties, and asked for his
+attendants, if he were told that his subjects had taken advantage of
+his momentary absence of mind, and stripped him of the symbols of his
+personal elevation.' There is some grandeur in this. His admirers
+should have it inscribed in letters of gold; for they will not find
+another instance of the same kind.
+
+[15] I will only add, that it is the property of true genius to force
+the admiration even of enemies. No one was ever hated or envied for
+his powers of mind, if others were convinced of their real excellence.
+The jealousy and uneasiness produced in the mind by the display of
+superior talents almost always arises from a suspicion that there is
+some trick or deception in the case, and that we are imposed on by an
+appearance of what is not really there. True warmth and vigour
+communicate warmth and vigour; and we are no longer inclined to
+dispute the inspiration of the oracle, when we feel the '_presens
+Divus_' in our own bosoms. But when, without gaining any new light or
+heat, we only find our ideas thrown into perplexity and confusion by
+an art that we cannot comprehend, this is a kind of superiority which
+must always be painful, and can be cordially admitted. For this reason
+the extraordinary talents of Mr. Pitt were always viewed, except by
+those of his own party, with a sort of jealousy, and _grudgingly_
+acknowledged; while those of his rivals were admitted by all parties
+in the most unreserved manner, and carried by acclamation.
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY XV
+
+ON THE CHARACTER OF LORD CHATHAM
+
+
+Lord Chatham's genius burnt brightest at the last. The spark of
+liberty, which had lain concealed and dormant, buried under the dirt
+and rubbish of state intrigue and vulgar faction, now met with
+congenial matter, and kindled up 'a flame of sacred vehemence' in his
+breast. It burst forth with a fury and a splendour that might have
+awed the world, and made kings tremble. He spoke as a man should
+speak, because he felt as a man should feel, in such circumstances. He
+came forward as the advocate of liberty, as the defender of the rights
+of his fellow-citizens, as the enemy of tyranny, as the friend of his
+country, and of mankind. He did not stand up to make a vain display of
+his talents, but to discharge a duty, to maintain that cause which lay
+nearest to his heart, to preserve the ark of the British constitution
+from every sacrilegious touch, as the high-priest of his calling, with
+a pious zeal. The feelings and the rights of Englishmen were enshrined
+in his heart; and with their united force braced every nerve,
+possessed every faculty, and communicated warmth and vital energy to
+every part of his being. The whole man moved under this impulse. He
+felt the cause of liberty as his own. He resented every injury done to
+her as an injury to himself, and every attempt to defend it as an
+insult upon his understanding. He did not stay to dispute about words,
+about nice distinctions, about trifling forms. Be laughed at the
+little attempts of little retailers of logic to entangle him in
+senseless argument. He did not come there as to a debating club, or
+law court, to start questions and hunt them down; to wind and unwind
+the web of sophistry; to pick out the threads, and untie every knot
+with scrupulous exactness; to bandy logic with every pretender to a
+paradox; to examine, to sift evidence; to dissect a doubt and halve a
+scruple; to weigh folly and knavery in scales together, and see on
+which side the balance preponderated; to prove that liberty, truth,
+virtue, and justice were good things, or that slavery and corruption
+were bad things. He did not try to prove those truths which did not
+require any proof, but to make others feel them with the same force
+that he did; and to tear off the flimsy disguises with which the
+sycophants of power attempted to cover them. The business of an orator
+is not to convince, but persuade; not to inform, but to rouse the
+mind; to build upon the habitual prejudices of mankind (for reason of
+itself will do nothing), and to add feeling to prejudice, and action
+to feeling. There is nothing new or curious or profound in Lord
+Chatham's speeches. All is obvious and common; there is nothing but
+what we already knew, or might have found out for ourselves. We see
+nothing but the familiar everyday face of nature. We are always in
+broad daylight. But then there is the same difference between our own
+conceptions of things and his representation of them, as there is
+between the same objects seen on a dull cloudy day or in the blaze of
+sunshine. His common sense has the effect of inspiration. He
+electrifies his hearers, not by the novelty of his ideas, but by their
+force and intensity. He has the same ideas as other men, but he has
+them in a thousand times greater clearness and strength and vividness.
+Perhaps there is no man so poorly furnished with thoughts and feelings
+but that if he could recollect all that he knew, and had all his ideas
+at perfect command, he would be able to confound the puny arts of the
+most dexterous sophist that pretended to make a dupe of his
+understanding. But in the mind of Chatham, the great substantial
+truths of common sense, the leading maxims of the Constitution, the
+real interests and general feelings of mankind were in a manner
+embodied. He comprehended the whole of his subject at a single
+glance--everything was firmly riveted to its place; there was no
+feebleness, no forgetfulness, no pause, no distraction; the ardour of
+his mind overcame every obstacle, and he crushed the objections of his
+adversaries as we crush an insect under our feet. His imagination was
+of the same character with his understanding, and was under the same
+guidance. Whenever he gave way to it, it 'flew an eagle flight, forth
+and right on'; but it did not become enamoured of its own emotion,
+wantoning in giddy circles, or 'sailing with supreme dominion through
+the azure deep of air.' It never forgot its errand, but went straight
+forward, like an arrow to its mark, with an unerring aim. It was his
+servant, not his master.
+
+To be a great orator does not require the highest faculties of the
+human mind, but it requires the highest exertion of the common
+faculties of our nature. He has no occasion to dive into the depths of
+science, or to soar aloft on angels' wings. He keeps upon the surface,
+he stands firm upon the ground, but his form is majestic, and his eye
+sees far and near: he moves among his fellows, but he moves among them
+as a giant among common men. He has no need to read the heavens, to
+unfold the system of the universe, or create new worlds for the
+delighted fancy to dwell in; it is enough that he see things as they
+are; that he knows and feels and remembers the common circumstances
+and daily transactions that are passing in the world around him. He is
+not raised above others by being superior to the common interests,
+prejudices, and passions of mankind, but by feeling them in a more
+intense degree than they do. Force, then, is the sole characteristic
+excellence of an orator; it is almost the only one that can be of any
+service to him. Refinement, depth, elevation, delicacy, originality,
+ingenuity, invention, are not wanted; he must appeal to the sympathies
+of human nature, and whatever is not founded in these, is foreign to
+his purpose. He does not create, he can only imitate or echo back the
+public sentiment. His object is to call up the feelings of the human
+breast; but he cannot call up what is not already there. The first
+duty of an orator is to be understood by every one; but it is evident
+that what all can understand, is not in itself difficult of
+comprehension. He cannot add anything to the materials afforded him by
+the knowledge and experience of others.
+
+Lord Chatham, in his speeches, was neither philosopher nor poet. As to
+the latter, the difference between poetry and eloquence I take to be
+this: that the object of the one is to delight the imagination, that
+of the other to impel the will. The one ought to enrich and feed the
+mind itself with tenderness and beauty, the other furnishes it with
+motives of action. The one seeks to give immediate pleasure, to make
+the mind dwell with rapture on its own workings--it is to itself 'both
+end and use': the other endeavours to call up such images as will
+produce the strongest effect upon the mind, and makes use of the
+passions only as instruments to attain a particular purpose. The poet
+lulls and soothes the mind into a forgetfulness of itself, and 'laps
+it in Elysium': the orator strives to awaken it to a sense of its real
+interests, and to make it feel the necessity of taking the most
+effectual means for securing them. The one dwells in an ideal world;
+the other is only conversant with realities. Hence poetry must be more
+ornamented, must be richer and fuller and more delicate, because it is
+at liberty to select whatever images are naturally most beautiful, and
+likely to give most pleasure; whereas the orator is confined to
+particular facts, which he may adorn as well as he can, and make the
+most of, but which he cannot strain beyond a certain point without
+running into extravagance and affectation, and losing his end.
+However, from the very nature of the case, the orator is allowed a
+greater latitude, and is compelled to make use of harsher and more
+abrupt combinations in the decoration of his subject; for his art is
+an attempt to reconcile beauty and deformity together: on the
+contrary, the materials of poetry, which are chosen at pleasure, are
+in themselves beautiful, and naturally combine with whatever else is
+beautiful. Grace and harmony are therefore essential to poetry,
+because they naturally arise out of the subject; but whatever adds to
+the effect, whatever tends to strengthen the idea or give energy to
+the mind, is of the nature of eloquence. The orator is only concerned
+to give a tone of masculine firmness to the will, to brace the sinews
+and muscles of the mind; not to delight our nervous sensibilities, or
+soften the mind into voluptuous indolence. The flowery and sentimental
+style is of all others the most intolerable in a speaker.--I shall
+only add on this subject, that modesty, impartiality, and candour, are
+not the virtues of a public speaker. He must be confident, inflexible,
+uncontrollable, overcoming all opposition by his ardour and
+impetuosity. We do not _command_ others by sympathy with them, but by
+power, by passion, by will. Calm inquiry, sober truth, and speculative
+indifference will never carry any point. The passions are contagious;
+and we cannot contend against opposite passions with nothing but naked
+reason. Concessions to an enemy are clear loss; he will take advantage
+of them, but make us none in return. He will magnify the weak sides of
+our argument, but will be blind to whatever makes against himself. The
+multitude will always be inclined to side with that party whose
+passions are the most inflamed, and whose prejudices are the most
+inveterate. Passion should therefore never be sacrificed to punctilio.
+It should indeed be governed by prudence, but it should itself govern
+and lend its impulse and direction to abstract reason. Fox was a
+reasoner, Lord Chatham was an orator. Burke was both a reasoner and a
+poet; and was therefore still farther removed from that conformity
+with the vulgar notions and mechanical feelings of mankind, which will
+always be necessary to give a man the chief sway in a popular
+assembly.
+
+1806.
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY XVI
+
+BELIEF, WHETHER VOLUNTARY?
+
+    'Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought.'
+
+
+It is an axiom in modern philosophy (among many other false ones) that
+belief is absolutely involuntary, since we draw our inferences from
+the premises laid before us, and cannot possibly receive any other
+impression of things than that which they naturally make upon us. This
+theory, that the understanding is purely passive in the reception of
+truth, and that our convictions are not in the power of our will, was
+probably first invented or insisted upon as a screen against religious
+persecution, and as an answer to those who imputed bad motives to all
+who differed from the established faith, and thought they could reform
+heresy and impiety by the application of fire and the sword. No doubt,
+that is not the way: for the will in that case irritates itself and
+grows refractory against the doctrines thus absurdly forced upon it;
+and as it has been said, the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the
+Church. But though force and terror may not be always the surest way
+to make converts, it does not follow that there may not be other means
+of influencing our opinions, besides the naked and abstract evidence
+for any proposition: the sun melts the resolution which the storm
+could not shake. In such points as, whether an object is black or
+white or whether two and two make four,[16] we may not be able to
+believe as we please or to deny the evidence of our reason and
+senses: but in those points on which mankind differ, or where we can
+be at all in suspense as to which side we shall take, the truth is not
+quite so plain or palpable; it admits of a variety of views and shades
+of colouring, and it should appear that we can dwell upon whichever of
+these we choose, and heighten or soften the circumstances adduced in
+proof, according as passion and inclination throw their casting-weight
+into the scale. Let any one, for instance, have been brought up in an
+opinion, let him have remained in it all his life, let him have
+attached all his notions of respectability, of the approbation of his
+fellow-citizens or his own self-esteem to it, let him then first hear
+it called in question, and a strong and unforeseen objection stated to
+it, will not this startle and shock him as if he had seen a spectre,
+and will he not struggle to resist the arguments that would unsettle
+his habitual convictions, as he would resist the divorcing of soul and
+body? Will he come to the consideration of the question impartially,
+indifferently, and without any wrong bias, or give the painful and
+revolting truth the same cordial welcome as the long-cherished and
+favourite prejudice? To say that the truth or falsehood of a
+proposition is the only circumstance that gains it admittance into the
+mind, independently of the pleasure or pain it affords us, is itself
+an assertion made in pure caprice or desperation. A person may have a
+profession or employment connected with a certain belief, it may be
+the means of livelihood to him, and the changing it may require
+considerable sacrifices, or may leave him almost without resource (to
+say nothing of mortified pride)--this will not mend the matter. The
+evidence against his former opinion may be so strong (or may appear so
+to him) that he may be obliged to give it up, but not without a pang
+and after having tried every artifice and strained every nerve to give
+the utmost weight to the arguments favouring his own side, and to make
+light of and throw those against him into the background. And nine
+times in ten this bias of the will and tampering with the proofs will
+prevail. It is only with very vigorous or very candid minds that the
+understanding exercises its just and boasted prerogative, and induces
+its votaries to relinquish a profitable delusion and embrace the
+dowerless truth. Even then they have the sober and discreet part of
+the world, all the _bons peres de famille_, who look principally to
+the main chance, against them, and they are regarded as little better
+than lunatics or profligates to fling up a good salary and a provision
+for themselves and families for the sake of that foolish thing, a
+_Conscience_! With the herd, belief on all abstract and disputed
+topics is voluntary, that is, is determined by considerations of
+personal ease and convenience, in the teeth of logical analysis and
+demonstration, which are set aside as mere waste of words. In short,
+generally speaking, people stick to an opinion that they have long
+supported and that supports them. How else shall we account for the
+regular order and progression of society: for the maintenance of
+certain opinions in particular professions and classes of men, as we
+keep water in cisterns, till in fact they stagnate and corrupt: and
+that the world and every individual in it is not 'blown about with
+every wind of doctrine' and whisper of uncertainty? There is some more
+solid ballast required to keep things in their established order than
+the restless fluctuation of opinion and 'infinite agitation of wit.'
+We find that people in Protestant countries continue Protestants, and
+in Catholic countries Papists. This, it may be answered, is owing to
+the ignorance of the great mass of them; but is their faith less
+bigoted, because it is not founded on a regular investigation of the
+proofs, and is merely an obstinate determination to believe what they
+have been told and accustomed to believe? Or is it not the same with
+the doctors of the church and its most learned champions, who read the
+same texts, turn over the same authorities, and discuss the same
+knotty points through their whole lives, only to arrive at opposite
+conclusions? How few are shaken in their opinions, or have the grace
+to confess it? Shall we then suppose them all impostors, and that they
+keep up the farce of a system, of which they do not believe a
+syllable? Far from it: there may be individual instances, but the
+generality are not only sincere but bigots. Those who are unbelievers
+and hypocrites scarcely know it themselves, or if a man is not quite a
+knave, what pains will he not take to make a fool of his reason, that
+his opinions may tally with his professions? Is there then a Papist
+and a Protestant understanding--one prepared to receive the doctrine
+of transubstantiation and the other to reject it? No such thing: but
+in either case the ground of reason is pre-occupied by passion, habit,
+example--_the scales are falsified_. Nothing can therefore be more
+inconsequential than to bring the authority of great names in favour
+of opinions long established and universally received. Cicero's being
+a Pagan was no proof in support of the Heathen mythology, but simply
+of his being born at Rome before the Christian era; though his lurking
+scepticism on the subject and sneers at the augurs told against it,
+for this was an acknowledgment drawn from him in spite of a prevailing
+prejudice. Sir Isaac Newton and Napier of Merchiston both wrote on the
+_Apocalypse_; but this is neither a ground for a speedy anticipation
+of the Millennium, nor does it invalidate the doctrine of the
+gravitation of the planets or the theory of logarithms. One party
+would borrow the sanction of these great names in support of their
+wildest and most mystical opinions; others would arraign them of folly
+and weakness for having attended to such subjects at all. Neither
+inference is just. It is a simple question of chronology, or of the
+time when these celebrated mathematicians lived, and of the studies
+and pursuits which were then chiefly in vogue. The wisest man is the
+slave of opinion, except on one or two points on which he strikes out
+a light for himself and holds a torch to the rest of the world. But
+we are disposed to make it out that all opinions are the result of
+reason, because they profess to be so; and when they are _right_, that
+is, when they agree with ours, that there can be no alloy of human
+frailty or perversity in them; the very strength of our prejudice
+making it pass for pure reason, and leading us to attribute any
+deviation from it to bad faith or some unaccountable singularity or
+infatuation. _Alas, poor human nature!_ Opinion is for the most part
+only a battle, in which we take part and defend the side we have
+adopted, in the one case or the other, with a view to share the honour
+of the spoil. Few will stand up for a losing cause, or have the
+fortitude to adhere to a proscribed opinion; and when they do, it is
+not always from superior strength of understanding or a disinterested
+love of truth, but from obstinacy and sullenness of temper. To affirm
+that we do not cultivate an acquaintance with truth as she presents
+herself to us in a more or less pleasing shape, or is shabbily attired
+or well-dressed, is as much as to say that we do not shut our eyes to
+the light when it dazzles us, or withdraw our hands from the fire when
+it scorches us.
+
+    'Masterless passion sways us to the mood
+    Of what it likes or loathes.'
+
+Are we not averse to believe bad news relating to ourselves--forward
+enough if it relates to others? If something is said reflecting on the
+character of an intimate friend or near relative, how unwilling we are
+to lend an ear to it, how we catch at every excuse or palliating
+circumstance, and hold out against the clearest proof, while we
+instantly believe any idle report against an enemy, magnify the
+commonest trifles into crimes, and torture the evidence against him to
+our heart's content! Do not we change our opinion of the same person,
+and make him out to be _black_ or _white_ according to the terms we
+happen to be on? If we have a favourite author, do we not exaggerate
+his beauties and pass over his defects, and _vice versa_? The human
+mind plays the interested advocate much oftener than the upright and
+inflexible judge, in the colouring and relief it gives to the facts
+brought before it. We believe things not more because they are true or
+probable, than because we desire, or (if the imagination once takes
+that turn) because we dread them. 'Fear has more devils than vast hell
+can hold.' The sanguine always hope, the gloomy always despond, from
+temperament and not from forethought. Do we not disguise the plainest
+facts from ourselves if they are disagreeable? Do we not flatter
+ourselves with impossibilities? What girl does not look in the glass
+to persuade herself she is handsome? What woman ever believes herself
+old, or does not hate to be called so: though she knows the exact year
+and day of her age, the more she tries to keep up the appearance of
+youth to herself and others? What lover would ever acknowledge a flaw
+in the character of his mistress, or would not construe her turning
+her back on him into a proof of attachment? The story of _January and
+May_ is pat to our purpose; for the credulity of mankind as to what
+touches our inclinations has been proverbial in all ages: yet we are
+told that the mind is passive in making up these wilful accounts and
+is guided by nothing but the _pros_ and _cons_ of evidence. Even in
+action and where we may determine by proper precaution the event of
+things, instead of being compelled to shut our eyes to what we cannot
+help, we still are the dupes of the feeling of the moment, and prefer
+amusing ourselves with fair appearances to securing more solid
+benefits by a sacrifice of Imagination and stubborn Will to Truth. The
+blindness of passion to the most obvious and well-known consequences
+is deplorable. There seems to be a particular fatality in this
+respect. Because a thing is in our power _till_ we have committed
+ourselves, we appear to dally, to trifle with, to make light of it,
+and to think it will still be in our power _after_ we have committed
+ourselves. Strange perversion of the reasoning faculties, which is
+little short of madness, and which yet is one of the constant and
+practical sophisms of human life! It is as if one should say--I am in
+no danger from a tremendous machine unless I touch such a spring and
+therefore I will approach it, I will play with the danger, I will
+laugh at it, and at last in pure sport and wantonness of heart, from
+my sense of previous security, I _will_ touch it--and _there's an
+end_. While the thing remains in contemplation, we may be said to
+stand safe and smiling on the brink: as soon as we proceed to action
+we are drawn into the vortex of passion and hurried to our
+destruction. A person taken up with some one purpose or passion is
+intent only upon that: he drives out the thought of everything but its
+gratification: in the pursuit of that he is blind to consequences: his
+first object being attained, they all at once, and as if by magic,
+rush upon his mind. The engine recoils, he is caught in his own snare.
+A servant girl, for some pique, or for an angry word, determines to
+poison her mistress. She knows beforehand (just as well as she does
+afterwards) that it is at least a hundred chances to one she will be
+hanged if she succeeds, yet this has no more effect upon her than if
+she had never heard of any such matter. The only idea that occupies
+her mind and hardens it against every other, is that of the affront
+she has received, and the desire of revenge; she broods over it; she
+meditates the mode, she is haunted with her scheme night and day; it
+works like poison; it grows into a madness, and she can have no peace
+till it is accomplished and _off her mind_; but the moment this is the
+case, and her passion is assuaged, fear takes place of hatred, the
+slightest suspicion alarms her with the certainty of her fate, from
+which she before wilfully averted her thoughts; she runs wildly from
+the officers before they know anything of the matter; the gallows
+stares her in the face, and if none else accuses her, so full is she
+of her danger and her guilt, that she probably betrays herself. She at
+first would see no consequences to result from her crime but the
+getting rid of a present uneasiness; she now sees the very worst. The
+whole seems to depend on the turn given to the imagination, on our
+immediate disposition to attend to this or that view of the subject,
+the evil or the good. As long as our intention is unknown to the
+world, before it breaks out into action, it seems to be deposited in
+our own bosoms, to be a mere feverish dream, and to be left with all
+its consequences under our imaginary control: but no sooner is it
+realised and known to others, than it appears to have escaped from our
+reach, we fancy the whole world are up in arms against us, and
+vengeance is ready to pursue and overtake us. So in the pursuit of
+pleasure, we see only that side of the question which we approve; the
+disagreeable consequences (which may take place) make no part of our
+intention or concern, or of the wayward exercise of our will: if they
+should happen we cannot help it; they form an ugly and unwished-for
+contrast to our favourite speculation: we turn our thoughts another
+way, repeating the adage _Quod sic mihi ostendis incredulus odi_. It
+is a good remark in _Vivian Grey_ that a bankrupt walks in the streets
+the day before his name is in the Gazette with the same erect and
+confident brow as ever, and only feels the mortification of his
+situation after it becomes known to others. Such is the force of
+sympathy, and its power to take off the edge of internal conviction!
+As long we can impose upon the world, we can impose upon ourselves,
+and trust to the flattering appearances, though we know them to be
+false. We put off the evil day as long as we can, make a jest of it as
+the certainty becomes more painful, and refuse to acknowledge the
+secret to ourselves till it can no longer be kept from all the world.
+In short, we believe just as little or as much as we please of those
+things in which our will can be supposed to interfere; and it is only
+by setting aside our own interests and inclinations on more general
+questions that we stand any chance of arriving at a fair and rational
+judgment. Those who have the largest hearts have the soundest
+understandings; and he is the truest philosopher who can forget
+himself. This is the reason why philosophers are often said to be mad,
+for thinking only of the abstract truth and of none of its worldly
+adjuncts--it seems like an absence of mind, or as if the devil had got
+into them! If belief were not in some degree voluntary, or were
+grounded entirely on strict evidence and absolute proof, every one
+would be a martyr to his opinions, and we should have no power of
+evading or glossing over those matter-of-fact conclusions for which
+positive vouchers could be produced, however painful these conclusions
+might be to our own feelings, or offensive to the prejudices of
+others.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[16] Hobbes is of opinion that men would deny this, if they had any
+interest in doing so.
+
+
+
+
+ESSAY XVII
+
+A FAREWELL TO ESSAY-WRITING
+
+    'This life is best, if quiet life is best.'
+
+
+Food, warmth, sleep, and a book; these are all I at present ask--the
+_ultima Thule_ of my wandering desires. Do you not then wish for
+
+                'A friend in your retreat,
+    Whom you may whisper, solitude is sweet?'
+
+Expected, well enough:--gone, still better. Such attractions are
+strengthened by distance. Nor a mistress? 'Beautiful mask! I know
+thee!' When I can judge of the heart from the face, of the thoughts
+from the lips, I may again trust myself. Instead of these give me the
+robin red-breast, pecking the crumbs at the door, or warbling on the
+leafless spray, the same glancing form that has followed me wherever I
+have been, and 'done its spiriting gently'; or the rich notes of the
+thrush that startle the ear of winter, and seem to have drunk up the
+full draught of joy from the very sense of contrast. To these I
+adhere, and am faithful, for they are true to me; and, dear in
+themselves, are dearer for the sake of what is departed, leading me
+back (by the hand) to that dreaming world, in the innocence of which
+they sat and made sweet music, waking the promise of future years, and
+answered by the eager throbbings of my own breast. But now 'the
+credulous hope of mutual minds is o'er,' and I turn back from the
+world that has deceived me, to nature that lent it a false beauty, and
+that keeps up the illusion of the past. As I quaff my libations of
+tea in a morning, I love to watch the clouds sailing from the west,
+and fancy that 'the spring comes slowly up this way.' In this hope,
+while 'fields are dank and ways are mire,' I follow the same direction
+to a neighbouring wood, where, having gained the dry, level
+greensward, I can see my way for a mile before me, closed in on each
+side by copse-wood, and ending in a point of light more or less
+brilliant, as the day is bright or cloudy. What a walk is this to me!
+I have no need of book or companion--the days, the hours, the thoughts
+of my youth are at my side, and blend with the air that fans my cheek.
+Here I can saunter for hours, bending my eye forward, stopping and
+turning to look back, thinking to strike off into some less trodden
+path, yet hesitating to quit the one I am in, afraid to snap the
+brittle threads of memory. I remark the shining trunks and slender
+branches of the birch trees, waving in the idle breeze; or a pheasant
+springs up on whirring wing; or I recall the spot where I once found a
+wood-pigeon at the foot of a tree, weltering in its gore, and think
+how many seasons have flown since 'it left its little life in air.'
+Dates, names, faces come back--to what purpose? Or why think of them
+now? Or rather why not think of them oftener? We walk through life, as
+through a narrow path, with a thin curtain drawn around it; behind are
+ranged rich portraits, airy harps are strung--yet we will not stretch
+forth our hands and lift aside the veil, to catch glimpses of the one,
+or sweep the chords of the other. As in a theatre, when the
+old-fashioned green curtain drew up, groups of figures, fantastic
+dresses, laughing faces, rich banquets, stately columns, gleaming
+vistas appeared beyond; so we have only at any time to 'peep through
+the blanket of the past,' to possess ourselves at once of all that has
+regaled our senses, that is stored up in our memory, that has struck
+our fancy, that has pierced our hearts:--yet to all this we are
+indifferent, insensible, and seem intent only on the present
+vexation, the future disappointment. If there is a Titian hanging up
+in the room with me, I scarcely regard it: how then should I be
+expected to strain the mental eye so far, or to throw down, by the
+magic spells of the will, the stone walls that enclose it in the
+Louvre? There is one head there of which I have often thought, when
+looking at it, that nothing should ever disturb me again, and I would
+become the character it represents--such perfect calmness and
+self-possession reigns in it! Why do I not hang all image of this in
+some dusky corner of my brain, and turn all eye upon it ever and anon,
+as I have need of some such talisman to calm my troubled thoughts? The
+attempt is fruitless, if not natural; or, like that of the French, to
+hang garlands on the grave, and to conjure back the dead by miniature
+pictures of them while living! It is only some actual coincidence or
+local association that tends, without violence, to 'open all the cells
+where memory slept.' I can easily, by stooping over the long-sprent
+grass and clay cold clod, recall the tufts of primroses, or purple
+hyacinths, that formerly grew on the same spot, and cover the bushes
+with leaves and singing-birds, as they were eighteen summers ago; or
+prolonging my walk and hearing the sighing gale rustle through a tall,
+straight wood at the end of it, call fancy that I distinguish the cry
+of hounds, and the fatal group issuing from it, as in the tale of
+Theodore and Honoria. A moaning gust of wind aids the belief; I look
+once more to see whether the trees before me answer to the idea of the
+horror-stricken grove, and an air-built city towers over their grey
+tops.
+
+    'Of all the cities in Romanian lands,
+    The chief and most renown'd Ravenna stands.'[17]
+
+I return home resolved to read the entire poem through, and, after
+dinner, drawing my chair to the fire, and holding a small print close
+to my eyes, launch into the full tide of Dryden's couplets (a stream
+of sound), comparing his didactic and descriptive pomp with the simple
+pathos and picturesque truth of Boccaccio's story, and tasting with a
+pleasure, which none but all habitual reader can feel, some quaint
+examples of pronunciation in this accomplished versifier.
+
+                  'Which when Honoria view'd,
+    The fresh _impulse_ her former fright renew'd.'[18]
+
+    'And made th' _insult_, which in his grief appears,
+    The means to mourn thee with my pious tears.'[19]
+
+These trifling instances of the wavering and unsettled state of the
+language give double effect to the firm and stately march of the
+verse, and make me dwell with a sort of tender interest on the
+difficulties and doubts of all earlier period of literature. They
+pronounced words then in a manner which we should laugh at now; and
+they wrote verse in a manner which we can do anything but laugh at.
+The pride of a new acquisition seems to give fresh confidence to it;
+to impel the rolling syllables through the moulds provided for them,
+and to overflow the envious bounds of rhyme into time-honoured
+triplets.
+
+What sometimes surprises me in looking back to the past, is, with the
+exception already stated, to find myself so little changed in the
+time. The same images and trains of thought stick by me: I have the
+same tastes, likings, sentiments, and wishes that I had then. One
+great ground of confidence and support has, indeed, been struck from
+under my feet; but I have made it up to myself by proportionable
+pertinacity of opinion. The success of the great cause, to which I had
+vowed myself, was to me more than all the world: I had a strength in
+its strength, a resource which I knew not of, till it failed me for
+the second time.
+
+    'Fall'n was Glenartny's stately tree!
+    Oh! ne'er to see Lord Ronald more!'
+
+It was not till I saw the axe laid to the root, that I found the full
+extent of what I had to lose and suffer. But my conviction of the
+right was only established by the triumph of the wrong; and my
+earliest hopes will be my last regrets. One source of this
+unbendingness (which some may call obstinacy), is that, though living
+much alone, I have never worshipped the Echo. I see plainly enough
+that black is not white, that the grass is green, that kings are not
+their subjects; and, in such self-evident cases, do not think it
+necessary to collate my opinions with the received prejudices. In
+subtler questions, and matters that admit of doubt, as I do not impose
+my opinion on others without a reason, so I will not give up mine to
+them without a better reason; and a person calling me names, or giving
+himself airs of authority, does not convince me of his having taken
+more pains to find out the truth than I have, but the contrary. Mr.
+Gifford once said, that 'while I was sitting over my gin and
+tobacco-pipes, I fancied myself a Leibnitz.' He did not so much as
+know that I had ever read a metaphysical book:--was I therefore, out
+of complaisance or deference to him, to forget whether I had or not?
+Leigh Hunt is puzzled to reconcile the shyness of my pretensions with
+the inveteracy and sturdiness of my principles. I should have thought
+they were nearly the same thing. Both from disposition and habit, I
+can _assume_ nothing in word, look, or manner. I cannot steal a march
+upon public opinion in any way. My standing upright, speaking loud,
+entering a room gracefully, proves nothing; therefore I neglect these
+ordinary means of recommending myself to the good graces and
+admiration of strangers (and, as it appears, even of philosophers and
+friends). Why? Because I have other resources, or, at least, am
+absorbed in other studies and pursuits. Suppose this absorption to be
+extreme, and even morbid--that I have brooded over an idea till it has
+become a kind of substance in my brain, that I have reasons for a
+thing which I have found out with much labour and pains, and to which
+I can scarcely do justice without the utmost violence of exertion (and
+that only to a few persons)--is this a reason for my playing off my
+out-of-the-way notions in all companies, wearing a prim and
+self-complacent air, as if I were 'the admired of all observers'? or
+is it not rather an argument (together with a want of animal spirits),
+why I should retire into myself, and perhaps acquire a nervous and
+uneasy look, from a consciousness of the disproportion between the
+interest and conviction I feel on certain subjects, and my ability to
+communicate what weighs upon my own mind to others? If my ideas, which
+I do not avouch, but suppose, lie below the surface, why am I to be
+always attempting to dazzle superficial people with them, or smiling,
+delighted, at my own want of success?
+
+In matters of taste and feeling, one proof that my conclusions have
+not been quite shallow or hasty, is the circumstance of their having
+been lasting. I have the same favourite books, pictures, passages that
+I ever had: I may therefore presume that they will last me my
+life--nay, I may indulge a hope that my thoughts will survive me. This
+continuity of impression is the only thing on which I pride myself.
+Even Lamb, whose relish of certain things is as keen and earnest as
+possible, takes a surfeit of admiration, and I should be afraid to ask
+about his select authors or particular friends, after a lapse of ten
+years. As to myself, any one knows where to have me. What I have once
+made up my mind to, I abide by to the end of the chapter. One cause of
+my independence of opinion is, I believe, the liberty I give to
+others, or the very diffidence and distrust of making converts. I
+should be an excellent man on a jury. I might say little, but should
+starve 'the other eleven obstinate fellows' out. I remember Mr.
+Godwin writing to Mr. Wordsworth, that 'his tragedy of _Antonio_ could
+not fail of success.' It was damned past all redemption. I said to Mr.
+Wordsworth that I thought this a natural consequence; for how could
+any one have a dramatic turn of mind who judged entirely of others
+from himself? Mr. Godwin might be convinced of the excellence of his
+work; but how could he know that others would be convinced of it,
+unless by supposing that they were as wise as himself, and as
+infallible critics of dramatic poetry--so many Aristotles sitting in
+judgment on Euripides! This shows why pride is connected with shyness
+and reserve; for the really proud have not so high an opinion of the
+generality as to suppose that they can understand them, or that there
+is any common measure between them. So Dryden exclaims of his
+opponents with bitter disdain--
+
+    'Nor can I think what thoughts they can conceive.'
+
+I have not sought to make partisans, still less did I dream of making
+enemies; and have therefore kept my opinions myself, whether they were
+currently adopted or not. To get others to come into our ways of
+thinking, we must go over to theirs; and it is necessary to follow, in
+order to lead. At the time I lived here formerly, I had no suspicion
+that I should ever become a voluminous writer, yet I had just the same
+confidence in my feelings before I had ventured to air them in public
+as I have now. Neither the outcry _for_ or _against_ moves me a jot: I
+do not say that the one is not more agreeable than the other.
+
+Not far from the spot where I write, I first read Chaucer's _Flower
+and Leaf_, and was charmed with that young beauty, shrouded in her
+bower, and listening with ever-fresh delight to the repeated song of
+the nightingale close by her--the impression of the scene, the vernal
+landscape, the cool of the morning, the gushing notes of the
+songstress,
+
+    'And ayen methought she sung close by mine ear,'
+
+is as vivid as if it had been of yesterday; and nothing can persuade
+me that that is not a fine poem. I do not find this impression
+conveyed in Dryden's version, and therefore nothing can persuade me
+that that is as fine. I used to walk out at this time with Mr. and
+Miss Lamb of an evening, to look at the Claude Lorraine skies over our
+heads melting from azure into purple and gold, and to gather
+mushrooms, that sprung up at our feet, to throw into our hashed mutton
+at supper. I was at that time an enthusiastic admirer of Claude, and
+could dwell for ever on one or two of the finest prints from him hung
+round my little room; the fleecy flocks, the bending trees, the
+winding streams, the groves, the nodding temples, the air-wove hills,
+and distant sunny vales; and tried to translate them into their lovely
+living hues. People then told me that Wilson was much superior to
+Claude: I did not believe them. Their pictures have since been seen
+together at the British Institution, and all the world have come into
+my opinion. I have not, on that account, given it up. I will not
+compare our hashed mutton with Amelia's; but it put us in mind of it,
+and led to a discussion, sharply seasoned and well sustained, till
+midnight, the result of which appeared some years after in the
+_Edinburgh Review_. Have I a better opinion of those criticisms on
+that account, or should I therefore maintain them with greater
+vehemence and tenaciousness? Oh no: Both rather with less, now that
+they are before the public, and it is for them to make their election.
+
+It is in looking back to such scenes that I draw my best consolation
+for the future. Later impressions come and go, and serve to fill till
+the intervals; but these are my standing resource, my true classics.
+If I have had few real pleasures or advantages, my ideas, from their
+sinewy texture, have been to me in the nature of realities; and if I
+should not be able to add to the stock, I can live by husbanding the
+interest. As to my speculations, there is little to admire in them but
+my admiration of others; and whether they have an echo in time to
+come or not, I have learned to set a grateful value on the past, and
+am content to wind up the account of what is personal only to myself
+and the immediate circle of objects in which I have moved, with an act
+of easy oblivion,
+
+    'And curtain-close such scene from every future view.'
+
+Winterslow, _Feb. 20, 1828_.
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[17] Dryden's _Theodore and Honoria_, princip.
+
+[18] Dryden's _Theodore and Honoria_, princip.
+
+[19] Dryden's _Sigismonda and Guiscardo_.
+
+
+Edinburgh: Printed by T. and A. Constable
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note
+
+Minor punctuation errors have been repaired.
+
+Archaic spelling is preserved as printed.
+
+The following typographic errors have been repaired:
+
+    Page 35--Crichton amended to Chrichton (with reference to the
+    "Cabinet of Curiosities," which also contains the story of
+    Eugene Aram)--"The name of the 'Admirable Chrichton' was
+    suddenly started ..."
+
+    Page 134--lawer's amended to lawyer's--"... on a word, or a
+    lawyer's _ipse dixit_."
+
+    Page 156--stimulute amended to stimulate--"... something like
+    an attempt to stimulate the superficial dulness ..."
+
+    Page 162--on amended to no--"Burke was so far right in saying
+    that it is no objection ..."
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Winterslow, by William Hazlitt
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