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diff --git a/old/61763-0.txt b/old/61763-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index bbb6e5a..0000000 --- a/old/61763-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,20404 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Collected Works of William Hazlitt, -Vol. 04 (of 12), by William Hazlitt - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Collected Works of William Hazlitt, Vol. 04 (of 12) - -Author: William Hazlitt - -Editor: A. R. Waller - Arnold Glover - -Other: W. E. Henley - -Release Date: April 6, 2020 [EBook #61763] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COLLECTED WORKS--WILLIAM HAZLITT, VOL 4 *** - - - - -Produced by Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - THE - COLLECTED WORKS OF WILLIAM HAZLITT - IN TWELVE VOLUMES - - - VOLUME FOUR - - - - - _All rights reserved_ - -[Illustration: - - _William Hazlitt._ - - _From a miniature on ivory Executed by John Hazlitt about 1784_ -] - - - - - THE COLLECTED WORKS OF - WILLIAM HAZLITT - - - EDITED BY A. R. WALLER - AND ARNOLD GLOVER - - WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY - - W. E. HENLEY - - ❦ - - A Reply to Malthus - The Spirit of the Age - Etc. - - ❦ - - 1902 - LONDON: J. M. DENT & CO. - McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.: NEW YORK - - - - - Edinburgh: T. and A. CONSTABLE, (late) Printers to Her Majesty - - - - - CONTENTS - - - PAGE - A REPLY TO MALTHUS’S ESSAY ON POPULATION 1 - - THE SPIRIT OF THE AGE 185 - - PREFACE, ETC., FROM AN ABRIDGMENT OF THE LIGHT OF NATURE PURSUED 369 - - PREFACE FROM A NEW AND IMPROVED GRAMMAR OF THE ENGLISH TONGUE 387 - - NOTES 397 - - - - - A REPLY TO THE ESSAY ON POPULATION BY THE REV. T. R. MALTHUS - IN A SERIES OF LETTERS. TO WHICH ARE ADDED, EXTRACTS FROM THE ESSAY, - WITH NOTES - - - - - BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE - - -Published anonymously in one 8vo vol. of 378 pages (1807) with the -following title-page: ‘A Reply to the Essay on Population, by the Rev. -T. R. Malthus. In a Series of Letters. To which are added, Extracts from -the Essay; with notes. London: Printed for Longman, Hurst, Rees, and -Orme, Paternoster Row. 1807.’ The volume was printed by Arliss and -Huntsman, 32 Gutter Lane, Cheapside. - - - - - ADVERTISEMENT - - -The three first of the following letters appeared originally in -Cobbett’s Weekly Political Register. There are several things, in which -they may seem to require some apology. First, some persons, who were -convinced by the arguments, have objected to the style as too flowery, -and full of attempts at description. If I have erred in this respect, it -has been from design. I have indeed endeavoured to make my book as -amusing as the costiveness of my genius would permit. If however these -critics persist in their objection, I will undertake to produce a work -as dry and formal as they please, if they will undertake to find -readers. Secondly, some of the observations may be thought too severe -and personal. In the first place, I shall answer that the abuse, of -which there is to be sure a plentiful sprinkling, is not I think -unmerited or unsupported; and in the second place, that if I could have -attacked the works successfully, without attacking the author, I should -have preferred doing so. But the thing was impossible. Whoever troubles -himself about abstract reasonings, or calm, dispassionate inquiries -after truth? The public ought not to blame me for consulting their -taste. As to the diffuseness, the repetitions, and want of method to be -found in these letters, I have no good defence to make. I may however -make the same excuse for the great length to which they have run, as the -Frenchman did, who apologised for writing a long letter by saying, that -he had not time to write a shorter. - - - - - LETTERS IN - - ANSWER TO MALTHUS, &c. - - - - - LETTER I - INTRODUCTORY - - -SIR,—As the proposed alteration in the system of the Poor Laws must -naturally engage your attention, as well as that of the public; and, as -the authority of Mr. Malthus has often been referred to, and has great -weight with many people on this subject, it may not be amiss to inquire, -how far the reputation which that gentleman has gained, as a moral and -political philosopher, can be safely reposed on as the foundation of any -part of a system which is directed to objects of national utility, and -requires close, comprehensive, and accurate reasoning. You, Sir, are not -ignorant, that a name will do more towards softening down prejudices, -and bolstering up a crude and tottering system, than any arguments -whatever. It is always easier to quote an authority than to carry on a -chain of reasoning. Mr. Malthus’s reputation may, I fear, prove fatal to -the poor of this country. His name hangs suspended over their heads, _in -terrorem_, like some baleful meteor. It is the shield behind which the -archers may take their stand, and gall them at their leisure. He has set -them up as a defenceless mark, on which both friends and foes may -exercise their malice, or their wantonness, as they think proper. He has -fairly hunted them down, he has driven them into his toils, he has -thrown his net over them, and they remain as a prey to the first -invader, either to be sacrificed without mercy at the shrine of cold -unfeeling avarice, or to linger out a miserable existence under the -hands of ingenious and scientific tormentors.—There is a vulgar saying, -‘Give a dog a bad name, and hang him.’ The poor seem to me to be pretty -much in this situation at present. The poor, Sir, labour under a natural -stigma; they are _naturally_ despised. Their interests are at best but -coldly and remotely felt by the other classes of society. Mr. Malthus’s -book has done all that was wanting to increase this indifference and -apathy. But it is neither generous nor just, to come in aid of the -narrow prejudices and hard-heartedness of mankind, with metaphysical -distinctions and the cobwebs of philosophy. The balance inclines too -much on that side already, without the addition of false weights. I -confess I do feel some degree of disgust and indignation rising within -me, when I see a man of Mr. Malthus’s character and calling standing -forward as the accuser of those ‘who have none to help them,’ as the -high-priest of ‘pride and covetousness,’ forming selfishness into a -regular code, with its codicils, institutes and glosses annexed, trying -to muffle up the hand of charity in the fetters of the law, to suppress -‘the compunctious visitings of nature,’ to make men ashamed of -compassion and good-nature as folly and weakness, ‘laying the flattering -unction’ of religion to the conscience of the riotous and luxurious -liver, and ‘grinding the faces of the poor’ with texts of scripture. -Formerly the feelings of compassion, and the dictates of justice were -found to operate as correctives on the habitual meanness and selfishness -of our nature: at present this order is reversed; and it is discovered -that justice and humanity are not obstacles in the way of, but that they -are the most effectual strengtheners and supporters of our prevailing -passions. Mr. Malthus has ‘admirably reconciled the old quarrel between -speculation and practice,’ by shewing (I suppose in humble imitation of -Mandeville) that our duty and our vices both lean the same way, and that -the ends of public virtue and benevolence are best answered by the -meanness, pride, extravagance, and insensibility of individuals. This is -certainly a very convenient doctrine; and it is not to be wondered at, -that it should have become so fashionable as it has.[1] - -While the prejudice infused into the public mind by this gentleman’s -writings subsists in its full force, I am almost convinced that any -serious attempt at bettering the condition of the poor will be -ineffectual. The only object at present is to gain time. The less it is -meddled with either with good or bad intentions, the better. Tampering -with the disease ‘will but skin and film the ulcerous part, while foul -corruption, mining all within, infects unseen.’ I have not confidence -enough either in the integrity, the abilities, or the power of our -state-doctors to be willing to trust it entirely in their hands. They -risk nothing, if they fail. The patient is in too desperate a state to -bring any imputation on their skill; and after all, it is only trying -experiments _in corpore vili_. The only thing they need be afraid of is -in reality doing _too much_ good. This is the only error which would -never be forgiven by those whose resentment they have most reason to -dread. This however there will be no danger of. The state of public -feeling, the dispositions of individuals, the narrow jealousy of -parties, and the interests of the most powerful members of the community -will, I suspect, suffer little effectually to be done for bettering the -condition, exalting the character, enlightening the understandings, or -securing the comforts, the independence, the virtue and happiness of the -lower classes of the people. But, I am not equally sure that the means -employed for this very purpose may not be made a handle for stifling -every principle of liberty and honour in the hearts of a free people. It -will be no difficult matter, as things are circumstanced, under pretence -of propriety and economy, to smuggle in the worst of tyrannies, a -principle of unrelenting, incessant, vexatious, over-ruling influence, -extending to each individual, and to all the petty concerns of life. - -This is what strikes me on the first view of the subject. I would ask, -Is Mr. Whitbread sure of the instruments he is to employ in the -execution of his scheme? Is he sure that his managing partners in this -new political firm of opulent patronage will not play the game into the -hands of those whose views of government and civilization are very -different from his own? But it seems, that whether practicable, or no, -Mr. Whitbread must bring in a Poor Bill. The effect of it appears to me -to be putting the poor into the wardship of the rich, to be doing away -the little remains of independence we have left, and making them once -more what they were formerly, the vassals of a wealthy aristocracy. For -my own part, who do not pretend to see far into things, and do not -expect miracles from human nature, I should wish to trust as little as -possible to the liberality and enlightened views of country squires, or -to the _tender mercies_ of justices of the peace. - -The example of Scotland is held out to us as a proof of the beneficial -effects of popular education, and we are promised all the same -advantages from the adoption of the same plan. The education of the poor -is the grand specific which is to cure all our disorders, and make the -leper whole again; and, like other specifics, it is to operate equally -on all constitutions and in all cases. But I may ask, Is the education -of the poor the only circumstance in which Scotland differs from -England? Are there no other circumstances in the situation of this -country that may render such a scheme impracticable, or counteract its -good effects, or render it even worse than nugatory? Is knowledge in -itself a principle of such universal and indisputable excellence that it -can never be misapplied, that it can never be made the instrument and -incentive to mischief, or that it can never be mixed and contaminated -with ‘baser matter’? Do not the peculiar principles and discipline of -the church of Scotland, does not the traditional and habitual faith in -the doctrines of religion, do not the general manners not of the poor -only, but of the other classes of society, does not the state of -cultivation, do not the employments of the people, the absence of -luxury, and temptation, the small number of great towns, and the remains -of ancient customs, tend to strengthen, to forward, to give consistency -to, and secure the good effects of education? Or will Mr. Whitbread say -that he can supply the place of these with a beadle, a white wand, a -spelling book, and a primmer? Supposing it practicable, will the -adoption of a general plan of education have the same effect in our -great manufacturing towns, in our sea-ports, in the metropolis, that it -has in the heart of Scotland, or in the mountains of Cumberland? Will it -not have the contrary effect? - -It is not reading in the abstract, but the kind of reading they are -likely to meet with, and the examples about them leading them to emulate -the patterns of sobriety and industry, or of vice and profligacy held -out to them in books, that will do either good or harm to the morals of -a people. In the country the people read moral or religious, or, at -least, innocent books, and therefore, they are benefited by them; in -towns, they as often meet with licentious and idle publications, which -must do them harm. It is in vain to say that you will give them _good_ -books, they will get _bad ones_. Will those hotbeds of vice, the -factories of Manchester, &c., be less fruitful for having the _farina_ -of knowledge sprinkled over them? Will not corruption quicken faster, -and spread wider for having this new channel opened to it? Will a -smattering in books, and the current pamphlets of the day tend to quench -and smother the flame of the passions, or will it add fuel to them? I do -not scruple to assert, that religion itself, when it comes in contact -with certain situations, may be highly dangerous. It is the soil in -which the greatest virtues and the greatest vices take root. Where it -has not strength to stop the torrent of dissolute manners, it gives it -additional force by checking it; as the bow that has been bent the -contrary way, recoils back with tenfold violence. It is for this reason -that the morals of the people in the trading towns in the north of -England are, I believe, worse than they are farther south, because they -are brought up more religiously. The common people there are almost all -of them originally dissenters. Again, it may be asked, will the poor -people in the trading towns send their children to school instead of -sending them to work at a factory? Or will their employers, forgetting -their own interests, compel them to do it? Or will they give up their -profits and their wealth for the sake of informing the minds, and -preserving the morals of the poor? Oh! no. It may be replied, that it is -chiefly for the peasantry and country people, who compose the largest -part of the community, that this plan of education is intended. But they -are the very people who do not stand in need of it, and to whom, if it -does no harm, it will do little good. If working hard, and living -sparingly are the chief lessons meant to be inculcated in their minds, -they are already tolerably perfect in their parts. As for the rest, it -is in vain to attempt to make men any thing else but what their -situation makes them. We are the creatures not of knowledge, but of -circumstances. - -For all these reasons I cannot help looking at this general parallel -between the benefits derived from education in Scotland, and those -expected from it in this country as little better than a _leurre de -dupe_. The advantages of education in the abstract are, I fear, like -other abstractions, not to be found in nature. I thought that the rage -for blind reform, for abstract utility, and general reasoning, had been -exploded long since. If ever it was proper, it was proper on general -subjects, on the nature of man and his prospects in general. But the -spirit of abstraction driven out of the minds of philosophers has passed -into the heads of members of parliament: banished from the closets of -the studious, it has taken up its favourite abode in the House of -Commons. It has only shifted its ground and its objects according to the -character of those in whom it is found. It has dwindled down into petty -projects, speculative details, and dreams of practical, positive -matter-of-fact improvement. These new candidates for fame come in -awkwardly holding up the train of philosophy; and, like the squires of -political romance, invite you to sit down with them to the spoonfuls of -whipt syllabub, the broken scraps of logic, and the same banquet of -windy promises which had been so much more handsomely served up, and to -satiety, by their masters. - -I know nothing of Mr. Whitbread personally. His character stands fair -with the public, for consistency and good intention. But I cannot -recognise in his plodding, mechanical, but ill-directed and unsuccessful -endeavours to bring to justice a great public delinquent, in his flowery -common-place harangues, or in the cold, philosophic indifference of the -sentiments he has expressed upon the present occasion, either the -genius, penetration, or generous enthusiasm, (regulated, not damped by -the dictates of reason) which shall be equally proof against the -artifices of designing men, against the sanguine delusions of personal -vanity, or the difficulties, the delays, the disgust, and probable odium -to be encountered in the determined prosecution of such a task. The -celebrated Howard fell a martyr to the great cause of humanity in which -he embarked. He plunged into the depth of dungeons, into the loathsome -cells of disease, ignominy, and despair; he sacrificed health and life -itself as a pledge of the sincerity of his motives. But what proof has -Mr. Whitbread ever given of his true and undissembled attachment to the -same cause? What sacrifices has he made, what fatigues has he suffered, -what pain has he felt, what privation has he undergone in the pursuit of -his object, that he should be depended on as the friend and guardian of -the poor, as the dispenser of good or ill to millions of his -fellow-beings? The ‘champion’ should be the ‘child’ of poverty. The -author of our religion, when he came to save the world, took our nature -upon him, and became as one of us: it is not likely that any one should -ever prove the _saviour_ of the poor, who has not common feelings with -them, and who does not know their weaknesses and wants. To the officious -inquiries of all others, What then are we to do for them? The best -answer would perhaps be, Let them alone.— - -I return to the subject from which I set out, and from which I have -wandered without intending it; I mean the system of Mr. Malthus, under -the auspices of whose discoveries it seems the present plan is -undertaken, though it differs in many of its features from the -expedients recommended by that author. I am afraid that the parent -discovery may, however, in spite of any efforts to prevent it, overlay -the ricketty offspring. Besides, the original design and principle gives -a bias to all our subsequent proceedings, and warps our views without -our perceiving it. Mr. Malthus’s system must, I am sure, ever remain a -stumbling block in the way of true political economy, as innate ideas -for a long time confused and perplexed all attempts at philosophy. It is -an _ignis fatuus_, which can only beguile the thoughtless gazer, and -lead him into bogs and quicksands, before he knows where he is. The -details of his system are, I believe, as confused, contradictory, and -uncertain, as the system itself. I shall, however, confine my remarks to -the outlines of his plan, and his general principles of reasoning. In -these respects, I have no hesitation in saying that his work is the most -complete specimen of _illogical_, crude and contradictory reasoning, -that perhaps was ever offered to the notice of the public. A clear and -comprehensive mind is, I conceive, shewn, not in the extensiveness of -the plan which an author has chalked out for himself, but in the order -and connection observed in the arrangement of the subject, and the -consistency of the several parts. This praise is so far from being -applicable to the reasoning of our author, that nothing was ever more -loose and incoherent. ‘The latter end of his commonwealth always forgets -the beginning.’ Argument threatens argument, conclusion stands opposed -to conclusion. This page is an answer to the following one, and that to -the next. There is hardly a single statement in the whole work, in which -he seems to have had a distinct idea of his own meaning. The principle -itself is neither new, nor does it prove any thing new; least of all -does it prove what he meant it to prove. His whole theory is a continued -contradiction; it is a nullity in the science of political philosophy. - -I must, however, defer the proof of these assertions to another letter, -when, if you should deem what I have already said worthy the notice of -your readers, I hope to make them out to their and your satisfaction. - - - - - LETTER II - ON THE ORIGINALITY OF MR. MALTHUS’S PRINCIPAL ARGUMENT - - -SIR,—The English have been called a nation of philosophers; as I -conceive, on very slender foundations. They are indeed somewhat slow and -dull, and would be wise, if they could. They are fond of deep questions -without understanding them; and have that perplexed and plodding kind of -intellect, which takes delight in difficulties, and contradictions, -without ever coming to a conclusion. They feel most interest in things -which promise to be the least interesting. What is confused and -unintelligible they take to be profound; whatever is remote and -uncertain, they conceive must be of vast weight and importance. They are -always in want of some new and mighty project in science, in politics, -or in morality for the morbid sensibility of their minds to brood over -and exercise itself upon: and by the time they are tired of puzzling -themselves to no purpose about one absurdity, another is generally ready -to start up, and take its place. Thus there is a perpetual restless -succession of philosophers and systems of philosophy: and the proof they -give you of their wisdom to-day, is by convincing you what fools they -were six months before. Their pretensions to solidity of understanding -rest on the foundation of their own shallowness and levity; and their -gravest demonstrations rise out of the ruins of others. - -Mr. Malthus has for some time past been lord of the ascendant. But I -will venture to predict that his reign will not be of long duration. His -hour is almost come; and this mighty luminary, ‘who so lately scorched -us in the meridian, will sink temperately to the west, and be hardly -felt as he descends.’ It is not difficult to account for the very -favourable reception his work has met with in certain classes of -society: it must be a source of continual satisfaction to their minds by -relieving them from the troublesome feelings so frequently occasioned by -the remains of certain silly prejudices, and by enabling them to set so -completely at defiance the claims of ‘worthless importunity in rags.’ -But it is not easy to account for the attention which our author’s -reasonings have excited among thinking men, except from a habit of -extreme abstraction and over-refined speculation, unsupported by actual -observation or a general knowledge of practical subjects, in consequence -of which the mind is dazzled and confounded by any striking fact which -thwarts its previous conclusions. There is also in some minds a low and -narrow jealousy, which makes them glad of any opportunity to escape from -the contemplation of magnificent scenes of visionary excellence, to hug -themselves in their own indifference and apathy, and to return once more -to their natural level. Mr. Malthus’s essay was in this respect a nice -_let-down_ from the too sanguine expectations and overstrained -enthusiasm which preceded it. Else, how a work of so base tendency, and -so poorly glossed over, which strikes at the root of every humane -principle, and all the while cants about sensibility and morality, in -which the little, low, rankling malice of a parish-beadle, or the -overseer of a work-house is disguised in the garb of philosophy, and -recommended as a dress for every English gentleman to wear, in which -false logic is buried under a heap of garbled calculations, such as a -bad player might make at cribbage to puzzle those with, who knew less of -the game than himself, where every argument is a _felo de se_, and -defeats its own purpose, containing both ‘its bane and antidote’ within -itself, how otherwise such a miserable reptile performance should ever -have crawled to that height of reputation which it has reached, I am -utterly unable to comprehend. But it seems Mr. Malthus’s essay was a -_discovery_. There are those whom I have heard place him by the side of -Sir Isaac Newton, as both equally great, the one in natural, the other -in political philosophy. But waving this comparison, I must confess, -that were I really persuaded that Mr. Malthus had made any discovery at -all, there is so little originality, and so much ill-nature and -illiberality in the world, that I should be tempted to overlook the -large share of the latter which Mr. Malthus possesses in common with the -rest of mankind (and which in him may probably be owing to -ill-digestion, to a sickly constitution, or some former distaste -conceived against poverty) and to consider him merely in the light of a -man of genius. _Multum abludit imago._ Indeed I do not much see what -there is to discover on the subject, after reading the genealogical -table of Noah’s descendants, and knowing that the world is round. But -even allowing that there was something in the nature of the subject -which threw over it a veil of almost impenetrable obscurity, Mr. Malthus -was not the first who found out the secret. Whatever some of his -ignorant admirers may pretend, Mr. Malthus will not say that this was -the case. He has himself given us a list of authors, some of whom he had -read before, and some since the first publication of his Essay,[2] who -fully understood and clearly stated this principle. Among these Wallace -is the chief. He has not only stated the general principle with the -utmost force and precision, by pointing out the necessary disproportion -between the tendency in population and the tendency in the means of -subsistence to increase after a certain period, (and till this period, -namely till the world became _full_, I must contend in opposition to Mr. -Malthus that the disproportion would not be _necessary_, but -artificial); but what is most remarkable, he has brought this very -argument forward as an answer to the same schemes of imaginary -improvement, which the author of the Essay on population first employed -it to overturn.[3] For it is to be remembered that the use which our -author has since made of this principle to shut up the work-house, to -_snub_ the poor, to stint them in their wages, to deny them any relief -from the parish, and preach lectures to them on the new-invented crime -of matrimony, was an after-thought. His first, his grand, his most -memorable effort was directed against the modern philosophy. It was the -service his borrowed weapons did in that cause, that sanctified them at -all other purposes. I shall have occasion by and by to examine how far -the argument was a solid one; at present I am only inquiring into the -originality of the idea. And here I might content myself with referring -your readers to Wallace’s work; or it might be sufficient to inform them -that after indulging in the former part of it in all the schemes of -fancied excellence and Utopian government, which Sir Thomas More and so -many other philosophers and speculators have endeavoured to establish, -he then enters into an elaborate refutation of them, by describing the -evils, ‘the universal confusion and perplexity in which all such perfect -forms of society must soon terminate, the sooner on account of their -perfection,’ from the principle of population, and as he expresses it, -‘from these primary determinations in nature, a limited earth, a limited -degree of fertility, and the continual increase of mankind.’ However, as -it is probable that most of your readers may not have the book within -their reach, and as people do not like to take these things upon trust, -or from a mere general representation of them, I must beg your insertion -of the following extract from the work itself; and though it is pretty -long, yet as you, Sir, seem to be of opinion with me that the subject of -Mr. Malthus’s reputation is a matter of no mean interest to the public, -I am in hopes that you will not think your pages misemployed in -dissipating the illusion. As to Mr. Malthus himself, if he is a vain -man, he ought to be satisfied with this acknowledgement of his -importance. - -‘But without entering further into these abstracted and uncertain -speculations, it deserves our particular attention, that as no -government which hath hitherto been established, is free from all seeds -of corruption, or can be expected to be eternal; so if we suppose a -government to be perfect in its original frame, and to be administered -in the most perfect manner, after whatever model we suppose it to have -been framed, such a perfect form would be so far from lasting for ever, -that it must come to an end so much the sooner on account of its -perfection. For, though happily such governments should be firmly -established, though they should be found consistent with the reigning -passions of human nature, though they should spread far and wide; nay, -though they should prevail universally, they must at last involve -mankind in the deepest perplexity, and in universal confusion. For how -excellent soever they may be in their own nature, they are altogether -inconsistent with the present frame of nature, and with a limited extent -of earth. - -‘Under a perfect government, the inconveniences of having a family would -be so intirely removed, children would be so well taken care of, and -everything become so favourable to populousness, that though some sickly -seasons or dreadful plagues in particular climates might cut off -multitudes, yet in general, mankind would encrease so prodigiously, that -the earth would at last be overstocked, and become unable to support its -numerous inhabitants. - -‘How long the earth, with the best culture of which it is capable from -human genius and industry, might be able to nourish its perpetually -encreasing inhabitants, is as impossible as it is unnecessary to be -determined. It is not probable that it could have supported them during -so long a period as since the creation of Adam. But whatever may be -supposed of the length of this period, of necessity it must be granted, -that the earth could not nourish them for ever, unless either its -fertility could be continually augmented, or by some secret in nature, -like what certain enthusiasts have expected from the philosopher’s -stone, some wise adept in the occult sciences, should invent a method of -supporting mankind quite different from any thing known at present. Nay, -though some extraordinary method of supporting them might possibly be -found out, yet if there was no bound to the increase of mankind, which -would be the case under a perfect government, there would not even be -sufficient room for containing their bodies upon the surface of the -earth, or upon any limited surface whatsoever. It would be necessary, -therefore, in order to find room for such multitudes of men, that the -earth should be continually enlarging in bulk, as an animal or vegetable -body. - -‘Now since philosophers may as soon attempt to make mankind immortal, as -to support the animal frame without food; it is equally certain, that -limits are set to the fertility of the earth, and that its bulk, so far -as is hitherto known, hath continued always the same, and probably could -not be much altered without making considerable changes in the solar -system. It would be impossible, therefore, to support the great numbers -of men who would be raised up under a perfect government; the earth -would be overstocked at last, and the greatest admirers of such fanciful -schemes must foresee the fatal period when they would come to an end, as -they are altogether inconsistent with the limits of that earth in which -they must exist. - -‘What a miserable catastrophe of the most generous of all human systems -of government! How dreadfully would the magistrates of such -commonwealths find themselves disconcerted at that fatal period, when -there was no longer any room for new colonies, and when the earth could -produce no further supplies! During all the preceding ages, while there -was room for increase, mankind must have been happy; the earth must have -been a paradise in the literal sense, as the greatest part of it must -have been turned into delightful and fruitful gardens. But when the -dreadful time should at last come, when our globe, by the most diligent -culture, could not produce what was sufficient to nourish its numerous -inhabitants, what happy expedient could then be found out to remedy so -great an evil? - -‘In such a cruel necessity, must there be a law to restrain marriage? -Must multitudes of women be shut up in cloisters like the ancient -vestals or modern nuns? To keep a ballance between the two sexes, must a -proportionable number of men be debarred from marriage? Shall the -Utopians, following the wicked policy of superstition, forbid their -priests to marry; or shall they rather sacrifice men of some other -profession for the good of the state? Or, shall they appoint the sons of -certain families to be maimed at their birth, and give a sanction to the -unnatural institution of eunuchs? If none of these expedients can be -thought proper, shall they appoint a certain number of infants to be -exposed to death as soon as they are born, determining the proportion -according to the exigencies of the state; and pointing out the -particular victims by lot, or according to some established rule? Or, -must they shorten the period of human life by a law, and condemn all to -die after they had compleated a certain age, which might be shorter or -longer, as provisions were either more scanty or plentiful? Or what -other method should they devise (for an expedient would be absolutely -necessary) to restrain the number of citizens within reasonable bounds? - -‘Alas! how unnatural and inhuman must every such expedient be accounted! -The natural passions and appetites of mankind are planted in our frame, -to answer the best ends for the happiness both of the individuals and of -the species. Shall we be obliged to contradict such a wise order? Shall -we be laid under the necessity of acting barbarously and inhumanly? Sad -and fatal necessity! And which, after all, could never answer the end, -but would give rise to violence and war. For mankind would never agree -about such regulations. Force, and arms, must at last decide their -quarrels, and the deaths of such as fall in battle, leave sufficient -provisions for the survivors, and make room for others to be born. - -‘Thus the tranquillity and numerous blessings of the Utopian governments -would come to an end; war, or cruel and unnatural customs, be -introduced, and a stop put to the increase of mankind, to the -advancement of knowledge, and to the culture of the earth, in spite of -the most excellent laws and wisest precautions. The more excellent the -laws had been, and the more strictly they had been observed, mankind -must have sooner become miserable. The remembrance of former times, the -greatness of their wisdom and virtue, would conspire to heighten their -distress;[4] and the world, instead of remaining the mansion of wisdom -and happiness, become the scene of vice and confusion. Force and fraud -must prevail, and mankind be reduced to the same calamitous condition as -at present. - -‘Such a melancholy situation in consequence merely of the want of -provisions, is in truth more unnatural than all their present -calamities. Supposing men to have abused their liberty, by which abuse, -vice has once been introduced into the world; and that wrong notions, a -bad taste, and vicious habits, have been strengthened by the defects of -education and government, our present distresses may be easily -explained. They may even be called natural, being the natural -consequences of our depravity. They may be supposed to be the means by -which providence punishes vice; and by setting bounds to the increase of -mankind, prevents the earth’s being overstocked, and men being laid -under the cruel necessity of killing one another. But to suppose that in -the course of a favourable providence, a perfect government had been -established, under which the disorders of human passions had been -powerfully corrected and restrained; poverty, idleness, and war -banished; the earth made a paradise; universal friendship and concord -established, and human society rendered flourishing in all respects; and -that such a lovely constitution should be overturned, not by the vices -of men, or their abuse of liberty, but by the order of nature itself, -seems wholly unnatural, and altogether disagreeable to the methods of -providence. - -‘By reasoning in this manner, it is not pretended that ’tis unnatural to -set bounds to human knowledge and happiness, or to the grandeur of -society, and to confine what is finite to proper limits. It is certainly -fit to set just bounds to every thing according to its nature, and to -adjust all things in due proportion to one another. Undoubtedly, such an -excellent order, is actually established throughout all the works of -God, in his wide dominions. But there are certain primary determinations -in nature, to which all other things of a subordinate kind must be -adjusted. A limited earth, a limited degree of fertility and the -continual increase of mankind are three of these original constitutions. -To these determinations, human affairs, and the circumstances of all -other animals, must be adapted. In which view, it is unsuitable to our -ideas of order, that while the earth is only capable of maintaining a -determined number, the human race should increase without end. This -would be the necessary consequence of a perfect government and -education. On which account it is more contrary to just proportion, to -suppose that such a perfect government should be established in such -circumstances, than that by permitting vice, or the abuse of liberty in -the wisdom of providence, mankind should never be able to multiply so as -to be able to overstock the earth. - -‘From this view of the circumstances of the world, notwithstanding the -high opinion we have of the merits of Sir Thomas More, and other admired -projectors of perfect governments in ancient or modern times, we may -discern how little can be expected from their most perfect systems. - -‘As for these worthy philosophers, patriots, and law-givers, who have -employed their talents in framing such excellent models, we ought to do -justice to their characters, and gratefully to acknowledge their -generous efforts to rescue the world out of that distress into which it -has fallen, through the imperfection of government. Sincere, and ardent -in their love of virtue, enamoured of its lovely form, deeply interested -for the happiness of mankind, to the best of their skill, and with -hearts full of zeal, they have strenuously endeavoured to advance human -society to perfection. For this, their memory ought to be sacred to -posterity. But if they expected their beautiful systems actually to take -place, their hopes were ill founded, and they were not sufficiently -aware of the consequences. - -‘The speculations of such ingenious authors enlarge our views, and amuse -our fancies. They are useful for directing us to correct certain errors -at particular times. Able legislators ought to consider them as models, -and honest patriots ought never to lose sight of them, or any proper -opportunity of transplanting the wisest of their maxims into their own -governments, as far as they are adapted to their particular -circumstances, and will give no occasion to dangerous convulsions. But -this is all that can be expected. Though such ingenious romances should -chance to be read and admired, jealous and selfish politicians need not -be alarmed. Such statesmen need not fear that ever such airy systems -shall be able to destroy their craft, or disappoint them of their -intention to sacrifice the interests of mankind to their own avarice or -ambition. There is too powerful a charm which works secretly in favor of -such politicians, which will for ever defeat all attempts to establish a -perfect government. There is no need of miracles for this purpose. The -vices of mankind are sufficient. And we need not doubt but providence -will make use of them, for preventing the establishment of governments -which are by no means suitable to the present circumstances of the -earth.’ See Various Prospects of mankind, nature and providence. Chap. -iv. p. 113. - -Here then we have not only the same argument stated; but stated in the -same connection and brought to bear on the very same subject to which it -is applied by the author of the Essay. The principle and the -consequences deduced from it are exactly the same. It often happens that -one man is the first to make a particular discovery or observation, and -that another draws from it an important inference of which the former -was not at all aware. But this is not the case in the present instance. -As far as general reasoning will go, it is impossible that any thing -should be stated more clearly, more fully and explicitly than Wallace -has here stated the argument against the progressive amelioration of -human affairs, from the sole principle of population. ‘So will his -anticipation prevent Mr. Malthus’s discovery;’ for it happens that -Wallace’s book was published so long ago as the year 1761. As to the -details of the Essay, I shall leave them to the _connoisseurs_, not -pretending to know much about the matter; but as to the general -principle or ground-work, I must contend that it was completely -pre-occupied: Mr. Malthus has no more pretentions to originality on that -score, than I or any one else would have, who after having read Mr. -Malthus’s work undertook to retail the arguments contained in it and did -it in words a little different from his own.—‘Oh! but,’ I hear some one -exclaim, ‘the geometrical and arithmetical series! Has Wallace said any -thing of them? did he find them out, or was not this discovery reserved -entirely for the genius and penetration of Mr. Malthus?’ Why really I do -not know: whether after having brought his principle to light, he -christened it himself, is more than I can pretend to determine. It seems -to me sufficient for Wallace to have said that let the one ratio -increase as fast as it would, the other would increase much faster, as -this is all that is practically meant by a geometrical and arithmetical -series. I should have no objection to let Mr. Malthus have the honour of -standing godfather to another’s bantling (and Mr. Shandy was of opinion -that it was a matter of as great importance to hit upon a lucky name for -a child as to beget it) but that the technical phrase he has employed as -a convenient shorthand method of explaining the subject, in reality -applies only to one half of it. The gradual increase applies only to the -degree of cultivation of the earth, not to the quantity. These two -things are palpably distinct. It does not begin to take place till the -whole surface of the earth has been cultivated to a certain degree, or -only with respect to those parts of it which have been cultivated. It is -evident that while most of the soil remained wholly unoccupied and -uncultivated, (which must have been the case for many ages after these -two principles began to operate, and is still the case in many -countries) the power of increase in the productions of the earth, and -consequently, in the support of population would be exactly in -proportion to the population itself, for there would be nothing more -necessary in order to the earth’s maintaining its inhabitants than that -there should be inhabitants enough to till it. In this case the -cultivation of the earth would be limited by the population, not the -population by the state of the cultivation. Where there was no want of -room, and a power of transporting themselves from place to place, which -there would naturally be in great continents, and in gradually -increasing colonies, there could be no want of subsistence. All that -would be wanted would be power to raise or gather the fruits which the -earth had in store, which as long as men were born with hands they would -be always able to do. If a certain extent of ground easily maintained a -certain number of inhabitants, they would only have to spread themselves -over double the surface to maintain double the number. The difficulty is -not in making more land maintain more men, but in making the same spot -of ground maintain a greater number than it did before. Thus Noah might -have taken possession of the three contiguous quarters of the globe for -himself and his three sons; and, if instead of having three sons, he had -had three hundred, there would, I believe, have been no danger of their -starving, but the contrary, from the rapid increase of population. What -I mean to shew is, that it is not true as a general principle that the -increase of population and the increase of subsistence are necessarily -disproportionate to each other, that the one is in a geometrical, the -other is in an arithmetical ratio; but, that in a particular and very -important view of the subject, the extent of population is only limited -by the extent of the earth, and that the increase of the means of -subsistence will be in proportion to the greater extent of surface -occupied, which may be enlarged as fast as there are numbers to occupy -it. I have been thus particular, because mathematical terms carry with -them an imposing air of accuracy and profundity, and ought, therefore, -to be applied strictly, and with the greatest caution, or not at all. I -should say, then, that looking at the subject in a general and -philosophical point of view, I do not think that the expression of an -arithmetical and geometrical series applies: for, with respect to the -extent of ground occupied, which is one thing on which population -depends, and in the first instance always, this might evidently be -increased in any ratio whatever, that the increase of population would -admit, until the earth was entirely occupied; and after that there would -be no room either for a geometrical or arithmetical progression; it -would be at an absolute stand. The distinction is therefore confined to -the degree of art and diligence used in the cultivation of those parts -which have been already occupied. This has no doubt gone on at a very -slow kind of snail’s pace from the very first, and will I dare say -continue to do so. Or to adopt Wallace’s distinction, the increase of -population is either not restricted at all by the ‘limited nature of the -earth,’ or it is limited absolutely by it: it is only kept back -indefinitely by the ‘limited fertility’ of the earth; and it cannot be -said to be kept back necessarily by this, while there are vast tracts of -habitable land left untouched. Till there is no more room, and no more -food to be procured without extreme exertion and contrivance, the -arithmetical and geometrical ratios do not naturally begin to operate; -and the gradual increase that might take place after that period, is not -in my opinion (who am no great speculator) of sufficient importance to -deserve a pompous appellation. I would, therefore, rather stop there, -because it will simplify the question. Till the world is full, or at -least till every country is full, that is, maintains as many inhabitants -as the soil will admit, namely, till it can be proved satisfactorily -that it might not by taking proper methods be made to maintain double -the number that it does, the increase of mankind is not necessarily -checked by the ‘limited extent of the earth,’ nor by its ‘limited -fertility,’ but by other causes. Till then population must be said to be -kept down, not by the original constitution of nature, but by the will -of man. Till then, Mr. Malthus has no right to set up his arithmetical -and geometrical ratios upon the face of the earth, and say they are the -work of nature. You, Sir, will not be at a loss to perceive the fallacy -which lurks under the gloss which Mr. Malthus has here added to -Wallace’s text. His readers looking at his mathematical scale will be -apt to suppose, that population is a naturally growing and necessary -evil; that it is always encroaching on and straitening the means of -existence, and doing more harm than good: that its pernicious effects -are at all times and in all places equally necessary and unavoidable; -that it is at all times an evil, but that the evil increases in -proportion to the increase of population; and that, therefore, there is -nothing so necessary as to keep population down at all events. This is -the imperious dictate of nature, the grinding law of necessity, the end -and the fulfilling of the commandment. I do not mean to say, that Mr. -Malthus does not often shift his ground on this subject, or that he is -not himself aware of the deception. It is sufficient for him that he has -it to resort to, whenever he is in want of it, that he has been able to -throw dust in his readers’ eyes, and dazzle them by a specious shew of -accuracy; that he has made out a bill of indictment against the -principle of population as a common nuisance in society, and has -obtained a general warrant against it, and may have it brought into -court as a felon whenever he thinks proper. He has alarmed men’s minds -with confused apprehensions on the subject, by setting before their -eyes, in an orderly series, the malignant nature and terrible effects of -population, which are perpetually increasing as it goes on: and they are -ready to assent to every scheme that promises to keep these dreadful -evils at a distance from them. ‘_Sacro tremuere timore._ Every coward is -planet-struck.’ But nothing of all this is the truth. Population is only -an evil, as Mr. Malthus has himself shewn, in proportion as it is -excessive; it is not a necessary evil, till the supply of food can, from -natural causes, no longer keep pace with it: till this is the case, no -restraints are necessary, and when this is the case, the same wholesome -degree of restraint, the same quantity of vice and misery, will operate -equally to prevent any tremendous consequences, whether the actual -population is great or small; that is, whether it is stopped only from -having reached the utmost limits prescribed by nature, or whether it has -been starved and crushed down long before that period by positive, -arbitrary institutions, and the perverse nature of man. But this is -entering upon a matter which I intended to reserve for another letter in -which I shall examine the force of the arguments which Mr. Malthus has -built upon this principle. At present, I have done all that was -necessary to the performance of the first part of my engagement, which -was to shew that Mr. Malthus had little claim to the praise of -originality. - - - - - LETTER III - ON THE PRINCIPLE OF POPULATION AS AFFECTING THE SCHEMES OF UTOPIAN - IMPROVEMENT - - ‘A swaggering paradox, when once explained, soon sinks into an - unmeaning common-place.’ - - BURKE. - - -SIR,—This excellent saying of a great man was never more strictly -applicable to any system than it is to Mr. Malthus’s paradox, and his -explanation of it. It seemed, on the first publication of the Essay on -Population, as if the whole world was going to be turned topsy-turvy, -all our ideas of moral good, and evil were in a manner confounded, we -scarcely knew whether we stood on our head or our heels: but after -exciting considerable expectation, giving us a good shake, and making us -a little dizzy, Mr. Malthus, does as we do when we shew the children -_London_,—sets us on our feet again, and every thing goes on as before. -The common notions that prevailed on this subject, till our author’s -first population-scheme tended to weaken them, were that life is a -blessing, and that the more people could be maintained in any state in a -tolerable degree of health, comfort and decency, the better: that want -and misery are not desirable in themselves, that famine is not to be -courted for its own sake, that wars, disease and pestilence are not what -every friend of his country or his species should pray for in the first -place: that vice in its different shapes is a thing, that the world -could do very well without, and that if it could be got rid of -altogether, it would be a great gain. In short, that the object both of -the moralist and politician was to diminish as much as possible the -quantity of vice and misery existing in the world: without apprehending -that by thus effectually introducing more virtue and happiness, more -reason and good sense, that by improving the manners of a people, -removing pernicious habits and principles of acting, or securing greater -plenty, and a greater number of mouths to partake of it, they were doing -a disservice to humanity. Then comes Mr. Malthus with his octavo book, -and tells us there is another great evil, which had never been found -out, or at least not sufficiently attended to till his time, namely -excessive population: that this evil was infinitely greater and more to -be dreaded than all others put together; and that its approach could -only be checked by vice and misery: that any increase of virtue or -happiness, was the direct way to hasten it on; and that in proportion as -we attempted to improve the condition of mankind, and lessened the -restraints of vice and misery, we threw down the only barriers that -could protect us from this most formidable scourge of the species, -population. Vice, and misery were indeed evils, but they were absolutely -necessary evils; necessary to prevent the introduction of others of an -incalculably, and inconceivably greater magnitude; and that every -proposal to lessen their actual quantity on which the measure of our -safety depended, might be attended with the most ruinous consequences, -and ought to be looked upon with horror. I think, Sir, this description -of the tendency and complexion of Mr. Malthus’s first essay is not in -the least exaggerated, but an exact and faithful picture of the -impression, which it made on every one’s mind. - -After taking some time to recover from the surprise and hurry into which -so great a discovery would naturally throw him, he comes forward again -with a large quarto, in which he is at great pains both to say and unsay -all that he had said in his former volume, and upon the whole concludes, -that population is in itself a good thing, that it is never likely to do -much harm, that virtue and happiness ought to be promoted by every -practicable means, and that the most effectual as well as desirable -check to excessive population is _moral restraint_. The mighty -discovery, thus reduced to, and pieced out by common sense, the wonder -vanishes, and we breathe a little freely again. Mr. Malthus is however, -by no means willing to give up his old doctrine, or _eat his own words_: -he stickles stoutly for it at times. He has his fits of reason and his -fits of extravagance, his yielding and his obstinate moments, -fluctuating between the two, and vibrating backwards and forwards with a -dexterity of self-contradiction which it is wonderful to behold. The -following passage is so curious in this respect that I cannot help -quoting it in this place. Speaking of the reply of the author of the -Political Justice to his former work, he observes, ‘But Mr. Godwin says, -that if he looks into the past history of the world, he does not see -that increasing population has been controlled and confined by vice and -misery _alone_. _In this observation I cannot agree with him._ I will -thank Mr. Godwin to name to me any check, that in past ages has -contributed to keep down the population to the level of the means of -subsistence, that does not fairly come under some form of vice or -misery; except indeed the check of _moral restraint, which I have -mentioned in the course of this work_; and which to say the truth, -whatever hopes we may entertain of its prevalence in future, has -undoubtedly in past ages operated with very inconsiderable force.’[5] -When I assure the reader that I give him this passage fairly and fully, -I think he will be of opinion with me, that it would be difficult to -produce an instance of a more miserable attempt to reconcile a -contradiction by childish evasion, to insist upon an argument, and give -it up in the same breath. Does Mr. Malthus really think that he has such -an absolute right and authority over this subject of population, that -provided he mentions a principle, or shews that he is not ignorant of -it, and cannot be caught _napping_ by the critics, he is at liberty to -say that it has or has not had any operation, just as he pleases, and -that the state of the fact is a matter of perfect indifference. He -contradicts the opinion of Mr. Godwin that vice and misery are not the -only checks to population, and gives as a proof of his assertion, that -he himself truly has mentioned another check. Thus after flatly denying -that moral restraint has any effect at all, he modestly concludes by -saying that it has had some, no doubt, but promises that it will never -have a great deal. Yet in the very next page, he says, ‘On this -sentiment, whether virtue, prudence or pride, which I have already -noticed under the name of moral restraint, or of the more comprehensive -title, the _preventive_ check, it will appear, that in the sequel of -this work, I shall lay considerable stress,’ p. 385. This kind of -reasoning is enough to give one the head-ache. But to take things in -their order. - -The most singular thing in this singular performance of our author is, -that it should have been originally ushered into the world as the most -complete and only satisfactory answer to the speculations of Godwin, -Condorcet and others, or to what has been called the modern philosophy. -A more complete piece of wrong-headedness, a more strange perversion of -reason could hardly be devised by the wit of man. Whatever we may think -of the doctrine of the progressive improvement of the human mind, or of -a state of society in which every thing will be subject to the absolute -control of reason, however absurd, unnatural, or impracticable we may -conceive such a system to be, certainly it cannot without the grossest -inconsistency be objected to it, that such a system would necessarily be -rendered abortive, because if reason should ever get this mastery over -all our actions, we shall then be governed entirely by our physical -appetites and passions, without the least regard to consequences. This -appears to me a refinement on absurdity. Several philosophers and -speculatists had supposed that a certain state of society very different -from any that has hitherto existed was in itself practicable; and that -if it were realised, it would be productive of a far greater degree of -human happiness than is compatible with the present institutions of -society. I have nothing to do with either of these points. I will allow -to any one who pleases that all such schemes are ‘false, sophistical, -unfounded in the extreme.’ But I cannot agree with Mr. Malthus that they -would be _bad_, in proportion as they were _good_; that their excellence -would be their ruin; or that the true and only unanswerable objection -against all such schemes is that very degree of _happiness_, virtue and -improvement to which they are supposed to give rise. And I cannot agree -with him in this because it is contrary to common sense, and leads to -the subversion of every principle of moral reasoning. Without perplexing -himself with the subtle arguments of his opponents, Mr. Malthus comes -boldly forward, and says, ‘Gentlemen, I am willing to make you large -concessions, I am ready to allow the practicability and the -desirableness of your schemes, the more happiness, the more virtue, the -more refinement they are productive of the better, all these will only -add to the “exuberant strength of my argument”; I have a short answer to -all objections, to be sure I found it in an old political receipt-book, -called Prospects, &c. by one Wallace, a man not much known, but no -matter for that, _finding is keeping_, you know’: and with one smart -stroke of his wand, on which are inscribed certain mystical characters, -and algebraic proportions, he levels the fairy enchantment with the -ground. For, says Mr. Malthus, though this improved state of society -were actually realised, it could not possibly continue, but must soon -terminate in a state of things pregnant with evils far more -insupportable than any we at present endure, in consequence of the -excessive population which would follow, and the impossibility of -providing for its support. - -This is what I do not understand. It is, in other words, to assert that -the doubling the population of a country, for example, after a certain -period, will be attended with the most pernicious effects, by want, -famine, bloodshed, and a state of general violence and confusion, this -will afterwards lead to vices and practices still worse than the -physical evils they are designed to prevent, &c. and yet that at this -period those who will be the most interested in preventing these -consequences, and the best acquainted with the circumstances that lead -to them will neither have the understanding to foresee, nor the heart to -feel, nor the will to prevent the sure evils to which they expose -themselves and others, though this advanced state of population, which -does not admit of any addition without danger is supposed to be the -immediate result of a more general diffusion of the comforts and -conveniences of life, of more enlarged and liberal views, of a more -refined and comprehensive regard to our own permanent interests, as well -as those of others, of corresponding habits and manners, and of a state -of things, in which our gross animal appetites will be subjected to the -practical control of reason. The influence of rational motives, of -refined and long-sighted views of things is supposed to have taken place -of narrow, selfish and merely sensual motives: this is implied in the -very statement of the question. ‘What conjuration and what mighty magic’ -should thus blind our philosophical descendants on this single subject -in which they are more interested than in all the rest, so that they -should stand with their eyes open on the edge of a precipice, and -instead of retreating from it, should throw themselves down headlong, I -cannot comprehend; unless indeed we suppose that the impulse to -propagate the species is so strong and uncontrolable that reason has no -power over it. This is what Mr. Malthus was at one time strongly -disposed to assert, and what he is at present half inclined to retract. -Without this foundation to rest on, the whole of his reasoning is -unintelligible. It seems to me a most childish way of answering any one, -who chooses to assert that mankind are capable of being governed -entirely by their reason, and that it would be better for them if they -were, to say, No, for if they were governed entirely by it, they would -be much less able to attend to its dictates than they are at present: -and the evils, which would thus follow from the unrestrained increase of -population, would be excessive.—Almost every little Miss, who has had -the advantage of a boarding-school education, or been properly tutored -by her mamma, whose hair is not of an absolute flame-colour, and who has -hopes in time, if she behaves prettily, of getting a good husband, waits -patiently year after year, looks about her, rejects or trifles with half -a dozen lovers, favouring one, laughing at another, chusing among them -‘as one picks pears, saying, this I like, that I loathe,’ with the -greatest indifference, as if it were no such very pressing affair, and -_all the while behaves very prettily_; till she is at last smitten with -a handsome house, a couple of footmen in livery, or a black-servant, or -a coach with two sleek geldings, with which she is more taken than with -her man:—why, what an idea does Mr. Malthus give us of the grave, -masculine genius of our Utopian philosophers, their sublime attainments -and gigantic energy, that they will not be able to manage these matters -as decently and cleverly as the silliest women can do at present! Mr. -Malthus indeed endeavours to soften the absurdity by saying that moral -restraint at present owes its strength to selfish motives: what is this -to the purpose? If Mr. Malthus chooses to say, that men will always be -governed by the same gross mechanical motives that they are at present, -I have no objection to make to it; but it is shifting the question: it -is not arguing against the state of society we are considering from the -consequences to which it would give rise, but against the possibility of -its ever existing. It is absurd to object to a system on account of the -consequences which would follow if we were to suppose men to be actuated -by entirely different motives and principles from what they are at -present, and then to say, that those consequences would necessarily -follow, because men would never be what we suppose them. It is _very_ -idle to alarm the imagination by deprecating the evils that must follow -from the practical adoption of a particular scheme, yet to allow that we -have no reason to dread those consequences, but because the scheme -itself is impracticable.—But I am ashamed of wasting your reader’s time -and my own in thus beating the air. It is not however my fault that Mr. -Malthus has written nonsense, or that others have admired it. It is not -Mr. Malthus’s nonsense, but the opinion of the world respecting it, that -I would be thought to compliment by this serious refutation of what in -itself neither deserves nor admits of any reasoning upon it. If however -we recollect the source from whence Mr. Malthus borrowed his principle -and the application of it to improvements in political philosophy, we -must allow that he is merely _passive_ in error. The principle itself -would not have been worth a farthing to him without the application, and -accordingly he took them as he found them lying snug together; and as -Trim having converted the old jack-boots into a pair of new mortars -immediately planted them against whichever of my uncle Toby’s garrisons -the allies were then busy in besieging, so the public-spirited gallantry -of our modern engineer directed him to bend the whole force of his -clumsy discovery against that system of philosophy which was the most -talked of at the time, but to which it was the least applicable of all -others. Wallace, I have no doubt, took up his idea either as a paradox, -or a _jeu d’esprit_, or because any thing, he thought, was of weight -enough to overturn what had never existed anywhere but in the -imagination, or he was led into a piece of false logic by an error we -are very apt to fall into, of supposing because he had never been struck -himself by the difficulty of population in such a state of society, that -therefore the people themselves would not find it out, nor make any -provision against it. But though I can in some measure excuse a lively -paradox, I do not think the same favour is to be shewn to the dull, -dogged, voluminous repetition of an absurdity. - -I cannot help thinking that our author has been too much influenced in -his different feelings on this subject, by the particular purpose he had -in view at the time. Mr. Malthus might not improperly have taken for the -motto of his first edition, ‘These three bear record on earth, vice, -misery, and population.’ In his answer to Mr. Godwin, this principle was -represented as an evil, for which no remedy could be found but in -evil;—that its operation was mechanical, unceasing, necessary; that it -went strait forward to its end, unchecked by fear, or reason, or -remorse; that the evils, which it drew after it, could only be avoided -by other evils, by actual vice and misery. Population was in fact the -great devil, the untamed Beelzebub that was only kept chained down by -vice and misery, and that if it were once let loose from these -restraints, it would go forth, and ravage the earth. That they were -therefore the two main props and pillars of society, and that the lower -and weaker they kept this principle, the better able they were to -contend with it: that therefore any diminution of that degree of them -which at present prevails, and is found sufficient to keep the world in -order, was of all things chiefly to be dreaded.—Mr. Malthus seems fully -aware of the importance of the stage-maxim, To elevate and surprise. -Having once heated the imaginations of his readers, he knows that he can -afterwards mould them into whatever shape he pleases. All this bustle -and terror, and stage-effect, and theatrical-mummery, was only to serve -a temporary purpose, for all of a sudden the scene is shifted, and the -storm subsides. Having frighted away the boldest champions of modern -philosophy, this monstrous appearance, full of strange and inexplicable -horrors, is suffered quietly to shrink back to its natural dimensions, -and we find it to be nothing more than a common-sized tame looking -animal, which however requires a chain and the whip of its keeper to -prevent it from becoming mischievous. Mr. Malthus then steps forward and -says, ‘the evil we were all in danger of was not population,—but -philosophy. Nothing is to be done with the latter by mere reasoning. I -therefore thought it right to make use of a little terror to accomplish -the end. As to the principle of population you need be under no alarm, -only leave it to me and I shall be able to manage it very well. All its -dreadful consequences may be easily prevented by a proper application of -the motives of common prudence and common decency.’ If however any one -should be at a loss to know how it is possible to reconcile such -contradictions, I would suggest to Mr. Malthus the answer which Hamlet -makes to his friend Guildenstern, ‘’Tis as easy as lying: govern these -ventiges (the poor-rates and private charity) with your fingers and -thumb, and this same instrument will discourse most excellent music; -look you, here are the stops,’ (namely, Mr. Malthus’s Essay and Mr. -Whitbread’s Poor Bill). To sum up the whole of this argument in one -word. Let us suppose with Mr. Malthus that population can only be kept -down by a certain degree of vice and misery. Let us also suppose that -these checks are for a time removed, and that mankind become perfectly -virtuous and happy. Well, then, according to the former supposition, -this would necessarily lead to an excessive increase of population. Now -the question is, to what degree of excess it would lead, and where it -would naturally stop. Mr. Malthus, to make good his reasoning, must -suppose a miracle to take place; that after population has begun to -increase excessively, no inconvenience is felt from it, that in the -midst of the ‘imminent and immediate’ evils which follow from it, people -continue virtuous and happy and unconscious of the dangers with which -they are surrounded; till of a sudden Mr. Malthus opens the flood-gates -of vice and misery, and they are overwhelmed by them, all at once. In -short he must suppose either that this extraordinary race of men, in -proportion as population increases, are gradually reduced in size, ‘and -less than smallest dwarfs, in narrow room, throng numberless, like that -pygmean race beyond the Indian mount, or fairy elves’; or that they have -some new world assigned them as a breeding-place, from which attempting -to return they are immediately squeezed to death, like people rushing -into a crowded theatre. On the other hand, I contend that in the natural -course of things, that is, if we suppose people to retain their usual -dimensions, to eat, and drink, and beget children, and bring them up in -the usual way, all this could never happen: for it is impossible but -they must see and feel that there was only room for a certain number. -The moment population became excessive from the _excess_ of virtue and -happiness, its inconveniences would return, and people would no longer -be _perfectly virtuous and happy_: that is, the old checks of a certain -degree of vice and misery would come into play again, and a less degree -of them (I suppose about as much as we enjoy the advantage of at -present) would be sufficient to deter men from plunging into greater, -would put a stop to the further increase of population, and anticipate -those tremendous evils which Mr. Malthus apprehends from it, which could -never happen unless we suppose people to have come to a previous, -deliberate resolution mutually to starve one another to death. There is -therefore no foundation for the alarm given by Mr. Malthus, for vice and -misery are such ready and sure resources that we can be at a loss for -them at no time; and farther with respect to the state of society -supposed by Mr. Malthus, that is if we could once drive vice and misery -out of the world, I really do not see what occasion we should have for -them afterwards. - -The most important question yet remains, which is not how Mr. Malthus -came by his discovery, nor whether he was right in endeavouring to -exemplify it in the first instance by shewing its effects on an -imaginary state of society where it would be naturally disarmed of its -malignity, but whether the practical conclusions he has drawn from it -are not of weight and moment in themselves, and whether they are not -established so clearly and fully as to make it necessary for us to -reverse almost entirely all our old reasonings on the principles of -political economy. I confess, I have some difficulty in determining, -whether Mr. Malthus’s principles do or do not materially affect the -commonly received notions on this subject, because I really do not know -what those principles are, and till Mr. Malthus himself tells us, -whether he would have us believe in the new revelation or the old, it is -impossible that any one should. If we are to consider those as Mr. -Malthus’s real and chastized opinions which are the least like himself, -which most flatly contradict his former assertions, which being forced -from him may be looked upon as confessions of the truth, I see nothing -in these that in any manner interferes with the common sense of mankind. -And though Mr. Malthus still perseveres in almost all his extreme -conclusions, yet as those conclusions are for the most part -unwarrantable assumptions, disproved even by his own concessions, and -shew nothing more than Mr. Malthus’s qualifications for the delicate -office of conscience-keeper to the rich and great, I am so far from -considering them as new and important discoveries, that I must be -excused if I consider them as in the highest degree false and dangerous, -and treat them accordingly. - - - - - LETTER IV - ON THE GENERAL TENDENCY OF POPULATION TO EXCESS - - -SIR,—Mr. Malthus’s argument against a state of _unlimited_ improvement, -of perfect wisdom, virtue and happiness, from the vice, misery, and -madness inseparable from such a state would, if admitted, be an -effectual bar to all limited improvement whatever. It is for this -reason, that I have dwelt so long on the subject. If out of timidity, or -complaisance, or prejudice against an unpopular system, we suffer -ourselves to be wheedled into a silly persuasion, that the worst thing -that could happen for the human race would be their being able to -realise not in words only, but in deed all the fine things, that have -been said of them, we then fairly throw ourselves upon the mercy of our -adversaries. For what is there in this case, to hinder Mr. Malthus, or -any one else, from representing every degree of practical improvement as -an approximation to this deplorable crisis, from binding up the slips -and scyons of human happiness with this great trunk of evil, and root of -all our woe, from marking with his slider and graduated scale all our -advances towards this ideal perfection, however partial or necessary, as -so many deviations from the strict line of our duty, and only sphere of -our permanent happiness? It is evident, that the only danger of all -imaginary schemes of improvement arises from their being _exaggerations_ -of the real capacities of our nature, from supposing that we can pick -out all the dross, and leave nothing but the gold; that is, from their -being carried to excess, and aiming at more than is practicable. But if -we allow that improvement is an evil in the abstract, and that the -greater the improvement, the greater the mischief, that the actual and -complete success of all such schemes would be infinitely worse even than -their failure, for that the most complete and extensive improvement -would only prepare the way for the most deplorable wretchedness, and -that the very next step after reaching the summit of human glory would -plunge us into the lowest abyss of vice and misery,—why truly there will -be little encouragement to set out on a journey that promises so very -disagreeable a conclusion; such a representation of the matter will not -add wings to our zeal for practical reform, but will rather make us stop -short in our career, and refuse to advance one step farther in a road, -that is beset with danger and destruction. People will begin to look -with a jaundiced eye at the most obvious advantages, to resist every -useful regulation, and dread every change for the better. Our feelings -are governed very much by common-place associations, and are most -influenced by that sort of logic which is the shortest. Thus, ‘that the -parts are contained in the whole,’ is a general rule which is found to -hold good in most of the concerns of life; and it is not therefore easy -to drive it out of people’s heads. For this reason, it will always be -difficult to persuade the generality of mankind that a less degree of -improvement is a good thing, though a greater would be a bad thing, or -that the subordinate parts of a system, that would in reality embody all -the ills of life, can be very desirable in themselves. Mr. Malthus has -however by no means left this conclusion to the mere mechanical -operation of our feelings. He endeavours formally to establish it. The -following passage seems the connecting link in the chain, which unites -the two worlds of theory and practice together; it cements the argument, -gives solidity and roundness to it, and renders it complete against all -improvement, real or imaginary, present or future, against all absolute -perfection or imperfect attempts at it, and gradual approaches to it. It -fairly blocks up the road. - -‘It cannot but be a matter of astonishment that all writers on the -perfectibility of man, and of society, who have noticed the argument of -an overcharged population, treat it always very slightly, and invariably -represent the difficulties arising from it, as at a great, and almost -immeasurable distance. Even Mr. Wallace, who thought the argument itself -of so much weight as to destroy his whole system of equality, did not -seem to be aware that any difficulty would occur from this cause, till -the whole earth had been cultivated like a garden, and was incapable of -any further increase of produce. Were this really the case, and were a -beautiful system of equality in other respects practicable, I cannot -think that our ardour in the pursuit of such a scheme ought to be damped -by the contemplation of so remote a difficulty. An event at such a -distance might fairly be left to providence; but the truth is, that if -the view of the argument given in this Essay be just, the difficulty so -far from being remote, would be imminent and immediate. _At every period -during the progress of cultivation_, from the present moment to the time -when the whole earth was become like a garden, _the distress for want of -food would be constantly pressing on all mankind_, if they were equal. -Though the produce of the earth _might be increasing every year_, -population _would be increasing much faster_; and the redundancy must -_necessarily_ be repressed by the periodical or constant action of vice -and misery.’[6] - -In answer to this statement (allowing however that it is a fair -inference from Wallace’s reasoning, and from our author’s own principle) -I would simply ask, whether _during this progress of cultivation, the -distress for want of food would be constantly pressing on all mankind_ -more than it does at present. Let us suppose that men remain just as -vicious, as imprudent, as regardless of their own interests and those of -others as they are at present, let us suppose them to continue just what -they are, through all the stages of improved cultivation to the time -when the whole earth was become like a garden, would this in the -smallest degree detract from the benefit? Would nothing indeed be gained -by the earth’s being cultivated like a garden, that is, by its producing -ten times the quantity of food that it does at present, and being able -to maintain ten times the quantity of inhabitants in the same degree of -comfort and happiness that it does at present, because forsooth they -would not at the same time be ten times better off than they are now? Is -it an argument against adding to the happiness of mankind tenfold, by -increasing their number, their condition remaining the same, that we -cannot add to it a hundred-fold, by increasing their number and -improving their condition proportionably? Or is it any objection to -increasing the means of subsistence by the improved cultivation of the -earth, that the population would keep pace with it? It appears to me -that there must be a particular perversity, some egregious bias in the -mind of any person who can either deny the inference to be drawn from -these questions, or evade it as a matter of indifference, by -equivocation and subterfuge. We might as well assert that because it is -most likely that the inhabitants of the rest of Europe are not better, -nor indeed quite so well off as the people of England, that it would -therefore be no matter if the whole continent of Europe were sunk in the -sea, as if human life was merely to be considered as a sample of what -the thing is, and as if when we have a sample of a certain quality, all -the rest might be very well spared, as of no value. As however I -conceive that Mr. Malthus is not a man to be moved either by common -feelings or familiar illustrations, I shall venture to lay down one dry -maxim on the subject, which he will get over as well as he can, namely, -that an improved cultivation of the earth, and a consequent increase of -food must necessarily lead to one or other of these two consequences, -either that a greater number of people will be maintained in the same -degree of comfort and happiness, other things being the same, or that -means will be afforded for maintaining an equal number in greater ease, -plenty, and affluence. It is plain either that existence is upon the -whole a blessing and that the means of existence are on that account -desirable; that consequently an increased population is doubly a -blessing, and an increase in the means of existence doubly desirable; or -else life is an evil, and whatever tends to promote it is an evil, and -in this case it would be well if all the inhabitants of the earth were -to die of some easy death to-morrow! - -For my own part, ‘who am no great clerk,’ I cannot by any efforts, of -which I am capable, separate these two propositions, that it is -desirable either that population should have stood still at first, or -that it should go on increasing till the earth is absolutely full; or in -other words, I see no rational alternative between the principle of -extermination (as far as it is in our power) and the principle of the -utmost possible degree of populousness. It is, I conceive, an -incontrovertible axiom, that the proportion between the population and -food being given (and Mr. Malthus tells us that it holds nearly the same -in all the stages of society) the actual increase of population is to be -considered as so much clear gain, as so much got into the purse, as so -much addition to the sum of human happiness. Mr. Malthus says in another -place (second edition, p. 357), ‘The only point in which I differ from -M. Condorcet in this description’ [of the evils arising from increased -population,] ‘is with regard to the period, when it may be applied to -the human race. M. Condorcet thinks that it cannot possibly be -applicable, but at an era extremely distant. If the proportion between -the natural increase of population and food, which was stated in the -beginning of this essay, and which has received considerable -confirmation _from the poverty that has been found to prevail in every -stage and department of human society_, be in any degree near the truth, -it will appear on the contrary, that the period, when the number of men -surpass their means of subsistence, has long since arrived, &c.’ Mr. -Malthus in different parts of his work makes a great _rout_ about the -distinction between _actual_ and _relative_ population, and lays it down -that an actual increase of population is an advantage, except when it -exceeds the means of subsistence; yet he here seems to treat the -proportion between the increase of population, and food, which he says -has always continued pretty much the same, as the only thing to be -attended to, and to represent the progressive increase of the actual -population, unless we could at the same time banish poverty entirely -from the world, as a matter of the most perfect indifference, or rather -as the most dangerous experiment, that could be tried. Is not this being -wilfully blind to the consequences of his own reasoning? Oh! but, says -Mr. Malthus, you do not state the case fairly. If men were to continue -what they are at present; if there were the same proportionable quantity -of vice, and misery in the world, what you say would be true. Every -thing would then go on as well, or indeed better than before. But this -is impossible, because this increased cultivation, and a more equal -distribution of the produce of the earth could only take place, in -consequence of the increased civilization, virtue, good sense, and -happiness of mankind: and this would necessarily spoil all. For remove -the present quantity of vice and misery existing in the world, and you -remove the only checks, that can keep population down. ‘Though the -produce of the earth might be increasing every year, the population -would be increasing much faster; and the redundancy must be repressed by -the old restraints of vice and misery.’ That is to say, though -(according to the second edition) vice, misery, and moral restraint, -operate mutually as checks to population, and though the diminution of -vice and misery could only be the consequence of the increased strength -in the principle of moral restraint, yet this latter principle would in -reality have no effect at all, and in proportion as the other checks to -population, viz. vice and misery, were superseded, they would become -more and more necessary. If there could be a gradual, and indefinite -improvement in the cultivation of the soil, and every facility could be -afforded for the supply of an increasing population, without supposing -some change in the institutions of society, which would render men -better and wiser, than they now are, Mr. Malthus will perhaps with some -reluctance, and uncertainty hanging over his mind, allow that this would -be a considerable advantage; the population might in this case be kept -within some bounds, and not increase faster than the means of -subsistence: but as this is a change that cannot be looked for without -supposing a correspondent improvement in the morals and characters of -men, we must set off one thing against another, and give up the chance -of improvement, to prevent the shocking alternative connected with it. -With our present modicum of wit and command over our passions, we do -contrive in some measure to make both ends meet, or to cut our coat -according to our cloth, or look before we leap, and are not carried -away, neck or nothing, by this high-mettled courser, Population, over -all the fences and barriers of common sense. But if we were to make any -considerable improvements in horsemanship, or in our _knack_ at -calculation, we should instantly, belying all reasonable expectation, -throw the bridle on the horse’s neck, rush blindly forward in spite of -all obstacles, and freed from the shackles of necessity without having -acquired the discipline of reason, though the one always instantly -resumes its sway, the moment the other ceases, plunge into all the -miseries of famine, without remorse, or apprehension. - -This I conceive is an express contradiction in terms. Yet I grant that -it is a logical inference from Mr. Malthus’s original statement, that -vice and misery are the only adequate checks to population. If this were -indeed the case, all the consequences that Mr. Malthus describes, the -utmost degree of vice and misery, would necessarily be the lot of man in -all stages and departments of society, whether in his improved or -unimproved state, because in all cases and at all times his reason would -be of no use to him. However great or however small our attainments in -arts or science, or in all other virtues might be, in this respect we -should still be the same; that is, we should be exactly in the condition -of the brutes, entirely governed by an impulse, over which we should -have neither check nor control. Mr. Malthus, however, finding that this -account is inconsistent with the state of human life, and with those -checks which certainly do keep population back from going its natural -lengths, now adds moral restraint as a convenient supplement to his -theory, and as our chief security against vice and misery, though he -still insists that where its effect must be greatest, it would have no -effect at all. He gives up his principle, but retains his conclusion, to -which he has no right. He is like a bad poet who to get rid of a false -concord alters the ending of his first line, and forgets that he has -spoiled his rhyme in the second. On the whole, then, it appears, that at -no one period during the progress of cultivation from the present moment -to the time when it should have reached its utmost limits, would the -distress for want of food be greater than it is at present. In the mean -time, the number of mankind, and consequently their happiness would go -on increasing with the means of their happiness, or subsistence, till -the whole earth had been cultivated like a garden, and was incapable of -any further increase, and we should then be exactly where we are now -with respect to the checks on population. That is, the earth would -maintain ten times its present number of inhabitants in the same comfort -as at present, without our having involved ourselves in any of those -straits and difficulties, those pits and snares, against which we are so -kindly warned by Mr. Malthus. The population, and the means of -subsistence would indeed be stationary, but so they may be said to be at -present. The only difference is that they are at present unnecessarily -stationary from artificial causes, from moral and political -circumstances; in that case the line would be drawn by nature herself, -in other words, by the limited extent of the earth, and by its limited -fertility. _This being the case and were a beautiful system of equality -in other respects practicable_, (for observe, reader, I leave the -question as _to those other respects_ exactly where I found it) _I -cannot think that our ardour in pursuit of such a scheme can in any wise -be damped by the contemplation of the difficulties attendant upon it -from the principle of population._ All that could be gained, would be -pure gain without any loss whatever. In short, the principle of -population does not, as I conceive, affect the future improvement of -society in any way whatever, whether on a larger or a smaller scale, -theoretically or practically, generally, or particularly. I have thus, -Sir, endeavoured to answer Mr. Malthus’s argument against the improved -cultivation of the earth, and an increase of population, from the -increased difficulties (as he falsely represents them), that would all -the way press upon society during its progress. He has rendered his -paradox in some measure palatable to the reader, by introducing it as -one branch of his answer to Condorcet, and others of the same school, -herein imitating the policy of the house of commons, who sometimes -prevail on the house of lords to pass a bill which they do not much -like, by tacking a money-bill to it. However as the two subjects are -entirely distinct, I beg that they may not be confounded. The question -is simply, whether we are to look upon the progress of agriculture, -civilization, and the populousness which would follow, (no matter to -what extent, nor by whom it is brought about, whether it is projected by -a junto of philosophers, or decided upon in a committee of the house of -commons, enlightened by the genius of Mr. Malthus and guided by Mr. -Whitbread’s wisdom), whether I say, as a general principle we are to -look upon an addition to the inhabitants of a state, if there is enough -to support them, as a good or an evil. Mr. Malthus has chosen to answer -this question under the head, _modern philosophy_, so that he is secure -of the protection of the court. I have been willing not to deprive him -of this advantage, and have answered it under the same head. If however -any of my readers should dislike the argument in this connection, they -may easily take it out of the mould in which it is cast, without doing -it the least hurt. To shew how lightly all schemes of improvement sit on -Mr. Malthus’s mind, how easily he thinks they may be puffed aside with -the least breath of sophistry, it will be sufficient to quote the -following passage. After allowing in general that even the best -cultivated countries in Europe might be made to produce double what they -do at present, he says, ‘We should not be too ready to make inferences -against the internal economy of a country from the appearance of -uncultivated heaths without other evidence.’ [It is wonderful with what -slowness and circumspection Mr. Malthus always proceeds in his -disapprobation of any thing, that comes in the prepossessing garb of an -evil. He is only confident and severe in his decisions against those -hidden mischiefs, which lie concealed under a delusive appearance of -good. There is something in the prospect of dearth and barrenness which -is perfectly congenial to the disposition of Mr. Malthus. He is -unwilling to give up a subject which promises so much scope for his -singular talents of bringing good out of evil.] ‘But the fact is, that -as no country has ever reached, or probably will ever reach its highest -possible acme of produce, it _appears always_, as if the want of -industry, or the ill-direction of that industry was the actual limit to -a further increase of produce and population, and not the absolute -refusal of nature to yield any more; but a man who is locked up in a -room, may be fairly said to be confined by the walls of it, _though he -may never touch_ them; and with regard to the principle of population, -it is never the question whether a country will produce _any more_, but -whether it may be made to produce a sufficiency to keep pace with an -unchecked increase of people.’ This I confess is a singular passage for -a practical philosopher to write. Mr. Malthus here lays it down that the -question is not whether we should do all the good we can, but whether we -should do what we cannot. As to his illustration of a man locked up in a -room, though it is smart and clever, it is not much to the purpose. The -case is really that of a man who has the range of a suite of rooms and -who in a fit of the spleen, or from indolence, or stupidity, or from any -other cause you please, confines himself to one of them, or of a man who -having hired a large commodious apartment, says, I never make use of the -whole of this apartment, I never go within a foot of the walls, I might -as well have it partitioned off, it would be snugger and warmer, and so -still finding that he does not run against his partition any more than -against the wall, should continue, being determined to have no -unnecessary spare-room, to hemm himself in closer and closer till at -last he would be able to stir neither hand nor foot. That any one, -allowing as Mr. Malthus does, that with proper management and industry -this country might be made to maintain _double_ its present number of -inhabitants, or twenty millions instead of ten, should at the same time -affect to represent this as a mere trifling addition, that practically -speaking cannot be taken into the account, can I think only be explained -by supposing in that person either an extreme callousness of feeling, or -which amounts to pretty much the same thing, a habit of making his -opinions entirely subservient to his convenience, or to any narrow -purpose he may have in view at the moment.—Perhaps if the truth were -known, I am as little sanguine in my expectations of any great -improvement to be made in the condition of human life either by the -visions of philosophy, or by downright, practical, parliamentary -projects, as Mr. Malthus himself can be. But the matter appears to me -thus. It requires some exertion and some freedom of will to keep even -where we are. If we tie up our hands, shut our eyes to the partial -advantages we possess, and cease to exert ourselves in that direction in -which we can do it with the most effect, we shall very soon ‘go deep in -the negative series.’ Take away the hope and the tendency to -improvement, and there is nothing left to counteract the opposite -never-failing tendency of human things ‘from bad to worse.’ There is -therefore a serious practical reason against losing sight of the object, -even when we cannot attain it. However, I am ‘free to confess’ (to -borrow the language of my betters) that there is as much selfishness as -public spirit in my resistance to Mr. Malthus’s contradictions. It is a -remote question whether the world will ever be much wiser than it is: -but what I am certainly interested in, is not to submit to have all my -ideas confounded by barren sophistry, nor to give up the little -understanding which I may actually possess. Nor for my own part, were I -confined to my room, should I think myself obliged to any one for -blocking up my view of a pleasant prospect, because I could not move -from the place, where I was. - -The fundamental principle of Mr. Malthus’s essay is that population has -a constant tendency to become excessive, because it has a tendency to -increase not only in a progressive, but in a geometrical ratio, whereas -the means of subsistence are either positively limited, or at most can -only be made to increase in an arithmetical ratio. But to be sure of -avoiding any thing like misrepresentation in this part of the argument, -where the least error or omission might be fatal to our author’s whole -scheme, let us take his own words. - -‘It may be safely affirmed that population when unchecked goes on -doubling itself every twenty-five years, or increases in a geometrical -ratio. - -‘That we may be the better able to compare the increase of population -and food, let us make a supposition, which without pretending to -accuracy, is clearly more favourable to the power of production in the -earth, than any experience that we have had of its qualities will -warrant. - -‘Let us suppose that the yearly additions which might be made to the -former average produce, instead of decreasing, which they certainly -would do, were to remain the same; and that the produce of this island -might be increased every twenty-five years by a quantity equal to what -it at present produces; the most enthusiastic speculator cannot suppose -a greater increase than this. In a few centuries it would make every -acre of land in the island like a garden. - -‘If this supposition be applied to the whole earth, and if it be allowed -that the subsistence for man which the earth affords, might be increased -every twenty-five years by a quantity equal to what it at present -produces; this will be supposing a rate of increase much greater than we -can imagine that any possible exertions of mankind could make it. - -‘It may be fairly pronounced therefore that considering the present -average state of the earth, the means of subsistence, under -circumstances the most favourable to human industry, could not possibly -be made to increase faster than in an arithmetical ratio. - -‘The necessary effects of these two different rates of increase, when -brought together, will be very striking. Let us call the population of -this island eleven millions; and suppose the present produce equal to -the easy support of such a number. In the first twenty-five years the -population would be twenty-two millions, and the food being also -doubled, the means of subsistence would be equal to this increase. In -the next twenty-five years, the population would be forty-four millions, -and the means of subsistence only equal to the support of thirty-three -millions. In the next period, the population would be eighty-eight -millions, and the means of subsistence just equal to the support of half -that number. And at the conclusion of the first century, the population -would be a hundred and seventy-six millions, and the means of -subsistence only equal to the support of fifty-five millions; leaving a -population of a hundred and twenty-one millions totally unprovided for. - -‘Taking the whole earth instead of this island, emigration would of -course be excluded: and supposing the present population equal to a -thousand millions, the human species would increase as the numbers 1, 2, -4, 8, 16, 32, 64, 128, 256, and subsistence as 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, -9. In two centuries the population would be to the means of subsistence -as 256 to 9; in three centuries as 4096 to 13, and in two thousand -years, the difference would be almost incalculable. - -‘In this supposition no limits whatever are placed to the produce of the -earth. It may increase for ever, and be greater than any assignable -quantity; yet still _the power of population being in every period_ so -much superior, the increase of the human species can only be kept down -to the level of the means of subsistence by the _constant operation of -the strong law of necessity_ acting as a check upon the greater power;’ -or as he elsewhere expresses it ‘_by misery or the fear of misery_.’ - -Oh! my good Sir, spare your calculations. We do not wish to be informed -what would be the exact proportion of the _imaginary_ means of -subsistence to the _imaginary_ population at a period, and at a rate of -increase, at which, if it had been possible for it to have gone on only -half so long as you suppose, the whole race would have been long ago -_actually_ extinct. Mr. Malthus here treats us as the fantastical -landlord treated _Sancho Panza_, by giving him a magnificent list of a -great variety of delicacies, which it appeared on examination were not -to be had, but made no mention of an excellent dish of cow-heel, which -was the only thing he had in the house, and which exactly suited the -stomach of the squire. I am, like Sancho, disposed to be satisfied with -what I can get; and therefore I must fairly tell Mr. Malthus that if he -will only spare me that first ratio of his, of a doubled population with -respect to this island, or to the whole earth (though there, begging his -pardon, if all other things went right, his arithmetical and geometrical -distinction would not as I have shewn come into play for some time), I -say if he will allow, as far as the principle of population is -concerned, that it is possible to double the number of inhabitants of -this country or of the world without any injury, I shall be perfectly -content with this concession: this first ratio shall be to me the golden -number of Pythagoras, and he may do as he pleases with all the remaining -links of an impossible series, which he has started only, I imagine, as -we throw out a tub to a whale by way of diversion. As to any serious -argument, it is perfectly immaterial, perfectly irrelevant to the -question, _whether we should double our population_, that we cannot -forsooth go on doubling it for ever; unless indeed it could be shewn -that by thus doubling it once, when we can do it without any -inconvenience, we should be irresistibly impelled to go on doubling it -afterwards when it would have become exceedingly inconvenient, and in -fact till the consequence would be general famine and the most extensive -misery. Without this addition to his argument, either expressed or -implied, Mr. Malthus’s double series is of no use or avail whatever: it -looks very pretty upon paper, and reads very neat, but is of no -practical importance. The evils which it describes so accurately as -arising from the increased disproportion between the ratios at every -step are mere imaginary things, existing no where but in the morbid -enthusiasm of Mr. Malthus’s mind, unless we suppose that every increase -of the existing population, either with or without a proportionable -increase in the means of subsistence, is a vicious habit, a species of -phrensy, where one step only leads to another, till we are plunged into -irretrievable ruin. But I would ask, supposing the inhabitants of a -country to have increased gradually in consequence of an increase in the -means of subsistence, from two millions to four, how that population of -four millions would have a greater tendency to excess, than the present -population of two millions? Would not the same sense of inconvenience, -the same dread of poverty, the same regard to the comforts of life, -operate in the same way and just as much upon every individual of the -four millions, as upon every individual of the two millions? What then -becomes of the increased tendency to excessive population in consequence -of its actual increase? Yet without this, an increased population is not -in itself an evil, or a good necessarily leading to evil, but a pure and -unmixed good unconnected with any greater evil. - -Even our author’s own account will give us a new country and a new -earth; it will double all the happiness and all the enjoyment that there -is at present in the world. If he had been a man of sanguine or poetical -feelings, methinks this single consideration would have been enough to -have made his heart leap up with a lively joy—to see ‘fast by hanging in -a golden chain this pendant world,’ &c. but he is a man whom you may -call rather of a saturnine than of a sanguine disposition. He therefore -had no leisure to behold this cheering object, but passes on ‘to -nature’s farthest verge,’ till he enters once more into ‘the confines of -Chaos, and the bosom of dim night.’ Mr. Malthus somewhere speaks -familiarly of the association of ideas, as if he were acquainted with -that doctrine. He has here at any rate very skilfully availed himself of -that kind of reasoning, which owes all its weight to that mechanical -principle. In all the stages of an unchecked population, except the -first, it having appeared that there is a great disproportion between -this principle and the progress of agriculture, our author concludes -that his readers will forget that that, which is so often represented as -an evil, can ever be a good, and therefore peremptorily adds, in -defiance of his own statement, that in _every period_ of the increase, -the power of population is much superior to the other. Though it appears -to me then that Mr. Malthus by his ratios has gained nothing in point of -argument over his readers, he has gained much upon their imagination. By -representing population so often as an evil, and by magnifying its -increase in certain cases as so enormous an evil, he raises a general -prejudice against it. Whenever you talk of any improvement or any -increase of population consequent upon it, he immediately plays off his -infinite series against you. He makes the transition from a practicable -to an impracticable increase of population, from that degree of it, -which is desirable to that which is excessive, by the assistance of his -mathematical scale, as easily as you pass from the low notes of a -harpsichord to the high ones. There seems no division between them. It -is true that so long as we confine ourselves to the real question before -us and distinguish between what is practicable, and what can never -possibly happen, the evil consequences of the system we contend for are -merely chimerical. But as Hercules in order to strangle the earth-born -Antæus was obliged to lift him from the ground, Mr. Malthus, in order to -complete his triumph over common sense, is obliged to call to his aid -certain airy speculations and fanciful theories of dangers, that, by his -own confession, can never possibly exist. Whenever you are for setting -out on the road of reform, Mr. Malthus stops you on the threshold, and -says, Do you consider where you are going? Don’t you know where this -road will lead you? and then, with a ‘come on, sir, here’s the place: -look how fearful and dizzy ’tis to cast one’s eye so low’; he hurries -you forward to his imaginary precipice, and shews you the danger you -have so narrowly escaped. However, it is not Mr. Malthus’s rhetoric, but -our own wilful blindness, that must persuade us that we have escaped -being dashed to pieces down any precipices, when he himself tells us -that the road is nothing more than a long winding declivity. - -I conceive there were two very capital errors in Mr. Malthus’s first -essay, which though he has abandoned or in a great measure softened them -down in his subsequent edition, still adhere to all his reasonings, and -give them a wrong bias. The first of these was, that vice and misery are -the only checks to population: secondly, that if population were for any -time freed from these restraints, it would in that case go on increasing -with a force and rapidity, which nothing would be able to withstand, and -which would bear down the feeble mounds that had before opposed its -progress till the whole would end in one wide scene of universal uproar -and confusion. As if, in the first place, mere misery of itself, without -a sense of greater misery, and a desire to avoid it, would do any thing -to prevent population; and in the second place, as if though the tax of -vice and misery were taken off for a time, yet the recurrence of the -same evils afterwards would not operate in the same way to repress -population, or as if population would in the mean time have acquired any -preternatural strength, with which its counteracting causes would be -unable to contend, or as if the mere mechanical checks to population -from the actual evils attendant upon it were not always necessarily a -match for, and proportioned to, the strength of the principle itself, -and its immediate tendency to excess. It is astonishing to see how those -men, who pique themselves the most on the solidity of their -understandings, and on a kind of dull matter-of-fact plodding accuracy, -are perpetually led away by their imaginations: the more so because they -are the dupes of their own vanity, and never suspect that they are -liable to any such deception. In the present instance our author has -been hurried into an unfounded assumption by having his imagination -heated with a _personification_. He has given to the principle of -population a personal existence, conceiving of it as a sort of infant -Hercules, as one of that terrific giant brood, which you can only master -by strangling it in its cradle; forgetting that the antagonist principle -which he has made its direct counterpoise, still grows with its growth -and strengthens with its strength, being in fact its own offspring: and -that the sharper evils which excessive population brings along with it, -more severe in proportion to its excess, naturally tend to repress and -keep population down to the same level, other circumstances being -supposed the same. Nothing can be clearer to my understanding than this; -yet it is upon the misrepresentation or misconception of this principle -that most of Mr. Malthus’s sophisms and ambiguities hinge. - -It is necessary to make a distinction between the tendency in population -to increase, and its power to increase; otherwise we may fall into great -errors. The power of population to increase is an abstract thing -independent of circumstances, and which is therefore always the same. -Its effects may therefore be very well described by a mathematical -series. When we speak of the power of population to increase in a -certain continued ratio, we do not mean to say that it will or will not -do so, but merely that it is possible that it should do so from the -nature of the principle itself. The power of population to increase is -in fact the same both before and after it has become excessive. But I -conceive this is not the case with its _tendency_ to increase, unless we -mean its _unchecked tendency_, which is saying nothing; for if we speak -of its real tendency to increase, this certainly is not always the same, -but depends exceedingly on circumstances, that is, is greater or less in -proportion as the population is or is not excessive. The ratio in which -Mr. Malthus has represented population as having a natural tendency to -increase, can therefore only relate to its unchecked progress, or to its -increase while the means of subsistence can be made to keep pace with -it; inasmuch as it has an actual tendency to increase in this ratio, -only while it is free from checks; but the moment these checks begin to -operate it is necessarily limited by them, or kept down within a certain -point to the level of the means of subsistence. In short, as a practical -guide, Mr. Malthus’s table is extremely fallacious; for the population -has a tendency to go on as 1, 2, 4, 8, &c. only while the subsistence -answers to it, or is as 1, 2, 4, 8, &c. and when the means of -subsistence can only be made to increase as 1, 2, 3, 4, &c. then the -population will, in the natural course of things, come down to it and -increase only as 1, 2, 3, 4, &c. or supposing it to have generally a -certain tendency to excess, it will then increase as 1¼, 2½, 3¾, 5, &c. -The actual, positive, practical tendency in population _to increase_ is -not therefore always the same, and for that very reason its tendency _to -excess_ is always the same, neither greater nor less, in consequence of -the absolute increase in population. Mr. Malthus himself admits fully -the distinction between the actual increase of population and its -excessive increase, between the tendency of population to increase with -the means of subsistence and its tendency to increase beyond those -means. In fact, almost one half of his voluminous work is taken up by -extensive historical researches to prove that the population is in all -ages and countries, in every form of society, and stage of civilization -kept down _nearly_ to the means of subsistence: that population has not -therefore at one time more than another, when it is strong than when it -is weak, in an improved than in a neglected state of cultivation, a -tendency to rush on beyond its necessary limits: yet if there is any one -inference to be drawn from the general spirit and tenor of Mr. Malthus’s -reasonings, it is this, that we ought not to encourage population, nor -be anxious about the increase of the means of subsistence, but ought -rather to keep them back as much as possible, because every addition -made to population by whatever means or in whatever circumstances, has a -direct and unavoidable tendency to make it go on increasing with an -accelerated force; or that the positive benefit of an enlarged -population is always counterbalanced by the increased danger of the -excess to which it naturally leads. Mr. Malthus by setting a certain -degree of plenty against a certain degree of excessive population, has -made it appear as if the two things were inseparably connected, as if -supposing a certain progress made in the one ratio you may then by -passing over to the opposite line see immediately what progress had been -made at the same time in the other, that is, what quantity of actual and -excessive population, proportioned to the increase in the means of -subsistence and its immediate consequence, would require to be cut off -by forcible and unnatural means, by vice and misery. It therefore looks -very much as if plenty were the immediate fore-runner of famine, as if -by sowing the seeds of virtue and happiness you were ensuring a larger -harvest of vice and misery, the evil engrafted on any good being always -greater than the real benefit itself, and as if by advancing population -and increasing the means of its support, you were only opening a new -Iliad of woes, and giving larger scope to the baneful operation of this -principle. So that it is not the increase of good that we are to think -of, but the introduction of evil that we are to guard against. The -proportion by which we are to be guided is clear and demonstrable; it is -as 256 to 9, and so regularly through all the gradations upwards and -downwards. At this rate it is pretty clear that our only object must be -to confine human happiness within as narrow limits, and to keep the -population down as low as possible, at least to suffer no addition to -it. We are something in the condition of a man suspended on a balance -with sharp-pointed spikes placed close to his body, and who must not -stir for his life. Now the source of this fallacy (on which the whole -turns, for without it it is null and abortive) lies here, namely in -supposing that of the two ratios here connected together, the one is the -cause of, or has any thing to do with the other. For the ratio in the -upper line being at number 256 does not depend on the other ratio being -at number 9, but simply on its being so many removes from the root or -first number. It only expresses a possible or imaginary series, or the -independent, direct, physical power of increase, or abstract tendency to -increase in population at each step, and what that increase would amount -to in a given number of steps, being left entirely to itself. If it -expresses any thing else, or the actual increase of population combined -with and in reference to the means of subsistence, it is utterly false -and delusive, and a contradiction in terms. For population as regulated -by, and arising out of the means of subsistence cannot have got the -start of it in so prodigious a manner, and as unconnected with the -increase of the latter cannot depend upon it. In the one case, -population instead of being to the means of subsistence as 256 to 9, -will only be a little a-head of it, or as 9½ to 9: in the other case it -will be as 256, whether the food has in a given time increased from 1 to -9, or only from 1 to 6, or whether it has stood still at 1. The number -of inhabitants from the beginning of the world, proceeding by the -geometrical ratio, would have been going on just the same whether they -had ever had any thing to eat or not (they are a kind of enchanted -people who live without food) whether the quantity of food had been more -or less, whether there has been any improvements in agriculture or not. -Though the improvements in agriculture had stood still at 1 in the -arithmetical scale this would not lessen or alter the height to which -the geometrical scale would have mounted in the interval. ‘It keeps on -its way unslacked of motion.’ By advancing in the arithmetical scale or -increasing the means of subsistence, you do not advance the geometrical -scale, much less by increasing the disproportion between the two, do you -increase the _waste_ population of the world, which must be greater in -proportion as less of it had been provided for. On the other hand, you -necessarily lessen this disproportion. For instead of supposing that if -we had remained at 1 in the lower scale, we should then have been at 1 -in the upper, or that if we had advanced no further than 3, the -disproportion would then only have been 4 to 3, and so on, whereas by -going on it is now as 256 to 9, the fact is that the disproportion -instead of being as 256 to 9, would have been 256 to 1, or 2, or 3: and -that the further we go in the one scale, though we cannot keep up with, -or overtake the other, yet we lose so much the less ground and are -nearer it than we should otherwise be. To argue otherwise is to be like -the children who when they cannot keep up with others, stand still and -begin to cry, thinking this the likeliest way to make them slacken their -pace. I shall therefore beg leave to look upon every increase in the -means of subsistence or actual population, as so much gained upon the -_infinite series_: by keeping back the _actual_ means of subsistence, I -do not lessen the _possible_ or abstract tendency of population to -increase, and I only add to its actual tendency to increase in -proportion as I add to its actual means of support. We have therefore a -clear addition to its actual quantity without any addition to its -tendency to excess, or without strengthening the evil principle, the -germ of incalculable mischief, which population contains within it. Mr. -Malthus has taken no pains to guard his readers against the conclusion, -that by increasing the actual population, you increase its actual -tendency to increase, as if either the disposition to propagate the -species were stronger in proportion to the number of those who possess -it, or as if in proportion as the power is spread over a larger surface, -it were not counteracted by being accompanied in each individual with a -proportionable share of common sense and reason, so that he will not be -a bit more likely to run upon famine because there will be twice as many -to keep him company as there used to be. The tendency to excessive -population in any community does not depend upon the number of -individuals in it, who have the power of abusing their liberty, or on -the quantity of mischief they _might_ do, but upon the moral character -of the individuals composing it, upon the difference between the -strength of moral restraint and the strength of physical appetite, or on -the actual inconvenience to which they _will_ submit for the sake of -gratifying their passions. In short the tendency to excess does not -depend on the point in the scale where the _limit_ is drawn, but upon -the tendency to overleap that limit; now this tendency or _impetus_ is -not increased by the distance which it has gone, like a stone rolling -down a hill, or like a torrent of water accumulating, but is like a cart -or waggon left on a declivity with a drag-chain fastened to one of the -wheels, which is carried forward till the chain is pulled tight and then -it stops of itself. This is a very clumsy comparison, but it has some -resemblance to the thing. We are not to calculate the actual tendency to -excess in population by the excess of the power itself over the means of -subsistence, which is greater as we advance, but by the excess of the -power restrained by other motives and principles over the means of -subsistence. In algebraic language the tendency to excess is not equal -to the power of population simply, but to the power, _minus_ the -difficulty of providing for its support, or the influence which that -difficulty has on the conduct of rational beings. - -If we suppose a barren island with half a dozen savages upon it, living -upon roots, vermin, and crawfish, without any of the arts or any of the -conveniences of life, ignorant of agriculture, neither knowing nor -caring how to improve their condition, passing their time in stupid -indolence, with as little pretensions to reason or refinement as can -well be desired, in short a very unphilosophical, improgressive, -viscious, miserable set of barbarians as need be; now what difference -would it make in the condition of these poor uninformed wretches, or how -would it add to their vices, their ignorance, or ‘squalid poverty,’ if -we suppose another island at a few leagues distance, of about the same -circumference, maintaining nearly the same number of inhabitants living -in the same manner? Yet as it is probable that these poor lousy -wretches[7] leading a life of sloth and hunger, may upon the whole have -more enjoyment than misery (for even the life of a savage seems better -than no life at all, nay some have gone so far as to say that it was -better than any other life) it would be desirable that there should be -such another island so inhabited. But it is exactly the same thing -whether we suppose twice the number of people inhabiting twice the -extent of ground, or maintained on the same ground, being twice as much -cultivated; population would not press the more on the means of -subsistence, nor would the misery be greater, nor the checks required to -prevent it greater. That is to say, an advance made in the state of -cultivation and in the arts of life so as to maintain double the -population must always be the means of doubling the numbers and -enjoyment of any people. The only possible difference would be that as -this increased population would be the consequence of greater industry -and knowledge, it would, one should think, denote of itself, that the -people would be less liable to unforeseen accidents, and less likely to -involve themselves in wilful distress than before. This is the first -step in the progress of civilization and in the history of all nations. -From this description of a barren island supporting a few wandering -half-starved ignorant savages, such as England might have been once, let -us turn our eyes to what England is now;—populous, enlightened, free, -rich, powerful and happy; excelling equally in arts, and arms, the -delight and terror of the rest of the world; the abode of science, the -nurse of virtue, the darling seat of the muses; boasting her long line -of heroes, and sages; her Bacon, her Newton, her Shakespear, her Milton, -and her Locke;[8] blest with the most perfect government administered in -the most perfect manner; having a king, lords, and commons, each -balancing the other, and each in their several station and degree being -security for every kind of liberty and every kind of property, -harmoniously conspiring together for the good of the whole, taking care -first of their own rights and interests as the most important, and then -of those of others: subject to mild and equal laws, which afford the -same immediate protection to every one in the enjoyment of his liberty -and his property, whether that property is five thousand a year or no -more than a shilling a day: maintaining in different degrees of comfort, -and affluence, from the common necessaries to the highest luxuries of -life, ten millions of souls, all supported by their own labour and -industry or that of others; all plying close with cheerful and patient -activity to some ingenious and useful handicraft, or some more severe -but necessary labour, or else reclining in ease and elegance, and -basking in the sunshine of life; her meanest beggar owing the rags which -cover his nakedness, and the crust of bread which keeps his body and -soul together to some of the most useful inventions which support, and -to that humanity which is only to be found in civilized society. Shall -we forget her schools, her colleges, her hospitals, her churches, her -crowded cities, her streets lined with shops, enriched with the produce -and manufactures of her own soil, or glittering with the spoils of a -hundred nations, her thronged assemblies, her theatres, her balls, her -operas, her ‘palaces, her ladies and her pomp’; her villas, her parks, -her cottages, her hamlets, her rich cultivated lands, teeming with -plenty, her green valleys, her ‘upland swells, echoing to the bleat of -flocks,’ her brave contented peasantry, their simple manners and honest -integrity; and shall we wish to degrade this queen of nations, this -mistress of the world once more into a horde of fierce barbarians, -treading back our steps, and resigning this splendid profusion of all -that can adorn and gladden human life, this gay variety, this happy -union of all that is useful and all that is ornamental, the refinements -of taste and decorations of fashion, the beautiful distinctions of -artificial society, and the solid advantages derived from our -constitution in church and state, for the groveling dispositions, the -brutal ignorance, the disgusting poverty, the dried skins and miserable -huts of the inhabitants of Terra del Fuego, or New Holland? Yet this it -seems from the doctrine of Mr. Malthus is our only safe policy, since -the lower we are in the scale of existence, the fewer and more miserable -we are, the farther removed we must be from the tremendous evils of -excessive population, which are the necessary consequences of the -progress of refinement and civilization. But as the fact _so far_ does -not, as I suppose Mr. Malthus will himself allow, square with his -theory, (for at no time during the progress of cultivation does the -population appear to have been pressing with increased force on the -means of subsistence, so that though the produce of the earth was -increasing every year, the inhabitants were increasing much faster, -every addition to the actual produce only occasioning some new addition -to the swoln and bloated state of population, and aggravating the -already dreadful symptoms of the disease) as I say the progress of -cultivation and improvement of different kinds has not produced any of -those fatal consequences we might be led to expect from it, so neither -do I apprehend any of these fatal consequences in future from carrying -it as much farther as it can go. I should just reverse the reasoning of -Mr. Malthus, who taking the evil as at its greatest height when the -world is supposed to be completely full and completely enlightened, -thence argues downwards against all attempts at improvement as dangerous -innovations; so I, finding that an improved cultivation and enlarged -population are good things through the inferior gradations, am apt to -think they would continue so, proceeding upwards to the topmost round of -the ladder, as far as population is concerned, for I once more give full -and fair warning that I engage in this question no farther, any loose, -general or accidental expressions to the contrary notwithstanding. To -make good Mr. Malthus’s argument against population, we must suppose, as -I have said before, that the tendency in population to increase goes on -increasing with the thing itself: this would be true, if as our author -supposes in his first edition, the passion always required the same -vent, in all circumstances, that is if we suppose man to be a mere -headstrong animal in this respect, his reason having no influence -whatever over his conduct, or which amounts to the same thing, that -_actual_ vice and misery (not foreseen, but felt) are the only checks to -population. At this rate, it is evident that the degree of misery -attending the gratification of the passion would have no effect to -restrain it, all degrees being alike indifferent or that the quantity of -actual misery incurred would be in proportion to the increased power of -producing it. I shall examine these positions more at large in another -letter; I here wish to shew in a few words that as applied to the -subject of increasing population, they lead to a direct absurdity. If we -suppose this passion to be perfectly blind and insensible, to be deaf to -all remonstrance, and regardless of all consequences, then no matter in -what depths of misery it involves us, it will have its way, and go its -own lengths. Take away the preventive check of _moral restraint_ (which -only comes in as a snivelling interpolation in some places of the second -edition) and the population would no doubt go on doubling as fast as it -could, not as fast as the means of subsistence would let it; that is, -the excess of population would be great in proportion to the actual -previous increase, or the excessive multiplication of the species would -be the necessary consequence of, and commensurate with the power of -excessive multiplication, which would depend on the number of persons -having that power. Now this is contrary to all we know of facts and -human nature, since in this case there could be no restraint to -population at any time, but the extreme of vice or the extreme of -misery. The power of population to increase is (we will grant) -unlimited, but the tendency to increase is necessarily limited by its -tendency to excess and limited by it in proportion to the excess. That -is to say, it does not follow that though when there ought to be only -two millions of inhabitants, there may be four, owing to the weakness of -the above-mentioned principle of _moral restraint_, that therefore that -four (by the tendency of population to increase in a geometrical ratio -or to double itself,) will in like manner become eight, and so on, -namely because the checks to it will increase in proportion; or though -the prospect of the inconveniences arising from doubling the population -in the first instance, the quantity of food remaining the same, might -not be sufficient to deter people, or overcome this propensity, yet the -prospect of famine consequent upon the second doubling undoubtedly -would, because their regard to consequences is supposed to remain the -same, and the evils they have to dread in the one case are greater, and -unless we suppose them to have become more stupid and brutal, must -operate upon them more forcibly than in the other. The strength of the -passion itself may be considered as always the same, or a given -quantity: but the motives to resist it arising from the consequences of -its indulgence are not always the same, but may be either none at all, -or very slight, or considerable, or extreme, as the obstacles to its -indulgence may be either none at all, of a trifling inconvenience, or -poverty, or absolute famine. Now the degree of excess in population, or -the inconveniences to which we expose ourselves by inconsiderate -gratification will depend entirely on the difference, be it more or -less, between the strength of the passion in each individual, and the -strength of moral restraint. If the latter principle is weak, it will -require to be stimulated by the immediate apprehension of some very -great inconvenience, before it will become a match for the importunity -of physical desire. If it is strong, a general conviction of the -propriety or prudence of self-denial will be sufficient to incline the -balance. But in no case unless we suppose man to be degraded to the -condition of the brutes, will this principle be so low and weak as to -have no effect at all, so that no apprehension of the last degree of -wretchedness, as the consequence, would take off or abate the edge of -appetite. There is therefore always a point at which the excess ceases, -and we have seen what this point at all times is. Thus if the operation -of rational motives is so much upon a level with the physical impulse, -as to keep population exactly or nearly down to the means of -subsistence, it will do so equally whether that population is actually -greater or less, whether it is stationary or progressive, for it will -increase only with the means by which it is supported. On the other hand -if from the manners, the habits, and institutions of society, there is a -considerable tendency in population to excess, this tendency to excess -will not be greater or less in proportion to the actual number of -inhabitants, or the actual quantity of food, nor will it depend on their -being progressive or stationary, but on the morals of the people being -retrograde, progressive, or stationary; for the tendency of population -itself to excess or to _increase_ excessively (a dubious kind of -expression) is not a perpetual, indefinite, invariable tendency to -increase from 2 to 4, from 4 to 8, &c. (as I have just shewn) but a -tendency to increase _beyond_ the means of subsistence to a certain -point or degree. This tendency to excess will consequently be the same -wherever we fix the point of subsistence, because it is only a given -tendency to outstrip that limit whether nearer or farther off, whether -advancing or retreating.[9] It is true there is a tendency in population -in this case to increase _faster_ than the means of subsistence, but not -to increase _faster and faster_, or to get more and more a-head of it. -It is in fact only a disproportionate superiority in certain motives -over others, which subjects the community or certain classes of it to a -great degree of want and hardship: and as far as their imprudence and -folly will carry them, they will go, but they will not go farther. They -will submit to be _pinched_, but not to be _starved_, unless this -consequence may sometimes be supposed to follow from the partial and -unnatural debasement of certain classes of the community, by driving -them to despair and rendering them callous to suffering. But the general -tendency in population to become excessive can only be increased by the -increased relaxation of moral restraint, or by gradually weakening the -motives of prudence, reason, &c. I cannot make this matter plainer. - -Mr. Malthus has not I conceive given this question of increasing -population and practical improvement fair play. He has contrived to -cover over its real face and genuine features with the terrible mask of -modern philosophy. His readers having been prevailed upon to give up the -fee-simple of their understandings into his hands, that no undue -advantages might be taken of them by the _perfectibility_ school, they -find it difficult to get it back out of his hands, though they want it -to go on again (the alarm being over) in the old road of common sense, -practical improvement, and liberal discussion. He had persuaded himself -that population was such an enormous evil in connection with a scheme of -unlimited improvement, that he can hardly reconcile himself to it, or -tell whether to think it a good or an evil in any shape, or according to -any scheme. By indulging his prejudices, he has so confounded his -perceptions, that he cannot judge rightly, even when he wishes to do it. -He found it most convenient, when he had to confute Mr. Godwin, to -describe reason as a principle of no practical value whatever, as a mere -negation. As therefore by the removal of vice and misery the office of -checking population would devolve upon this principle, which could do -nothing, population would in fact have no check left to it, and then -certainly the most terrible consequences would ensue. The only question -would be, how soon we should begin cutting one another’s throats, or how -many (whether a greater or a smaller number) had better be employed on -this kind of work. We perceive very plainly that this must be the -inevitable consequence of increased population, if it can only be kept -down by the positive checks of vice and misery. We apply the theory very -clearly to a future stage of the progress; but though, if the theory -were true, exactly the same scenes ought to be acting before our eyes at -present on a smaller scale, yet as we find that this is not the case, we -leave this circumstance out of the question, and conclude that there -must be some secret difference, some occult cause, something we cannot -very well explain, which makes the present state of things preferable to -all others: at least whatever might be the consequences of population, -if certain alterations and improvements were to take place, we are sure -that it produces no such consequences at present. With respect to the -lower, or actual stages of population and improvement, Mr. Malthus -supposes the _preventive_ checks to operate as well as the _positive_, -the fear of misery as well as the misery itself, because we know that it -does: but whenever you suppose any alteration or improvement to take -place in the world, so that you have not the fact to confront him with, -he immediately assumes the positive checks, or actual vice and misery, -as the only checks to population; herein trusting to his theory. -Whenever you are found to be advancing in the scale (which must be -indeed from some of the restraints being taken off) he directly supposes -that you are to be set free from all restraints whatever. He lets loose -his ratios upon you, and away they go like a clock running down. This -indeed would not be so well. Mr. Malthus thus artfully makes the -question of progressive improvement to be, whether we are to be governed -as now by mixed motives, or to be released from all moral restraint, for -he supposes that if population once passes a certain bourne, which he -points out to you, it will then become perfectly untractable, all its -future excesses will be prevented only by actual vice and misery. Thus -though all the good of our present situation, all wherein it differs -from a state of brutal violence or lingering want, is in fact owing to -the prevalence of a less degree of reason and foresight, yet that if -that principle were strengthened, and the consequence were an increase -of population, and a more general diffusion of the comforts of life, -this principle would then be of no avail in preventing or correcting the -excesses to which the unrestrained indulgence of our appetites would -give rise. There is a degree of absurdity, which staggers belief and -almost challenges our conviction, by making it incredible that if we -ourselves do not labour under some strong deception, the human -understanding should be capable of such extreme folly. - -I shall conclude this letter by laying down two or three general maxims, -which appear to me to follow clearly from the view which has been here -taken of the subject. - -First, while population goes on increasing at that tremendous rate -described by Mr. Malthus, it shews that there is nothing to restrain it; -that there is no need of any thing to restrain it: that it is wanted, -that its increase is a thing to be desired, not to be dreaded, and that -if it were possible for it to increase ten times faster, it would be so -much the better. - -Secondly, when it arrives at a certain point, that is, where the -population begins to press on the means of subsistence, either from -natural or artificial causes, or when it threatens to become an evil -from excess, it naturally stops short of its own accord, the checks to -it from vice, misery and moral restraint taken all together becoming -stronger as the excess becomes greater. It therefore produces its own -antidote and produces it in quantities exactly in proportion to its own -extent. It is not therefore (as Mr. Malthus would, when he pleases, have -us believe) like a stone hanging suspended over a precipice, which if it -once loses its balance will be hurled furiously down, rolling and -bounding from steep to steep with increased velocity till it reaches the -bottom, but like a balance suspended by a check-weight, where you cannot -increase the pressure on one side without increasing the resistance -proportionably on the other. It may therefore at worst be left very -safely to itself, instead of being considered as an evil against whose -unforeseen ravages no precautions are sufficient. - -Thirdly, as the same quantity of vice and misery co-operating with the -same degree of moral restraint, will always keep population at the same -(relative) point, so a less degree of actual vice and misery operating -on a greater degree of moral restraint, that is, of reason, prudence, -virtue, &c. will produce the same effect: and we may always judge of the -happiness of a people, and of the beneficial effects of population by -the prevalence of moral restraint over vice and misery, instead of -supposing that vice and misery are the best pledges of the happiness of -a state, and the only possible security against excessive population. -Consequently, the object of the philosopher must be to increase the -influence of rational motives, and lessen the actual operation of vice -and misery. It is only in proportion as he does this, that he does any -thing; for not only are vice and misery such cheap commodities that they -may be had at any corner merely with asking for (any bungler may -contract for them in the gross) but farther though they undoubtedly -operate as checks to population, I must be excused from admitting that -they _remedy_ the evils of population, unless the disease can be -considered as its own remedy, for in the degree in which they generally -exist, they are the only evils, that are ever likely to rise from it, -and as to those imaginary, unknown and unheard of evils, with which Mr. -Malthus is perpetually threatening us in order to reconcile us to those -we bear, I deny the possibility of their existence upon any known -principles of human society, either in its improved, or unimproved -state. - -I do not mean to say that there is any thing in the general principles -here stated that Mr. Malthus is at present disposed to deny, or that he -has not himself expressly insisted on in some part or other of his -_various_ work; it is enough for my purpose that there are other parts -of his work in which he has contradicted them and himself, and that the -uniform tenor of his first work leans directly the opposite way; and it -is not my business so much to inquire, how much Mr. Malthus retains of -his old philosophy, as how many of their old feelings his readers retain -on the subject, on which he will be able to build as many false -conclusions as he pleases, and with more safety to himself, than if he -still persevered in the direct and unqualified assertion of exploded -error. Plain, downright consistent falsehood is not dangerous: it is -only that spurious mixture of truth and falsehood, that perpetual -oscillation between the two extremes, that wavering and uncertainty that -baffles detection by rendering it difficult to know on what ground you -are to meet your adversary, that makes the sophist so formidable as he -is. In order therefore that Mr. Malthus may not avail himself of his -inconsistencies, I shall assume a right to contradict him as often as he -contradicts himself, and to consider the peculiar doctrines of his work -as its essential and only important doctrines. - - - - - LETTER V -WHETHER VICE AND MISERY ARE THE NECESSARY CONSEQUENCES OF, AND THE ONLY - CHECKS TO, THE PRINCIPLE OF POPULATION - - -SIR—I have in my last letter taken more pains than, I believe, was -necessary to shew that the tendency of population to increase is not a -_dangerous_ one; or at any rate that the actual increase of population -does not increase the danger. The same proportionable quantity of vice -and misery would always be _sufficient_ to keep down the excess of -population beyond the means of subsistence, whether we suppose those -means to be great or small: there is another question, whether the same -quantity of vice and misery is always _necessary_ for this purpose; and -further, whether all the vice and misery in the world are not only -necessary checks to, but the immediate effects of, the principle of -population, and of nothing else. - -Before I proceed, I must stop to observe that I have just been perusing -the corrections, additions, &c. to the third and _last_ edition of the -Essay; and I confess I have not much heart to go on. The pen falls from -my hand. For to what purpose is it to answer a man, who has answered -himself, who has hardly advanced an opinion that he has not retracted, -who after all your pains to overturn the extravagant assertions he had -brought forward, comes and tells you, Why I have given them up myself; -so that you hardly know whether to look upon him in the light of an -adversary or an ally. I do not like this shadow-fighting, any more than -Sancho liked his master’s fighting with enchanters. When Don Quixote had -to encounter the knight of the Prodigious Nose, his valour was inflamed, -and he rushed fiercely on his antagonist, but when after having unhorsed -him, he found that it was his old friend and neighbour the Batchelor -Carrasco, the fury of his arm was suspended, and he knew not what to say -or do.[10] Till Mr. Malthus lays aside his harlequin’s coat and sword, -and ceases to chase opinions through a rapid succession of varying -editions, it is not an easy matter to come up with him or give him fair -battle. It was thought a work of no small labour and ingenuity to make a -harmony of the Evangelists. I would recommend it to some one (who thinks -himself equal to the task) to make a harmony of Mr. Malthus’s different -performances. Till this is done, it seems impossible to collect the -sense of his writings, and consequently to answer them. It should not -therefore be the object of any one who would set himself to answer Mr. -Malthus, so much to say that such and such are the real and settled -opinions of that author, as that such opinions are floating in different -parts of his writings, that they are floating or fixed in the minds of -his readers, and that those opinions are not so correct as they might -be. If Mr. Malthus had chosen to disclaim certain opinions with their -consequences, advanced in the first edition, instead of denying that he -ever held such opinions, though he may still be detected with the -_manner_, he would have saved me the trouble of writing, and himself the -disagreeable task of reading, this _rude_ attack upon them. - -Mr. Malthus lays down as the basis of all his reasonings the two -following positions, viz. ‘First, that food is necessary to the -existence of man.’ - -‘Secondly, That the passion between the sexes is necessary, and will -remain nearly in its present state.’ - -‘These two laws,’ he adds, ‘ever since we have had any knowledge of -mankind, appear to have been fixed laws of our nature; and as we have -not hitherto seen any alteration in them, we have no right to conclude -that they will ever cease to be what they are now, without an immediate -act of power in that Being who first arranged the system of the -universe. The best arguments for the perfectibility of man are drawn -from a contemplation of the great progress that he has already made from -the savage state, and the difficulty of saying where he is to stop. But -towards the extinction of the passion between the sexes, no progress -whatever has hitherto been made. It appears to exist in as much force at -present as it did two thousand, or four thousand years ago. There are -individual exceptions now as there always have been. But, as these -exceptions do not appear to increase in number, it would surely be a -very unphilosophical mode of arguing to infer merely from the existence -of an exception, that the exception would in time become the rule, and -the rule the exception.’ - -As to the first position here laid down that food is necessary to the -existence of man, I shall not certainly dispute it. As to the second -kind of necessity, the gratification of the passion between the sexes, I -must beg leave to deny that this necessity is ‘like unto the first’ or -to be compared with it. Does Mr. Malthus really mean to say that a man -can no more abstain from the commerce of women, than he can live without -food? If so, he states what is not the fact. Does he mean to assert, -that the impulse to propagate the species, call it lust, or love, is a -principle as strong, as ungovernable, as importunate, as uniform in its -effects, as incapable of being subjected to the control of reason, or -circumstances, in short as much an affair of mere physical appetite, as -hunger? One would suppose so, for he makes no distinction between them, -but speaks of them both in the same terms, as equally _necessary_, as -equally fixed, and immutable laws of our nature, the operation of which -nothing short of a miracle can suspend or alter. There are two -circumstances, the mentioning of which will however be sufficient to -shew that the two kinds of necessity here spoken of are not of the same -order, or cogency, and cannot be reasoned upon in the same manner, -namely, that there are many instances of persons who have lived all -their lives without any intercourse with the other sex, whereas there is -no instance of any person living without food; in the second place, what -makes a most marked distinction between the two cases, is that the -longer we have been accustomed to do without the indulgence of the one -appetite, the more tractable we find it, whereas the craving occasioned -by the want of food, the longer it continues, becomes more and more -pressing, and at last utterly ungovernable, and if not satisfied in -time, is sure in all cases whatever, without a single exception, to -destroy the person’s life. These two considerations are of themselves -quite sufficient to overturn the analogy which is here pretended to be -set up between love and hunger (a delicate comparison)—to shew that the -first of these impulses is not an affair of mere physical necessity, -that it does not operate always in the same way, and that it is not a -thing, over which reason, or circumstances have no power. What can be a -stronger instance of the power of reason, or imagination, or habit over -this principle than the number of single women, who in every country, -till the manners become quite corrupt, preserve either through their -whole lives, or the best part of them the greatest purity and propriety -of conduct? One would think that female modesty had been a flower that -blossomed only in other climes (instead of being the peculiar growth of -our own time and country!) that Mr. Malthus in the heat of his argument, -and urged on by the ardour of his own feelings, is blind to the example -of so many of his fair countrywomen, in whom the influence of a virtuous -education, of virtuous principles, and virtuous dispositions prevails -over the warmth of the passions and force of temptation. Mr. Malthus’s -doctrine is a most severe satire against the modesty and self-denial of -the other sex, and ruins in one sweeping clause the unblemished -reputations of all those expecting or desponding virgins who had -hitherto been supposed to live in the daily, hourly practice of this -virtue. Trenched as he is behind history, philosophy, and a knowledge of -human nature, he laughs at all their prudery and affectation, and tells -them fairly that the thing is impossible; and that unless a miracle -could be worked in their favour, they might as well pretend to live -without eating or drinking, or sleeping, as without the men. He must be -of opinion with Iago, that ‘their greatest merit is not to leave it -undone but keep it unknown.’ Surely, _no maid could live near such a -man_.—Though this is what Mr. Malthus _might_ say, it is not what he -_does_ say: on the other hand, when he comes to particulars, (as he is -rather a candid man, and does not trouble himself much about -consistency) instead of representing real chastity as a kind of miracle -or monster in nature, he represents it as a very common thing and bears -honourable testimony to the virtue of most women, particularly in the -middle and higher ranks of life, in this respect. But then this virtue -is confined entirely to the women; the men neither do, nor ever will be -able to practise it; and this again salves the objection to his -argument. But this is of all others the strongest proof of the futility -of Mr. Malthus’s reasoning: for to what is this difference owing but to -the opinion of the world respecting their conduct, that is, to moral -causes? It cannot be said I presume that the greater command which the -other sex have over themselves is because their heads are stronger and -their passions weaker, (this would, I am sure, be out of all anatomical -proportion): it is owing solely to the institutions of society, imposing -this restraint upon them; though these institutions, if we are to -believe Mr. Malthus, can never in any circumstances whatever have any -effect on this passion. It is impossible to add any thing to the force -and conclusiveness of this argument by enlarging upon it: it speaks for -itself. I can only say, that I am willing to rest the whole controversy -on this single fact. If the passion is thus capable of being modified -and influenced by circumstances, opinion, and manners, and not merely -slightly modified, or for a short time, in one or two solitary -instances, as an exception to the general rule (though even this would -shew that the necessity is not absolute, invincible, fatal) but actually -kept under (as far as it has any thing to do with population, or -child-bearing) by one half the sex in every well-regulated community, I -conceive Mr. Malthus can only be justified in saying, that no possible -circumstances will ever render this passion entirely subject to the -control of reason, by saying that no circumstances will ever arrive in -which it would be the imperious and indispensable duty of every one to -habituate himself to such restraint, in which that necessity would be -generally felt and understood and enforced by the opinion of the whole -community, and in which nothing but a general system of manners formed -upon that opinion could save the community from ruin, or from the evils -of excessive population, which is point-blank contrary to Mr. Malthus’s -whole doctrine. In short, Mr. Malthus’s whole book rests on a malicious -supposition, that all mankind (I hope the reader will pardon the -grossness of the expression, the subject is a gross one) are like so -many animals _in season_. ‘Were they as prime as goats, as hot as -monkeys, as salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross as ignorance -made drunk,’ matters could then be no worse than he represents them. -Population could then only be checked by vice and misery and by nothing -else. But I hope things are not quite so bad.[11] Mr. Malthus says, -‘that the passion between the sexes is necessary, or at least that it -will remain nearly in its present state.’ To this I might perhaps -assent, if I knew what ‘its present state’ is. Does Mr. Malthus mean by -its present state its present state in England or in Scotland, or in -Italy, or in Asia, or in Africa, or America, for in all or most of these -places is its present state a very different thing from what it is in -the rest of them? One would imagine from the easy complacency with which -Mr. Malthus treats the subject, that the present state of this passion -was a something really given, a fixed quantity, a general rule like the -relation between two and two and four, or _between food and the human -stomach_,[12] that it was indulged universally and equally in all -countries, instead of being as various in itself and its effects as -climate and all other causes, natural and artificial, can make it.—Thus -to give an example as much in point as can be, is the present state of -this passion, _i.e._ of the indulgence of it, the same in Lancashire, -that it is in Westmoreland, the very next county to it? In the one you -find the most profligate manners, and the most extreme licentiousness, -in the other there is hardly any such thing. Mr. Malthus often says, he -will never dispute any thing that is proved by experience and a real -observation of human life. Now I conceive that the observation which I -have just stated is a _fact_. Yet Mr. Malthus seems to have been quite -insensible to this, and many other facts of the same kind. But the truth -is, that your practical reasoners, your matter-of-fact men are the -dullest of all mortals. They are like justices of the peace who are -bound to receive no evidence unless it is given in upon oath, and who -without descending from the bench and forfeiting the dignity of their -pretensions cannot attend to any of those general surmises, those -obvious sources of information or casual impressions, by which other -people arrive at common sense, and human feelings.—They shut their eyes -to the general face of nature, and trying to grope their way by the help -of facts as they call them, wander like blind men from _pillar to post_, -without either guide or object, and are lost in a labyrinth of dates, -names, capital letters, numeros, official documents, authenticated -copies of lying affidavits, curious records that are nothing to the -purpose, registers of births, deaths, marriages, and christenings, -voyages and travels.—Mr. Malthus may perhaps mean, when he says that -‘the sexual passion will remain nearly in its present state,’ that it -will remain in the same state in each country. To this I should also -assent, if I could agree with him, ‘that ever since we have had any -knowledge of mankind, the passion of which we are speaking, appears to -have been a fixed law of our nature, and that as we have not hitherto -seen any alteration in it, we have no right to conclude that there will -ever be any.’ If Mr. Malthus in this passage meant to confine him to the -passion or impulse itself, I should not certainly be at much pains to -contradict him. But that is not the question. The question relates -solely to the irregular indulgence of, or the degree of restraint -imposed on the passion; and in this respect his assertion is evidently -false. The difference in the state of manners in the same country at -different periods is as striking and notorious as that between the -manners of different countries. There is as much difference between what -England was in this respect a hundred and sixty years ago, and what she -is now, as there is between England and Italy at the present day. Was -there no difference between the manners of ancient Rome in the early -periods of her history, and towards the decline of the empire? May not -the state of manners in Italy under the republic, under the emperors, -and under the popes, be distinctly traced to the influence of religious -or political institutions, or to other causes, besides the state of -population, or the facility of gratifying the abstract instinctive -propensity to sexual indulgence? Was there not a striking difference -between the severity and restraint which was required and undoubtedly -practised under Charles I. and in the time of the Puritans, and that -torrent of dissipation and undisguised profligacy which burst upon the -kingdom after the restoration of Charles II.? This sudden transition -from demure and saint-like or hypocritical austerity to open shameless -licentiousness cannot assuredly be accounted for from the increasing -pressure of population. Nor can it be pretended to have been owing to -this principle that the tide afterwards turned again at the Revolution -with the habits and fashions of the court, and with the views and maxims -of that party who had now got the ascendancy. A learned writer might -easily fill a volume with instances to the same purpose. But the few -which are here skimmed from the mere surface of history, and which must -be familiar to every one, are sufficient to disprove Mr. Malthus’s -assertion, not as a metaphysical refinement, but as a practical rule, -that the passion between the sexes and the effects of that passion have -remained always the same. The indulgence of that passion is so far from -being a law antecedent to all other laws, and paramount to all other -considerations, that it is in a manner governed almost entirely by -circumstances, and may be said to be the creature of the imagination. -But Mr. Malthus says, that no regular or gradual progress has hitherto -been made towards the extinction of this passion, and that it exists in -as much force at present, as it did two thousand, or four thousand years -ago. The question is whether this passion is fixed and stationary, -always remaining at the same point, controuling circumstances, but not -controuled by them, not whether the change of circumstances and lapse of -time may not bring it back to the same point again. I think it probable -that if Mr. Malthus had to preach a sermon on the truth and excellence -of revealed religion, he would be inclined to take for one of his topics -the benefit we have derived from it in the government of our passions, -and general purity of our manners. He might launch out into a -description shewing how the contemplation of heavenly things weans the -affections from the things of the world, and mortifies our carnal -desires, how a belief in future rewards and punishments strengthens our -resolution, and is indeed the only thing that can render us proof -against every species of temptation; he might enlarge on the general -purity and elevation which breathes through the sacred writings, on the -law confining the institution of marriage to pairs; he might dwell on -the grossness and pernicious tendency of the Pagan mythology; he might -glance at the epistle to the Romans, or the preamble to the Jewish laws, -and finding that the practices there described are not common among -_us_, without travelling to Rome, or inquiring into the present state of -Chaldæa, conclude by felicitating his hearers on the striking contrast -between ancient and modern manners, and on the gradual improvement of -morals and refinement of sentiment produced by the promulgation of -christianity. Though we in general reason very incorrectly in comparing -ancient and modern manners, (for we always confound the former with -eastern, and the latter with our own manners) I am apt to think that -some change has taken place in this passion in the course of time. It -seems to be more modified by other feelings than it used to be; it is -less a boiling of the blood, an animal heat, a headlong, brutal impulse -than it was in past ages. The principle is somewhat taken down and -weakened, the appetite is not so strong, we can stay our stomachs better -than we used to do, we do not gorge indiscriminately on every kind of -food without taste or decency. The vices of the moderns are more -artificial than constitutional. They do not arise so much from instinct -as from a depraved will. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. -We stimulate ourselves into affected passion: we are laborious imitators -of folly, and ape the vices of others in cold blood. But whatever may be -the result of an inquiry into the comparative state of ancient and -modern manners, I cannot allow that it has any thing to do with the -present question. I will allow that the progress of refinement and -knowledge has in ninety-nine instances out of a hundred tended to -deprave instead of improving the morals of men, that at the same time -that it has taken away the gross impulse, it has introduced an -artificial and studied depravity, the operation of which is more subtle, -dangerous and universal; in short that nations as they grow older like -individuals grow worse, not from constitution, but habit. Still this -fact if granted (and I am afraid it is too near the truth) will not at -all prove Mr. Malthus’s theory, that this passion remains always the -same, being influenced neither by time nor circumstances. Secondly, it -will not overturn the speculations respecting the possibility of making -an entire change in the passion ‘in a state of society altogether -different from any that has hitherto existed,’ but will on the contrary -render such a change more desirable and necessary, as our only resource -against the general contagion of vice and profligacy. If this vice is -found to spread gradually wider and wider, clinging to the support of -institutions, which in all other respects favour selfishness and -sensuality, if it is not the only one among the vices, which, while all -others spread and flourish and are fostered in the eye of the world, -does not hide its diminished head, this is not to be wondered at. But it -would be a singular way of defending the present institutions of -society, that from all our past experience we find that their progress -has been attended with the gradual corruption of manners, and has -uniformly ended in an utter debasement of character and the relaxation -of every moral tie; and it would be a strange kind of inference to say -that no alteration in the circumstances or institutions of society would -ever make men different from what they are, because as long as those -circumstances and institutions have been known to exist, mankind have -remained always the same, or have been growing worse instead of better. -Mr. Malthus denies that Mr. Godwin has any right to conclude that -because population has not produced the dreadful effects he ascribes to -it in any known state of society, it would not therefore produce them in -a state of society quite different from any other; and in the same -manner I should deny that Mr. Malthus has any right to infer because the -progress of the human mind has not in the past history of the world been -productive of any very beneficial consequences, that it will never be -productive of any such consequences under very different circumstances. -Knowledge, as I have shewn in a former letter, is not a necessary, -absolute good: neither is it a necessary evil. Its utility depends on -the direction which is given to it by other things; e.g. in Scotland, -the case before alluded to, knowledge does not seem to be the enemy of -sobriety and good manners, but a support to them. The decay in the -purity and simplicity of Scotch manners, whenever it arrives, will not I -dare say be owing to the increase of knowledge, but to the spread of -luxury, or other external causes. When the whole mass is tainted, it -cannot be expected that knowledge should escape the infection. All -therefore that the advocates for the future progressive improvement of -mankind have to prove in order to make out a consistent case, is that -the state of the passion between the sexes depends not upon physical, -but moral causes; that where these latter causes have been favourable to -severity of manners, and the elevation of the character, these effects -have uniformly flowed from them, and may be seen not in one or two -singular exceptions, but in large classes of people, in the prevailing -manners of whole ages and nations. Thus we do not merely know that -Scipio was chaste, and Nero profligate, but we know that there was -nothing singular in the chastity of the one, or the profligacy of the -other; it was little more than the emanation of the character and -circumstances of the times in which they lived. The leaders of the -republican party in the time of Cromwell, such men as Milton, Hampden, -Pym, Marvel, Sydney, were not I believe in the command over their -passions exactly on a level with the young courtiers in the following -reign: but though the names of these men stand out and ever will stand -out in history, giving dignity to our nature in all its parts, yet it is -not to be supposed that they alone drank of the pure waters of faith and -reason, which flowed freely at that time; but that the same lofty -thoughts, the same common exertions, and the same passions, growing out -of the circumstances of the times, must have imparted a sort of severe -and high-toned morality to men’s minds in general, influencing the -national character in a very different way from the foreign fopperies -and foreign vices, from the train of strumpets, buffoons, fiddlers, and -obscene rhymers let loose upon the people in the succeeding reign. It is -not necessary to prove that manners have always changed for the better, -but that they have always changed for the better, as far as those -general causes have operated in part, from the complete success of which -a total change is predicted. This passion as it runs into licentiousness -is certainly one great obstacle in the way of improvement, and one of -those passions which we must conquer before we can hope to become -perfectly reasonable beings (if this is a thing either desirable or -possible). But to say, that we may get a complete mastery over our -passions, and that we shall still be in danger from the principle of -population is to me a paradox. Population is only dangerous from the -excess of this passion, and I see no reason why its excesses may not be -restrained as well as those of any other passion. We find by uniform -experience that it is, like other passions, influenced by example, -institution, and circumstances, according to the degree of strength they -have; and if there is reason to suppose it possible that any of the -other passions should ever be totally eradicated, or subjected to moral -restraint, there is no reason why this should not be so too. It does not -form any anomaly to the other prevailing passions of men. It is not, -like hunger, a necessary instinct. Its effects are more like those of -drunkenness: and we might as well make this latter vice an -insurmountable objection to the good order and happiness of society, by -saying that there will always be as many drunken disputes, brawls and -riots, as there are at present, because there are as many instances of -people getting drunk now as there were two thousand years ago, as -pretend to deduce the same consequence from the existence of such a -passion as lust.—To judge from his book, I should suppose Mr. Malthus to -be a man of a warm constitution, and amorous complexion. I should not -hesitate in my own mind, to conclude that this is ‘the sin that most -easily besets him.’ I can easily imagine that he has a sufficient -command over himself, in all other respects. I can believe that he is -quite free from the passions of anger, pride, avarice, sloth, -drunkenness, envy, revenge, and all those other passions which create so -much disturbance in the world. He seems never to have heard of, or never -to have felt them; for he passes them over as trifles beneath the notice -of a philosopher. But the women are _the devil_.—The delights and -torments of love no man, he tells us, ever was proof against: there all -our philosophy is useless; and reason but an empty name. ‘The rich -golden shaft hath killed the flock of all affections else,’ and here -only he is vulnerable. The smiles of a fair lady are to him -irresistible; the glimpse of a petticoat throws him into a flame; and -all his senses are up in arms, and his heart fails within him, at the -very name of love. His gallantry and devotion to the fair sex know no -bounds; and he not only answers for himself, but undertakes to prove -that all men are made of the same combustible materials. His book -reminds one of the title of the old play, ‘All for love, or the world -well lost.’ If Mr. M.’s passions are too much for him, (though I should -not have the worse opinion of him on this account) I would advise him to -give vent to them in writing love-songs; not in treatises of philosophy. -I am aware, however, that it is dangerous to meddle in such matters. As -long as Mr. Malthus gravely reduces the strength of the passion to a -mathematical certainty, he is sure to have the women on his side; while -I, for having the presumption to contradict his amorous conclusions, -shall be looked upon as a sour old batchelor, and convicted of rebellion -against the omnipotence of love. - -But to return. It is the direct object of Mr. Malthus’s philosophy to -draw our attention from the slight and superficial influence which human -institutions have had on the happiness of man, to those ‘deeper-seated’ -causes of misery which arise out of the principle of population. These, -he says, are by far the most important, and the only ones worth our -attending to, because they are the only ones on which all our reasonings -and all our exertions will have no effect. He very roundly taxes Mr. -Godwin and others as men who talked about what they did not understand, -because they did not perceive that social institutions, and the -different forms of government, and all the other means in our power of -affecting the condition of human life are ‘but as the dust in the -balance,’ compared with a principle entirely out of our power, which -renders the vices of those institutions necessary, and any essential -improvement in them hopeless. He is also angry with Hume for saying -something about ‘indolence.’ We are in no case to look beyond the -principle of population, in accounting for the state of man in society, -if we would not fall under Mr. Malthus’s displeasure, but are to resolve -every thing into that. In his hands, population is the Aaron’s rod which -swallowed up all the other rods. The piety of some of the old divines -led them to see all things in God. Mr. Malthus’s self-complacency leads -him to see all things in the Essay. He would persuade us that his -discovery supersedes all other discoveries; that it is the category of -political science; that all other causes of human happiness and misery -are merged and sunk in that one, to which alone they owe their -influence, and their birth. So that we are in fact to consider all human -institutions, good, bad, and indifferent, all folly, vice, wisdom, -virtue, knowledge, ignorance, liberty and slavery, poverty and riches, -monarchy, aristocracy, democracy, polygamy, celibacy, all forms and -modes of life, all arts, manufactures, and science, as resulting -mechanically from this one principle; which though simple in itself, yet -in its effects is a jumble, a chaos of contradictions, a mass of -inconsistency and absurdity, which no human understanding can unravel, -or explain. Over this crew and medley of opinions, Mr. Malthus ‘sits -umpire, and by decision more embroils the fray by which he reigns’: for -he is not quite undetermined in his choice between good and evil, but is -always inclined to give the preference to vice and misery, not only as -the most natural, but as the most safe and salutary effects of this -principle, as we prescribe a low diet and blisters to persons of too -full a temperament. ‘Our greatest good is but plethoric ill.’—Mr. -Malthus may perhaps plead in his own defence that at the outset of his -work (second edition) he professes to treat only of _one_ of the causes -which have hitherto impeded the progress of virtue and happiness, and -that he was not therefore, by the terms of the agreement, bound to take -cognizance of any of the other causes which have tended to produce the -same effect. He is like a man who takes it into his head to make a huge -map of Scotland, (larger than any that ever was made of the whole world -besides) and gives you into the bargain as much or as little of Ireland -or the rest of Great Britain as he pleases. Any one else who chuses, may -make a map of England or Ireland on the same scale. There is something -fair and plausible in this. But the fact really is, that Mr. Malthus -will let nobody make a map of the country but himself: he has put -England, Wales, and Ireland in the three corners of his great map (for -the title takes up one of the corners) and he insists upon it that this -is quite sufficient.—What he aims at in all his plans and calculations -of existing grievances is to magnify the evils of population, to -exonerate human institutions, and to throw the whole blame on nature -herself. I shall therefore try to give such a sketch, or bird’s-eye view -of the subject as may serve to shew the unfairness of our author’s -statement. How little he has confined himself to his professed object, -and how little he can be considered in the light of a joint-inquirer -after truth, will be seen by quoting the following passages at large. - -‘The great error under which Mr. Godwin labours throughout his whole -work is, the attributing of almost all the vices and misery that prevail -in civil society to human institutions. Political regulations, and the -established administration of property are with him the fruitful sources -of all evil, the hotbeds of all the crimes that degrade mankind. Were -this really a true state of the case, it would not seem an absolutely -hopeless task to remove evil completely from the world; and reason seems -the proper and adequate instrument for effecting so great a purpose. But -the truth is, that though human institutions _appear_ to be the obvious -and obtrusive causes of much mischief to mankind, they are, in reality, -light and superficial, in comparison with those deeper-seated causes of -evil which result from the laws of nature.’ - -Now by ‘the laws of nature,’ of which human institutions are here made -only a sort of _cat’s-paw_, our author means neither more nor less than -the principle of population. For after supposing in compliment to Mr. -Godwin, a state of society in which the spirit of oppression, the spirit -of servility, and the spirit of fraud, in which envy, malice, and -revenge, in which every species of narrowness and selfishness are -banished from the world, where war and contention have ceased to exist, -where unwholesome trades and manufactures are no longer encouraged, &c., -he breaks out into his usual cant of, ‘I cannot conceive a form of -society so favourable upon the whole to population.’ He then proceeds -gravely to shew, by a train of reasoning which has been already -recapitulated, and which need not surely be refuted twice, how in such a -state of happy equality population would go on increasing without limit, -because all obstacles to it, ‘all anxiety about the future support of -children,’ would be entirely removed, though it would at the same time -be attended in every stage of the progress with increasing and -aggravated wretchedness, because those very obstacles, and the same -difficulty of providing for the support of children would still remain. - -‘Here then,’ he says, ‘no human institutions existed, to the -perverseness of which Mr. Godwin ascribes the original sin of the worst -men. No opposition had been produced by them between public and private -good. No monopoly had been created of those advantages which reason -directs to be left in common. No man had been goaded to the breach of -order by unjust laws. Benevolence had established her reign in all -hearts. And yet in so short a period as fifty years, violence, -oppression, falsehood, misery, every hateful vice, and every form of -distress, which degrade and sadden the present state of society, seem to -have been generated by the most imperious circumstances, by laws -inherent in the nature of man, and absolutely independent of all human -regulations.’ - -‘It is a perfectly just observation of Mr. Godwin, that _there is a -principle in human society by which population is perpetually kept down -to the level of the means of subsistence_. The sole question is, what is -this principle? Is it some obscure and occult cause? Is it some -mysterious interference of heaven, which at a certain period strikes the -men with impotence, and the women with barrenness? Or is it a cause open -to our researches, within our view; a cause which has constantly been -observed to operate, though with varied force, in every state in which -man has been placed? Is it not misery and the fear of misery,’ -[certainly two very different things] ‘the necessary and inevitable -results of the laws of nature, which human institutions, so far from -aggravating, have tended considerably to mitigate, though they can never -remove?’ He then proceeds to shew how the distinctions of property and -the other regulations of society would necessarily result from the -principle of population, and adds, that ‘certainly if the great -principle of the Essay be admitted, it affects Mr. Godwin’s whole work, -and essentially alters the foundations of political justice. A great -part of his book consists of an _abuse_ of human institutions’ [very sad -indeed] ‘as productive of all or most of the evils which afflict -society. The acknowledgement of a new and totally unconsidered cause of -misery must evidently alter the state of these arguments,’ [comfortable -again] ‘and make it absolutely necessary that they should be either -newly modified, or _entirely rejected_.’—How fortunate to have -discovered that the evils in society are not owing to a cause which -might be remedied, but to one that renders their removal absolutely -hopeless! - -I might here, if I were to follow the impulse of my own levity, say that -the yellow fever has I believe made its appearance since the first -edition of Political Justice, though I do not know that this -circumstance would make it necessary entirely to new-model the -arguments. As to Mr. Malthus’s ‘new and unconsidered cause of misery,’ I -deny that the necessity of providing a proportionable quantity of food -for an increase of people was new or unconsidered. All that Mr. Malthus -has discovered is that the population would go on increasing, though -there was nothing to support it!—Our author has chosen to justify or -palliate the real disorders which prevail in society by supposing a case -of fictitious distress; by which means he proves incontestably that the -present vices and defects of political institutions, &c. are -_comparative_ blessings. He supposes that in a state of society where -the public good was the constant guide of action, men would entirely lay -aside the use of their reason, and think of nothing but begetting -children, without considering in the least how they were to be -maintained. Now I will also for a time take a license from common sense, -and make a supposition as wise as Mr. Malthus’s. I will suppose all the -inhabitants of this town to come to a determination to live without -eating, and do nothing but drink gin. What would be the consequence? -Perpetual intoxication, quarrels, the fierceness of hunger, disease, -idleness, filth, nakedness, maudlin misery, sallow faces, sights of -famine and despair, meagre skeletons, the dying, and the dead. But why -need I attempt to describe what has been already so much better -described by Hogarth? Here then, I might exclaim, no human institutions -existed, no unjust laws, no excessive labour, no unwholesome trades, no -inequality, no malice, envy, lust, or revenge, to produce the dreadful -catastrophe we just have witnessed: yet in the short space of a single -month or fortnight we see that scenes of distress, shocking beyond any -thing of which we can at present form even a conception, would arise out -of the most imperious circumstances, from laws inherent in the nature -and constitution of man, and absolutely independent of all human -regulations, namely, _from the unrestricted use of gin_. The inference -is direct and unavoidable, that we ought to submit patiently and -thankfully to all the abuses, vices, and evils that are to be found in -this great city, and flatter, excuse, and encourage them by all the -means in our power, _because_ they all of them together do not amount to -a tenth part of the mischief that would be the consequence of the -unrestrained indulgence of a single pernicious habit. This is something -the way in which Mr. Malthus reasons about the unrestricted increase of -population. But the absurdity is too gross even for burlesque. - -The following is, I conceive, a fair summary of Mr. Malthus’s theory. -First, that the principle of population is a necessary, mechanical -thing, that it is the ‘grinding law of necessity,’ unavoidably leading -to a certain degree of vice and misery, and in fact accounting for -almost all the evils in human life. Secondly, that all the other sources -of vice and misery which have been so much and idly insisted on, have no -tendency to increase the necessary evils of population, but the -contrary, or that the removal of those different sources of evil would -instead of lessening the evils of population, which are much the most -important, really aggravate them. Here then three questions naturally -present themselves. - -First, how much of the vice and misery in society is actually owing to -human institutions, or the passions, follies, imperfections, or -perversities of human nature, independently of the principle of -population. - -Secondly, whether the removing or diminishing the evils produced by -those causes would necessarily increase the evils of population, and -open a door to the influx of more vice and misery than ever. - -Thirdly, whether the tendency of population to excess is the effect of a -simple principle operating mechanically, whether it is to be looked upon -as one of the laws inherent in our very nature, or whether the state of -morals in every country does not depend greatly and principally on the -state of society, on the condition of the people, on public opinion, and -on a variety of other causes which are more or less within our power; -that is, whether human institutions, laws, &c. instead of being the mere -blind instruments of this principle, do not re-act very powerfully upon -it, and give it its direction and limits.—If it can be shewn under this -last head, that there is some connection between the form of government -and the state of morals, and that the better the government, the better -the morals, the evils of population instead of forming an excuse for bad -governments will only aggravate their mischief, and increase the -necessity of getting rid of them. Again, if it can be made to appear -that there is no necessary, or general proportion between the degree of -vice in any country, and the pressure of population on the means of -subsistence, that it is not always the effect of want, but constantly -outruns the occasion, being self-propagated, and often spreading like a -contagion through those countries and those ranks in life, where the -difficulty of providing for a family is least felt, this will shew that -the mere existence of vice is no proof of its being necessary, or that -it is to be considered as a test of the excessive increase of -population. - -Farther, if on the other hand, improving the condition of the lower -classes of the people is generally found, instead of leading to an -unrestrained increase of population, and thus adding to their misery, to -give them a greater attachment to the decencies and comforts of life, to -make them more cautious how they part with them, to open their ideas and -prospects, to strengthen the principle of moral restraint, and so -confine population within reasonable limits, this will be an additional -motive for improving their condition (really and truly, not by taking -from them the comforts and privileges they already possess). Again, if -it should be found that independently of the immediate acts of tyranny -exercised by particular governments, and the poverty and wretchedness -experienced by certain classes of the community there is a tendency in -some governments to keep population down infinitely below the level to -which it might rise by a proper encouragement of agriculture, and the -methods of industry by which population is supported, it will be but a -poor defence of the folly or tyranny of such governments to say, that -they are a necessary expedient to prevent the excess of population. - -Lastly, if those states or communities, where the greatest equality -prevails, are those which maintain the greatest number of inhabitants, -and where the principle of moral restraint is likely to operate with -most effect, that is, where population is soonest able to reach its -utmost limits, and goes the least beyond them, certainly those -institutions which favour the greatest disparity of conditions, the -extremes of poverty and the extremes of luxury, will receive no very -striking support from the principle of population. These are I think the -chief points and inferences to which I wish to direct the reader’s -attention in the few slight remarks which I have to make upon the -subject. - -It may be proper to observe, in the first place, that Mr. Malthus by -making vice and misery the necessary consequences of his favourite -principle lays himself open to a very obvious objection. For if he means -to prove any thing by his theory, the question immediately is, what -degree of vice and misery is rendered necessary by this principle, or by -the _physical constitution of man_? Are we to suppose that only so much -evil is necessary as naturally grows out of the British constitution? Or -does this principle also prove that all the evils that are suffered -under the Turkish government, or that were suffered under the old -government of France, or that may arise out of its present government -are equally necessary and salutary? How far are we to go? Where are we -to stop? Are we to consider every evil and abuse as necessary, merely -because it exists, or only as much of the thing as we cannot get rid of? -But how much can we really get rid of? Are vice and misery uniformly -owing to the development of this principle in certain situations, or are -they to be in part ascribed to the intervention of other arbitrary, and -gratuitous causes, the operation of which may be more easily set aside? -In what manner are we to distinguish between what is necessary, and what -is not? All these questions require to be asked before we can proceed to -build any practical conclusions on Mr. Malthus’s theory of the evils of -population. The vague, general term, ‘vice and misery,’ gives us no -clue. It is mere cant; and applies equally to the best and worst of all -possible governments. It proves either nothing, or it proves a great -deal more than I conceive Mr. Malthus would in all cases wish to prove -by it. - -There is no species of vice or oppression that does not find a ready -excuse in this kind of reasoning. And besides, by leaving the quantity -of vice and misery always uncertain, we never subject ourselves to the -necessity of following a general principle into any obnoxious -conclusions; and are always at liberty to regulate our opinions -according to our convenience by saying—I would have no more vice and -misery than at present prevails: but that degree of vice and misery -which is inwoven with the present constitution of things, I would by no -means have removed, it might endanger the whole fabric. This is a double -advantage. We thus sacrifice to the powers that be, without violating -decorum, or being driven off our guard by an inflexible and pedantic -logic. I have so good an opinion of Mr. Malthus that I do not think he -has any predilection for vice and misery in the abstract, or for their -own sakes: I do not believe he would stand forward as the advocate of -any abuses from which he himself does not reap some benefit, or which he -may not get something by defending. - -I do not know that I can go so far as with Mr. Godwin to ascribe the -original sin of the worst men to social institutions, but of this I am -very sure that that original sin and those institutions do not proceed -entirely from the principle of population. There are other vices and -mischievous propensities inherent in our nature, besides the love of -pleasure. We are troubled with a complication of disorders, and it is -bad advice to say, that we ought to direct all our attention to the one -that is perhaps the most inveterate, or because we despair of doing any -thing with that, make no attempts to counteract the progress of the -others, either by palliatives or otherwise. If we are deceived with -respect to the real extent, and sources of our disorders, it is -impossible we should hit upon the right method of cure, whatever might -be the case, if we were informed of our true situation.—The principle of -population alone, according to the description Mr. Malthus gives of it -as a principle of unbridled and insatiable lust, would indeed be -sufficient to account for all the vice and misery in the world, and for -a great deal more than there is in the world. It would soon overturn -every thing. But we have seen that that account is not just. It is in -fact only one of the principles or passions by which the conduct of -mankind is influenced; and he would be a bold man who should assert that -neither ambition, nor avarice, nor sloth, nor ignorance, nor prejudice -have had any share in producing the various evils that abound in civil -society. The other passions are sturdy claimants and know how to bustle -for themselves, and will not be so easily pushed out of the world. Let -any one write the words, ambition, pride, cruelty, hatred, oppression, -falsehood, selfishness, indolence, lust, and hunger in the same line, -and let him see if there is any peculiar charm in the two last, which -draws all their virtue and meaning out of the rest. Yet this is the -impression which Mr. Malthus seems anxious to leave on the minds of his -readers. Indeed all the others appear to owe their efficacy and their -sting to lust alone. If it were not for this one principle, the world -might go on very well. - -Mr. Malthus charges it as a great error on Mr. Godwin’s system that -‘political regulations and the established administration of property -are with him the fruitful sources of all evil, the hotbeds of all the -crimes that degrade mankind.’ Be it so, that this is an error. The next -question is, as Mr. Malthus does not deny that these institutions are -the immediate causes of many of the evils that exist, to what principle -they really owe their rise. Mr. Malthus says, they are the necessary -results of laws inherent in our nature, and that though all the other -passions and vices of men could be got rid of altogether, the principle -of population alone would still render those institutions with all the -abuses belonging to them as necessary as ever. This I take upon me to -dispute. Will he say, that (leaving the principle of population entirely -out of the question) pride, avarice, and indolence have had no share in -the establishment, or continuance of the inequality of property, in -goading men on to the accumulation of immense riches by oppression, -extortion, fraud, perjury, and every species of villainy, or in making -them undergo every kind of distress, sooner than apply themselves to -some regular and useful occupation. If I were inclined to maintain a -paradox on the subject, I might take up Hume’s assertion, ‘that -indolence is the source of all mischief in the world.’ For if men had -not been averse to labour, if there had been no idlers to take advantage -of, to offer temptation to, and enlist upon any terms in any lawless -enterprize, that promised an easy booty, the tyrant would have been -without his slaves, the robber without his gang, and the rich man -without his dependents. But these smart points and pithy sayings are -soon found to be fallacious, if we attend a little closely to the -subject. For instance, it may be true that if there had been no idle -people, there would have been no one to take advantage of, but if there -had been no pride, rapacity, or selfishness, there would have been no -one to take an undue advantage of them, or foment the mischief. The -fellows that generally compose a gang of robbers only wish to gain a -cheap livelihood by acts of violence; the captain of the gang is also -actuated by vanity, revenge, the spirit of adventure, and the desire to -keep the country for twenty or thirty miles round in awe of him. The -common soldier is glad of sixpence a-day to be shot at every now and -then, and do nothing the rest of his time: the general is not easy, -unless he can lay waste provinces, overrun kingdoms, and make the world -ring with the terror of his name. The lazy and unthinking would not do -half the mischief, of which they are capable, without the active, the -enterprizing and turbulent: fools and knaves are as necessary to the -body politic, as the head and limbs are to the human body. The Romans -might have staid quietly within their own walls, but for the plotting -heads at home that sent them out to victory; and his thirty thousand -followers would no more have thought of setting out to India of their -own accord, than Alexander would have thought of marching there by -himself. - -It is to me pretty clear that as long as there are such passions as -sloth and rapacity, these will be sufficient to account for the unequal -division of property, and will render the laws relating to it necessary: -and it is equally clear to my mind that if these passions could be -completely subdued, so that no one would refuse his share in the common -labour, or endeavour to take an unfair advantage of others either by -force or fraud, that the established administration of property would be -no longer necessary.[13] If, as Mr. Malthus supposes, ‘Benevolence had -so far established her reign in all hearts,’ that every one was ready to -give up the enjoyments of ease and luxury as far as related to himself, -I do not think that in such a state of unparalleled disinterestedness -and heroic virtue, any madman would be found to violate the public -happiness, and begin the work of contention anew, for the sake of -transmitting a contingent inheritance of vice and misery _to his heirs_! -If reason and virtue are at present no match for the principle of -population, neither are they a match for the principle of selfishness, -or for any of our other passions. But truly, if benevolence had once -established her reign in all hearts, we should see wonders, she would -perform the part of vice and misery to a miracle.—It is evident then -that the seeds of inequality, of vice and misery are not sown entirely -in the principle of population; that the same untoward passions which -first rendered civil establishments necessary, have continued to operate -ever since, that they have produced most of the disorders in the world, -and are still in as much force as ever; that they very well deserve a -chapter by themselves in the history of human nature, and ought not to -come in as a note or parenthesis to Mr. Malthus’s great work. - -But whatever account we may chuse to give of the origin of the -establishment of property or government in general, this has nothing to -do with the real question, unless it could be shewn that the same form -of government, the same inequality of conditions, and the same degree of -vice and misery are to be found alike in every country. Mr. Malthus’s -system goes to the support of all political regulations and existing -evils, or it goes to the support of none. Let us cast our eyes over the -map of Europe, and ask whether all that variety of governments and -manners by which it is distinguished took their rise solely from the -principle of population. A principle common to human nature, a law -inherent in the physical constitution of man, may in its progress be -necessarily attended with a certain degree of vice and misery; but it -cannot be productive of different degrees of vice and misery in -different countries; as the stern law of necessity, it must operate -every where alike. If it does not do so, this of itself shews that it is -not the sole moving spring in all human institutions, that it is not -beyond the reach of all regulation and control, and that there are other -circumstances, accidents, and principles on which the happiness of -nations depends. Whatever difference there is, then, between one -government and another, whether that government is despotic, or mixed, -or free; whatever difference there is in the administration of that -government, whether it is cruel, oppressive, and arbitrary in the -extreme, or mild, just, and merciful; whatever difference there is -between the manners of one nation and those of another, whether the most -licentious that can be, or strict and exemplary; whatever difference -there is in the arts and conveniences of life, in the improvements of -trade and agriculture in various countries, whatever differences are -produced by religion, by contrarieties of opinion, by the state of -knowledge, by useful or mischievous regulations of all kinds, all these -cannot be owing to one and the same cause. - -Will Mr. Malthus say that all these differences are as nothing, that -they are not worth insisting on, or contending about, that they are -nominal, rather than real, or at any rate that what is gained in one way -is lost in another, for that the principle of population still requires -the same vent, and produces first or last the same quantity of vice and -misery of one sort or other in every country? He must assert on the one -hand that all other causes put together do not materially affect the -happiness of a people, or on the other hand that the state of all those -other causes depends on, and arises out of the state of population, -though they do not in the least influence the principle of population -itself. These absurdities, than which it would be difficult to advance -greater, are however necessary to bear out the author’s conclusion, that -arts, knowledge, liberty and virtue, and the best institutions can do -little for the happiness of mankind. For instance, if it is true that -religion or opinion of any kind exerts a direct influence over morals, -then it is not true that morals depend entirely on the state of -population. Or if it is true, that the invention of a useful art, which -is accident, or the public encouragement of it, which is design, may -contribute to the support of a larger population without multiplying its -inconveniences, then it is not true that all human happiness or misery -can be calculated according to a mechanical ratio. But these matters -are, I confess, set in the clearest light by a reference to facts, and I -can quote no better authority than Mr. Malthus himself. - -He says, ‘It will not be difficult, from the accounts of travellers, to -trace the checks to population, and the causes of its present decay [in -Turkey]; and as there is little difference in the _manners_ of the -Turks, whether they inhabit Europe or Asia, it will not be worth while -to make them the subject of distinct consideration.’ [I shall presume -that I have so far reconciled the reader’s mind to the bugbear, -population, that he will not regard _depopulation_ as one of the most -beautiful features in the economy of a state.] - -Our author then proceeds, ‘The fundamental cause of the low state of -population in Turkey, compared with its extent of territory, is -undoubtedly the nature of its government. Its tyranny, its feebleness, -its bad laws and worse administration of them, with the consequent -insecurity of property, throw such obstacles in the way of agriculture, -that the means of subsistence are necessarily decreasing yearly, and -with them, of course, the number of people. The _miri_ or general -land-tax, paid to the sultan, is in itself moderate; but by abuses -inherent in the Turkish government, the pachas, and their agents have -found out the means of rendering it ruinous. Though they cannot -absolutely alter the impost which has been established by the sultan, -they have introduced a number of changes, which, without the name, -produce all the effect of an augmentation. In Syria, according to -Volney, having the greatest part of the land at their disposal, they -clog their concessions with burthensome conditions, and exact the half, -and sometimes even two-thirds of the crop. When the harvest is over, -they cavil about losses, and, as they have the power in their hands, -they carry off what they think proper.’ [What they leave behind them, is -what Mr. Malthus when he gets into his abstractions calls ‘_the fund -appropriated to the maintenance of labour_,’ or, ‘_the aggregate -quantity of food possessed by the owners of land beyond their own -consumption_.’] ‘If the season fail, they still exact the same sum, and -expose every thing that the poor peasant possesses to sale. To these -constant oppressions are added a thousand accidental extortions. -Sometimes a whole village is laid under contribution for some real or -imaginary offence. Arbitrary presents are exacted on the accession of -each governor; grass, barley, and straw are demanded for his horses’; -[Mr. Malthus thinks, farther on in his book, that ‘the waste of the -rich, and the horses kept for pleasure’ in this country are no detriment -to the poor _here_, but rather a benefit, page 478.] ‘and commissions -are multiplied, that the soldiers who carry the orders may live upon the -starving peasants, whom they treat with the most brutal insolence and -injustice. The consequence of these depredations is, that the poorer -class of inhabitants, ruined, and unable any longer to pay the _miri_, -become a burden to the village,’ [something I suppose in the same way -that the poor among us become a burden to the parish] ‘or fly into the -cities; but the _miri_ is unalterable, and the sum to be levied must be -found somewhere. The portion of those who are thus driven from their -homes falls on the remaining inhabitants, whose burden, though at first -light, now becomes insupportable. If they should be visited by two years -of drought and famine, the whole village is ruined and abandoned; and -the tax, which it should have paid, is levied on the neighbouring lands. -The same mode of proceeding takes place with regard to the tax on -Christians, which has been raised by these means,’ [by what means, by -the principle of population?] ‘from three, five, and eleven piastres, at -which it was first fixed, to thirty-five and forty, which absolutely -impoverishes those on whom it is levied, and obliges them to leave the -country. It has been remarked that these exactions have made a rapid -progress during the last forty years, from which time are dated the -decline of agriculture, the depopulation of the country, and the -diminution in the quantity of the specie carried to Constantinople. The -peasants are every where reduced to a little flat cake of barley, or -_doura_, onions, lentils, and water. Not to lose any part of their corn -they leave in it all sorts of wild grain, which often produces bad -consequences. In the mountains of Lebanon and Nablous, in time of -dearth, they gather the acorns from the oak which they eat after boiling -or roasting them on the ashes. By a natural consequence of this misery, -the art of cultivation is in the most deplorable state. The husbandman -is almost without instruments, and those he has are very bad. His plough -is frequently no more than the branch of a tree cut below a fork and -used without wheels. The ground is tilled by asses and cows, rarely by -oxen, which would bespeak too much riches. In the districts exposed to -the Arabs, as in Palestine, the countryman must sow with his musket in -his hand, and scarcely does the corn turn yellow before it is reaped and -concealed in subterraneous caverns. As little as possible is employed -for seed corn, because the peasants sow no more than is barely necessary -for their subsistence. Their whole industry is limited to the supply of -their immediate wants, and to procure a little bread, a few onions, a -blue shirt, and a bit of woollen, much labour is not necessary. The -peasant lives therefore in distress, but at least he does not enrich his -tyrants, and the avarice of despotism is its own punishment.’ -[_Note._—These are the unhappy persons, as our author expresses it in a -passage, which may hereafter be quoted at length, ‘who in the great -lottery of life have drawn a blank; and with whose exorbitant and -unreasonable demands the owners of the aforesaid surplus produce neither -think it just nor natural to comply.’ I confess, I cannot account for -all the contention and distress which is here implied, for the conflict -between famine and riches, when I seriously consider with Mr. Malthus, -‘that the quantity of food, which one man can consume, is necessarily -limited by the narrow capacity of the human stomach; that it is not -certainly probable that he should throw away the rest; or if he -exchanged his surplus produce for the labour of others, that this would -be better than that these others should absolutely _starve_.’ But human -life, as well as our reasonings about it, is a mystery, a dream.] ‘This -picture which is drawn by Volney, in describing the state of the -peasants in Syria, seems to be confirmed by all the other travellers in -these countries, and according to Eton, it represents very nearly the -condition of the peasants in the greater part of the Turkish dominions. -Universally the offices of every denomination are set up to public sale, -and in the intrigues of the seraglio, by which the disposal of all -places is regulated, every thing is done by means of bribes. The pachas -in consequence, who are sent into the provinces, exert to the utmost -their power of extortion, but are always outdone by the officers -immediately below them, who, in their turn, leave room for their -subordinate agents. The pacha must raise money to pay the tribute, and -also to indemnify himself for the purchase of his office; support his -dignity, and make a provision in case of accidents; and as all power, -both civil and military, centers in his person, from his representing -the sultan, the means are at his discretion, and the quickest are -invariably considered as the best. Uncertain of to-morrow, he treats his -province as a mere transient possession, and endeavours to reap, if -possible, in one day, the fruit of many years, without the smallest -regard to his successor, or the injury that he may do to the permanent -revenue. The cultivator is necessarily more exposed to these extortions -than the inhabitants of the towns. From the nature of his employment, he -is fixed to one spot, and the productions of agriculture do not admit of -being easily concealed. _The tenure of the land and the right of -succession are besides uncertain._ When a father dies, the inheritance -reverts to the sultan, and the children can only redeem the succession -by a considerable sum of money. These considerations naturally occasion -an indifference to landed estates. The country is deserted, and each -person is desirous of flying to the towns, where he will not only in -general meet with better treatment, but may hope to acquire a species of -wealth, which he can more easily conceal from the eyes of his rapacious -masters. To complete the ruin of agriculture, a maximum is in many cases -established, and the peasants are obliged to furnish the towns with corn -at a fixed price. It is a maxim of Turkish policy, originating in the -feebleness of the government, and the fear of popular tumults, to keep -the price of corn low in all the considerable towns. In the case of a -failure in the harvest, every person who possesses any corn is obliged -to sell it at the price fixed, under pain of death: and if there be none -in the neighbourhood, other districts are ransacked for it. When -Constantinople is in want of provisions, ten provinces are perhaps -famished for a supply. At Damascus, during a scarcity in 1784, the -people paid only one penny farthing a pound for their bread, while the -peasants in the villages were absolutely dying with hunger. _The effect -of such a system of government_ on agriculture, need not be insisted on. -The causes of the decreasing means of subsistence are but too obvious; -and the checks which keep the population down to the level of these -decreasing resources, may be traced with nearly equal certainty, and -will appear to include almost every species of vice and misery.’ Happy -country, secured by the very nature of its government from the terrors -of increasing population, and where every species of vice and misery, -wisely anticipated, on the principle that the imagination of a thing is -worse than the reality, takes away all fear of any greater evils than -those they already endure! - -In the same chapter, he says, that in Persia ‘the lower classes of -people are obliged to defer marriage till late; and that it is only -among the rich that this union takes place early. The dreadful -convulsions to which this country has been subject for many hundred -years, must have been fatal to her agriculture. The periods of repose -from external wars, and internal commotions have been short and few, and -even during the times of profound peace, the frontier provinces have -been constantly subject to the ravages of the Tartars.—The effect of -this state of things is such as might be expected. The proportion of -uncultivated to cultivated land, Sir John Chardin states to be, ten to -one; and the mode in which the officers of the state and private owners -let out their lands to husbandmen, is not that _which is best calculated -to reanimate industry_. The other checks to population in Persia are -nearly the same as those in Turkey. _The superior destruction of the -plague in Turkey is perhaps nearly balanced by the greater frequency of -internal commotions in Persia._’ - -These extracts furnish, I think, a tolerably clear idea of the manner in -which it is possible for human institutions to aggravate instead of -mitigating the _necessary_ evils of population. We have a sufficient -specimen of the effects of bad government, of bad laws, of the worse -execution of them, of feeble and selfish policy, of wars and commotions, -or of diseases probably occasioned for the most part by the numbers of -people who are huddled together in dirt and poverty in the great towns -in the manner we have seen—in altering the natural proportion between -the produce of the soil, and the maintenance of the inhabitants; in -wantonly diminishing the means of subsistence by a most unjust and -unequal distribution of them; in diverting the produce of industry from -its proper channels, in drying up its sources, in causing a stagnation -of all the motives and principles which animate human life, in -destroying all confidence, independence, hope, cheerfulness, and manly -exertion, in thwarting the bounties of nature by waste, rapacity, -extortion and violence, and spreading want, misery, and desolation in -their stead. How admirably does Mr. Malthus balance his checks! What the -plague does in Turkey, is in Persia happily effected by means of civil -commotions. Population is thus kept down to the level of the means of -subsistence. But it seems, that wars, and intestine commotions, those -blind drudges of Providence in clearing away the filth, rubbish, and -other evils of a too crowded population, sometimes go beyond their -errand, or do their work the wrong way, by striking at the root of -population instead of lopping off its superfluous branches. According to -our author’s general system, the killing ten, or twenty, or a hundred -thousand men is an evil of a very trifling magnitude, if it is to be -looked upon as an evil at all. Population will only go on with the -greater alacrity, marriage will be rendered more practicable, and the -deficiency will soon be supplied from the sprightly and ever-teeming -source of nature. The dreadful convulsions, however, to which Persia has -been subject for so many hundred years have not been merely vents to -carry off the excess of population beyond the means of subsistence, but -they have further been fatal to agriculture itself, or to those very -means of subsistence. The proportion of _uncultivated_, to _cultivated_ -land, we find, is ten to one; so that the population is not only reduced -to a level with the means of subsistence, but reduced ten times lower -than it need be.[14] - -I beg leave to accompany this description of the effects of political -regulations and the established administration of property in Turkey, -with the following critical commentary, taken from another part of the -same work, which will throw considerable light on the _necessity_ of -those institutions to prevent the evils of population. Mr. Malthus’s -usual plea for ‘vice and misery,’ is that nothing else can put a stop to -the excesses of population; which _they_ do in the most effectual and -eligible manner. But he has here deserted his idols. - -‘It has appeared, I think, clearly, in the review of different -societies given in the former part of this work, that those countries, -the inhabitants of which were sunk in the most barbarous ignorance, or -oppressed by the most cruel tyranny, however low they might be in -actual population, were very populous in proportion to their means of -subsistence; and upon the slightest failure of the seasons, generally -suffered the severities of want.’ [Yet it was the sole object of Mr. -Malthus’s discovery to prove the converse proposition, that the -highest degree of knowledge, and a perfect exemption from every -species of tyranny would only lead to the lowest state of human -wretchedness.]—‘Ignorance and despotism seem to have no tendency to -destroy the passion which prompts to increase; _but they effectually -destroy the checks to it from reason and foresight_. The improvident -barbarian who thinks only of his present wants, or the miserable -peasant, who from his political situation feels little security of -reaping what he has sown, will seldom be deterred from gratifying his -passions by the prospect of inconveniences which cannot be expected to -press on him under three or four years. But though this want of -foresight, which is fostered by ignorance and despotism, tend thus -rather to encourage the procreation of children, it is absolutely -fatal to the industry which is to support them. Industry cannot exist -without foresight and security. The indolence of the savage is well -known; and the poor Egyptian or Abyssinian farmer, without capital, -who rents land, which is let out yearly to the highest bidder and who -is constantly subject to the demands of his tyrannical masters, to the -casual plunder of an enemy, and not unfrequently to the violation of -his miserable contract, can have no heart to be industrious, and if he -had, could not exercise that industry with success. Even poverty -itself, which appears to be the great spur to industry, when it has -once passed certain limits, almost ceases to operate. The indigence -which is hopeless, destroys all vigorous exertion, and confines the -efforts to what is sufficient for bare existence. _It is the hope of -bettering our condition and the fear of want, rather than want itself, -that is the best stimulus to industry, and its most constant and best -directed efforts will almost invariably be found among a class of -people above the class of the wretchedly poor._’ - -What a pity that a man, who writes so well at times, should, for the -sake of an hypothesis, involve ‘himself in absurdities and -contradictions that would disgrace the lips of an ideot.’ Mr. Malthus -will excuse me, if I make use of some of the hints contained in this -excellent passage, for the benefit of our English poor, who I think -should not have harder measure dealt them than others, and try to soften -some of the harshest constructions of the grinding law of necessity in -their favour. I do not see why they alone are to be the martyrs of an -abstraction. But Mr. Malthus reserves the application of his theory _in -its purity_ for his own countrymen. He has some natural feelings, and a -certain degree of tender weakness for the distresses of other countries, -but he will not suffer his feelings for a moment to get the better of -his reason, with regard to those to whom he is bound by stronger ties, -and over whose interests he watches with a paternal anxiety. He will -hear of no palliations, no excuses, no shuffling temporary expedients to -put off the evil day, he insists upon their submitting to the full -operation of the penalty incurred by the laws of God and of nature, -nothing short of the utmost severity will satisfy him, (’tis death to -spare) he will not bate them a jot of his argument, he makes them drain -the unsavoury cup of misery to the very dregs. - -In the same chapter, which is entitled ‘Of the principal sources of the -prevailing errors on population,’ he says, ‘It has been observed that -many countries at the period of their greatest populousness have lived -in the greatest plenty, and have been able to export corn; but at other -periods, when their population was very low, have lived in continual -poverty and want, and have been obliged to import corn. Egypt, -Palestine, Rome, Sicily, and Spain are cited as particular -exemplifications of this fact; and it has been inferred, that an -increase of population in any state, not cultivated to the utmost, will -tend rather to augment than diminish the relative plenty of the whole -society,’ &c. After contradicting this inference without giving any -reasons against it, he goes on, ‘Scarcity and extreme poverty, -therefore, may or may not accompany an increasing population, according -to circumstances. But they must always accompany a permanently declining -population; because there has never been, nor probably ever will be, any -other cause than want of food, which makes the population of a country -permanently decline. In the numerous instances of depopulation which -occur in history, the causes of it may always be traced to the want of -industry, or the ill-direction of that industry, arising from violence, -bad government, ignorance, &c. which first occasions a want of food, and -of course depopulation follows. When Rome adopted the custom of -importing all her corn, and laying all Italy into pasture, she soon -declined in population. The causes of the depopulation of Egypt and -Turkey have already been alluded to; and in the case of Spain, it was -certainly not the numerical loss of people, occasioned by the expulsion -of the Moors; but the industry and capital thus expelled, which -permanently injured her population.’ [I do not myself see, how the -expulsion of capital could permanently injure the population.] ‘When a -country has been depopulated by violent causes, if a bad government, -with its usual concomitant, insecurity of property, ensue, which has -generally been the case in all those countries which are now less -peopled than formerly; neither the food nor the population, will recover -themselves, and the inhabitants will probably live in severe want,’ &c. -Yet Mr. Malthus elsewhere affects to consider all human institutions and -contrivances as perfectly indifferent to the question. We have here, -however, a truer account of the matter. The state of population is -evidently no proof of what it might be: to judge whether it is more or -less than it might or ought to be, we must take into consideration good -and bad government, the progress of civilization, &c. It is a thing _de -facto_, not _de jure_. It is not that rock, against which whosoever sets -himself shall be dashed to pieces, but the clay moulded by the potter -into vessels of honour or dishonour. With respect to Spain, it is -allowed that her population is deficient, or short of what it might be. -The problem of political economy I take to be, how far this is the case -with respect to all other countries, and how to remedy the defect; or -how to support the greatest number of people in the greatest degree of -comfort. But I have said this more than once before. - -To the same purpose I might quote Algernon Sydney, who in his Discourses -on government gives the following account of the decline and weakness of -many of the modern states from the loss of liberty.[15] - -‘I take Greece to have been happy and glorious, when it was full of -populous cities, flourishing in all the arts that deserve praise among -men; when they were courted and feared by the greatest kings, and never -assaulted by any but to his own loss and confusion; when Babylon and -Susa trembled at the motion of their arms: and their valour, exercised -in those wars and tumults, which our author [Filmer] looks upon as the -greatest evils, was raised to such a power, that nothing upon earth was -found able to resist them. And I think it now miserable, when peace -reigns within their empty walls, and the poor remains of those exhausted -nations, sheltering themselves under the ruins of the desolated cities, -have neither any thing that deserves to be disputed among them, nor -spirit or force to repel the injuries they daily suffer from a proud and -insupportable master.’ - -‘The like may be said of Italy. Whilst it was inhabited by nations -governing themselves by their own will, they fell sometimes into -domestic seditions, and had frequent wars with their neighbours. When -they were free, they loved their country and were always ready to fight -in its defence. Such as succeeded well, increased in vigour and power; -and even those which were the most unfortunate in one age, found means -to repair their losses, if their government continued. While they had a -property in their goods, they would not suffer the country to be -invaded, since they knew they could have none, if it were lost. This -gave occasion to wars and tumults; it sharpened their courage, kept up a -good discipline, and the nations that were most exercised by them, -always increased in power and number: so that no country seems ever to -have been of greater strength than Italy was when Hannibal invaded it, -and after his defeat the rest of the world was not able to resist their -valour and power. They sometimes killed one another; but their enemies -never got any thing but burying-places within their territories. All -things are now brought into a very different method by the blessed -governments they are under. The fatherly care of the king of Spain, the -pope, and other princes has established peace among them. We have not in -many ages heard of any sedition among the Latins, Sabines, Volsci, Equi, -Samnites, and others. The thin, half-starved inhabitants of walls -supported by ivy fear neither popular tumults, nor foreign alarms; and -their sleep is only interrupted by hunger, the cries of their children, -or the howling of wolves. Instead of many turbulent, contentious cities, -they have a few scattered, silent cottages; and the fierceness of those -nations is so tempered, that every rascally collector of taxes extorts, -without fear, from every man, that which should be the nourishment of -his family. And if any of those countries are free from these pernicious -vermin, it is through the extremity of their poverty.’ - -[How differently do people see things! According to Mr. Malthus, this -rascally tax-gatherer, this vile nuisance, is a very sacred sort of -character, a privileged person, one of the most indispensable and active -instruments in the procession of vice and misery, those harbingers of -human happiness; and all our reproaches and indignation should fall on -the poor peasant, for bringing beings into the world whom he could not -maintain, in ‘the face of the clearest warning, and in defiance of the -express command of God,’ as proved by the tax-book. Our superficial -politician was not aware (Mr. Malthus tells us that first appearances -are very deceitful) that the produce of the husbandman’s labour was much -better employed in supporting the waste and extravagance of the rich, -than in affording nourishment to his family, as this would only enable -him to _rear_ his family, which must operate as an encouragement to -marriage, and this again would produce other marriages, and so on _ad -infinitum_, to which unrestricted increase of population it is necessary -to put a timely stop.] - -‘Even in Rome a man may be circumvented by the fraud of a priest, or -poisoned by one, who would have his estate, wife, whore, or child; but -nothing is done that looks like violence or tumult. The governors do as -little fear Gracchus as Hannibal; and instead of wearying their subjects -in wars,’ [We have not yet reached this pitch of perfection] ‘they only -seek by perverted laws, corrupt judges, false witnesses, and vexatious -suits, to cheat them of their money and inheritance. This is the best -part of their condition. Where these arts are used, there are men, and -they have something to lose; but for the most part, the lands lie waste; -and they who were formerly troubled with the disorders incident to -populous cities, now enjoy the quiet and peaceable estate of a -wilderness.—Again, there is a way of killing worse than that of the -sword; for as Tertullian says upon a different occasion, _vetare nasci -est interficere_; those governments are in the highest degree guilty of -blood, which by taking from men the means of living, bring some to -perish through want, drive others out of the country, and generally -dissuade men from marriage, _by taking from them all ways of supporting -their families_.’ [Our author, we see, has not here put the cart before -the horse. He seems to have understood the necessity of food to -population, though Mr. Malthus’s essay had not then been heard of.] -‘Notwithstanding all the seditions of Florence, and other cities of -Tuscany, the horrid factions of Guelphs and Gibelines,[16] Neri and -Bianchi, nobles and commons, they continued populous, strong, and -exceeding rich; but in the space of less than a hundred and fifty years, -the peaceable reign of the Medici is thought to have destroyed nine -parts in ten of the people of that province. Among other things it is -remarkable, that when Philip the second of Spain gave Sienna to the Duke -of Florence, his embassador then at Rome sent him word, that he had -given away more than six hundred and fifty thousand subjects; and it is -not believed there are now twenty thousand souls inhabiting that city -and territory. Pisa, Pistoia, Arezzo, Cortona, and other towns, that -were then good and populous, are in the like proportion diminished, and -Florence more than any. When that city had been long troubled with -seditions, tumults, and wars, for the most part unprosperous, it still -retained such strength, that when Charles the eighth of France, being -admitted as a friend with his whole army, which soon after conquered the -kingdom of Naples, thought to master them, the people, taking up arms, -struck such a terror into him, that he was glad to depart upon such -conditions as they thought fit to impose. Machiavel reports, that in the -year 1298 Florence alone, with the Val d’Arno, a small territory -belonging to that city, could, in a few hours, by the sound of a bell, -bring together a hundred thousand well-armed men. Whereas now that city, -with all the others in that province, are brought to such despicable -weakness, emptiness, poverty, and baseness, that they can neither resist -the oppressions of their own prince, nor defend him or themselves, if -they were assaulted by a foreign enemy. The people are dispersed or -destroyed, and the best families sent to seek habitations in Venice, -Genoa, Rome, and Lucca. This is not the effect of war or pestilence: -they enjoy a perfect peace, and suffer no other plague than the -government they are under. But he who has thus cured them of disorders -and tumults does in my opinion deserve no greater praise than a -physician, who should boast there was not a sick person in a house -committed to his care, when he had poisoned all that were in it. The -Spaniards have established the like peace in the kingdoms of Naples and -Sicily, the West Indies, and other places. The Turks by the same means -prevent tumults in their dominions. And they are of such efficacy in all -places, that Mario Chigi, brother to pope Alexander the seventh, by one -sordid cheat upon the sale of corn, is said within eight years to have -destroyed above a third part of the people in the ecclesiastical state. -And that country, which was the strength of the Romans in the time of -the Carthaginian wars, suffered more by the covetousness and fraud of -that villain, than by all the defeats received from Hannibal, &c. Chap. -ii. p. 223. - -It will be worth the reader’s while to turn to Lord Kaims’s account of -the kingdom of Siam, which, though one of the most fertile countries in -the world, is reduced to the lowest state of poverty and wretchedness by -the absurd and tyrannical policy of its government. Some of the finest -districts that were formerly cultivated, are now inhabited only by wild -beasts. One of the arts by which they preserve the balance of population -in that country is, that the keeper of the king’s menagerie is -authorized to let loose the elephants into the gardens of all those -within a given distance of the capital, who do not pay him a large fine -yearly to be excused from this intrusion. Yet according to our Essayist, -human institutions have a very slight influence on the happiness of a -people, because they cannot alter the necessary ratios of the increase -of food and population. It is probable, however, that some of the cases -here cited, which seem to bear rather hard on Mr. Malthus’s rule, might -have led those hasty writers, whom he censures for their want of a due -insight into the subject, to conceive an unjust prejudice against human -institutions; and perhaps some of my readers may also be led to suspect, -from not comprehending fully the scope and connection of his arguments, -that bad governments are not quite such innocent things, as Mr. Malthus -would sometimes represent them. Is it necessary to press this subject -any farther? I do not pretend to be very deep-read in history, in the -constitution of states, the principles of legislation, the progress of -manners, or the immediate causes of the revolutions that have taken -place in different countries. All that I can presume to bring to this -question is a little stubborn common sense, an earnestness of feeling, -and a certain familiarity with abstruse subjects, that is not willingly -or easily made the dupe of flimsy distinctions. But without much -learning in one’s self, it is easy to take advantage of the learning of -others. By the help of a common-place book, which is all that is wanted -in these cases (and I am fortunate enough to have such a one by me in -the collections of ‘that honest chronicler,’ James Burgh) I might soon -swell the size of these letters to a bulk, which the bookseller would -not like, by a number of striking illustrations from the most celebrated -authors. I might make myself a splendid livery of the wisdom of others. -But I have no taste for this pompous drudgery. However, to satisfy those -readers who are unable to discern the truth without the spectacles of -facts, it will not be amiss to refer to the opinions of a few of the -writers, who seem with sufficient clearness to have traced the causes of -the rise and fall of particular states to principles quite independent -of, which were neither first set in motion nor afterwards regulated by -the principle of population, and the effects of which were utterly -disproportionate to the actual operation of that principle. After all, -it is impossible to answer a paradox satisfactorily. The real answer -consists of the feelings and observations of our whole lives; and of -course, it must be impossible to embody these in any single statement. -All that can be done in these cases is to set the imagination once more -in its old track. - -‘Hear,’ says my authority, ‘the excellent Montague on the prevalence of -luxury among the Romans.’ - -‘If we connect the various strokes interspersed through what we have -remaining of the writings of Sallust, which were levelled at the vices -of his countrymen, we shall be able to form a just idea of the manners -of the Romans in his time. From this picture, we must be convinced, that -not only those shocking calamities, which the republic suffered during -the contest between Marius and Sylla, but those subsequent and more -fatal evils, which brought on the utter extinction of the Roman liberty -and constitution, were the natural effects of that foreign luxury, which -first introduced venality and corruption.’ [Now by _luxury_ we may -understand a very great superabundance of the good things of this life, -either in the community at large or in certain classes of it, but it -cannot by any construction be made to signify the general and absolute -want of them. Luxury in some classes may produce want in others, but -poverty is in this case the effect of the unequal distribution of the -produce of the earth, not of its real deficiency. Or if by luxury we -understand only certain exterior decorations or artificial indulgences, -which have nothing to do with the real support of life, such as dress, -furniture, buildings, pictures, gold and silver, rarities, delicacies of -all kinds, every thing connected with shew and expence (though all these -things among the Romans being the effects not merely of leisure or of -supernumerary hands, but of _power_, and foreign dominion, must imply a -command over the more substantial necessaries of life) yet even in this -sense the passion for luxury or for those indulgences (which is here -said to have been one great instrument in the overthrow of the state) is -certainly a very different thing from the passion of hunger, or want of -food, Mr. Malthus’s key to the solution of all problems of a political -nature.] ‘Though the introduction of luxury from Asia preceded the ruin -of Carthage in point of time, yet as Sallust informs us, the dread of -that dangerous rival restrained the Romans within the bounds of decency -and order. But as soon as ever _that obstacle was removed_, they gave a -full scope to their ungoverned passions. The change in their manners was -not gradual, and by little and little as before, but rapid and -instantaneous. Religion, justice, modesty, decency, all regard for -divine or human laws, were swept away at once by the irresistible -torrent of corruption. The nobility strained their privileges, and the -people their liberty, alike into the most unbounded licentiousness. -Every one made the dictate of his own will, his only rule of action. -Public virtue, and the love of their country, which had raised the -Romans to the empire of the universe, were extinct. Money, which alone -could enable them to gratify their darling luxury, was substituted in -its place. Power, dominion, honours, and universal respect were annexed -to the possession of money. Contempt, and whatever was the most -reproachful was the bitter portion of poverty; and to be poor, grew to -be the greatest of all crimes, in the estimation of the Romans. Thus -wealth and poverty contributed alike to the ruin of the republic. The -rich employed their wealth in the acquisition of power, and their power -in every kind of oppression and rapine for the acquisition of more -wealth. The poor, now dissolute and desperate, were ready to engage in -every seditious insurrection, which promised them the plunder of the -rich, and set up both their liberty and country to sale, to the best -bidder. The republic, which was the common prey to both, was thus rent -to pieces between the contending factions.—A state so circumstanced must -always furnish an ample supply of proper instruments for faction. For as -luxury consists in an inordinate gratification of the sensual passions, -and as the more they are indulged, the more importunate they grow, the -greatest fortune must at last sink under their insatiable demands. Thus -luxury necessarily produces corruption. As wealth is necessary to the -support of luxury, all those who have dissipated their private fortunes -in the purchase of pleasure, will be ever ready to enlist in the cause -of faction for the wages of corruption. And when once the idea of -respect and homage is annexed to the possession of wealth alone, honour, -probity, every virtue and every amiable quality will be held cheap in -comparison and looked upon as awkward, and quite unfashionable. But as -the spirit of liberty will yet exist in some degree, in a state which -retains the name of freedom, even though the manners of that state -should be generally depraved, an opposition will arise from those -virtuous citizens, who know the value of their birth-right, liberty, and -who will not submit tamely to the chains of faction. Force will then be -called in to the aid of corruption, a military government will be -established on the ruins of the civil, and all commands and employments -will be at the disposal of arbitrary, lawless power. The people will be -fleeced to pay for their own fetters, and doomed, like the cattle, to -unremitting toil and drudgery, for the support of their tyrannical -masters.’ [All this is evidently erroneous, when we apply to it the -touch-stone of the theory of population. The people are not fleeced and -worked in this manner for the benefit of those who fleece and work them, -to gratify any appetites or passions of theirs, it is out of pure -good-will to the poor wretches themselves, that they may live more at -their ease, and in a greater degree of affluence than they would without -this timely warning of the evils of poverty.] ‘Or if the outward form of -civil government should be permitted to remain, the people will be -compelled to give a sanction to tyranny by their own suffrages, and to -elect oppressors instead of protectors.—From this genuine portrait of -the Roman state it is evident that the fatal catastrophe of that -republic, of which Sallust himself was an eye-witness, was the natural -effect of the corruption of their manners; and again, that this -corruption was the effect of the introduction of foreign wealth and -luxury. This fatal tendency was too obvious to escape the notice of -those who had any regard for liberty and their ancient constitution. -Many sumptuary laws were made to restrain the excesses of luxury; but -these efforts were too feeble to check the over-bearing violence of the -torrent. Cato proposed a severe law, enforced by the sanction of an -oath, against bribery and corruption at elections; where the scandalous -traffic of votes was established by custom, as at a public market. But -he only incurred the resentment of both parties by that salutary -measure. The rich, who had no other merit to plead but what arose from -their superior wealth, thus found themselves precluded from all -pretensions to the highest dignities. The electors abused, cursed and -even pelted him as the author of a law which reduced them to the -necessity of subsisting by labour. Corruption was arrived at its height, -and those excesses which were formerly esteemed the _vices_ of the -people were now, by the force of custom, become the _manners_ of the -people. To pilfer the public money and to plunder the provinces by -violence, though state crimes of the most heinous nature, were grown so -familiar, that they were looked upon as no more than mere office -perquisites.’ Really I am afraid that the reader will suspect me of -falsifying the historical record to write a satire against our own -times. Some of these remarks are I confess _home_ truths. To a person -who has not that mysterious kind of penetration which the author of the -Essay possesses, they carry more weight, and give a clearer insight into -the principles that operate in the decomposition of states, than all Mr. -Malthus’s indiscriminate and shadowy reasonings on the evils of -population, which can no more prove anything decisively on the subject, -than we can account for the inequalities in the surface of the earth -from its being round. - -The same author adds, ‘Though there is a concurrence of several causes -in the ruin of a state, yet where luxury prevails, that parent of all -our fantastic wants, ever craving, and ever unsatisfied, we may safely -assign it as the leading cause; since it ever was and ever will be the -most baneful to public virtue. _As luxury is contagious from its very -nature_, it will gradually descend from the highest to the lowest ranks -till it has ultimately affected a whole people.—We see luxury gradually -increasing and prevailing over the Roman spirit and virtue, till at -length the contagion _even_ reached ladies of the greatest distinction, -who in imitation of the prince and his court, had their assemblies and -representations in a grove, planted by the Emperor, where booths were -built, and in them sold whatever incited to sensuality and wantonness. -Thus was even the outward appearance of virtue banished the city, and -all manner of avowed lewdness, depravity and dissoluteness introduced in -its room, men and women being engaged in a contention to outvie each -other in glaring vices, and scenes of impurity. Again.—About the time -that the Roman republic was tottering to its fall, it was observed that -there was an universal degeneracy of manners prevailing, particularly -that the women were very scandalous in their behaviour at Rome, while -those of the countries called by them barbarous were remarkably -exemplary in this respect.’ Was this difference wholly owing to the -difference in the state of population? Or shall we believe that the -ladies of Roman knights, that the wives and daughters of Emperors, that -the mistresses of those to whom the world was tributary, who scattered -pearls and gold among their followers, who gave largesses of corn to the -people, and entertained them at ten thousand tables at a time, who ate -the tongues of peacocks and nightingales, and the brains of parrots, -whose dogs were fed with the livers of geese, their horses with raisins, -and their wild beasts with the flesh of partridges and pheasants, shall -we believe that these delicate creatures, who dreamt of nothing but -pleasure and feasting, who reclined on silken couches, whose baths were -made of rose-water and wine, who scented the air with all the perfumes -of the East, whose rich dresses were upborne by a train of -waiting-women, and idle boys, were driven to the necessity of -stimulating their passions by lewd exhibitions, and wanton dances, and -lascivious songs, and soft music and obscene practices, because they -were hindered from gratifying their honest desires in a lawful way by -the difficulty of providing for their future offspring, or the pressure -of population on the means of subsistence? Yet this is what we must be -led to suppose from Mr. Malthus’s theory, according to whom vice is the -natural consequence of want, and want the effect of increasing -population. For any one who is acquainted with the state of manners, and -the mode of living among the great at Rome at this time to pretend that -all this was owing to nothing but the advanced state of population, just -as the rising or falling of the weather-glass depends on the pressure of -the air outside, betrays a most astonishing ignorance of human nature. I -think I am warranted in laying down the two following maxims; that -luxury is itself an immediate cause of dissoluteness of manners; -secondly, that example, particularly that of the great, has a powerful -influence over manners. - -Before I quit this subject of Roman luxury, I shall just mention a fact -quoted by my author, which seems to contradict Mr. Malthus’s notion that -the luxuries of the rich do not in the least affect the condition of the -poor. ‘The good Emperor Aurelius,’ says Burgh, ‘sold the plate, -furniture, jewels, pictures and statues of the imperial palace, _to -relieve the distresses of the people_, occasioned by the invasion of -barbarians, pestilence, famine, &c. the value of which was so great, -that it maintained the war for five years, beside other inestimable -expences.’ If according to Mr. Malthus’s reasoning on this subject in -different parts of his work, every man’s stomach can hold only a certain -quantity of food, and what does not go into one man’s stomach -necessarily goes into some other’s, that is, if every person has as -large a share as it is possible he should have of the necessaries of -life, I do not see what this moving of pictures or statues about, or -setting them up to auction should have to do with the state of -provisions, or how it should relieve the necessities of the poor. Mr. -Malthus’s reasonings are sometimes as remarkable for their simplicity as -they are at others for their complexity. He sees things in the most -natural or in the most artificial point of view, as he pleases. At one -time, every thing comes round by a labyrinth of causes, and all the -intricate secretions of the state; at another time the whole science of -political economy is reduced to a flat calculation of the size of a -quartern loaf, and the size of the human stomach. - -All authors (but Mr. Malthus) seem agreed that luxury has been fatal to -the spirit of liberty, and that the loss of liberty has led to the loss -of independence. ‘The welfare of every country depends upon the morals -of the people. Though a nation may become rich by trade, thrift, and -industry, or from the advantages of soil and situation, or may attain to -great eminence and power either by force of arms, or by the sagacity of -their councils; yet when their manners are depraved, they will decline -insensibly, and at last come to utter destruction. When a country is -grown vicious, industry decays, and the people become unruly, -effeminate, and unfit for labour. Luxury, when introduced into free -states, and suffered to spread through the body of the people was ever -productive of that degeneracy of manners, which extinguishes public -virtue, and puts a final period to liberty. Thus the Assyrian empire -sunk under the arms of Cyrus with his poor but hardy Persians. The -extensive and opulent empire of Persia fell an easy prey to Alexander -and a handful of Macedonians. And the Macedonian empire, when enervated -by the luxury of Asia, was compelled to receive the yoke of the -victorious Romans. The descendants of the heroes, philosophers, orators, -and free citizens of Greece are now the slaves of the Grand Turk. The -posterity of the Scipios and Catos of Rome are now singing operas, in -the shape of Italian eunuchs, on the English stage.’[17] It should seem -from the length of time which these countries have remained in the same -degraded condition without a single effort or even wish to relieve -themselves from it, that there must be other causes of the permanent -depression of states, and other channels of transmission, by which the -habits, and characters of the people, their customs and institutions, -are handed down through successive generations without any hope of a -change for the better, besides the mechanical fluctuations in the -principle of population. If all laws, institutions, manners, and customs -were only so many _expressions_ (as I may say) of the power of that -principle, kingdoms would rise and fall with the operation of the checks -provided for it; their alternate renovation and decay would be as -regular as the ebbing and flowing of the tide; in proportion as they -sank deep in wretchedness, they would tower to greater happiness and -splendour; the foundation of their future prosperity would be laid in -the lowness of their fortune; the exhausted state would rise, like the -phœnix, out of its own ashes, and enter the career of liberty and glory -in all its pristine vigour. But we do not find that the accounts in -history correspond with the oscillations of Mr. Malthus’s theory. We -find through a long, dreary tract of time, during which our author’s -ratios must have been ascending and descending like buckets in a well, -that the inhabitants of those devoted countries have remained just where -they were,—in the lowest scale of human being. They have for a great -many hundred years been undergoing the wholesome discipline of vice and -misery without being the better for it, the iron yoke of necessity to -which they have so long and patiently submitted does not seem ever to -have been relaxed in their favour, and they have reaped none of those -reversionary benefits which might be expected from slavery and famine. -These powerful principles have not done much to rekindle in their -breasts their ancient love of liberty, the glow of genius,—or to open a -new field for the rapid increase of population. They have not been -favoured with any of those _ups_ and _downs_, those pretty whirls and -agreeable vicissitudes of good and evil, which Mr. Malthus describes as -the natural consequence of the principles on which his machine of -population is constructed. This is a radical objection to his machine; -it shews plainly that it is not constructed on true principles, that we -cannot safely trust ourselves in it, and will I hope deter us from -getting up into it. - -‘The Swiss keep the same unchanged character of simplicity, honesty, -frugality, modesty, bravery. These are the virtues which preserve -liberty. They have no corrupt court, no blood-sucking placemen, no -standing army, the ready instruments of tyranny, no ambition for -conquest, no debauching commerce, no luxury, no citadels against -invasions and against liberty. Their mountains are their fortifications, -and every householder is a soldier, ready to fight for his country.’ -This is the account which Voltaire gives of that country. Since that -time, it has fallen by a power greater than its own, and paid with its -liberty for the folly and madness of the rest of Europe. I hope I shall -not offend any of the sycophants of power, any of the enlightened -patriots of the day who regard the general distinctions of liberty and -slavery as slight and evanescent, by adding to my list of political -grievances foreign conquest as an evil, and an evil that tends to no -certain good.—I would fain know from the adepts in the science of -population whether according to that system it would be an advantage to -this country to be conquered by the French. The necessary ratios of the -increase of food and population (which according to our author are every -thing,—he utterly rejects the idea that established governments can do -any mischief) would of course remain the same; and as to the practical -part, population would, if any thing, go on slower than before. I cannot -but think however that most of my readers would in such a case -anticipate the consequences which our political reformer describes in -his croaking old-fashioned way as proceeding from another cause, the -corruption of the people, and the abuses of government at home. ‘I see’ -he says, ‘my wretched country in the same condition as France is now.’ -[This was written at a time when it was the fashion for the English to -reproach all other countries for their misery and slavery, as they have -since been in the habit of hunting them down for their attempts at -liberty.] ‘Instead of the rich and thriving farmers, who now fill or who -lately filled, the country with agriculture, yielding plenty for man and -beast, I see the lands neglected, the villages and farms in ruins, with -here and there a starveling in wooden shoes, driving his plough, his -team consisting of an old goat, a hide-bound bullock, and an ass, value -in all forty shillings. I see the once rich and populous cities of -England in the same condition with those of Spain; whole streets lying -in rubbish, and the grass peeping out between the stones in those which -continue still inhabited. I see the harbours empty, the warehouses shut -up, and the shop-keepers playing at draughts, for want of customers. I -see our noble and spacious turnpike roads covered with thistles and -other weeds, and hardly to be traced out. I see the studious men reading -the Political Disquisitions, and the histories of the eighteenth -century, and execrating the stupidity of their fathers, who in spite of -the many faithful warnings given them, sat still, and suffered their -country to be ruined by a set of wretches, whom they could have crushed. -I see the country devoured by an army of 200,000 men. I see justice -trodden under foot in the courts of justice. I see _Magna Charta_, the -_Habeas Corpus_ act, the bill of rights, and trial by jury, obsolete, -and royal edicts and _arrets_ set up in their place. I see the once -respectable land-owners, tradesmen, and manufacturers of England sunk -into contempt, and placemen and military officers the only persons of -consequence, &c.’ I do not know but there may be some staunch adherents -to the new philosophy, some hyper-graduates in the school, who would -think such a state of things ‘a consummation devoutly to be wished.’ But -it is happy that where our reason leaves us, our prejudices often come -to our aid. Though there may be some persons in this country who would -not care a fig for the Bastile, or letters _de cachet_, there is no one -who has not a just dread of Buonaparte; or who would not indignantly -spurn at the wretch who told him that so long as the disproportion in -the increase of food and the increase of mankind continued, it was of -little consequence to him whether he was subject to the yoke of a -foreign tyrant, or governed by a mild and lawful sovereign.—It has -always been the custom for the English to extol themselves to the skies -as the freest and happiest nation on the face of the earth. Ever since I -was a boy, I remember to have heard of the trial by jury, Magna Charta, -and the bill of rights, of the Bastile in France, and the Inquisition in -Spain, and the man in the Iron mask. Now whether it is that I was a boy -when I first heard of these things, or that they carry some weight and -meaning in themselves, certain it is that they have made such a strong -and indelible impression on my mind as totally to preclude the effects -of Mr. Malthus’s philosophy. Whether it is owing to the strength of my -reason or my prejudices, I cannot receive the benefit of his new light. -As these are some of the strongest feelings I have, (though they may -perhaps be just as childish as those which I still have in reading the -story of Goody Two-Shoes, or the Little Red Riding-hood) it occurred to -me to make some use of them in answer to Mr. Malthus’s challenge to shew -that there is no difference between one government and another in the -essentials of liberty and happiness. Or I thought I might contrast the -constitution of this country with that of Denmark, where (says Lord -Molesworth) the peasants are as absolute slaves as the negroes in -Jamaica, and _worse fed_. This seemed to be strong ground. But then I -recollected that the very same expression had been applied by a person, -whom it would be unbecoming in me to contradict, to the peasants in this -country.[18] I also met with a passage something to the same purpose in -the Political Disquisitions, which a little damped my patriotic -eagerness. ‘A poor hard-working man, who has a wife and six children to -maintain’ [what a wicked wretch!] ‘can neither enjoy the glorious light -of heaven, nor the glimmering of a farthing candle, without paying the -window tax and the candle tax. He rises early and sits up late; he fills -the whole day with severe labour; he goes to his flock-bed with half a -belly-full of bread and cheese denying the call of natural appetite, -that his wife and little starvelings may have the more.’ [Why he is very -justly punished to be sure. True; but mark the sequel.] ‘In the mean -while the exactors of these taxes are revelling at the expence of more -money for one evening’s amusement, than the wretched hard-working man -(who is obliged to find the money for them to squander) can earn by half -a year’s severe labour.’ On the whole, I was obliged to relinquish my -project. I found that my picture must either want effect, or be out of -all keeping. And besides the relations of things had not only changed, -but men’s opinions had changed with them. An overcharged description of -English liberty and continental slavery would not be at all to the taste -of the times. It would sound like mere rant, and would come to nothing. -But when I came to that fine representation of the effects of slavery, -which Burgh has left us, with those exquisite figures of the old goat, -the bullock and the ass, and the group of shop-keepers playing at -draughts for want of something to do, I was determined to bring it in, -cost what it would. At last, I bethought me of the expedient of an -invasion,—at that word I knew that every true friend of his country -would grow pale, would see the odious consequences of slavery in their -native deformity, and turn with disdain from those vile panders to vice -and misery, those sanguine enthusiasts of mischief, who would artfully -reconcile them to every species of want, oppression, and unfeeling -barbarity, as the necessary consequences of the principle of population. -So much more credit do we attach to names, than things!—The whole of the -account of Denmark to which I have just referred, is well worthy of -attention: I cannot forbear giving the following extract. ‘The -consequence of this oppression is that the people of Denmark finding it -impossible to secure their property’ [from the tax-gatherers] ‘squander -their little gettings, as fast as they can, and are irremediably poor. -Oppression and arbitrary sway beget distrust and doubts about the -security of property; doubts beget profusion, men chusing to squander on -their pleasures what they apprehend may excite the rapaciousness of -their superiors; and this profusion is the legitimate parent of that -universal indolence, poverty and despondency, which so strongly -characterize the miserable inhabitants of Denmark. When Lord Molesworth -resided in that country, the collectors of the poll-tax were obliged to -accept of old feather-beds, brass and pewter pans, &c. instead of money, -from the inhabitants of a town, which once raised 200,000 rix dollars -for Christiern IV. on twenty-four hours’ notice. The quartering and -paying the king’s troops is another grievance no less oppressive. The -boors are obliged to furnish the king and every little insolent courtier -with horses and waggons in their journeys, and are beaten like cattle. -Consequently, Denmark, once very populous, is become thin of -inhabitants; as poverty, oppression, and meagre diet do miserably check -procreation, besides producing diseases which shorten the lives of the -few who are born.’ [How miserably short-sighted must our author have -been not to perceive that these were great advantages!] ‘All this the -rich and thriving and free people of England may bring themselves to, if -they please’ [by following up Mr. Malthus’s theory.] ‘It is only letting -the court go on with their scheme of diffusing universal corruption -through all ranks, and it will come of course.’—There is one passage in -this account, which malevolence itself cannot apply to the history of -this country. ‘Before the government of Denmark was made hereditary and -absolute in the present royal family, by that fatal measure in 1660, the -nobility lived in great splendour and affluence. _Now they are poor and -their number diminished._’ - -I shall conclude these extracts with the following passages, taken at -random, which will at least serve to shew the strange prejudices that -prevailed on the subject, before Mr. Malthus, like the clown in -Shakespear, undertook to find out an answer that should explain all -difficulties. ‘It must indeed be an answer of most monstrous size that -fits all demands.’ But perhaps Mr. Malthus is by this time convinced, -that ‘a thing may serve long, and not serve ever.’ - -‘The richest soil in Europe, Italy, is full of beggars; among the -Grisons, the poorest country in Europe, there are no beggars. The -bailage of Lugane is the worst country, the least productive, the most -exposed to cold and the least capable of trade of any in all Italy, and -yet is the best peopled. If ever this country is brought under a yoke -like that which the rest of Italy bears, it will soon be abandoned, for -nothing draws so many people to live in so bad a soil, when they are in -sight of the best soil in Europe, but the easiness of the government.’ -Burnet’s Travels. - -‘Italy shews, in a very striking light, the advantages of free -government.[19] The subjects of the Italian republics are thriving and -happy. Those under the Pope, the dukes of Tuscany, Florence &c. wretched -in the extreme.—Lucca, to mention no other, is a remarkable instance of -the happy effects of liberty. The whole dominion is but thirty miles -round, yet contains, besides the city, 150 villages, 120,000 -inhabitants, and all the soil is cultivated to the utmost. Their -magistrates are re-elected every two months out of a body of nobility, -who are chosen every two years.’ Modern Universal History. See also A. -Sydney as before quoted.—These differences cannot be accounted for by -the length of time or the force with which the principle of population -has operated in these states. The countries are equally old, and the -climate very nearly the same. - -‘In England an industrious subject has the best chance for thriving, -because the country is the freest. In the Mogul’s dominions the worst, -because the country is the most effectually enslaved.’ - -‘The title of freemen was formerly confined chiefly to the nobility and -gentry, who were descended of free ancestors. _For the greatest part of -the people_ was restrained under some species of slavery, so that they -were not their own masters.’ Spelman’s Glossary.[20]—On this passage my -author remarks very gravely, ‘What has been in England may be again. If -liberty be on the decline, no one knows how low it may sink, and to what -pitch of slavery and cruelty it may grow.’ Mr. Malthus’s theory tends to -familiarise the mind to such a change as the necessary effect of the -progress of population. But this pretext is here clearly done away, as -we have fought up to our present free, and flourishing state, in the -_teeth_ of this principle. Our progress has not been uniformly -_retrograde_, as it ought to have been to make any thing of the -argument. - -‘It is constantly (said a member in Queen Elizabeth’s time) in the -mouths of us all, that our lands, goods and laws are at our prince’s -disposal.’ We do not at present come _quite_ up to the loyalty of this -speaker. - -‘Nations have often been deceived into slavery by men of shining -abilities.’ Perhaps the late Mr. Burke was an instance of this. I by no -means insist that he was, because there may be differences of opinion on -that point. But of this I am sure, that the effect of his writings, good -or bad, cannot be measured—by the principle of population. - -‘A single genius changes the face and state of a whole country, as -Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden, and Peter the great of Russia. Confucius -produced a reformation in one of the oriental kingdoms in a few months.’ - -‘Commerce introduced by the czar Peter introduced luxury. Universal -dissipation took the lead, and profligacy of manners succeeded. _Many of -the lords began to squeeze and grind the peasants to extort fresh -supplies from them for the incessant demands of luxury_’—not of -population. - -‘The extreme poverty occasioned by idleness and luxury in the beginning -of Lewis XIII. of France filled the streets of Paris with beggars. The -court disgusted at the sight, which indeed was a severe reproach on -them, issued an order, forbidding all persons, on severe penalties, to -relieve them, intending thereby to drive them out of the town, and not -caring though they dropped down dead, before they could reach the -country towns and villages.’ This was a project worthy of the genius of -Mr. Malthus. - -‘Government, according to Plato, is the parent of manners. One judicious -regulation will often produce a very salutary effect on a whole people, -as experimental philosophy shews us, that a wire will secure a castle -from the once irresistible force of lightning.—Mankind may be brought to -hold any principles and to indulge any practices, and again to give them -up.—Is there any notion of right and wrong, about which mankind are -universally agreed? Is it not evident that mankind may be moulded into -any shape? How come we to know that antimony or quicksilver may, by -chemical processes, be made to pass through twenty different states, and -restored again to their original state? Is it not by experiment? Are not -the various legislations, institutions, regulations of wise or designing -statesmen, priests, and kings, a series of experiments, shewing that -human nature is susceptible of any form or character?’ According to the -most modern discovery, these things never did, nor ever will have any -effect at all. The question is simply whether the state of food and the -state of population being the same, the different causes here alluded to -have not produced very different results with respect to the degree both -of vice and misery existing in the world.[21] - -‘The great difference we see between the behaviour of the people called -Quakers, and all others; between English, Scotch, Irish, French, -Spanish, Heathens, Mahometan, Christian, Popish, Protestant manners and -characters, &c. the regular and permanent difference we see between the -manners of all these divisions of mankind, shews beyond all doubt that -the principles and habits of the people are very much in the power of -able statesmen.’ - -‘Among the Lacedemonians there was no such crime as infidelity to the -marriage-bed: yet Lycurgus in framing his laws had used no precaution -against it, but the virtuous and temperate education he prescribed for -the youth of both sexes.—The influence which education has on the -manners of a people is so considerable that it cannot be estimated. But -by _education_ it is to be observed, we must understand not only what is -taught at schools and universities, but the impressions young people -receive from parents, and from the world, which greatly outweigh all -that can be done by masters and tutors. Education, taken in this -enlarged sense, is almost all that makes the difference between the -characters of nations; and it is a severe satire on our times, _that the -world makes most young men very different beings from what those who -educated them intended them to be_.’ This last remark is I think of the -utmost force and importance; and has never been sufficiently attended to -by those who prate most fluently and triumphantly about the inherent -perversity of human nature. A young man is seldom tainted by the world, -till he becomes dependent on it. I have known several persons who I am -sure have set out in life with the utmost purity of intention, and a -noble ingenuousness of mind, and were prepared to act on very different -principles from those, which they found prevailing in the world. Is the -fault in this case in the wood, or in the carver? Is it in the stuff, or -in the mould, in which it is cast? The difficulty seems to be, how to -get a better mould. - -‘Aristotle lays down very strict rules concerning the company young -people may be allowed to keep, the public diversions they may attend; -the pictures they may see, and against obscenity, intemperance, &c. And -the eighth book of his politics is employed wholly on education, in -which he shews, that youth ought to be strongly impressed with the idea -of their being members of a community, whose good they are to prefer to -their private advantage in all cases where they come in competition. He -commends the wisdom of the Spartans in paying such attention to this -great object. Such is the delicacy of this old Heathen, that he -hesitates about the propriety of young men’s applying to music, as being -likely to enervate the mind.’ - -‘Lycurgus did not allow the Spartans to travel, lest they should be -tainted by the manners of other nations.’ I do not chuse to name all the -vices that have been imported into this country within the last fifty -years by the aid of foreign travel. Vice is unfortunately of a very -tenacious quality, and there is no quarantine against the epidemics of -the mind. In return, however, we have learned to converse, to dress, and -dance better than we used to do. - -‘At Sparta, the poets could not publish any thing without a license; and -all immoral writings were prohibited. A very wise man[22] said he -believed, if a man were permitted to make all the ballads, he need not -care who made the laws of a nation. The ancient legislators did not -pretend to reform the manners of the people without the help of the -poets.’ - -‘The grave Romans did not allow a person of character to dance! It was a -saying among them, no one dances unless he is drunk or mad.’ - -‘In the old English laws, we find punishments for wanton behaviour, as -touching the breasts of women, &c.—By the ancient laws of France, the -least indecency of behaviour to a free woman, as squeezing the hand, -touching the arm or breast, &c. was punishable by fire.’[23] What odd, -sour, crabbed notions must have prevailed in those days! Not squeeze a -lady’s hand! No—a much more agreeable latitude of behaviour is allowed -at present: we are as much improved in our notions of gallantry as of -liberty. The polite reader will not suspect me of a design to hold up -the shocking manners of our ancestors as models of imitation in the -present day; I only mention them to shew what a wide difference there -may be in the notions of decency and propriety at different times! - -If a stranger, on entering a large town, London for example, should be -struck with that immense number of prostitutes, ‘who elbow us aside in -all our crowded streets,’ and not well knowing how to account for this -enormous abuse, should apply to a disciple of the modern school for some -explanation of it, he would probably be told with great gravity, _That -it was a necessary consequence of the progress of population, and the -superior power of that principle over the increase in the means of -subsistence_.—If Mr. Malthus, contented to follow in the track of common -sense, and not smitten with the love of dangerous novelty, had -endeavoured to trace the torrent of vice and dissipation which threatens -to bear down every principle of virtue and decency among us to the chief -sources pointed out by other writers, to the particular institutions of -society, to the prevalence of luxury, the inequality of conditions, the -facility of gratifying the passions from the power of offering -temptation, and inducements to accept it, the disproportion between the -passions excited in individuals, and their situation in life, to books, -to education, the progress of arts, the influence of neighbouring -example, &c. these are all causes, which, as they are arbitrary and -variable, seem as if they could be counteracted or modified by other -causes; they are the work of man, and what is the work of man it seems -in the power of man to confirm or alter. We see distinctly the source of -the grievance, and try to remedy it: hope remains, the will acts with -double energy, the spirit of virtue is not broken. Our vices grow out of -other vices, out of our own passions, prejudices, folly, and weakness: -there is nothing in this to make us proud of them, or to reconcile us to -them; even though we may despair, we are not confounded. We still have -the theory of virtue left: we are not obliged to give up the distinction -between good and evil even in imagination: there is some little good -which we may at least wish to do. Man in this case retains the character -of a free agent; he stands chargeable with his own conduct, and a sense -of the consequences of his own presumption or blindness may arouse in -him feelings that may in some measure counteract their worst effects; he -may regret what he cannot help: the life, the pulse, the spring of -morality is not dead in him; his moral sense is not quite extinguished. -But our author has chosen to stagger the minds of his readers by -representing vice and misery as the necessary consequences of an -abstract principle, of a fundamental law of our nature, on which nothing -can be effected by the human will. This principle 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. O -rather for that warning voice, that once cried aloud, _Insensés qui vous -plaignez, sans cesse de la nature, apprenez que tous vos maux vous -viennent de vous!_ As however I deny the sufficiency of our author’s -all-pervading principle, I may be required to point out more -particularly what I conceive to be the real and determining causes of -the decay of manners. I do not know that I can mention any that do not -come under the heads already alluded to, but if I must give a short -answer, I should say,—Great towns, great schools, dress, and novels. -These things are not regulated exactly by the size of the earth, and yet -must be allowed to have some influence on manners. To instance only the -two last. Is it to be wondered at that a young raw ignorant girl, who is -sent up from the country as a milliner’s or mantua-maker’s apprentice, -and stowed into a room with eight or ten others, who snatch every moment -they can spare from caps and bonnets, and sit up half the night to read -all the novels they can get, and as soon they have finished one, send -for another, whose heart, in the course of half a year, has been pierced -through with twenty beaux on paper, who has been courted, seduced, run -away with, married and put to bed under all the fine names that the -imagination can invent to as many fine gentlemen, who has sighed and -wept with so many heroes and heroines that her tears and sighs have at -last caused in her a defluction of the brain, and a palpitation of the -heart at the sight of every man, whose fancy is love-sick, and her head -quite turned, should be unable to resist the first coxcomb of real flesh -and blood, who in shining boots and a velvet collar accosts her in the -shape of a lover, but who has no thoughts of marrying her, because if he -were to take this imprudent step, he must give up his shining boots and -velvet collar, and the respect they procure him in the world? Zaleucus -ordained that no woman should dress herself gorgeously, unless she was a -prostitute. If I were a law-giver, and chose to meddle in such matters, -I would ordain that no woman should expose her shape publicly, unless -she were a prostitute.—The female form is more proper for child-bearing, -than for public exhibition; this secret analogy, when coupled with -modesty and reserve, is however its greatest charm. The strange -fancy-dresses, the perverse disguises, the counterfeit shapes, the stiff -stays, and enormous hoops worn by the women in the time of the Spectator -gave an agreeable scope to the imagination. The greedy eye and rash hand -of licentiousness were repressed. The senses were never satisfied in an -instant. Love was entangled in the folds of the swelling handkerchief, -and the desires might wander for ever round the circumference of a -quilted petticoat, or find a rich lodging in the flowers of a damask -stomacher. There was room for years of patient perseverance, for a -thousand thoughts, fancies, conjectures, hopes, fears, and wishes. There -seemed no end to difficulties and delays: to overcome so many obstacles -was the work of ages. A _wife_ had then some meaning in it: it was an -angel concealed behind whalebone, flounces, and brocade. The transition -from a mistress in masquerade to a wife in wedding sheets was worth -venturing for: now it is nothing, and we hear no more of faithful -courtships, and romantic loves. A woman can be _but_ undressed.—The -young ladies we at present see with the thin muslin vest drawn tight -round the slender waist, and following with nice exactness the -undulations of the shape downwards, disclosing each full swell, each coy -recess, obtruding on the eye each opening charm, the play of the -muscles, the working of the thighs, and by the help of a walk, of which -every step seems a gird, and which keeps the limbs strained to the -utmost point, displaying all those graceful involutions of person, and -all those powers of fascinating motion, of which the female form is -susceptible—these moving pictures of lust and nakedness, against which -the greasy imaginations of grooms and porters may rub themselves, -running the gauntlet of the saucy looks and indecent sarcasms of the -boys in the street, staring at every ugly fellow, leering at every -handsome man, and throwing out a lure for every fool (true Spartan -girls, who if they were metamorphosed into any thing in the manner of -Ovid, it would certainly be into valerian!) are the very same, whose -mothers or grand-mothers buried themselves under a pile of clothes, -whose timid steps hardly touched the ground, whose eyes were constantly -averted from the rude gaze of the men, and who almost blushed at their -own shadows. ‘Of such we in romances read.’ It does not require any -great spirit of divination to perceive that this change in appearance -must imply some change in manners. Is this change then owing entirely to -the increased pressure of the principle of population, or have not -French fashions, French milliners, and French dancing-masters had some -hand in producing it?[24]—Mr. Malthus inveighs with great severity -against squalid poverty, and the vices produced by filth and rags. I -allow the justice of his remarks, and think that the condition of the -poor in this respect is one of the chief nuisances of society. After -giving the poor a scrubbing with a coarse towel in the manner he has -done, it would not have been amiss if he had taken a clean white -clerical pocket-handkerchief, and applied it to wipe off the rouge from -the cheeks of painted prostitution, or thrown it as a covering over the -polished neck and ivory shoulders of ladies of high quality. The bishop -of London would have praised the attempt. Mr. Malthus might have -distinguished between the involuntary rents, and the unlucky loop-holes -which sometimes appear in a poor girl’s petticoat, and the elegant -dishabille and studied nakedness of high life. The dirt that sticks to a -wench’s face in cleaning a saucepan is I think likely to have less -effect on the character than the red paste daubed on the cheeks before a -looking-glass, to give _animation_ to the eyes. The contempt which dirt -and poverty excite must destroy all moral sensibility. Must not the -glare of fashion and the perpetual intoxication of personal vanity have -the same effect? The poor grovel in disagreeable sensations, the rich -wanton in voluptuous ones. The passions are not more likely to be -inflamed by stale porter, the screams of a fiddle, and the clattering of -a hornpipe at a hop in St. Giles’s, than by the elegant liqueurs, the -soft sounds of the clarionet and hautboy, and the languishing movements -of walses, allemandes, and minuets _de la cour_ at a ball in St. -James’s. A fair, or an opera may equally turn the head of any silly girl -that goes to one. Of the two, a tune on the salt-box would be got over -sooner than Narcissus and the Graces. The tawdry prints to be seen in -garrets, and the ballads sung at the corners of streets do not much -improve the morals of the people: but I put it to the conscience of our -sentimental divine, whether the Wanton Wife of Bath, or the tall captain -with his arm round the chambermaid’s waist, or Jemmy Jessamy lolling on -the sofa with his mistress, may be expected to produce more accidents -than those luscious collections of the poets, or those grave -scripture-pieces, or classical _chef-d’œuvres_ of Venus and Adonis, of -Leda with her Swan, Nymphs, Fawns, and Satyrs, which gentlemen of -fortune keep in their houses for the instruction of their wives and -daughters. Mr. Malthus is convinced that no young woman brought up in -nastiness and vulgarity, however virtuous she may seem, can be good for -any thing at twenty: I confess I have the same cynical opinion of those, -who have the good fortune to be brought up in the obscene refinements of -fashionable life. - -I never fell in love but once; and then it was with a girl who always -wore her handkerchief pinned tight round her neck, with a fair face, -gentle eyes, a soft smile, and cool auburn locks. I mention this, -because it may in some measure account for my temperate, tractable -notions of this passion, compared with Mr. Malthus’s. It was not a -raging heat, a fever in the veins: but it was like a vision, a dream, -like thoughts of childhood, an everlasting hope, a distant joy, a -heaven, a world that might be. The dream is still left, and sometimes -comes confusedly over me in solitude and silence, and mingles with the -softness of the sky, and veils my eyes from mortal grossness. After all, -Mr. Malthus may be right in his opinion of human nature. Though my -notions of love have been thus aerial and refined, I do not know that -this was any advantage to me, or that I might not have done better with -a few of our author’s ungovernable transports, and sensual oozings. -Perhaps the workings of the heart are best expressed by a gloating -countenance, by mawkish sentiments and lively gestures. Cupid often -perches on broad shoulders, or on the brawny calf of a leg, a settlement -is better than a love-letter, and in love not minds, but bodies and -fortunes meet. I have therefore half a mind to retract all that I have -said, and prove to Mr. Malthus that love is not even so intellectual a -passion as he sometimes admits it to be, but altogether gross and -corporal. - -I have thus attempted to answer the different points of Mr. Malthus’s -argument, and give a truer account of the various principles that -actuate human nature. There is but one advantage that I can conceive of -as resulting from the admission of his mechanical theory on the subject, -which is that it would be the most effectual recipe for indifference -that has yet been found out. No one need give himself any farther -trouble about the progress of vice, or the extension of misery. The -office of moral censor, that troublesome, uneasy office which every one -is so ready to set up in his own breast, and which I verily believe is -the occasion of more unhappiness than any one cause else, would be at an -end. The professor’s chair of morality would become vacant, and no one -would have more cause than I to rejoice at the breaking up for the -holidays; for I have plagued myself a good deal about the distinctions -of right and wrong. The pilot might let go the helm, and leave the -vessel to drift carelessly before the stream. When we are once convinced -that the degree of virtue and happiness can no more be influenced by -human wisdom than the ebbing and flowing of the tide, it must be idle to -give ourselves any more concern about them. The wise man might then -enjoy an Epicurean languor and repose, without being conscious of the -neglect of duty. Mr. Malthus’s system is one, ‘in which the wicked cease -from troubling, and in which the weary are at rest.’ To persons of an -irritable and nervous disposition, who are fond of kicking against the -pricks, who have tasted of the bitterness of the knowledge of good and -evil, and to whom whatever is amiss in others sticks not merely like a -burr, but like a pitch-plaister, the advantage of such a system is -incalculable.— - -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, -not by knowledge; 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 thing comes not nigh them. The shafts of ridicule pass -unheeded by, and malice loses its sting. Their keen perceptions do not -catch at hidden mischiefs, nor cling to every folly. 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 about them. - - - - - EXTRACTS FROM THE ESSAY ON POPULATION - WITH A COMMENTARY, AND NOTES - - -I intended to have added another Letter on the principle of population -as affecting the laws of property, and the condition of the poor. But I -found it impossible to combat some of Mr. Malthus’s opinions without -bringing vouchers for them. I might otherwise seem to be combating the -chimeras of my own brain. There are some instances of perverse reasoning -so gross and mischievous, that without seeing the confidence with which -they are insisted on, it seems a waste of time to contradict them. The -reader may perhaps have had something of this feeling already. By -throwing the remainder of the work into the form of Extracts with notes -I shall at least avoid the imputation of ascribing to Mr. Malthus -singularities he never dreamt of, and have an opportunity of remarking -upon some incidental passages, which appeared to me liable to objection -in the perusal. My remarks will be confined almost entirely to the two -last books of the work. - -‘M. Condorcet’s _Esquisse d’un tableau historique des progres de -l’esprit humain_, was written, it is said, under the pressure of that -cruel proscription which terminated in his death. If he had no hopes of -its being seen during his life, and of its interesting France in his -favour, it is a singular instance of the attachment of a man to -principles, which every day’s experience was, so fatally for himself, -contradicting. To see the human mind, in one of the most enlightened -nations of the world, debased by such a fermentation of disgusting -passions, of fear, cruelty, malice, revenge, ambition, madness, and -folly, as would have disgraced the most savage nations in the most -barbarous age, must have been such a tremendous shock to his ideas of -the necessary and inevitable progress of the human mind, that nothing -but the firmest conviction of the truth of his principles, in spite of -all appearances, could have withstood.’ - -Mr. Malthus in his pick-thank way, here takes occasion to sneer at -Condorcet for his attachment to principles, which, he asserts, every -day’s experience was contradicting. As this of mine is not a pick-thank -work, I must take the liberty of observing, as I have never read M. -Condorcet’s work, that if his ideas of the future progress of the human -mind were the same as those of other writers on the subject, that -debasement of character, and that mass of disgusting passions, which -developed themselves in the events to which Mr. Malthus here alludes, -were the strongest confirmation of the necessity of getting rid of those -institutions which had thus degraded the human character, and under -which such passions had been fostered: for to say that the progress of -the human mind, in spite of those institutions, was necessary and -inevitable, or that there were no such passions as fear, cruelty, -malice, revenge, &c. belonging to the character generated by the old -system in France (in which an immediate change could not be expected -without a miracle) would have been such a contradiction to common sense, -and to all their own favourite schemes of reform, as no madman in the -height of revolutionary madness was ever guilty of. All that could ever -be pretended by the advocates of reform was that there were capacities -for improvement in the mind, which had hitherto notwithstanding the -advantages of knowledge been thwarted by human institutions. The -contradiction rests therefore not with Condorcet, but with our author. -The same objection has been often made, and often refuted. But there are -some reasoners who care little how often a fallacy has been exposed, if -they know there are people who are still inclined to listen to it. - -‘This posthumous publication is only a sketch of a much larger work -which he proposed should be executed. It necessarily wants, therefore, -that detail and application, which can alone prove the truth of any -theory.’ [This remark I cannot admit. I do not think for instance that -any detail or application is necessary to prove the truth of Mr. -Malthus’s general principle of the disproportion between the power of -increase in population, and in the productions of the earth, or to shew -the bad consequences of an unrestricted increase of population.] ‘A few -observations will be sufficient to shew how completely this theory is -contradicted, when it is applied to the real and not to an imaginary -state of things.’ [The _contre-sens_ implied in this expression is not a -slip of the pen, but a fixed principle in Mr. Malthus’s mind.] He has a -very satisfactory method of answering all theories relating to any -imaginary alterations or improvements in the condition of mankind, by -shewing what would be the consequences of a certain state of society, if -no such state of society really existed, but if every thing remained -just as it is at present. He thinks it sound sense and true philosophy -to judge of a theory which is confessedly imaginary or has never been -realized by comparing it ‘with the real and not with an imaginary state -of things.’ That is, he does not adopt the necessarian maxim that men -will be always the same while the circumstances continue, but he insists -upon it that they will be always the same, whether the circumstances are -the same or not. Some instances have already appeared of this in the -foregoing work. The following passage may serve as another instance. -After supposing Mr. Godwin’s system of equality to be realized to its -utmost extent, and the most perfect form of society established, he -exclaims, ‘this would indeed be a happy state; but that it is merely an -imaginary state with scarcely a feature near the _truth_, the reader, I -am afraid, is already too well convinced.’ Mr. Godwin himself was I -apprehend very well convinced that this imaginary state was very -different from the truth or from the present state of things, when he -wrote his book to shew how much better the one _would be_ than the other -_is_. He then goes on, ‘Man cannot live in the midst of plenty. All -cannot share alike the bounties of nature. Were there no established -administration of property, every man would be obliged to guard with -force his little store. Selfishness would be triumphant. The subjects of -contention would be perpetual,’ &c. If there were no established -administration of property, while men continued as selfish as they are -at present, (which is I suppose what Mr. Malthus means by applying the -theory _to the real state of things_‘) the consequences here mentioned -would no doubt follow. But it is supposed that there is no established -administration of property, because the necessity for it has ceased or -because selfishness is not triumphant, but vanquished. This is the -supposition. Mr. Malthus however persists, that were there no -established administration of property, ‘every man would be obliged to -guard with force his little store since selfishness would still be as -triumphant as ever.’ This is contrary to all the received rules of -reasoning. He then proceeds to examine, how long Mr. Godwin’s theory if -once realized might be expected to last, and how soon the present vices -of men would discompose this _perfect_ form of society, concluding very -wisely that ‘a theory that will not admit of application cannot possibly -be just.’ True: if a man tells you that a triangle has certain -properties, he is bound to make good this theory with respect to a -triangle, but not with respect to a circle.—The outcry which Mr. Malthus -here makes about experience is without any meaning. It is evident that -we cannot make this word a rule in all cases whatever. For instance, if -a man who is in the habit of drinking a bottle of brandy every day of -his life and consequently enjoys but an indifferent state of health, is -advised by his physician to leave off this practice, and told that _on -this condition_ he may recover his health and appetite, it would not be -considered as a proof of any great wisdom in the man, if he were to -answer this reasoning of his physician by applying it to the real, and -not to an imaginary state of things, or by saying, ‘The consequences you -promise me from submitting to your regimen are indeed very desirable; -but I cannot expect any such consequences from it: I have always been in -very bad health from the habit I have constantly been in of drinking -brandy; and it would be contrary to the experience of my whole life to -suppose, that I should receive any benefit from leaving it off.’ In like -manner, I conceive that it is not from any great depth of philosophy, -but from the strength of his attachment to the good things of this life, -that Mr. Malthus makes so many ill-judged appeals to experience. He is -afraid of launching into the empty regions of abstraction, he stands -shivering on the brink; or if he ventures a little way, soon turns back -again, frightened out of his wits, and muttering something about -population. His imagination cannot sustain for a moment the idea of any -real improvement or elevation in the human character, but instantly -drops down into the filth of vice and misery, out of which it had just -crawled. His attempts at philosophy put me in mind of the exploits of -those citizens who set out on a Sunday morning to take an excursion into -the country, resolved to taste the fresh air, and not be confined for -ever to the same spot, but who get no farther than Paddington, White -Conduit-house, or Bagnigge-wells, unable to leave the smoke, the noise -and dust, to which they have so long been used! Mr. Malthus is a perfect -_cockney_ in matters of philosophy. - -M. Condorcet, allowing that there must in all stages of society be a -number of individuals who have no other resource than their industry, or -that ‘there exists a necessary cause of inequality, of dependence and -even of misery,[25] which menaces without ceasing the most numerous and -active class of the community,’ proposes to establish a fund, which -should assure to the old an assistance, produced in part _by their own -former savings_, and partly by the savings of others, who die before -they reap the benefit of it; and that this fund might extend to women -and children, who had lost their husbands or fathers, and afford a -capital to young beginners, sufficient for the developement of their -industry. To those who have not fathomed all the depths and shoals of -the principle of population, this plan seems feasible enough. Mr. -Malthus’s cautious reserved humanity, his anxious concern about the -support of the aged, the infirm, the widow, and the orphan, his wish to -give every encouragement to industry, and above all, his regard for the -rights and independence of his fellows, lead him to see nothing but -difficulties and objections in the way of such a plan. - -‘Such establishments may appear very promising upon paper; but when -applied to real life, they will be found to be absolutely nugatory. M. -Condorcet allows, that a class of people which maintains itself entirely -by industry is necessary to every state. Why does he allow this? No -other reason can well be assigned, than because he conceives, that the -labour necessary to procure subsistence for an extended population, will -not be performed without the goad of necessity. If by establishments, -upon the plans that have been mentioned, this spur to industry be -removed; if the idle and negligent be placed upon the same footing with -regard to their credit, and the future support of their wives and -families, as the active and industrious, can we expect to see men exert -that animated activity in bettering their condition, which now forms the -master-spring of publick prosperity. If an inquisition were to be -established to examine the claims of each individual, and to determine -whether he had, or had not, exerted himself to the utmost, and to grant -or refuse assistance accordingly, this would be little else than a -repetition upon a larger scale, of the English poor laws, and would be -completely destructive of the true principles of liberty and equality.’ - -This passage only shews the shyness of our author’s benevolence. He will -hear of no short-cuts or obvious expedients for bettering the condition -of the poor. All his benefits are extracted by the Cæsarean -operation.—In the first place, he contradicts himself. He first supposes -that labour cannot be performed without the _goad of necessity_, and -then affirms that it is _the prospect of bettering their condition_, -that makes men exert themselves, and forms the master-spring of public -prosperity. But why is it necessary that the idle and negligent should -be put upon the same footing with the industrious, with respect to their -credit, the support of their families, &c.? As to the first of these, it -is proposed to be only temporary, to serve as a beginning, and if a -proper use is not made of it, the goad of necessity, to which Mr. -Malthus is so ready to resort on all occasions, will soon begin to do -its office. As to the second object, the support of a surviving family, -in case of accidents, did Mr. Malthus never hear of any distress -produced in this way, but in consequence of the idleness and negligence -of the deceased? Is not a poor family necessarily reduced to distress by -the death of the husband, let his industry and sobriety have been never -so great, and even reduced to greater distress in proportion to his -industry, as they must miss his help the more? Besides, it is not likely -that the withholding this assistance from a man’s family after his death -will be any inducement to the idle and negligent to exert themselves, -when the sight of the actual distress in which their families are -involved by their ill conduct has no effect upon them. I see no -objection to proportioning the allowance to the old, or to those who -have had time to make a provision for themselves, to the contributions -they have really made to the fund in a given length of time. This would -be a sufficient test of the validity of their pretensions, as they could -not contribute largely, without proportionably straitening themselves, -and the idle and profligate are not very apt to part with their present -gains to provide for any speculative uncertainties or future difficulty. -(Mr. Malthus may measure the support allotted to their families in the -same way.) While the distinction of the idle and industrious continued, -and while it was necessary to encourage the one and discountenance the -other, I do not understand what objection there can be to this mode, or -how it would trench upon the true principles of liberty and equality. -True equality supposes equal merit and virtue. But Mr. Malthus is -alarmed at this scheme, because, he says, it is little else than a -repetition on a larger scale of the English poor laws. If the English -poor laws are formed upon this principle, I should, I confess, be very -sorry to see them abolished. - -‘Were every man sure of a comfortable provision for a family, almost -every man would have one; and were the rising generation free from the -“killing frost” of misery, population must increase with unusual -rapidity.’ - -This is an utter falsification of the argument, as I have already shewn. -Every man could not be sure of a comfortable provision for a family, -unless this provision existed, and I see no reason why the rising -generation should not be free from the killing frost of misery, at least -while they can. To argue that our enlightened posterity will feel -‘secure that the general benevolence will supply every deficiency,’ is -to suppose them strangely unacquainted with the principles of Mr. -Malthus’s Essay. - -‘The period when the number of men surpass their means of subsistence -has long since arrived.’ p. 357. - -This I must deny. That the period of the utmost degree of populousness -would have arrived long ago, if nothing had prevented it, I am very -ready to grant. But that it has ever actually arrived, is another -question. Because population would have arrived at its greatest possible -or desirable height long before our time, if it had not been kept back -by any artificial and arbitrary checks, is that any reason why it should -never attain that height, or should not now be suffered to go on, though -those checks have always operated to keep it back much more than was -necessary, viz. below the level not only of the possible, but of the -_actual_ means of subsistence or produce of the earth? As to the period -when the world is likely to maintain the greatest possible number of -inhabitants in the greatest possible comfort, I have no notion that it -will ever arrive at all. If however it should ever arrive, it must be in -consequence either of a gradual or immediate complete improvement in the -state of society. If this improvement is gradual, the increase in -population will be so too, and will not reach its farthest limit till a -considerably remote period; if the improvement is sudden and rapid, -still it must be some time before the operation of the new system of -things will have overcome all obstacles, and completely peopled the -earth. So that in either case the event seems a good way off. The danger -of arriving at this point does not therefore appear to be ‘immediate or -imminent,’ but doubtful and distant. - -Mr. Malthus in his examination of Condorcet’s arguments, in favour of -the indefinite prolongation of human life, (one of those absurdities -against which no good reason can be given, but that it shocks all common -sense) shews considerable ingenuity, mixed up with a great deal of that -minute verbal logic, to which he seems to have accustomed his mind, and -which is perpetually leading him into erroneous methods of reasoning, -even when he happens to be right in his conclusions. As in the following -passages. - -‘Variations from different causes are essentially distinct from a -regular and unretrograde increase. The average duration of human life -will, to a certain degree, vary, from healthy or unhealthy climates, -from wholesome or unwholesome food, from virtuous or vicious manners, -and other causes; but it may be fairly doubted, whether there has been -really the smallest perceptible advance in the natural duration of human -life, since first we had any authentic history of man. The prejudices of -all ages have, indeed, been directly contrary to this supposition.’ - -Now this statement is very unsatisfactory, to say the least. For the -only reason that can be given why the causes here mentioned, on which -Mr. M. allows that the duration of human life depends, have not produced -a regular and permanent effect _must be_, that they themselves have -neither been regular nor permanent. The mere fact, therefore, of the -variableness in the length of human life proves nothing but the -variableness of those moral and artificial causes, which are supposed to -have some influence on our physical constitution. But Condorcet supposes -a regular advance to be made in these causes, and that an indefinite -advance in some of them (as the knowledge of medicine for instance) is -probable, will hardly be disputed. The question (in this point of view) -of the necessary duration of human life is not properly a question of -fact, or history, but depends on a comparison of the present -circumstances of mankind with their past circumstances, and on the -probability that may thence appear of preventing or counteracting those -maladies and passions which are most unfavourable to long life. That our -reason may sometimes get the start of our experience is what no one can -deny. Thus when the art of printing was first discovered it required no -great stretch of thought to perceive that knowledge and learning would -soon become more generally diffused than they had hitherto been, though -till this event no perceptible or regular progress had ever been made. -Those who reason otherwise are a kind of stereographic reasoners who -take things in the lump without being able to analyse or connect their -different principles. Experience is but the alphabet of reason. With -respect to the general shortness of human life compared with what it was -in the first ages of mankind, this fact seems rather against Mr. -Malthus, for if there is no certain date, no settled period to human -life, beyond which it cannot hold out, but that it has varied from a -thousand to a hundred years, so far there is no reason why we should not -tread back our steps, or even go beyond the point from which we set out. -There is no fixed limit; the present length of human life is not -evidently a general law of nature. The mere naked fact of its never -exceeding a certain length at present is just as decisive against its -ever having been longer, as it is against its ever being longer in -future. Mr. Malthus argues about human life, as Hume argues about -miracles. - -‘It will be said, perhaps, that the reason why plants and animals cannot -increase indefinitely in size, is, that they would fall by their own -weight. I answer, how do we know this but from experience? from -experience of the degree of strength with which these bodies are formed. -I know that a carnation, long before it reached the size of a cabbage, -would not be supported by its stalk; but I only know this from my -experience of the weakness, and want of tenacity in the materials of a -carnation stalk. There are many substances in nature, of the same size, -that would support as large a head as a cabbage. - -‘The reasons of the mortality of plants are at present perfectly unknown -to us. No man can say why such a plant is annual, another biennial, and -another endures for ages. The whole affair in all these cases, in -plants, animals, and in the human race, is an affair of experience; and -I only conclude that man is mortal, because the invariable experience of -all ages has proved the mortality of those materials of which his -visible body is made. - - ‘What can we reason but from what we know.’ - -This is making use of words without ideas. It is endeavouring to -confound two things essentially distinct, because the same lax -expression may be applied to them both. It is an attempt to deprive men -of their understanding, and leave them nothing but the use of their -senses, by a trick of language. Does it follow because all our knowledge -may be traced in some way to something which may be called _experience_, -that all our conclusions are nothing but an affair of memory? Does Mr. -Malthus know of only one sort of experience? Is there not a blind and a -rational experience? Is it not one thing merely to know a fact, or a -number of facts, and another to know the _reason_ of them? Or if our -philosopher is determined to intrench himself behind a word, is there -not a knowledge founded on the experience of certain positive results, -(which often extends no further than those results) and a knowledge -founded on the experience of certain general principles or laws, to -which all particular effects are subject? Mr. Malthus seems to insinuate -that the knowledge of the general law or principle adds nothing to the -knowledge of the fact, because both are equally an affair of experience. -He might as well assert that a ligature of iron would not strengthen a -deal plank, because they are both held together by the same law of -cohesion. The fact expresses nothing more than the actual co-existence -of certain things in certain circumstances, and while all those -circumstances continue, no doubt the same consequences will follow. But -we know that they are hardly ever the same, and the question is, which -of them is necessary to produce the effect talked of. This the _reason_ -points out, that is, it points out a relation between certain things, -which has been found to hold not merely in the given circumstances, but -in all others, which is properly the relation of cause and effect. Our -idea of cause and effect is not derived from our immediate but from our -_comparative_ experience: it is only by taking our experience to pieces, -by seeing what things are, or are not necessarily connected together in -different circumstances, that we learn to reason with clearness and -confidence on the succession of events. - -The succession of events is not the same thing as the succession of -cause and effect. By assigning a reason for a thing, I mean then being -able to refer it to a general rule or principle collected from and -proved by an infinite number of collateral instances, and confirming the -particular fact or instance to which it is applied. It is drawing -together the different ramifications of our experience, and winding them -round a particular bundle of things, and tying them fast together. Thus -suppose we have never seen a carnation of the size of a cabbage: does it -follow that we never shall, or that there can be no such thing? We might -say, I know no _reason_ why a flower of a certain shape, colour, &c. -should not reach a certain size, but that it has never been so within my -knowledge. This might however be owing to the soil, culture, or a -thousand circumstances, which are not invariable.—But the moment the -reason is given (supposing it to be a good one) namely, the connection -between the contexture and weight, (though this reason is also derived -indirectly from the general fund of our experience) there is an end at -once of the question. To suppose a flower to grow to a greater height -than it could support from the slenderness of the stalk would be to -suppose what never happened not only with respect to that particular -flower, the carnation, but with respect to any other flower, or plant, -or animal, or any other body whatever. We know that climate has such an -effect that what are plants with us, in the tropical climates become -large trees: but the necessary proportion between the size or weight of -the plant, and the strength of the stalk that is to support it, is what -no change of soil or climate can supersede, unless we could supersede -the law of gravitation itself. The mere experimental or historical proof -is here then buttressed up by the general rule, or reason of the -thing.—I have always seen a stone fall to the ground; I remember a house -always to have stood where it does; a hill has never stirred from the -place where I first saw it. Is the inference to be drawn from these -different cases equally certain? Am I to conclude that the house will -last as long as the mountain, because I have the same positive evidence -of their permanence? No: because though I have never seen any alteration -in that particular house, I have seen other houses pulled down and built -up; and besides, from the size of the objects, the shape and nature of -the materials, I know that one of them may be very easily destroyed, -whereas nothing but some great convulsion in nature is ever likely to -destroy the other or remove it from its place. Our particular experience -is only to be depended on, as it is explained and confirmed by analogy -to other cases, viz. by a number of other facts of the same kind, or by -general observation. Secondly, the aggregate of our experience with -respect to any given class of events is constantly over-ruled by the -_reason of the case_, viz. by our knowledge of cause and effect, by the -intelligible, explicit connections of things, and by considering whether -the principles concerned in the production of a series of events, -(forming a body of facts, or the concrete mass of our experience) are -resolvable into a simple law of nature operating universally, -unchangeably, without ever being suspended for a moment, (as for -instance, the law of gravitation which holds equally of all bodies in -all cases, and can never be separated from our reasonings upon them) or -whether the event has been owing to a combination of mixed causes, which -do not always act alike and with equal force, or the effect of which -depends upon circumstances, which we know may be altered, (as in the -case of soils, climates, methods of culture,[26] &c. to return to the -former example). Suppose a rock to have stood for ages on the summit of -a mountain. Am I sure that it will stand there always? Yes, if nothing -happens to prevent it. But can I be sure that nothing will ever remove -it, because nothing has ever done so hitherto? On the contrary, I know -that if a man points a cannon against it, it will be shattered to pieces -in an instant, though it has stood there for ages, and though there is -not at present the least appearance of a change in it. Here then my -experience is of no avail against my reason. In one sense of the word, -it is all thrown away, and goes for nothing. To judge rationally, I must -take other circumstances into the account, the effects of gunpowder, &c. -The resistance made by the rock will depend upon its hardness, not upon -the length of time it had stood there. Our experience then is not one -thing, or any number of things, taken absolutely or blindly by -themselves, but a vast collection of facts, and what is of infinitely -more importance, of rules, founded upon those facts, bearing one upon -another, and perpetually modified by circumstances. It is not upon any -single fact or class of facts, or on any single rule, but on the -combination of all these, and the manner in which they balance and -control one another, that our decisions must ultimately rest. It is from -this rational and abstracted experience that we obtain any certain -results, and infer from the altered relation of causes and events, that -things will happen which never happened before. The future is contained -in the past, only as it grows out of the same powers in nature, but -acting in different situations, and producing different practical -results by invariable laws. To apply all this to the question. If it is -allowed that the improvements in physic have an influence on the -duration of human life, and that these improvements may go on -indefinitely, I do not think Mr. Malthus’s answer a conclusive one that -no considerable progress will ever be made in this respect, because none -has hitherto been made. If the improvements in science have not hitherto -been regular and permanent, it cannot be expected that any advantages -depending on them should have been so: nor does the past history of -mankind in this instance furnish a rule for our future conjectures, -inasmuch as in all that relates to the permanence and general diffusion -of knowledge, a new turn has been given to the question (as before -observed) by the invention of printing. This single circumstance, which -was matter of mere accident, may be said in many respects to have given -a new aspect to human affairs; to say that it has not yet produced the -effects predicted from it, when it has had no time to produce them, is -like saying, that the repeated blows of a battering-ram will not break -down a stone-wall, because for the two or three first blows it does not -begin to move. The true question is, whether the cause is adequate to -the effect ascribed to it, that is, whether its operation is of a -sufficiently general and powerful nature to produce a correspondent -general change in the circumstances of mankind. I think it will hardly -be denied that printing may be applied with great success as an -instrument for the propagation of vice: may it not then be made use of -to give currency to the principles of virtue? At any rate, to deny that -it is a means of diffusing and embodying knowledge is to deny that such -a contrivance exists at all, or that books will be more generally read, -or less liable to be lost from the facility with which they are -multiplied. While therefore Mr. Malthus allows certain moral habits, and -the state of physical knowledge in a great measure to determine the -length of human life, he cannot object on any allowed principles of -philosophy to M. Condorcet’s employing these causes as intermediate -links in a chain of argument to establish the probability of the gradual -approach of mankind—to a state of immortality. The error does not lie in -M. Condorcet’s general principles of reasoning, but in the wrong -application of them; though I do not know that I could detect the error -better than Mr. Malthus has done. What I have endeavoured to shew in -these hasty remarks is that the admission of the rule laid down by our -author, that in our calculations of the future, we are to attend to -nothing but the general state of the fact hitherto, without giving any -weight to the actual change of collateral circumstances, or the -existence of any new cause which may influence the state of that fact, -would overturn every principle, not only of sound philosophy, but of the -most obvious common sense.[27] I dissent equally from M. Condorcet’s -paradoxical speculations and from Mr. Malthus’s paradoxical answers to -them. It would be unfair not to add that Mr. Malthus has made one good -distinction on the subject, between an unlimited and an indefinite -improvement. It is the old argument of the Heap, and is here stated with -considerable effect, and novelty of appearance. The conclusion of Mr. -Malthus’s argument on this idle question is a sensible and pleasant -account of the matter. After all, I do not quite dislike a man who -quotes Bickerstaff so well. - -‘It does not, however, by any means, seem impossible, that by an -attention to breed, a certain degree of improvement, similar to that -among animals, might take place among men. Whether intellect could be -communicated may be a matter of doubt: but size, strength, beauty, -complexion, and perhaps even longevity, are in a degree transmissible. -The error does not seem to lie, in supposing a small degree of -improvement possible, but in not discriminating between a small -improvement, the limit of which is undefined, and an improvement really -unlimited. As the human race, however, could not be improved in this -way, without condemning all the bad specimens to celibacy, it is not -probable, that an attention to breed should ever become general; indeed, -I know of no well-directed attempts of the kind, except in the ancient -family of the Bickerstaffs, who are said to have been very successful in -whitening the skins, and increasing the height of their race by prudent -marriages, particularly by that very judicious cross with Maud the -milk-maid, by which some very capital defects in the constitutions of -the family were corrected.’ - -Mr. Malthus afterwards adds, ‘When paradoxes of this kind are advanced -by ingenious and able men, neglect has no tendency to convince them of -their mistakes. Priding themselves on what they conceive to be a mark of -the reach and size of their own understandings, of the extent and -comprehensiveness of their views; they will look upon this neglect -merely as an indication of poverty, and narrowness, in the mental -exertions of their contemporaries; and only think, that the world is not -yet prepared to receive their sublime truths.’—This is said _bitingly_ -enough. For my own part, I conceive that the world is neither prepared -to receive, nor reject, nor answer them, nor decide any thing about them -but that they are contrary to all our notions of things, which, till we -know more about the matter, is perhaps a sufficient answer. - -‘Mr. Godwin at the conclusion of the third chapter of his eighth book, -speaking of population, says, “There is a principle in human society, by -which population is perpetually kept down to the level of the means of -subsistence. Thus, among the wandering tribes of America and Asia, we -never find, through the lapse of ages, that population has so increased -as to render necessary the cultivation of the earth.” This principle, -which Mr. Godwin thus mentions as some mysterious and occult cause, and -which he does not attempt to investigate, has appeared to be the -grinding law of necessity—misery, and the fear of misery.’ - -There is a want of clearness here. The cause which Mr. Malthus thus -explains so accurately has still something dark and mysterious about it. -With respect to the savage tribes Mr. Malthus states in another place, -that it is not owing to the backwardness of population that agriculture -has never become necessary, but to the want of agriculture that -population has never increased among them. The passage is worth quoting. -‘It is not, therefore,’ he says, ‘as Lord Kaimes imagines, that the -American tribes have never increased sufficiently to render the pastoral -or agricultural state necessary to them; but, from some cause or other,’ -[Mr. Malthus also deals in occult causes] ‘they have not adopted in any -great degree these more plentiful modes of procuring subsistence, and -therefore, cannot have increased so as to have become populous. If -hunger alone could have prompted the savage tribes of America to such a -change in their habits, I do not conceive that there would have been a -single nation of hunters and fishers remaining; but it is evident, that -some fortunate train of circumstances, in addition to this stimulus, is -necessary for this purpose; and it is undoubtedly probable, that these -arts of obtaining food, will be first invented and improved in those -spots that are best suited to them, and where the natural fertility of -the situation,’ [Is not the soil of America sufficiently fertile?] ‘by -allowing a greater number of people to subsist together, would give the -fairest chance to the inventive powers of the human mind.’—Here then we -see ‘the grinding law of necessity’ converted into a ‘fortunate train of -circumstances,’ so that we have a fact arising from a _necessary cause_, -and that necessary cause depending on an _accident_. The population is -kept down to the level of the means of subsistence, but not to _what it -is_, by the law of necessity; since there are ways and means of raising -that level, and the population along with it. Notwithstanding all the -misery, and all the fear of misery, which Mr. Malthus describes as thus -operating to keep population down to its proper level, he is altogether -unwilling to lighten their pressure, or to extend the benefits of that -fortunate train of circumstances and of those more plentiful modes of -obtaining food beyond their present necessary limits. Nothing can exceed -his jealousy on this point. He is apprehensive lest some speculative -philosopher should take it into his head ‘to exterminate the inhabitants -of the greatest part of Asia and Africa’ on a principle of humanity. He -proposes rather ‘to civilize and direct the industry of the various -tribes of Tartars and Negroes, as a work of considerable time, and as -having little chance of success.’ He looks with an enlightened concern -at the encroachments daily made by the thriving population of the -colonies on the deserts and uncultivated plains of North America, -grieving to see the few scattered inhabitants driven ‘from their -assigned and native dwelling-place,’ and foreseeing that by this means -the whole population of that vast continent will be some time or other -completely choaked up! It is, I know, a painful object to Mr. Malthus (I -cannot tell how it happens) to see plenty, comfort, civilisation and -numerous swarms of people succeed to want, ignorance, famine, misery, -and desolation. Those who are the well-wishers of the happiness of -mankind (among which number I reckon Mr. Malthus one) are always -diverted from their projects by their own delicacy and scruples. Those -who wish to enslave or destroy them never boggle at difficulties, or -stand upon ceremony! - -Mr. Malthus says that the principle, by which population is perpetually -kept down to a certain level is the grinding law of necessity—misery and -the fear of misery. This may be true of the savage tribes there spoken -of, but if he means to apply it generally, ‘it is not in any degree near -the truth.’ At this rate, all those who do not formally set about -propagating their species ought to be restrained by want or the fear of -it. Is this the fact? Misery or the fear of misery may be the check to -population among the poor, but it cannot be the check to it among the -rich. Yet we do not find that the rich, any more than the poor, -regularly marry and get children. If this were the case, the rich would -long ago have multiplied themselves into beggars. They would all have -descendants, and those descendants would have others, till the world -would not have room for such a number of poor gentlemen. All their -wealth would be turned into rags, and they would be glad of a crust of -bread. The world would be one great work-house.[28] There must therefore -be some other principle which checks population among the higher -classes, and makes them stop short within many degrees of actual -poverty, besides ‘misery and the fear of misery.’ They do not even come -within sight of misery: the fact is that they are as unwilling to -descend from the highest pitch of luxury as the poor are to sink into -the lowest state of want.—Mr. Malthus by asserting in this careless -manner that population can only be checked by misery or the fear of -misery, gains a main point. He has always a certain quantity of misery -_in bank_, as you must put so much salt in your porridge, and so many -poor devils standing on the brink of wretchedness, as a sort of -out-guard or forlorn hope, to ward off the evils of population from the -society at large. Thus the enemy is sure to be defeated, before it can -make any impression on the body of the community. This would be very -well if we had to deal with an external, and not with an internal enemy. -But is it the poor then only, who are subject to this disease of -population? Are the rich quite proof against the evils of this -all-pervading principle, this inevitable law of nature? If the account -which Mr. Malthus gives of that principle were true, its ravages could -no more be checked by devoting a certain class of the community to glut -‘its ravenous maw,’ than you could keep the plague out of a house by -placing some one at the door to catch it. Either misery and the dread of -misery are not absolutely necessary to keep population within due -bounds, or nothing short of the general spread of misery and poverty -through the whole community could save us from it. Mr. Malthus tries to -shut the gates of mercy on mankind by an ill-natured manœuvre! From the -little trouble our author gives himself about the application of his -arithmetical and geometrical ratios to the rich, and his confidence in -the method of inoculating the poor only by way of prevention, one would -suppose that the former had no concern in the affair: that ‘they neither -marry nor are given in marriage’; but leaving the vulgar business of -procreation to their inferiors, only look on to see that they do not -overstock the world. Why no, says Mr. Malthus, I have always insisted on -_vice_ as one of the necessary checks to population; and though in the -upper ranks of life, the restraints on marriage cannot be said to be -imposed by misery or the fear of misery, yet it cannot be denied that -these restraints lead to a great deal of vice and profligacy, which -answer the purpose just as well.—There is one merit I shall not deny to -Mr. Malthus, which is, that he has adapted his remedies with great skill -and judgment to the different tempers, habits, and circumstances of his -patients. In his division of the evils of human life, he has allotted to -the poor _all_ the misery, and to the rich _as much vice as they -please_! These last will I daresay be very well satisfied with this -distribution.—These remarks sufficiently shew that we cannot apologize -for all the misery there is in the world by saying, that nothing else -can put a stop to the evils of population; nor for all the vice, by -saying that it is the alternative of misery. It cannot be pretended, -that no one would ever indulge in vicious gratifications, but from the -apprehension of reducing himself to want by having a family.—‘But he -cannot maintain them in a certain style.’—True: vice is then a very -convenient auxiliary to pride, vanity, luxury, artificial distinctions, -&c. but it is not a resource against want. I once knew an instance of a -gentleman and lady who had a very romantic passion for each other, but -who could not afford to marry because they could only muster seven -thousand pounds between them. Were they not to be pitied? What could -they do in this case? Why, the lady no doubt would behave with all the -wonted fortitude of her sex on the occasion: but the poor man must -certainly be driven into vicious courses. Oh! no: I had forgot he was a -clergyman; and his cloth would not admit of any such thing. Vice does -not therefore seem to be _always_ a necessary consequence of the -obstacles to marriage. Moral restraint is always practicable, where the -opinion of the world renders it necessary. At all events, I conceive -that either one or the other of Mr. Malthus’s remedies may be dispensed -with: they are not _both_ necessary. By his own account, (as formerly -seen) extreme poverty is a very ineffectual bar to population; and as to -vice, if it could be administered in doses, proportioned to the -occasion, so much and no more, it might be an excellent cure; but the -misfortune is, that when it once begins, there is no end of it. To -change my metaphor, it takes the bit in its mouth, and sets off at a -glorious rate, without the least spur from necessity, always keeping as -much a-head of the occasion as Mr. Malthus’s geometrical series keeps -a-head of his arithmetical one. Some persons may perhaps argue, that -there is a natural connection between vice and misery, inasmuch as -without the temptation of want among the poor, the vices of the rich -would lack proper objects to exercise themselves upon: so that, there -being no one to offer temptation to, and no one having any very great -temptations to offer, people would be forced to marry among their -_equals_, unless the trifling consideration of not being able to provide -immediately for a large family should induce them to moderate their -passions for a while. This is an argument which I shall not controvert: -the disturbing that beautiful harmony and dependence which at present -subsists between vice and misery would certainly lead us back in a great -measure to all the evils which Mr. Malthus anticipates as arising out of -a state of excessive virtue and happiness, and the most perfect form of -society. - -I shall here quote at large Mr. Malthus’s account of the origin of the -distinctions of property as necessarily arising from the pressure of -population on the means of subsistence, and from that principle solely. -I shall mark what I think the most noticeable parts in italics, and make -some observations at the end. - -‘It may be curious to observe in the case that we have been supposing, -how some of the principal laws, which at present govern civilized -society, would be successively dictated by the most imperious necessity. -As man, according to Mr. Godwin, is the creature of the impressions to -which he is subject, the goadings of want could not continue long before -some violations of public or private stock would necessarily take place. -As these violations increased in number and extent, _the more active and -comprehensive intellects of the society would soon perceive_, that while -population was fast increasing, the yearly produce of the country would -shortly begin to diminish. The urgency of the case would suggest the -necessity of some immediate measures being taken for the general safety. -Some kind of convention would then be called, and the dangerous -situation of the country stated in the strongest terms. _It would be -observed, that while they lived in the midst of plenty it was of little -consequence who laboured the least, or who possessed the least, as every -man was perfectly willing and ready to supply the wants of his -neighbour. But that the question was no longer whether one man should -give to another that which he did not use himself; but whether he should -give to his neighbour the food which was absolutely necessary to his own -existence. It would be represented that the number of those who were in -want very greatly exceeded the number and means of those who should -supply them_; that these pressing wants, which from the state of the -produce of the country, could not all be gratified, had occasioned some -flagrant violations of justice; that these violations had already -checked the increase of food, and would, if they were not by some means -or other prevented, throw the whole community into confusion: that -imperious necessity seemed to dictate, that a yearly increase of produce -should, if possible, be obtained at all events; that in order to effect -this first great and indispensable purpose it would be advisable to make -a more complete division of land, and to secure every man’s property -against violation by the most powerful sanctions. - -‘It might be urged perhaps, by some objectors, that as the fertility of -the land increased, and various accidents occurred, the shares of some -men might be much more than sufficient for their support; and that when -the reign of self-love was once established, _they would not distribute -their surplus produce without some compensation in return_. It would be -observed in answer, that this was an inconvenience greatly to be -lamented; but that it was an evil which would bear no comparison to the -black train of distresses which would inevitably be occasioned by the -insecurity of property; _that the quantity of food which one man could -consume, was necessarily limited by the narrow capacity of the human -stomach; that it was not certainly probable that he should throw away -the rest; and if he exchanged his surplus produce for the labour of -others, this would be better than that these others should absolutely -starve._ - -‘It seems highly probable therefore, that an administration of property -_not very different from that which prevails in civilized states at -present_ would be established as the best though inadequate remedy for -the evils which were pressing on the society. - -‘The next subject which would come under discussion, intimately -connected with the preceding, is the commerce of the sexes. It would be -urged by those who had turned their attention to the _true cause of the -difficulties under which the community laboured, that while every man -felt secure that all his children would be well provided for by general -benevolence, the powers of the earth would be absolutely inadequate to -produce food for the population which would inevitably ensue_; that even -if the whole attention and labour of the society were directed to this -sole point, and if by the most perfect security of property, and every -other encouragement that could be thought of, the greatest possible -increase of produce were yearly obtained; yet still the increase of food -would by no means keep pace with the much more rapid increase of -population; that some check to population therefore was imperiously -called for; that the most natural and obvious check seemed to be to make -every man provide for his own children; that this would operate in some -respect as a measure and a guide in the increase of population, as it -might be expected that no man would bring beings into the world for whom -he could not find the means of support; that where this notwithstanding -was the case, it seemed necessary for the example of others, that the -disgrace and inconvenience attending such a conduct should fall upon -that individual who had thus inconsiderately plunged himself and his -innocent children into want and misery. - -‘The institution of marriage, or at least of some express or implied -obligation on every man to support his own children, seems to be the -natural result of these reasonings in a community under the difficulties -that we have supposed. - -‘When these two fundamental laws of society, the security of property, -and the institution of marriage were once established, inequality of -conditions must necessarily follow. Those who were born after the -division of property would come _into a world already possessed_. If -their parents from having too large a family were unable to give them -sufficient for their support, what could they do in a world where every -thing was appropriated? We have seen the fatal effects that would result -to society if every man had a _valid claim to an equal share of the -produce of the earth._ The members of a family which was grown too large -for the original division of land appropriated to it, _could not then -demand a part of the surplus produce of others as a debt of justice. It -has appeared that from the inevitable laws of human nature some human -beings will be exposed to want. These are the unhappy persons who in the -great lottery of life have drawn a blank. The number of these persons -would soon exceed the ability of the surplus produce to supply. Moral -merit is a very difficult criterion except in extreme cases. The owners -of surplus produce would in general seek some more obvious mark of -distinction; and it seems to be both natural and just, that except upon -particular occasions their choice should fall upon those who were able, -and professed themselves willing to exert their strength in procuring a -further surplus produce, which would at once benefit the community, and -enable the proprietors to afford assistance to greater numbers. All who -were in want of food would be urged by imperious necessity to offer -their labour in exchange for this article, so absolutely necessary to -existence. The fund appropriated to the maintenance of labour would be -the aggregate quantity of food possessed by the owners of land beyond -their own consumption. When the demands upon this fund were great and -numerous it would naturally be divided into very small shares. Labour -would be ill paid. Men would offer to work for a bare subsistence; and -the rearing of families would be checked by sickness and misery. On the -contrary, when this fund was increasing fast; when it was great in -proportion to the number of claimants, it would be divided in much -larger shares. No man would exchange his labour without receiving an -ample quantity of food in return. Labourers would live in ease and -comfort, and would consequently be able to rear a numerous and vigorous -offspring._ - -‘_On the state of this fund the happiness or the degree of misery, -prevailing among the lower classes of people in every known state, at -present chiefly depends; and on this happiness or degree of misery -depends principally the increase, stationariness, or decrease of -population._ - -‘_And thus it appears, that a society constituted according to the most -beautiful form that imagination can conceive, with benevolence for its -moving principle instead of self-love, and with every evil disposition -in all its members corrected by reason, not force, would from the -inevitable laws of nature, and not from any original depravity of man, -or of human institutions, degenerate in a very short period into a -society constructed upon a plan not essentially different from that -which prevails in every known state at present; a society divided into a -class of proprietors and a class of labourers, and with self-love for -the mainspring of the great machine_; we may, therefore, venture to -pronounce with certainty, that if Mr. Godwin’s system of society were -established in its utmost perfection, instead of myriads of centuries, -not thirty years could elapse before its utter destruction from the -simple principle of population.’ - -Not to insist on the absurdity, with which Mr. Malthus seems to be -enamoured, of believing that the change here predicted would be the -consequence of the inevitable laws of nature, not of any inherent -depravity in the human mind, when it is evident that the whole mischief -originates in the folly and headstrong passions of the individuals -composing this extraordinary society, all the members of which are -actuated by the purest motives of reason and virtue, I shall at once -suppose a state of society not indeed perfect, but equal, and with -self-love, and a little common sense, instead of benevolence and perfect -wisdom, for its moving principles; and see whether it would not be -possible for such a state of practical equality, admitting neither -poverty nor riches, to last more than ‘thirty years, before its _utter -destruction from the simple principle of population_.’ The question is, -if I understand it rightly, how that principle _alone_ (I do not enter -into the general structure, foundations, or purposes of civil society, I -propose to examine the question only as a branch of political economy, -or as it relates to the physical sustenance of mankind, which is the -point of view in which Mr. Malthus has treated it) how I say that -principle imperiously requires, that there should be one class of the -community, ready to perish of want except as they are kept from it by -severe and unremitting exertion, and another class living in ease and -luxury for no other purpose than to keep the good things of this life -from the first class, because if they were admitted to a share of them -they would be immediately subjected to greater want and hardships than -ever. It is to be remembered that Mr. Malthus here pretends to bring -forward a new theory of property; to have added the key-stone to the -arch of political society, which, he says, was in danger of falling -without it; to enforce the rights of the rich, and set aside the claims -of the poor as false and unfounded; and by shewing how the distinctions -of property are immediately connected with the physical nature and very -existence of mankind in a way that had not been supposed before, to -point out the necessity of arming the law with new rigour, and steeling -the heart with fresh obduracy to second the decisions of his pragmatical -philosophy. The laws of England recognize the right of the poor man to -live by his labour; Mr. Malthus denies this right, and holds it up to -ridicule. The question is, which of them we shall believe. I shall -therefore examine the subject freely, having so good an authority on my -side. - -All that I can find Mr. Malthus has discovered is, that it would be -necessary in the progress of society, in order to stave off the evils of -population, to make a regulation, that every man should be obliged to -work for a subsistence, and to provide for his own children. A great -matter truly! But having allowed to Mr. Malthus that these two -regulations would be _necessary_ in the common course of things, I -cannot at the same time help thinking that they would also be -_sufficient_—to avert the approach of famine, which is the point at -issue. I can easily understand if every man had a valid claim to an -equal share of the produce of the earth, that this abstract unqualified -right would lead to great inconveniences—but not when that abstract -right is clogged with the condition, that he should work for his share -of it. I can also admit that I can have no claim to the surplus produce -of another without some compensation in return. This would certainly be -hard. But it does not appear (upon the face of the argument) how I -should therefore have no claim to the produce of my own industry; or how -any other person has a right to force me to work for him without making -me what compensation I think fit. _He_ has a right to his estate, _I_ -have a right to my labour. As to any produce, whether surplus or not, -which he may raise from it, he has a right to keep it to himself; as to -that which I raise for him, it seems to be a subject of voluntary -agreement. Again, if a man who is as industrious as myself, and equally -reaps the benefit of his industry chuses to have the additional solace -of a wife and family, as he has all the _fun_, I see no reason why he -should not have all the trouble; it is neither fair nor equal that I -should make a drudge of myself, or be put to inconvenience for the sake -of his amusements. Let us see then how the argument stands in this stage -of it. The reason which appeared for not allowing to every man a valid -claim to an equal share of the produce of the earth was, that the -admission of such a claim would only be an excuse for idleness. The -extravagant, the worthless, and indolent would thus prey upon the honest -and laborious part of the community. (We are supposing a case where -every evil disposition and original depravity had _not_ been completely -eradicated by reason and philosophy.) Even if no such characters -existed, they would hardly fail to be produced by having such fine -encouragement given them. On the other hand, if every one was at liberty -to saddle his neighbour or the community with as many children as he -pleased, there would either be no sufficient check to the inordinate -increase of population, or at least any one person who got the start in -the race of matrimony would have it in his power to deprive the others -of their right to the surplus produce of their labour by claiming it for -his family. It is necessary then to prevent the imposition of any one’s -fastening himself and children on another for support, that there should -be a certain _appropriation of the common stock_; that is, that each -man’s claim upon it should be in proportion to the share he had in -increasing it. The next consideration is whether with this hold upon -him, you would not be able to make him effectually exert himself, and at -the same time prevent him from having more children than he could -maintain, the same all-powerful stimulus of self-interest equally -counteracting his indolence and his indiscretion. Mr. Malthus says that -the true cause of the difficulties under which the community would -labour, would be the excessive tendency to population, arising from the -security felt by every man that his children would be well provided for -by the general benevolence: by taking away this security then, and -imposing the task of maintaining them upon himself, you remove the only -cause of the unavoidable tendency of population to excess, and of all -the confusion that would ensue, by making his selfishness and his -indolence operate as direct checks on his sensual propensities. He would -be tied to his good behaviour as effectually as a country fellow is at -present by being bound in a penalty of twenty pounds to the parish for -every bastard child that he gets. If every man’s earnings were in -proportion to his exertions, if his share of the necessaries, the -comforts, or even the superfluities of life were derived from the -produce of his own toil, or ingenuity, or determined by equitable -_compensation_, I cannot conceive how there could be any greater -security for regularity of conduct and a general spirit of industry in -the several members of the community, as far as was consistent with -health and the real enjoyment of life. If these principles are not -sufficient to ensure the good order of society in such circumstances, I -should like to know what are the principles by which it is enforced at -present. They are nothing more than the regular connection between -industry and its reward, and the additional charge or labour to which a -man necessarily subjects himself by being encumbered with a family. The -only difference is in the proportion between the reward, and the -exertion, or the rate at which the payment of labour is fixed. So far -then we see no very pressing symptoms of the dissolution of the society, -or of any violent departure from this system of decent equality, from -the sole principle of population. Yet we have not hitherto got (in the -regular course of the argument) so far as the distinction of a class of -labourers, and a class of proprietors. It may be urged perhaps that -nothing but extreme want or misery can furnish a stimulus sufficiently -strong to produce ‘the labour necessary for the support of an extended -population,’ or counteract the principle of population. But Mr. Malthus -himself admits that ‘the most constant and best directed efforts of -industry are to be found among a class of people above the class of the -wretchedly poor,’ among those who have something to lose, and something -to gain, and who, happen what will, cannot be worse off than they are. -He also admits that it is among this middling class of people, that we -are to look for most instances of self-denial, prudence, and a competent -resistance to the principle of population. I do not therefore understand -either the weight or consistency of the charge which he brings against -Paine of having fallen into the most fundamental errors respecting the -principles of government by confounding the affairs of Europe with those -of America. If the people in America are not forced to labour (and there -are no people more industrious) by extreme poverty, if they are not -forced to be prudent (and their prudence is I believe equal to their -industry) by the scantiness of the soil, or the unequal distribution of -its produce, no matter whether the state is old or new, whether the -population is increasing or stationary, the example proves equally in -all cases that wretchedness is not the _sine qua non_ of industry, and -that the way to hinder people from taking _desperate_ steps is not to -involve them in despair. The current of our daily life, the springs of -our activity or fortitude, may be supplied as well from hope as fear, -from ‘cheerful and confident thoughts’ as the apparition of famine -stalking just behind us. The merchant attends to his business, settles -his accounts, and answers his correspondents as diligently and -punctually as the shop-keeper. The shop-keeper minds his customers, and -puffs off his goods, tells more lies, is a greater drudge, and gets less -for his pains than the merchant. The shoeblack piques himself upon -giving the last polish to a gentleman’s shoes, and gets a penny for his -trouble. In all these cases, it is not strictly the proportion between -the exertion and the object, neither hope nor fear in the abstract, that -determines the degree of our exertions, but the balance of our hopes and -fears, the _difference_ that it will make to us in our situation whether -we exert ourselves to the utmost or not, and the impossibility of -turning our labour to any better account that habitually regulates our -conduct.[29] We all do the best for ourselves that we can. This is at -least a general rule.—But let us suppose, though I do not think Mr. -Malthus has thrown any new or striking light on the way, in which such a -change would be brought about, that it is found necessary to make a -regular division of the land, and that a class of proprietors and a -class of labourers is consequently established. Let us see in this case -what proportion of the surplus produce of the ground might be supposed -to fall to the share of the labourer, or whether if any thing more was -allowed him than what was just enough to keep him alive and enable him -to stagger through the tasks of the day, both rich and poor (but -especially the latter) would not suffer grievously from all such impious -and inhuman attempts, as our author afterwards calls them, to reverse -the laws of nature, or decrees of Providence (which you please) ‘by -which some human beings are inevitably exposed to want.’ I shall argue -the question solely on the ground stated by Mr. Malthus. I shall suppose -that every proprietor has an absolute right to his property, and to the -_whole_ produce of his own exertions. There are two other questions to -be considered, namely, whether the right to the labour of others and to -the produce of their labour attaches to the possession of the soil, -secondly, if that is not the case, to what proportion of the produce of -the ground the labourer is naturally entitled by his exertions. Mr. -Malthus infers that from the establishment of the two fundamental laws, -security of property, and the institution of marriage, inequality of -conditions must necessarily follow. I confess I do not see this -necessary consequence. I would ask, upon what plea Mr. Malthus succeeded -in establishing these two fundamental laws, but because they were -necessary and competent to stimulate the exertions and restrain the -passions of the community at large, that is, to maintain a general -practical equality, to regulate each person’s indulgences according to -their industry, to lay an even tax upon every man, and thus prevent the -return of fraud, violence, confusion, want and misery. Grant that the -most fatal effects would result to society, if every man had a valid -claim to _an equal share_ of the produce of the earth; it by no means -follows that the same fatal effects would result to society from -allowing to every man a valid claim to a share of the produce of the -earth _proportioned_ to his labour. Yet I doubt whether any great -inequality could subsist, while each man had this valid claim. It is one -thing to have a right to the produce of your own exertions, and another -to have a right to the produce of the earth, that is, of the labour of -others. It is so far from being fair to apply the same reasoning to -these two things, that the evils which would be the necessary -consequences of the one, cannot possibly result from the other. The one -is a direct contradiction to the other. It is on this distinction in -fact, that all property and all society is originally founded. By making -it equally the interest of each individual to exert himself, you in all -probability secure an equal degree of industry and comfort in each -individual. At least, a society formed upon this plan would have as fair -a chance of realising all the advantages of which it was capable, with -as few deviations from the original direction and design, as a society, -where only a less degree of equality was _possible_, would have of -coming up to its original idea. Industry and regularity of behaviour -must gain ground, where these habits were enforced by the general -example of the whole society, and where the sacrifice to be made was -less, and the reward more certain. I might appeal to the history of all -countries in proof of this. Industry flourishes most in those countries, -where there is the greatest equality of conditions, and where in -consequence instances of extreme distress can rarely occur. The -excessive depression of the lower class of the community can only (by -taking away the spring of hope, and making it nearly impossible for them -to fall lower,) dishearten industry, and make them regardless of -consequences. It cannot be laid down as an axiom, that you animate -industry, in proportion as you take away its reward. It may be said that -the poor will not go through extreme hardships but from the fear of -starving. I know no reason why such hardships are necessary but because -one man is obliged to do the work of several.—These general observations -are not set aside by supposing the right of property to be established. -All that I can understand by a right of property is a right in any one -to cultivate a piece of land, be it more or less, and a right at the -same time to prevent any one else from cultivating it, or reaping the -produce. This, in whatever way a man comes by it, is the utmost extent -of this right. ‘Those who were born after the division of property,’ -says Mr. Malthus, ‘would come into _a world already possessed_.’ [How -the whole world should come to be possessed immediately after the -division of property I do not understand.] ‘If their parents, from -having too large a family, were unable to give them sufficient for their -support, what could they do in a world, where every thing was -appropriated?’ [Just now _the world_, and at present, _every thing in -it_ is appropriated.] ‘We have seen the fatal effects that would result -to society, if every man had a valid claim to an equal share of the -produce of the earth.’ [This has been answered.] ‘The members of a -family which was grown too large for the original division of land -appropriated to it could not then demand a part of the _surplus produce -of others_ as a debt of justice.’ [Certainly not. They would have no -right to it, because one man would have no right to another man’s -property; but that right, as far as relates to the surplus produce, is -not backed by the necessity of the case, as Mr. Malthus would lead us to -suppose, or because every thing is already appropriated.] ‘It has -appeared that, from the inevitable laws of human nature, some beings -will be exposed to want.’ [That is the question.] ‘The number of those -persons would soon exceed the ability of the _surplus produce_ to -supply.’ I believe so, if they depended on the surplus produce of the -labour of the rich to supply them. But the long and the short of it is -that these laborious landholders, these owners of surplus produce, -finding that their own exertions could not supply all their own wants, -and at the same time keep pace with their benevolence to those unhappy -persons, who in the great lottery of life had drawn a blank, would call -to their aid such of these as professed themselves able and willing to -exert their strength in procuring a _further surplus produce_, which -would enable the proprietors to afford assistance to greater numbers, -that is, out of the produce of their own labour, not out of that of the -proprietors. To hear Mr. Malthus talk, one would suppose that the rich -were really a very hard-working, ill-used people, who are not suffered -to enjoy the earnings of their honest industry in quiet by a set of -troublesome, unsatisfied, luxurious, idle people called _the poor_. Or -one might suppose that a landed estate was a machine that did its own -work; or that it was like a large plum-cake, which the owner might at -once cut up into slices, and either eat them himself, or give them away -to others, just as he pleased. In this case I grant that the poor might -be said to depend entirely upon the bounty or _surplus produce_ of the -rich; and as they would have no trouble in procuring their share but -merely that of asking for it, their demands would no doubt be a little -unreasonable, and in short, if they were complied with, the estate, the -surplus produce, or the plumb-cake (call it which you will) would soon -be gone. The question would no longer be ‘whether one man should give to -another that which he did not use himself: but whether he should give to -his neighbour the food which was absolutely necessary to his own -existence.’ But I cannot admit that they would be reduced to any such -necessity merely from allowing to the labourer as much of the additional -produce of the ground as he himself had really _added_ to it. I repeat -that I do not see how a man’s reaping the produce, and no more than the -produce of his industry, can operate as an inducement to idleness, or to -the excessive multiplication of children, when notwithstanding all his -industry it is impossible he should provide for them without either -diminishing his own comforts, or if the population is already full, -plunging them and himself into want and misery. This addition to the -argument is like a foil to a sword—it prevents any dangerous -consequences. If I say to a number of people, that they may each of them -have as much of a heap of corn as they desire, the whole of it would -very soon be bespoke, but if I tell them that they may each of them have -as much as they can _carry away_ themselves, there might be enough to -load them all, and I might have plenty left for my own consumption. The -ability and the willingness of a man to labour, (when these are made the -general foundation of his claim to the produce of the earth) at once set -bounds to his own rapacious demands, and effectually limit the -population.—If Mr. Malthus had shewn that nothing but extreme misery can -excite to industry or check population, he would then have shewn the -necessity of such a state. But if it has appeared in various ways that -there is no connection between these things, or that if there is, it is -directly contrary to what Mr. Malthus supposes it, then he has failed in -his attempt to regulate the price of labour by the principle of -population, or to prove that this should be fixed so low, as only just -to keep the labourer from starving. Certainly any advance in the price -of labour, or a more equal distribution of the produce of the earth -would enable a greater number of persons to live in comfort, and would -increase population; but it is the height of absurdity, as I have shewn -over and over again, to suppose that it would lead to an excessive or -unrestricted increase; as if by making people acquainted with comfort -and decency, you were teaching them to fall in love with misery. This is -the real jut and bearing of the question. The author of the Essay, to -assist his argument, transposes the question. He represents the -labouring class of the community as a set of useless, supernumerary -paupers, living on charity, or on the labour of the industrious -proprietor. If this representation had any foundation, I should be ready -to admit that these interlopers had no claim on any part of _the surplus -produce of others as a debt of justice_. They must owe every thing to -favour, and would be entirely at the mercy of their benefactors. Every -reader must perceive, how little this account is in any degree near the -truth. The case is not that of a person both willing and able to labour -for himself, and imparting freely to another, who had done nothing to -deserve it, a part of the surplus produce of the soil, but of a person -bargaining with another to do all his work for him, and allowing him as -a bribe part of the produce of his own labour in return. It is not -therefore a question of right any more than it is a question of -expediency, but a question of power on one side, and of necessity on the -other. On the degree of power, or on that of the necessity, and on -nothing else, will the price of labour depend. Mr. Malthus somewhere -talks of a man’s having no right to subsistence when his labour will not -_fairly_ purchase it. This word _fairness_ conveys to my ears no meaning -but that of the struggle between power and want, just spoken of. ‘A -man,’ he says, ‘born into a world already possessed, if the society do -not want his labour, has no claim of _right_ to the smallest portion of -food.’ This is, as if the question was of an individual, pestering a -laborious community for a job, when they do not want his assistance, and -not of the laborious part of the community demanding a small portion of -food or the means of subsistence out of the surplus produce of their -labour as _a fair compensation_ for their trouble! I sometimes think -that abstruse subjects are best illustrated by familiar examples, and I -shall accordingly give one. Suppose I have got possession of an island -which I either took from somebody else, or was the first to occupy. But -no matter how I came by it, I am in possession of it, and that is -enough. Suppose then I see another person coming towards it either in a -canoe (these questions are always first decided in a state very nearly -approaching a state of nature) or swimming from some other island as I -conceive either with intent to drive me from it, or to defraud me of the -produce of my labour. Now even allowing that I had more than enough for -myself, that part of my surplus produce was devoured by fowls or wild -beasts, or that I threw it for sport into the sea, yet I should contend -that I have a right, a strict right in one sense of the word, to take -out a long pole, and push this unfair intruder from the shore, and try -to sink his boat or himself in the water to get rid of him, and defend -my own _right_. But suppose that instead of his coming to me, I go to -him, and persuade him to return with me; and that when I have got him -home, I want to set him to work to do either part or the whole of my -business for me. In this case I should conceive that he is at liberty -either to work or refuse working just as he thinks proper, to work on -what terms he thinks proper, to receive only a small part, or the half, -or more than half the produce as he pleases; or if I do not chuse to -agree to his terms, I must do my work myself. What possible right have I -over him? His right to his liberty is just as good as my right to my -property. It is an excellent _cheveux-de-fris_, and if he is as idle as -I am lazy, he will make his market of it. I say then that this original -right continues in all stages of society, unless where it has been -specifically given up; and acts as a counterpoise to the insolence of -property. If indeed the poor will work for the rich at a certain rate, -they are not bound to employ others who demand higher wages, or a -greater number than they want: but as it is plain that they must either -work themselves, or get others to work for them, over whom they have no -right whatever, I contend that the mass of the labouring community have -always a right to _strike_, to demand what wages they please; the least -that they can demand is enough to support them and their families; and -the real contest will be between the aversion of the rich to labour, and -of the poor to famine. This seems to be the philosophy of the question. -It is also the spirit of the laws of England, which have left a -provision for the poor; wisely considering, no doubt, that they who -received their all from the labour of others were bound to provide out -of their superfluities for the necessities of such as were in want. If -it be said that this principle will lead to extreme abuse in practice, I -answer, No, for there is hardly any one, who will live in dependence, or -on casualties, if he can help it. The check to the abuse is sufficiently -provided in the miserable precariousness and disgusting nature of the -remedy. But if from the extreme inequality of conditions, that is, from -one part of the community having been able to engross all the advantages -of society to themselves, so that they can trample on the others at -pleasure, the poor are reduced so low in intellect and feeling as to be -indifferent to every consideration of the kind, neither will they be -restrained from following their inclinations by Mr. Malthus’s grinding -law of necessity, by the abolition of the poor laws, or by the prospect -of seeing their children starving at the doors of the rich. It is not by -their own fault alone that they have fallen into this degradation; those -who have brought them into it ought to be answerable for some of the -consequences. The way to obviate those consequences is not by -obstinately increasing the pressure, but by lessening it. It is not my -business to inquire how a society formed upon the simple plan -above-mentioned might be supposed to degenerate in consequence of the -different passions, follies, vices, and circumstances of mankind, into a -state of excessive inequality and wretchedness: it is sufficient for my -purpose to have shewn, that such a change was not rendered necessary by -the sole principle of population, or that it would not be absolutely -impossible for a state of actual equality to last ‘thirty years’ without -producing the total overthrow and destruction of the society. Equality -produces no such maddening effects on the principle of population, nor -is it a thing, any approaches to which must be fatal to human happiness, -and are universally to be dreaded. The connection therefore between that -degree of inequality, which terminates in extreme vice and misery, and -the necessary restraints on population, is not so obvious or -indissoluble, as to give Mr. Malthus a right to ‘qualify’ the luxuries -of the rich, and the distresses of the poor as the inevitable -consequences of the fundamental laws of nature, and as necessary to the -very existence of society. I shall here take the liberty of quoting the -two following passages from Mr. Malthus’s Essay, which seem exactly to -confirm my ideas on the subject, only better expressed, and stated in a -much neater manner. ‘In most countries, among the lower classes of -people, there appears to be something like a standard of wretchedness, a -point below which, they will not continue to marry and propagate their -species. This standard is different in different countries, and is -formed by various concurring circumstances of soil, climate, government, -degree of knowledge, and civilization, &c. The principal circumstances -which contribute to raise it, are, liberty, security of property, the -spread of knowledge, and _a taste for the conveniences and the comforts -of life_. Those which contribute principally to lower it are despotism -and ignorance.’ For what purpose did Mr. Malthus write his book? ‘In an -attempt to better the condition of the lower classes of society, our -object should be to raise this standard as high as possible, by -cultivating a spirit of independence, a decent pride, and a taste for -cleanliness and comfort among the poor. These habits would be best -inculcated by a system of general education and, when strongly fixed, -would be _the most powerful means of preventing their marrying with the -prospect of being obliged to forfeit such advantages; and would -consequently raise them nearer to the middle classes of society_.’ Yet -Mr. Malthus elsewhere attempts to prove that the pressure of population -on the means of subsistence can only be kept back by a system of terror -and famine, as the pressure of a crowd is only kept back by the -soldiers’ bayonets. I have thus endeavoured to answer the _play of -words_, by which Mr. Malthus undertakes to prove that the rich have an -absolute right to the disposal of the whole of the surplus produce of -_the labour of others_. After this preparation, I shall venture to trust -the reader’s imagination with the passages, in which he tries to put -down private charity, and to prove the right of the rich (whenever they -conveniently can) to starve the poor. They are very pretty passages. - -‘There is one right, which man has generally been thought to possess, -which I am confident he neither does, nor can, possess, a right to -subsistence when his labour will not _fairly_ purchase it. Our laws -indeed say, that he has this right, and bind the society to furnish -employment and food to those who cannot get them in the regular market; -but in so doing, they attempt to reverse the laws of nature; and it is, -in consequence, to be expected, not only that they should fail in their -object, but that the poor who were intended to be benefited, should -suffer most cruelly from this inhuman deceit which is practised upon -them. - -‘A man who is born into a world already possessed, if he cannot get -subsistence from his parents on whom he has a just demand, and if the -society do not want his labour, has no claim of _right_ to the smallest -portion of food, and, in fact, has no business to be where he is. At -nature’s mighty feast there is no vacant cover for him. She tells him to -be gone, and will quickly execute her own orders, if he do not work upon -the compassion of some of her guests. If these guests get up and make -room for him, other intruders immediately appear demanding the same -favour. The report of a provision for all that come, fills the hall with -numerous claimants. The order and harmony of the feast is disturbed, the -plenty that before reigned is changed into scarcity; and the happiness -of the guests is destroyed by the spectacle of misery and dependence in -every part of the hall, and by the clamorous importunity of those, who -are justly enraged at not finding the provision which they had been -taught to expect. The guests learn too late their error, in -counteracting those strict orders to all intruders, issued by the great -mistress of the feast, who, wishing that all her guests should have -plenty, and knowing that she could not provide for unlimited numbers, -humanely refused to admit fresh comers when her table was already full.’ -This is a very brilliant description, and a pleasing allegory. Our -author luxuriates in the dearth of nature: he cannot contain his -triumph: he frolics with his subject in the gaiety of his heart, and his -tongue grows wanton in praise of famine. But let us examine it not as a -display of imagination, but as a piece of reasoning. In the first place, -I cannot admit the assertion that ‘at nature’s mighty feast there is no -vacant cover for the poor man.’ There are plenty of vacant covers but -that the guests at the head of the table have seized upon all those at -the lower end, before the table was full. Or if there were no vacant -cover, it would be no great matter, he only asks for the crumbs which -fall from rich men’s tables, and the bones which they throw to their -dogs. ‘She (nature) tells him to be gone, and will quickly execute her -own orders, if he do not work on the compassion of some of the guests.’ -When I see a poor old man, who after a life of unceasing labour is -obliged at last to beg his bread, driven from the door of the rich man -by a surly porter, and half a dozen sleek well-fed dogs, kept for the -pleasure of their master or mistress, jumping up from the fireside, or -bouncing out of their warm kennels upon him, I am, according to Mr. -Malthus, in the whole of this scene, to fancy nature presiding in person -and executing her own orders against this unwelcome intruder, who as he -is bent fairly double with hard labour, and can no longer get employment -in the regular market, has no claim of _right_ (as our author -emphatically expresses it) to the smallest portion of food, and in fact -has no business to be where he is. The preference which is often given -to the inferior animals over the human species by the institutions and -customs of society is bad enough. But Mr. Malthus wishes to go farther. -By the institutions of society a rich man is at liberty to give his -superabundance either to the poor or to his dogs. Mr. Malthus will not -allow him this liberty, but says that by the laws of nature he is bound -to give it to his dogs, because if we suffer the poor to work upon our -compassion at all, this will only embolden their importunity, ‘and the -order and harmony that before reigned at nature’s feast will be -disturbed and changed into want and confusion.’ This might probably be -the consequence, if the rich, or the chief guests had provided the -entertainment for themselves; or if nature, like a liberal hostess, had -kindly provided it for them, at her own proper cost and expence, without -any obligations to the poor. It might be necessary in this case for -those who had either provided the feast, or been expressly invited to -it, to keep a pretty strict hand over those idle and disorderly persons, -to whose importunity there was no end. But the question really is, not -whether all those should be supplied who press forward into the hall -without having contributed any thing to the plenty that abounds, but -whether after the different guests have contributed largely, each of -them having brought his share and more than his share, the proprietors -of the mansion have a right to turn them all out again, and only leave a -few scraps or coarse bits to be flung to them out of the windows, or -handed to them outside the door. Or whether if every man was allowed to -eat the _mess_ which he had brought with him in quiet, he would -immediately go out, and bring in half a dozen more, so that he would -have nothing left for himself, and the hall would be instantly -overcrowded. This statement is, I believe, considerably nearer the truth -than Mr. Malthus’s. And if so, we can have little difficulty in deciding -whether there is any ground for Mr. Malthus’s apprehensions of the -danger of raising the condition of the poor, or relieving the distresses -to which, in their present unnatural and unnecessary state of -degradation, they are unavoidably subject. ‘The spectacle of misery and -dependence’ never arises from the scantiness of the provision, or from -the nearly equal shares, in which it is divided, giving encouragement to -a greater number of applicants; for those helpless intruders, against -whom Mr. Malthus issues such strict orders, namely the _rising -generation_, never come into the world till they are sent for, and it is -not likely that those who find themselves warm in their seats with every -thing comfortable about them and nothing to complain of, should when -there is really no room for fresh comers, send for more people to shove -them out of their places, and eat the victuals out of their mouths. ‘The -Abbé Raynal has said that, “Avant toutes les loix sociales l’homme avoit -le droit de subsister.” He might with just as much propriety have said, -that before the institution of social laws, every man had a right to -live a hundred years. Undoubtedly he had then, and has still, a good -right to live a hundred years, nay a thousand _if he can_, without -interfering with _the right of others to live_; but the affair, in both -cases, is principally an affair of power, not of right. Social laws very -greatly increase this power, by enabling a much greater number to -subsist than could subsist without them, and so far very greatly enlarge -_le droit de subsister_; but neither before nor after the institution of -social laws, could _an unlimited number subsist_; and before, as well as -since, he who ceased to have _the power_, ceased to have _the right_.’ -In this passage Mr. Malthus ‘sharpens his understanding upon his flinty -heart.’ The logic is smart and lively and unembarrassed: it is not -encumbered with any of the awkward feelings of humanity. After all, he -misses his aim. For his argument proves that the right of subsistence or -one man’s right to live is only limited by its interfering with the -right of others to live: that is, that a man has then only no right to -live, when there is nothing for him to live upon; in which case the -question becomes an affair of power, not of right. But it is not the -question whether the proprietor should starve himself in order that the -labourer may live; but whether the proprietor has a right to live in -extravagance and luxury, while the labourer is starving. As to his -absolute right to the produce of the soil, that is to say, of the labour -of others, we have seen that he has no such right either to the whole of -the surplus produce, or to _as much of it as he pleases_. With respect -then to the share of the produce which the labourer has a right to -demand, ‘it is not likely that he should exchange his labour, without -receiving a _sufficient_ quantity of food in return,’ to enable him to -live, unless the right of the proprietor to exact the labour of others -on what terms he chuses, is seconded by a kind of power, which has very -little connection with the power of the earth to bring forth no more -produce. As to the right of the rich, in a moral point of view, wantonly -to starve the poor, it is I think best to say nothing about it. Social -institutions, on which our author lays great stress as enlarging the -power of subsistence and the right along with it, do not deny relief to -the poor. For this very reason Mr. Malthus wishes to shoulder them -aside, in order to make room for certain regulations of his own, more -agreeable to _the laws of nature and the principle of population_. A -little farther on he says, ‘As a previous step even to any considerable -alteration in the present system, which would _contract_ or stop the -increase of the relief to be given, it appears to me that we are bound -in justice and honour ‘_formally to disclaim the right of the poor to -support_.’ It would be more modest in Mr. Malthus to let them _disclaim_ -it for themselves. But it appears that the reason for _contracting_ the -relief afforded them by the present system, and denying the right -altogether, is that there is no subsistence for an unlimited number. As -to the point at which it may be prudent or proper for the rich to -withhold assistance from the poor, I shall not enquire into it. But I -shall dispute Mr. Malthus’s right to thrust the poor man out of -existence because there is no room for him ‘at nature’s mighty feast,’ -till he can give some better reason for it than that there is not room -for an _unlimited number_!—The maintainance of the needy poor is a tax -on the inequality of conditions and the luxuries of the rich, which they -could not enjoy but in consequence of that general depression of the -lower classes which continually subjects them to difficulties and want. -It is a _douceur_ to keep them quiet, and prevent them from enforcing -those more solid, and important claims, not interfering with the right -of property, but a direct consequence of the right of personal freedom, -and of their right to set their own price on their own exertions, which -would raise them above the reach of want, and enable them to maintain -their own _poor_. But they cannot do this without a general combination -of the labouring part of the community; and if any thing of this kind -were to be attempted, the legislature we know would instantly interfere -to prevent it. I know indeed that the legislature assumes a right to -prevent combinations of the poor to keep themselves above want, though -they _disclaim_ any right to meddle with monopolies of corn, or other -combinations _in the regular course of trade_, by which the rich and -thriving endeavour to grind the poor. But though the men of property -have thus retained the legislature on their side, Mr. Malthus does not -think this practical security sufficient: he thinks it absolutely -necessary to recur to first principles; and that they may see how well -qualified he is to act as chamber counsel in the business, he makes them -a present of his Essay, written expressly for the purpose, and -containing a new institute of the laws of nature, and a complete theory -of population, in which it is clearly proved that the poor have no right -to live any longer than the rich will let them. In this work which those -to whom it is addressed should have bound in morocco, and constantly -lying by them as a text-book to refer to in all cases of difficulty, it -is shewn that there is no injustice in forcing the poorer classes to -work almost for nothing, because they have no right to the produce of -their labour, and no inhumanity in denying them assistance when they -happen to be in want, because they ought not to be encouraged in -idleness. Thus armed with ‘metaphysical aid,’ and conscience-proof, the -rich will I should think be able very successfully to resist the unjust -claims of the poor—to a subsistence! - -Neither the fundamental laws of property then, nor the principle of -population seem to imply the necessity of any great inequality of -conditions. They do not even require the distinction of rich and poor, -much less do they imply the right of the rich to starve the poor. What -shews that there must be some radical defect in our author’s reasoning -is, that a substantial equality does really prevail in several -countries, where the right of property is established, and where the -_principle of population_ has been known to exist for a great length of -time. Property may certainly be made a handle for power; and that power -may, and does almost constantly lead to abuse, I mean to want and -wretchedness. But neither the power nor the abuse is any part of the -original right; and the original end and design of the right itself, -namely to procure a sufficient supply for the actual population, and to -prevent an unlimited increase of population, is just as well, or indeed -much better answered _without_, than _with_ the abuse.—But perhaps we -have mistaken Mr. Malthus all this while. Perhaps he only wishes to -secure to the rich their original right, which is to reserve a certain -share of the produce for their own use; and to prevent their being -driven out of house and home by the poor, under pretence of population. -He seems to say in one place, that the fund appropriated to the -maintenance of labour is the aggregate quantity of food possessed by the -owners of land beyond what is necessary for their own immediate -consumption. He says this, or something like it. In this case, it is -evident, that ‘no man would be forced to exchange his labour without -receiving an ample quantity of food in return.’ At this rate the -labourer would be as rich, only not so idle as the proprietor. The only -difference between them would be that one of them would get his share -for nothing, and the other would be obliged to work for it. It would in -fact be a common fund divided equally between the rich and poor, or more -properly speaking, between the sleeping and the acting partners in this -joint-concern. If so, I do not see what the poor could have to complain -of, as, if they were ever in want, it must be owing to their own -idleness, extravagance, and imprudence, and they would deserve to be -punished. Now Mr. Malthus is ready to prove with a pair of compasses -that this is always the state of the case. The poor are always just as -well off as the rich, if it is not their own fault, and the want in -which they are sometimes plunged is not owing to an unequal division of -the shares among as many as can possibly subsist, but to the folly of -pushing population beyond the verge of subsistence. By this means there -is nothing left for those who come last, who have consequently no right -to be where they are, because there is nothing for them. ‘The quantity -of food’ (says Mr. Malthus) ‘which one man can consume is necessarily -limited by the narrow capacity of the human stomach; it is not certainly -probable that he should throw away the rest; and if he exchange his -surplus produce for the labour of others, this is better than that these -others should absolutely starve.’ Here then we see the necessary limits -of the inequality of conditions, or of the almost imperceptible -difference in the advantages which the rich have over the poor. But is -there really then no difference between being gorged and _not_ being -starved, between eating venison and turtle-soup, and drinking three -bottles of wine a-day, and living on crusts of bread and water? Is it -physically impossible that one man should eat more than does him good, -or that another should not get his full share? But it may be asked, what -advantage can it be to the rich to consume more than they want? None. -But the food which is thus misapplied, might be of great use to the -poor. Is there no such thing as waste in great houses, which must -considerably diminish the disproportion between the quantity of food, -and the narrow capacity of the human stomach? When I consider that the -rich are neither a bit taller, nor stouter, nor born with larger -stomachs than other men, it does indeed seem at first sight a little -extraordinary that they should make such havoc in the world as they do. -But the wonder vanishes the instant we recollect that crowd of -dependents always dangling about them, who intercept the surplus produce -long before it can reach the labourer, and who instead of dividing his -toil with the husbandman, or sharing in other tasks not less useful or -necessary are maintained by the distresses and hardships of the poor. A -rich man has not only himself and his family to keep, but he has to keep -his gentlemen, his valet, his butler, his cook, his coachman, his groom, -his horses, his hounds, his ornamental gardener, his architect, his -upholsterer, his jeweller, his silversmith, his man’s-mercer, and -haberdasher, his pimps, parasites, and players, his poets, painters, and -musicians, not to mention a hundred more, who are of no service on the -face of the earth, nor have any mortal thing to do—but to tend upon his -person, to dress his hair, to brush his clothes, or air his shirt, to -run on his errands, to do his jobs, to manage his affairs, to please his -taste, to pamper his appetites, to study his humours, to follow his -steps, to fawn and cringe and bow and smile as he directs. All these -persons depend entirely on the bounty of their patron; and though they -do nothing to increase the produce of the ground, they do not devour it -the less eagerly, and it may be supposed that they make a good gap in -it. In the mean time, the productive labourer, and hard-working mechanic -are straitened in their circumstances, and doomed to unremitting toil -and drudgery, that these hangers-on of the rich may live at their ease, -or contribute only to the vanity and convenience of their employers. -This as I understand it is the pinch of the grievance.—The rich man has -not only to supply his own wants, but the wants of those who depend upon -him, and who do nothing to support either him or themselves. He is -something in the situation of a balance-master, who undertakes to -support twenty men, some on his head, some on his shoulders, and others -suspended from different parts of his body: his own weight is nothing: -it is the weight of those who hang upon him that makes the rich man a -burthen to the poor. I see a little old emaciated man riding on a poney -along the street, and a stout healthy, well looking man riding behind -him at some distance, who follows him like his puppet, who turns as he -turns, and whenever he passes him touches his hat in a respectful -manner. What is the meaning of this? It is a nobleman, and his servant. -The man is as well-fed, as comfortably clothed, and as well-mounted as -his master: what makes all the difference is, that there are thirty or -forty gradations of society between them, each looking up with envy, or -down with contempt on the other, as they have more or less power over -the necessaries and conveniences of life not for themselves, but others, -and so can hire the respect of a certain number of dependents. So little -can we judge of the state of society in the mechanical way pointed out -by Mr. Malthus. But it is time to proceed with my author. - -‘As Mr. Godwin seems disposed to understand, and candidly to admit the -truth of, the principal argument in the essay, I feel the more -mortified, that he should think it a fair inference from my positions, -that the political superintendents of a community are bound to exercise -a paternal vigilance and care over the two great means of advantage and -safety to mankind, misery and vice; and that no evil is more to be -dreaded than that we should have too little of them in the world, to -confine the principle of population within its proper sphere.’ [This I -think a fair statement of the argument.] ‘I am at a loss to conceive -what class of evils Mr. Godwin imagines is yet behind, which these -salutary checks are to prevent.’ [It is not Mr. Godwin’s business, but -our author’s to find out such a class of evils.] ‘For my own part, I -know of no stronger or more general terms than vice and misery; and the -sole question is, respecting a greater or less degree of them. The only -reason why I object to Mr. Godwin’s system, is, my full conviction that -an attempt to execute it, would very greatly increase the quantity of -vice and misery in society.’ - -Be it so. But still Mr. Malthus thinks a less degree of them necessary -to prevent a greater; and it therefore seems a fair inference from his -positions to say, that the greatest care ought to be taken, not to -diminish the necessary quantity. He approves much of the things in his -own mind, but he does not like to hear them called by their names in a -disrespectful way. He does not like the odium attached to them. - -‘Mr. Godwin observes, that he should naturally be disposed to pronounce -that man strangely indifferent to schemes of extraordinary improvement -in society, who made it a conclusive argument against them, that, when -they were realized, they might peradventure be of no permanence and -duration. And yet, what is morality, individual or political, according -to Mr. Godwin’s own definition of it, but a calculation of -consequences?’ [This, I must say, is a very _abortive_ kind of -argument]. ‘Is the physician the patron of pain, who advises his patient -to bear a present evil, rather than betake himself to a remedy, which, -though it might give momentary relief, would afterwards greatly -aggravate all the symptoms?’ [The real case is of a physician, who tells -his patient he must not get well, and endeavours to keep him from doing -so, because if he were once in perfect health, he would be subject to -more violent returns of his disorder]. ‘Is the moralist to be called an -enemy to pleasure, because he recommends to a young man just entering -into life, not to ruin his health and patrimony in a few years, by an -excess of present gratifications, but to economize his enjoyments, that -he may spread them over a longer period?’ [Our Essayist would advise the -young man to neglect his affairs, and ruin his health, because by a -contrary method his estate would increase so that he would not be able -to manage it, and it would be thrown into complete and total disorder, -at the same time that his improved health and spirits would urge him to -plunge into much greater excesses, than, if his constitution were -debilitated in time, he would be capable of committing]. ‘Of Mr. -Godwin’s system, according to the present arguments by which it is -supported, it is not enough to say, _peradventure_ it will be of no -permanence: but we can pronounce _with certainty_ that it will be of no -permanence: and under such circumstances an attempt to execute it would -unquestionably be a great political immorality.’ According to the -_present_ arguments against it, this has not appeared to be the case. - -‘The permission of infanticide is bad enough, and cannot but have a bad -effect on the moral sensibility of a nation; but I cannot conceive any -thing much more detestable, or shocking to the feelings, than any direct -regulation of this kind, although sanctioned by the names of Plato and -Aristotle.’ Mr. Malthus in this passage very properly gives way to his -feelings, which are, in my opinion, a much better test of morality than -a calculation of consequences. At the same time, he would himself make a -law to starve the children of the poor, because their parents are not -able to maintain them. Mr. Malthus’s humanity is of the _intermittent_ -sort. The mention of the Chinese, of Plato or Aristotle, has a great -effect in bringing the fit on: at the mention of population or the -poor-laws it vanishes in an instant, and ‘he is himself again.’—I hope I -shall sometimes be allowed to appeal to my feelings against Mr. -Malthus’s authority, as he dissents from that of Plato and Aristotle on -the same _unphilosophical_ plea, and to look upon those arguments as -narrow and superficial, which pay no regard to ‘the moral sensibility of -a nation’; the more so as the system of morality prevailing at present -is built upon the natural affections and common feelings and habitual -prejudices of mankind, not, as Mr. Malthus pretends, on pure reason, or -a dry calculation of consequences. Our author’s plan is addressed -neither to the _head_, nor _heart_. It retains the common sympathies of -our nature only to shock and insult them, and engrafts the vices of a -bad heart on a perverted understanding. - -Mr. Malthus defies Mr. Godwin to point out a method, by which it is -possible ‘to limit the number of children to each prolific marriage.’ -According to his theory, there seems no way but by having a constable in -the room, and converting bed-chambers into a kind of lock-up -houses.—Speaking of the possibility of delaying the gratification of the -passion between the sexes, he says, - -‘If the whole effect were to depend merely on a sense of duty, -considering the powerful antagonist that is to be contended with, in the -present case, I confess that I should absolutely despair. At the same -time, I am strongly of opinion that a sense of duty, superadded to a -sense of interest, would by no means be without its effect. There are -many noble and disinterested spirits, who, though aware of the -inconveniences which they may bring upon themselves by the indulgence of -an early and virtuous passion, feel a kind of repugnance to listen to -the dictates of mere worldly prudence, and a pride in rejecting these -low considerations. There is a kind of romantic gallantry in sacrificing -all for love, naturally fascinating to a young mind; and, to say the -truth, if all is to be sacrificed, I do not know, in what better cause -it can be done. But if a strong sense of duty could, in these instances, -be added to prudential suggestions, the whole question might wear a -different colour. In delaying the gratification of passion, from a sense -of duty, the most disinterested spirit, the most delicate honour, might -be satisfied. The romantic pride might take a different direction, and -the dictates of worldly prudence might be followed with the cheerful -consciousness of making a virtuous sacrifice.’ - -I am happy to learn that Mr. Malthus has been able to reconcile the -sense of duty and interest with the gratification of his favourite -passion. By preaching the virtue of celibacy with such success to -others, he found it no longer necessary to practise it himself. He is -not the first philosopher who extracted the flames of love out of ice. -We read of such a one in Hudibras. I should be sorry to scandalize the -modest reader; but really whenever I think of our author’s escape from -the consequences of his own doctrine in a wife, it puts me in mind of -St. Francis’s triumph over his desires, - - ‘Which after in enjoyment quenching, - He hung a garland on his engine.’ - -This St. Francis was as great an adept as our author in the cold-sweat -of the passions. - -There is no end of Mr. Malthus’s paradoxes. I come now to his attempts -to prove that in proportion as you raise the wages of the poor, you take -away their livelihood. - -‘Suppose, that by a subscription of the rich, the eighteen-pence, or two -shillings, which men earn now, were made up five shillings, it might be -imagined, perhaps, that they would then be able to live comfortably, and -have a piece of meat every day for their dinner. But this would be a -very false conclusion. The transfer of three additional shillings a day -to each labourer would not increase the quantity of meat in the country. -There is not at present enough for all to have a moderate share. What -would then be the consequence? The competition among the buyers in the -market of meat, would rapidly raise the price from eight pence or nine -pence, to two or three shillings in the pound, and the commodity would -not be divided among many more than it is at present. When an article is -scarce, and cannot be distributed to all, he that can shew the most -valid patent, that is, he that offers the most money, becomes the -possessor. When subsistence is scarce in proportion to the number of -people, it is of little consequence, whether the lowest members of the -society possess two shillings or five. They must, at all events, be -reduced to live upon the hardest fare, and in the smallest quantity.’ - -Again, some pages after he says, ‘The question is, how far wealth has a -tendency to better the condition of the labouring poor. It is a -self-evident proposition that any general advance in the price of -labour, the stock of provisions remaining the same, can only be a -nominal advance, as it must shortly be followed by a _proportional_ rise -in provisions. The increase in the price of labour which we have -supposed, would have no permanent effect therefore in giving to the -labouring poor a greater command over the necessaries of life.’ - -On these two passages which explain the drift of our author’s reasonings -pretty clearly, I shall remark, first, that wealth is nothing but the -power of securing to yourself the fruits of the earth, or commanding the -labour of others. The more equal distribution of wealth, or the throwing -a greater quantity of money (_bona fide_) into the hands of the poor -must therefore enable them to procure either a greater share of -provisions or of the labour of others, or both. This I hold to be an -axiom, as far as I can comprehend the subject. But Mr. Malthus says that -if the wages of the poor were raised to double or treble what they are -at present, this in the first place would not increase the quantity of -meat in the market, nor the share which the labourer would have of it, -because any advance in the price of labour must be followed by a -_proportional_ rise in provisions. This word is equivocal. To make out -the argument, the rise ought to be not only proportional but equal to -the rise of wages, which it evidently would not be. But Mr. Malthus is -willing to exclude the possibility of bettering the condition of the -poor, even in theory, by an _equivoque_, or any thing else. But to put -an end to this miserable quackery, I would ask, whether if the rich were -to divide their incomes with the poor, the latter would be any the -richer for it. To say in this case, that the good things of the world -would not be shared more equally among them, is flat nonsense. But any -approach to a more equal division of wealth must lessen the difference -between the rich and the poor _proportionally_. It is true that the -lowest members of the community will still live upon the hardest fare, -and in the smallest quantity: but their fare will be less hard and in -larger quantities than it used to be, _in proportion_ to the advance in -the price of labour. - -‘It may at first appear strange, but I believe it is true, that I cannot -by means of money, raise the condition of a poor man, and enable him to -live much better than he did before, without proportionably depressing -others in the same class. If I retrench the quantity of food consumed in -my house, and give him what I have cut off, I then benefit him without -depressing any but myself and family, who perhaps may be well able to -bear it. If I turn up a piece of uncultivated land, and give him the -produce, I then benefit both him and all the members of society, because -what he before consumed is thrown into the common stock, and, probably, -some of the new produce with it. But if I only give him money, supposing -the produce of the country to remain the same, I give him a title to a -larger share of that produce than formerly, which share he cannot -receive without diminishing the shares of others. It is evident, that -this effect in individual instances must be so small as to be totally -imperceptible; but still it must exist, as many other effects do, which, -like some of the insects that people the air, elude our grosser -perceptions.’ - -It will be sufficient to ask in answer to this passage, whether when I -give away my money to another, I do not necessarily retrench the -quantity of food or other things consumed in my own house, and give him -what I have cut off. I give him a title to a larger share of the common -produce by diminishing _my own_ share. It does not matter to the -community whether he or I spend the money: the only difference that it -makes is between ourselves.—Mr. Malthus seems to have a notion that the -rich are never the worse for their charities. - -‘Supposing the quantity of food in any country, to remain the same for -many years together, it is evident, that this food must be divided -according to the value of each man’s patent, or the sum of money which -he can afford to spend in this commodity so universally in request. It -is a demonstrative truth, therefore, that the patents of one set of men -could not be increased in value, without diminishing the value of the -patents of some other set of men.’ - -At any rate, then, the poor would be enabled to contend with the rich. -The increased value of the patents of the poor would necessarily -diminish the value of the patents of the rich. In order to out-bid them, -they must make some other sacrifices, which they will not always be -willing to do. Food to the rich is in a great measure an article of -luxury: to the poor it is a necessary; and the one, about which they are -chiefly concerned. Many a _petit-maître_, and ape of fashion goes -without his dinner to pay for his coat, or go to the play, ‘where he -picks clean teeth,’ &c. - -‘No person, I believe, will venture to doubt, that, if we were to give -three additional shillings a day to every labouring man in the kingdom, -as I before supposed, in order that he might have meat for his dinner, -the price of meat would rise in the most rapid and unexampled manner.’ - -Mr. Malthus here creeps on. He first spoke of a number of individuals as -having a certain sum given them. He now includes every labouring man in -the kingdom. Because if we were to give five shillings a day to five -hundred thousand men, the remaining five hundred thousand might be the -worse for it, therefore he would have us suppose that the same or -greater mischiefs would follow from giving the same sum to the whole -number, or in fact from doing away that very inequality, which was the -only source of the mischief. To suppose that we can allow five shillings -a-day to five hundred, or ten hundred thousand people without -retrenching from our own superfluities, or that we can distribute our -own patents among others without diminishing our own number, is one of -those perversities which I shall not attempt to answer. If the labourer -with his three shillings extra is only able to purchase an ounce of -meat, this will be an advantage to him. Let the rise be what it will, -the rich man will evidently be less able to out-bid him than he is at -present, and the rise can only be in proportion to his capacity to -out-bid him. Besides, it is not to be supposed that his additional gains -would all be laid out in meat, but in articles of trade, &c. which would -be rendered cheaper by the neglect of the rich, or in proportion to the -run upon provisions. To assert generally that increasing the wages of -the poor does not give them a greater command over the necessaries of -life, is as much as to say that if they were forced to work for nothing, -and could get nothing to eat, this would lower the markets, and they -would be much better off than they were before. It would be looked upon -as an insult, rather than a consolation, to tell them that they ought to -be contented with the cheapness of provisions, and to consider that -allowing them any thing for their labour, would only raise the price of -meat by enabling them to buy some of it to satisfy their hunger. - -How things being cheap or dear, or how there being much or little to -spare, proves that that much, or little will not be divided according to -the ability of different people to pay for it, is beyond my -comprehension. It is ridiculous. It is saying that the money of a poor -man will not _pass_, even when he has it. If the poor in consequence of -having more money, or being richer could not draw to themselves a -greater portion of food, there could be no room for competition, nor for -an increase in the price or the demand. - -‘The poor who were assisted by their parishes had no reason whatever to -complain of the high price of grain; because it was the excessiveness of -this price, and this alone, which, by enforcing such a saving, left a -greater quantity of corn, for the consumption of the lowest classes, -which corn, the parish allowances enabled them to command.’ [Yet Mr. -Malthus has just tried to persuade us, that the increased price of -provisions, occasioned by the competition of the poor, does not enforce -any retrenchment of the superfluities of the higher classes, or leave a -greater quantity of corn, for the consumption of the lower classes.] -‘The greatest sufferers in the scarcity were undoubtedly the classes -immediately above the poor; and these were in the most marked manner -depressed by the excessive bounties given to those below them.’ [It is -better that these classes should be depressed than those below them, -because they can bear it better. Is it an argument that because the -pressure of a scarcity does not fall directly upon those who can bear it -best, viz. the very rich, that it should therefore fall upon those, who -can bear it least, viz. on the very poor? Unless Mr. Malthus can -contrive to starve some one, he thinks he does nothing.] ‘This -distribution by giving to the poorer classes a command of food, so much -greater than their degree of skill and industry entitled them to, in the -actual circumstances of the country, diminished, exactly in the same -proportion, that command over the necessaries of life, which the classes -above them, by their superior skill and industry, would naturally -possess.’ [Is a man then to starve on account of his want of skill? To -tack industry to skill as if the lowest classes did not work the hardest -is impudence indeed.] ‘And it may be a question, whether the degree of -assistance which the poor received, and which prevented them from -resorting to the use of those substitutes, which, in every other -country, on such occasions, the great law of necessity teaches, was not -more than overbalanced by the severity of the pressure on so large a -body of people from the extreme high prices, and the permanent evil -which must result from forcing so many persons on the parish, who before -thought themselves almost out of the reach of want.’ - -It is a contradiction to say, that the poor were forced on the parish by -the assistance they received from it. If they were to be denied this -assistance from a tender regard for their morals and independence, it is -a pity that the same disinterested motives, joined to the ‘severe -pressure’ of the high prices on the classes above the poor, did not -induce some of _them_ to condescend to the use of those cheap and -wholesome substitutes recommended by Mr. Malthus, by which means they -would have saved their own pockets, and not have ‘forced so many persons -on the parish.’ - -‘If we were to double the fortunes of all those who possess above a -hundred a year, the effect on the price of grain would be slow and -inconsiderable; but if we were to double the price of labour throughout -the kingdom, the effect, in raising the price of grain, would be rapid -and great.’ - -I do not see the harm of this rise. It would be in consequence of, and -would denote the number of bellies that were filled that had not been -filled before. Mr. Malthus in this passage seems to prefer a little evil -to a great good. - -‘The parish rates and the prodigious sum expended in voluntary charity, -must have had a most powerful effect in raising the price of the -necessaries of life, if any reliance can be placed on the clearest -general principles, confirmed as much as possible by appearances. A man -with a family, has received, _to my knowledge_, fourteen shillings a -week from the parish.’ [Shocking to be sure.] ‘His common earnings were -ten shillings a week, and his weekly _revenue_, therefore, twenty-four. -Before the scarcity, he had been in the habit of purchasing a bushel of -flour a week with eight shillings perhaps, and consequently had two -shillings out of his ten, to spare for other necessaries. During the -scarcity, he was enabled to purchase the same quantity at nearly three -times the price. He paid twenty-two shillings for his bushel of flour, -and had, as before, two shillings remaining for other wants.’ [Good: but -does Mr. Malthus deny that the scarcity would of itself have raised the -price of wheat? And in that case if the labourer had had no addition to -his ‘weekly revenue,’ instead of having the large sum of two shillings -at the end of the week to lay out in other necessaries, he would have -had nothing. Perhaps Mr. Malthus is ready to prove, that half a bushel -of corn will go farther with a poor family in a time of scarcity than a -whole one, because they would husband it more carefully.] ‘Such -instances could not possibly have been universal, without raising the -price of wheat much higher than it really was during any part of the -dearth. But similar instances were by no means infrequent, and _the -system itself, of measuring the relief given by the price of grain, was -general_.’ - -I cannot conceive of any better rule. But the gentleman is alarmed at -the _voluntary_ contributions extorted from the rich. After all, I do -not see how the rich would suffer by their great charity, if, as our -author says, the poor got nothing by it. I would ask, were the rich ever -in danger of starving in the late scarcity, and were not the poor in -danger of it, and would they not have starved, but for the assistance -given to them? Is it better that the poor should starve than that the -rich should be at the expence of relieving them? Or if the pressure in -scarce times falls on the middle classes, have they to complain, that -they, in whom ‘life and death may always be said to contend for -victory,’ are still just kept alive, or that the sleek and pampered -continue to fatten on the distresses of others? The false feeling which -runs through all Mr. Malthus’s reasonings on this subject is, that the -upper classes cannot be expected to retrench any of their superfluities, -to lie at the mercy of the seasons, or to contribute any thing to the -general necessity, but that the whole burthen of a scarcity ought to -fall on those whom Mr. Malthus calls ‘the least fortunate members of the -community,’ on those who are most used to distress, and in whom the -transition is easy and natural from poverty to famine! ‘They lay heavy -burthens on the poor and needy, which they will not touch with one of -their fingers.’ Would it not be worth our author’s while to comment on -this text, and shew how little it has been understood?—I remember to -have heard of but one instance of a real, effectual, and judicious -determination in the rich to retrench idle and superfluous waste and -expence, some years ago at a time when the poor were _in want of bread_. -It originated in a great and noble family, where seventy or eighty -servants were kept, and where twenty or thirty guests of the first -distinction ‘fared sumptuously every day.’ These humane and enlightened -persons, struck with the difference between their own good fortune, and -the necessities of others, came to a resolution that the pieces of bread -which they left at dinner should neither be thrown nor given away, but -that the bread-baskets should be divided into little compartments with -each person’s name affixed to them, where he could conveniently put the -piece of bread which he left, and have it _saved_ till the next day. -This humane example was much talked of in the neighbourhood, and soon -after followed by several of the gentry, who got their bread-baskets -divided into little compartments with the different names affixed, and -eat the pieces of bread which they left one day, the day after—so that -the poor were thus placed completely out of the reach of want! - -Mr. Malthus next talks about the embarrassments of commerce, returning -cheapness, &c. Now I do not see, according to his doctrine, what -cheapness has to do with the question. He says, every thing depends on -the quantity of provisions in the country, and that this being given, -all the rest follows as a matter of course. What then does it signify -whether you call a piece of paper one pound or two if you can get a -proportionable quantity of food for your money? - -‘If instead of giving the temporary assistance of parish allowances, -which might be withdrawn on the first fall of price, we had raised -universally the wages of labour, it is evident, that the obstacles to a -diminution of the circulation, and to returning cheapness, would have -been still further increased; and the high price of labour would have -become permanent, without any advantage whatever to the labourer,’—or -disadvantage to the proprietor. - -‘There is no one that more ardently desires to see a real advance in the -price of labour than myself; but the attempt to effect this object by -forcibly raising the nominal price, which was practised to a certain -degree, and recommended almost universally during the late scarcities, -every thinking man must reprobate as puerile and ineffectual.’ - -‘The price of labour, when left to find its natural level, is a most -important political barometer, expressing the relation between the -supply of provisions, and the demand for them; between the quantity to -be consumed, and the number of consumers; and taken on the average, -independently of accidental circumstances, it further expresses, -clearly, the wants of the society respecting population; that is, -whatever may be the number of children to a marriage necessary to -maintain exactly the present population, the price of labour will be -just sufficient to support this number, or be above it, or below it, -according to the state of the real funds for the maintainance of labour, -whether stationary, progressive, or retrograde. Instead, however, of -considering it in this light, we consider it as something which we may -raise or depress at pleasure, something which depends principally upon -his majesty’s justices of the peace. When an advance in the price of -provisions already expresses that the demand is too great for the -supply, in order to put the labourer in the same condition as before, we -raise the price of labour, that is, we increase the demand, and are then -much surprised that the price of provisions continues rising. In this, -we act much in the same manner, as if, when the quicksilver in the -common weather-glass stood at _stormy_, we were to raise it by some -forcible pressure to _settled fair_, and then be greatly astonished that -it continued raining.’ - -This is certainly a most excellent illustration. As to the argument -itself, it is all false and hollow. With respect to the rise in the -price of provisions consequent on the rise of wages, I am not I confess -at all concerned about it, so that the labourer is still enabled to -purchase the same _necessary_ quantity as before. All that is wanted is -that the one should keep pace with the other. What the natural level of -the price of labour is, otherwise than as it is regulated by the -positive institutions of society, or as I have before stated, by the -power of one set of men, and the wants of another is—like many other -things in this book of Mr. Malthus’s—what I do not understand. If we are -to believe him, the whole is a trick. There is a pretence of sacrificing -something for the relief of the poor in hard times, and then the next -thing is to render that relief ineffectual, by out-bidding them, by -lowering the value of money, by creating artificial wealth, and other -methods. If then the rich are so entirely masters of the price of labour -that they can render it real or nominal as they please, and take good -care never to lose by it in the end, I should like to know how this most -important political barometer has any relation to real plenty or want: -how it expresses any thing more than the will of the rich and great; or -the miserable pittance they are willing to allow out of the support of -their own extravagant and ostentatious establishments to the -maintainance of the mass of the people. It does indeed express the -relation between the supply of provisions, and the demand for them, &c. -supposing that a certain number of people are to consume four or five -times as much (either in quantity or quality) as the others: and that -this proportion is unalterable and one of the laws of nature. It further -expresses the wants of the society respecting population, while this -division continues, or that degree of poverty beyond which it is -impossible for people to subsist at all. The object in a scarcity is not -however to stop the ordinary process of population, but to alleviate the -distresses of those already in existence, by a more equal distribution -of the real funds for the maintainance of labour. By these funds Mr. -Malthus means any arbitrary division of the produce of the ground, which -the rich find it convenient to make, and which the poor are forced to -take up with as better than nothing. But the real funds for the -maintenance of labour are the produce of labour. According to Mr. -Malthus, they are not the produce itself, but what happens to be left of -it, as the husks only and not the corn are given to the swine. - -‘The number of servants out of place, and of manufacturers wanting -employment during the late scarcities, were melancholy proofs of the -truth of these reasonings. If a general rise in the wages of labour had -taken place proportioned to the price of provisions, none but farmers -and a few gentlemen could have afforded to employ the same number of -workmen as before. Additional crowds of servants and manufacturers would -have been turned off; and those who were thus thrown out of employment, -would, of course, have no other refuge than the parish. In the natural -order of things, a scarcity must tend to lower, instead of to raise, the -price of labour.’ - -This natural order has been already explained to mean a very artificial -order. Our ingenious author is a great admirer of moral analogies. He -sticks to the old proverb, those that have little shall have less. ‘The -most laborious and deserving part of the community’ are to bear the -brunt of all distress, _ordinary and extraordinary_. He will not suffer -the positive regulations of society, which carry inequality of -conditions as far almost as it can go in common cases, to relax a little -in their favour in extreme cases, so as not to push them quite out of -existence. I know no reason why in the natural order of things a -scarcity should tend to lower, instead of raising the price of labour; -but upon that common principle that the weakest are to go to the wall. -The rich forsooth are a privileged class, out of the reach of fortune, -‘whose solid virtue the shot of accident or dart of change can neither -graze nor pierce.’ In the rest of this passage, Mr. Malthus quarrels -with his own favourite system, with those capricious and arbitrary -institutions, in consequence of which those who ministered only to the -vanity and artificial wants of the rich will in times of difficulty be -turned adrift and reduced to want, or else saddled as an additional -weight on the common labourer, who had enough to do to support them and -their employers under the most favourable circumstances. - -GENERAL ANSWER.—I wish Mr. Malthus to state explicitly whether he means -that the rise in the price of labour should be nominal or real. He has -shifted his ground four or five times on the subject in the course of -the chapter, now supposing it to be a mere non-entity, and now fraught -with the most terrible consequences, famine, and God knows what. But it -seems to me, that if nominal, it must be nugatory, and therefore -innocent; and that if real, it must be proportionably beneficial. For if -real, it must throw a greater quantity of the necessaries or comforts of -life into the hands of those who most want them, and take them from -those who are oppressed with their superfluities. For suppose the -quantity of food and the quantity of money to be fixed, given quantities -(unless we suppose both, there is no reasoning about the matter) and -that an additional price is given for labour: let us suppose farther -that this raises the price of provisions. It is evident in this case, -that the rich having less money to give, and being obliged to give more -for their former luxuries, will be obliged to retrench somewhere. This -must be either in provisions, or other things. First, they may retrench -in the article of provisions. This will evidently leave a greater plenty -for others, who stand very much in need of them; and their additional -wages will be laid out in supplying themselves with what they could not -otherwise have obtained. Secondly, they may retrench in articles of -furniture, dress, houses, &c. and there will consequently be less demand -for these things. Well then, in the first place, with regard to -provisions, the poor will be no worse off in this respect than if there -had been no advance in the price, for it is not to be supposed that if -the rich are so attached to the luxuries of the belly as notwithstanding -the increased price to buy the same quantity as ever, that they would -have bought less, if the price had continued lower. They would have -engrossed the markets at all events. On the other hand, they must -retrench their expences in other things, in superfluities of different -kinds, which will thus fall into the hands of the poor, who having been -excluded from the meat-market can only lay out their additional wages in -providing themselves with household conveniences, good clothes, tables, -chairs, &c. What should they do with their money? It is supposed that -they cannot get a morsel of meat with it: and it is not be expected that -they should throw it away. Sooner than do this, they might spend it in -buying smart buckles for their shoes, or garters and ribbons for their -sweethearts. The labour of the mechanic, inasmuch as it is not wanted by -the great, will go to enrich the lower classes. The less they are -employed by the rich, in consequence of ‘a more equal distribution of -the money of the society,’ the better able they will be to employ one -another. The farmer’s servant will employ the mechanic with the same -money with which the farmer or his landlord would have employed him: if -he has the same wages as before, he will have as much to do, or if his -wages are doubled, and he has only half as much to do, this will be a -proportionable relief to him on the score of labour, and would be no -prejudice to his earnings as he would get the same wages for doing half -as much work. But there is no occasion to suppose any such slackness in -the demand for labour. The proportion between the money, the productive -and mechanical labour in the community, would remain the same: and the -rise in the wages of the labouring manufacturer and mechanic to be real -and effectual ought to be paid out of the profits of the master and -proprietor. In this case, the demand would be the same: and it would -evidently be his interest to employ the same number of men that he did -before, as though he would get less by each of them, he must get more, -the more hands he employs, as long as the demand continues.[30] If -however our rich men and manufacturers should grow sulky upon the -occasion, and take it into their heads to hoard their money in order to -spite the poor, thus driving them altogether out of employ, I conceive -the best use that can be made of this hoarded wealth would be to -transfer it to the poor’s fund, for the relief of those who are willing -to work, but not to starve. On the whole, and in every view of the -subject it appears to me that any addition to the price of labour must -as far as it goes, be an advantage to the labourer, and that the more -general and permanent it is, the greater will be the benefit to the -labouring class of the community. The rise of wages would certainly take -from the pomp and luxury of the rich, and it would as certainly and in -the same proportion add to the comforts of the poor. I am not here -recommending such a change. I only contend that it would follow the -distribution of wealth; and that it is absurd to say that the poorer a -man is, the richer he will be. - -Mr. Malthus’s acuteness amounts to a species of second-sight, whenever -there is a question of famine. Thus he demonstrates that this must be -the necessary consequence of fixing a maximum in a time of scarcity. Now -I do not see this necessary consequence, because if it were fixed at a -certain height above the common price in proportion to the deficiency, -this would check the too rapid consumption. Or even without supposing -this, as it would be necessary to have some kind of law or order of the -police to enforce the observance of a maximum, and make the farmers and -dealers bring their corn to market, the quantities in which it was -brought forward might be regulated in the same way as the price. -Besides, I do not believe that people would starve themselves with their -eyes open, whether the police interfered or not. As to the epithets of -illiberal, unjust, and narrow policy which some people may apply to such -a measure, I would ask them whether fixing the assize of bread in London -is not just the same thing. But corn-factors, forestallers and regraters -are a set of people whose liberal notions place them above the law, who -ought not to be looked upon in the same light with every little scurvy -knavish bread and biscuit baker, nor cramped in their generous exertions -to economize the public resources, and save the poor from famine at the -latter end of the year—by starving them in the beginning. With respect -to the parallel which Mr. Malthus attempts to establish between fixing a -maximum, and raising the price of labour, I am so unfortunate as not to -perceive it. He sometimes argues against raising the price of labour -because it would give the poor no greater command over the provisions -than before; he here talks as if it would enable them to devour every -thing before them. I think neither of these suppositions is true. The -high price of corn in proportion to other things will always make people -unwilling to lay out more in that way than they can help, and will -consequently diminish the consumption. As to famine, people will look -many ways, before they submit to it. - -‘Independently of any considerations respecting a year of deficient -crops, it is evident, that an increase of population, without a -proportional increase of food, must lower the value of each man’s -_earnings_. The food must necessarily be distributed in smaller -quantities, and consequently, a day’s labour will purchase a smaller -quantity of provisions.’ - -Why of earnings more than property? Mr. Malthus would have this -considered as an elementary or philosophical work. Yet he looks only at -the flattering side of his subject. A day’s labour will purchase a less -quantity of provisions, but a day’s idleness will purchase the same. In -this case idleness and industry are plaintiff and defendant; and the -verdict is in favour of idleness, and industry is not only cast, but -pays the costs.—It is all very well. - -‘The quantity of provisions consumed in workhouses, upon a part of the -society, that cannot in general be considered as the most valuable -part,’ [or in other houses on footmen, &c. who are not the most -respectable kind of paupers] ‘diminishes the shares that would otherwise -belong to more industrious and more worthy members, and thus in the same -measure, forces more to become dependent. - -‘Fortunately for England, a spirit of independence still remains among -the peasantry. The poor laws are strongly calculated to eradicate this -spirit.’ [Is it the man who reduces me to beggary, or he who affords me -relief, that lowers my condition and breaks my spirit?] ‘They have -succeeded in part; but had they succeeded as completely as might have -been expected, their pernicious tendency would not have been so long -concealed.’ - -It would have been discovered sooner, if Mr. Malthus had read Mr. -Wallace’s book sooner. - -‘The parish laws of England _appear_ to have contributed to raise the -price of provisions and to lower the real price of labour.’ [Our -author’s demonstrations are delusive appearances. What must his -_appearances_ be? Shall we take them for demonstrations?] ‘They have -therefore contributed to impoverish that class of people whose only -possession is their labour. It is also difficult to suppose, that they -have not powerfully contributed to generate that carelessness and want -of frugality observable among the poor, so contrary to the disposition -generally to be remarked among petty tradesmen and small farmers. The -labouring poor, to use a vulgar expression, seem always to live from -hand to mouth. Their present wants employ their whole attention; and -they seldom think of the future. Even when they have an opportunity of -saving, they seldom exercise it; but all that they earn beyond their -present necessities, goes, generally speaking, to the alehouse. The poor -laws may, therefore, be said to diminish both the power, and the will, -to save, among the common people, and thus to weaken one of the -strongest incentives to sobriety and industry, and consequently to -happiness.’ - -This passage is remarkable. It may be asked in the first place, whether -the parish laws are not equally open to petty tradesmen and small -farmers, as to the poor. If so, they cannot account for the difference -observable between them. I shall therefore, as far as this very striking -contrast goes, put the poor laws out of the question; and say that the -difference in their behaviour can arise from nothing but the difference -in their situations, from the greater hardships imposed on the labouring -part of the community, from their different prospects in life, and the -little estimation in which they are held. Mr. Malthus accounts for the -carelessness and laziness of the poor from their casting a sheep’s-eye -at the work-house. No: they are to be accounted for from that poverty -and depression which makes the work-house a temptation to them. We -cannot say of those who are seduced by the prospect of a -work-house—‘Alas from what height fallen!’ Mr. Malthus proposes to -remove this dazzling object out of their way; to make them indulge in -larger views of things by setting before them the prospect of their -wives and children starving, in case of any accident to themselves, and -to stimulate their industry by lowering their wages. The poor live from -hand to mouth, because, in general, they have no hopes of living in any -other way. They seldom think of the future, because they are afraid to -think of it. Their present wants employ their whole attention. This is -their misfortune. Others have better luck. They have no time to think of -wind-falls. Mr. Malthus may take his glass of wine after dinner, and his -afternoon’s nap, when, having got the Essay on Population out of his -head, queen Mab ‘comes to him with a tythe-pig’s tail, tickling the -parson as he lies asleep:—then dreams he of another benefice.’ The poor -cannot indulge in such pleasing speculations. If what they earn beyond -their immediate necessities goes to the alehouse, it is because the -severe labour they undergo requires some relaxation, because they are -willing to forget the _work-house_, their old age, and the prospect of -their wives and children starving, and to drown care in a mug of ale, in -noise, and mirth, and laughter, and old ditties, and coarse jokes, and -hot disputes; and in that sense of short-lived comfort, independence and -good-fellowship, which is necessary to relieve the hurt mind and jaded -body. But all these, when our author’s system is once established, -‘shall no more impart, - - ‘An hour’s importance to the poor man’s heart.’ - -No human patience can submit to everlasting toil and self-denial. The -prospect of mere physical comfort is not a match for continued physical -suffering: and the lower classes of the people have no other motives to -animate them to bear up against the ills of life, in habits of moral -reflection, in the pursuits and example of the rich, or in the real -respect and credit attached to their own good behaviour. You reduce them -almost to the condition of brutes, and then grudge them their coarse -enjoyments: you make machines of them, and then expect from them -firmness, resolution, the love of independence, the fruits of an erect -and manly spirit. Mr. Malthus, like the Sphinx, destroys his victims by -the help of riddles; and makes a snare of impossibilities. As to the -workmen and mechanics in manufacturing towns (to say nothing of the -closeness and unwholesomeness of their occupations, which would go a -good way in accounting for ‘their drunkenness and dissipation’) the -noise and turbulence in which they live, and their being crowded -together as they are must unfit them for enjoying the quiet and -stillness of domestic life: they are glad to escape from the contempt -which their ‘squalid appearance’ excites in the well-dressed mob who -walk the streets, and hide their greasy clothes and smutched faces in -the nearest pot-house; and to say the truth, with respect to those of -them who are married, the hard features, the disjointed shapes, the -coarse limbs, the carking countenances, and ill-humour of their wives, -occasioned by the fretful wants of a set of squalling children, cannot -be supposed to prove so attractive to them, as ‘the symmetry of person, -the vivacity, the voluptuous softness of temper, the affectionate -kindness of feeling, the imagination, and the wit’ which in Mr. -Malthus’s opinion constitute the charm of the sex. After all, are the -higher classes a bit better than their inferiors? Are drinking and -dissipation confined to the poor? As Mr. Malthus ingenuously observes, -‘Our Doctors Commons and the lives that many married men [of the better -sort] are known to lead sufficiently prove the reverse of this.’ I -believe it will hardly be proposed to make moral merit a rule for the -division of the good things of fortune. The only difference in the vices -of the rich and the poor is, that the rich can _afford_ theirs better. -Nevertheless they set up for censors and reformers of the morals of the -poor. I remember to have seen a red-faced swag-bellied bishop (such -another as Father Paul in the Duenna) who could drink his two bottles of -wine without being affected, belch out a severe reprimand against a poor -labouring man, who was staggering home after drinking a quart of small -beer. As to our author’s plan of _starving_ the poor out of their vices, -I must say (all circumstances considered) that I think it, in the first -place, an impudent proposal, because their executioners are no better -than themselves; in the second place, a silly proposal, because, if not -literally followed up, it must evidently defeat itself; in the third -place, a malignant proposal, because if it were strictly put in -practice, it could only produce despair and sullen insensibility among -the poor, and destroy all traces of justice or humanity among the rich; -in the fourth place, a lying proposal, because it is contrary to Mr. -Malthus’s own reasonings, who in many places has shewn that the only way -to improve the condition of the poor is not by urging them to extremity, -but by raising them above want, by inspiring them with a respect for -themselves, and a taste for the comforts and decencies of life by -sharing in them. - -‘That the poor (says Mr. Malthus) employed in manufactures consider -parish assistance as a _reason_ why they may spend all the wages which -they earn, and enjoy themselves while they can, _appears to be evident_, -from the number of families that upon the failure of any great -manufactory, immediately fall upon the parish.’ This is an assumption of -the question. Our author here confounds the fact and the reason -together. It appears evident that the manufacturer often spends his -earnings as he gets them, but not that he does so in the hope that his -family may go to the parish after his death. ‘A man who might not be -deterred from going to the alehouse from the consideration that on his -death or sickness he should leave his wife and family upon the parish, -might yet hesitate in thus dissipating his earnings if he were assured -that in either of these cases _his family must starve_, or be left to -the support of casual bounty.’ Now it has appeared that his conduct is -regulated by motives and circumstances which have nothing to do with -what happens to his wife and children after his death. It may therefore -be questioned whether the catastrophe proposed by Mr. Malthus would have -the desired effect. But certainly it could not have this effect as long -as there was a dependence on casual bounty: and to stop up this resource -it would be absolutely necessary to call in the aid of the magistrate to -prevent the indiscreet and unavailing interference of private charity, -and execute the sentence of the law of nature and the law of God on his -wife and hapless progeny, justly doomed to starve for the neglect of -their parent. What effect this would have on the ‘moral sensibility of -the nation’ I leave to Mr. Malthus to determine with his well-known -penetration and humanity. ‘The suffering a poor family to perish of want -is bad enough: but I cannot conceive of any thing much more detestable -or shocking to the feelings than any direct regulation of this kind, by -whatever name it is sanctioned.’ Mr. Malthus may perhaps object that I -have quoted him unfairly; and applied to the _organizing the starving of -a family_ what he applied to the direct regulation of _infanticide_,—a -very different thing! Unfortunately, I have not sufficient delicacy of -_verbal_ feeling to be able to find out the difference.—Now I recollect, -however, what shocked Mr. Malthus so much in speaking of infanticide was -the supposition that the parents were to be forced to destroy their own -children, when they thought they could not maintain them; according to -our author’s mode of starving a family, the society are only to stand by -and prevent others from affording them assistance. Here we see there is -not that direct violation of the parental affection which, says Mr. -Malthus, is the principal aggravation of the other case. He explains the -grounds of this distinction in another part of his work. ‘If,’ says he, -‘the parents desert their child, _they_ ought to be answerable for the -crime. The infant is, comparatively speaking, of no value to the -society,[31] as others will immediately supply its place. Its principal -value is on account of its being the object of one of the most -delightful passions in human nature—parental affection. But if this -value be disregarded by those who are _alone_ in a capacity to feel it, -the _society_ cannot be called upon to put itself in their place and has -no further business in its protection,’ than just to see that its -parents do not ill-use, or kill or eat it. Nothing can be plainer than -the inference from these premises. The society, which is bound to -prevent or punish the least barbarity in parents towards their children, -because they are to them an object of a very delightful passion, may -exercise any barbarity it pleases on them itself, because it is not in a -capacity to feel this affection towards them. It is not only not called -upon to put itself in their place, but is bound to prevent others from -doing so, and thus reversing the laws of nature, by which ‘the child is -confided exclusively to its parents.’ It is only, says our author, by -extinguishing every spark of humanity in the breasts of the community -towards the children of others, that the ties of parental affection can -ever exist in their full force, or be expected ‘to remain in the state -in which nature has left them.’ Mr. Malthus may therefore in his zeal -for the growth of parental affection, and the entire suppression of -common humanity as subversive of it, very consistently brand every -attempt of the society to make the parents accomplices in starving their -children, as the greatest injustice, though we may very heroically -proceed to starve them ourselves, repeating after this high-priest of -nature, Their blood be upon us and upon _our_ children! This is the best -account I can give of the fundamental distinction which Mr. Malthus -makes between the impropriety and inhumanity of _destroying children_ by -law, and the propriety and humanity of _starving_ a family by law. But I -shall recur to the same subject presently, when I come to the detail of -his plan. - -Mr. Malthus devotes the first and second chapters of his fourth book to -an inquiry into our obligations to regulate the sexual passion by -considerations of prudence, &c. into the general capacity of human -nature to act from rational motives, and the good effects which would -result from such a conduct. He begins his third chapter in the following -manner. - -‘He who publishes a moral code, or system of duties, however firmly he -may be convinced of the strong obligation on each individual strictly to -conform to it, has never the folly to imagine that it will be -universally or even generally practised. But this is no valid objection -against the publication of the code. If it were, the same objection -would always have applied; we should be totally without general rules; -and to the vices of mankind arising from temptation, would be added a -much longer list, than we have at present, of vices from ignorance.’ -[This is well said, and ’tis a kind of good deed to say well.] ‘Judging -merely from the light of nature, if we feel convinced of the misery -arising from a redundant population, on the one hand, and of the evils -and unhappiness, particularly to the female sex, arising from -promiscuous intercourse, on the other, I do not see how it is possible -for any person, who acknowledges the principle of utility as the great -foundation of morals, to escape the conclusion that moral restraint, -till we are in a condition to support a family, is the strict line of -duty; and when revelation is taken into the question, this duty -undoubtedly receives very powerful confirmation. At the same time, I -believe that few of my readers can be less sanguine in their -expectations of any great change in the general conduct of men on this -subject than I am; and the chief reason, why, in the last chapter, I -allowed myself to suppose the universal prevalence of this virtue, was, -that I might endeavour to remove any imputation on the goodness of the -Deity, by shewing that the evils arising from the principle of -population were exactly of the same nature as the generality of other -evils which excite fewer complaints, that they were increased by human -ignorance and indolence, and diminished by human knowledge and virtue; -and on the supposition, that each individual strictly fulfilled his -duty, would be almost totally removed; and this, without any general -diminution of those sources of pleasure, arising from the regulated -indulgence of the passions, which have been justly considered as the -principal ingredients of human happiness.’ - -Mr. Malthus here appears in the double character of a politician and -divine. Sir Hugh Evans says, ‘I like not when a ’omans has a great -peard.’ I must say, I do not like to see a philosopher in a cassock. He -has you at an unfair advantage, and it is a hundred to one but he will -make use of it. When he is pressed hard, or sees his arguments in danger -of being cut off, he puts them into the false belly of theology. It is -like hunting an otter: you do not know where to have him.—What our -author says of moral systems is certainly true: neither the preaching of -St. Paul, nor probably his own has been able to put an end to that -pious, courtly race of men, who strive equally to serve God and mammon. -Mr. Malthus in the last chapter took an opportunity of paying his court -to the former: the leaf is no sooner turned, than he begins to insinuate -himself into the good graces of the latter, by disclaiming the sincerity -of his late professions. In the passage just quoted, Mr. Malthus not -only tells you that he had endeavoured to give a more favourable account -of the expectations of mankind and their capacity for virtue and -happiness than he believes has any foundation in human nature; but he at -the same time lets you into his motive for so doing, viz. his wish to -remove any imputation on the divine goodness, which purpose, it seems, -would not have been so well answered by the real statement of the fact. -Having thus decently paid his compliments to his profession, and -justified the goodness of God from _the ideal capacity of man for -virtue_ he next proceeds to prove the wisdom of human institutions by -his _real incapacity_ for it. He was yesterday engaged to whitewash -Providence: to day he is retained on the other side of the question, -which he assures his clients shall not suffer through any anxiety of his -about consistency. This seems to be playing at fast and loose both with -religion and morality. Mr. Malthus has indeed set apart the preceding -chapter to shew that ‘the evils arising from the principle of population -are exactly of the same nature as the generality of other evils which -excite fewer complaints, that they were increased by human ignorance and -indolence, and diminished by human knowledge and virtue.’ But I do not -know what right he had to do this, seeing that it is the express object -of his work to shew that the evils of population are unlike all other -evils, neither generated by human folly, nor to be removed or palliated -by human wisdom, but by vice and misery alone: that they are _sui -generis_, and not to be reasoned upon, like any thing else. Neither do I -understand how the evils of population can be said to excite more -complaints than other evils, when Mr. Malthus tells us that till his -time nobody had thought of tracing them to their true source, but -erroneously ascribed them to human institutions, vice, folly, &c. Mr. -Malthus himself was the first who proved them to be irremediable and -inherent in the constitution of nature, and thus brought an imputation -upon Providence. To remove this imputation he supposes them to admit of -a remedy: then again lest any one should take him at his word and be for -applying this remedy, he says they admit of no such remedy; and that it -was all an idle supposition of his own without any foundation, a -harmless picture drawn to illustrate the _imaginary_ goodness of -Providence. - -‘If it will answer any purpose of illustration, I see no harm in drawing -the picture of a society in which each individual is supposed strictly -to fulfil his duties: nor does a writer appear to be justly liable to -the imputation of being visionary, unless he makes such universal or -general obedience necessary to the practical utility of his system, and -to that degree of moderate and partial improvement, which is all that -can rationally be expected from the most complete knowledge of our -duties. - -‘But in this respect, there is an essential difference between that -improved state of society which I have supposed in the last chapter, and -most of the other speculations on this subject. The improvement there -supposed, if we ever should make approaches towards it, is to be -effected in the way in which we have been in the habit of seeing all the -greatest improvements effected, by a direct application to the interest -and happiness of each individual. It is not required of us to act from -motives, to which we are unaccustomed; to pursue a general good, which -we may not distinctly comprehend, or the effect of which may be weakened -by distance or diffusion.’ - -Is there not such a virtue as patriotism? To what class of motives would -our author refer this feeling? The way in which Mr. Malthus wishes to -effect his improvement in the virtue and happiness of mankind, is one in -which no such improvement has hitherto been effected. But I see Mr. -Malthus’s object. He is only anxious, lest any one should attempt to -rear the fabric of human excellence on any other basis than that of vice -and misery. So that we begin with this solid and necessary foundation, -he does not care to what height the building is carried. So that we set -out on our journey of reform through the gate at which Mr. Malthus is -sitting at the receipt of custom, (whether it faces the road or not) it -gives him little concern what direction we take, or how far we go -afterwards, or whether we ever reach our promised destination. - -‘The duty of each individual is express and intelligible to the humblest -capacity. It is merely that he is not to bring beings into the world for -whom he cannot find the means of support. When once this subject is -cleared from the obscurity thrown over it by parochial laws and _private -benevolence_, every man must feel the strongest conviction of such an -obligation. If he cannot support his children, they must _starve_; and -if he marry in the face of a fair probability that he shall not be able -to support his children, he is guilty of all the evils which he thus -brings upon himself, his wife, and his offspring. It is clearly his -interest, and will tend greatly to promote his happiness to defer -marrying, till, by industry and economy, he is in a capacity to support -the children, that he may reasonably expect from his marriage and as he -cannot in the mean time, gratify his passions, without violating _an -express command of God_, and running a great risk of injuring himself, -or some of his fellow creatures, considerations of his own interest and -happiness will dictate to him the strongest obligation to moral -restraint. - -‘However powerful may be the impulses of passion _they are generally in -some degree modified by reason_. And it does not seem entirely visionary -to suppose, that if the true and permanent cause of poverty were clearly -explained,’ [This I take to be that the rich have more than the poor] -‘and forcibly brought home to each man’s bosom, it would have some, and -perhaps not an inconsiderable, influence on his conduct; at least, the -experiment has never yet been fairly tried.’ - -It is astonishing, what a propensity Mr. Malthus has to try experiments, -if there is any mischief to be done by them. He has a perfect horror of -experiments that are to be tried on the higher qualities of our nature, -from which any great, unmixed, and general good is to be expected. But -in proportion as the end is low, and the means base, he acquires -confidence, his tremours forsake him, and he approaches boldly to the -task with nerves of iron. His humanity is of a singular cast. What is -grand and elevated, seems to be his aversion. Pure benefits are of too -cloying a quality to please his taste. He is willing to improve the -morals of the people by extirpating the common feelings of mankind, and -will submit to the introduction of a greater degree of plenty and -comfort, provided it is prefaced by famine. - -His ardour is kindled not so much in proportion to the difficulty, as to -the disgusting nature of the task. He is a kind of sentimental nightman, -an amateur chimney-sweeper, a patriotic Jack-ketch. The spirit of -adventure is roused in him only by the prospect of dirty roads, and -narrow, crooked paths. He never flinches where there is any evil to be -done, that good may come of it! His present plan is an admirable one of -the kind—_Omne tulit punctum_—it comprises both extremes of vice and -misery. The poor are to make a formal surrender of their right to -private charity or parish assistance, that the rich may be able to lay -out all their money on their vices. - -‘Till these erroneous ideas have been corrected, and the language of -_nature_ and reason has been generally heard on the subject of -population, instead of the language of error and prejudice, it cannot be -said that any fair experiment has been made with the understandings of -the common people; and we cannot justly accuse them of improvidence and -want of industry, till they act as they do now, after it has been -brought home to their comprehensions, that they are themselves the cause -of their own poverty; that the means of redress are in their own hands, -and _in the hands of no other persons whatever; that the society in -which they live, and the government which presides over it, are totally -without power in this respect_; and however ardently they may desire to -relieve them, and whatever attempts they may make to do so, they are -really and truly unable to execute what they benevolently wish, but -unjustly promise; that when the wages of labour will not maintain a -family, it is an incontrovertible sign that _their king and country do -not want more subjects_, or at least that _they cannot support them_; -that if they marry in this case, so far from fulfilling a duty to -society, they are throwing a useless burden on it, at the same time that -they are plunging themselves into distress; and that they are acting -directly contrary to the will of God, and bringing down upon themselves -various diseases, which might all, or in a great part, have been -avoided, if they had attended to the repeated admonitions which he -gives, by the general laws of nature, to every being capable of -reason.’[32] - -The erroneous ideas of which Mr. Malthus here complains as prevailing in -the minds of the common people, to the prejudice of the language of -reason and nature, are, as he states just before, that their poverty and -distress are _in part_ owing to their not getting more for their labour, -to the slowness with which the parish assist them, to the avarice of the -rich, and to the institutions of society, or to fortune which has -assigned them a place so beset with difficulties and dependence! No, -poverty is owing to none of these causes, but it is owing entirely to -_itself_. Mr. Burke has said, that people will not be argued into -slavery. Our author attempts more than this. He tries to persuade them -out of their senses, and to argue them into slavery and famine besides. -There is a distinction which it is sometimes dangerous to insist on in -common life; but which it is necessary to attend to in matters of -reasoning, and that is the distinction between truth and falsehood. For -instance, Mr. Malthus asserts, that the means of remedying their -complaints are in the hands of the poor, and in the hands of no other -persons whatever. Now this is not true. It is not true that the society -in which they live and the government which presides over it are -_totally_ without power in this respect. It is not true that however -ardently they may wish to relieve them, they are utterly unable to -execute their benevolent intentions. It is not an incontrovertible sign -that their king and country do not want more subjects, and that they -cannot support them, when the common wages of labour will not maintain a -family. As Mr. Malthus’s positions exist no where but in the Essay of -Population, they will hardly support those weighty practical conclusions -which he wishes to build upon them. Some persons may perhaps be at a -loss to understand what Mr. Malthus can mean by his assertions. The -following may be some clue to what in itself has very much the -appearance of irony. - -‘Among the other prejudices which have prevailed on the subject of -population, it has been generally thought, that while there is either -waste among the rich, or land remaining uncultivated in any country, the -complaint for want of food cannot be justly founded, or, at least, that -the pressure of distress upon the poor is to be attributed to the -ill-conduct of the higher classes of society, and the bad management of -the land. The real effect, however, of these two circumstances, is -merely to narrow the limit of the actual population; but they have -little or no influence on what may be called the average pressure of -distress on the poorer members of society. If our ancestors had been so -frugal and industrious, and had transmitted such habits to their -posterity, that nothing superfluous was now consumed by the higher -classes, no horses were used for pleasure, and no land was left -uncultivated, a striking difference would appear in the state of the -actual population; but probably none whatever, in the state of the lower -classes of people, with respect to the price of labour, and the facility -of supporting a family. The waste among the rich and the horses kept for -pleasure, have indeed a little the effect of the consumption of grain in -distilleries, noticed before with regard to China. On the supposition -that the food consumed in this manner may be withdrawn on the occasion -of a scarcity, and be applied to the relief of the poor, they operate, -certainly, as far as they go, like granaries which are only opened at -the time that they are most wanted, and must therefore tend rather to -benefit than injure the lower classes of society. - -‘With regard to uncultivated land, it is evident that its effect upon -the poor is neither to injure, nor to benefit them. The sudden -cultivation of it, will indeed tend to improve their condition for a -time, and the neglect of lands before cultivated, will certainly make -their situation worse for a certain period; but when no changes of this -kind are going forward, the effect of uncultivated land on the lower -classes, operates merely like the possession of a smaller territory.’ - -After what has been said in various parts of these observations, I might -leave these passages to the contempt of the reader. But Mr. Malthus -shall not complain of my remissness. I will give him heaped measure. I -say then that the argument here employed leads to a direct absurdity: -for it would justify any degree of neglect, or waste, or wanton abuse -that can be imagined. If thirty-nine out of the forty counties in -England were laid waste to-morrow, this would be no evil, according to -Mr. Malthus, because it would not increase the average pressure of -distress in the remaining one. If half the corn that is grown every -year, besides what is already employed in supplying the waste of the -rich, were regularly sent off by waggon-loads, and thrown into the sea, -there would be still no harm done. A _striking_ difference would -undoubtedly appear in the number of poor people, but probably none -whatever in the state of those who had not been starved. If double the -number of horses were kept for pleasure, and only half the number of -poor were kept alive, these latter would have no reason to complain, -because they would be as well, or better off than ever; and if a limited -number are tolerably well provided for, this is all that can ever be -expected, because by the laws of nature it is impossible to provide for -an unlimited number. To say nothing of those immense granaries and -boundless resources which are thus formed in the uncultivated parts of -the earth, or which might be created at any time of extraordinary -distress by employing in the service of man what had hitherto been -providently reserved for the beasts. - -While there is waste among the rich, or neglect of lands, or while the -breed of horses is encouraged so as to put a stop to the breed of men, I -deny that the distresses of the poor, or the restraints on population -are the necessary effects of the laws of nature, or of the unavoidable -disproportion between the increase of mankind and the capacity of the -earth to produce food for a greater number. But Mr. Malthus has his -usual resource. Though the distresses of the poor were actually relieved -as they might be, and though the unnecessary checks to population were -taken off, yet the time would come when these wants could no longer be -supplied, and when the restraints on population would become necessary, -from the inability of the earth to yield any more, and from the whole -produce being applied to the best advantage. This is undoubtedly true: -but I do not think it a reason that we are not to put off the evil as -long as we can, or that we are not to attempt any improvement, because -we cannot go on for ever improving. Death is certain, and ‘will come -when it will come.’ Is that a reason why I should take poison? There is -in all Mr. Malthus’s arguments on this subject the same _twist_ that -there was in the Irish servant, who was told to call his master early, -and waked him two hours before the time to tell him how much longer he -had to sleep. Mr. Malthus would have insisted on his getting up and -dressing himself in the middle of the night. - -Mr. Malthus allows, that ‘the object of those who really wish to better -the condition of the poor must be to raise the relative proportion -between the price of labour, and the price of provisions.’ Almost in the -next paragraph, however, he adds, that if we are really serious in this -object, ‘we must explain to them the true nature of their situation, and -shew them that _the withholding the supplies of labour is the only -possible way of raising its real price_.’ I cannot help thinking, to use -his own words, that our author’s ‘benevolence to the poor must be either -childish play, or hypocrisy: that it must be either to amuse himself, or -to pacify the minds of the common people with a mere shew of attention -to their wants.’ He proceeds to instruct the poor in their true -situation in a chapter which requires a few comments. - -‘The pressure of distress on the lower classes of people, with the habit -of attributing this distress to their rulers, appears to me to be the -rock of defence, the castle, the guardian spirit, of despotism. It -affords to the tyrant the fatal and unanswerable plea of _necessity_.’ -[That is Mr. Malthus’s plea.] ‘While any dissatisfied man of talents has -power to persuade the lower classes of people, that all their poverty -and distress arise solely from the iniquity of the government, though -perhaps the greatest part of what they suffer is totally unconnected -with this cause, it is evident that the seeds of fresh discontents, and -fresh revolutions, are continually sowing.’ - -That is, the way to prevent revolutions, and at the same time to produce -lasting reforms is to persuade the people that all the evils which they -suffer, or which the government may chuse to inflict upon them are their -own fault. The way to put governments upon their good behaviour is to -give them a licence to do as much mischief as they please, without being -answerable for it. - -‘Of the tendency of mobs to produce tyranny, we may not be long without -an example in this country. _As a friend to freedom, and an enemy to -large standing armies_, it is with extreme reluctance that I am -compelled to acknowledge, that, had it not been for the organized force -in the country, the distresses of the people during the late scarcities, -encouraged by the extreme ignorance and folly of many among the higher -classes, might have driven them to commit the most dreadful outrages, -and ultimately to involve the country in all the horrors of famine.’ - -Does Mr. Malthus think that this hint will dispose the government to -keep up their large standing armies, or to mitigate the distresses of -the people? I wonder, if Blifil had happened to be an author, whether he -might not have written such a book as this. - -‘Should such periods often recur, a recurrence which we have too much -reason to apprehend from the present state of the country, the prospect -which opens to our view is melancholy in the extreme. The English -constitution will be seen hastening with rapid strides to the -_Euthanasia_ foretold by Hume; unless its progress be interrupted by -some popular commotion; and this alternative presents a picture still -more appalling to the imagination. If political discontents were blended -with the cries of hunger, and a revolution were to take place by the -instrumentality of a mob, clamouring for want of food, the consequences -would be unceasing change and unceasing carnage, the bloody career of -which, nothing but the establishment of some complete despotism could -arrest.’ - -The gentleman seems greatly alarmed at his own predictions. He points -out to government the dangers arising from mobs; and shews that these -again arise from discontent, and repining against the good order of -society. The way proposed to cure them of this discontent, and these -false notions of society is to break asunder at once the link of -humanity which binds the poor to the rich, to reduce them to extremity, -to cut off all hope, all over-weening expectation, all mutual kindness -and good offices, by exploding the very idea of the rights of the poor, -or the duties of the rich, and thus to tame them so effectually and -systematically, that we shall be in no danger from mobs, revolutions, or -military despotism, but shall conclude with a happy Euthanasia! - -‘To say that our conduct is not to be regulated by circumstances, is to -betray an ignorance of the most _solid_ and incontrovertible principles -of morality.’ [An odd phrase. Solid seems to imply something fixed. We -should hardly talk of a _solid_ bridge of boats, though they might -afford tolerably safe footing.] ‘Though the admission of this principle -may sometimes afford a cloke to changes of opinion that do not result -from the purest motives; yet the admission of a contrary principle would -be productive of infinitely worse consequences. The phrase of existing -circumstances has, I believe, not unfrequently created a smile in the -English House of Commons; but the smile should have been reserved for -the application of the phrase and not have been excited by the phrase -itself.’ [He teaches us to smile by the book.] ‘A very frequent -repetition of it, has indeed, of itself, rather a suspicious air; and -its application should always be watched with the most jealous and -anxious attention; but no man ought to be judged _in limine_ for saying, -that existing circumstances had obliged him to alter his opinions and -conduct. The country gentlemen were perhaps too easily convinced that -existing circumstances called upon them to give up some of the most -valuable privileges of Englishmen; but, as far as they were really -convinced of this obligation, they acted consistently with the _clearest -rule_ of morality.’ [Begging the learned writer’s pardon, it is rather -the exception than the rule. Did Junius Brutus, when he killed his son, -act in conformity to the _clearest rule of morality_? Mr. Malthus has -not quite got rid of the leaven of his old philosophy.] - -‘The degree of power to be given to the civil government, and the -measure of our submission to it, must be determined by general -expediency.’ - -This is saying a good deal. The rule which Mr. Malthus then lays down -for ‘a rising of the people,’ seems to be that when they are enlightened -and well off, that is, when the government is a good one, they may rebel -against it: but when they are kept in a state of ignorance and want, -then they are to blame, if they are at all refractory: they are to be -considered as the causes of that very oppression which they are -endeavouring to resist, and as giving a farther handle to that tyranny, -which their superiors are thus forced to exercise in self-defence, not -from any innate love of power, or predilection for violent measures. - -‘All improvements in government must necessarily originate with persons -of some education, and these will of course be found among the people of -property. Whatever may be said of a few, it is impossible that the great -mass of the people of property should be really interested in the abuses -of government. They merely submit to them, from the fear, that an -endeavour to remove them, might be productive of greater evils. Could we -but take away this fear, reform and improvement would proceed with as -much facility, as the removal of nuisances, or the paving and lighting -the streets. Remove all apprehension from the tyranny or folly of the -people, and the tyranny of government could not stand a moment. It would -then appear in its proper deformity, without palliation, without -pretext, without protector. Naturally feeble in itself, when it was once -stripped naked, and deprived of the support of public opinion, and of -the great _plea of necessity_, it would fall without a struggle.’ - -This is a new view of the subject. What then, mankind are governed by -the pure love of justice! The people of property and education have no -vices or follies of their own, which blind their understandings, no -prejudices about royalty, or aristocracy, or church or state, no -attachment to party, no dependence on great men, no hopes of preferment, -no connections, no privileges, no interest in the abuses of government, -no pride, none of the _esprit de corps_, to hinder them from pronouncing -sentence on the laws, institutions, uses, and abuses of society with the -same calmness, disinterestedness, and wisdom, as they would upon -cleaning a sewer, or paving a street. - -‘The most successful supporters of tyranny are without doubt those -general declaimers, who attribute the distresses of the poor, and almost -all the evils to which society is subject, to human institutions and the -iniquity of governments.’ - -This is like those highwaymen, who attribute their ill treatment of -their victims to the resistance they make. - -‘Whatever therefore may be the intention of those indiscriminate and -wholesale accusations against governments, their real effect undoubtedly -is, to add a weight of talents and principles to the prevailing power -which it never would have received otherwise.’ - -This is possible: but the effect of Mr. Malthus’s method would be that -they would not want the additional weight either of talents or -principle, but would laugh in your face. - -‘The inference, therefore, which Mr. Paine and others have drawn against -governments from the unhappiness of the people, is palpably unfair; and -before we give a sanction to such accusations, it is a debt we owe to -truth and justice, to ascertain how much of this unhappiness arises from -the principle of population, and how much is fairly to be attributed to -government. When this distinction has been properly made, and all the -vague, indefinite, and false accusations removed, government would -remain, as it ought to be, clearly responsible for the rest. A tenfold -weight would be immediately given to the cause of the people, and every -man of principle would join in asserting and enforcing, if necessary, -their rights.’ - -_Timeo Danaos, et dona ferentes._ Our author here wishes to delay the -question in order to give additional weight to the cause of the people. -This is something as if upon a stranger coming into a house almost -fainting with hunger and cold, we should advise him not to go near the -fire, nor take any thing to eat, for that there is a great apothecary in -the neighbourhood who sometimes calls in about that time of the day, who -will be able to tell him exactly how much of his illness proceeds from -cold, and how much from hunger, whether he should eat, or warm himself -first, and how the one would assist the other. The man might naturally -answer, I know that I am very cold and hungry: I will therefore first -sit down by the fire, and if, in the mean time, you can let me have any -thing to eat, I shall be heartily glad of it. Otherwise the advice of -the apothecary will come too late. - -‘I cannot help thinking, therefore, that a knowledge generally -circulated, that the principal cause of want and unhappiness is -unconnected with government, and totally beyond its power to remove -would, instead of giving any advantage to governments, give a great -additional weight to the popular side of the question, by removing the -dangers with which, from ignorance, it is at present accompanied: and -thus tend, in a very powerful manner, to promote the cause of rational -freedom.’ - -The mode in which Mr. Malthus strengthens the popular side is by -disarming it of all power or pretence for resistance. Undoubtedly that -must be a strange sort of strength which is founded on impotence. The -people are only secure against the encroachments of power from their -inability to resist it. This is like clapping a man into a dungeon to -save him from the pursuit of his creditors. Mr. Malthus promotes the -cause of rational freedom, as the husband secured the virtue of his wife -in the sign of the Good Woman. - -Mr. Malthus’s plan for the abolition of the poor laws is as follows: - -‘I should propose a regulation to be made, declaring, that no child born -from any marriage, taking place after the expiration of a year from the -date of the law; and no illegitimate child born two years from the same -date, should ever be entitled to parish assistance. And to give a more -general knowledge of this law, and to enforce it more strongly on the -minds of the lower classes of people, the clergyman of each parish -should after the publication of banns, read a short address, stating the -strong obligation on every man to support his own children; the -impropriety, and even immorality, of marrying without a fair prospect of -being able to do this; the evils which had resulted to the poor -themselves, from the attempt which had been made to assist by public -institutions in a duty which ought to be exclusively appropriated to -parents; and the absolute necessity which had at length appeared, of -abandoning all such institutions, on account of their producing effects -totally opposite to those which were intended. - -‘This would operate as a fair, distinct, and precise notice, which no -man could well mistake; and without pressing hard on any particular -individuals, would at once throw off the rising generation from that -miserable and helpless dependence upon the government and the rich, the -moral as well as physical consequences of which are almost incalculable. - -‘After the public notice which I have proposed had been given, and the -system of poor laws had ceased with regard to the rising generation, if -any man chose to marry, without a prospect of being able to support a -family, he should have the most perfect liberty so to do. Though to -marry, in this case, is in my opinion clearly an immoral act, yet it is -not one which society can justly take upon itself to prevent or punish; -because the punishment provided for it by the laws of nature, falls -directly, and most severely upon the individual who commits the act, and -through him, only more remotely and feebly on the society. When nature -will govern and punish for us, it is a very miserable ambition to wish -to snatch the rod from her hands, and draw upon ourselves the odium of -executioner. To the punishment therefore of nature he should be left, -the punishment of severe want. He has erred in the face of a most clear -and precise warning, and can have no just reason to complain of any -person but himself, when he feels the consequences of his error. All -parish assistance should be most rigidly denied him: and if the hand of -private charity be stretched forth in his relief, the interests of -humanity imperiously require that it should be administered very -sparingly. He should be taught to know that the laws of nature, which -are the laws of God, had doomed him and his family to starve for -disobeying their repeated admonitions;’ [nay his family had no hand in -disobeying these admonitions] ‘that he had no claim of _right_ on -society for the smallest portion of food, beyond that which his labour -would fairly purchase; and that if he and his family were saved from -suffering the extremities of hunger, he would owe it to the pity of some -kind benefactor, to whom, therefore, he ought to be bound by the -strongest ties of gratitude. - -‘If this system were pursued, we need be under no apprehensions that the -number of persons in extreme want would be beyond the power and the will -of the benevolent to supply. The sphere for the exercise of private -charity would, I am confident, be less than it is at present; and the -only difficulty would be, to restrain the hand of benevolence from -assisting those in distress in so indiscriminate a manner as to -encourage indolence and want of foresight in others.’ - -I am not sorry that I am at length come to this passage. It will I hope -decide the reader’s opinion of the benevolence, wisdom, piety, candour, -and disinterested simplicity of Mr. Malthus’s mind. Any comments that I -might make upon it to strengthen this impression must be faint and -feeble. I give up the task of doing justice to the moral beauties that -pervade every line of it, in despair. There are some instances of an -heroical contempt for the narrow prejudices of the world, of a perfect -refinement from the vulgar feelings of human nature, that must only -suffer by a comparison with any thing else. - -Mr. Malthus prefaces his plan by saying, - -‘I have reflected much on the subject of the poor laws, and hope -therefore that I shall be excused in venturing to suggest a mode of -their gradual abolition, to which I confess that at present I can see no -material objection. Of this indeed I feel nearly convinced, that should -we ever become sufficiently sensible of the wide-spreading tyranny, -dependence, indolence, and unhappiness, which they create, as seriously -to make an effort to abolish them, we shall be compelled by a sense of -justice to adopt the principle, if not the plan, which I shall mention. -It seems impossible to get rid of so extensive a system of support, -consistently with humanity, without applying ourselves directly to its -vital principle, and endeavouring to counteract that deeply-seated -cause, which occasions the rapid growth of all such establishments, and -invariably renders them inadequate to their object. As a previous step -even to any considerable alteration in the present system, which would -contract, or stop the increase of the relief to be given, it appears to -me that we are bound in justice and honour formally to disclaim the -_right_ of the poor to support.’ - -Now I shall not myself be so uncandid as not to confess, that I think -the poor laws bad things; and that it would be well, if they could be -got rid of, consistently with humanity and justice. This I do not think -they could in the present state of things and other circumstances -remaining as they are. The reason why I object to Mr. Malthus’s plan is -that it does not go to the root of the evil, or attack it in its -principle, but its effects. He confounds the cause with the effect. The -wide spreading tyranny, dependence, indolence, and unhappiness of which -Mr. Malthus is so sensible, are not occasioned by the increase of the -poor-rates, but these are the natural consequence of that increasing -tyranny, dependence, indolence, and unhappiness occasioned by other -causes. - -Mr. Malthus desires his readers to look at the enormous proportion in -which the poor-rates have increased within the last ten years. But have -they increased in any greater proportion than the other taxes, which -rendered them necessary, and which I think were employed for much more -mischievous purposes? I would ask, what have the poor got by their -encroachments for the last ten years? Do they work less hard? Are they -better fed? Do they marry oftener, and with better prospects? Are they -grown pampered and insolent? Have they changed places with the rich? -Have they been cunning enough, by means of the poor-laws, to draw off -all their wealth and superfluities from the men of property? Have they -got so much as a quarter of an hour’s leisure, a farthing candle, or a -cheese-paring more than they had? Has not the price of provisions risen -enormously? Has not the price of labour almost stood still? Have not the -government and the rich had their way in every thing? Have they not -gratified their ambition, their pride, their obstinacy, their ruinous -extravagance? Have they not squandered the resources of the country as -they pleased? Have they not heaped up wealth on themselves, and their -dependents? Have they not multiplied sinecures, places, and pensions? -Have they not doubled the salaries of those that existed before? Has -there been any want of new creations of peers, who would thus be -impelled to beget heirs to their titles and estates, and saddle the -younger branches of their rising families, by means of their new -influence, on the country at large? Has there been any want of -contracts, of loans, of monopolies of corn, of good understanding -between the rich and the powerful to assist one another, and to fleece -the poor? Have the poor prospered? Have the rich declined? What then -have they to complain of? What ground is there for the apprehension, -that wealth is secretly changing hands, and that the whole property of -the country will shortly be absorbed in the poor’s fund? Do not the poor -create their own fund? Is not the necessity for such a fund first -occasioned by the unequal weight with which the rich press upon the -poor, and has not the increase of that fund in the last ten years been -occasioned by the additional exorbitant demands, which have been made -upon the poor and industrious, which without some assistance from the -public they could not possibly have answered? Whatever is the increase -in the nominal amount of the poor’s fund, will not the rich always be -able ultimately to throw the burthen of it on the poor themselves? But -Mr. Malthus is a man of general principles. He cares little about these -circumstantial details, and petty objections. He takes higher ground. He -deduces all his conclusions, by an infallible logic, from the laws of -God and nature. When our Essayist shall prove to me, that by these paper -bullets of the brain, by his ratios of the increase of food and the -increase of mankind, he has prevented one additional tax, or taken off -one oppressive duty, that he has made a single rich man retrench one -article at his table, that he has made him keep a dog or a horse the -less, or part with a single vice, arguing from a mathematical -admeasurement of the size of the earth, and the number of inhabitants it -can contain, he shall have my perfect leave to disclaim the right of the -poor to subsistence, and to tie them down by severe penalties to their -good behaviour on the same profound principles. But why does Mr. Malthus -practise his demonstrations on the poor only? Why are they to have a -perfect system of rights and duties prescribed to them? I do not see why -they alone should be put to live on these _metaphysical_ board-wages, -why they should be forced to submit to a course of _abstraction_; or why -it should be meat and drink to them, more than to others, to do the will -of God. Mr. Malthus’s gospel is preached only to the poor!—Even if I -approved of our author’s plan, I should object to the principle on which -it is founded. The parson of the parish, when a poor man comes to be -married—No, not so fast. The author does not say, whether the lecture he -proposes is to be read to the poor only, or to all ranks of people. -Would it not sound oddly, if when the squire, who is himself worth a -hundred thousand pounds, is going to be married to the rector’s -daughter, who is to have fifty, the curate should read them a formal -lecture on their obligation to maintain their own children, and not turn -them on the parish? Would it be necessary to go through the form of the -address, when an amorous couple of eighty presented themselves at the -altar? If the admonition were left to the parson’s own discretion, what -affronts would he not subject himself to, from his neglect of old maids, -and superannuated widows, and from his applying himself familiarly to -the little shop-keeper, or thriving mechanic? Well then let us suppose -that a very poor hard-working man comes to be married, and that the -clergyman can take the liberty with him: he is to warn him first against -fornication, and in the next place against matrimony. These are the two -greatest sins which a poor man can commit, who can neither be supposed -to keep his wife, nor his girl. Mr. Malthus, however, does not think -them equal: for he objects strongly to a country fellow’s marrying a -girl whom he has debauched, or, as the phrase is, making an honest woman -of her, as aggravating the crime, because by this means the parish will -probably have three or four children to maintain instead of one. -However, as it seems rather too late to recommend fornication or any -thing else to a man who is actually come to be married (he must be a -strange sawney who could turn back at the church-door after bringing a -pretty rosy girl to hear a lecture on the principle of population) it is -most natural to suppose that he would marry the young woman in spite of -this principle. Here then he errs in the face of a precise warning, and -should be left to the punishment of _nature_, the punishment of severe -want. When he begins to feel the consequences of his error, all parish -assistance is to be rigidly denied him, and the interests of humanity -imperiously require that all other assistance should be withheld from -him, or most sparingly administered. In the mean time to reconcile him -to this treatment, and let him see that he has nobody to complain of but -himself, the parson of the parish comes to him with the certificate of -his marriage, and a copy of the warning he had given him at the time, by -which he is taught to know that the laws of nature, which are the laws -of God, had doomed him and his family to starve for disobeying their -repeated admonitions; that he had no claim of right to the smallest -portion of food beyond what his labour would actually purchase; and that -he ought to kiss the feet and lick the dust off the shoes of him, who -gave him a reprieve from the just sentence which the laws of God and -nature had passed upon him. To make this clear to him, it would be -necessary to put the Essay on Population into his hands, to instruct him -in the nature of a geometrical and arithmetical series, in the necessary -limits to population from the size of the earth, and here would come in -Mr. Malthus’s plan of education for the poor, writing, arithmetic, the -use of the globes, &c. for the purpose of proving to them the necessity -of their being starved. It cannot be supposed that the poor man (what -with his poverty and what with being priest-ridden) should be able to -resist this body of evidence, he would open his eyes to his error, and -‘would submit to the sufferings that were absolutely irremediable with -the fortitude of a man, and the resignation of a Christian.’ He and his -family might then be sent round the parish in a starving condition, -accompanied by the constables and _quondam_ overseers of the poor, to -see that no person, blind to ‘the interests of humanity,’ practised upon -them the abominable deception of attempting to relieve their remediless -sufferings, and by the parson of the parish to point out to the -spectators the inevitable consequences of sinning against the laws of -God and man. By celebrating a number of these _Auto da fes_ yearly in -every parish, the greatest publicity would be given to the principle of -population, ‘the strict line of duty would be pointed out to every man,’ -enforced by the most powerful sanctions, justice and humanity would -flourish, they would be understood to signify that the poor have no -right to live by their labour, and that the feelings of compassion and -benevolence are best shewn by denying them charity, the poor would no -longer be dependent on the rich, the rich could no longer wish to reduce -the poor into a more complete subjection to their will, all causes of -contention, of jealousy, and of irritation would have ceased between -them, the struggle would be over, each class would fulfil the task -assigned by heaven, the rich would oppress the poor without remorse, the -poor would submit to oppression with a pious gratitude and resignation, -the greatest harmony would prevail between the government and the -people, there would be no longer any seditions, tumults, complaints, -petitions, partisans of liberty, or tools of power, no grumbling, no -repining, no discontented men of talents proposing reforms, and -frivolous remedies, but we should all have the same gaiety and lightness -of heart, and the same happy spirit of resignation that a man feels when -he is seized with the plague, who thinks no more of the physician, but -knows that his disorder is without cure. The best laid schemes are -subject, however, to unlucky reverses. Some such seem to lie in the way -of that pleasing Euthanasia, and contented submission to the grinding -law of necessity, projected by Mr. Malthus. We might never reach the -philosophic temper of the inhabitants of modern Greece and Turkey in -this respect. Many little things might happen to interrupt our progress, -if we were put into ever so fair a train. For instance, the men might -perhaps be talked over by the parson, and their understandings being -convinced by the geometrical and arithmetical ratios, or at least so far -puzzled, that they would have nothing to say for themselves, they might -prepare to submit to their fate with a tolerable grace. But I am afraid -that the women might prove refractory. They never will hearken to -reason, and are much more governed by their feelings than by -calculations. While the husband was instructing his wife in the -principles of population, she might probably answer that she did not see -why her children should starve when the squire’s lady, or the parson’s -lady kept half a dozen lap-dogs, and that it was but the other day that -being at the hall, or the parsonage house, she heard Miss declare that -not one of the brood that were just littered should be drowned—It was -_so inhuman_ to kill the poor little things—Surely the children of the -poor are as good as puppy-dogs! Was it not a week ago that the rector -had a new pack of terriers sent down, and did I not hear the squire -swear a tremendous oath, that he would have Mr. Such-a-one’s fine -hunter, if it cost him a hundred guineas? Half that sum would save us -from ruin.—After this curtain-lecture, I conceive that the husband might -begin to doubt the force of the demonstrations he had read and heard, -and the next time his clerical monitor came, might pluck up courage to -question the matter with him; and as we of the male sex, though dull of -apprehension, are not slow at taking a hint, and can draw tough -inferences from it, it is not impossible but the parson might be -_gravelled_. In consequence of these accidents happening more than once, -it would be buzzed about that the laws of God and nature, on which so -many families had been doomed to starve, were not so clear as had been -pretended. This would soon get wind among the mob: and at the next grand -procession of the Penitents of famine, headed by Mr. Malthus in person, -some discontented man of talents, who could not bear the distresses of -_others_ with the fortitude of a man and the resignation of a Christian, -might undertake to question Mr. Malthus, whether the laws of nature or -of God, to which he had piously sacrificed so many victims, signified -any thing more than the limited extent of the earth, and the natural -impossibility of providing for more than a limited number of human -beings; and whether those laws could be justly put in force, to the very -letter, while the actual produce of the earth, by being better -husbanded, or more equally distributed, or given to men and not to -beasts, might maintain in comfort double the number that actually -existed, and who, not daring to demand a _fair_ proportion of the -produce of their labour, humbly crave charity, and are refused out of -regard to the interests of justice and humanity. Our philosopher, at -this critical juncture not being able to bring into the compass of a few -words all the history, metaphysics, morality and divinity, or all the -intricacies, subtleties, and callous equivocations contained in his -quarto volume, might hesitate and be confounded—his own feelings and -prejudices might add to his perplexity—his interrogator might persist in -his question—the mob might become impatient for an answer, and not -finding one to their minds, might proceed to extremities. Our -unfortunate Essayist (who by that time would have become a bishop) might -be ordered to the lamp-post, and his book committed to the flames.—I -tremble to think of what would follow:—the poor laws would be again -renewed, and the poor no longer doomed to starve by the laws of God and -nature! Some such, I apprehend, might be the consequence of attempting -to enforce the abolition of the poor-laws, the extinction of private -charity, and of instructing the poor in their metaphysical rights. In a -few years time it is probable, however, that no such consequences would -follow. In that time, if Mr. Malthus’s systematic ardour will let him -wait so long, they may be gradually crushed low enough in the scale of -existence to be ripe for the ironical benefits, and sarcastic -instruction prepared for them. Mr. Malthus says, - -‘The scanty relief granted to persons in distress, the capricious and -insulting manner in which it is sometimes distributed by the overseers, -and the natural and becoming pride not yet quite extinct among the -peasantry of England, have deterred the more thinking and virtuous part -of them, from venturing on marriage, without some better prospect of -maintaining their families, than mere parish assistance. The desire of -bettering our condition and the fear of making it worse, like the _vis -medicatrix naturæ_ in physics, is the _vis medicatrix reipublicæ_ in -politics, and is continually counteracting the disorders arising from -narrow human institutions. In spite of the prejudices in favour of -population, and the direct encouragements to marriage from the poor -laws, it operates as a preventive check to increase; and happy for this -country is it that it does so.’ - -If then this natural repugnance in the poor to subject themselves to the -necessity of parish relief has ceased to operate, must it not be owing -to extreme distress, or to the degradation of character, consequent upon -it? How does Mr. Malthus propose to remedy this? By subjecting them to -severe distress, and _teaching them patience under their sufferings_. -But the rational desire of bettering our condition and the fear of -making it worse is not increased by its being made worse. The standard -of our notions of decency and comfort is not raised by a familiarity -with unmitigated wretchedness, nor is the love of independence -heightened by insults, and contempt, and by a formal mockery of the -principles of justice and humanity. On the previous habits and character -of the people, it is, however, that the degree of misery incurred always -depends, as far as relates to themselves. The consequence of an -effectual abolition of the poor laws would be all the immediate misery -that would be produced, aggravated by the additional depression, and -proneness to misery in the lower classes, and a beautiful putrefaction -of all the common feelings of human nature in the higher ones. Finally, -I agree with Mr. Malthus, that, ‘if, as in Ireland and in Spain, and -many of the southern countries, the people be in so degraded a state, as -to propagate their species like brutes, it matters little, whether they -have poor laws or not. Misery in all its various forms must be the -predominant check to their increase: and with, or without poor laws, no -stretch of human ingenuity and exertion could rescue the people from the -most extreme poverty and wretchedness.’ - -As to the metaphysical subtleties, by which Mr. Malthus endeavours to -prove that we ought systematically to visit the sins of the father on -the children, and keep up the stock of vice and misery in the family -(from which it would follow, that the children of thieves and robbers -ought either to be hanged outright, or at least brought up in such a -manner as to ensure their following the fate of their parents) I feel -and know my own superiority on that ground so well, that it would be -ungenerous to push it farther. Mr. Malthus has a curious chapter on old -maids. He might have written one on suicides, and another on -prostitutes. As far as the question of population is concerned, they are -certainly of more service to the community, because they tempt others to -follow their example, whereas an old maid is a beacon to frighten others -into matrimony. But this, says our author, is owing to unjust prejudice. -I shall give the reader some of his arguments, as otherwise he might not -guess at them. - -‘It is not enough to abolish all the positive institutions which -encourage population; but we must endeavour, at the same time, to -correct the prevailing opinions, which have the same, or perhaps even a -more powerful, effect. The matron who has reared a family of ten or -twelve children, and whose sons, perhaps, may be fighting the battles of -their country, is apt to think that society owes her much; and this -imaginary debt, society is, in general, fully inclined to acknowledge. -But if the subject be fairly considered, and the respected matron -weighed in the scales of justice against the neglected old maid, it is -possible that the matron might kick the beam. She will appear rather in -the character of a monopolist, than of a great benefactor to the state. -If she had not married and had so many children, other members of the -society might have enjoyed this satisfaction; and there is no particular -reason for supposing that her sons would fight better for their country -than the sons of other women. She has therefore rather subtracted from, -than added to, the happiness of the other part of society. The old maid, -on the contrary, has exalted others by depressing herself. Her -self-denial has made room for another marriage, without any additional -distress; and she has not, like the generality of men, in avoiding one -error, fallen into its opposite. She has really and truly contributed -more to the happiness of the rest of the society arising from the -pleasures of marriage, than if she had entered into this union herself, -and had besides portioned twenty maidens with a hundred pounds each; -whose particular happiness would have been balanced, either by an -increase in the general difficulties of rearing children and getting -employment, or by the necessity of celibacy in twenty other maidens -somewhere else. Like the truly benevolent man in an irremediable -scarcity, she has diminished her own consumption, instead of raising up -a few particular people, by pressing down the rest. On a fair -comparison, therefore, she seems to have a better founded claim to the -gratitude of society than the matron. Whether we could always completely -sympathize with the motives of her conduct, has not much to do with the -question. The particular motive which influenced the matron to marry, -was certainly not the good of her country. To refuse a proper tribute of -respect to the old maid, because she was not directly influenced in her -conduct by the desire of conferring on society a certain benefit, which, -though it must undoubtedly exist, must necessarily be so diffused as to -be invisible to her, is in the highest degree impolitic and unjust. It -is expecting a strain of virtue beyond humanity. If we never reward any -persons with our approbation, but those who are exclusively influenced -by motives of general benevolence, this powerful encouragement to do -good actions will not be very often called into exercise.’ - -Mr. Malthus would make an excellent superior of a convent of nuns of the -Order of Population.—The better to remove what he considers as an unjust -stigma on old maids; he has endeavoured to set one on married women. He -would persuade every one to look upon his mother as a person of bad -character. He would pass an act of bastardy on every mother’s son of us; -and prove that we come into the world without a proper license (from -him) merely to gratify the coarse, selfish, immoral propensities of our -parents. Till however he can do away the filial relation, or the respect -attached to it, or so contrive it that all men should be ‘born of a -virgin’ contrary to all our experience, it will I believe be impossible -to get rid of the unjust prejudice against old maids, or to place them -on a level with married women. Mr. Malthus has gone the wrong way to -ingratiate himself with the mothers of families: but he has not taken -his measures ill. He knows that the partiality and favours of such -persons are generally confined to run in their own low, narrow, domestic -channels. But this is not the case with those reverend persons, to whom -he pays his court. He knows that their bounty is not confined by any -such selfish limits, it flows liberally to all, and they have the best -chance of sharing in it, who endeavour to indemnify them for their -personal sacrifices, or the ridicule of the world by a succession of -little agreeable attentions, or by offering theoretical incense to their -virtue and merit. - -‘It is perfectly absurd as well as unjust, that a giddy girl of sixteen -should, because she is married be considered by the forms of society as -the protector of women of thirty, should come first into the room, -should be assigned the highest place at table, and be the prominent -figure to whom the attentions of the company are more particularly -addressed.’—Not more absurd than that a child or an ideot should be a -king, or that a grave man of fifty should call a young coxcomb, My lord. -Our sophist would overturn all the established order of society with his -out-of-the-way principles.—Mr. Malthus has huddled into the same chapter -his attack on the monopoly made by the married women of the men, and his -defence of the monopoly of corn by farmers and others. It is the last -passage I shall quote, though there are many others worthy of rebuke. - -‘In some conversations with labouring men during the late scarcities, I -confess that I was to the last degree disheartened, at observing their -inveterate prejudices on the subject of grain: and I felt very strongly -the almost absolute incompatibility of a government really free, with -such a degree of ignorance. The delusions are of such a nature, that, if -acted upon, they must, at all events, be repressed by force: and it is -extremely difficult to give such a power to the government as will be -sufficient at all times for this purpose, without the risk of its being -employed improperly, and endangering the liberty of the subject. And -this reflection cannot but be disheartening to every friend to freedom. - -‘It is of the very utmost importance, that the gentlemen of the country, -and particularly the clergy, should not, from ignorance, aggravate the -evils of scarcity every time that it unfortunately occurs. During the -late dearths, half of the gentlemen and clergymen in the kingdom richly -deserved to have been prosecuted for sedition. After inflaming the minds -of the common people against the farmers and corn-dealers, by the manner -in which they talked of them, or preached about them, it was but a -feeble antidote to the poison which they had infused, coldly to observe, -that however the poor might be oppressed or cheated, it was their duty -to keep the peace. It was little better than Antony’s repeated -declaration, that the conspirators were all honourable men; which did -not save either their houses or their persons from the attacks of the -mob. Political economy is perhaps the only science of which it might be -said, that the ignorance of it is not merely a deprivation of good, but -produces great positive evil.’ - -I shall accompany this passage with an extract from the Author’s first -edition and leave it to the reader to apply the hint of Antony’s speech -to whom he thinks fit. - -‘It very rarely happens that the nominal price of labour universally -falls; but we well know that it frequently remains the same, while the -nominal price of provisions has been gradually increasing. This is, in -effect, a real fall in the price of labour; and during this period, the -condition of the lower orders of the community must gradually grow worse -and worse. But the farmers and the capitalists are growing rich from the -real cheapness of labour. Their increased capitals enable them to employ -a greater number of men. Work therefore may be plentiful; and the price -of labour would consequently rise. But the want of freedom in the market -of labour, which occurs more or less in all communities, either from -parish laws, or the more general cause of the facility of combination -among the rich, and its difficulty among the poor, operates to prevent -the price of labour from rising at the natural period, and keeps it down -some time longer; perhaps, till a year of scarcity, when the clamour is -too loud, and the necessity too apparent to be resisted. - -‘The true cause of the advance in the price of labour is thus concealed; -and the rich affect to grant it as an act of compassion and favour to -the poor, in consideration of a year of scarcity; and when plenty -returns, indulge themselves in the most unreasonable of all complaints, -that the price does not again fall; when a little reflection would shew -them, that it must have risen long before, but from an unjust conspiracy -of their own.’ - - - THE END - - - - - THE SPIRIT OF THE AGE - - - - - BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE - - -Published anonymously in one volume (8vo, 424 pages) in 1825, with the -following title-page:—‘The Spirit of the Age: or Contemporary Portraits. -“To know another well were to know one’s self.” London: Printed for -Henry Colburn, New Burlington Street. 1825.’ The imprint was ‘London: -Printed by S. and R. Bentley, Dorset Street.’ A second edition (here -reproduced), with the same title-page (except that the quotation ran: -‘“To know a man well, were to know himself.” Hamlet’) and imprint, was -produced in smaller type (8vo, 408 pages) in the same year. In this -edition the essays were arranged in a different order, an addition was -made to the essay on Coleridge, and an essay on Cobbett from _Table -Talk_ (vol. i., 1821) was included. In the same year, 1825, an edition -was published in Paris (A. and W. Galignani) which included the essay on -Cobbett and an essay on Canning. The third edition, edited by the -author’s son, was published in 1858 (one volume, 8vo, 396 pages, C. -Templeman, Great Portland Street). In this edition the essays on Cobbett -and Canning were included, and the essays were arranged in an order -different from that of either the first or the second edition. The -fourth edition, edited by Mr. W. C. Hazlitt for Bohn’s _Standard -Library_ (1886) restored the order of the second edition, but included -the essay on Canning. In this edition Mr. Hazlitt made some alterations -in the text based upon (1) portions of the original MSS. then in his -possession, and (2) autograph notes of the author’s in a copy of the -second edition belonging to Mr. C. W. Reynell. A volume of _Essays -selected from The Spirit of the Age_, with an introduction by R. B. -Johnson, was published in 1893 (the Knickerbocker Press, G. P. Putnam’s -Sons). Five of the essays, viz.: those on Bentham, Irving, Horne Tooke, -Scott, and Eldon were originally published in Colburn’s _New Monthly -Magazine and Literary Journal_ (1824, vols. x. and xi.) in a series -entitled ‘The Spirits of the Age.’ - - - - - CONTENTS - - - PAGE - Jeremy Bentham 189 - - William Godwin 200 - - Mr. Coleridge 212 - - Rev. Mr. Irving 222 - - The late Mr. Horne Tooke 231 - - Sir Walter Scott 241 - - Lord Byron 253 - - Mr. Southey 262 - - Mr. Wordsworth 270 - - Sir James Mackintosh 279 - - Mr. Malthus 287 - - Mr. Gifford 298 - - Mr. Jeffrey 310 - - Mr. Brougham—Sir F. Burdett 318 - - Lord Eldon—Mr. Wilberforce 325 - - Mr. Cobbett 334 - - Mr. Campbell—Mr. Crabbe 343 - - Mr. T. Moore—Mr. Leigh Hunt 353 - - Elia—Geoffrey Crayon 362 - - - - - THE SPIRIT OF THE AGE - - - - - JEREMY BENTHAM - - -Mr. Bentham is one of those persons who verify the old adage, that ‘A -prophet has most honour out of his own country.’ His reputation lies at -the circumference; and the lights of his understanding are reflected, -with increasing lustre, on the other side of the globe. His name is -little known in England, better in Europe, best of all in the plains of -Chili and the mines of Mexico. He has offered constitutions for the New -World, and legislated for future times. The people of Westminster, where -he lives, hardly dream of such a person; but the Siberian savage has -received cold comfort from his lunar aspect, and may say to him with -Caliban—‘I know thee, and thy dog and thy bush!’ The tawny Indian may -hold out the hand of fellowship to him across the GREAT PACIFIC. We -believe that the Empress Catherine corresponded with him; and we know -that the Emperor Alexander called upon him, and presented him with his -miniature in a gold snuff-box, which the philosopher, to his eternal -honour, returned. Mr. Hobhouse is a greater man at the hustings, Lord -Rolle at Plymouth Dock; but Mr. Bentham would carry it hollow, on the -score of popularity, at Paris or Pegu. The reason is, that our author’s -influence is purely intellectual. He has devoted his life to the pursuit -of abstract and general truths, and to those studies— - - ‘That waft a _thought_ from Indus to the Pole’— - -and has never mixed himself up with personal intrigues or party -politics. He once, indeed, stuck up a hand-bill to say that he (Jeremy -Bentham) being of sound mind, was of opinion that Sir Samuel Romilly was -the most proper person to represent Westminster; but this was the whim -of the moment. Otherwise, his reasonings, if true at all, are true -everywhere alike: his speculations concern humanity at large, and are -not confined to the hundred or the bills of mortality. It is in moral as -in physical magnitude. The little is seen best near: the great appears -in its proper dimensions, only from a more commanding point of view, and -gains strength with time, and elevation from distance! - -Mr. Bentham is very much among philosophers what La Fontaine was among -poets:—in general habits and in all but his professional pursuits, he is -a mere child. He has lived for the last forty years in a house in -Westminster, overlooking the Park, like an anchoret in his cell, -reducing law to a system, and the mind of man to a machine. He scarcely -ever goes out, and sees very little company. The favoured few, who have -the privilege of the _entrée_, are always admitted one by one. He does -not like to have witnesses to his conversation. He talks a great deal, -and listens to nothing but facts. When any one calls upon him, he -invites them to take a turn round his garden with him (Mr. Bentham is an -economist of his time, and sets apart this portion of it to air and -exercise)—and there you may see the lively old man, his mind still -buoyant with thought and with the prospect of futurity, in eager -conversation with some Opposition Member, some expatriated Patriot, or -Transatlantic Adventurer, urging the extinction of Close Boroughs, or -planning a code of laws for some ‘lone island in the watery waste,’ his -walk almost amounting to a run, his tongue keeping pace with it in -shrill, cluttering accents, negligent of his person, his dress, and his -manner, intent only on his grand theme of UTILITY—or pausing, perhaps, -for want of breath and with lack-lustre eye to point out to the stranger -a stone in the wall at the end of his garden (overarched by two -beautiful cotton-trees) _Inscribed to the Prince of Poets_, which marks -the house where Milton formerly lived. To show how little the -refinements of taste or fancy enter into our author’s system, he -proposed at one time to cut down these beautiful trees, to convert the -garden where he had breathed the air of Truth and Heaven for near half a -century into a paltry _Chrestomathic School_, and to make Milton’s house -(the cradle of Paradise Lost) a thoroughfare, like a three-stalled -stable, for the idle rabble of Westminster to pass backwards and -forwards to it with their cloven hoofs. Let us not, however, be getting -on too fast—Milton himself taught school! There is something not -altogether dissimilar between Mr. Bentham’s appearance, and the -portraits of Milton, the same silvery tone, a few dishevelled hairs, a -peevish, yet puritanical expression, an irritable temperament corrected -by habit and discipline. Or in modern times, he is something between -Franklin and Charles Fox, with the comfortable double-chin and sleek -thriving look of the one, and the quivering lip, the restless eye, and -animated acuteness of the other. His eye is quick and lively; but it -glances not from object to object, but from thought to thought. He is -evidently a man occupied with some train of fine and inward association. -He regards the people about him no more than the flies of a summer. He -meditates the coming age. He hears and sees only what suits his purpose, -or some ‘foregone conclusion’; and looks out for facts and passing -occurrences in order to put them into his logical machinery and grind -them into the dust and powder of some subtle theory, as the miller looks -out for grist to his mill! Add to this physiognomical sketch the minor -points of costume, the open shirt-collar, the single-breasted coat, the -old fashioned half-boots and ribbed stockings; and you will find in Mr. -Bentham’s general appearance a singular mixture of boyish simplicity and -of the venerableness of age. In a word, our celebrated jurist presents a -striking illustration of the difference between the _philosophical_ and -the _regal_ look; that is, between the merely abstracted and the merely -personal. There is a lack-adaisical _bonhommie_ about his whole aspect, -none of the fierceness of pride or power; an unconscious neglect of his -own person, instead of a stately assumption of superiority; a -good-humoured, placid intelligence, instead of a lynx-eyed watchfulness, -as if it wished to make others its prey, or was afraid they might turn -and rend him; he is a beneficent spirit, prying into the universe, not -lording it over it; a thoughtful spectator of the scenes of life, or -ruminator on the fate of mankind, not a painted pageant, a stupid idol -set up on its pedestal of pride for men to fall down and worship with -idiot fear and wonder at the thing themselves have made, and which, -without that fear and wonder, would in itself be nothing! - -Mr. Bentham, perhaps, over-rates the importance of his own theories. He -has been heard to say (without any appearance of pride or affectation) -that ‘he should like to live the remaining years of his life, a year at -a time at the end of the next six or eight centuries, to see the effect -which his writings would by that time have had upon the world.’ Alas! -his name will hardly live so long! Nor do we think, in point of fact, -that Mr. Bentham has given any new or decided impulse to the human mind. -He cannot be looked upon in the light of a discoverer in legislation or -morals. He has not struck out any great leading principle or -parent-truth, from which a number of others might be deduced; nor has he -enriched the common and established stock of intelligence with original -observations, like pearls thrown into wine. One truth discovered is -immortal, and entitles its author to be so: for, like a new substance in -nature, it cannot be destroyed. But Mr. Bentham’s _forte_ is -arrangement; and the form of truth, though not its essence, varies with -time and circumstance. He has methodised, collated, and condensed all -the materials prepared to his hand on the subjects of which he treats, -in a masterly and scientific manner; but we should find a difficulty in -adducing from his different works (however elaborate or closely -reasoned) any new element of thought, or even a new fact or -illustration. His writings are, therefore, chiefly valuable as _books of -reference_, as bringing down the account of intellectual inquiry to the -present period, and disposing the results in a compendious, connected, -and tangible shape; but books of reference are chiefly serviceable for -facilitating the acquisition of knowledge, and are constantly liable to -be superseded and to grow out of fashion with its progress, as the -scaffolding is thrown down as soon as the building is completed. Mr. -Bentham is not the first writer (by a great many) who has assumed the -principle of UTILITY as the foundation of just laws, and of all moral -and political reasoning:—his merit is, that he has applied this -principle more closely and literally; that he has brought all the -objections and arguments, more distinctly labelled and ticketed, under -this one head, and made a more constant and explicit reference to it at -every step of his progress, than any other writer. Perhaps the weak side -of his conclusions also is, that he has carried this single view of his -subject too far, and not made sufficient allowance for the varieties of -human nature, and the caprices and irregularities of the human will. ‘He -has not allowed for the _wind_.’ It is not that you can be said to see -his favourite doctrine of Utility glittering everywhere through his -system, like a vein of rich, shining ore (that is not the nature of the -material)—but it might be plausibly objected that he had struck the -whole mass of fancy, prejudice, passion, sense, whim, with his petrific, -leaden mace, that he had ‘bound volatile Hermes,’ and reduced the theory -and practice of human life to a _caput mortuum_ of reason, and dull, -plodding, technical calculation. The gentleman is himself a capital -logician; and he has been led by this circumstance to consider man as a -logical animal. We fear this view of the matter will hardly hold water. -If we attend to the _moral_ man, the constitution of his mind will -scarcely be found to be built up of pure reason and a regard to -consequences: if we consider the _criminal_ man (with whom the -legislator has chiefly to do) it will be found to be still less so. - -Every pleasure, says Mr. Bentham, is equally a good, and is to be taken -into the account as such in a moral estimate, whether it be the pleasure -of sense or of conscience, whether it arise from the exercise of virtue -or the perpetration of crime. We are afraid the human mind does not -readily come into this doctrine, this _ultima ratio philosophorum_, -interpreted according to the letter. Our moral sentiments are made up of -sympathies and antipathies, of sense and imagination, of understanding -and prejudice. The soul, by reason of its weakness, is an aggregating -and an exclusive principle; it clings obstinately to some things, and -violently rejects others. And it must do so, in a great measure, or it -would act contrary to its own nature. It needs helps and stages in its -progress, and ‘all appliances and means to boot,’ which can raise it to -a partial conformity to truth and good (the utmost it is capable of) and -bring it into a tolerable harmony with the universe. By aiming at too -much, by dismissing collateral aids, by extending itself to the farthest -verge of the conceivable and possible, it loses its elasticity and -vigour, its impulse and its direction. The moralist can no more do -without the intermediate use of rules and principles, without the -‘vantage ground of habit, without the levers of the understanding, than -the mechanist can discard the use of wheels and pulleys, and perform -every thing by simple motion. If the mind of man were competent to -comprehend the whole of truth and good, and act upon it at once, and -independently of all other considerations, Mr. Bentham’s plan would be a -feasible one, and _the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the -truth_, would be the best possible ground to place morality upon. But it -is not so. In ascertaining the rules of moral conduct, we must have -regard not merely to the nature of the object, but to the capacity of -the agent, and to his fitness for apprehending or attaining it. Pleasure -is that which is so in itself: good is that which approves itself as -such on reflection, or the idea of which is a source of satisfaction. -All pleasure is not, therefore (morally speaking) equally a good; for -all pleasure does not equally bear reflecting on. There are some tastes -that are sweet in the mouth and bitter in the belly; and there is a -similar contradiction and anomaly in the mind and heart of man. - -Again, what would become of the _Posthæc meminisse juvabit_ of the poet, -if a principle of fluctuation and reaction is not inherent in the very -constitution of our nature, or if all moral truth is a mere literal -truism? We are not, then, so much to inquire what certain things are -abstractedly or in themselves, as how they affect the mind, and to -approve or condemn them accordingly. The same object seen near strikes -us more powerfully than at a distance: things thrown into masses give a -greater blow to the imagination than when scattered and divided into -their component parts. A number of mole-hills do not make a mountain, -though a mountain is actually made up of atoms: so moral truth must -present itself under a certain aspect and from a certain point of view, -in order to produce its full and proper effect upon the mind. The laws -of the affections are as necessary as those of optics. A calculation of -consequences is no more equivalent to a sentiment, than a _seriatim_ -enumeration of square yards or feet touches the fancy like the sight of -the Alps or Andes. - -To give an instance or two of what we mean. Those who on pure -cosmopolite principles, or on the ground of abstract humanity, affect an -extraordinary regard for the Turks and Tartars, have been accused of -neglecting their duties to their friends and next-door neighbours. Well, -then, what is the state of the question here? One human being is, no -doubt, as much worth in himself, independently of the circumstances of -time or place, as another; but he is not of so much value to us and our -affections. Could our imagination take wing (with our speculative -faculties) to the other side of the globe or to the ends of the -universe, could our eyes behold whatever our reason teaches us to be -possible, could our hands reach as far as our thoughts and wishes, we -might then busy ourselves to advantage with the Hottentots, or hold -intimate converse with the inhabitants of the Moon; but being as we are, -our feelings evaporate in so large a space—we must draw the circle of -our affections and duties somewhat closer—the heart hovers and fixes -nearer home. It is true, the bands of private, or of local and natural -affection, are often, nay in general, too tightly strained, so as -frequently to do harm instead of good: but the present question is -whether we can, with safety and effect, be wholly emancipated from them? -Whether we should shake them off at pleasure and without mercy, as the -only bar to the triumph of truth and justice? Or whether benevolence, -constructed upon a logical scale, would not be merely _nominal_, whether -duty, raised to too lofty a pitch of refinement, might not sink into -callous indifference or hollow selfishness? Again, is it not to exact -too high a strain from humanity, to ask us to qualify the degree of -abhorrence we feel against a murderer by taking into our cool -consideration the pleasure he may have in committing the deed, and in -the prospect of gratifying his avarice or his revenge? We are hardly so -formed as to sympathise at the same moment with the assassin and his -victim. The degree of pleasure the former may feel, instead of -extenuating, aggravates his guilt, and shows the depth of his malignity. -Now the mind revolts against this by mere natural antipathy, if it is -itself well-disposed; or the slow process of reason would afford but a -feeble resistance to violence and wrong. The will, which is necessary to -give consistency and promptness to our good intentions, cannot extend so -much candour and courtesy to the antagonist principle of evil: virtue, -to be sincere and practical, cannot be divested entirely of the -blindness and impetuosity of passion! It has been made a plea (half -jest, half earnest) for the horrors of war, that they promote trade and -manufactures. It has been said, as a set-off for the atrocities -practised upon the negro slaves in the West Indies, that without their -blood and sweat, so many millions of people could not have sugar to -sweeten their tea. Fires and murders have been argued to be beneficial, -as they serve to fill the newspapers, and for a subject to talk of—this -is a sort of sophistry that it might be difficult to disprove on the -bare scheme of contingent utility; but on the ground that we have -stated, it must pass for mere irony. What the proportion between the -good and the evil will really be found in any of the supposed cases, may -be a question to the understanding; but to the imagination and the -heart, that is, to the natural feelings of mankind, it admits of none! - -Mr. Bentham, in adjusting the provisions of a penal code, lays too -little stress on the co-operation of the natural prejudices of mankind, -and the habitual feelings of that class of persons for whom they are -more particularly designed. Legislators (we mean writers on legislation) -are philosophers, and governed by their reason: criminals, for whose -controul laws are made, are a set of desperadoes, governed only by their -passions. What wonder that so little progress has been made towards a -mutual understanding between the two parties! They are quite a different -species, and speak a different language, and are sadly at a loss for a -common interpreter between them. Perhaps the Ordinary of Newgate bids as -fair for this office as any one. What should Mr. Bentham, sitting at -ease in his arm-chair, composing his mind before he begins to write by a -prelude on the organ, and looking out at a beautiful prospect when he is -at a loss for an idea, know of the principles of action of rogues, -outlaws, and vagabonds? No more than Montaigne of the motions of his -cat! If sanguine and tender-hearted philanthropists have set on foot an -inquiry into the barbarity and the defects of penal laws, the practical -improvements have been mostly suggested by reformed cut-throats, -turnkeys, and thief-takers. What even can the Honourable House, who when -the Speaker has pronounced the well-known, wished-for sounds, ‘That this -house do now adjourn,’ retire, after voting a royal crusade or a loan of -millions, to lie on down, and feed on plate in spacious palaces, know of -what passes in the hearts of wretches in garrets and night-cellars, -petty pilferers and marauders, who cut throats and pick pockets with -their own hands? The thing is impossible. The laws of the country are, -therefore, ineffectual and abortive, because they are made by the rich -for the poor, by the wise for the ignorant, by the respectable and -exalted in station for the very scum and refuse of the community. If -Newgate would resolve itself into a committee of the whole Press-yard, -with Jack Ketch at its head, aided by confidential persons from the -county prisons or the Hulks, and would make a clear breast, some _data_ -might be found out to proceed upon; but as it is, the _criminal mind_ of -the country is a book sealed, no one has been able to penetrate to the -inside! Mr. Bentham, in his attempts to revise and amend our criminal -jurisprudence, proceeds entirely on his favourite principle of Utility. -Convince highwaymen and housebreakers that it will be for their interest -to reform, and they will reform and lead honest lives; according to Mr. -Bentham. He says, ‘All men act from calculation, even madmen reason.’ -And, in our opinion, he might as well carry this maxim to Bedlam or St. -Luke’s, and apply it to the inhabitants, as think to coerce or overawe -the inmates of a gaol, or those whose practices make them candidates for -that distinction, by the mere dry, detailed convictions of the -understanding. Criminals are not to be influenced by reason; for it is -of the very essence of crime to disregard consequences both to ourselves -and others. You may as well preach philosophy to a drunken man, or to -the dead, as to those who are under the instigation of any mischievous -passion. A man is a drunkard, and you tell him he ought to be sober; he -is debauched, and you ask him to reform; he is idle, and you recommend -industry to him as his wisest course; he gambles, and you remind him -that he may be ruined by this foible; he has lost his character, and you -advise him to get into some reputable service or lucrative situation; -vice becomes a habit with him, and you request him to rouse himself and -shake it off; he is starving, and you warn him if he breaks the law, he -will be hanged. None of this reasoning reaches the mark it aims at. The -culprit, who violates and suffers the vengeance of the laws, is not the -dupe of ignorance, but the slave of passion, the victim of habit or -necessity. To argue with strong passion, with inveterate habit, with -desperate circumstances, is to talk to the winds. Clownish ignorance may -indeed be dispelled, and taught better; but it is seldom that a criminal -is not aware of the consequences of his act, or has not made up his mind -to the alternative. They are, in general, _too knowing by half_. You -tell a person of this stamp what is his interest; he says he does not -care about his interest, or the world and he differ on that particular. -But there is one point on which he must agree with them, namely, what -_they_ think of his conduct, and that is the only hold you have of him. -A man may be callous and indifferent to what happens to himself; but he -is never indifferent to public opinion, or proof against open scorn and -infamy. Shame, then, not fear, is the sheet-anchor of the law. He who is -not afraid of being pointed at as a _thief_, will not mind a month’s -hard labour. He who is prepared to take the life of another, is already -reckless of his own. But every one makes a sorry figure in the pillory; -and the being launched from the New Drop lowers a man in his own -opinion. The lawless and violent spirit, who is hurried by headstrong -self-will to break the laws, does not like to have the ground of pride -and obstinacy struck from under his feet. This is what gives the -_swells_ of the metropolis such a dread of the _tread-mill_—it makes -them ridiculous. It must be confessed, that this very circumstance -renders the reform of criminals nearly hopeless. It is the apprehension -of being stigmatized by public opinion, the fear of what will be thought -and said of them, that deters men from the violation of the laws, while -their character remains unimpeached; but honour once lost, all is lost. -The man can never be himself again! A citizen is like a soldier, a part -of a machine, who submits to certain hardships, privations, and dangers, -not for his own ease, pleasure, profit, or even conscience, but—_for -shame_. What is it that keeps the machine together in either case? Not -punishment or discipline, but sympathy. The soldier mounts the breach or -stands in the trenches, the peasant hedges and ditches, or the mechanic -plies his ceaseless task, because the one will not be called a _coward_, -the other a _rogue_: but let the one turn deserter and the other -vagabond, and there is an end of him. The grinding law of necessity, -which is no other than a name, a breath, loses its force; he is no -longer sustained by the good opinion of others, and he drops out of his -place in society, a useless clog! Mr. Bentham takes a culprit, and puts -him into what he calls a _Panopticon_, that is, a sort of circular -prison, with open cells, like a glass bee-hive. He sits in the middle, -and sees all the other does. He gives him work to do, and lectures him -if he does not do it. He takes liquor from him, and society and liberty; -but he feeds and clothes him, and keeps him out of mischief; and when he -has convinced him, by force and reason together, that this life is for -his good, he turns him out upon the world a reformed man, and as -confident of the success of his handy-work, as the shoemaker of that -which he has just taken off the last, or the Parisian barber in Sterne, -of the buckle of his wig. ‘Dip it in the ocean,’ said the perruquier, -‘and it will stand!’ But we doubt the durability of our projector’s -patchwork. Will our convert to the great principle of Utility work when -he is from under Mr. Bentham’s eye, because he was forced to work when -under it? Will he keep sober, because he has been kept from liquor so -long? Will he not return to loose company, because he has had the -pleasure of sitting vis-à-vis with a philosopher of late? Will he not -steal, now that his hands are untied? Will he not take the road, now -that it is free to him? Will he not call his benefactor all the names he -can set his tongue to, the moment his back is turned? All this is more -than to be feared. The charm of criminal life, like that of savage life, -consists in liberty, in hardship, in danger, and in the contempt of -death, in one word, in extraordinary excitement; and he who has tasted -of it, will no more return to regular habits of life, than a man will -take to water after drinking brandy, or than a wild beast will give over -hunting its prey. Miracles never cease, to be sure; but they are not to -be had wholesale, or _to order_. Mr. Owen, who is another of those -proprietors and patentees of reform, has lately got an American savage -with him, whom he carries about in great triumph and complacency, as an -antithesis to his _New View of Society_, and as winding up his reasoning -to what it mainly wanted, an epigrammatic point. Does the benevolent -visionary of the Lanark cotton-mills really think this _natural man_ -will act as a foil to his _artificial man_? Does he for a moment imagine -that his _Address to the higher and middle classes_, with all its -advantages of fiction, makes any thing like so interesting a romance as -_Hunter’s Captivity among the North American Indians_? Has he any thing -to show, in all the apparatus of New Lanark and its desolate monotony, -to excite the thrill of imagination like the blankets made of wreaths of -snow under which the wild wood-rovers bury themselves for weeks in -winter? Or the skin of a leopard, which our hardy adventurer slew, and -which served him for great-coat and bedding? Or the rattle-snake that he -found by his side as a bedfellow? Or his rolling himself into a ball to -escape from him? Or his suddenly placing himself against a tree to avoid -being trampled to death by the herd of wild buffaloes, that came rushing -on like the sound of thunder? Or his account of the huge spiders that -prey on blue-bottles and gilded flies in green pathless forests; or of -the great Pacific Ocean, that the natives look upon as the gulf that -parts time from eternity, and that is to waft them to the spirits of -their fathers? After all this, Mr. Hunter must find Mr. Owen and his -parallelograms trite and flat, and will, we suspect, take an opportunity -to escape from them! - -Mr. Bentham’s method of reasoning, though comprehensive and exact, -labours under the defect of most systems—it is too _topical_. It -includes every thing; but it includes every thing alike. It is rather -like an inventory, than a valuation of different arguments. Every -possible suggestion finds a place, so that the mind is distracted as -much as enlightened by this perplexing accuracy. The exceptions seem as -important as the rule. By attending to the minute, we overlook the -great; and in summing up an account, it will not do merely to insist on -the number of items without considering their amount. Our author’s page -presents a very nicely dove-tailed mosaic pavement of legal -common-places. We slip and slide over its even surface without being -arrested any where. Or his view of the human mind resembles a map, -rather than a picture: the outline, the disposition is correct, but it -wants colouring and relief. There is a technicality of manner, which -renders his writings of more value to the professional inquirer than to -the general reader. Again, his style is unpopular, not to say -unintelligible. He writes a language of his own, that _darkens -knowledge_. His works have been translated into French—they ought to be -translated into English. People wonder that Mr. Bentham has not been -prosecuted for the boldness and severity of some of his invectives. He -might wrap up high treason in one of his inextricable periods, and it -would never find its way into Westminster-Hall. He is a kind of -Manuscript author—he writes a cypher-hand, which the vulgar have no key -to. The construction of his sentences is a curious frame-work with pegs -and hooks to hang his thoughts upon, for his own use and guidance, but -almost out of the reach of every body else. It is a barbarous -philosophical jargon, with all the repetitions, parentheses, -formalities, uncouth nomenclature and verbiage of law-Latin; and what -makes it worse, it is not mere verbiage, but has a great deal of -acuteness and meaning in it, which you would be glad to pick out if you -could. In short, Mr. Bentham writes as if he was allowed but a single -sentence to express his whole view of a subject in, and as if, should he -omit a single circumstance or step of the argument, it would be lost to -the world for ever, like an estate by a flaw in the title-deeds. This is -over-rating the importance of our own discoveries, and mistaking the -nature and object of language altogether. Mr. Bentham has _acquired_ -this disability—it is not natural to him. His admirable little work _On -Usury_, published forty years ago, is clear, easy, and vigorous. But Mr. -Bentham has shut himself up since then ‘in nook monastic,’ conversing -only with followers of his own, or with ‘men of Ind,’ and has -endeavoured to overlay his natural humour, sense, spirit, and style, -with the dust and cobwebs of an obscure solitude. The best of it is, he -thinks his present mode of expressing himself perfect, and that whatever -may be objected to his law or logic, no one can find the least fault -with the purity, simplicity, and perspicuity of his style. - -Mr. Bentham, in private life, is an amiable and exemplary character. He -is a little romantic, or so; and has dissipated part of a handsome -fortune in practical speculations. He lends an ear to plausible -projectors, and, if he cannot prove them to be wrong in their premises -or their conclusions, thinks himself bound _in reason_ to stake his -money on the venture. Strict logicians are licenced visionaries. Mr. -Bentham is half-brother to the late Mr. Speaker Abbott[33]—_Proh pudor!_ -He was educated at Eton, and still takes our novices to task about a -passage in Homer, or a metre in Virgil. He was afterwards at the -University, and he has described the scruples of an ingenuous youthful -mind about subscribing the articles, in a passage in his -_Church-of-Englandism_, which smacks of truth and honour both, and does -one good to read it in an age, when ‘to be honest’ (or not to laugh at -the very idea of honesty) ‘is to be one man picked out of ten thousand!’ -Mr. Bentham relieves his mind sometimes, after the fatigue of study, by -playing on a fine old organ, and has a relish for Hogarth’s prints. He -turns wooden utensils in a lathe for exercise, and fancies he can turn -men in the same manner. He has no great fondness for poetry, and can -hardly extract a moral out of Shakespeare. His house is warmed and -lighted by steam. He is one of those who prefer the artificial to the -natural in most things, and think the mind of man omnipotent. He has a -great contempt for out-of-door prospects, for green fields and trees, -and is for referring every thing to Utility. There is a little -narrowness in this; for if all the sources of satisfaction are taken -away, what is to become of utility itself? It is, indeed, the great -fault of this able and extraordinary man, that he has concentrated his -faculties and feelings too entirely on one subject and pursuit, and has -not ‘looked enough abroad into universality.’[34] - - - - - WILLIAM GODWIN - - -The Spirit of the Age was never more fully shown than in its treatment -of this writer—its love of paradox and change, its dastard submission to -prejudice and to the fashion of the day. Five-and-twenty years ago he -was in the very zenith of a sultry and unwholesome popularity; he blazed -as a sun in the firmament of reputation; no one was more talked of, more -looked up to, more sought after, and wherever liberty, truth, justice -was the theme, his name was not far off:—now he has sunk below the -horizon, and enjoys the serene twilight of a doubtful immortality. Mr. -Godwin, during his life-time, has secured to himself the triumphs and -the mortifications of an extreme notoriety and of a sort of posthumous -fame. His bark, after being tossed in the revolutionary tempest, now -raised to heaven by all the fury of popular breath, now almost dashed in -pieces, and buried in the quicksands of ignorance, or scorched with the -lightning of momentary indignation, at length floats on the calm wave -that is to bear it down the stream of time. Mr. Godwin’s person is not -known, he is not pointed out in the street, his conversation is not -courted, his opinions are not asked, he is at the head of no cabal, he -belongs to no party in the State, he has no train of admirers, no one -thinks it worth his while even to traduce and vilify him, he has -scarcely friend or foe, the world make a point (as Goldsmith used to -say) of taking no more notice of him than if such an individual had -never existed; he is to all ordinary intents and purposes dead and -buried; but the author of _Political Justice_ and of _Caleb Williams_ -can never die, his name is an abstraction in letters, his works are -standard in the history of intellect. He is thought of now like any -eminent writer a hundred-and-fifty years ago, or just as he will be a -hundred-and-fifty years hence. He knows this, and smiles in silent -mockery of himself, reposing on the monument of his fame— - - ‘Sedet, in eternumque sedebit infelix Theseus.’ - -No work in our time gave such a blow to the philosophical mind of the -country as the celebrated _Enquiry concerning Political Justice_. Tom -Paine was considered for the time as a Tom Fool to him; Paley an old -woman; Edmund Burke a flashy sophist. Truth, moral truth, it was -supposed, had here taken up its abode; and these were the oracles of -thought. ‘Throw aside your books of chemistry,’ said Wordsworth to a -young man, a student in the Temple, ‘and read Godwin on Necessity.’ Sad -necessity! Fatal reverse! Is truth then so variable? Is it one thing at -twenty, and another at forty? Is it at a burning heat in 1793, and below -_zero_ in 1814? Not so, in the name of manhood and of common sense! Let -us pause here a little.—Mr. Godwin indulged in extreme opinions, and -carried with him all the most sanguine and fearless understandings of -the time. What then? Because those opinions were overcharged, were they -therefore altogether groundless? Is the very God of our idolatry all of -a sudden to become an abomination and an anathema? Could so many young -men of talent, of education, and of principle have been hurried away by -what had neither truth, nor nature, not one particle of honest feeling -nor the least show of reason in it? Is the _Modern Philosophy_ (as it -has been called) at one moment a youthful bride, and the next a withered -beldame, like the false Duessa in Spenser? Or is the vaunted edifice of -Reason, like his House of Pride, gorgeous in front, and dazzling to -approach, while ‘its hinder parts are ruinous, decayed, and old?’ Has -the main prop, which supported the mighty fabric, been shaken and given -way under the strong grasp of some Samson; or has it not rather been -undermined by rats and vermin? At one time, it almost seemed, that ‘if -this failed, - - The pillar’d firmament was rottenness, - And earth’s base built of stubble:’ - -now scarce a shadow of it remains, it is crumbled to dust, nor is it -even talked of! ‘What, then, went ye forth for to see, a reed shaken -with the wind?’ Was it for this that our young gownsmen of the greatest -expectation and promise, versed in classic lore, steeped in dialectics, -armed at all points for the foe, well read, well nurtured, well provided -for, left the University and the prospect of lawn sleeves, tearing -asunder the shackles of the free born spirit, and the cobwebs of -school-divinity, to throw themselves at the feet of the new Gamaliel, -and learn wisdom from him? Was it for this, that students at the bar, -acute, inquisitive, sceptical (here only wild enthusiasts) neglected for -a while the paths of preferment and the law as too narrow, tortuous, and -unseemly to bear the pure and broad light of reason? Was it for this, -that students in medicine missed their way to Lecturerships and the top -of their profession, deeming lightly of the health of the body, and -dreaming only of the renovation of society and the march of mind? Was it -to this that Mr. Southey’s _Inscriptions_ pointed? to this that Mr. -Coleridge’s _Religious Musings_ tended? Was it for this, that Mr. Godwin -himself sat with arms folded, and, ‘like Cato, gave his little senate -laws?’ Or rather, like another Prospero, uttered syllables that with -their enchanted breath were to change the world, and might almost stop -the stars in their courses? Oh! and is all forgot? Is this sun of -intellect blotted from the sky? Or has it suffered total eclipse? Or is -it we who make the fancied gloom, by looking at it through the paltry, -broken, stained fragments of our own interests and prejudices? Were we -fools then, or are we dishonest now? Or was the impulse of the mind less -likely to be true and sound when it arose from high thought and warm -feeling, than afterwards, when it was warped and debased by the example, -the vices, and follies of the world? - -The fault, then, of Mr. Godwin’s philosophy, in one word, was too much -ambition—‘by that sin fell the angels!’ He conceived too nobly of his -fellows (the most unpardonable crime against them, for there is nothing -that annoys our self-love so much as being complimented on imaginary -achievements, to which we are wholly unequal)—he raised the standard of -morality above the reach of humanity, and by directing virtue to the -most airy and romantic heights, made her path dangerous, solitary, and -impracticable. The author of the _Political Justice_ took abstract -reason for the rule of conduct, and abstract good for its end. He places -the human mind on an elevation, from which it commands a view of the -whole line of moral consequences; and requires it to conform its acts to -the larger and more enlightened conscience which it has thus acquired. -He absolves man from the gross and narrow ties of sense, custom, -authority, private and local attachment, in order that he may devote -himself to the boundless pursuit of universal benevolence. Mr. Godwin -gives no quarter to the amiable weaknesses of our nature, nor does he -stoop to avail himself of the supplementary aids of an imperfect virtue. -Gratitude, promises, friendship, family affection give way, not that -they may be merged in the opposite vices or in want of principle; but -that the void may be filled up by the disinterested love of good, and -the dictates of inflexible justice, which is ‘the law of laws, and -sovereign of sovereigns.’ All minor considerations yield, in his system, -to the stern sense of duty, as they do, in the ordinary and established -ones, to the voice of necessity. Mr. Godwin’s theory, and that of more -approved reasoners, differ only in this, that what are with them the -exceptions, the extreme cases, he makes the every-day rule. No one -denies that on great occasions, in moments of fearful excitement, or -when a mighty object is at stake, the lesser and merely instrumental -points of duty are to be sacrificed without remorse at the shrine of -patriotism, of honour, and of conscience. But the disciple of the _New -School_ (no wonder it found so many impugners, even in its own bosom!) -is to be always the hero of duty; the law to which he has bound himself -never swerves nor relaxes; his feeling of what is right is to be at all -times wrought up to a pitch of enthusiastic self-devotion; he must -become the unshrinking martyr and confessor of the public good. If it be -said that this scheme is chimerical and impracticable on ordinary -occasions, and to the generality of mankind, well and good; but those -who accuse the author of having trampled on the common feelings and -prejudices of mankind in wantonness or insult, or without wishing to -substitute something better (and only unattainable, because it is -better) in their stead, accuse him wrongfully. We may not be able to -launch the bark of our affections on the ocean-tide of humanity, we may -be forced to paddle along its shores, or shelter in its creeks and -rivulets: but we have no right to reproach the bold and adventurous -pilot, who dared us to tempt the uncertain abyss, with our own want of -courage or of skill, or with the jealousies and impatience, which deter -us from undertaking, or might prevent us from accomplishing the voyage! - -The _Enquiry concerning Political Justice_ (it was urged by its -favourers and defenders at the time, and may still be so, without either -profaneness or levity) is a metaphysical and logical commentary on some -of the most beautiful and striking texts of Scripture. Mr. Godwin is a -mixture of the Stoic and of the Christian philosopher. To break the -force of the vulgar objections and outcry that have been raised against -the Modern Philosophy, as if it were a new and monstrous birth in -morals, it may be worth noticing, that volumes of sermons have been -written to excuse the founder of Christianity for not including -friendship and private affection among its golden rules, but rather -excluding them.[35] Moreover, the answer to the question, ‘Who is thy -neighbour?’ added to the divine precept, ‘Thou shalt love thy neighbour -as thyself,’ is the same as in the exploded pages of our author,—‘He to -whom we can do most good.’ In determining this point, we were not to be -influenced by any extrinsic or collateral considerations, by our own -predilections, or the expectations of others, by our obligations to them -or any services they might be able to render us, by the climate they -were born in, by the house they lived in, by rank or religion, or party, -or personal ties, but by the abstract merits, the pure and unbiassed -justice of the case. The artificial helps and checks to moral conduct -were set aside as spurious and unnecessary, and we came at once to the -grand and simple question—‘In what manner we could best contribute to -the greatest possible good?’ This was the paramount obligation in all -cases whatever, from which we had no right to free ourselves upon any -idle or formal pretext, and of which each person was to judge for -himself, under the infallible authority of his own opinion and the -inviolable sanction of his self-approbation. ‘There was the rub that -made _philosophy_ of so short life!’ Mr. Godwin’s definition of morals -was the same as the admired one of law, _reason without passion_; but -with the unlimited scope of private opinion, and in a boundless field of -speculation (for nothing less would satisfy the pretensions of the New -School), there was danger that the unseasoned novice might substitute -some pragmatical conceit of his own for the rule of right reason, and -mistake a heartless indifference for a superiority to more natural and -generous feelings. Our ardent and dauntless reformer followed out the -moral of the parable of the Good Samaritan into its most rigid and -repulsive consequences with a pen of steel, and let fall his -‘trenchant-blade’ on every vulnerable point of human infirmity; but -there is a want in his system of the mild and persuasive tone of the -Gospel, where ‘all is conscience and tender heart.’ Man was indeed -screwed up, by mood and figure, into a logical machine, that was to -forward the public good with the utmost punctuality and effect, and it -might go very well on smooth ground and under favourable circumstances; -but would it work up-hill or _against the grain_? It was to be feared -that the proud Temple of Reason, which at a distance and in stately -supposition shone like the palaces of the New Jerusalem, might (when -placed on actual ground) be broken up into the sordid styes of -sensuality, and the petty huckster’s shops of self-interest! Every man -(it was proposed—‘so ran the tenour of the bond’) was to be a Regulus, a -Codrus, a Cato, or a Brutus—every woman a Mother of the Gracchi. - - ‘——It was well said, - And ’tis a kind of good deed to say well.’ - -But heroes on paper might degenerate into vagabonds in practice, -Corinnas into courtezans. Thus a refined and permanent individual -attachment is intended to supply the place and avoid the inconveniences -of marriage; but vows of eternal constancy, without church security, are -found to be fragile. A member of the _ideal_ and perfect commonwealth of -letters lends another a hundred pounds for immediate and pressing use; -and when he applies for it again, the borrower has still more need of it -than he, and retains it for his own especial, which is tantamount to the -public good. The Exchequer of pure reason, like that of the State, never -refunds. The political as well as the religious fanatic appeals from the -over-weening opinion and claims of others to the highest and most -impartial tribunal, namely, his own breast. Two persons agree to live -together in Chambers on principles of pure equality and mutual -assistance—but when it comes to the push, one of them finds that the -other always insists on his fetching water from the pump in Hare-court, -and cleaning his shoes for him. A modest assurance was not the least -indispensable virtue in the new perfectibility code; and it was hence -discovered to be a scheme, like other schemes where there are all prizes -and no blanks, for the accommodation of the enterprizing and cunning, at -the expence of the credulous and honest. This broke up the system, and -left no good odour behind it! Reason has become a sort of bye-word, and -philosophy has, ‘fallen first into a fasting, then into a sadness, then -into a decline, and last, into the dissolution of which we all -complain!’ This is a worse error than the former: we may be said to have -‘lost the immortal part of ourselves, and what remains is beastly!’ - -The point of view from which this matter may be fairly considered, is -two-fold, and may be stated thus:—In the first place, it by no means -follows, because reason is found not to be the only infallible or safe -rule of conduct, that it is no rule at all; or that we are to discard it -altogether with derision and ignominy. On the contrary, if not the sole, -it is the principal ground of action; it is, ‘the guide, the stay and -anchor of our purest thoughts, and soul of all our moral being.’ In -proportion as we strengthen and expand this principle, and bring our -affections and subordinate, but perhaps more powerful motives of action -into harmony with it, it will not admit of a doubt that we advance to -the goal of perfection, and answer the ends of our creation, those ends -which not only morality enjoins, but which religion sanctions. If with -the utmost stretch of reason, man cannot (as some seemed inclined to -suppose) soar up to the God, and quit the ground of human frailty, yet, -stripped wholly of it, he sinks at once into the brute. If it cannot -stand alone, in its naked simplicity, but requires other props to -buttress it up, or ornaments to set it off; yet without it the moral -structure would fall flat and dishonoured to the ground. Private reason -is that which raises the individual above his mere animal instincts, -appetites, and passions: public reason in its gradual progress separates -the savage from the civilized state. Without the one, men would resemble -wild beasts in their dens; without the other, they would be speedily -converted into hordes of barbarians or banditti. Sir Walter Scott, in -his zeal to restore the spirit of loyalty, of passive obedience and -non-resistance as an acknowledgment for his having been created a -Baronet by a Prince of the House of Brunswick, may think it a fine thing -to return in imagination to the good old times, ‘when in Auvergne alone, -there were three hundred nobles whose most ordinary actions were -robbery, rape, and murder,’ when the castle of each Norman baron was a -strong hold from which the lordly proprietor issued to oppress and -plunder the neighbouring districts, and when the Saxon peasantry were -treated by their gay and gallant tyrants as a herd of loathsome -swine—but for our own parts, we beg to be excused; we had rather live in -the same age with the author of Waverley and Blackwood’s Magazine. -Reason is the meter and alnager in civil intercourse, by which each -person’s upstart and contradictory pretensions are weighed and approved -or found wanting, and without which it could not subsist, any more than -traffic or the exchange of commodities could be carried on without -weights and measures. It is the medium of knowledge, and the polisher of -manners, by creating common interests and ideas. Or in the words of a -contemporary writer, ‘Reason is the queen of the moral world, the soul -of the universe, the lamp of human life, the pillar of society, the -foundation of law, the beacon of nations, the golden chain let down from -heaven, which links all accountable and all intelligent natures in one -common system—and in the vain strife between fanatic innovation and -fanatic prejudice, we are exhorted to dethrone this queen of the world, -to blot out this light of the mind, to deface this fair column, to break -in pieces this golden chain! We are to discard and throw from us with -loud taunts and bitter execrations that reason, which has been the lofty -theme of the philosopher, the poet, the moralist, and the divine, whose -name was not first named to be abused by the enthusiasts of the French -Revolution, or to be blasphemed by the madder enthusiasts, the advocates -of Divine Right, but which is coeval with, and inseparable from the -nature and faculties of man—is the image of his Maker stamped upon him -at his birth, the understanding breathed into him with the breath of -life, and in the participation and improvement of which alone he is -raised above the brute creation and his own physical nature!’—The -overstrained and ridiculous pretensions of monks and ascetics were never -thought to justify a return to unbridled licence of manners, or the -throwing aside of all decency. The hypocrisy, cruelty, and fanaticism, -often attendant on peculiar professions of sanctity, have not banished -the name of religion from the world. Neither can ‘the unreasonableness -of the reason’ of some modern sciolists so ‘unreason our reason,’ as to -debar us of the benefit of this principle in future, or to disfranchise -us of the highest privilege of our nature. In the second place, if it is -admitted that Reason alone is not the sole and self-sufficient ground of -morals, it is to Mr. Godwin that we are indebted for having settled the -point. No one denied or distrusted this principle (before his time) as -the absolute judge and interpreter in all questions of difficulty; and -if this is no longer the case, it is because he has taken this -principle, and followed it into its remotest consequences with more -keenness of eye and steadiness of hand than any other expounder of -ethics. His grand work is (at least) an _experimentum crucis_ to show -the weak sides and imperfections of human reason as the sole law of -human action. By overshooting the mark, or by ‘flying an eagle flight, -forth and right on,’ he has pointed out the limit or line of separation, -between what is practicable and what is barely conceivable—by imposing -impossible tasks on the naked strength of the will, he has discovered -how far it is or is not in our power to dispense with the illusions of -sense, to resist the calls of affection, to emancipate ourselves from -the force of habit; and thus, though he has not said it himself, has -enabled others to say to the towering aspirations after good, and to the -over-bearing pride of human intellect—‘Thus far shalt thou come, and no -farther!’ Captain Parry would be thought to have rendered a service to -navigation and his country, no less by proving that there is no -North-West Passage, than if he had ascertained that there is one: so Mr. -Godwin has rendered an essential service to moral science, by attempting -(in vain) to pass the Arctic Circle and Frozen Regions, where the -understanding is no longer warmed by the affections, nor fanned by the -breeze of fancy! This is the effect of all bold, original, and powerful -thinking, that it either discovers the truth, or detects where error -lies; and the only crime with which Mr. Godwin can be charged as a -political and moral reasoner is, that he has displayed a more ardent -spirit, and a more independent activity of thought than others, in -establishing the fallacy (if fallacy it be) of an old popular prejudice -that _the Just and True were one_, by ‘championing it to the Outrance,’ -and in the final result placing the Gothic structure of human virtue on -an humbler, but a wider and safer foundation than it had hitherto -occupied in the volumes and systems of the learned. - -Mr. Godwin is an inventor in the regions of romance, as well as a -skilful and hardy explorer of those of moral truth. _Caleb Williams_ and -_St. Leon_ are two of the most splendid and impressive works of the -imagination that have appeared in our times. It is not merely that these -novels are very well for a philosopher to have produced—they are -admirable and complete in themselves, and would not lead you to suppose -that the author, who is so entirely at home in human character and -dramatic situation, had ever dabbled in logic or metaphysics. The first -of these, particularly, is a masterpiece, both as to invention and -execution. The romantic and chivalrous principle of the love of personal -fame is embodied in the finest possible manner in the character of -Falkland[36]; as in Caleb Williams (who is not the first, but the second -character in the piece) we see the very demon of curiosity personified. -Perhaps the art with which these two characters are contrived to relieve -and set off each other, has never been surpassed in any work of fiction, -with the exception of the immortal satire of Cervantes. The restless and -inquisitive spirit of Caleb Williams, in search and in possession of his -patron’s fatal secret, haunts the latter like a second conscience, -plants stings in his tortured mind, fans the flames of his jealous -ambition, struggling with agonized remorse; and the hapless but -noble-minded Falkland at length falls a martyr to the persecution of -that morbid and overpowering interest, of which his mingled virtues and -vices have rendered him the object. We conceive no one ever began Caleb -Williams that did not read it through: no one that ever read it could -possibly forget it, or speak of it after any length of time but with an -impression as if the events and feelings had been personal to himself. -This is the case also with the story of St. Leon, which, with less -dramatic interest and intensity of purpose, is set off by a more -gorgeous and flowing eloquence, and by a crown of preternatural imagery, -that waves over it like a palm-tree! It is the beauty and the charm of -Mr. Godwin’s descriptions that the reader identifies himself with the -author; and the secret of this is, that the author has identified -himself with his personages. Indeed, he has created them. They are the -proper issue of his brain, lawfully begot, not foundlings, nor the -‘bastards of his art.’ He is not an indifferent, callous spectator of -the scenes which he himself pourtrays, but without seeming to feel them. -There is no look of patchwork and plagiarism, the beggarly copiousness -of borrowed wealth; no tracery-work from worm-eaten manuscripts, from -forgotten chronicles, nor piecing out of vague traditions with fragments -and snatches of old ballads, so that the result resembles a gaudy, -staring transparency, in which you cannot distinguish the daubing of the -painter from the light that shines through the flimsy colours and gives -them brilliancy. Here all is clearly made out with strokes of the -pencil, by fair, not by factitious means. Our author takes a given -subject from nature or from books, and then fills it up with the ardent -workings of his own mind, with the teeming and audible pulses of his own -heart. The effect is entire and satisfactory in proportion. The work (so -to speak) and the author are one. We are not puzzled to decide upon -their respective pretensions. In reading Mr. Godwin’s novels, we know -what share of merit the author has in them. In reading the _Scotch -Novels_, we are perpetually embarrassed in asking ourselves this -question; and perhaps it is not altogether a false modesty that prevents -the editor from putting his name in the title-page—he is (for any thing -we know to the contrary) only a more voluminous sort of Allen-a-Dale. At -least, we may claim this advantage for the English author, that the -chains with which he rivets our attention are forged out of his own -thoughts, link by link, blow for blow, with glowing enthusiasm: we see -the genuine ore melted in the furnace of fervid feeling, and moulded -into stately and _ideal_ forms; and this is so far better than peeping -into an old iron shop, or pilfering from a dealer in marine stores! -There is one drawback, however, attending this mode of proceeding, which -attaches generally, indeed, to all originality of composition; namely, -that it has a tendency to a certain degree of monotony. He who draws -upon his own resources, easily comes to an end of his wealth. Mr. -Godwin, in all his writings, dwells upon one idea or exclusive view of a -subject, aggrandises a sentiment, exaggerates a character, or pushes an -argument to extremes, and makes up by the force of style and continuity -of feeling for what he wants in variety of incident or ease of manner. -This necessary defect is observable in his best works, and is still more -so in Fleetwood and Mandeville; the one of which, compared with his more -admired performances, is mawkish, and the other morbid. Mr. Godwin is -also an essayist, an historian—in short, what is he not, that belongs to -the character of an indefatigable and accomplished author? His _Life of -Chaucer_ would have given celebrity to any man of letters possessed of -three thousand a year, with leisure to write quartos: as the legal -acuteness displayed in his _Remarks on Judge Eyre’s Charge to the Jury_ -would have raised any briefless barrister to the height of his -profession. This temporary effusion did more—it gave a turn to the -trials for high treason in the year 1794, and possibly saved the lives -of twelve innocent individuals, marked out as political victims to the -Moloch of Legitimacy, which then skulked behind a British throne, and -had not yet dared to stalk forth (as it has done since) from its -lurking-place, in the face of day, to brave the opinion of the world. If -it had then glutted its maw with its intended prey (the sharpness of Mr. -Godwin’s pen cut the legal cords with which it was attempted to bind -them), it might have done so sooner, and with more lasting effect. The -world do not know (and we are not sure but the intelligence may startle -Mr. Godwin himself), that he is the author of a volume of Sermons, and -of a life of Chatham.[37] - -Mr. Fawcett (an old friend and fellow-student of our author, and who -always spoke of his writings with admiration, tinctured with wonder) -used to mention a circumstance with respect to the last-mentioned work, -which may throw some light on the history and progress of Mr. Godwin’s -mind. He was anxious to make his biographical account as complete as he -could, and applied for this purpose to many of his acquaintance to -furnish him with anecdotes or to suggest criticisms. Amongst others Mr. -Fawcett repeated to him what he thought a striking passage in a speech -on _General Warrants_ delivered by Lord Chatham, at which he (Mr. -Fawcett) had been present. ‘Every man’s house’ (said this emphatic -thinker and speaker) ‘has been called his castle. And why is it called -his castle? Is it because it is defended by a wall, because it is -surrounded with a moat? No, it may be nothing more than a straw-built -shed. It may be open to all the elements: the wind may enter in, the -rain may enter in—but the king _cannot_ enter in!’ His friend thought -that the point was here palpable enough: but when he came to read the -printed volume, he found it thus _transposed_: ‘Every man’s house is his -castle. And why is it called so? Is it because it is defended by a wall, -because it is surrounded with a moat? No, it may be nothing more than a -straw-built shed. It may be exposed to all the elements: the rain may -enter into it, _all the winds of Heaven may whistle round it_, but the -king cannot, &c.’ This was what Fawcett called a defect of _natural -imagination_. He at the same time admitted that Mr. Godwin had improved -his native sterility in this respect; or atoned for it by incessant -activity of mind and by accumulated stores of thought and powers of -language. In fact, his _forte_ is not the spontaneous, but the voluntary -exercise of talent. He fixes his ambition on a high point of excellence, -and spares no pains or time in attaining it. He has less of the -appearance of a man of genius, than any one who has given such decided -and ample proofs of it. He is ready only on reflection: dangerous only -at the rebound. He gathers himself up, and strains every nerve and -faculty with deliberate aim to some heroic and dazzling achievement of -intellect: but he must make a career before he flings himself, armed, -upon the enemy, or he is sure to be unhorsed. Or he resembles an -eight-day clock that must be wound up long before it can strike. -Therefore, his powers of conversation are but limited. He has neither -acuteness of remark, nor a flow of language, both which might be -expected from his writings, as these are no less distinguished by a -sustained and impassioned tone of declamation than by novelty of opinion -or brilliant tracks of invention. In company, Horne Tooke used to make a -mere child of him—or of any man! Mr. Godwin liked this treatment,[38] -and indeed it is his foible to fawn on those who use him _cavalierly_, -and to be cavalier to those who express an undue or unqualified -admiration of him. He looks up with unfeigned respect to acknowledged -reputation (but then it must be very well ascertained before he admits -it)—and has a favourite hypothesis that Understanding and Virtue are the -same thing. Mr. Godwin possesses a high degree of philosophical candour, -and studiously paid the homage of his pen and person to Mr. Malthus, Sir -James Mackintosh, and Dr. Parr, for their unsparing attacks on him; but -woe to any poor devil who had the hardihood to defend him against them! -In private, the author of _Political Justice_ at one time reminded those -who knew him of the metaphysician engrafted on the Dissenting Minister. -There was a dictatorial, captious, quibbling pettiness of manner. He -lost this with the first blush and awkwardness of popularity, which -surprised him in the retirement of his study; and he has since, with the -wear and tear of society, from being too pragmatical, become somewhat -too careless. He is, at present, as easy as an old glove. Perhaps there -is a little attention to effect in this, and he wishes to appear a foil -to himself. His best moments are with an intimate acquaintance or two, -when he gossips in a fine vein about old authors, Clarendon’s _History -of the Rebellion_, or Burnet’s _History of his own Time_; and you -perceive by your host’s talk, as by the taste of seasoned wine, that he -has a _cellarage_ in his understanding! Mr. Godwin also has a correct -_acquired_ taste in poetry and the drama. He relishes Donne and Ben -Jonson, and recites a passage from either with an agreeable mixture of -pedantry and _bonhommie_. He is not one of those who do not grow wiser -with opportunity and reflection: he changes his opinions, and changes -them for the better. The alteration of his taste in poetry, from an -exclusive admiration of the age of Queen Anne to an almost equally -exclusive one of that of Elizabeth, is, we suspect, owing to Mr. -Coleridge, who some twenty years ago, threw a great stone into the -standing pool of criticism, which splashed some persons with the mud, -but which gave a motion to the surface and a reverberation to the -neighbouring echoes, which has not since subsided. In common company, -Mr. Godwin either goes to sleep himself, or sets others to sleep. He is -at present engaged in a History of the Commonwealth of England.—_Esto -perpetua!_ In size Mr. Godwin is below the common stature, nor is his -deportment graceful or animated. His face is, however, fine, with an -expression of placid temper and recondite thought. He is not unlike the -common portraits of Locke. There is a very admirable likeness of him by -Mr. Northcote, which with a more heroic and dignified air, only does -justice to the profound sagacity and benevolent aspirations of our -author’s mind. Mr. Godwin has kept the best company of his time, but he -has survived most of the celebrated persons with whom he lived in habits -of intimacy. He speaks of them with enthusiasm and with discrimination; -and sometimes dwells with peculiar delight on a day passed at John -Kemble’s in company with Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Curran, Mrs. Wollstonecraft -and Mrs. Inchbald, when the conversation took a most animated turn, and -the subject was of Love. Of all these our author is the only one -remaining. Frail tenure, on which human life and genius are lent us for -a while to improve or to enjoy! - - - - - MR. COLERIDGE - - -The present is an age of talkers, and not of doers; and the reason is, -that the world is growing old. We are so far advanced in the Arts and -Sciences, that we live in retrospect, and doat on past achievements. The -accumulation of knowledge has been so great, that we are lost in wonder -at the height it has reached, instead of attempting to climb or add to -it; while the variety of objects distracts and dazzles the looker-on. -What _niche_ remains unoccupied? What path untried? What is the use of -doing anything, unless we could do better than all those who have gone -before us? What hope is there of this? We are like those who have been -to see some noble monument of art, who are content to admire without -thinking of rivalling it; or like guests after a feast, who praise the -hospitality of the donor ‘and thank the bounteous Pan’—perhaps carrying -away some trifling fragments; or like the spectators of a mighty battle, -who still hear its sound afar off, and the clashing of armour and the -neighing of the war-horse and the shout of victory is in their ears, -like the rushing of innumerable waters! - -Mr. Coleridge has ‘a mind reflecting ages past’; his voice is like the -echo of the congregated roar of the ‘dark rearward and abyss’ of -thought. He who has seen a mouldering tower by the side of a chrystal -lake, hid by the mist, but glittering in the wave below, may conceive -the dim, gleaming, uncertain intelligence of his eye: he who has marked -the evening clouds uprolled (a world of vapours), has seen the picture -of his mind, unearthly, unsubstantial, with gorgeous tints and -ever-varying forms— - - ‘That which was now a horse, even with a thought - The rack dislimns, and makes it indistinct - As water is in water.’ - -Our author’s mind is (as he himself might express it) _tangential_. -There is no subject on which he has not touched, none on which he has -rested. With an understanding fertile, subtle, expansive, ‘quick, -forgetive, apprehensive,’ beyond all living precedent, few traces of it -will perhaps remain. He lends himself to all impressions alike; he gives -up his mind and liberty of thought to none. He is a general lover of art -and science, and wedded to no one in particular. He pursues knowledge as -a mistress, with outstretched hands and winged speed; but as he is about -to embrace her, his Daphne turns—alas! not to a laurel! Hardly a -speculation has been left on record from the earliest time, but it is -loosely folded up in Mr. Coleridge’s memory, like a rich, but somewhat -tattered piece of tapestry: we might add (with more seeming than real -extravagance), that scarce a thought can pass through the mind of man, -but its sound has at some time or other passed over his head with -rustling pinions. On whatever question or author you speak, he is -prepared to take up the theme with advantage—from Peter Abelard down to -Thomas Moore, from the subtlest metaphysics to the politics of the -_Courier_. There is no man of genius, in whose praise he descants, but -the critic seems to stand above the author, and ‘what in him is weak, to -strengthen, what is low, to raise and support’: nor is there any work of -genius that does not come out of his hands like an illuminated Missal, -sparkling even in its defects. If Mr. Coleridge had not been the most -impressive talker of his age, he would probably have been the finest -writer; but he lays down his pen to make sure of an auditor, and -mortgages the admiration of posterity for the stare of an idler. If he -had not been a poet, he would have been a powerful logician; if he had -not dipped his wing in the Unitarian controversy, he might have soared -to the very summit of fancy. But in writing verse, he is trying to -subject the Muse to _transcendental_ theories: in his abstract -reasoning, he misses his way by strewing it with flowers. All that he -has done of moment, he had done twenty years ago: since then, he may be -said to have lived on the sound of his own voice. Mr. Coleridge is too -rich in intellectual wealth, to need to task himself to any drudgery: he -has only to draw the sliders of his imagination, and a thousand subjects -expand before him, startling him with their brilliancy, or losing -themselves in endless obscurity— - - ‘And by the force of blear illusion, - They draw him on to his confusion.’ - -What is the little he could add to the stock, compared with the -countless stores that lie about him, that he should stoop to pick up a -name, or to polish an idle fancy? He walks abroad in the majesty of an -universal understanding, eyeing the ‘rich strond,’ or golden sky above -him, and ‘goes sounding on his way,’ in eloquent accents, uncompelled -and free! - -Persons of the greatest capacity are often those, who for this reason do -the least; for surveying themselves from the highest point of view, -amidst the infinite variety of the universe, their own share in it seems -trifling, and scarce worth a thought, and they prefer the contemplation -of all that is, or has been, or can be, to the making a coil about doing -what, when done, is no better than vanity. It is hard to concentrate all -our attention and efforts on one pursuit, except from ignorance of -others; and without this concentration of our faculties, no great -progress can be made in any one thing. It is not merely that the mind is -not capable of the effort; it does not think the effort worth making. -Action is one; but thought is manifold. He whose restless eye glances -through the wide compass of nature and art, will not consent to have -‘his own nothings monstered’: but he must do this, before he can give -his whole soul to them. The mind, after ‘letting contemplation have its -fill,’ or - - ‘Sailing with supreme dominion - Through the azure deep of air,’ - -sinks down on the ground, breathless, exhausted, powerless, inactive; or -if it must have some vent to its feelings, seeks the most easy and -obvious; is soothed by friendly flattery, lulled by the murmur of -immediate applause, thinks as it were aloud, and babbles in its dreams! -A scholar (so to speak) is a more disinterested and abstracted character -than a mere author. The first looks at the numberless volumes of a -library, and says, ‘All these are mine’: the other points to a single -volume (perhaps it may be an immortal one) and says, ‘My name is written -on the back of it.’ This is a puny and groveling ambition, beneath the -lofty amplitude of Mr. Coleridge’s mind. No, he revolves in his wayward -soul, or utters to the passing wind, or discourses to his own shadow, -things mightier and more various!—Let us draw the curtain, and unlock -the shrine. - -Learning rocked him in his cradle, and while yet a child, - - ‘He lisped in numbers, for the numbers came.’ - -At sixteen he wrote his _Ode on Chatterton_, and he still reverts to -that period with delight, not so much as it relates to himself (for that -string of his own early promise of fame rather jars than otherwise) but -as exemplifying the youth of a poet. Mr. Coleridge talks of himself, -without being an egotist, for in him the individual is always merged in -the abstract and general. He distinguished himself at school and at the -University by his knowledge of the classics, and gained several prizes -for Greek epigrams. How many men are there (great scholars, celebrated -names in literature) who having done the same thing in their youth, have -no other idea all the rest of their lives but of this achievement, of a -fellowship and dinner, and who, installed in academic honours, would -look down on our author as a mere strolling bard! At Christ’s Hospital, -where he was brought up, he was the idol of those among his -schoolfellows, who mingled with their bookish studies the music of -thought and of humanity; and he was usually attended round the cloisters -by a group of these (inspiring and inspired) whose hearts, even then, -burnt within them as he talked, and where the sounds yet linger to mock -ELIA on his way, still turning pensive to the past! One of the finest -and rarest parts of Mr. Coleridge’s conversation, is when he expatiates -on the Greek tragedians (not that he is not well acquainted, when he -pleases, with the epic poets, or the philosophers, or orators, or -historians of antiquity)—on the subtle reasonings and melting pathos of -Euripides, on the harmonious gracefulness of Sophocles, tuning his -love-laboured song, like sweetest warblings from a sacred grove; on the -high-wrought trumpet-tongued eloquence of Æschylus, whose Prometheus, -above all, is like an Ode to Fate, and a pleading with Providence, his -thoughts being let loose as his body is chained on his solitary rock, -and his afflicted will (the emblem of mortality) - - ‘Struggling in vain with ruthless destiny.’ - -As the impassioned critic speaks and rises in his theme, you would think -you heard the voice of the Man hated by the Gods, contending with the -wild winds as they roar, and his eye glitters with the spirit of -Antiquity! - -Next, he was engaged with Hartley’s tribes of mind, ‘etherial braid, -thought-woven,’—and he busied himself for a year or two with vibrations -and vibratiuncles and the great law of association that binds all things -in its mystic chain, and the doctrine of Necessity (the mild teacher of -Charity) and the Millennium, anticipative of a life to come—and he -plunged deep into the controversy on Matter and Spirit, and, as an -escape from Dr. Priestley’s Materialism, where he felt himself -imprisoned by the logician’s spell, like Ariel in the cloven pine-tree, -he became suddenly enamoured of Bishop Berkeley’s fairy-world,[39] and -used in all companies to build the universe, like a brave poetical -fiction, of fine words—and he was deep-read in Malebranche, and in -Cudworth’s Intellectual System (a huge pile of learning, unwieldy, -enormous) and in Lord Brook’s hieroglyphic theories, and in Bishop -Butler’s Sermons, and in the Duchess of Newcastle’s fantastic folios, -and in Clarke and South and Tillotson, and all the fine thinkers and -masculine reasoners of that age—and Leibnitz’s _Pre-Established Harmony_ -reared its arch above his head, like the rainbow in the cloud, -covenanting with the hopes of man—and then he fell plump, ten thousand -fathoms down (but his wings saved him harmless) into the _hortus siccus_ -of Dissent, where he pared religion down to the standard of reason, and -stripped faith of mystery, and preached Christ crucified and the Unity -of the Godhead, and so dwelt for a while in the spirit with John Huss -and Jerome of Prague and Socinus and old John Zisca, and ran through -Neal’s History of the Puritans, and Calamy’s Non-Conformists’ Memorial, -having like thoughts and passions with them—but then Spinoza became his -God, and he took up the vast chain of being in his hand, and the round -world became the centre and the soul of all things in some shadowy -sense, forlorn of meaning, and around him he beheld the living traces -and the sky-pointing proportions of the mighty Pan—but poetry redeemed -him from this spectral philosophy, and he bathed his heart in beauty, -and gazed at the golden light of heaven, and drank of the spirit of the -universe, and wandered at eve by fairy-stream or fountain, - - ‘——When he saw nought but beauty, - When he heard the voice of that Almighty One - In every breeze that blew, or wave that murmured’— - -and wedded with truth in Plato’s shade, and in the writings of Proclus -and Plotinus saw the ideas of things in the eternal mind, and unfolded -all mysteries with the Schoolmen and fathomed the depths of Duns Scotus -and Thomas Aquinas, and entered the third heaven with Jacob Behmen, and -walked hand in hand with Swedenborg through the pavilions of the New -Jerusalem, and sung his faith in the promise and in the word in his -_Religious Musings_—and lowering himself from that dizzy height, poised -himself on Milton’s wings, and spread out his thoughts in charity with -the glad prose of Jeremy Taylor, and wept over Bowles’s Sonnets, and -studied Cowper’s blank verse, and betook himself to Thomson’s Castle of -Indolence, and sported with the wits of Charles the Second’s days and of -Queen Anne, and relished Swift’s style and that of the John Bull -(Arbuthnot’s we mean, not Mr. Croker’s), and dallied with the British -Essayists and Novelists, and knew all qualities of more modern writers -with a learned spirit, Johnson, and Goldsmith, and Junius, and Burke, -and Godwin, and the Sorrows of Werter, and Jean Jacques Rousseau, and -Voltaire, and Marivaux, and Crebillon, and thousands more—now ‘laughed -with Rabelais in his easy chair’ or pointed to Hogarth, or afterwards -dwelt on Claude’s classic scenes, or spoke with rapture of Raphael, and -compared the women at Rome to figures that had walked out of his -pictures, or visited the Oratory of Pisa, and described the works of -Giotto and Ghirlandaio and Massaccio, and gave the moral of the picture -of the Triumph of Death, where the beggars and the wretched invoke his -dreadful dart, but the rich and mighty of the earth quail and shrink -before it; and in that land of siren sights and sounds, saw a dance of -peasant girls, and was charmed with lutes and gondolas,—or wandered into -Germany and lost himself in the labyrinths of the Hartz Forest and of -the Kantean philosophy, and amongst the cabalistic names of Fichté and -Schelling and Lessing, and God knows who—this was long after, but all -the former while, he had nerved his heart and filled his eyes with -tears, as he hailed the rising orb of liberty, since quenched in -darkness and in blood, and had kindled his affections at the blaze of -the French Revolution, and sang for joy when the towers of the Bastile -and the proud places of the insolent and the oppressor fell, and would -have floated his bark, freighted with fondest fancies, across the -Atlantic wave with Southey and others to seek for peace and freedom— - - ‘In Philarmonia’s undivided dale!’ - -Alas! ‘Frailty, thy name is _Genius_!’—What is become of all this mighty -heap of hope, of thought, of learning, and humanity? It has ended in -swallowing doses of oblivion and in writing paragraphs in the -_Courier_.—Such and so little is the mind of man! - -It was not to be supposed that Mr. Coleridge could keep on at the rate -he set off; he could not realize all he knew or thought, and less could -not fix his desultory ambition; other stimulants supplied the place, and -kept up the intoxicating dream, the fever and the madness of his early -impressions. Liberty (the philosopher’s and the poet’s bride) had fallen -a victim, meanwhile, to the murderous practices of the hag, Legitimacy. -Proscribed by court-hirelings, too romantic for the herd of vulgar -politicians, our enthusiast stood at bay, and at last turned on the -pivot of a subtle casuistry to the _unclean side_: but his discursive -reason would not let him trammel himself into a poet-laureate or -stamp-distributor, and he stopped, ere he had quite passed that -well-known ‘bourne from whence no traveller returns’—and so has sunk -into torpid, uneasy repose, tantalized by useless resources, haunted by -vain imaginings, his lips idly moving, but his heart for ever still, or, -as the shattered chords vibrate of themselves, making melancholy music -to the ear of memory! Such is the fate of genius in an age, when in the -unequal contest with sovereign wrong, every man is ground to powder who -is not either a born slave, or who does not willingly and at once offer -up the yearnings of humanity and the dictates of reason as a welcome -sacrifice to besotted prejudice and loathsome power. - -Of all Mr. Coleridge’s productions, the _Ancient Mariner_ is the only -one that we could with confidence put into any person’s hands, on whom -we wished to impress a favourable idea of his extraordinary powers. Let -whatever other objections be made to it, it is unquestionably a work of -genius—of wild, irregular, overwhelming imagination, and has that rich, -varied movement in the verse, which gives a distant idea of the lofty or -changeful tones of Mr. Coleridge’s voice. In the _Christabel_, there is -one splendid passage on divided friendship. The _Translation of -Schiller’s Wallenstein_ is also a masterly production in its kind, -faithful and spirited. Among his smaller pieces there are occasional -bursts of pathos and fancy, equal to what we might expect from him; but -these form the exception, and not the rule. Such, for instance, is his -affecting Sonnet to the author of the Robbers. - - ‘Schiller! that hour I would have wish’d to die, - If through the shudd’ring midnight I had sent - From the dark dungeon of the tower time-rent, - That fearful voice, a famish’d father’s cry— - That in no after-moment aught less vast - Might stamp me mortal! A triumphant shout - Black horror scream’d, and all her goblin rout - From the more with’ring scene diminish’d pass’d. - Ah! Bard tremendous in sublimity! - Could I behold thee in thy loftier mood, - Wand’ring at eve, with finely frenzied eye, - Beneath some vast old tempest-swinging wood! - Awhile, with mute awe gazing, I would brood, - Then weep aloud in a wild ecstasy.’ - -His Tragedy, entitled _Remorse_, is full of beautiful and striking -passages, but it does not place the author in the first rank of dramatic -writers. But if Mr. Coleridge’s works do not place him in that rank, -they injure instead of conveying a just idea of the man, for he himself -is certainly in the first class of general intellect. - -If our author’s poetry is inferior to his conversation, his prose is -utterly abortive. Hardly a gleam is to be found in it of the brilliancy -and richness of those stores of thought and language that he pours out -incessantly, when they are lost like drops of water in the ground. The -principal work, in which he has attempted to embody his general views of -things, is the FRIEND, of which, though it contains some noble passages -and fine trains of thought, prolixity and obscurity are the most -frequent characteristics. - -No two persons can be conceived more opposite in character or genius -than the subject of the present and of the preceding sketch. Mr. Godwin, -with less natural capacity, and with fewer acquired advantages, by -concentrating his mind on some given object, and doing what he had to do -with all his might, has accomplished much, and will leave more than one -monument of a powerful intellect behind him; Mr. Coleridge, by -dissipating his, and dallying with every subject by turns, has done -little or nothing to justify to the world or to posterity, the high -opinion which all who have ever heard him converse, or known him -intimately, with one accord entertain of him. Mr. Godwin’s faculties -have kept at home, and plied their task in the workshop of the brain, -diligently and effectually: Mr. Coleridge’s have gossiped away their -time, and gadded about from house to house, as if life’s business were -to melt the hours in listless talk. Mr. Godwin is intent on a subject, -only as it concerns himself and his reputation; he works it out as a -matter of duty, and discards from his mind whatever does not forward his -main object as impertinent and vain. Mr. Coleridge, on the other hand, -delights in nothing but episodes and digressions, neglects whatever he -undertakes to perform, and can act only on spontaneous impulses, without -object or method. ‘He cannot be constrained by mastery.’ While he should -be occupied with a given pursuit, he is thinking of a thousand other -things; a thousand tastes, a thousand objects tempt him, and distract -his mind, which keeps open house, and entertains all comers; and after -being fatigued and amused with morning calls from idle visitors, finds -the day consumed and its business unconcluded. Mr. Godwin, on the -contrary, is somewhat exclusive and unsocial in his habits of mind, -entertains no company but what he gives his whole time and attention to, -and wisely writes over the doors of his understanding, his fancy, and -his senses—‘No admittance except on business.’ He has none of that -fastidious refinement and false delicacy, which might lead him to -balance between the endless variety of modern attainments. He does not -throw away his life (nor a single half-hour of it) in adjusting the -claims of different accomplishments, and in choosing between them or -making himself master of them all. He sets about his task, (whatever it -may be) and goes through it with spirit and fortitude. He has the -happiness to think an author the greatest character in the world, and -himself the greatest author in it. Mr. Coleridge, in writing an -harmonious stanza, would stop to consider whether there was not more -grace and beauty in a _Pas de trois_, and would not proceed till he had -resolved this question by a chain of metaphysical reasoning without end. -Not so Mr. Godwin. That is best to him, which he can do best. He does -not waste himself in vain aspirations and effeminate sympathies. He is -blind, deaf, insensible to all but the trump of Fame. Plays, operas, -painting, music, ball-rooms, wealth, fashion, titles, lords, ladies, -touch him not—all these are no more to him than to the magician in his -cell, and he writes on to the end of the chapter, through good report -and evil report. _Pingo in eternitatem_—is his motto. He neither envies -nor admires what others are, but is contented to be what he is, and -strives to do the utmost he can. Mr. Coleridge has flirted with the -Muses as with a set of mistresses: Mr. Godwin has been married twice, to -Reason and to Fancy, and has to boast no short-lived progeny by each. So -to speak, he has _valves_ belonging to his mind, to regulate the -quantity of gas admitted into it, so that like the bare, unsightly, but -well-compacted steam-vessel, it cuts its liquid way, and arrives at its -promised end: while Mr. Coleridge’s bark, ‘taught with the little -nautilus to sail,’ the sport of every breath, dancing to every wave, - - ‘Youth at its prow, and Pleasure at its helm,’ - -flutters its gaudy pennons in the air, glitters in the sun, but we wait -in vain to hear of its arrival in the destined harbour. Mr. Godwin, with -less variety and vividness, with less subtlety and susceptibility both -of thought and feeling, has had firmer nerves, a more determined -purpose, a more comprehensive grasp of his subject, and the results are -as we find them. Each has met with his reward: for justice has, after -all, been done to the pretensions of each; and we must, in all cases, -use means to ends! - -It was a misfortune to any man of talent to be born in the latter end of -the last century. Genius stopped the way of Legitimacy, and therefore it -was to be abated, crushed, or set aside as a nuisance. The spirit of the -monarchy was at variance with the spirit of the age. The flame of -liberty, the light of intellect, was to be extinguished with the -sword—or with slander, whose edge is sharper than the sword. The war -between power and reason was carried on by the first of these abroad—by -the last at home. No quarter was given (then or now) by the -Government-critics, the authorised censors of the press, to those who -followed the dictates of independence, who listened to the voice of the -tempter, Fancy. Instead of gathering fruits and flowers, immortal fruits -and amaranthine flowers, they soon found themselves beset not only by a -host of prejudices, but assailed with all the engines of power, by -nicknames, by lies, by all the arts of malice, interest and hypocrisy, -without the possibility of their defending themselves ‘from the pelting -of the pitiless storm,’ that poured down upon them from the strong-holds -of corruption and authority. The philosophers, the dry abstract -reasoners, submitted to this reverse pretty well, and armed themselves -with patience ‘as with triple steel,’ to bear discomfiture, persecution, -and disgrace. But the poets, the creatures of sympathy, could not stand -the frowns both of king and people. They did not like to be shut out -when places and pensions, when the critic’s praises, and the -laurel-wreath were about to be distributed. They did not stomach being -_sent to Coventry_, and Mr. Coleridge sounded a retreat for them by the -help of casuistry, and a musical voice.—‘His words were hollow, but they -pleased the ear’ of his friends of the Lake School, who turned back -disgusted and panic-struck from the dry desert of unpopularity, like -Hassan the camel-driver, - - ‘And curs’d the hour, and curs’d the luckless day, - When first from Shiraz’ walls they bent their way.’ - -They are safely inclosed there, but Mr. Coleridge did not enter with -them; pitching his tent upon the barren waste without, and having no -abiding place nor city of refuge! - - - - - REV. MR. IRVING - - -This gentleman has gained an almost unprecedented, and not an altogether -unmerited popularity as a preacher. As he is, perhaps, though a burning -and a shining light, not ‘one of the fixed,’ we shall take this -opportunity of discussing his merits, while he is at his meridian -height; and in doing so, shall ‘nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in -malice.’ - -Few circumstances show the prevailing and preposterous rage for novelty -in a more striking point of view, than the success of Mr. Irving’s -oratory. People go to hear him in crowds, and come away with a mixture -of delight and astonishment—they go again to see if the effect will -continue, and send others to try to find out the mystery—and in the -noisy conflict between extravagant encomiums and splenetic objections, -the true secret escapes observation, which is, that the whole thing is, -nearly from beginning to end, a _transposition of ideas_. If the subject -of these remarks had come out as a player, with all his advantages of -figure, voice, and action, we think he would have failed; if, as a -preacher, he had kept within the strict bounds of pulpit-oratory, he -would scarcely have been much distinguished among his Calvinistic -brethren: as a mere author, he would have excited attention rather by -his quaintness and affectation of an obsolete style and mode of -thinking, than by any thing else. But he has contrived to jumble these -several characters together in an unheard-of and unwarranted manner, and -the fascination is altogether irresistible. Our Caledonian divine is -equally an anomaly in religion, in literature, in personal appearance, -and in public speaking. To hear a person spout Shakspeare on the stage -is nothing—the charm is nearly worn out—but to hear any one spout -Shakspeare (and that not in a sneaking under-tone, but at the top of his -voice, and with the full breadth of his chest) from a Calvinistic -pulpit, is new and wonderful. The _Fancy_ have lately lost something of -their gloss in public estimation, and after the last fight, few would go -far to see a Neat or a Spring set-to;—but to see a man who is able to -enter the ring with either of them, or brandish a quarter-staff with -Friar Tuck, or a broad-sword with Shaw the Life-guard’s man, stand up in -a strait-laced old-fashioned pulpit, and bandy dialectics with modern -philosophers, or give a _cross-buttock_ to a cabinet minister, there is -something in a sight like this also, that is a cure for sore eyes. It is -as if Crib or Molyneux had turned Methodist parson, or as if a -Patagonian savage were to come forward as the patron-saint of -Evangelical religion. Again, the doctrine of eternal punishment was one -of the staple arguments with which, everlastingly drawled out, the old -school of Presbyterian divines used to keep their audiences awake, or -lull them to sleep; but to which people of taste and fashion paid little -attention, as inelegant and barbarous, till Mr. Irving, with his -cast-iron features and sledge-hammer blows, puffing like a grim Vulcan, -set to work to forge more classic thunderbolts, and kindle the expiring -flames anew with the very sweepings of sceptical and infidel libraries, -so as to excite a pleasing horror in the female part of his -congregation. In short, our popular declaimer has, contrary to the -Scripture-caution, put new wine into old bottles, or new cloth on old -garments. He has, with an unlimited and daring licence, mixed the sacred -and the profane together, the carnal and the spiritual man, the -petulance of the bar with the dogmatism of the pulpit, the theatrical -and theological, the modern and the obsolete;—what wonder that this -splendid piece of patchwork, splendid by contradiction and contrast, has -delighted some and confounded others? The more serious part of his -congregation indeed complain, though not bitterly, that their pastor has -converted their meeting-house into a play-house: but when a lady of -quality, introducing herself and her three daughters to the preacher, -assures him that they have been to all the most fashionable places of -resort, the opera, the theatre, assemblies, Miss Macauley’s readings, -and Exeter-Change, and have been equally entertained no where else, we -apprehend that no remonstrances of a committee of ruling-elders will be -able to bring him to his senses again, or make him forego such sweet, -but ill-assorted praise. What we mean to insist upon is, that Mr. Irving -owes his triumphant success, not to any one quality for which he has -been extolled, but to a combination of qualities, the more striking in -their immediate effect, in proportion as they are unlooked-for and -heterogeneous, like the violent opposition of light and shade in a -picture. We shall endeavour to explain this view of the subject more at -large. - -Mr. Irving, then, is no common or mean man. He has four or five -qualities, possessed in a moderate or in a paramount degree, which, -added or multiplied together, fill up the important space he occupies in -the public eye. Mr. Irving’s intellect itself is of a superior order; he -has undoubtedly both talents and acquirements beyond the ordinary run of -every-day preachers. These alone, however, we hold, would not account -for a twentieth part of the effect he has produced: they would have -lifted him perhaps out of the mire and slough of sordid obscurity, but -would never have launched him into the ocean-stream of popularity, in -which he ‘lies floating many a rood’;—but to these he adds uncommon -height, a graceful figure and action, a clear and powerful voice, a -striking, if not a fine face, a bold and fiery spirit, and a most -portentous obliquity of vision, which throw him to an immeasurable -distance beyond all competition, and effectually relieve whatever there -might be of common-place or bombast in his style of composition. Put the -case that Mr. Irving had been five feet high—Would he ever have been -heard of, or, as he does now, have ‘bestrode the world like a Colossus?’ -No, the thing speaks for itself. He would in vain have lifted his -Lilliputian arm to Heaven, people would have laughed at his -monkey-tricks. Again, had he been as tall as he is, but had wanted other -recommendations, he would have been nothing. - - ‘The player’s province they but vainly try, - Who want these powers, deportment, voice, and eye.’ - -Conceive a rough, ugly, shock-headed Scotchman, standing up in the -Caledonian Chapel, and dealing ‘damnation round the land’ in a broad -northern dialect, and with a harsh, screaking voice, what ear polite, -what smile serene would have hailed the barbarous prodigy, or not -consigned him to utter neglect and derision? But the Rev. Edward Irving, -with all his native wildness, ‘hath a smooth aspect framed to make -women’ saints; his very unusual size and height are carried off and -moulded into elegance by the most admirable symmetry of form and ease of -gesture; his sable locks, his clear iron-grey complexion, and firm-set -features, turn the raw, uncouth Scotchman into the likeness of a noble -Italian picture; and even his distortion of sight only redeems the -otherwise ‘faultless monster’ within the bounds of humanity, and, when -admiration is exhausted and curiosity ceases, excites a new interest by -leading to the idle question whether it is an advantage to the preacher -or not. Farther, give him all his actual and remarkable advantages of -body and mind, let him be as tall, as strait, as dark and clear of skin, -as much at his ease, as silver-tongued, as eloquent and as argumentative -as he is, yet with all these, and without a little charlatanry to set -them off he had been nothing. He might, keeping within the rigid line of -his duty and professed calling, have preached on for ever; he might have -divided the old-fashioned doctrines of election, grace, reprobation, -predestination, into his sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth heads, -and his _lastly_ have been looked for as a ‘consummation devoutly to be -wished’; he might have defied the devil and all his works, and by the -help of a loud voice and strong-set person— - - ‘A lusty man to ben an Abbot able;’— - -have increased his own congregation, and been quoted among the godly as -a powerful preacher of the word; but in addition to this, he went out of -his way to attack Jeremy Bentham, and the town was up in arms. The thing -was new. He thus wiped the stain of musty ignorance and formal bigotry -out of his style. Mr. Irving must have something superior in him, to -look over the shining close-packed heads of his congregation to have a -hit at the _Great Jurisconsult_ in his study. He next, ere the report of -the former blow had subsided, made a lunge at Mr. Brougham, and glanced -an eye at Mr. Canning; _mystified_ Mr. Coleridge, and _stultified_ Lord -Liverpool in his place—in the Gallery. It was rare sport to see him, -‘like an eagle in a dovecote, flutter the Volscians in Corioli.’ He has -found out the secret of attracting by repelling. Those whom he is likely -to attack are curious to hear what he says of them: they go again, to -show that they do not mind it. It is no less interesting to the -bystanders, who like to witness this sort of _onslaught_—like a charge -of cavalry, the shock, and the resistance. Mr. Irving has, in fact, -without leave asked or a licence granted, converted the Caledonian -Chapel into a Westminster Forum or Debating Society, with the sanctity -of religion added to it. Our spirited polemic is not contented to defend -the citadel of orthodoxy against all impugners, and shut himself up in -texts of Scripture and huge volumes of the Commentators as an -impregnable fortress;—he merely makes use of the stronghold of religion -as a resting-place, from which he sallies forth, armed with modern -topics and with penal fire, like Achilles of old rushing from the -Grecian tents, against the adversaries of God and man. Peter Aretine is -said to have laid the Princes of Europe under contribution by penning -satires against them: so Mr. Irving keeps the public in awe by insulting -all their favourite idols. He does not spare their politicians, their -rulers, their moralists, their poets, their players, their critics, -their reviewers, their magazine-writers; he levels their resorts of -business, their places of amusement, at a blow—their cities, churches, -palaces, ranks and professions, refinements, and elegances—and leaves -nothing standing but himself, a mighty landmark in a degenerate age, -overlooking the wide havoc he has made! He makes war upon all arts and -sciences, upon the faculties and nature of man, on his vices and his -virtues, on all existing institutions, and all possible improvements, -that nothing may be left but the Kirk of Scotland, and that he may be -the head of it. He literally sends a challenge to all London in the name -of the KING of HEAVEN, to evacuate its streets, to disperse its -population, to lay aside its employments, to burn its wealth, to -renounce its vanities and pomp; and for what?—that he may enter in as -the _King of Glory_; or after enforcing his threat with the -battering-ram of logic, the grape-shot of rhetoric, and the cross-fire -of his double vision, reduce the British metropolis to a Scottish heath, -with a few miserable hovels upon it, where they may worship God -according to _the root of the matter_, and where an old man with a blue -bonnet, a fair-haired girl, and a little child would form the flower of -his flock! Such is the pretension and the boast of this new Peter the -Hermit, who would get rid of all we have done in the way of improvement -on a state of barbarous ignorance, or still more barbarous prejudice, in -order to begin again on a _tabula rasa_ of Calvinism, and have a world -of his own making. It is not very surprising that when nearly the whole -mass and texture of civil society is indicted as a nuisance, and -threatened to be pulled down as a rotten building ready to fall on the -heads of the inhabitants, that all classes of people run to hear the -crash, and to see the engines and levers at work which are to effect -this laudable purpose. What else can be the meaning of our preacher’s -taking upon himself to denounce the sentiments of the most serious -professors in great cities, as vitiated and stark-naught, of relegating -religion to his native glens, and pretending that the hymn of praise or -the sigh of contrition cannot ascend acceptably to the throne of grace -from the crowded street as well as from the barren rock or silent -valley? Why put this affront upon his hearers? Why belie his own -aspirations? - - ‘God made the country, and man made the town.’ - -So says the poet; does Mr. Irving say so? If he does, and finds the air -of the city death to his piety, why does he not return home again? But -if he can breathe it with impunity, and still retain the fervour of his -early enthusiasm, and the simplicity and purity of the faith that was -once delivered to the saints, why not extend the benefit of his own -experience to others, instead of taunting them with a vapid pastoral -theory? Or, if our popular and eloquent divine finds a change in -himself, that flattery prevents the growth of grace, that he is becoming -the God of his own idolatry by being that of others, that the glittering -of coronet-coaches rolling down Holborn-Hill to Hatton Garden, that -titled beauty, that the parliamentary complexion of his audience, the -compliments of poets, and the stare of peers discompose his wandering -thoughts a little; and yet that he cannot give up these strong -temptations tugging at his heart; why not extend more charity to others, -and show more candour in speaking of himself? There is either a good -deal of bigoted intolerance with a deplorable want of self-knowledge in -all this; or at least an equal degree of cant and quackery. - -To which ever cause we are to attribute this hyperbolical tone, we hold -it certain he could not have adopted it, if he had been _a little man_. -But his imposing figure and dignified manner enable him to hazard -sentiments or assertions that would be fatal to others. His -controversial daring is _backed_ by his bodily prowess; and by bringing -his intellectual pretensions boldly into a line with his physical -accomplishments, he, indeed, presents a very formidable front to the -sceptic or the scoffer. Take a cubit from his stature, and his whole -manner resolves itself into an impertinence. But with that addition, he -_overcrows_ the town, browbeats their prejudices, and bullies them out -of their senses, and is not afraid of being contradicted by any one -_less than himself_. It may be said, that individuals with great -personal defects have made a considerable figure as public speakers; and -Mr. Wilberforce, among others, may be held out as an instance. Nothing -can be more insignificant as to mere outward appearance, and yet he is -listened to in the House of Commons. But he does not wield it, he does -not insult or bully it. He leads by following opinion, he trims, he -shifts, he glides on the silvery sounds of his undulating, flexible, -cautiously modulated voice, winding his way betwixt heaven and earth, -now courting popularity, now calling servility to his aid, and with a -large estate, the ‘saints,’ and the population of Yorkshire to swell his -influence, never venturing on the forlorn hope, or doing any thing more -than ‘hitting the house between wind and water.’ Yet he is probably a -cleverer man than Mr. Irving. - -There is a Mr. Fox, a Dissenting Minister, as fluent a speaker, with a -sweeter voice and a more animated and beneficent countenance than Mr. -Irving, who expresses himself with manly spirit at a public meeting, -takes a hand at whist, and is the darling of his congregation; but he is -no more, because he is diminutive in person. His head is not seen above -the crowd the length of a street off. He is the Duke of Sussex in -miniature, but the Duke of Sussex does not go to hear him preach, as he -attends Mr. Irving, who rises up against him like a martello tower, and -is nothing loth to confront the spirit of a man of genius with the -blood-royal. We allow there are, or may be, talents sufficient to -produce this equality without a single personal advantage; but we deny -that this would be the effect of any that our great preacher possesses. -We conceive it not improbable that the consciousness of muscular power, -that the admiration of his person by strangers might first have inspired -Mr. Irving with an ambition to be something, intellectually speaking, -and have given him confidence to attempt the greatest things. He has not -failed for want of courage. The public, as well as the fair, are won by -a show of gallantry. Mr. Irving has shrunk from no opinion, however -paradoxical. He has scrupled to avow no sentiment, however obnoxious. He -has revived exploded prejudices, he has scouted prevailing fashions. He -has opposed the spirit of the age, and not consulted the _esprit de -corps_. He has brought back the doctrines of Calvinism in all their -inveteracy, and relaxed the inveteracy of his northern accents. He has -turned religion and the Caledonian Chapel topsy-turvy. He has held a -play-book in one hand, and a Bible in the other, and quoted Shakespeare -and Melancthon in the same breath. The tree of the knowledge of good and -evil is no longer, with his grafting, a dry withered stump; it shoots -its branches to the skies, and hangs out its blossoms to the gale— - - ‘Miraturque novos fructus, et non sua poma.’ - -He has taken the thorns and briars of scholastic divinity, and garlanded -them with the flowers of modern literature. He has done all this, -relying on the strength of a remarkably fine person and manner, and -through that he has succeeded—otherwise he would have perished -miserably. - -Dr. Chalmers is not by any means so good a looking man, nor so -accomplished a speaker as Mr. Irving; yet he at one time almost equalled -his oratorical celebrity, and certainly paved the way for him. He has -therefore more merit than his admired pupil, as he has done as much with -fewer means. He has more scope of intellect and more intensity of -purpose. Both his matter and his manner, setting aside his face and -figure, are more impressive. Take the volume of ‘Sermons on Astronomy,’ -by Dr. Chalmers, and the ‘Four Orations for the Oracles of God’ which -Mr. Irving lately published, and we apprehend there can be no comparison -as to their success. The first ran like wild-fire through the country, -were the darlings of watering-places, were laid in the windows of -inns,[40] and were to be met with in all places of public resort; while -the ‘Orations’ get on but slowly, on Milton’s stilts, and are pompously -announced as in a Third Edition. We believe the fairest and fondest of -his admirers would rather see and hear Mr. Irving than read him. The -reason is, that the ground work of his compositions is trashy and -hackneyed, though set off by extravagant metaphors and an affected -phraseology; that without the turn of his head and wave of his hand, his -periods have nothing in them; and that he himself is the only _idea_ -with which he has yet enriched the public mind! He must play off his -person, as Orator Henley used to dazzle his hearers with his -diamond-ring. The small frontispiece prefixed to the ‘Orations’ does not -serve to convey an adequate idea of the magnitude of the man, nor of the -ease and freedom of his motions in the pulpit. How different is Dr. -Chalmers! He is like ‘a monkey-preacher’ to the other. He cannot boast -of personal appearance to set him off. But then he is like the very -genius or demon of theological controversy personified. He has neither -airs nor graces at command; he thinks nothing of himself: he has nothing -theatrical about him (which cannot be said of his successor and rival); -but you see a man in mortal throes and agony with doubts and -difficulties, seizing stubborn knotty points with his teeth, tearing -them with his hands, and straining his eyeballs till they almost start -out of their sockets, in pursuit of a train of visionary reasoning, like -a Highland-seer with his second sight. The description of Balfour of -Burley in his cave, with his Bible in one hand and his sword in the -other, contending with the imaginary enemy of mankind, gasping for -breath, and with the cold moisture running down his face, gives a lively -idea of Dr. Chalmers’s prophetic fury in the pulpit. If we could have -looked in to have seen Burley hard-beset ‘by the coinage of his -heat-oppressed brain,’ who would have asked whether he was a handsome -man or not? It would be enough to see a man haunted by a spirit, under -the strong and entire dominion of a wilful hallucination. So the -integrity and vehemence of Dr. Chalmers’s manner, the determined way in -which he gives himself up to his subject, or lays about him and buffets -sceptics and gain-sayers, arrests attention in spite of every other -circumstance, and fixes it on that, and that alone, which excites such -interest and such eagerness in his own breast! Besides, he is a -logician, has a theory in support of whatever he chooses to advance, and -weaves the tissue of his sophistry so close and intricate, that it is -difficult not to be entangled in it, or to escape from it. ‘There’s -magic in the web.’ Whatever appeals to the pride of the human -understanding, has a subtle charm in it. The mind is naturally -pugnacious, cannot refuse a challenge of strength or skill, sturdily -enters the lists and resolves to conquer, or to yield itself vanquished -in the forms. This is the chief hold Dr. Chalmers had upon his hearers, -and upon the readers of his ‘Astronomical Discourses.’ No one was -satisfied with his arguments, no one could answer them, but every one -wanted to try what he could make of them, as we try to find out a -riddle. ‘By his so potent art,’ the art of laying down problematical -premises, and drawing from them still more doubtful, but not impossible, -conclusions, ‘he could bedim the noonday sun, betwixt the green sea and -the azure vault set roaring war,’ and almost compel the stars in their -courses to testify to his opinions. The mode in which he undertook to -make the circuit of the universe, and demand categorical information -‘now of the planetary and now of the fixed,’ might put one in mind of -Hecate’s mode of ascending in a machine from the stage, ‘midst troops of -spirits,’ in which you now admire the skill of the artist, and next -tremble for the fate of the performer, fearing that the audacity of the -attempt will turn his head or break his neck. The style of these -‘Discourses’ also, though not elegant or poetical, was, like the -subject, intricate and endless. It was that of a man pushing his way -through a labyrinth of difficulties, and determined not to flinch. The -impression on the reader was proportionate; for, whatever were the -merits of the style or matter, both were new and striking; and the train -of thought that was unfolded at such length and with such strenuousness, -was bold, well-sustained, and consistent with itself. - -Mr. Irving wants the continuity of thought and manner which -distinguishes his rival—and shines by patches and in bursts. He does not -warm or acquire increasing force or rapidity with his progress. He is -never hurried away by a deep or lofty enthusiasm, nor touches the -highest point of genius or fanaticism, but ‘in the very storm and -whirlwind of his passion, he acquires and begets a temperance that may -give it smoothness.’ He has the self-possession and masterly execution -of an experienced player or fencer, and does not seem to express his -natural convictions, or to be engaged in a mortal struggle. This greater -ease and indifference is the result of vast superiority of personal -appearance, which ‘to be admired needs but to be seen,’ and does not -require the possessor to work himself up into a passion, or to use any -violent contortions to gain attention or to keep it. These two -celebrated preachers are in almost all respects an antithesis to each -other. If Mr. Irving is an example of what can be done by the help of -external advantages, Dr. Chalmers is a proof of what can be done without -them. The one is most indebted to his mind, the other to his body. If -Mr. Irving inclines one to suspect fashionable or popular religion of a -little _anthropomorphitism_, Dr. Chalmers effectually redeems it from -that scandal. - - - THE LATE MR. HORNE TOOKE - -Mr. Horne Tooke was one of those who may be considered as connecting -links between a former period and the existing generation. His education -and accomplishments, nay, his political opinions, were of the last age; -his mind, and the tone of his feelings were _modern_. There was a hard, -dry materialism in the very texture of his understanding, varnished over -by the external refinements of the old school. Mr. Tooke had great scope -of attainment, and great versatility of pursuit; but the same -shrewdness, quickness, cool self-possession, the same _literalness_ of -perception, and absence of passion and enthusiasm, characterised nearly -all he did, said, or wrote. He was without a rival (almost) in private -conversation, an expert public speaker, a keen politician, a first-rate -grammarian, and the finest gentleman (to say the least) of his own -party. He had no imagination (or he would not have scorned it!)—no -delicacy of taste, no rooted prejudices or strong attachments: his -intellect was like a bow of polished steel, from which he shot -sharp-pointed poisoned arrows at his friends in private, at his enemies -in public. His mind (so to speak) had no _religion_ in it, and very -little even of the moral qualities of genius; but he was a man of the -world, a scholar bred, and a most acute and powerful logician. He was -also a wit, and a formidable one: yet it may be questioned whether his -wit was any thing more than an excess of his logical faculty: it did not -consist in the play of fancy, but in close and cutting combinations of -the understanding. ‘The law is open to every one: _so_,’ said Mr. Tooke, -‘_is the London Tavern_!’ It is the previous deduction formed in the -mind, and the splenetic contempt felt for a practical sophism, that -_beats about the bush for_, and at last finds the apt illustration; not -the casual, glancing coincidence of two objects, that points out an -absurdity to the understanding. So, on another occasion, when Sir Allan -Gardiner (who was a candidate for Westminster) had objected to Mr. Fox, -that ‘he was always against the minister, _whether right or wrong_,’ and -Mr. Fox, in his reply, had overlooked this slip of the tongue, Mr. Tooke -immediately seized on it, and said, ‘he thought it at least an equal -objection to Sir Allan, that he was always _with_ the minister, whether -right or wrong.’ This retort had all the effect, and produced the same -surprise as the most brilliant display of wit or fancy: yet it was only -the detecting a flaw in an argument, like a flaw in an indictment, by a -kind of legal pertinacity, or rather by a rigid and constant habit of -attending to the exact import of every word and clause in a sentence. -Mr. Tooke had the mind of a lawyer; but it was applied to a vast variety -of topics and general trains of speculation. - -Mr. Horne Tooke was in private company, and among his friends, the -finished gentleman of the last age. His manners were as fascinating as -his conversation was spirited and delightful. He put one in mind of the -burden of the song of ‘_The King’s Old Courtier, and an Old Courtier of -the King’s_.’ He was, however, of the opposite party. It was curious to -hear our modern sciolist advancing opinions of the most radical kind -without any mixture of radical heat or violence, in a tone of -fashionable _nonchalance_, with elegance of gesture and attitude, and -with the most perfect good-humour. In the spirit of opposition, or in -the pride of logical superiority, he too often shocked the prejudices or -wounded the self-love of those about him, while he himself displayed the -same unmoved indifference or equanimity. He said the most provoking -things with a laughing gaiety, and a polite attention, that there was no -withstanding. He threw others off their guard by thwarting their -favourite theories, and then availed himself of the temperance of his -own pulse to chafe them into madness. He had not one particle of -deference for the opinion of others, nor of sympathy with their -feelings; nor had he any obstinate convictions of his own to defend— - - ‘Lord of himself, uncumbered with a _creed_!’ - -He took up any topic by chance, and played with it at will, like a -juggler with his cups and balls. He generally ranged himself on the -losing side; and had rather an ill-natured delight in contradiction, and -in perplexing the understandings of others, without leaving them any -clue to guide them out of the labyrinth into which he had led them. He -understood, in its perfection, the great art of throwing the _onus -probandi_ on his adversary; and so could maintain almost any opinion, -however absurd or fantastical, with fearless impunity. I have heard a -sensible and well-informed man say, that he never was in company with -Mr. Tooke without being delighted and surprised, or without feeling the -conversation of every other person to be flat in the comparison; but -that he did not recollect having ever heard him make a remark that -struck him as a sound and true one, or that he himself appeared to think -so. He used to plague Fuseli by asking him after the origin of the -Teutonic dialects, and Dr. Parr, by wishing to know the meaning of the -common copulative, _Is_. Once at G——‘s, he defended Pitt from a charge -of verbiage, and endeavoured to prove him superior to Fox. Some one -imitated Pitt’s manner, to show that it was monotonous, and he imitated -him also, to show that it was not. He maintained (what would he not -maintain?) that young Betty’s acting was finer than John Kemble’s, and -recited a passage from Douglas in the manner of each, to justify the -preference he gave to the former. The mentioning of this will please the -living; it cannot hurt the dead. He argued on the same occasion and in -the same breath, that Addison’s style was without modulation, and that -it was physically impossible for any one to write well, who was -habitually silent in company. He sat like a king at his own table, and -gave law to his guests—and to the world! No man knew better how to -manage his immediate circle, to foil or bring them out. A professed -orator, beginning to address some observations to Mr. Tooke with a -voluminous apology for his youth and inexperience, he said, ‘Speak up, -young man!’—and by taking him at his word, cut short the flower of -orations. Porson was the only person of whom he stood in some degree of -awe, on account of his prodigious memory and knowledge of his favourite -subject, Languages. Sheridan, it has been remarked, said more good -things, but had not an equal flow of pleasantry. As an instance of Mr. -Horne Tooke’s extreme coolness and command of nerve, it has been -mentioned that once at a public dinner when he had got on the table to -return thanks for his health being drank with a glass of wine in his -hand, and when there was a great clamour and opposition for some time, -after it had subsided, he pointed to the glass to show that it was still -full. Mr. Holcroft (the author of the _Road to Ruin_) was one of the -most violent and fiery-spirited of all that motley crew of persons, who -attended the Sunday meetings at Wimbledon. One day he was so enraged by -some paradox or raillery of his host, that he indignantly rose from his -chair, and said, ‘Mr. Tooke, you are a scoundrel!’ His opponent without -manifesting the least emotion, replied, ‘Mr. Holcroft, when is it that I -am to dine with you? shall it be next Thursday?’—‘If you please, Mr. -Tooke!’ answered the angry philosopher, and sat down again.—It was -delightful to see him sometimes turn from these waspish or ludicrous -altercations with over-weening antagonists to some old friend and -veteran politician seated at his elbow; to hear him recal the time of -Wilkes and Liberty, the conversation mellowing like the wine with the -smack of age; assenting to all the old man said, bringing out his -pleasant _traits_, and pampering him into childish self-importance, and -sending him away thirty years younger than he came! - -As a public or at least as a parliamentary speaker, Mr. Tooke did not -answer the expectations that had been conceived of him, or probably that -he had conceived of himself. It is natural for men who have felt a -superiority over all those whom they happen to have encountered, to -fancy that this superiority will continue, and that it will extend from -individuals to public bodies. There is no rule in the case; or rather, -the probability lies the contrary way. That which constitutes the -excellence of conversation is of little use in addressing large -assemblies of people; while other qualities are required that are hardly -to be looked for in one and the same capacity. The way to move great -masses of men is to show that you yourself are moved. In a private -circle, a ready repartee, a shrewd cross-question, ridicule and banter, -a caustic remark or an amusing anecdote, whatever sets off the -individual to advantage, or gratifies the curiosity or piques the -self-love of the hearers, keeps attention alive, and secures the triumph -of the speaker—it is a personal contest, and depends on personal and -momentary advantages. But in appealing to the public, no one triumphs -but in the triumph of some public cause, or by showing a sympathy with -the general and predominant feelings of mankind. In a private room, a -satirist, a sophist may provoke admiration by expressing his contempt -for each of his adversaries in turn, and by setting their opinion at -defiance—but when men are congregated together on a great public -question and for a weighty object, they must be treated with more -respect; they are touched with what affects themselves or the general -weal, not with what flatters the vanity of the speaker; they must be -moved altogether, if they are moved at all; they are impressed with -gratitude for a luminous exposition of their claims or for zeal in their -cause; and the lightning of generous indignation at bad men and bad -measures is followed by thunders of applause—even in the House of -Commons. But a man may sneer and cavil and puzzle and fly-blow every -question that comes before him—be despised and feared by others, and -admired by no one but himself. He who thinks first of himself, either in -the world or in a popular assembly, will be sure to turn attention away -from his claims, instead of fixing it there. He must make common cause -with his hearers. To lead, he must follow the general bias. Mr. Tooke -did not therefore succeed as a speaker in parliament. He stood aloof, he -played antics, he exhibited his peculiar talent—while he was on his -legs, the question before the House stood still; the only point at issue -respected Mr. Tooke himself, his personal address and adroitness of -intellect. Were there to be no more places and pensions, because Mr. -Tooke’s style was terse and epigrammatic? Were the Opposition benches to -be inflamed to an unusual pitch of ‘sacred vehemence,’ because he gave -them plainly to understand there was not a pin to choose between -Ministers and Opposition? Would the House let him remain among them, -because, if they turned him out on account of his _black coat_, Lord -Camelford had threatened to send his _black servant_ in his place? This -was a good joke, but not a practical one. Would he gain the affections -of the people out of doors, by scouting the question of reform? Would -the King ever relish the old associate of Wilkes? What interest, then, -what party did he represent? He represented nobody but himself. He was -an example of an ingenious man, a clever talker, but he was out of his -place in the House of Commons; where people did not come (as in his own -house) to admire or break a lance with him, but to get through the -business of the day, and so adjourn! He wanted effect and _momentum_. -Each of his sentences told very well in itself, but they did not -altogether make a speech. He left off where he began. His eloquence was -a succession of drops, not a stream. His arguments, though subtle and -new, did not affect the main body of the question. The coldness and -pettiness of his manner did not warm the hearts or expand the -understandings of his hearers. Instead of encouraging, he checked the -ardour of his friends; and teazed, instead of overpowering his -antagonists. The only palpable hit he ever made, while he remained -there, was the comparing his own situation in being rejected by the -House, on account of the supposed purity of his clerical character, to -the story of the girl at the Magdalen, who was told ‘she must turn out -and qualify.’[41] This met with laughter and loud applause. It was a -_home_ thrust, and the House (to do them justice) are obliged to any one -who, by a smart blow, relieves them of the load of grave responsibility, -which sits heavy on their shoulders.—At the hustings, or as an -election-candidate, Mr. Tooke did better. There was no great question to -move or carry—it was an affair of political _sparring_ between himself -and the other candidates. He took it in a very cool and leisurely -manner—watched his competitors with a wary, sarcastic eye; picked up the -mistakes or absurdities that fell from them, and retorted them on their -heads; told a story to the mob; and smiled and took snuff with a -gentlemanly and becoming air, as if he was already seated in the House. -But a Court of Law was the place where Mr. Tooke made the best figure in -public. He might assuredly be said to be ‘native and endued unto that -element.’ He had here to stand merely on the defensive—not to advance -himself, but to block up the way—not to impress others, but to be -himself impenetrable. All he wanted was _negative success_; and to this -no one was better qualified to aspire. Cross purposes, _moot-points_, -pleas, demurrers, flaws in the indictment, double meanings, cases, -inconsequentialities, these were the playthings, the darlings of Mr. -Tooke’s mind; and with these he baffled the Judge, dumb-founded the -Counsel, and outwitted the Jury. The report of his trial before Lord -Kenyon is a masterpiece of acuteness, dexterity, modest assurance, and -legal effect. It is much like his examination before the Commissioners -of the Income-Tax—nothing could be got out of him in either case! - -Mr. Tooke, as a political leader, belonged to the class of _trimmers_; -or at most, it was his delight to make mischief and spoil sport. He -would rather be _against_ himself than _for_ any body else. He was -neither a bold nor a safe leader. He enticed others into scrapes, and -kept out of them himself. Provided he could say a clever or a spiteful -thing, he did not care whether it served or injured the cause. Spleen or -the exercise of intellectual power was the motive of his patriotism, -rather than principle. He would talk treason with a saving clause; and -instil sedition into the public mind, through the medium of a third (who -was to be the responsible) party. He made Sir Francis Burdett his -spokesman in the House and to the country, often venting his chagrin or -singularity of sentiment at the expense of his friend; but what in the -first was trick or reckless vanity, was in the last plain downright -English honesty and singleness of heart. In the case of the State -Trials, in 1794, Mr. Tooke rather compromised his friends to screen -himself. He kept repeating that ‘others might have gone on to Windsor, -but he had stopped at Hounslow,’ as if to go farther might have been -dangerous and unwarrantable. It was not the question how far he or -others had actually gone, but how far they had a right to go, according -to the law. His conduct was not the limit of the law, nor did -treasonable excess begin where prudence or principle taught him to stop -short, though this was the oblique inference liable to be drawn from his -line of defence. Mr. Tooke was uneasy and apprehensive for the issue of -the Government-prosecution while in confinement, and said, in speaking -of it to a friend, with a morbid feeling and an emphasis quite unusual -with him—‘They want our blood—blood—blood!’ It was somewhat ridiculous -to implicate Mr. Tooke in a charge of High Treason (and indeed the whole -charge was built on the mistaken purport of an intercepted letter -relating to an engagement for a private dinner-party)—his politics were -not at all revolutionary. In this respect he was a mere pettifogger, -full of chicane, and captious objections, and unmeaning discontent; but -he had none of the grand whirling movements of the French Revolution, -nor of the tumultuous glow of rebellion in his head or in his heart. His -politics were cast in a different mould, or confined to the party -distinctions and court intrigues and pittances of popular right, that -made a noise in the time of Junius and Wilkes—and even if his -understanding had gone along with more modern and unqualified -principles, his cautious temper would have prevented his risking them in -practice. Horne Tooke (though not of the same side in politics) had much -of the tone of mind and more of the spirit of moral feeling of the -celebrated philosopher of Malmesbury. The narrow scale and fine-drawn -distinctions of his political creed made his conversation on such -subjects infinitely amusing, particularly when contrasted with that of -persons who dealt in the sounding _common-places_ and sweeping clauses -of abstract politics. He knew all the cabals and jealousies and -heart-burnings in the beginning of the late reign, the changes of -administration and the springs of secret influence, the characters of -the leading men, Wilkes, Barre, Dunning, Chatham, Burke, the Marquis of -Rockingham, North, Shelburne, Fox, Pitt, and all the vacillating events -of the American war:—these formed a curious back-ground to the more -prominent figures that occupied the present time, and Mr. Tooke worked -out the minute details and touched in the evanescent _traits_ with the -pencil of a master. His conversation resembled a political _camera -obscura_—as quaint as it was magical. To some pompous pretenders he -might seem to narrate _fabellas aniles_ (old wives’ fables)—but not to -those who study human nature, and wish to know the materials of which it -is composed. Mr. Tooke’s faculties might appear to have ripened and -acquired a finer flavour with age. In a former period of his life he was -hardly the man he was latterly; or else he had greater abilities to -contend against. He no where makes so poor a figure as in his -controversy with Junius. He has evidently the best of the argument, yet -he makes nothing out of it. He tells a long story about himself, without -wit or point in it; and whines and whimpers like a school-boy under the -rod of his master. Junius, after bringing a hasty charge against him, -has not a single fact to adduce in support of it; but keeps his ground -and fairly beats his adversary out of the field by the mere force of -style. One would think that ‘Parson Horne’ knew who Junius was, and was -afraid of him. ‘Under him his genius is’ quite ‘rebuked.’ With the best -cause to defend, he comes off more shabbily from the contest than any -other person in the LETTERS, except Sir William Draper, who is the very -hero of defeat. - -The great thing which Mr. Horne Tooke has done, and which he has left -behind him to posterity, is his work on Grammar, oddly enough entitled -THE DIVERSIONS OF PURLEY. Many people have taken it up as a description -of a game—others supposing it to be a novel. It is, in truth, one of the -few philosophical works on Grammar that were ever written. The essence -of it (and, indeed, almost all that is really valuable in it) is -contained in his _Letter to Dunning_, published about the year 1775. Mr. -Tooke’s work is truly elementary. Dr. Lowth described Mr. Harris’s -_Hermes_ as ‘the finest specimen of analysis since the days of -Aristotle’—a work in which there is no analysis at all, for analysis -consists in reducing things to their principles, and not in endless -details and subdivisions. Mr. Harris multiplies distinctions, and -confounds his readers. Mr. Tooke clears away the rubbish of school-boy -technicalities, and strikes at the root of his subject. In accomplishing -his arduous task, he was, perhaps, aided not more by the strength and -resources of his mind than by its limits and defects. There is a web of -old associations wound round language, that is a kind of veil over its -natural features; and custom puts on the mask of ignorance. But this -veil, this mask the author of _The Diversions of Purley_ threw aside and -penetrated to the naked truth of things, by the literal, matter-of-fact, -unimaginative nature of his understanding, and because he was not -subject to prejudices or illusions of any kind. Words may be said to -‘bear a charmed life, that must not yield to one of woman born’—with -womanish weaknesses and confused apprehensions. But this charm was -broken in the case of Mr. Tooke, whose mind was the reverse of -effeminate—hard, unbending, concrete, physical, half-savage—and who saw -language stripped of the clothing of habit or sentiment, or the -disguises of doting pedantry, naked in its cradle, and in its primitive -state. Our author tells us that he found his discovery on Grammar among -a number of papers on other subjects, which he had thrown aside and -forgotten. Is this an idle boast? Or had he made other discoveries of -equal importance, which he did not think it worth his while to -communicate to the world, but chose to die the churl of knowledge? The -whole of his reasoning turns upon showing that the Conjunction _That_ is -the pronoun _That_, which is itself the participle of a verb, and in -like manner that all the other mystical and hitherto unintelligible -parts of speech are derived from the only two intelligible ones, the -Verb and Noun. ‘I affirm _that_ gold is yellow,’ that is, ‘I affirm -_that_ fact, or that proposition, viz. gold is yellow.’ The secret of -the Conjunction on which so many fine heads had split, on which so many -learned definitions were thrown away, as if it was its peculiar province -and inborn virtue to announce oracles and formal propositions, and -nothing else, like a Doctor of Laws, is here at once accounted for, -inasmuch as it is clearly nothing but another part of speech, the -pronoun, _that_, with a third part of speech, the noun, _thing_, -understood. This is getting at a solution of words into their component -parts, not glossing over one difficulty by bringing another to parallel -it, nor like saying with Mr. Harris, when it is asked, ‘what a -Conjunction is?’ that there are conjunctions copulative, conjunctions -disjunctive, and as many other frivolous varieties of the species as any -one chooses to hunt out ‘with laborious foolery.’ Our author hit upon -his parent-discovery in the course of a lawsuit, while he was examining, -with jealous watchfulness, the meaning of words to prevent being -entrapped by them; or rather, this circumstance might itself be traced -to the habit of satisfying his own mind as to the precise sense in which -he himself made use of words. Mr. Tooke, though he had no objection to -puzzle others, was mightily averse to being puzzled or _mystified_ -himself. All was, to his determined mind, either complete light or -complete darkness. There was no hazy, doubtful _chiaro-scuro_ in his -understanding. He wanted something ‘palpable to feeling as to sight.’ -‘What,’ he would say to himself, ‘do I mean when I use the conjunction -_that_? Is it an anomaly, a class by itself, a word sealed against all -inquisitive attempts? Is it enough to call it a _copula_, a bridge, a -link, a word connecting sentences? That is undoubtedly its use, but what -is its origin?’ Mr. Tooke thought he had answered this question -satisfactorily, and loosened the Gordian knot of grammarians, ‘familiar -as his garter,’ when he said, ‘It is the common pronoun, adjective, or -participle, _that_, with the noun, _thing or proposition_, implied, and -the particular example following it.’ So he thought, and so every reader -has thought since, with the exception of teachers and writers upon -Grammar. Mr. Windham, indeed, who was a sophist, but not a logician, -charged him with having found ‘a mare’s-nest’; but it is not to be -doubted that Mr. Tooke’s etymologies will stand the test, and last -longer than Mr. Windham’s ingenious derivation of the practice of -bull-baiting from the principles of humanity! - -Having thus laid the corner-stone, he proceeded to apply the same method -of reasoning to other undecyphered and impracticable terms. Thus the -word, _And_, he explained clearly enough to be the verb _add_, or a -corruption of the old Saxon, _anandad_. ‘Two _and_ two make four,’ that -is, ‘two _add_ two make four.’ Mr. Tooke, in fact, treated words as the -chemists do substances; he separated those which are compounded of -others from those which are not decompoundable. He did not explain the -obscure by the more obscure, but the difficult by the plain, the complex -by the simple. This alone is proceeding upon the true principles of -science: the rest is pedantry and _petit-maîtreship_. Our philosophical -writer distinguished all words into _names of things_, and directions -added for joining them together, or originally into _nouns_ and _verbs_. -It is a pity that he has left this matter short, by omitting to define -the Verb. After enumerating sixteen different definitions (all of which -he dismisses with scorn and contumely) at the end of two quarto volumes, -he refers the reader for the true solution to a third volume, which he -did not live to finish. This extraordinary man was in the habit of -tantalizing his guests on a Sunday afternoon with sundry abstruse -speculations, and putting them off to the following week for a -satisfaction of their doubts; but why should he treat posterity in the -same scurvy manner, or leave the world without quitting scores with it? -I question whether Mr. Tooke was himself in possession of his pretended -_nostrum_, and whether, after trying hard at a definition of the verb as -a distinct part of speech, as a terrier-dog mumbles a hedge-hog, he did -not find it too much for him, and leave it to its fate. It is also a -pity that Mr. Tooke spun out his great work with prolix and dogmatical -dissertations on irrelevant matters; and after denying the old -metaphysical theories of language, should attempt to found a -metaphysical theory of his own on the nature and mechanism of language. -The nature of words, he contended (it was the basis of his whole system) -had no connection with the nature of things or the objects of thought; -yet he afterwards strove to limit the nature of things and of the human -mind by the technical structure of language. Thus he endeavours to show -that there are no abstract ideas, by enumerating two thousand instances -of words, expressing abstract ideas, that are the past participles of -certain verbs. It is difficult to know what he means by this. On the -other hand, he maintains that ‘a complex idea is as great an absurdity -as a complex star,’ and that words only are complex. He also makes out a -triumphant list of metaphysical and moral non-entities, proved to be so -on the pure principle that the names of these non-entities are -participles, not nouns, or names of things. That is strange in so close -a reasoner, and in one who maintained that all language was a masquerade -of words, and that the class to which they grammatically belonged had -nothing to do with the class of ideas they represented. - -It is now above twenty years since the two quarto volumes of the -_Diversions of Purley_ were published, and fifty since the same theory -was promulgated in the celebrated _Letter to Dunning_. Yet it is a -curious example of the _Spirit of the Age_ that Mr. Lindley Murray’s -Grammar (a work out of which Mr. C*** helps himself to English, and Mr. -M*** to style[42]) has proceeded to the thirtieth edition in complete -defiance of all the facts and arguments there laid down. He defines a -noun to be the name of a thing. Is quackery a thing, _i.e._ a substance? -He defines a verb to be a word signifying _to be, to do, or to suffer_. -Are being, action, suffering, verbs? He defines an adjective to be the -name of a quality. Are not _wooden_, _golden_, _substantial_ adjectives? -He maintains that there are six cases in English nouns, that is, six -various terminations without any change of termination at all,[43] and -that English verbs have all the moods, tenses, and persons that the -Latin ones have. This is an extraordinary stretch of blindness and -obstinacy. He very formally translates the Latin Grammar into English, -(as so many had done before him) and fancies he has written an English -Grammar; and divines applaud, and schoolmasters usher him into the -polite world, and English scholars carry on the jest, while Horne -Tooke’s genuine anatomy of our native tongue is laid on the shelf. Can -it be that our politicians smell a rat in the Member for Old Sarum? That -our clergy do not relish Parson Horne? That the world at large are -alarmed at acuteness and originality greater than their own? What has -all this to do with the formation of the English language or with the -first conditions and necessary foundation of speech itself? Is there -nothing beyond the reach of prejudice and party-spirit? It seems in -this, as in so many other instances, as if there was a patent for -absurdity in the natural bias of the human mind, and that folly should -be _stereotyped_! - - - - - SIR WALTER SCOTT - - -Sir Walter Scott is undoubtedly the most popular writer of the age—the -‘lord of the ascendant’ for the time being. He is just half what the -human intellect is capable of being: if you take the universe, and -divide it into two parts, he knows all that it _has been_; all that it -_is to be_ is nothing to him. His is a mind brooding over -antiquity—scorning ‘the present ignorant time.’ He is ‘laudator temporis -acti’—a ‘_prophesier_ of things past.’ The old world is to him a crowded -map; the new one a dull, hateful blank. He dotes on all -well-authenticated superstitions; he shudders at the shadow of -innovation. His retentiveness of memory, his accumulated weight of -interested prejudice or romantic association have overlaid his other -faculties. The cells of his memory are vast, various, full even to -bursting with life and motion; his speculative understanding is empty, -flaccid, poor, and dead. His mind receives and treasures up every thing -brought to it by tradition or custom—it does not project itself beyond -this into the world unknown, but mechanically shrinks back as from the -edge of a precipice. The land of pure reason is to his apprehension like -_Van Dieman’s Land_;—barren, miserable, distant, a place of exile, the -dreary abode of savages, convicts, and adventurers. Sir Walter would -make a bad hand of a description of the _Millennium_, unless he could -lay the scene in Scotland five hundred years ago, and then he would want -facts and worm-eaten parchments to support his drooping style. Our -historical novelist firmly thinks that nothing _is_ but what _has -been_—that the moral world stands still, as the material one was -supposed to do of old—and that we can never get beyond the point where -we actually are without utter destruction, though every thing changes -and will change from what it was three hundred years ago to what it is -now,—from what it is now to all that the bigoted admirer of the good old -times most dreads and hates! - -It is long since we read, and long since we thought of our author’s -poetry. It would probably have gone out of date with the immediate -occasion, even if he himself had not contrived to banish it from our -recollection. It is not to be denied that it had great merit, both of an -obvious and intrinsic kind. It abounded in vivid descriptions, in -spirited action, in smooth and flowing versification. But it wanted -_character_. It was ‘poetry of no mark or likelihood.’ It slid out of -the mind as soon as read, like a river; and would have been forgotten, -but that the public curiosity was fed with ever new supplies from the -same teeming liquid source. It is not every man that can write six -quarto volumes in verse, that are caught up with avidity, even by -fastidious judges. But what a difference between _their_ popularity and -that of the Scotch Novels! It is true, the public read and admired the -_Lay of the last Minstrel_, _Marmion_, and so on, and each individual -was contented to read and admire because the public did so: but with -regard to the prose-works of the same (supposed) author, it is quite -_another-guess_ sort of thing. Here every one stands forward to applaud -on his own ground, would be thought to go before the public opinion, is -eager to extol his favourite characters louder, to understand them -better than every body else, and has his own scale of comparative -excellence for each work, supported by nothing but his own enthusiastic -and fearless convictions. It must be amusing to the _Author of Waverley_ -to hear his readers and admirers (and are not these the same thing?[44]) -quarrelling which of his novels is the best, opposing character to -character, quoting passage against passage, striving to surpass each -other in the extravagance of their encomiums, and yet unable to settle -the precedence, or to do the author’s writings justice—so various, so -equal, so transcendant are their merits! His volumes of poetry were -received as fashionable and well-dressed acquaintances: we are ready to -tear the others in pieces as old friends. There was something -meretricious in Sir Walter’s ballad-rhymes; and like those who keep -opera _figurantes_, we were willing to have our admiration shared, and -our taste confirmed by the town: but the Novels are like the betrothed -of our hearts, bone of our bone, and flesh of our flesh, and we are -jealous that any one should be as much delighted or as thoroughly -acquainted with their beauties as ourselves. For which of his poetical -heroines would the reader break a lance so soon as for Jeanie Deans? -What _Lady of the Lake_ can compare with the beautiful Rebecca? We -believe the late Mr. John Scott went to his death-bed (though a painful -and premature one) with some degree of satisfaction, inasmuch as he had -penned the most elaborate panegyric on the _Scotch Novels_ that had as -yet appeared!—The _Epics_ are not poems, so much as metrical romances. -There is a glittering veil of verse thrown over the features of nature -and of old romance. The deep incisions into character are ‘skinned and -filmed over’—the details are lost or shaped into flimsy and insipid -decorum; and the truth of feeling and of circumstance is translated into -a tinkling sound, a tinsel _common-place_. It must be owned, there is a -power in true poetry that lifts the mind from the ground of reality to a -higher sphere, that penetrates the inert, scattered, incoherent -materials presented to it, and by a force and inspiration of its own, -melts and moulds them into sublimity and beauty. But Sir Walter (we -contend, under correction) has not this creative impulse, this plastic -power, this capacity of reacting on his first impressions. He is a -learned, a literal, a _matter-of-fact_ expounder of truth or fable:[45] -he does not soar above and look down upon his subject, imparting his own -lofty views and feelings to his descriptions of nature—he relies upon -it, is raised by it, is one with it, or he is nothing. A poet is -essentially a _maker_; that is, he must atone for what he loses in -individuality and local resemblance by the energies and resources of his -own mind. The writer of whom we speak is deficient in these last. He has -either not the faculty or not the will to impregnate his subject by an -effort of pure invention. The execution also is much upon a par with the -more ephemeral effusions of the press. It is light, agreeable, -effeminate, diffuse. Sir Walter’s Muse is a _Modern Antique_. The -smooth, glossy texture of his verse contrasts happily with the quaint, -uncouth, rugged materials of which it is composed; and takes away any -appearance of heaviness or harshness from the body of local traditions -and obsolete costume. We see grim knights and iron armour; but then they -are woven in silk with a careless, delicate hand, and have the softness -of flowers. The poet’s figures might be compared to old tapestries -copied on the finest velvet:—they are not like Raphael’s _Cartoons_, but -they are very like Mr. Westall’s drawings, which accompany, and are -intended to illustrate them. This facility and grace of execution is the -more remarkable, as a story goes that not long before the appearance of -the _Lay of the Last Minstrel_ Sir Walter (then Mr.) Scott, having, in -the company of a friend, to cross the Frith of Forth in a ferry-boat, -they proposed to beguile the time by writing a number of verses on a -given subject, and that at the end of an hour’s hard study, they found -they had produced only six lines between them. ‘It is plain,’ said the -unconscious author to his fellow-labourer, ‘that you and I need never -think of getting our living by writing poetry!’ In a year or so after -this, he set to work, and poured out quarto upon quarto, as if they had -been drops of water. As to the rest, and compared with true and great -poets, our Scottish Minstrel is but ‘a metre ballad-monger.’ We would -rather have written one song of Burns, or a single passage in Lord -Byron’s _Heaven and Earth_, or one of Wordsworth’s ‘fancies and -good-nights,’ than all his epics. What is he to Spenser, over whose -immortal, ever-amiable verse beauty hovers and trembles, and who has -shed the purple light of Fancy, from his ambrosial wings, over all -nature? What is there of the might of Milton, whose head is canopied in -the blue serene, and who takes us to sit with him there? What is there -(in his ambling rhymes) of the deep pathos of Chaucer? Or of the -o’er-informing power of Shakespear, whose eye, watching alike the -minutest traces of characters and the strongest movements of passion, -‘glances from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven,’ and with the -lambent flame of genius, playing round each object, lights up the -universe in a robe of its own radiance? Sir Walter has no voluntary -power of combination: all his associations (as we said before) are those -of habit or of tradition. He is a mere narrative and descriptive poet, -garrulous of the old time. The definition of his poetry is a pleasing -superficiality. - -Not so of his NOVELS AND ROMANCES. There we turn over a new -leaf—another and the same—the same in matter, but in form, in power -how different! The author of Waverley has got rid of the tagging of -rhymes, the eking out of syllables, the supplying of epithets, the -colours of style, the grouping of his characters, and the regular -march of events, and comes to the point at once, and strikes at the -heart of his subject, without dismay and without disguise. His -poetry was a lady’s waiting-maid, dressed out in cast-off finery: -his prose is a beautiful, rustic nymph, that, like Dorothea in Don -Quixote, when she is surprised with dishevelled tresses bathing her -naked feet in the brook, looks round her, abashed at the admiration -her charms have excited! The grand secret of the author’s success in -these latter productions is that he has completely got rid of the -trammels of authorship; and torn off at one rent (as Lord Peter got -rid of so many yards of lace in the _Tale of a Tub_) all the -ornaments of fine writing and worn-out sentimentality. All is fresh, -as from the hand of nature: by going a century or two back and -laying the scene in a remote and uncultivated district, all becomes -new and startling in the present advanced period.—Highland manners, -characters, scenery, superstitions, Northern dialect and costume, -the wars, the religion, and politics of the sixteenth and -seventeenth centuries, give a charming and wholesome relief to the -fastidious refinement and ‘over-laboured lassitude’ of modern -readers, like the effect of plunging a nervous valetudinarian into a -cold-bath. The _Scotch Novels_, for this reason, are not so much -admired in Scotland as in England. The contrast, the transition is -less striking. From the top of the Calton Hill, the inhabitants of -‘Auld Reekie’ can descry, or fancy they descry the peaks of Ben -Lomond and the waving outline of Rob Roy’s country: we who live at -the southern extremity of the island can only catch a glimpse of the -billowy scene in the descriptions of the Author of Waverley. The -mountain air is most bracing to our languid nerves, and it is -brought us in ship-loads from the neighbourhood of Abbot’s Ford. -There is another circumstance to be taken into the account. In -Edinburgh there is a little opposition and something of the spirit -of cabal between the partisans of works proceeding from Mr. -Constable’s and Mr. Blackwood’s shops. Mr. Constable gives the -highest prices; but being the Whig bookseller, it is grudged that he -should do so. An attempt is therefore made to transfer a certain -share of popularity to the second-rate Scotch novels, ‘the embryo -fry, the little airy of _ricketty_ children,’ issuing through Mr. -Blackwood’s shop-door. This operates a diversion, which does not -affect us here. The Author of Waverley wears the palm of legendary -lore alone. Sir Walter may, indeed, surfeit us: his imitators make -us sick! It may be asked, it has been asked, ‘Have we no materials -for romance in England? Must we look to Scotland for a supply of -whatever is original and striking in this kind?’ And we -answer—‘Yes!’ Every foot of soil is with us worked up: nearly every -movement of the social machine is calculable. We have no room left -for violent catastrophes; for grotesque quaintnesses; for wizard -spells. The last skirts of ignorance and barbarism are seen hovering -(in Sir Walter’s pages) over the Border. We have, it is true, -gipsies in this country as well as at the Cairn of Derncleugh: but -they live under clipped hedges, and repose in camp-beds, and do not -perch on crags, like eagles, or take shelter, like sea-mews, in -basaltic subterranean caverns. We have heaths with rude heaps of -stones upon them: but no existing superstition converts them into -the Geese of Micklestane-Moor, or sees a Black Dwarf groping among -them. We have sects in religion: but the only thing sublime or -ridiculous in that way is Mr. Irving, the Caledonian preacher, who -‘comes like a satyr staring from the woods, and yet speaks like an -orator!’ We had a Parson Adams not quite a hundred years ago—a Sir -Roger de Coverley rather more than a hundred! Even Sir Walter is -ordinarily obliged to pitch his angle (strong as the hook is) a -hundred miles to the North of the ‘Modern Athens’ or a century back. -His last work,[46] indeed, is mystical, is romantic in nothing but -the title-page. Instead of ‘a holy-water sprinkle dipped in dew,’ he -has given us a fashionable watering-place—and we see what he has -made of it. He must not come down from his fastnesses in traditional -barbarism and native rusticity; the level, the littleness, the -frippery of modern civilization will undo him as it has undone us! - -Sir Walter has found out (oh, rare discovery) that facts are better than -fiction; that there is no romance like the romance of real life; and -that if we can but arrive at what men feel, do, and say in striking and -singular situations, the result will be ‘more lively, audible, and full -of vent,’ than the fine-spun cobwebs of the brain. With reverence be it -spoken, he is like the man who having to imitate the squeaking of a pig -upon the stage, brought the animal under his coat with him. Our author -has conjured up the actual people he has to deal with, or as much as he -could get of them, in ‘their habits as they lived.’ He has ransacked old -chronicles, and poured the contents upon his page; he has squeezed out -musty records; he has consulted wayfaring pilgrims, bed-rid sibyls; he -has invoked the spirits of the air; he has conversed with the living and -the dead, and let them tell their story their own way; and by borrowing -of others, has enriched his own genius with everlasting variety, truth, -and freedom. He has taken his materials from the original, authentic -sources, in large concrete masses, and not tampered with or too much -frittered them away. He is only the amanuensis of truth and history. It -is impossible to say how fine his writings in consequence are, unless we -could describe how fine nature is. All that portion of the history of -his country that he has touched upon (wide as the scope is) the manners, -the personages, the events, the scenery, lives over again in his -volumes. Nothing is wanting—the illusion is complete. There is a -hurtling in the air, a trampling of feet upon the ground, as these -perfect representations of human character or fanciful belief come -thronging back upon our imaginations. We will merely recall a few of the -subjects of his pencil to the reader’s recollection; for nothing we -could add, by way of note or commendation, could make the impression -more vivid. - -There is (first and foremost, because the earliest of our acquaintance) -the Baron of Bradwardine, stately, kind-hearted, whimsical, pedantic; -and Flora MacIvor (whom even _we_ forgive for her Jacobitism), the -fierce Vich Ian Vohr, and Evan Dhu, constant in death, and Davie -Gellatly roasting his eggs or turning his rhymes with restless -volubility, and the two stag-hounds that met Waverley, as fine as ever -Titian painted, or Paul Veronese:—then there is old Balfour of Burley, -brandishing his sword and his Bible with fire-eyed fury, trying a fall -with the insolent, gigantic Bothwell at the ‘Changehouse, and -vanquishing him at the noble battle of Loudon-hill; there is Bothwell -himself, drawn to the life, proud, cruel, selfish, profligate, but with -the love-letters of the gentle Alice (written thirty years before), and -his verses to her memory, found in his pocket after his death: in the -same volume of _Old Mortality_ is that lone figure, like a figure in -Scripture, of the woman sitting on the stone at the turning to the -mountain, to warn Burley that there is a lion in his path; and the -fawning Claverhouse, beautiful as a panther, smooth-looking, -blood-spotted; and the fanatics, Macbriar and Mucklewrath, crazed with -zeal and sufferings; and the inflexible Morton, and the faithful Edith, -who refused to ‘give her hand to another while her heart was with her -lover in the deep and dead sea.’ And in _The Heart of Mid Lothian_ we -have Effie Deans (that sweet, faded flower) and Jeanie, her more than -sister, and old David Deans, the patriarch of St. Leonard’s Crags, and -Butler, and Dumbiedikes, eloquent in his silence, and Mr. Bartoline -Saddle-tree and his prudent helpmate, and Porteous swinging in the wind, -and Madge Wildfire, full of finery and madness, and her ghastly -mother.—Again, there is Meg Merrilies, standing on her rock, stretched -on her bier with ‘her head to the east,’ and Dirk Hatterick (equal to -Shakespear’s Master Barnardine), and Glossin, the soul of an attorney, -and Dandy Dinmont, with his terrier-pack and his pony Dumple, and the -fiery Colonel Mannering, and the modish old counsellor Pleydell, and -Dominie Sampson,[47] and Rob Roy (like the eagle in his eyry), and -Baillie Nicol Jarvie, and the inimitable Major Galbraith, and Rashleigh -Osbaldistone, and Die Vernon, the best of secret-keepers; and in the -_Antiquary_, the ingenious and abstruse Mr. Jonathan Oldbuck, and the -old beadsman Edie Ochiltree, and that preternatural figure of old Edith -Elspeith, a living shadow, in whom the lamp of life had been long -extinguished, had it not been fed by remorse and ‘thick-coming’ -recollections; and that striking picture of the effects of feudal -tyranny and fiendish pride, the unhappy Earl of Glenallan; and the Black -Dwarf, and his friend Habby of the Heughfoot (the cheerful hunter), and -his cousin Grace Armstrong, fresh and laughing like the morning; and the -_Children of the Mist_, and the baying of the blood-hound that tracks -their steps at a distance (the hollow echoes are in our ears now), and -Amy and her hapless love, and the villain Varney, and the deep voice of -George of Douglas—and the immoveable Balafre, and Master Oliver the -Barber in Quentin Durward—and the quaint humour of the Fortunes of -Nigel, and the comic spirit of Peveril of the Peak—and the fine old -English romance of Ivanhoe. What a list of names! What a host of -associations! What a thing is human life! What a power is that of -genius! What a world of thought and feeling is thus rescued from -oblivion! How many hours of heartfelt satisfaction has our author given -to the gay and thoughtless! How many sad hearts has he soothed in pain -and solitude! It is no wonder that the public repay with lengthened -applause and gratitude the pleasure they receive. He writes as fast as -they can read, and he does not write himself down. He is always in the -public eye, and we do not tire of him. His worst is better than any -other person’s best. His _back-grounds_ (and his later works are little -else but back-grounds capitally made out) are more attractive than the -principal figures and most complicated actions of other writers. His -works (taken together) are almost like a new edition of human nature. -This is indeed to be an author! - -The political bearing of the _Scotch Novels_ has been a considerable -recommendation to them. They are a relief to the mind, rarefied as it -has been with modern philosophy, and heated with ultra-radicalism. At a -time also, when we bid fair to revive the principles of the Stuarts, it -is interesting to bring us acquainted with their persons and -misfortunes. The candour of Sir Walter’s historic pen levels our -bristling prejudices on this score, and sees fair play between -Roundheads and Cavaliers, between Protestant and Papist. He is a writer -reconciling all the diversities of human nature to the reader. He does -not enter into the distinctions of hostile sects or parties, but treats -of the strength or the infirmity of the human mind, of the virtues or -vices of the human breast, as they are to be found blended in the whole -race of mankind. Nothing can show more handsomely or be more gallantly -executed. There was a talk at one time that our author was about to take -Guy Faux for the subject of one of his novels, in order to put a more -liberal and humane construction on the Gunpowder Plot than our ‘No -Popery’ prejudices have hitherto permitted. Sir Walter is a professed -_clarifier_ of the age from the vulgar and still lurking old-English -antipathy to Popery and Slavery. Through some odd process of _servile_ -logic, it should seem, that in restoring the claims of the Stuarts by -the courtesy of romance, the House of Brunswick are more firmly seated -in point of fact, and the Bourbons, by collateral reasoning, become -legitimate! In any other point of view, we cannot possibly conceive how -Sir Walter imagines ‘he has done something to revive the declining -spirit of loyalty’ by these novels. His loyalty is founded on _would-be_ -treason: he props the actual throne by the shadow of rebellion. Does he -really think of making us enamoured of the ‘good old times’ by the -faithful and harrowing portraits he has drawn of them? Would he carry us -back to the early stages of barbarism, of clanship, of the feudal system -as ‘a consummation devoutly to be wished?’ Is he infatuated enough, or -does he so dote and drivel over his own slothful and self-willed -prejudices, as to believe that he will make a single convert to the -beauty of Legitimacy, that is, of lawless power and savage bigotry, when -he himself is obliged to apologise for the horrors he describes, and -even render his descriptions credible to the modern reader by referring -to the authentic history of these delectable times?[48] He is indeed so -besotted as to the moral of his own story, that he has even the -blindness to go out of his way to have a fling at _flints_ and _dungs_ -(the contemptible ingredients, as he would have us believe, of a modern -rabble) at the very time when he is describing a mob of the twelfth -century—a mob (one should think) after the writer’s own heart, without -one particle of modern philosophy or revolutionary politics in their -composition, who were to a man, to a hair, just what priests, and kings, -and nobles _let_ them be, and who were collected to witness (a spectacle -proper to the times) the burning of the lovely Rebecca at a stake for a -sorceress, because she was a Jewess, beautiful and innocent, and the -consequent victim of insane bigotry and unbridled profligacy. And it is -at this moment (when the heart is kindled and bursting with indignation -at the revolting abuses of self-constituted power) that Sir Walter -_stops the press_ to have a sneer at the people, and to put a spoke (as -he thinks) in the wheel of upstart innovation! This is what he ‘calls -backing his friends’—it is thus he administers charms and philtres to -our love of Legitimacy, makes us conceive a horror of all reform, civil, -political, or religious, and would fain put down the _Spirit of the -Age_. The author of Waverley might just as well get up and make a speech -at a dinner at Edinburgh, abusing Mr. Mac-Adam for his improvements in -the roads, on the ground that they were nearly _impassable_ in many -places ‘sixty years since’; or object to Mr. Peel’s _Police-Bill_, by -insisting that Hounslow-Heath was formerly a scene of greater interest -and terror to highwaymen and travellers, and cut a greater figure in the -Newgate Calendar than it does at present.—Oh! Wickliff, Luther, Hampden, -Sidney, Somers, mistaken Whigs, and thoughtless Reformers in religion -and politics, and all ye, whether poets or philosophers, heroes or -sages, inventors of arts or sciences, patriots, benefactors of the human -race, enlighteners and civilisers of the world, who have (so far) -reduced opinion to reason, and power to law, who are the cause that we -no longer burn witches and heretics at slow fires, that the thumb-screws -are no longer applied by ghastly, smiling judges, to extort confession -of imputed crimes from sufferers for conscience sake; that men are no -longer strung up like acorns on trees without judge or jury, or hunted -like wild beasts through thickets and glens, who have abated the cruelty -of priests, the pride of nobles, the divinity of kings in former times; -to whom we owe it, that we no longer wear round our necks the collar of -Gurth the swineherd, and of Wamba the jester; that the castles of great -lords are no longer the dens of banditti, from whence they issue with -fire and sword, to lay waste the land; that we no longer expire in -loathsome dungeons without knowing the cause, or have our right hands -struck off for raising them in self-defence against wanton insult; that -we can sleep without fear of being burnt in our beds, or travel without -making our wills; that no Amy Robsarts are thrown down trap-doors by -Richard Varneys with impunity; that no Red Reiver of Westburn-Flat sets -fire to peaceful cottages; that no Claverhouse signs cold-blooded -death-warrants in sport; that we have no Tristan the Hermit, or -Petit-André, crawling near us, like spiders, and making our flesh creep, -and our hearts sicken within us at every moment of our lives—ye who have -produced this change in the face of nature and society, return to earth -once more, and beg pardon of Sir Walter and his patrons, who sigh at not -being able to undo all that you have done! Leaving this question, there -are two other remarks which we wished to make on the Novels. The one -was, to express our admiration of the good-nature of the mottos, in -which the author has taken occasion to remember and quote almost every -living author (whether illustrious or obscure) but himself—an indirect -argument in favour of the general opinion as to the source from which -they spring—and the other was, to hint our astonishment at the -innumerable and incessant instances of bad and slovenly English in them, -more, we believe, than in any other works now printed. We should think -the writer could not possibly read the manuscript after he has once -written it, or overlook the press. - -If there were a writer, who ‘born for the universe’— - - ‘——Narrow’d his mind, - And to party gave up what was meant for mankind—’ - -who, from the height of his genius looking abroad into nature, and -scanning the recesses of the human heart, ‘winked and shut his -apprehension up’ to every thought or purpose that tended to the future -good of mankind—who, raised by affluence, the reward of successful -industry, and by the voice of fame above the want of any but the most -honourable patronage, stooped to the unworthy arts of adulation, and -abetted the views of the great with the pettifogging feelings of the -meanest dependant on office—who, having secured the admiration of the -public (with the probable reversion of immortality), showed no respect -for himself, for that genius that had raised him to distinction, for -that nature which he trampled under foot—who, amiable, frank, friendly, -manly in private life, was seized with the dotage of age and the fury of -a woman, the instant politics were concerned—who reserved all his -candour and comprehensiveness of view for history, and vented his -littleness, pique, resentment, bigotry, and intolerance on his -contemporaries—who took the wrong side, and defended it by unfair -means—who, the moment his own interest or the prejudices of others -interfered, seemed to forget all that was due to the pride of intellect, -to the sense of manhood—who, praised, admired by men of all parties -alike, repaid the public liberality by striking a secret and envenomed -blow at the reputation of every one who was not the ready tool of -power—who strewed the slime of rankling malice and mercenary scorn over -the bud and promise of genius, because it was not fostered in the -hot-bed of corruption, or warped by the trammels of servility—who -supported the worst abuses of authority in the worst spirit—who joined a -gang of desperadoes to spread calumny, contempt, infamy, wherever they -were merited by honesty or talent on a different side—who officiously -undertook to decide public questions by private insinuations, to prop -the throne by nicknames, and the altar by lies—who being (by common -consent), the finest, the most humane and accomplished writer of his -age, associated himself with and encouraged the lowest panders of a -venal press; deluging, nauseating the public mind with the offal and -garbage of Billingsgate abuse and vulgar _slang_; showing no remorse, no -relenting or compassion towards the victims of this nefarious and -organized system of party-proscription, carried on under the mask of -literary criticism and fair discussion, insulting the misfortunes of -some, and trampling on the early grave of others— - - ‘Who would not grieve if such a man there be? - Who would not weep if Atticus were he?’ - -But we believe there is no other age or country of the world (but ours), -in which such genius could have been so degraded! - - - - - LORD BYRON - - -Lord Byron and Sir Walter Scott are among writers now living[49] the -two, who would carry away a majority of suffrages as the greatest -geniuses of the age. The former would, perhaps, obtain the preference -with the fine gentlemen and ladies (squeamishness apart)—the latter with -the critics and the vulgar. We shall treat of them in the same -connection, partly on account of their distinguished pre-eminence, and -partly because they afford a complete contrast to each other. In their -poetry, in their prose, in their politics, and in their tempers, no two -men can be more unlike. - -If Sir Walter Scott may be thought by some to have been - - ‘Born universal heir to all humanity,’ - -it is plain Lord Byron can set up no such pretension. He is, in a -striking degree, the creature of his own will. He holds no communion -with his kind; but stands alone, without mate or fellow— - - ‘As if a man were author of himself, - And owned no other kin.’ - -He is like a solitary peak, all access to which is cut off not more by -elevation than distance. He is seated on a lofty eminence, ‘cloud-capt,’ -or reflecting the last rays of setting suns; and in his poetical moods, -reminds us of the fabled Titans, retired to a ridgy steep, playing on -their Pan’s-pipes, and taking up ordinary men and things in their hands -with haughty indifference. He raises his subject to himself, or tramples -on it; he neither stoops to, nor loses himself in it. He exists not by -sympathy, but by antipathy. He scorns all things, even himself. Nature -must come to him to sit for her picture—he does not go to her. She must -consult his time, his convenience, and his humour; and wear a _sombre_ -or a fantastic garb, or his Lordship turns his back upon her. There is -no ease, no unaffected simplicity of manner, no ‘golden mean.’ All is -strained, or petulant in the extreme. His thoughts are sphered and -crystalline; his style ‘prouder than when blue Iris bends’; his spirit -fiery, impatient, wayward, indefatigable. Instead of taking his -impressions from without, in entire and almost unimpaired masses, he -moulds them according to his own temperament, and heats the materials of -his imagination in the furnace of his passions.—Lord Byron’s verse glows -like a flame, consuming every thing in its way; Sir Walter Scott’s -glides like a river, clear, gentle, harmless. The poetry of the first -scorches, that of the last scarcely warms. The light of the one proceeds -from an internal source, ensanguined, sullen, fixed; the others reflects -the hues of Heaven, or the face of nature, glancing vivid and various. -The productions of the Northern Bard have the rust and the freshness of -antiquity about them; those of the Noble Poet cease to startle from -their extreme ambition of novelty, both in style and matter. Sir -Walter’s rhymes are ‘silly sooth’— - - ‘And dally with the innocence of thought, - Like the old age’— - -his Lordship’s Muse spurns _the olden time_, and affects all the -supercilious airs of a modern fine lady and an upstart. The object of -the one writer is to restore us to truth and nature: the other chiefly -thinks how he shall display his own power, or vent his spleen, or -astonish the reader either by starting new subjects and trains of -speculation, or by expressing old ones in a more striking and emphatic -manner than they have been expressed before. He cares little what it is -he says, so that he can say it differently from others. This may account -for the charges of plagiarism which have been repeatedly brought against -the Noble Poet—if he can borrow an image or sentiment from another, and -heighten it by an epithet or an allusion of greater force and beauty -than is to be found in the original passage, he thinks he shows his -superiority of execution in this in a more marked manner than if the -first suggestion had been his own. It is not the value of the -observation itself he is solicitous about; but he wishes to shine by -contrast—even nature only serves as a foil to set off his style. He -therefore takes the thoughts of others (whether contemporaries or not) -out of their mouths, and is content to make them his own, to set his -stamp upon them, by imparting to them a more meretricious gloss, a -higher relief, a greater loftiness of tone, and a characteristic -inveteracy of purpose. Even in those collateral ornaments of modern -style, slovenliness, abruptness, and eccentricity (as well as in -terseness and significance), Lord Byron, when he pleases, defies -competition and surpasses all his contemporaries. Whatever he does, he -must do in a more decided and daring manner than any one else—he lounges -with extravagance, and yawns so as to alarm the reader! Self-will, -passion, the love of singularity, a disdain of himself and of others -(with a conscious sense that this is among the ways and means of -procuring admiration) are the proper categories of his mind: he is a -lordly writer, is above his own reputation, and condescends to the Muses -with a scornful grace! - -Lord Byron, who in his politics is a _liberal_, in his genius is haughty -and aristocratic: Walter Scott, who is an aristocrat in principle, is -popular in his writings, and is (as it were) equally _servile_ to nature -and to opinion. The genius of Sir Walter is essentially imitative, or -‘denotes a foregone conclusion’: that of Lord Byron is self-dependent; -or at least requires no aid, is governed by no law, but the impulses of -its own will. We confess, however much we may admire independence of -feeling and erectness of spirit in general or practical questions, yet -in works of genius we prefer him who bows to the authority of nature, -who appeals to actual objects, to mouldering superstitions, to history, -observation, and tradition, before him who only consults the pragmatical -and restless workings of his own breast, and gives them out as oracles -to the world. We like a writer (whether poet or prose-writer) who takes -in (or is willing to take in) the range of half the universe in feeling, -character, description, much better than we do one who obstinately and -invariably shuts himself up in the Bastile of his own ruling passions. -In short, we had rather be Sir Walter Scott (meaning thereby the Author -of Waverley) than Lord Byron, a hundred times over. And for the reason -just given, namely, that he casts his descriptions in the mould of -nature, ever-varying, never tiresome, always interesting and always -instructive, instead of casting them constantly in the mould of his own -individual impressions. He gives us man as he is, or as he was, in -almost every variety of situation, action, and feeling. Lord Byron makes -man after his own image, woman after his own heart; the one is a -capricious tyrant, the other a yielding slave; he gives us the -misanthrope and the voluptuary by turns; and with these two characters, -burning or melting in their own fires, he makes out everlasting centos -of himself. He hangs the cloud, the film of his existence over all -outward things—sits in the centre of his thoughts, and enjoys dark -night, bright day, the glitter and the gloom ‘in cell monastic’—we see -the mournful pall, the crucifix, the death’s heads, the faded chaplet of -flowers, the gleaming tapers, the agonized brow of genius, the wasted -form of beauty—but we are still imprisoned in a dungeon, a curtain -intercepts our view, we do not breathe freely the air of nature or of -our own thoughts—the other admired author draws aside the curtain, and -the veil of egotism is rent, and he shows us the crowd of living men and -women, the endless groups, the landscape back-ground, the cloud and the -rainbow, and enriches our imaginations and relieves one passion by -another, and expands and lightens reflection, and takes away that -tightness at the breast which arises from thinking or wishing to think -that there is nothing in the world out of a man’s self!—In this point of -view, the Author of Waverley is one of the greatest teachers of morality -that ever lived, by emancipating the mind from petty, narrow, and -bigotted prejudices: Lord Byron is the greatest pamperer of those -prejudices, by seeming to think there is nothing else worth encouraging -but the seeds or the full luxuriant growth of dogmatism and -self-conceit. In reading the _Scotch Novels_, we never think about the -author, except from a feeling of curiosity respecting our unknown -benefactor: in reading Lord Byron’s works, he himself is never absent -from our minds. The colouring of Lord Byron’s style, however rich and -dipped in Tyrian dyes, is nevertheless opaque, is in itself an object of -delight and wonder: Sir Walter Scott’s is perfectly transparent. In -studying the one, you seem to gaze at the figures cut in stained glass, -which exclude the view beyond, and where the pure light of Heaven is -only a means of setting off the gorgeousness of art: in reading the -other, you look through a noble window at the clear and varied landscape -without. Or to sum up the distinction in one word, Sir Walter Scott is -the most _dramatic_ writer now living; and Lord Byron is the least so. -It would be difficult to imagine that the Author of Waverley is in the -smallest degree a pedant; as it would be hard to persuade ourselves that -the author of Childe Harold and Don Juan is not a coxcomb, though a -provoking and sublime one. In this decided preference given to Sir -Walter Scott over Lord Byron, we distinctly include the prose-works of -the former; for we do not think his poetry alone, by any means entitles -him to that precedence. Sir Walter in his poetry, though pleasing and -natural, is a comparative trifler: it is in his anonymous productions -that he has shown himself for what he is!— - -_Intensity_ is the great and prominent distinction of Lord Byron’s -writings. He seldom gets beyond force of style, nor has he produced any -regular work or masterly whole. He does not prepare any plan beforehand, -nor revise and retouch what he has written with polished accuracy. His -only object seems to be to stimulate himself and his readers for the -moment—to keep both alive, to drive away _ennui_, to substitute a -feverish and irritable state of excitement for listless indolence or -even calm enjoyment. For this purpose he pitches on any subject at -random without much thought or delicacy—he is only impatient to -begin—and takes care to adorn and enrich it as he proceeds with -‘thoughts that breathe and words that burn.’ He composes (as he himself -has said) whether he is in the bath, in his study, or on horseback—he -writes as habitually as others talk or think—and whether we have the -inspiration of the Muse or not, we always find the spirit of the man of -genius breathing from his verse. He grapples with his subject, and -moves, penetrates, and animates it by the electric force of his own -feelings. He is often monotonous, extravagant, offensive; but he is -never dull, or tedious, but when he writes prose. Lord Byron does not -exhibit a new view of nature, or raise insignificant objects into -importance by the romantic associations with which he surrounds them; -but generally (at least) takes common-place thoughts and events, and -endeavours to express them in stronger and statelier language than -others. His poetry stands like a Martello tower by the side of his -subject. He does not, like Mr. Wordsworth, lift poetry from the ground, -or create a sentiment out of nothing. He does not describe a daisy or a -periwinkle, but the cedar or the cypress: not ‘poor men’s cottages, but -princes’ palaces.’ His _Childe Harold_ contains a lofty and impassioned -review of the great events of history, of the mighty objects left as -wrecks of time, but he dwells chiefly on what is familiar to the mind of -every school-boy; has brought out few new traits of feeling or thought; -and has done no more than justice to the reader’s preconceptions by the -sustained force and brilliancy of his style and imagery. - -Lord Byron’s earlier productions, _Lara_, the _Corsair_, &c. were wild -and gloomy romances, put into rapid and shining verse. They discover the -madness of poetry, together with the inspiration: sullen, moody, -capricious, fierce, inexorable, gloating on beauty, thirsting for -revenge, hurrying from the extremes of pleasure to pain, but with -nothing permanent, nothing healthy or natural. The gaudy decorations and -the morbid sentiments remind one of flowers strewed over the face of -death! In his _Childe Harold_ (as has been just observed) he assumes a -lofty and philosophic tone, and ‘reasons high of providence, -fore-knowledge, will, and fate.’ He takes the highest points in the -history of the world, and comments on them from a more commanding -eminence: he shows us the crumbling monuments of time, he invokes the -great names, the mighty spirit of antiquity. The universe is changed -into a stately mausoleum:—in solemn measures he chaunts a hymn to fame. -Lord Byron has strength and elevation enough to fill up the moulds of -our classical and time-hallowed recollections, and to rekindle the -earliest aspirations of the mind after greatness and true glory with a -pen of fire. The names of Tasso, of Ariosto, of Dante, of Cincinnatus, -of Cæsar, of Scipio, lose nothing of their pomp or their lustre in his -hands, and when he begins and continues a strain of panegyric on such -subjects, we indeed sit down with him to a banquet of rich praise, -brooding over imperishable glories, - - ‘Till Contemplation has her fill.’ - -Lord Byron seems to cast himself indignantly from ‘this bank and shoal -of time,’ or the frail tottering bark that bears up modern reputation, -into the huge sea of ancient renown, and to revel there with untired, -outspread plume. Even this in him is spleen—his contempt of his -contemporaries makes him turn back to the lustrous past, or project -himself forward to the dim future!—Lord Byron’s tragedies, Faliero,[50] -Sardanapalus, &c. are not equal to his other works. They want the -essence of the drama. They abound in speeches and descriptions, such as -he himself might make either to himself or others, lolling on his couch -of a morning, but do not carry the reader out of the poet’s mind to the -scenes and events recorded. They have neither action, character, nor -interest, but are a sort of _gossamer_ tragedies, spun out, and -glittering, and spreading a flimsy veil over the face of nature. Yet he -spins them on. Of all that he has done in this way the _Heaven and -Earth_ (the same subject as Mr. Moore’s _Loves of the Angels_) is the -best. We prefer it even to _Manfred_. _Manfred_ is merely himself, with -a fancy-drapery on: but in the dramatic fragment published in the -_Liberal_, the space between Heaven and Earth, the stage on which his -characters have to pass to and fro, seems to fill his Lordship’s -imagination; and the Deluge, which he has so finely described, may be -said to have drowned all his own idle humours. - -We must say we think little of our author’s turn for satire. His -‘English Bards and Scotch Reviewers’ is dogmatical and insolent, but -without refinement or point. He calls people names, and tries to -transfix a character with an epithet, which does not stick, because it -has no other foundation than his own petulance and spite; or he -endeavours to degrade by alluding to some circumstance of external -situation. He says of Mr. Wordsworth’s poetry, that ‘it is his -aversion.’ That may be: but whose fault is it? This is the satire of a -lord, who is accustomed to have all his whims or dislikes taken for -gospel, and who cannot be at the pains to do more than signify his -contempt or displeasure. If a great man meets with a rebuff which he -does not like, he turns on his heel, and this passes for a repartee. The -Noble Author says of a celebrated barrister and critic, that he was -‘born in a garret sixteen stories high.’ The insinuation is not true; or -if it were, it is low. The allusion degrades the person who makes, not -him to whom it is applied. This is also the satire of a person of birth -and quality, who measures all merit by external rank, that is, by his -own standard. So his Lordship, in a ‘Letter to the Editor of My -Grandmother’s Review,’ addresses him fifty times as ‘_my dear Robarts_‘; -nor is there any other wit in the article. This is surely a mere -assumption of superiority from his Lordship’s rank, and is the sort of -_quizzing_ he might use to a person who came to hire himself as a valet -to him at _Long’s_—the waiters might laugh, the public will not. In like -manner, in the controversy about Pope, he claps Mr. Bowles on the back -with a coarse facetious familiarity, as if he were his chaplain whom he -had invited to dine with him, or was about to present to a benefice. The -reverend divine might submit to the obligation, but he has no occasion -to subscribe to the jest. If it is a jest that Mr. Bowles should be a -parson, and Lord Byron a peer, the world knew this before; there was no -need to write a pamphlet to prove it. - -The _Don Juan_ indeed has great power; but its power is owing to the -force of the serious writing, and to the oddity of the contrast between -that and the flashy passages with which it is interlarded. From the -sublime to the ridiculous there is but one step. You laugh and are -surprised that any one should turn round and _travestie_ himself: the -drollery is in the utter discontinuity of ideas and feelings. He makes -virtue serve as a foil to vice; _dandyism_ is (for want of any other) a -variety of genius. A classical intoxication is followed by the splashing -of soda-water, by frothy effusions of ordinary bile. After the lightning -and the hurricane, we are introduced to the interior of the cabin and -the contents of wash-hand basins. The solemn hero of tragedy plays -_Scrub_ in the farce. This is ‘very tolerable and not to be endured.’ -The Noble Lord is almost the only writer who has prostituted his talents -in this way. He hallows in order to desecrate; takes a pleasure in -defacing the images of beauty his hands have wrought; and raises our -hopes and our belief in goodness to Heaven only to dash them to the -earth again, and break them in pieces the more effectually from the very -height they have fallen. Our enthusiasm for genius or virtue is thus -turned into a jest by the very person who has kindled it, and who thus -fatally quenches the sparks of both. It is not that Lord Byron is -sometimes serious and sometimes trifling, sometimes profligate, and -sometimes moral—but when he is most serious and most moral, he is only -preparing to mortify the unsuspecting reader by putting a pitiful _hoax_ -upon him. This is a most unaccountable anomaly. It is as if the eagle -were to build its eyry in a common sewer, or the owl were seen soaring -to the mid-day sun. Such a sight might make one laugh, but one would not -wish or expect it to occur more than once.[51] - -In fact, Lord Byron is the spoiled child of fame as well as fortune. He -has taken a surfeit of popularity, and is not contented to delight, -unless he can shock the public. He would force them to admire in spite -of decency and common sense—he would have them read what they would read -in no one but himself, or he would not give a rush for their applause. -He is to be ‘a chartered libertine,’ from whom insults are favours, -whose contempt is to be a new incentive to admiration. His Lordship is -hard to please: he is equally averse to notice or neglect, enraged at -censure and scorning praise. He tries the patience of the town to the -very utmost, and when they show signs of weariness or disgust, threatens -to _discard_ them. He says he will write on, whether he is read or not. -He would never write another page, if it were not to court popular -applause, or to affect a superiority over it. In this respect also, Lord -Byron presents a striking contrast to Sir Walter Scott. The latter takes -what part of the public favour falls to his share, without grumbling (to -be sure he has no reason to complain); the former is always quarrelling -with the world about his _modicum_ of applause, the _spolia opima_ of -vanity, and ungraciously throwing the offerings of incense heaped on his -shrine back in the faces of his admirers. Again, there is no taint in -the writings of the Author of Waverley, all is fair and natural and -_above-board_: he never outrages the public mind. He introduces no -anomalous character: broaches no staggering opinion. If he goes back to -old prejudices and superstitions as a relief to the modern reader, while -Lord Byron floats on swelling paradoxes— - - ‘Like proud seas under him’; - -if the one defers too much to the spirit of antiquity, the other panders -to the spirit of the age, goes to the very edge of extreme and -licentious speculation, and breaks his neck over it. Grossness and -levity are the playthings of his pen. It is a ludicrous circumstance -that he should have dedicated his _Cain_ to the worthy Baronet! Did the -latter ever acknowledge the obligation? We are not nice, not very nice; -but we do not particularly approve those subjects that shine chiefly -from their rottenness: nor do we wish to see the Muses drest out in the -flounces of a false or questionable philosophy, like _Portia_ and -_Nerissa_ in the garb of Doctors of Law. We like metaphysics as well as -Lord Byron; but not to see them making flowery speeches, nor dancing a -measure in the fetters of verse. We have as good as hinted, that his -Lordship’s poetry consists mostly of a tissue of superb common-places; -even his paradoxes are _common-place_. They are familiar in the schools: -they are only new and striking in his dramas and stanzas, by being out -of place. In a word, we think that poetry moves best within the circle -of nature and received opinion: speculative theory and subtle casuistry -are forbidden ground to it. But Lord Byron often wanders into this -ground wantonly, wilfully, and unwarrantably. The only apology we can -conceive for the spirit of some of Lord Byron’s writings, is the spirit -of some of those opposed to him. They would provoke a man to write -anything. ‘Farthest from them is best.’ The extravagance and license of -the one seems a proper antidote to the bigotry and narrowness of the -other. The first _Vision of Judgment_ was a set-off to the second, -though - - ‘None but itself could be its parallel.’ - -Perhaps the chief cause of most of Lord Byron’s errors is, that he is -that anomaly in letters and in society, a Noble Poet. It is a double -privilege, almost too much for humanity. He has all the pride of birth -and genius. The strength of his imagination leads him to indulge in -fantastic opinions; the elevation of his rank sets censure at defiance. -He becomes a pampered egotist. He has a seat in the House of Lords, a -niche in the Temple of Fame. Every-day mortals, opinions, things are not -good enough for him to touch or think of. A mere nobleman is, in his -estimation, but ‘the tenth transmitter of a foolish face’: a mere man of -genius is no better than a worm. His Muse is also a lady of quality. The -people are not polite enough for him: the Court not sufficiently -intellectual. He hates the one and despises the other. By hating and -despising others, he does not learn to be satisfied with himself. A -fastidious man soon grows querulous and splenetic. If there is nobody -but ourselves to come up to our idea of fancied perfection, we easily -get tired of our idol. When a man is tired of what he is, by a natural -perversity he sets up for what he is not. If he is a poet, he pretends -to be a metaphysician: if he is a patrician in rank and feeling, he -would fain be one of the people. His ruling motive is not the love of -the people, but of distinction; not of truth, but of singularity. He -patronizes men of letters out of vanity, and deserts them from caprice, -or from the advice of friends. He embarks in an obnoxious publication to -provoke censure, and leaves it to shift for itself for fear of scandal. -We do not like Sir Walter’s gratuitous servility: we like Lord Byron’s -preposterous _liberalism_ little better. He may affect the principles of -equality, but he resumes his privilege of peerage, upon occasion. His -Lordship has made great offers of service to the Greeks—money and -horses. He is at present in Cephalonia, waiting the event! - - * * * * * - -We had written thus far when news came of the death of Lord Byron, and -put an end at once to a strain of somewhat peevish invective, which was -intended to meet his eye, not to insult his memory. Had we known that we -were writing his epitaph, we must have done it with a different feeling. -As it is, we think it better and more like himself, to let what we had -written stand, than to take up our leaden shafts, and try to melt them -into ‘tears of sensibility,’ or mould them into dull praise, and an -affected show of candour. We were not silent during the author’s -life-time, either for his reproof or encouragement (such as we could -give, and _he_ did not disdain to accept) nor can we now turn -undertakers’ men to fix the glittering plate upon his coffin, or fall -into the procession of popular woe.—Death cancels every thing but truth; -and strips a man of every thing but genius and virtue. It is a sort of -natural canonization. It makes the meanest of us sacred—it installs the -poet in his immortality, and lifts him to the skies. Death is the great -assayer of the sterling ore of talent. At his touch the drossy particles -fall off, the irritable, the personal, the gross, and mingle with the -dust—the finer and more ethereal part mounts with the winged spirit to -watch over our latest memory, and protect our bones from insult. We -consign the least worthy qualities to oblivion, and cherish the nobler -and imperishable nature with double pride and fondness. Nothing could -show the real superiority of genius in a more striking point of view -than the idle contests and the public indifference about the place of -Lord Byron’s interment, whether in Westminster Abbey or his own -family-vault. A king must have a coronation—a nobleman a -funeral-procession.—The man is nothing without the pageant. The poet’s -cemetery is the human mind, in which he sows the seeds of never-ending -thought—his monument is to be found in his works: - - ‘Nothing can cover his high fame but Heaven; - No pyramids set off his memory, - But the eternal substance of his greatness.’ - -Lord Byron is dead: he also died a martyr to his zeal in the cause of -freedom, for the last, best hopes of man. Let that be his excuse and his -epitaph! - - - - - MR. SOUTHEY - - -Mr. Southey, as we formerly remember to have seen him, had a hectic -flush upon his cheek, a roving fire in his eye, a falcon glance, a look -at once aspiring and dejected—it was the look that had been impressed -upon his face by the events that marked the outset of his life, it was -the dawn of Liberty that still tinged his cheek, a smile betwixt hope -and sadness that still played upon his quivering lip. Mr. Southey’s mind -is essentially sanguine, even to over-weeningness. It is prophetic of -good; it cordially embraces it; it casts a longing, lingering look after -it, even when it is gone for ever. He cannot bear to give up the thought -of happiness, his confidence in his fellow-man, when all else despair. -It is the very element, ‘where he must live or have no life at all.’ -While he supposed it possible that a better form of society could be -introduced than any that had hitherto existed, while the light of the -French Revolution beamed into his soul (and long after, it was seen -reflected on his brow, like the light of setting suns on the peak of -some high mountain, or lonely range of clouds, floating in purer ether!) -while he had this hope, this faith in man left, he cherished it with -child-like simplicity, he clung to it with the fondness of a lover, he -was an enthusiast, a fanatic, a leveller; he stuck at nothing that he -thought would banish all pain and misery from the world—in his -impatience of the smallest error or injustice, he would have sacrificed -himself and the existing generation (a holocaust) to his devotion to the -right cause. But when he once believed after many staggering doubts and -painful struggles, that this was no longer possible, when his chimeras -and golden dreams of human perfectibility vanished from him, he turned -suddenly round, and maintained that ‘whatever _is_, is right.’ Mr. -Southey has not fortitude of mind, has not patience to think that evil -is inseparable from the nature of things. His irritable sense rejects -the alternative altogether, as a weak stomach rejects the food that is -distasteful to it. He hopes on against hope, he believes in all -unbelief. He must either repose on actual or on imaginary good. He -missed his way in _Utopia_, he has found it at Old Sarum— - - ‘His generous _ardour_ no cold medium knows:’ - -his eagerness admits of no doubt or delay. He is ever in extremes, and -ever in the wrong! - -The reason is, that not truth, but self-opinion is the ruling principle -of Mr. Southey’s mind. The charm of novelty, the applause of the -multitude, the sanction of power, the venerableness of antiquity, pique, -resentment, the spirit of contradiction have a good deal to do with his -preferences. His inquiries are partial and hasty: his conclusions raw -and unconcocted, and with a considerable infusion of whim and humour and -a monkish spleen. His opinions are like certain wines, warm and generous -when new; but they will not keep, and soon turn flat or sour, for want -of a stronger spirit of the understanding to give a body to them. He -wooed Liberty as a youthful lover, but it was perhaps more as a mistress -than a bride; and he has since wedded with an elderly and not very -reputable lady, called Legitimacy. _A wilful man_, according to the -Scotch proverb, _must have his way_. If it were the cause to which he -was sincerely attached, he would adhere to it through good report and -evil report; but it is himself to whom he does homage, and would have -others do so; and he therefore changes sides, rather than submit to -apparent defeat or temporary mortification. Abstract principle has no -rule but the understood distinction between right and wrong; the -indulgence of vanity, of caprice, or prejudice is regulated by the -convenience or bias of the moment. The temperament of our politician’s -mind is poetical, not philosophical. He is more the creature of impulse, -than he is of reflection. He invents the unreal, he embellishes the -false with the glosses of fancy, but pays little attention to ‘the words -of truth and soberness.’ His impressions are accidental, immediate, -personal, instead of being permanent and universal. Of all mortals he is -surely the most impatient of contradiction, even when he has completely -turned the tables on himself. Is not this very inconsistency the reason? -Is he not tenacious of his opinions, in proportion as they are brittle -and hastily formed? Is he not jealous of the grounds of his belief, -because he fears they will not bear inspection, or is conscious he has -shifted them? Does he not confine others to the strict line of -orthodoxy, because he has himself taken every liberty? Is he not afraid -to look to the right or the left, lest he should see the ghosts of his -former extravagances staring him in the face? Does he not refuse to -tolerate the smallest shade of difference in others, because he feels -that he wants the utmost latitude of construction for differing so -widely from himself? Is he not captious, dogmatical, petulant in -delivering his sentiments, according as he has been inconsistent, rash, -and fanciful in adopting them? He maintains that there can be no -possible ground for differing from him, because he looks only at his own -side of the question! He sets up his own favourite notions as the -standard of reason and honesty, because he has changed from one extreme -to another! He treats his opponents with contempt, because he is himself -afraid of meeting with disrespect! He says that ‘a Reformer is a worse -character than a house-breaker,’ in order to stifle the recollection -that he himself once was one! - -We must say that ‘we relish Mr. Southey more in the Reformer’ than in -his lately acquired, but by no means natural or becoming character of -poet-laureat and courtier. He may rest assured that a garland of wild -flowers suits him better than the laureat-wreath: that his pastoral odes -and popular inscriptions were far more adapted to his genius than his -presentation-poems. He is nothing akin to birth-day suits and -drawing-room fopperies. ‘He is nothing, if not fantastical.’ In his -figure, in his movements, in his sentiments, he is sharp and angular, -quaint and eccentric. Mr. Southey is not of the court, courtly. Every -thing of him and about him is from the people. He is not classical, he -is not legitimate. He is not a man cast in the mould of other men’s -opinions: he is not shaped on any model: he bows to no authority: he -yields only to his own wayward peculiarities. He is wild, irregular, -singular, extreme. He is no formalist, not he! All is crude and chaotic, -self-opinionated, vain. He wants proportion, keeping, system, standard -rules. He is not _teres et rotundus_. Mr. Southey walks with his chin -erect through the streets of London, and with an umbrella sticking out -under his arm, in the finest weather. He has not sacrificed to the -Graces, nor studied decorum. With him every thing is projecting, -starting from its place, an episode, a digression, a poetic license. He -does not move in any given orbit, but like a falling star, shoots from -his sphere. He is pragmatical, restless, unfixed, full of experiments, -beginning every thing anew, wiser than his betters, judging for himself, -dictating to others. He is decidedly _revolutionary_. He may have given -up the reform of the State: but depend upon it, he has some other -_hobby_ of the same kind. Does he not dedicate to his present Majesty -that extraordinary poem on the death of his father, called _The Vision -of Judgment_, as a specimen of what might be done in English hexameters? -In a court-poem all should be trite and on an approved model. He might -as well have presented himself at the levee in a fancy or masquerade -dress. Mr. Southey was not _to try conclusions_ with Majesty—still less -on such an occasion. The extreme freedoms with departed greatness, the -party-petulance carried to the Throne of Grace, the unchecked indulgence -of private humour, the assumption of infallibility and even of the voice -of Heaven in this poem, are pointed instances of what we have said. They -show the singular state of over-excitement of Mr. Southey’s mind, and -the force of old habits of independent and unbridled thinking, which -cannot be kept down even in addressing his Sovereign! Look at Mr. -Southey’s larger poems, his _Kehama_, his _Thalaba_, his _Madoc_, his -_Roderic_. Who will deny the spirit, the scope, the splendid imagery, -the hurried and startling interest that pervades them? Who will say that -they are not sustained on fictions wilder than his own Glendoveer, that -they are not the daring creations of a mind curbed by no law, tamed by -no fear, that they are not rather like the trances than the waking -dreams of genius, that they are not the very paradoxes of poetry? All -this is very well, very intelligible, and very harmless, if we regard -the rank excrescences of Mr. Southey’s poetry, like the red and blue -flowers in corn, as the unweeded growth of a luxuriant and wandering -fancy; or if we allow the yeasty workings of an ardent spirit to ferment -and boil over—the variety, the boldness, the lively stimulus given to -the mind may then atone for the violation of rules and the offences to -bed-rid authority; but not if our poetic libertine sets up for a -law-giver and judge, or an apprehender of vagrants in the regions either -of taste or opinion. Our motley gentleman deserves the strait-waistcoat, -if he is for setting others in the stocks of servility, or condemning -them to the pillory for a new mode of rhyme or reason. Or if a composer -of sacred Dramas on classic models, or a translator of an old Latin -author (that will hardly bear translation) or a vamper-up of vapid -cantos and Odes set to music, were to turn pander to prescription and -palliator of every dull, incorrigible abuse, it would not be much to be -wondered at or even regretted. But in Mr. Southey it was a lamentable -falling-off. It is indeed to be deplored, it is a stain on genius, a -blow to humanity, that the author of _Joan of Arc_—that work in which -the love of Liberty is exhaled like the breath of spring, mild, balmy, -heavenborn, that is full of tears and virgin-sighs, and yearnings of -affection after truth and good, gushing warm and crimsoned from the -heart—should ever after turn to folly, or become the advocate of a -rotten cause. After giving up his heart to that subject, he ought not -(whatever others might do) ever to have set his foot within the -threshold of a court. He might be sure that he would not gain -forgiveness or favour by it, nor obtain a single cordial smile from -greatness. All that Mr. Southey is or that he does best, is independent, -spontaneous, free as the vital air he draws—when he affects the courtier -or the sophist, he is obliged to put a constraint upon himself, to hold -in his breath, he loses his genius, and offers a violence to his nature. -His characteristic faults are the excess of a lively, unguarded -temperament:—oh! let them not degenerate into cold-blooded, heartless -vices! If we speak or have ever spoken of Mr. Southey with severity, it -is with ‘the malice of old friends,’ for we count ourselves among his -sincerest and heartiest well-wishers. But while he himself is anomalous, -incalculable, eccentric, from youth to age (the _Wat Tyler_ and the -_Vision of Judgment_ are the Alpha and Omega of his disjointed career) -full of sallies of humour, of ebullitions of spleen, making -_jets-a’eaux_, cascades, fountains, and water-works of his idle -opinions, he would shut up the wits of others in leaden cisterns, to -stagnate and corrupt, or bury them under ground— - - ‘Far from the sun and summer gale!’ - -He would suppress the freedom of wit and humour, of which he has set the -example, and claim a privilege for playing antics. He would introduce an -uniformity of intellectual weights and measures, of irregular metres and -settled opinions, and enforce it with a high hand. This has been judged -hard by some, and has brought down a severity of recrimination, perhaps -disproportioned to the injury done. ‘Because he is virtuous,’ (it has -been asked,) ‘are there to be no more cakes and ale?’ Because he is -loyal, are we to take all our notions from the _Quarterly Review_? -Because he is orthodox, are we to do nothing but read the _Book of the -Church_? We declare we think his former poetical scepticism was not only -more amiable, but had more of the spirit of religion in it, implied a -more heartfelt trust in nature and providence than his present bigotry. -We are at the same time free to declare that we think his articles in -the _Quarterly Review_, notwithstanding their virulence and the talent -they display, have a tendency to qualify its most pernicious effects. -They have redeeming traits in them. ‘A little leaven leaveneth the whole -lump’; and the spirit of humanity (thanks to Mr. Southey) is not quite -expelled from the _Quarterly Review_. At the corner of his pen, ‘there -hangs a vapourous drop profound’ of independence and liberality, which -falls upon its pages, and oozes out through the pores of the public -mind. There is a fortunate difference between writers whose hearts are -naturally callous to truth, and whose understandings are hermetically -sealed against all impressions but those of self-interest, and a man -like Mr. Southey. _Once a philanthropist and always a philanthropist._ -No man can entirely baulk his nature: it breaks out in spite of him. In -all those questions, where the spirit of contradiction does not -interfere, on which he is not sore from old bruises, or sick from the -extravagance of youthful intoxication, as from a last night’s debauch, -our ‘laureate’ is still bold, free, candid, open to conviction, a -reformist without knowing it. He does not advocate the slave-trade, he -does not arm Mr. Malthus’s revolting ratios with his authority, he does -not strain hard to deluge Ireland with blood. On such points, where -humanity has not become obnoxious, where liberty has not passed into a -by-word, Mr. Southey is still liberal and humane. The elasticity of his -spirit is unbroken: the bow recoils to its old position. He still stands -convicted of his early passion for inquiry and improvement. He was not -regularly articled as a Government-tool!—Perhaps the most pleasing and -striking of all Mr. Southey’s poems are not his triumphant taunts hurled -against oppression, are not his glowing effusions to Liberty, but those -in which, with a mild melancholy, he seems conscious of his own -infirmities of temper, and to feel a wish to correct by thought and time -the precocity and sharpness of his disposition. May the quaint but -affecting aspiration expressed in one of these be fulfilled, that as he -mellows into maturer age, all such asperities may wear off, and he -himself become - - ‘Like the high leaves upon the holly-tree!’ - -Mr. Southey’s prose-style can scarcely be too much praised. It is plain, -clear, pointed, familiar, perfectly modern in its texture, but with a -grave and sparkling admixture of _archaisms_ in its ornaments and -occasional phraseology. He is the best and most natural prose-writer of -any poet of the day; we mean that he is far better than Lord Byron, Mr. -Wordsworth, or Mr. Coleridge, for instance. The manner is perhaps -superior to the matter, that is, in his Essays and Reviews. There is -rather a want of originality and even of _impetus_: but there is no want -of playful or biting satire, of ingenuity, of casuistry, of learning and -of information. He is ‘full of wise saws and modern’ (as well as -ancient) ‘instances.’ Mr. Southey may not always convince his opponents; -but he seldom fails to stagger, never to gall them. In a word, we may -describe his style by saying that it has not the body or thickness of -port wine, but is like clear sherry with kernels of old authors thrown -into it!—He also excels as an historian and prose-translator. His -histories abound in information, and exhibit proofs of the most -indefatigable patience and industry. By no uncommon process of the mind, -Mr. Southey seems willing to steady the extreme levity of his opinions -and feelings by an appeal to facts. His translations of the Spanish and -French romances are also executed _con amore_, and with the literal -fidelity and care of a mere linguist. That of the _Cid_, in particular, -is a masterpiece. Not a word could be altered for the better, in the old -scriptural style which it adopts in conformity to the original. It is no -less interesting in itself, or as a record of high and chivalrous -feelings and manners, than it is worthy of perusal as a literary -curiosity. - -Mr. Southey’s conversation has a little resemblance to a common-place -book; his habitual deportment to a piece of clock-work. He is not -remarkable either as a reasoner or an observer: but he is quick, -unaffected, replete with anecdote, various and retentive in his reading, -and exceedingly happy in his play upon words, as most scholars are who -give their minds this sportive turn. We have chiefly seen Mr. Southey in -company where few people appear to advantage, we mean in that of Mr. -Coleridge. He has not certainly the same range of speculation, nor the -same flow of sounding words, but he makes up by the details of -knowledge, and by a scrupulous correctness of statement for what he -wants in originality of thought, or impetuous declamation. The tones of -Mr. Coleridge’s voice are eloquence: those of Mr. Southey are meagre, -shrill, and dry. Mr. Coleridge’s _forte_ is conversation, and he is -conscious of this: Mr. Southey evidently considers writing as his -stronghold, and if gravelled in an argument, or at a loss for an -explanation, refers to something he has written on the subject, or -brings out his port-folio, doubled down in dog-ears, in confirmation of -some fact. He is scholastic and professional in his ideas. He sets more -value on what he writes than on what he says: he is perhaps prouder of -his library than of his own productions—themselves a library! He is more -simple in his manners than his friend Mr. Coleridge; but at the same -time less cordial or conciliating. He is less vain, or has less hope of -pleasing, and therefore lays himself less out to please. There is an air -of condescension in his civility. With a tall, loose figure, a peaked -austerity of countenance, and no inclination to _embonpoint_, you would -say he has something puritanical, something ascetic in his appearance. -He answers to Mandeville’s description of Addison, ‘a parson in a -tye-wig.’ He is not a boon companion, nor does he indulge in the -pleasures of the table, nor in any other vice; nor are we aware that Mr. -Southey is chargeable with any human frailty but—_want of charity_! -Having fewer errors to plead guilty to, he is less lenient to those of -others. He was born an age too late. Had he lived a century or two ago, -he would have been a happy as well as blameless character. But the -distraction of the time has unsettled him, and the multiplicity of his -pretensions have jostled with each other. No man in our day (at least no -man of genius) has led so uniformly and entirely the life of a scholar -from boyhood to the present hour, devoting himself to learning with the -enthusiasm of an early love, with the severity and constancy of a -religious vow—and well would it have been for him if he had confined -himself to this, and not undertaken to pull down or to patch up the -State! However irregular in his opinions, Mr. Southey is constant, -unremitting, mechanical in his studies, and the performance of his -duties. There is nothing Pindaric or Shandean here. In all the relations -and charities of private life, he is correct, exemplary, generous, just. -We never heard a single impropriety laid to his charge; and if he has -many enemies, few men can boast more numerous or stauncher friends.—The -variety and piquancy of his writings form a striking contrast to the -mode in which they are produced. He rises early, and writes or reads -till breakfast-time. He writes or reads after breakfast till dinner, -after dinner till tea, and from tea till bed-time— - - ‘And follows so the ever-running year - With profitable labour to his grave—’ - -on Derwent’s banks, beneath the foot of Skiddaw. Study serves him for -business, exercise, recreation. He passes from verse to prose, from -history to poetry, from reading to writing, by a stopwatch. He writes a -fair hand, without blots, sitting upright in his chair, leaves off when -he comes to the bottom of the page, and changes the subject for another, -as opposite as the Antipodes. His mind is after all rather the recipient -and transmitter of knowledge, than the originator of it. He has hardly -grasp of thought enough to arrive at any great leading truth. His -passions do not amount to more than irritability. With some gall in his -pen, and coldness in his manner, he has a great deal of kindness in his -heart. Rash in his opinions, he is steady in his attachments—and is a -man, in many particulars admirable, in all respectable—his political -inconsistency alone excepted! - - - - - MR. WORDSWORTH - - -Mr. Wordsworth’s genius is a pure emanation of the Spirit of the Age. -Had he lived in any other period of the world, he would never have been -heard of. As it is, he has some difficulty to contend with the hebetude -of his intellect, and the meanness of his subject. With him ‘lowliness -is young ambition’s ladder’: but he finds it a toil to climb in this way -the steep of Fame. His homely Muse can hardly raise her wing from the -ground, nor spread her hidden glories to the sun. He has ‘no figures nor -no fantasies, which busy _passion_ draws in the brains of men:’ neither -the gorgeous machinery of mythologic lore, nor the splendid colours of -poetic diction. His style is vernacular: he delivers household truths. -He sees nothing loftier than human hopes; nothing deeper than the human -heart. This he probes, this he tampers with, this he poises, with all -its incalculable weight of thought and feeling, in his hands; and at the -same time calms the throbbing pulses of his own heart, by keeping his -eye ever fixed on the face of nature. If he can make the lifeblood flow -from the wounded breast, this is the living colouring with which he -paints his verse: if he can assuage the pain or close up the wound with -the balm of solitary musing, or the healing power of plants and herbs -and ‘skyey influences,’ this is the sole triumph of his art. He takes -the simplest elements of nature and of the human mind, the mere abstract -conditions inseparable from our being, and tries to compound a new -system of poetry from them; and has perhaps succeeded as well as any one -could. ‘_Nihil humani a me alienum puto_’—is the motto of his works. He -thinks nothing low or indifferent of which this can be affirmed: every -thing that professes to be more than this, that is not an absolute -essence of truth and feeling, he holds to be vitiated, false, and -spurious. In a word, his poetry is founded on setting up an opposition -(and pushing it to the utmost length) between the natural and the -artificial; between the spirit of humanity, and the spirit of fashion -and of the world! - -It is one of the innovations of the time. It partakes of, and is carried -along with, the revolutionary movement of our age: the political changes -of the day were the model on which he formed and conducted his poetical -experiments. His Muse (it cannot be denied, and without this we cannot -explain its character at all) is a levelling one. It proceeds on a -principle of equality, and strives to reduce all things to the same -standard. It is distinguished by a proud humility. It relies upon its -own resources, and disdains external show and relief. It takes the -commonest events and objects, as a test to prove that nature is always -interesting from its inherent truth and beauty, without any of the -ornaments of dress or pomp of circumstances to set it off. Hence the -unaccountable mixture of seeming simplicity and real abstruseness in the -_Lyrical Ballads_. Fools have laughed at, wise men scarcely understand -them. He takes a subject or a story merely as pegs or loops to hang -thought and feeling on; the incidents are trifling, in proportion to his -contempt for imposing appearances; the reflections are profound, -according to the gravity and the aspiring pretensions of his mind. - -His popular, inartificial style gets rid (at a blow) of all the -trappings of verse, of all the high places of poetry: ‘the cloud-capt -towers, the solemn temples, the gorgeous palaces,’ are swept to the -ground, and ‘like the baseless fabric of a vision, leave not a wreck -behind.’ All the traditions of learning, all the superstitions of age, -are obliterated and effaced. We begin _de novo_, on a _tabula rasa_ of -poetry. The purple pall, the nodding plume of tragedy are exploded as -mere pantomime and trick, to return to the simplicity of truth and -nature. Kings, queens, priests, nobles, the altar and the throne, the -distinctions of rank, birth, wealth, power, ‘the judge’s robe, the -marshal’s truncheon, the ceremony that to great ones ‘longs,’ are not to -be found here. The author tramples on the pride of art with greater -pride. The Ode and Epode, the Strophe and the Antistrophe, he laughs to -scorn. The harp of Homer, the trump of Pindar and of Alcæus are still. -The decencies of costume, the decorations of vanity are stripped off -without mercy as barbarous, idle, and Gothic. The jewels in the crisped -hair, the diadem on the polished brow are thought meretricious, -theatrical, vulgar; and nothing contents his fastidious taste beyond a -simple garland of flowers. Neither does he avail himself of the -advantages which nature or accident holds out to him. He chooses to have -his subject a foil to his invention, to owe nothing but to himself. He -gathers manna in the wilderness, he strikes the barren rock for the -gushing moisture. He elevates the mean by the strength of his own -aspirations; he clothes the naked with beauty and grandeur from the -stores of his own recollections. No cypress grove loads his verse with -funeral pomp: but his imagination lends ‘a sense of joy - - ‘To the bare trees and mountains bare, - And grass in the green field.’ - -No storm, no shipwreck startles us by its horrors: but the rainbow lifts -its head in the cloud, and the breeze sighs through the withered fern. -No sad vicissitude of fate, no overwhelming catastrophe in nature -deforms his page: but the dew-drop glitters on the bending flower, the -tear collects in the glistening eye. - - ‘Beneath the hills, along the flowery vales, - The generations are prepared; the pangs, - The internal pangs are ready; the dread strife - Of poor humanity’s afflicted will, - Struggling in vain with ruthless destiny.’ - -As the lark ascends from its low bed on fluttering wing, and salutes the -morning skies; so Mr. Wordsworth’s unpretending Muse, in russet guise, -scales the summits of reflection, while it makes the round earth its -footstool, and its home! - -Possibly a good deal of this may be regarded as the effect of -disappointed views and an inverted ambition. Prevented by native pride -and indolence from climbing the ascent of learning or greatness, taught -by political opinions to say to the vain pomp and glory of the world, ‘I -hate ye,’ seeing the path of classical and artificial poetry blocked up -by the cumbrous ornaments of style and turgid _common-places_, so that -nothing more could be achieved in that direction but by the most -ridiculous bombast or the tamest servility; he has turned back partly -from the bias of his mind, partly perhaps from a judicious policy—has -struck into the sequestered vale of humble life, sought out the Muse -among sheep-cotes and hamlets and the peasant’s mountain-haunts, has -discarded all the tinsel pageantry of verse, and endeavoured (not in -vain) to aggrandise the trivial and add the charm of novelty to the -familiar. No one has shown the same imagination in raising trifles into -importance: no one has displayed the same pathos in treating of the -simplest feelings of the heart. Reserved, yet haughty, having no unruly -or violent passions, (or those passions having been early suppressed,) -Mr. Wordsworth has passed his life in solitary musing, or in daily -converse with the face of nature. He exemplifies in an eminent degree -the power of _association_; for his poetry has no other source or -character. He has dwelt among pastoral scenes, till each object has -become connected with a thousand feelings, a link in the chain of -thought, a fibre of his own heart. Every one is by habit and familiarity -strongly attached to the place of his birth, or to objects that recal -the most pleasing and eventful circumstances of his life. But to the -author of the _Lyrical Ballads_, nature is a kind of home; and he may be -said to take a personal interest in the universe. There is no image so -insignificant that it has not in some mood or other found the way into -his heart: no sound that does not awaken the memory of other years.— - - ‘To him the meanest flower that blows can give - Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.’ - -The daisy looks up to him with sparkling eye as an old acquaintance: the -cuckoo haunts him with sounds of early youth not to be expressed: a -linnet’s nest startles him with boyish delight: an old withered thorn is -weighed down with a heap of recollections: a grey cloak, seen on some -wild moor, torn by the wind, or drenched in the rain, afterwards becomes -an object of imagination to him: even the lichens on the rock have a -life and being in his thoughts. He has described all these objects in a -way and with an intensity of feeling that no one else had done before -him, and has given a new view or aspect of nature. He is in this sense -the most original poet now living, and the one whose writings could the -least be spared: for they have no substitute elsewhere. The vulgar do -not read them, the learned, who see all things through books, do not -understand them, the great despise, the fashionable may ridicule them: -but the author has created himself an interest in the heart of the -retired and lonely student of nature, which can never die. Persons of -this class will still continue to feel what he has felt: he has -expressed what they might in vain wish to express, except with -glistening eye and faultering tongue! There is a lofty philosophic tone, -a thoughtful humanity, infused into his pastoral vein. Remote from the -passions and events of the great world, he has communicated interest and -dignity to the primal movements of the heart of man, and ingrafted his -own conscious reflections on the casual thoughts of hinds and shepherds. -Nursed amidst the grandeur of mountain scenery, he has stooped to have a -nearer view of the daisy under his feet, or plucked a branch of -white-thorn from the spray: but in describing it, his mind seems imbued -with the majesty and solemnity of the objects around him—the tall rock -lifts its head in the erectness of his spirit; the cataract roars in the -sound of his verse; and in its dim and mysterious meaning, the mists -seem to gather in the hollows of Helvellyn, and the forked Skiddaw -hovers in the distance. There is little mention of mountainous scenery -in Mr. Wordsworth’s poetry; but by internal evidence one might be almost -sure that it was written in a mountainous country, from its bareness, -its simplicity, its loftiness and its depth! - -His later philosophic productions have a somewhat different character. -They are a departure from, a dereliction of his first principles. They -are classical and courtly. They are polished in style, without being -gaudy; dignified in subject, without affectation. They seem to have been -composed not in a cottage at Grasmere, but among the half-inspired -groves and stately recollections of Cole-Orton. We might allude in -particular, for examples of what we mean, to the lines on a Picture by -Claude Lorraine, and to the exquisite poem, entitled _Laodamia_. The -last of these breathes the pure spirit of the finest fragments of -antiquity—the sweetness, the gravity, the strength, the beauty and the -languor of death— - - ‘Calm contemplation and majestic pains.’ - -Its glossy brilliancy arises from the perfection of the finishing, like -that of careful sculpture, not from gaudy colouring—the texture of the -thoughts has the smoothness and solidity of marble. It is a poem that -might be read aloud in Elysium, and the spirits of departed heroes and -sages would gather round to listen to it! Mr. Wordsworth’s philosophic -poetry, with a less glowing aspect and less tumult in the veins than -Lord Byron’s on similar occasions, bends a calmer and keener eye on -mortality; the impression, if less vivid, is more pleasing and -permanent; and we confess it (perhaps it is a want of taste and proper -feeling) that there are lines and poems of our author’s, that we think -of ten times for once that we recur to any of Lord Byron’s. Or if there -are any of the latter’s writings, that we can dwell upon in the same -way, that is, as lasting and heartfelt sentiments, it is when laying -aside his usual pomp and pretension, he descends with Mr. Wordsworth to -the common ground of a disinterested humanity. It may be considered as -characteristic of our poet’s writings, that they either make no -impression on the mind at all, seem mere _nonsense-verses_, or that they -leave a mark behind them that never wears out. They either - - ‘Fall blunted from the indurated breast’— - -without any perceptible result, or they absorb it like a passion. To one -class of readers he appears sublime, to another (and we fear the -largest) ridiculous. He has probably realised Milton’s wish,—‘and fit -audience found, though few’; but we suspect he is not reconciled to the -alternative. There are delightful passages in the EXCURSION, both of -natural description and of inspired reflection (passages of the latter -kind that in the sound of the thoughts and of the swelling language -resemble heavenly symphonies, mournful _requiems_ over the grave of -human hopes); but we must add, in justice and in sincerity, that we -think it impossible that this work should ever become popular, even in -the same degree as the _Lyrical Ballads_. It affects a system without -having any intelligible clue to one; and instead of unfolding a -principle in various and striking lights, repeats the same conclusions -till they become flat and insipid. Mr. Wordsworth’s mind is obtuse, -except as it is the organ and the receptacle of accumulated feelings: it -is not analytic, but synthetic; it is reflecting, rather than -theoretical. The EXCURSION, we believe, fell still-born from the press. -There was something abortive, and clumsy, and ill-judged in the attempt. -It was long and laboured. The personages, for the most part, were low, -the fare rustic: the plan raised expectations which were not fulfilled, -and the effect was like being ushered into a stately hall and invited to -sit down to a splendid banquet in the company of clowns, and with -nothing but successive courses of apple-dumplings served up. It was not -even _toujours perdrix_! - -Mr. Wordsworth, in his person, is above the middle size, with marked -features, and an air somewhat stately and Quixotic. He reminds one of -some of Holbein’s heads, grave, saturnine, with a slight indication of -sly humour, kept under by the manners of the age or by the pretensions -of the person. He has a peculiar sweetness in his smile, and great depth -and manliness and a rugged harmony, in the tones of his voice. His -manner of reading his own poetry is particularly imposing; and in his -favourite passages his eye beams with preternatural lustre, and the -meaning labours slowly up from his swelling breast. No one who has seen -him at these moments could go away with an impression that he was a ‘man -of no mark or likelihood.’ Perhaps the comment of his face and voice is -necessary to convey a full idea of his poetry. His language may not be -intelligible, but his manner is not to be mistaken. It is clear that he -is either mad or inspired. In company, even in a _tête-à-tête_, Mr. -Wordsworth is often silent, indolent, and reserved. If he is become -verbose and oracular of late years, he was not so in his better days. He -threw out a bold or an indifferent remark without either effort or -pretension, and relapsed into musing again. He shone most (because he -seemed most roused and animated) in reciting his own poetry, or in -talking about it. He sometimes gave striking views of his feelings and -trains of association in composing certain passages; or if one did not -always understand his distinctions, still there was no want of -interest—there was a latent meaning worth inquiring into, like a vein of -ore that one cannot exactly hit upon at the moment, but of which there -are sure indications. His standard of poetry is high and severe, almost -to exclusiveness. He admits of nothing below, scarcely of any thing -above himself. It is fine to hear him talk of the way in which certain -subjects should have been treated by eminent poets, according to his -notions of the art. Thus he finds fault with Dryden’s description of -Bacchus in the _Alexander’s Feast_, as if he were a mere good-looking -youth, or boon companion— - - ‘Flushed with a purple grace, - He shows his honest face’— - -instead of representing the God returning from the conquest of India, -crowned with vine-leaves, and drawn by panthers, and followed by troops -of satyrs, of wild men and animals that he had tamed. You would think, -in hearing him speak on this subject, that you saw Titian’s picture of -the meeting of _Bacchus and Ariadne_—so classic were his conceptions, so -glowing his style. Milton is his great idol, and he sometimes dares to -compare himself with him. His Sonnets, indeed, have something of the -same high-raised tone and prophetic spirit. Chaucer is another prime -favourite of his, and he has been at the pains to modernize some of the -Canterbury Tales. Those persons who look upon Mr. Wordsworth as a merely -puerile writer, must be rather at a loss to account for his strong -predilection for such geniuses as Dante and Michael Angelo. We do not -think our author has any very cordial sympathy with Shakespear. How -should he? Shakespear was the least of an egotist of any body in the -world. He does not much relish the variety and scope of dramatic -composition. ‘He hates those interlocutions between Lucius and Caius.’ -Yet Mr. Wordsworth himself wrote a tragedy when he was young; and we -have heard the following energetic lines quoted from it, as put into the -mouth of a person smit with remorse for some rash crime: - - ——‘Action is momentary, - The motion of a muscle this way or that; - Suffering is long, obscure, and infinite!’ - -Perhaps for want of light and shade, and the unshackled spirit of the -drama, this performance was never brought forward. Our critic has a -great dislike to Gray, and a fondness for Thomson and Collins. It is -mortifying to hear him speak of Pope and Dryden, whom, because they have -been supposed to have all the possible excellences of poetry, he will -allow to have none. Nothing, however, can be fairer, or more amusing, -than the way in which he sometimes exposes the unmeaning verbiage of -modern poetry. Thus, in the beginning of Dr. Johnson’s _Vanity of Human -Wishes_— - - ‘Let observation with extensive view - Survey mankind from China to Peru’— - -he says there is a total want of imagination accompanying the words, the -same idea is repeated three times under the disguise of a different -phraseology: it comes to this—‘let _observation_, with extensive -_observation_, _observe_ mankind’; or take away the first line, and the -second, - - ‘Survey mankind from China to Peru,’ - -literally conveys the whole. Mr. Wordsworth is, we must say, a perfect -Drawcansir as to prose writers. He complains of the dry reasoners and -matter-of-fact people for their want of _passion_; and he is jealous of -the rhetorical declaimers and rhapsodists as trenching on the province -of poetry. He condemns all French writers (as well of poetry as prose) -in the lump. His list in this way is indeed small. He approves of -Walton’s Angler, Paley, and some other writers of an inoffensive modesty -of pretension. He also likes books of voyages and travels, and Robinson -Crusoe. In art, he greatly esteems Bewick’s woodcuts, and Waterloo’s -sylvan etchings. But he sometimes takes a higher tone, and gives his -mind fair play. We have known him enlarge with a noble intelligence and -enthusiasm on Nicolas Poussin’s fine landscape-compositions, pointing -out the unity of design that pervades them, the superintending mind, the -imaginative principle that brings all to bear on the same end; and -declaring he would not give a rush for any landscape that did not -express the time of day, the climate, the period of the world it was -meant to illustrate, or had not this character of _wholeness_ in it. His -eye also does justice to Rembrandt’s fine and masterly effects. In the -way in which that artist works something out of nothing, and transforms -the stump of a tree, a common figure into an _ideal_ object, by the -gorgeous light and shade thrown upon it, he perceives an analogy to his -own mode of investing the minute details of nature with an atmosphere of -sentiment; and in pronouncing Rembrandt to be a man of genius, feels -that he strengthens his own claim to the title. It has been said of Mr. -Wordsworth, that ‘he hates conchology, that he hates the Venus of -Medicis.’ But these, we hope, are mere epigrams and _jeux-d’esprit_, as -far from truth as they are free from malice; a sort of running satire or -critical clenches— - - ‘Where one for sense and one for rhyme - Is quite sufficient at one time.’ - -We think, however, that if Mr. Wordsworth had been a more liberal and -candid critic, he would have been a more sterling writer. If a greater -number of sources of pleasure had been open to him, he would have -communicated pleasure to the world more frequently. Had he been less -fastidious in pronouncing sentence on the works of others, his own would -have been received more favourably, and treated more leniently. The -current of his feelings is deep, but narrow; the range of his -understanding is lofty and aspiring rather than discursive. The force, -the originality, the absolute truth and identity with which he feels -some things, makes him indifferent to so many others. The simplicity and -enthusiasm of his feelings, with respect to nature, renders him bigotted -and intolerant in his judgments of men and things. But it happens to -him, as to others, that his strength lies in his weakness; and perhaps -we have no right to complain. We might get rid of the cynic and the -egotist, and find in his stead a common-place man. We should ‘take the -good the Gods provide us’: a fine and original vein of poetry is not one -of their most contemptible gifts, and the rest is scarcely worth -thinking of, except as it may be a mortification to those who expect -perfection from human nature; or who have been idle enough at some -period of their lives, to deify men of genius as possessing claims above -it. But this is a chord that jars, and we shall not dwell upon it. - -Lord Byron we have called, according to the old proverb, ‘the spoiled -child of fortune’: Mr. Wordsworth might plead, in mitigation of some -peculiarities, that he is ‘the spoiled child of disappointment.’ We are -convinced, if he had been early a popular poet, he would have borne his -honours meekly, and would have been a person of great _bonhommie_ and -frankness of disposition. But the sense of injustice and of undeserved -ridicule sours the temper and narrows the views. To have produced works -of genius, and to find them neglected or treated with scorn, is one of -the heaviest trials of human patience. We exaggerate our own merits when -they are denied by others, and are apt to grudge and cavil at every -particle of praise bestowed on those to whom we feel a conscious -superiority. In mere self-defence we turn against the world, when it -turns against us; brood over the undeserved slights we receive; and thus -the genial current of the soul is stopped, or vents itself in effusions -of petulance and self-conceit. Mr. Wordsworth has thought too much of -contemporary critics and criticism; and less than he ought of the award -of posterity, and of the opinion, we do not say of private friends, but -of those who were made so by their admiration of his genius. He did not -court popularity by a conformity to established models, and he ought not -to have been surprised that his originality was not understood as a -matter of course. He has _gnawed too much on the bridle_; and has often -thrown out crusts to the critics, in mere defiance or as a point of -honour when he was challenged, which otherwise his own good sense would -have withheld. We suspect that Mr. Wordsworth’s feelings are a little -morbid in this respect, or that he resents censure more than he is -gratified by praise. Otherwise, the tide has turned much in his favour -of late years—he has a large body of determined partisans—and is at -present sufficiently in request with the public to save or relieve him -from the last necessity to which a man of genius can be reduced—that of -becoming the God of his own idolatry! - - - - - SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH - - -The subject of the present article is one of the ablest and most -accomplished men of the age, both as a writer, a speaker, and a -converser. He is, in fact, master of almost every known topic, whether -of a passing or of a more recondite nature. He has lived much in -society, and is deeply conversant with books. He is a man of the world -and a scholar; but the scholar gives the tone to all his other -acquirements and pursuits. Sir James is by education and habit, and we -were going to add, by the original turn of his mind, a college-man; and -perhaps he would have passed his time most happily and respectably, had -he devoted himself entirely to that kind of life. The strength of his -faculties would have been best developed, his ambition would have met -its proudest reward, in the accumulation and elaborate display of grave -and useful knowledge. As it is, it may be said, that in company he talks -well, but too much; that in writing he overlays the original subject and -spirit of the composition, by an appeal to authorities and by too formal -a method; that in public speaking the logician takes place of the -orator, and that he fails to give effect to a particular point or to -urge an immediate advantage home upon his adversary from the enlarged -scope of his mind, and the wide career he takes in the field of -argument. - -To consider him in the last point of view, first. As a political -partisan, he is rather the lecturer than the advocate. He is able to -instruct and delight an impartial and disinterested audience by the -extent of his information, by his acquaintance with general principles, -by the clearness and aptitude of his illustrations, by vigour and -copiousness of style; but where he has a prejudiced or unfair antagonist -to contend with, he is just as likely to put weapons into his enemy’s -hands, as to wrest them from him, and his object seems to be rather to -deserve than to obtain success. The characteristics of his mind are -retentiveness and comprehension, with facility of production: but he is -not equally remarkable for originality of view, or warmth of feeling, or -liveliness of fancy. His eloquence is a little rhetorical; his reasoning -chiefly logical: he can bring down the account of knowledge on a vast -variety of subjects to the present moment, he can embellish any cause he -undertakes by the most approved and graceful ornaments, he can support -it by a host of facts and examples, but he cannot advance it a step -forward by placing it on a new and triumphant ‘vantage-ground, nor can -he overwhelm and break down the artificial fences and bulwarks of -sophistry by the irresistible tide of manly enthusiasm. Sir James -Mackintosh is an accomplished debater, rather than a powerful orator: he -is distinguished more as a man of wonderful and variable talent than as -a man of commanding intellect. His mode of treating a question is -critical, and not parliamentary. It has been formed in the closet and -the schools, and is hardly fitted for scenes of active life, or the -collisions of party-spirit. Sir James reasons on the square; while the -arguments of his opponents are loaded with iron or gold. He makes, -indeed, a respectable ally, but not a very formidable opponent. He is as -likely, however, to prevail on a neutral, as he is almost certain to be -baffled on a hotly contested ground. On any question of general policy -or legislative improvement, the Member for Nairn is heard with -advantage, and his speeches are attended with effect: and he would have -equal weight and influence at other times, if it were the object of the -House to hear reason, as it is his aim to speak it. But on subjects of -peace or war, of political rights or foreign interference, where the -waves of party run high, and the liberty of nations or the fate of -mankind hangs trembling in the scales, though he probably displays equal -talent, and does full and heaped justice to the question (abstractedly -speaking, or if it were to be tried before an impartial assembly), yet -we confess we have seldom heard him, on such occasions, without pain for -the event. He did not slur his own character and pretensions, but he -compromised the argument. He spoke _the truth, the whole truth, and -nothing but the truth_; but the House of Commons (we dare aver it) is -not the place where the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the -truth can be spoken with safety or with advantage. The judgment of the -House is not a balance to weigh scruples and reasons to the turn of a -fraction: another element, besides the love of truth enters into the -composition of their decisions, the reaction of which must be calculated -upon and guarded against. If our philosophical statesman had to open the -case before a class of tyros, or a circle of grey-beards, who wished to -form or to strengthen their judgments upon fair and rational grounds, -nothing could be more satisfactory, more luminous, more able or more -decisive than the view taken of it by Sir James Mackintosh. But the -House of Commons, as a collective body, have not the docility of youth, -the calm wisdom of age; and often only want an excuse to do wrong, or to -adhere to what they have already determined upon; and Sir James, in -detailing the inexhaustible stores of his memory and reading, in -unfolding the wide range of his theory and practice, in laying down the -rules and the exceptions, in insisting upon the advantages and the -objections with equal explicitness, would be sure to let something drop -that a dexterous and watchful adversary would easily pick up and turn -against him, if this were found necessary; or if with so many _pros_ and -_cons_, doubts and difficulties, dilemmas and alternatives thrown into -it, the scale, with its natural bias to interest and power, did not -already fly up and kick the beam. There wanted unity of purpose, -impetuosity of feeling to break through the phalanx of hostile and -inveterate prejudice arrayed against him. He gave a handle to his -enemies; threw stumbling-blocks in the way of his friends. He raised so -many objections for the sake of answering them, proposed so many doubts -for the sake of solving them, and made so many concessions where none -were demanded, that his reasoning had the effect of neutralizing itself; -it became a mere exercise of the understanding without zest or spirit -left in it; and the provident engineer who was to shatter in pieces the -strong-holds of corruption and oppression, by a well-directed and -unsparing discharge of artillery, seemed to have brought not only his -own cannon-balls, but his own wool-packs along with him to ward off the -threatened mischief. This was a good deal the effect of his maiden -speech on the transfer of Genoa, to which Lord Castlereagh did not deign -an answer, and which another Honourable Member called ‘a _finical_ -speech.’ It was a most able, candid, closely argued, and philosophical -exposure of that unprincipled transaction; but for this very reason it -was a solecism in the place where it was delivered. Sir James has, since -this period, and with the help of practice, lowered himself to the tone -of the House; and has also applied himself to questions more congenial -to his habits of mind, and where the success would be more likely to be -proportioned to his zeal and his exertions. - -There was a greater degree of power, or of dashing and splendid effect -(we wish we could add, an equally humane and liberal spirit) in the -_Lectures on the Law of Nature and Nations_, formerly delivered by Sir -James (then Mr.) Mackintosh, in Lincoln’s-Inn Hall. He showed greater -confidence; was more at home there. The effect was more electrical and -instantaneous, and this elicited a prouder display of intellectual -riches, and a more animated and imposing mode of delivery. He grew -wanton with success. Dazzling others by the brilliancy of his -acquirements, dazzled himself by the admiration they excited, he lost -fear as well as prudence; dared every thing, carried every thing before -him. The Modern Philosophy, counter-scarp, outworks, citadel, and all, -fell without a blow, by ‘the whiff and wind of his fell _doctrine_,’ as -if it had been a pack of cards. The volcano of the French Revolution was -seen expiring in its own flames, like a bonfire made of straw: the -principles of Reform were scattered in all directions, like chaff before -the keen northern blast. He laid about him like one inspired; nothing -could withstand his envenomed tooth. Like some savage beast got into the -garden of the fabled Hesperides, he made clear work of it, root and -branch, with white, foaming tusks— - - ‘Laid waste the borders, and o’erthrew the bowers.’ - -The havoc was amazing, the desolation was complete. As to our visionary -sceptics and Utopian philosophers, they stood no chance with our -lecturer—he did not ‘carve them as a dish fit for the Gods, but hewed -them as a carcase fit for hounds.’ Poor Godwin, who had come, in the -_bonhommie_ and candour of his nature, to hear what new light had broken -in upon his old friend, was obliged to quit the field, and slunk away -after an exulting taunt thrown out at ‘such fanciful chimeras as a -golden mountain or a perfect man.’ Mr. Mackintosh had something of the -air, much of the dexterity and self-possession, of a political and -philosophical juggler; and an eager and admiring audience gaped and -greedily swallowed the gilded bait of sophistry, prepared for their -credulity and wonder. Those of us who attended day after day, and were -accustomed to have all our previous notions confounded and struck out of -our hands by some metaphysical legerdemain, were at last at some loss to -know _whether two and two made four_, till we had heard the lecturer’s -opinion on that head. He might have some mental reservation on the -subject, some pointed ridicule to pour upon the common supposition, some -learned authority to quote against it. To anticipate the line of -argument he might pursue, was evidently presumptuous and premature. One -thing only appeared certain, that whatever opinion he chose to take up, -he was able to make good either by the foils or the cudgels, by gross -banter or nice distinctions, by a well-timed mixture of paradox and -common-place, by an appeal to vulgar prejudices or startling scepticism. -It seemed to be equally his object, or the tendency of his Discourses, -to unsettle every principle of reason or of common sense, and to leave -his audience at the mercy of the _dictum_ of a lawyer, the nod of a -minister, or the shout of a mob. To effect this purpose, he drew largely -on the learning of antiquity, on modern literature, on history, poetry, -and the belles-lettres, on the Schoolmen and on writers of novels, -French, English, and Italian. In mixing up the sparkling julep, that by -its potent operation was to scour away the dregs and feculence and -peccant humours of the body politic, he seemed to stand with his back to -the drawers in a metaphysical dispensary, and to take out of them -whatever ingredients suited his purpose. In this way he had an antidote -for every error, an answer to every folly. The writings of Burke, Hume, -Berkeley, Paley, Lord Bacon, Jeremy Taylor, Grotius, Puffendorf, Cicero, -Aristotle, Tacitus, Livy, Sully, Machiavel, Guicciardini, Thuanus, lay -open beside him, and he could instantly lay his hand upon the passage, -and quote them chapter and verse to the clearing up of all difficulties, -and the silencing of all oppugners. Mr. Mackintosh’s Lectures were after -all but a kind of philosophical centos. They were profound, brilliant, -new to his hearers; but the profundity, the brilliancy, the novelty were -not his own. He was like Dr. Pangloss (not Voltaire’s, but Coleman’s) -who speaks only in quotations; and the pith, the marrow of Sir James’s -reasoning and rhetoric at that memorable period might be put within -inverted commas. It, however, served its purpose and the loud echo died -away. We remember an excellent man and a sound critic[52] going to hear -one of these elaborate effusions; and on his want of enthusiasm being -accounted for from its not being one of the orator’s brilliant days, he -replied, ‘he did not think a man of genius could speak for two hours -without saying something by which he would have been electrified.’ We -are only sorry, at this distance of time, for one thing in these -Lectures—the tone and spirit in which they seemed to have been composed -and to be delivered. If all that body of opinions and principles of -which the orator read his recantation was unfounded, and there was an -end of all those views and hopes that pointed to future improvement, it -was not a matter of triumph or exultation to the lecturer or any body -else, to the young or the old, the wise or the foolish; on the contrary, -it was a subject of regret, of slow, reluctant, painful admission— - - ‘Of lamentation loud heard through the rueful air.’ - -The immediate occasion of this sudden and violent change in Sir James’s -views and opinions was attributed to a personal interview which he had -had a little before his death with Mr. Burke, at his house at -Beaconsfield. In the latter end of the year 1796, appeared the _Regicide -Peace_, from the pen of the great apostate from liberty and betrayer of -his species into the hands of those who claimed it as their property by -divine right—a work imposing, solid in many respects, abounding in facts -and admirable reasoning, and in which all flashy ornaments were laid -aside for a testamentary gravity, (the eloquence of despair resembling -the throes and heaving and muttered threats of an earthquake, rather -than the loud thunderbolt)—and soon after came out a criticism on it in -_The Monthly Review_, doing justice to the author and the style, and -combating the inferences with force and at much length; but with candour -and with respect, amounting to deference. It was new to Mr. Burke not to -be called names by persons of the opposite party; it was an additional -triumph to him to be spoken well of, to be loaded with well-earned -praise by the author of the _Vindiciæ Gallicæ_. It was a testimony from -an old, a powerful, and an admired antagonist.[53] He sent an invitation -to the writer to come and see him; and in the course of three days’ -animated discussion of such subjects, Mr. Mackintosh became a convert -not merely to the graces and gravity of Mr. Burke’s style, but to the -liberality of his views, and the solidity of his opinions.—The -Lincoln’s-Inn Lectures were the fruit of this interview: such is the -influence exercised by men of genius and imaginative power over those -who have nothing to oppose to their unforeseen flashes of thought and -invention, but the dry, cold, formal, deductions of the understanding. -Our politician had time, during a few years of absence from his native -country, and while the din of war and the cries of party-spirit ‘were -lost over a wide and unhearing ocean,’ to recover from his surprise and -from a temporary alienation of mind; and to return in spirit, and in the -mild and mellowed maturity of age, to the principles and attachments of -his early life. - -The appointment of Sir James Mackintosh to a Judgeship in India was one, -which, however flattering to his vanity or favourable to his interests, -was entirely foreign to his feelings and habits. It was an honourable -exile. He was out of his element among black slaves and sepoys, and -Nabobs and cadets, and writers to India. He had no one to exchange ideas -with. The ‘unbought grace of life,’ the charm of literary conversation -was gone. It was the habit of his mind, his ruling passion to enter into -the shock and conflict of opinions on philosophical, political, and -critical questions—not to dictate to raw tyros or domineer over persons -in subordinate situations—but to obtain the guerdon and the laurels of -superior sense and information by meeting with men of equal standing, to -have a fair field pitched, to argue, to distinguish, to reply, to hunt -down the game of intellect with eagerness and skill, to push an -advantage, to cover a retreat, to give and take a fall— - - ‘And gladly would he learn, and gladly teach.’ - -It is no wonder that this sort of friendly intellectual gladiatorship is -Sir James’s greatest pleasure, for it is his peculiar _forte_. He has -not many equals, and scarcely any superior in it. He is too indolent for -an author; too unimpassioned for an orator: but in society he is just -vain enough to be pleased with immediate attention, good-humoured enough -to listen with patience to others, with great coolness and -self-possession, fluent, communicative, and with a manner equally free -from violence and insipidity. Few subjects can be started, on which he -is not qualified to appear to advantage as the gentleman and scholar. If -there is some tinge of pedantry, it is carried off by great affability -of address and variety of amusing and interesting topics. There is -scarce an author that he has not read; a period of history that he is -not conversant with; a celebrated name of which he has not a number of -anecdotes to relate; an intricate question that he is not prepared to -enter upon in a popular or scientific manner. If an opinion in an -abstruse metaphysical author is referred to, he is probably able to -repeat the passage by heart, can tell the side of the page on which it -is to be met with, can trace it back through various descents to Locke, -Hobbes, Lord Herbert of Cherbury, to a place in some obscure folio of -the Schoolmen or a note in one of the commentators on Aristotle or -Plato, and thus give you in a few moments’ space, and without any effort -or previous notice, a chronological table of the progress of the human -mind in that particular branch of inquiry. There is something, we think, -perfectly admirable and delightful in an exhibition of this kind, and -which is equally creditable to the speaker and gratifying to the hearer. -But this kind of talent was of no use in India: the intellectual wares, -of which the Chief Judge delighted to make a display, were in no request -there. He languished after the friends and the society he had left -behind; and wrote over incessantly for books from England. One that was -sent him at this time was an _Essay on the Principles of Human Action_; -and the way in which he spoke of that dry, tough, metaphysical -_choke-pear_, showed the dearth of intellectual intercourse in which he -lived, and the craving in his mind after those studies which had once -been his pride, and to which he still turned for consolation in his -remote solitude.—Perhaps to another, the novelty of the scene, the -differences of mind and manners might have atoned for a want of social -and literary _agrémens_: but Sir James is one of those who see nature -through the spectacles of books. He might like to read an account of -India; but India itself with its burning, shining face would be a mere -blank, an endless waste to him. To persons of this class of mind things -must be translated into words, visible images into abstract propositions -to meet their refined apprehensions, and they have no more to say to a -matter-of-fact staring them in the face without a label in its mouth, -than they would to a hippopotamus!—We may add, before we quit this -point, that we cannot conceive of any two persons more different in -colloquial talents, in which they both excel, than Sir James Mackintosh -and Mr. Coleridge. They have nearly an equal range of reading and of -topics of conversation: but in the mind of the one we see nothing but -_fixtures_, in the other every thing is fluid. The ideas of the one are -as formal and tangible, as those of the other are shadowy and -evanescent. Sir James Mackintosh walks over the ground, Mr. Coleridge is -always flying off from it. The first knows all that has been said upon a -subject; the last has something to say that was never said before. If -the one deals too much in learned _common-places_, the other teems with -idle fancies. The one has a good deal of the _caput mortuum_ of genius, -the other is all volatile salt. The conversation of Sir James Mackintosh -has the effect of reading a well-written book, that of his friend is -like hearing a bewildered dream. The one is an Encyclopedia of -knowledge, the other is a succession of _Sybilline Leaves_! - -As an author, Sir James Mackintosh may claim the foremost rank among -those who pride themselves on artificial ornaments and acquired -learning, or who write what may be termed a _composite_ style. His -_Vindiciæ Gallicæ_ is a work of great labour, great ingenuity, great -brilliancy, and great vigour. It is a little too antithetical in the -structure of its periods, too dogmatical in the announcement of its -opinions. Sir James has, we believe, rejected something of the _false -brilliant_ of the one, as he has retracted some of the abrupt -extravagance of the other. We apprehend, however, that our author is not -one of those who draw from their own resources and accumulated feelings, -or who improve with age. He belongs to a class (common in Scotland and -elsewhere) who get up school-exercises on any given subject in a -masterly manner at twenty, and who at forty are either where they -were—or retrograde, if they are men of sense and modesty. The reason is, -their vanity is weaned, after the first hey-day and animal spirits of -youth are flown, from making an affected display of knowledge, which, -however useful, is not their own, and may be much more simply stated; -they are tired of repeating the same arguments over and over again, -after having exhausted and rung the changes on their whole stock for a -number of times. Sir James Mackintosh is understood to be a writer in -the Edinburgh Review; and the articles attributed to him there are full -of matter of great pith and moment. But they want the trim, pointed -expression, the ambitious ornaments, the ostentatious display and rapid -volubility of his early productions. We have heard it objected to his -later compositions, that his style is good as far as single words and -phrases are concerned, but that his sentences are clumsy and disjointed, -and that these make up still more awkward and sprawling paragraphs. This -is a nice criticism, and we cannot speak to its truth; but if the fact -be so, we think we can account for it from the texture and obvious -process of the author’s mind. All his ideas may be said to be given -preconceptions. They do not arise, as it were, out of the subject, or -out of one another at the moment, and therefore do not flow naturally -and gracefully from one another. They have been laid down beforehand in -a sort of formal division or frame-work of the understanding; and the -connection between the premises and the conclusion, between one branch -of a subject and another, is made out in a bungling and unsatisfactory -manner. There is no principle of fusion in the work; he strikes after -the iron is cold, and there is a want of malleability in the style. Sir -James is at present said to be engaged in writing a _History of England_ -after the downfall of the house of Stuart. May it be worthy of the -talents of the author, and of the principles of the period it is -intended to illustrate! - - - - - MR. MALTHUS - - -Mr. Malthus may be considered as one of those rare and fortunate writers -who have attained a _scientific_ reputation in questions of moral and -political philosophy. His name undoubtedly stands very high in the -present age, and will in all probability go down to posterity with more -or less of renown or obloquy. It was said by a person well qualified to -judge both from strength and candour of mind, that ‘it would take a -thousand years at least to answer his work on Population.’ He has -certainly thrown a new light on that question, and changed the aspect of -political economy in a decided and material point of view—whether he has -not also endeavoured to spread a gloom over the hopes and more sanguine -speculations of man, and to cast a slur upon the face of nature, is -another question. There is this to be said for Mr. Malthus, that in -speaking of him, one knows what one is talking about. He is something -beyond a mere name—one has not to _beat the bush_ about his talents, his -attainments, his vast reputation, and leave off without knowing what it -all amounts to—he is not one of those great men, who set themselves off -and strut and fret an hour upon the stage, during a day-dream of -popularity, with the ornaments and jewels borrowed from the common -stock, to which nothing but their vanity and presumption gives them the -least individual claim—he has dug into the mine of truth, and brought up -ore mixed with dross! In weighing his merits we come at once to the -question of what he has done or failed to do. It is a specific claim -that he sets up. When we speak of Mr. Malthus, we mean the _Essay on -Population_; and when we mention the Essay on Population, we mean a -distinct leading proposition, that stands out intelligibly from all -trashy pretence, and is a ground on which to fix the levers that may -move the world, backwards or forwards. He has not left opinion where he -found it; he has advanced or given it a wrong bias, or thrown a -stumbling-block in its way. In a word, his name is not stuck, like so -many others, in the firmament of reputation, nobody knows why, inscribed -in great letters, and with a transparency of TALENTS, GENIUS, LEARNING -blazing round it—it is tantamount to an idea, it is identified with a -principle, it means that _the population cannot go on perpetually -increasing without pressing on the limits of the means of subsistence, -and that a check of some kind or other must, sooner or later, be opposed -to it_. This is the essence of the doctrine which Mr. Malthus has been -the first to bring into general notice, and as we think, to establish -beyond the fear of contradiction. Admitting then as we do the prominence -and the value of his claims to public attention, it yet remains a -question, how far those claims are (as to the talent displayed in them) -strictly original; how far (as to the logical accuracy with which he has -treated the subject) he has introduced foreign and doubtful matter into -it; and how far (as to the spirit in which he has conducted his -inquiries, and applied a general principle to particular objects) he has -only drawn fair and inevitable conclusions from it, or endeavoured to -tamper with and wrest it to sinister and servile purposes. A writer who -shrinks from following up a well-founded principle into its untoward -consequences from timidity or false delicacy, is not worthy of the name -of a philosopher: a writer who assumes the garb of candour and an -inflexible love of truth to garble and pervert it, to crouch to power -and pander to prejudice, deserves a worse title than that of a sophist! - -Mr. Malthus’s first octavo volume on this subject (published in the year -1798) was intended as an answer to Mr. Godwin’s _Enquiry concerning -Political Justice_. It was well got up for the purpose, and had an -immediate effect. It was what in the language of the ring is called _a -facer_. It made Mr. Godwin and the other advocates of Modern Philosophy -look about them. It may be almost doubted whether Mr. Malthus was in the -first instance serious in many things that he threw out, or whether he -did not hazard the whole as an amusing and extreme paradox, which might -puzzle the reader as it had done himself in an idle moment, but to which -no practical consequence whatever could attach. This state of mind would -probably continue till the irritation of enemies and the encouragement -of friends convinced him that what he had at first exhibited as an idle -fancy was in fact a very valuable discovery, or ‘like the toad ugly and -venomous, had yet a precious jewel in its head.’ Such a supposition -would at least account for some things in the original Essay, which -scarcely any writer would venture upon, except as professed exercises of -ingenuity, and which have been since in part retracted. But a wrong bias -was thus given, and the author’s theory was thus rendered warped, -disjointed, and sophistical from the very outset. - -Nothing could in fact be more illogical (not to say absurd) than the -whole of Mr. Malthus’s reasoning applied as an answer (_par excellence_) -to Mr. Godwin’s book, or to the theories of other Utopian philosophers. -Mr. Godwin was not singular, but was kept in countenance by many -authorities, both ancient and modern, in supposing a state of society -possible in which the passions and wills of individuals would be -conformed to the general good, in which the knowledge of the best means -of promoting human welfare and the desire of contributing to it would -banish vice and misery from the world, and in which, the -stumbling-blocks of ignorance, of selfishness, and the indulgence of -gross appetite being removed, all things would move on by the mere -impulse of wisdom and virtue, to still higher and higher degrees of -perfection and happiness. Compared with the lamentable and gross -deficiencies of existing institutions, such a view of futurity as barely -possible could not fail to allure the gaze and tempt the aspiring -thoughts of the philanthropist and the philosopher: the hopes and the -imaginations of speculative men could not but rush forward into this -ideal world as into a _vacuum_ of good; and from ‘the mighty stream of -tendency’ (as Mr. Wordsworth in the cant of the day calls it,) there was -danger that the proud monuments of time-hallowed institutions, that the -strong-holds of power and corruption, that ‘the Corinthian capitals of -polished society,’ with the base and pediments, might be overthrown and -swept away as by a hurricane. There were not wanting persons whose -ignorance, whose fears, whose pride, or whose prejudices contemplated -such an alternative with horror; and who would naturally feel no small -obligation to the man who should relieve their apprehensions from the -stunning roar of this mighty change of opinion that thundered at a -distance, and should be able, by some logical apparatus or unexpected -turn of the argument, to prevent the vessel of the state from being -hurried forward with the progress of improvement, and dashed in pieces -down the tremendous precipice of human perfectibility. Then comes Mr. -Malthus forward with the geometrical and arithmetical ratios in his -hands, and holds them out to his affrighted contemporaries as the only -means of salvation. ‘For’ (so argued the author of the Essay) ‘let the -principles of Mr. Godwin’s Enquiry and of other similar works be carried -literally and completely into effect; let every corruption and abuse of -power be entirely got rid of; let virtue, knowledge, and civilization be -advanced to the greatest height that these visionary reformers would -suppose; let the passions and appetites be subjected to the utmost -control of reason and influence of public opinion: grant them, in a -word, all that they ask, and the more completely their views are -realized, the sooner will they be overthrown again, and the more -inevitable and fatal will be the catastrophe. For the principle of -population will still prevail, and from the comfort, ease, and plenty -that will abound, will receive an increasing force and _impetus_; the -number of mouths to be fed will have no limit, but the food that is to -supply them cannot keep pace with the demand for it; we must come to a -stop somewhere, even though each square yard, by extreme improvements in -cultivation, could maintain its man: in this state of things there will -be no remedy, the wholesome checks of vice and misery (which have -hitherto kept this principle within bounds) will have been done away; -the voice of reason will be unheard; the passions only will bear sway; -famine, distress, havoc, and dismay will spread around; hatred, -violence, war, and bloodshed will be the infallible consequence, and -from the pinnacle of happiness, peace, refinement, and social advantage, -we shall be hurled once more into a profounder abyss of misery, want, -and barbarism than ever, by the sole operation of the principle of -population!’—Such is a brief abstract of the argument of the Essay. Can -any thing be less conclusive, a more complete fallacy and _petitio -principii_? Mr. Malthus concedes, he assumes a state of perfectibility, -such as his opponents imagined, in which the general good is to obtain -the entire mastery of individual interests, and reason of gross -appetites and passions: and then he argues that such a perfect structure -of society will fall by its own weight, or rather be undermined by the -principle of population, because in the highest possible state of the -subjugation of the passions to reason, they will be absolutely lawless -and unchecked, and because as men become enlightened, quick sighted and -public-spirited, they will show themselves utterly blind to the -consequences of their actions, utterly indifferent to their own -well-being and that of all succeeding generations, whose fate is placed -in their hands. This we conceive to be the boldest paralogism that ever -was offered to the world, or palmed upon willing credulity. Against -whatever other scheme of reform this objection might be valid, the one -it was brought expressly to overturn was impregnable against it, -invulnerable to its slightest graze. Say that the Utopian reasoners are -visionaries, unfounded; that the state of virtue and knowledge they -suppose, in which reason shall have become all-in-all, can never take -place, that it is inconsistent with the nature of man and with all -experience, well and good—but to say that society will have attained -this high and ‘palmy state,’ that reason will have become the master-key -to all our motives, and that when arrived at its greatest power it will -cease to act at all, but will fall down dead, inert, and senseless -before the principle of population, is an opinion which one would think -few people would choose to advance or assent to, without strong -inducements for maintaining or believing it. - -The fact, however, is, that Mr. Malthus found this argument entire (the -principle and the application of it) in an obscure and almost forgotten -work published about the middle of the last century, entitled _Various -Prospects of Mankind, Nature, and Providence_, by a Scotch gentleman of -the name of Wallace. The chapter in this work on the Principle of -Population, considered as a bar to all ultimate views of human -improvement, was probably written to amuse an idle hour, or read as a -paper to exercise the wits of some literary society in the Northern -capital, and no farther responsibility or importance annexed to it. Mr. -Malthus, by adopting and setting his name to it, has given it sufficient -currency and effect. It sometimes happens that one writer is the first -to discover a certain principle or lay down a given observation, and -that another makes an application of, or draws a remote or an immediate -inference from it, totally unforeseen by the first, and from which, in -all probability, he might have widely dissented. But this is not so in -the present instance. Mr. Malthus has borrowed (perhaps without -consciousness, at any rate without acknowledgment) both the preliminary -statement, that the increase in the supply of food ‘from a limited earth -and a limited fertility’ must have an end, while the tendency to -increase in the principle of population has none, without some external -and forcible restraint on it, and the subsequent use made of this -statement as an insuperable bar to all schemes of Utopian or progressive -improvement—both these he has borrowed (whole) from Wallace, with all -their imperfections on their heads, and has added more and greater ones -to them out of his own store. In order to produce something of a -startling and dramatic effect, he has strained a point or two. In order -to quell and frighten away the bugbear of Modern Philosophy, he was -obliged to make a sort of monster of the principle of population, which -was brought into the field against it, and which was to swallow it up -quick. No half-measures, no middle course of reasoning would do. With a -view to meet the highest possible power of reason in the new order of -things, Mr. Malthus saw the necessity of giving the greatest possible -physical weight to the antagonist principle, and he accordingly lays it -down that its operation is mechanical and irresistible. He premises -these two propositions as the basis of all his reasoning, 1. _That food -is necessary to man_; 2. _That the desire to propagate the species is an -equally indispensable law of our existence_:—thus making it appear that -these two wants or impulses are equal and coordinate principles of -action. If this double statement had been true, the whole scope and -structure of his reasoning (as hostile to human hopes and sanguine -speculations) would have been irrefragable; but as it is not true, the -whole (in that view) falls to the ground. According to Mr. Malthus’s -octavo edition, the sexual passion is as necessary to be gratified as -the appetite of hunger, and a man can no more exist without propagating -his species than he can live without eating. Were it so, neither of -these passions would admit of any excuses, any delay, any restraint from -reason or foresight; and the only checks to the principle of population -must be vice and misery. The argument would be triumphant and complete. -But there is no analogy, no parity in the two cases, such as our author -here assumes. No man can live for any length of time without food; many -persons live all their lives without gratifying the other sense. The -longer the craving after food is unsatisfied, the more violent, -imperious, and uncontroulable the desire becomes; whereas the longer the -gratification of the sexual passion is resisted, the greater force does -habit and resolution acquire over it; and, generally speaking, it is a -well-known fact, attested by all observation and history, that this -latter passion is subject more or less to controul from personal -feelings and character, from public opinions and the institutions of -society, so as to lead either to a lawful and regulated indulgence, or -to partial or total abstinence, according to the dictates of _moral -restraint_, which latter check to the inordinate excesses and unheard-of -consequences of the principle of population, our author, having no -longer an extreme case to make out, admits and is willing to patronize -in addition to the two former and exclusive ones of _vice_ and _misery_, -in the second and remaining editions of his work. Mr. Malthus has shown -some awkwardness or even reluctance in softening down the harshness of -his first peremptory decision. He sometimes grants his grand exception -cordially, proceeds to argue stoutly, and to try conclusions upon it; at -other times he seems disposed to cavil about or retract it:—‘the -influence of moral restraint is very inconsiderable, or none at all.’ It -is indeed difficult (more particularly for so formal and nice a reasoner -as Mr. Malthus) to piece such contradictions plausibly or gracefully -together. We wonder how _he_ manages it—how _any one_ should attempt it! -The whole question, the _gist_ of the argument of his early volume -turned upon this, ‘Whether vice and misery were the _only_ actual or -possible checks to the principle of population?’ He then said they were, -and farewell to building castles in the air: he now says that _moral -restraint_ is to be coupled with these, and that its influence depends -greatly on the state of laws and manners—and Utopia stands where it did, -a great way off indeed, but not turned _topsy-turvy_ by our magician’s -wand! Should we ever arrive there, that is, attain to a state of -_perfect moral restraint_, we shall not be driven headlong back into -Epicurus’s stye for want of the only possible checks to population, -_vice_ and _misery_; and in proportion as we advance that way, that is, -as the influence of moral restraint is extended, the necessity for vice -and misery will be diminished, instead of being increased according to -the first alarm given by the Essay. Again, the advance of civilization -and of population in consequence with the same degree of moral restraint -(as there exists in England at this present time, for instance) is a -good, and not an evil—but this does not appear from the Essay. The Essay -shows that population is not (as had been sometimes taken for granted) -an abstract and unqualified good; but it led many persons to suppose -that it was an abstract and unqualified evil, to be checked only by vice -and misery; and producing, according to its encouragement a greater -quantity of vice and misery; and this error the author has not been at -sufficient pains to do away. Another thing, in which Mr. Malthus -attempted to _clench_ Wallace’s argument, was in giving to the -disproportionate power of increase in the principle of population and -the supply of food a mathematical form, or reducing it to the -arithmetical and geometrical ratios, in which we believe Mr. Malthus is -now generally admitted, even by his friends and admirers, to have been -wrong. There is evidently no inherent difference in the principle of -increase in food or population; since a grain of corn, for example, will -propagate and multiply itself much faster even than the human species. A -bushel of wheat will sow a field; that field will furnish seed for -twenty others. So that the limit to the means of subsistence is only the -want of room to raise it in, or, as Wallace expresses it, ‘a limited -fertility and a limited earth.’ Up to the point where the earth or any -given country is fully occupied or cultivated, the means of subsistence -naturally increase in a geometrical ratio, and will more than keep pace -with the natural and unrestrained progress of population; and beyond -that point, they do not go on increasing even in Mr. Malthus’s -arithmetical ratio, but are stationary or nearly so. So far, then, is -this proportion from being universally and mathematically true, that in -no part of the world or state of society does it hold good. But our -theorist, by laying down this double ratio as a law of nature, gains -this advantage, that at all times it seems as if, whether in new or -old-peopled countries, in fertile or barren soils, the population was -pressing hard on the means of subsistence; and again, it seems as if the -evil increased with the progress of improvement and civilization; for if -you cast your eye at the scale which is supposed to be calculated upon -true and infallible _data_, you find that when the population is at 8, -the means of subsistence are at 4; so that here there is only a -_deficit_ of one-half; but when it is at 32, they have only got to 6, so -that here there is a difference of 26 in 32, and so on in proportion; -the farther we proceed, the more enormous is the mass of vice and misery -we must undergo, as a consequence of the natural excess of the -population over the means of subsistence and as a salutary check to its -farther desolating progress. The mathematical Table, placed at the front -of the Essay, therefore leads to a secret suspicion or a barefaced -assumption, that we ought in mere kindness and compassion to give every -sort of indirect and under-hand encouragement (to say the least) to the -providential checks of vice and misery; as the sooner we arrest this -formidable and paramount evil in its course, the less opportunity we -leave it of doing incalculable mischief. Accordingly, whenever there is -the least talk of colonizing new countries, of extending the population, -or adding to social comforts and improvements, Mr. Malthus conjures up -his double ratios, and insists on the alarming results of advancing them -a single step forward in the series. By the same rule, it would be -better to return at once to a state of barbarism; and to take the -benefit of acorns and scuttle-fish, as a security against the luxuries -and wants of civilized life. But it is not our ingenious author’s wish -to hint at or recommend any alterations in existing institutions; and he -is therefore silent on that unpalatable part of the subject and natural -inference from his principles. - -Mr. Malthus’s ‘gospel is preached to the poor.’ He lectures them on -economy, on morality, the regulation of their passions (which, he says, -at other times, are amenable to no restraint) and on the ungracious -topic, that ‘the laws of nature, which are the laws of God, have doomed -them and their families to starve for want of a right to the smallest -portion of food beyond what their labour will supply, or some charitable -hand may hold out in compassion.’ This is illiberal, and it is not -philosophical. The laws of nature or of God, to which the author -appeals, are no other than a limited fertility and a limited earth. -Within those bounds, the rest is regulated by the laws of man. The -division of the produce of the soil, the price of labour, the relief -afforded to the poor, are matters of human arrangement: while any -charitable hand can extend relief, it is a proof that the means of -subsistence are not exhausted in themselves, that the ‘tables are not -full!’ Mr. Malthus says that the laws of nature, which are the laws of -God, have rendered that relief physically impossible; and yet he would -abrogate the poor-laws by an act of the legislature, in order to take -away that _impossible_ relief, which the laws of God deny, and which the -laws of man _actually_ afford. We cannot think that this view of his -subject, which is prominent and dwelt on at great length and with much -pertinacity, is dictated either by rigid logic or melting charity! A -labouring man is not allowed to knock down a hare or a partridge that -spoils his garden: a country-squire keeps a pack of hounds: a lady of -quality rides out with a footman behind her, on two sleek, well-fed -horses. We have not a word to say against all this as exemplifying the -spirit of the English Constitution, as a part of the law of the land, or -as an artful distribution of light and shade in the social picture; but -if any one insists at the same time that ‘the laws of nature, which are -the laws of God, have doomed the poor and their families to starve,’ -because the principle of population has encroached upon and swallowed up -the means of subsistence, so that not a mouthful of food is left _by the -grinding law of necessity_ for the poor, we beg leave to deny both fact -and inference—and we put it to Mr. Malthus whether we are not, in -strictness, justified in doing so? - -We have, perhaps, said enough to explain our feeling on the subject of -Mr. Malthus’s merits and defects. We think he had the opportunity and -the means in his hands of producing a great work on the principle of -population; but we believe he has let it slip from his having an eye to -other things besides that broad and unexplored question. He wished not -merely to advance to the discovery of certain great and valuable truths, -but at the same time to overthrow certain unfashionable paradoxes by -exaggerated statements—to curry favour with existing prejudices and -interests by garbled representations. He has, in a word, as it appears -to us on a candid retrospect and without any feelings of controversial -asperity rankling in our minds, sunk the philosopher and the friend of -his species (a character to which he might have aspired) in the sophist -and party-writer. The period at which Mr. Malthus came forward teemed -with answers to Modern Philosophy, with antidotes to liberty and -humanity, with abusive Histories of the Greek and Roman republics, with -fulsome panegyrics on the Roman Emperors (at the very time when we were -reviling Buonaparte for his strides to universal empire) with the slime -and offal of desperate servility—and we cannot but consider the Essay as -one of the poisonous ingredients thrown into the cauldron of Legitimacy -‘to make it thick and slab.’ Our author has, indeed, so far done service -to the cause of truth, that he has counteracted many capital errors -formerly prevailing as to the universal and indiscriminate encouragement -of population under all circumstances; but he has countenanced opposite -errors, which if adopted in theory and practice would be even more -mischievous, and has left it to future philosophers to follow up the -principle, that some check must be provided for the unrestrained -progress of population, into a set of wiser and more humane -consequences. Mr. Godwin has lately attempted an answer to the Essay -(thus giving Mr. Malthus a _Roland for his Oliver_) but we think he has -judged ill in endeavouring to invalidate the principle, instead of -confining himself to point out the misapplication of it. There is one -argument introduced in this Reply, which will, perhaps, amuse the reader -as a sort of metaphysical puzzle. - -‘It has sometimes occurred to me whether Mr. Malthus did not catch the -first hint of his geometrical ratio from a curious passage of Judge -Blackstone, on consanguinity, which is as follows:— - -‘The doctrine of lineal consanguinity is sufficiently plain and obvious; -but it is at the first view astonishing to consider the number of lineal -ancestors which every man has within no very great number of degrees; -and so many different bloods is a man said to contain in his veins, as -he hath lineal ancestors. Of these he hath two in the first ascending -degree, his own parents; he hath four in the second, the parents of his -father and the parents of his mother; he hath eight in the third, the -parents of his two grandfathers and two grand-mothers; and by the same -rule of progression, he hath an hundred and twenty-eight in the seventh; -a thousand and twenty-four in the tenth; and at the twentieth degree, or -the distance of twenty generations, every man hath above a million of -ancestors, as common arithmetic will demonstrate. - -‘This will seem surprising to those who are unacquainted with the -increasing power of progressive numbers; but is palpably evident from -the following table of a geometrical progression, in which the first -term is 2, and the denominator also 2; or, to speak more intelligibly, -it is evident, for that each of us has two ancestors in the first -degree; the number of which is doubled at every remove, because each of -our ancestors had also two ancestors of his own. - - _Lineal Degrees._ _Number of Ancestors._ - - 1 2 - 2 4 - 3 8 - 4 16 - 5 32 - 6 64 - 7 128 - 8 256 - 9 512 - 10 1024 - 11 2048 - 12 4096 - 13 8192 - 14 16,384 - 15 32,768 - 16 65,536 - 17 131,072 - 18 262,144 - 19 524,288 - 20 1,048,576 - -‘This argument, however,’ (proceeds Mr. Godwin) ‘from Judge Blackstone -of a geometrical progression would much more naturally apply to -Montesquieu’s hypothesis of the depopulation of the world, and prove -that the human species is hastening fast to extinction, than to the -purpose for which Mr. Malthus has employed it. An ingenious sophism -might be raised upon it, to show that the race of mankind will -ultimately terminate in unity. Mr. Malthus, indeed, should have -reflected, that it is much more certain that every man has had ancestors -than that he will have posterity, and that it is still more doubtful, -whether he will have posterity to twenty or to an indefinite number of -generations.’—ENQUIRY CONCERNING POPULATION, p. 100. - -Mr. Malthus’s style is correct and elegant; his tone of controversy mild -and gentlemanly; and the care with which he has brought his facts and -documents together, deserves the highest praise. He has lately quitted -his favourite subject of population, and broke a lance with Mr. Ricardo -on the question of rent and value. The partisans of Mr. Ricardo, who are -also the admirers of Mr. Malthus, say that the usual sagacity of the -latter has here failed him, and that he has shown himself to be a very -illogical writer. To have said this of him formerly on another ground, -was accounted a heresy and a piece of presumption not easily to be -forgiven. Indeed Mr. Malthus has always been a sort of ‘darling in the -public eye,’ whom it was unsafe to meddle with. He has contrived to make -himself as many friends by his attacks on the schemes of _Human -Perfectibility_ and on the _Poor-Laws_, as Mandeville formerly procured -enemies by his attacks on _Human Perfections_ and on _Charity-Schools_; -and among other instances that we might mention, _Plug_ Pulteney, the -celebrated miser, of whom Mr. Burke said on his having a large estate -left him, ‘that now it was to be hoped he would _set up a -pocket-handkerchief_,’ was so enamoured with the saving schemes and -humane economy of the Essay, that he desired a friend to find out the -author and offer him a church living! This liberal intention was (by -design or accident) unhappily frustrated. - - - - - MR. GIFFORD - - -Mr. Gifford was originally bred to some handicraft: he afterwards -contrived to learn Latin, and was for some time an usher in a school, -till he became a tutor in a nobleman’s family. The low-bred, self-taught -man, the pedant, and the dependant on the great contribute to form the -Editor of the _Quarterly Review_. He is admirably qualified for this -situation, which he has held for some years, by a happy combination of -defects, natural and acquired; and in the event of his death, it will be -difficult to provide him a suitable successor. - -Mr. Gifford has no pretensions to be thought a man of genius, of taste, -or even of general knowledge. He merely understands the mechanical and -instrumental part of learning. He is a critic of the last age, when the -different editions of an author, or the dates of his several -performances were all that occupied the inquiries of a profound scholar, -and the spirit of the writer or the beauties of his style were left to -shift for themselves, or exercise the fancy of the light and superficial -reader. In studying an old author, he has no notion of any thing beyond -adjusting a point, proposing a different reading, or correcting, by the -collation of various copies, an error of the press. In appreciating a -modern one, if it is an enemy, the first thing he thinks of is to charge -him with bad grammar—he scans his sentences instead of weighing his -sense; or, if it is a friend, the highest compliment he conceives it -possible to pay him is, that his thoughts and expressions are moulded on -some hackneyed model. His standard of _ideal_ perfection is what he -himself now is, a person of _mediocre_ literary attainments: his utmost -contempt is shown by reducing any one to what he himself once was, a -person without the ordinary advantages of education and learning. It is -accordingly assumed, with much complacency in his critical pages, that -Tory writers are classical and courtly as a matter of course; as it is a -standing jest and evident truism, that Whigs and Reformers must be -persons of low birth and breeding—imputations from one of which he -himself has narrowly escaped, and both of which he holds in suitable -abhorrence. He stands over a contemporary performance with all the -self-conceit and self-importance of a country schoolmaster, tries it by -technical rules, affects not to understand the meaning, examines the -hand-writing, the spelling, shrugs up his shoulders and chuckles over a -slip of the pen, and keeps a sharp look-out for a false concord and—a -flogging. There is nothing liberal, nothing humane in his style of -judging: it is altogether petty, captious, and literal. The Editor’s -political subserviency adds the last finishing to his ridiculous -pedantry and vanity. He has all his life been a follower in the train of -wealth and power—strives to back his pretensions on Parnassus by a place -at court, and to gild his reputation as a man of letters by the smile of -greatness. He thinks his works are stamped with additional value by -having his name in the _Red-Book_. He looks up to the distinctions of -rank and station as he does to those of learning, with the gross and -over-weening adulation of his early origin. All his notions are low, -upstart, servile. He thinks it the highest honour to a poet to be -patronised by a peer or by some dowager of quality. He is prouder of a -court-livery than of a laurel-wreath; and is only sure of having -established his claims to respectability by having sacrificed those of -independence. He is a retainer to the Muses; a door-keeper to learning; -a lacquey in the state. He believes that modern literature should wear -the fetters of classical antiquity; that truth is to be weighed in the -scales of opinion and prejudice; that power is equivalent to right; that -genius is dependent on rules; that taste and refinement of language -consist in _word-catching_. Many persons suppose that Mr. Gifford knows -better than he pretends; and that he is shrewd, artful, and designing. -But perhaps it may be nearer the mark to suppose that his dulness is -guarantee for his sincerity; or that before he is the tool of the -profligacy of others, he is the dupe of his own jaundiced feelings, and -narrow, hood-winked perceptions. - - ‘Destroy his fib or sophistry: in vain— - The creature’s at his dirty work again!’ - -But this is less from choice or perversity, than because he cannot help -it and can do nothing else. He damns a beautiful expression less out of -spite than because he really does not understand it: any novelty of -thought or sentiment gives him a shock from which he cannot recover for -some time, and he naturally takes his revenge for the alarm and -uneasiness occasioned him, without referring to venal or party motives. -He garbles an author’s meaning, not so much wilfully, as because it is a -pain to him to enlarge his microscopic view to take in the context, when -a particular sentence or passage has struck him as quaint and out of the -way: he fly-blows an author’s style, and picks out detached words and -phrases for cynical reprobation, simply because he feels himself at -home, or takes a pride and pleasure in this sort of petty warfare. He is -tetchy and impatient of contradiction; sore with wounded pride; angry at -obvious faults, more angry at unforeseen beauties. He has the -_chalk-stones_ in his understanding, and from being used to long -confinement, cannot bear the slightest jostling or irregularity of -motion. He may call out with the fellow in the _Tempest_—‘I am not -Stephano, but a cramp!’ He would go back to the standard of opinions, -style, the faded ornaments, and insipid formalities that came into -fashion about forty years ago. Flashes of thought, flights of fancy, -idiomatic expressions, he sets down among the signs of the times—the -extraordinary occurrences of the age we live in. They are marks of a -restless and revolutionary spirit: they disturb his composure of mind, -and threaten (by implication) the safety of the state. His slow, -snail-paced, bed-rid habits of reasoning, cannot keep up with the -whirling, eccentric motion, the rapid, perhaps extravagant combinations -of modern literature. He has long been stationary himself, and is -determined that others shall remain so. The hazarding a paradox is like -letting off a pistol close to his ear: he is alarmed and offended. The -using an elliptical mode of expression (such as he did not use to find -in Guides to the English Tongue) jars him like coming suddenly to a step -in a flight of stairs that you were not aware of. He _pishes_ and -_pshaws_ at all this, exercises a sort of interjectional criticism on -what excites his spleen, his envy, or his wonder, and hurls his meagre -anathemas _ex cathedrâ_ at all those writers who are indifferent alike -to his precepts and his example! - -Mr. Gifford, in short, is possessed of that sort of learning which is -likely to result from an over-anxious desire to supply the want of the -first rudiments of education; that sort of wit, which is the offspring -of ill-humour or bodily pain; that sort of sense, which arises from a -spirit of contradiction and a disposition to cavil at and dispute the -opinions of others; and that sort of reputation, which is the -consequence of bowing to established authority and ministerial -influence. He dedicates to some great man, and receives his compliments -in return. He appeals to some great name, and the Under-graduates of the -two Universities look up to him as an oracle of wisdom. He throws the -weight of his verbal criticism and puny discoveries in _black-letter_ -reading into the gap, that is supposed to be making in the Constitution -by Whigs and Radicals, whom he qualifies without mercy as dunces and -miscreants; and so entitles himself to the protection of Church and -State. The character of his mind is an utter want of independence and -magnanimity in all that he attempts. He cannot go alone, he must have -crutches, a go-cart and trammels, or he is timid, fretful, and helpless -as a child. He cannot conceive of any thing different from what he finds -it, and hates those who pretend to a greater reach of intellect or -boldness of spirit than himself. He inclines, by a natural and -deliberate bias, to the traditional in laws and government; to the -orthodox in religion; to the safe in opinion; to the trite in -imagination; to the technical in style; to whatever implies a surrender -of individual judgment into the hands of authority, and a subjection of -individual feeling to mechanic rules. If he finds any one flying in the -face of these, or straggling from the beaten path, he thinks he has them -at a notable disadvantage, and falls foul of them without loss of time, -partly to soothe his own sense of mortified self-consequence, and as an -edifying spectacle to his legitimate friends. He takes none but unfair -advantages. He _twits_ his adversaries (that is, those who are not in -the leading-strings of his school or party) with some personal or -accidental defect. If a writer has been punished for a political libel, -he is sure to hear of it in a literary criticism. If a lady goes on -crutches and is out of favour at court, she is reminded of it in Mr. -Gifford’s manly satire. He sneers at people of low birth or who have not -had a college education, partly to hide his own want of certain -advantages, partly as well-timed flattery to those who possess them. He -has a right to laugh at poor, unfriended, untitled genius from wearing -the livery of rank and letters, as footmen behind a coronet-coach laugh -at the rabble. He keeps good company, and forgets himself. He stands at -the door of Mr. Murray’s shop, and will not let any body pass but the -well-dressed mob, or some followers of the court. To edge into the -_Quarterly_ Temple of Fame the candidate must have a diploma from the -Universities, a passport from the Treasury. Otherwise, it is a breach of -etiquette to let him pass, an insult to the better sort who aspire to -the love of letters—and may chance to drop in to the _Feast of the -Poets_. Or, if he cannot manage it thus, or get rid of the claim on the -bare ground of poverty or want of school-learning, he _trumps_ up an -excuse for the occasion, such as that ‘a man was confined in Newgate a -short time before’—it is not a _lie_ on the part of the critic, it is -only an amiable subserviency to the will of his betters, like that of a -menial who is ordered to deny his master, a sense of propriety, a -knowledge of the world, a poetical and moral license. Such fellows (such -is his cue from his employers) should at any rate be kept out of -privileged places: persons who have been convicted of prose-libels ought -not to be suffered to write poetry—if the fact was not exactly as it was -stated, it was something of the kind, or it _ought_ to have been so, the -assertion was a pious fraud,—the public, the court, the prince himself -might read the work, but for this mark of opprobrium set upon it—it was -not to be endured that an insolent plebeian should aspire to elegance, -taste, fancy—it was throwing down the barriers which ought to separate -the higher and the lower classes, the loyal and the disloyal—the -paraphrase of the story of Dante was therefore to perform quarantine, it -was to seem not yet recovered from the gaol infection, there was to be a -taint upon it, as there was none in it—and all this was performed by a -single slip of Mr. Gifford’s pen! We would willingly believe (if we -could) that in this case there was as much weakness and prejudice as -there was malice and cunning.—Again, we do not think it possible that -under any circumstances the writer of the _Verses to Anna_ could enter -into the spirit or delicacy of Mr. Keats’s poetry. The fate of the -latter somewhat resembled that of - - ‘a bud bit by an envious worm, - Ere it could spread its sweet leaves to the air, - Or dedicate its beauty to the sun.’ - -Mr. Keats’s ostensible crime was that he had been praised in the -_Examiner Newspaper_: a greater and more unpardonable offence probably -was, that he was a true poet, with all the errors and beauties of -youthful genius to answer for. Mr. Gifford was as insensible to the one -as he was inexorable to the other. Let the reader judge from the two -subjoined specimens how far the one writer could ever, without a -presumption equalled only by a want of self-knowledge, set himself in -judgment on the other. - - ‘Out went the taper as she hurried in; - Its little smoke in pallid moonshine died: - She closed the door, she panted, all akin - To spirits of the air and visions wide: - No utter’d syllable, or woe betide! - But to her heart, her heart was voluble, - Paining with eloquence her balmy side; - As though a tongueless nightingale should swell - Her heart in vain, and die, heart-stifled, in her dell. - - ‘A casement high and triple-arch’d there was, - All garlanded with carven imag’ries - Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass, - And diamonded with panes of quaint device, - Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes, - As are the tiger-moth’s deep-damask’d wings; - And in the midst, ’mong thousand heraldries, - And twilight saints and dim emblazonings, - A shielded scutcheon blush’d with blood of queens and kings. - - ‘Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, - And threw warm gules on Madeline’s fair breast, - As down she knelt for Heaven’s grace and boon; - Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest, - And on her silver cross soft amethyst, - And on her hair a glory, like a saint: - She seem’d a splendid angel, newly drest, - Save wings, for heaven:—Porphyro grew faint: - She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint. - - ‘Anon his heart revives: her vespers done, - Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees; - Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one; - Loosens her fragrant boddice; by degrees - Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees: - Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed, - Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees, - In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed, - But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled. - - ‘Soon trembling in her soft and chilly nest, - In sort of wakeful swoon, perplex’d she lay, - Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppress’d - Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away - Flown, like a thought, until the morrow-day: - Blissfully haven’d both from joy and pain; - Clasp’d like a missal where swart Paynims pray; - Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain, - As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again.’ - EVE OF ST. AGNES. - -With the rich beauties and the dim obscurities of lines like these, let -us contrast the Verses addressed _To a Tuft of early Violets_ by the -fastidious author of the Baviad and Mæviad.— - - ‘Sweet flowers! that from your humble beds - Thus prematurely dare to rise, - And trust your unprotected heads - To cold Aquarius’ watery skies. - - ‘Retire, retire! _These_ tepid airs - Are not the genial brood of May; - _That_ sun with light malignant glares, - And flatters only to betray. - - ‘Stern Winter’s reign is not yet past— - Lo! while your buds prepare to blow, - On icy pinions comes the blast, - And nips your root, and lays you low. - - ‘Alas, for such ungentle doom! - But I will shield you; and supply - A kindlier soil on which to bloom, - A nobler bed on which to die. - - ‘Come then—‘ere yet the morning ray - Has drunk the dew that gems your crest, - And drawn your balmiest sweets away; - O come and grace my Anna’s breast. - - ‘Ye droop, fond flowers! But did ye know - What worth, what goodness there reside, - Your cups with liveliest tints would glow; - And spread their leaves with conscious pride. - - ‘For there has liberal Nature joined - Her riches to the stores of Art, - And added to the vigorous mind - The soft, the sympathising heart. - - ‘Come then—‘ere yet the morning ray - Has drunk the dew that gems your crest, - And drawn your balmiest sweets away; - O come and grace my Anna’s breast. - - ‘O! I should think—_that fragrant bed - Might I but hope with you to share_—[54] - Years of anxiety repaid - By one short hour of transport there. - - ‘More blest than me, thus shall ye live - Your little day; and when ye die, - Sweet flowers! the grateful Muse shall give - A verse; the sorrowing maid, a sigh. - - ‘While I alas! no distant date, - Mix with the dust from whence I came, - Without a friend to weep my fate, - Without a stone to tell my name.’ - -We subjoin one more specimen of these ‘wild strains’[55] said to be -‘_Written two years after the preceding_.’ ECCE ITERUM CRISPINUS. - - ‘I wish I was where Anna lies; - For I am sick of lingering here, - And every hour Affection cries, - Go, and partake her humble bier. - - ‘I wish I could! for when she died - I lost my all; and life has prov’d - Since that sad hour a dreary void, - A waste unlovely and unlov’d. - - ‘But who, when I am turned to clay, - Shall duly to her grave repair, - And pluck the ragged moss away, - And weeds that have “no business there?” - - ‘And who, with pious hand, shall bring - The flowers she cherish’d, snow-drops cold, - And violets that unheeded spring, - To scatter o’er her hallowed mould? - - ‘And who, while Memory loves to dwell - Upon her name for ever dear, - Shall feel his heart with passions swell, - And pour the bitter, bitter tear? - - ‘I DID IT; and would fate allow, - Should visit still, should still deplore— - But health and strength have left me now, - But I, alas! can weep no more. - - ‘Take then, sweet maid! this simple strain, - The last I offer at thy shrine; - Thy grave must then undeck’d remain, - And all thy memory fade with mine. - - ‘And can thy soft persuasive look, - That voice that might with music vie, - Thy air that every gazer took, - Thy matchless eloquence of eye, - - ‘Thy spirits, frolicsome as good, - Thy courage, by no ills dismay’d, - Thy patience, by no wrongs subdued, - Thy gay good-humour—can they “fade?” - - ‘Perhaps—but sorrow dims my eye: - Cold turf, which I no more must view, - Dear name, which I no more must sigh, - A long, a last, a sad adieu!’ - -It may be said in extenuation of the low, mechanic vein of these -impoverished lines, that they were written at an early age—they were the -inspired production of a youthful lover! Mr. Gifford was thirty when he -wrote them, Mr. Keats died when he was scarce twenty! Farther it may be -said, that Mr. Gifford hazarded his first poetical attempts under all -the disadvantages of a neglected education: but the same circumstance, -together with a few unpruned redundancies of fancy and quaintnesses of -expression, was made the plea on which Mr. Keats was hooted out of the -world, and his fine talents and wounded sensibilities consigned to an -early grave. In short, the treatment of this heedless candidate for -poetical fame might serve as a warning, and was intended to serve as a -warning to all unfledged tyros, how they venture upon any such doubtful -experiments, except under the auspices of some lord of the bedchamber or -Government Aristarchus, and how they imprudently associate themselves -with men of mere popular talent or independence of feeling!—It is the -same in prose works. The Editor scorns to enter the lists of argument -with any proscribed writer of the opposite party. He does not refute, -but denounces him. He makes no concessions to an adversary, lest they -should in some way be turned against him. He only feels himself safe in -the fancied insignificance of others: he only feels himself superior to -those whom he stigmatizes as the lowest of mankind. All persons are -without common-sense and honesty who do not believe implicitly (with -him) in the immaculateness of Ministers and the divine origin of Kings. -Thus he informed the world that the author of TABLE-TALK was a person -who could not write a sentence of common English and could hardly spell -his own name, because he was not a friend to the restoration of the -Bourbons, and had the assurance to write _Characters of Shakespear’s -Plays_ in a style of criticism somewhat different from Mr. Gifford’s. He -charged this writer with imposing on the public by a flowery style; and -when the latter ventured to refer to a work of his, called _An Essay on -the Principles of Human Action_, which has not a single ornament in it, -as a specimen of his original studies and the proper bias of his mind, -the learned critic, with a shrug of great self-satisfaction, said, ‘It -was amusing to see this person, sitting like one of Brouwer’s Dutch -boors over his gin and tobacco-pipes, and fancying himself a Leibnitz!’ -The question was, whether the subject of Mr. Gifford’s censure had ever -written such a work or not; for if he had, he had amused himself with -something besides gin and tobacco-pipes. But our Editor, by virtue of -the situation he holds, is superior to facts or arguments: he is -accountable neither to the public nor to authors for what he says of -them, but owes it to his employers to prejudice the work and vilify the -writer, if the latter is not avowedly ready to range himself on the -stronger side.—The _Quarterly Review_, besides the political _tirades_ -and denunciations of suspected writers, intended for the guidance of the -heads of families, is filled up with accounts of books of Voyages and -Travels for the amusement of the younger branches. The poetical -department is almost a sinecure, consisting of mere summary decisions -and a list of quotations. Mr. Croker is understood to contribute the St. -Helena articles and the liberality, Mr. Canning the practical good -sense, Mr. D’Israeli the good-nature, Mr. Jacob the modesty, Mr. Southey -the consistency, and the Editor himself the chivalrous spirit and the -attacks on Lady Morgan. It is a double crime, and excites a double -portion of spleen in the Editor, when female writers are not advocates -of passive obedience and non-resistance. This Journal, then, is a -depository for every species of political sophistry and personal -calumny. There is no abuse or corruption that does not there find a -jesuitical palliation or a barefaced vindication. There we meet the -slime of hypocrisy, the varnish of courts, the cant of pedantry, the -cobwebs of the law, the iron hand of power. Its object is as mischievous -as the means by which it is pursued are odious. The intention is to -poison the sources of public opinion and of individual fame—to pervert -literature, from being the natural ally of freedom and humanity, into an -engine of priestcraft and despotism, and to undermine the spirit of the -English constitution and the independence of the English character. The -Editor and his friends systematically explode every principle of -liberty, laugh patriotism and public spirit to scorn, resent every -pretence to integrity as a piece of singularity or insolence, and strike -at the root of all free inquiry or discussion, by running down every -writer as a vile scribbler and a bad member of society, who is not a -hireling and a slave. No means are stuck at in accomplishing this -laudable end. Strong in patronage, they trample on truth, justice, and -decency. They claim the privilege of court-favourites. They keep as -little faith with the public, as with their opponents. No statement in -the _Quarterly Review_ is to be trusted: there is no fact that is not -misrepresented in it, no quotation that is not garbled, no character -that is not slandered, if it can answer the purposes of a party to do -so. The weight of power, of wealth, of rank is thrown into the scale, -gives its impulse to the machine; and the whole is under the guidance of -Mr. Gifford’s instinctive genius—of the inborn hatred of servility for -independence, of dulness for talent, of cunning and impudence for truth -and honesty. It costs him no effort to execute his disreputable task—in -being the tool of a crooked policy, he but labours in his natural -vocation. He patches up a rotten system as he would supply the chasms in -a worm-eaten manuscript, from a grovelling incapacity to do any thing -better; thinks that if a single iota in the claims of prerogative and -power were lost, the whole fabric of society would fall upon his head -and crush him; and calculates that his best chance for literary -reputation is by _black-balling_ one half of the competitors as Jacobins -and levellers, and securing the suffrages of the other half in his -favour as a loyal subject and trusty partisan! - -Mr. Gifford, as a satirist, is violent and abrupt. He takes obvious or -physical defects, and dwells upon them with much labour and harshness of -invective, but with very little wit or spirit. He expresses a great deal -of anger and contempt, but you cannot tell very well why—except that he -seems to be sore and out of humour. His satire is mere peevishness and -spleen, or something worse—personal antipathy and rancour. We are in -quite as much pain for the writer, as for the object of his resentment. -His address to Peter Pindar is laughable from its outrageousness. He -denounces him as a wretch hateful to God and man, for some of the most -harmless and amusing trifles that ever were written—and the very -good-humour and pleasantry of which, we suspect, constituted their -offence in the eyes of this Drawcansir.—His attacks on Mrs. Robinson -were unmanly, and even those on Mr. Merry and the Della-Cruscan School -_were_ much more ferocious than the occasion warranted. A little -affectation and quaintness of style did not merit such severity of -castigation.[56] As a translator, Mr. Gifford’s version of the Roman -satirist is the baldest, and, in parts, the most offensive of all -others. We do not know why he attempted it, unless he had got it in his -head that he should thus follow in the steps of Dryden, as he had -already done in those of Pope in the Baviad and Mæviad. As an editor of -old authors, Mr. Gifford is entitled to considerable praise for the -pains he has taken in revising the text, and for some improvements he -has introduced into it. He had better have spared the notes, in which, -though he has detected the blunders of previous commentators, he has -exposed his own ill-temper and narrowness of feeling more. As a critic, -he has thrown no light on the character and spirit of his authors. He -has shown no striking power of analysis nor of original illustration, -though he has chosen to exercise his pen on writers most congenial to -his own turn of mind, from their dry and caustic vein; Massinger, and -Ben Jonson. What he will make of Marlowe, it is difficult to guess. He -has none of ‘the fiery quality’ of the poet. Mr. Gifford does not take -for his motto on these occasions—_Spiritus precipitandus est!_—His most -successful efforts in this way are barely respectable. In general, his -observations are petty, ill-concocted, and discover as little _tact_, as -they do a habit of connected reasoning. Thus, for instance, in -attempting to add the name of Massinger to the list of Catholic poets, -our minute critic insists on the profusion of crucifixes, glories, -angelic visions, garlands of roses, and clouds of incense scattered -through the _Virgin-Martyr_, as evidence of the theological sentiments -meant to be inculcated by the play, when the least reflection might have -taught him, that they proved nothing but the author’s poetical -conception of the character and _costume_ of his subject. A writer -might, with the same sinister, short-sighted shrewdness, be accused of -Heathenism for talking of Flora and Ceres in a poem on the Seasons! What -are produced as the exclusive badges and occult proofs of Catholic -bigotry, are nothing but the adventitious ornaments and external -symbols, the gross and sensible language, in a word, the _poetry_ of -Christianity in general. What indeed shows the frivolousness of the -whole inference is that Deckar, who is asserted by our critic to have -contributed some of the most passionate and fantastic of these -devotional scenes, is not even suspected of a leaning to Popery. In like -manner, he excuses Massinger for the grossness of one of his plots (that -of the _Unnatural Combat_) by saying that it was supposed to take place -before the Christian era; by this shallow common-place persuading -himself, or fancying he could persuade others, that the crime in -question (which yet on the very face of the story is made the ground of -a tragic catastrophe) was first made _statutory_ by the Christian -religion. - -The foregoing is a harsh criticism, and may be thought illiberal. But as -Mr. Gifford assumes a right to say what he pleases of others—they may be -allowed to speak the truth of him! - - - - - MR. JEFFREY - - -The _Quarterly Review_ arose out of the _Edinburgh_, not as a corollary, -but in contradiction to it. An article had appeared in the latter on Don -Pedro Cevallos, which stung the Tories to the quick by the free way in -which it spoke of men and things, and something must be done to check -these _escapades_ of the _Edinburgh_. It was not to be endured that the -truth should out in this manner, even occasionally and half in jest. A -startling shock was thus given to established prejudices, the mask was -taken off from grave hypocrisy, and the most serious consequences were -to be apprehended. The persons who wrote in this Review seemed ‘to have -their hands full of truths,’ and now and then, in a fit of spleen or -gaiety, let some of them fly; and while this practice continued, it was -impossible to say that the Monarchy or the Hierarchy was safe. Some of -the arrows glanced, others might stick, and in the end prove fatal. It -was not the principles of the _Edinburgh Review_, but the spirit that -was looked at with jealousy and alarm. The principles were by no means -decidedly hostile to existing institutions: but the spirit was that of -fair and free discussion; a field was open to argument and wit; every -question was tried upon its own ostensible merits, and there was no foul -play. The tone was that of a studied impartiality (which many called -_trimming_) or of a sceptical indifference. This tone of impartiality -and indifference, however, did not at all suit those who profited or -existed by abuses, who breathed the very air of corruption. They know -well enough that ‘those who are not _for_ them are _against_ them.’ They -wanted a publication impervious alike to truth and candour; that, -hood-winked itself, should lead public opinion blindfold; that should -stick at nothing to serve the turn of a party; that should be the -exclusive organ of prejudice, the sordid tool of power; that should go -the whole length of want of principle in palliating every dishonest -measure, of want of decency in defaming every honest man; that should -prejudge every question, traduce every opponent; that should give no -quarter to fair inquiry or liberal sentiment; that should be ‘ugly all -over with hypocrisy,’ and present one foul blotch of servility, -intolerance, falsehood, spite, and ill manners. The _Quarterly Review_ -was accordingly set up. - - ‘Sithence no fairy lights, no quickning ray, - Nor stir of pulse, nor object to entice - Abroad the spirits; but the cloister’d heart - Sits squat at home, like Pagod in a niche - Obscure!’ - -This event was accordingly hailed (and the omen has been fulfilled!) as -a great relief to all those of his Majesty’s subjects who are firmly -convinced that the only way to have things remain exactly as they are is -to put a stop to all inquiries whether they are right or wrong, and that -if you cannot answer a man’s arguments, you may at least try to take -away his character. - -We do not implicitly bow to the political opinions, nor to the critical -decisions of the _Edinburgh Review_; but we must do justice to the -talent with which they are supported, and to the tone of manly -explicitness in which they are delivered.[57] They are eminently -characteristic of the Spirit of the Age; as it is the express object of -the _Quarterly Review_ to discountenance and extinguish that spirit, -both in theory and practice. The _Edinburgh Review_ stands upon the -ground of opinion; it asserts the supremacy of intellect: the -pre-eminence it claims is from an acknowledged superiority of talent and -information and literary attainment, and it does not build one tittle of -its influence on ignorance, or prejudice, or authority, or personal -malevolence. It takes up a question, and argues it _pro_ and _con_ with -great knowledge and boldness and skill; it points out an absurdity, and -runs it down, fairly, and according to the evidence adduced. In the -former case, its conclusions may be wrong, there may be a bias in the -mind of the writer, but he states the arguments and circumstances on -both sides, from which a judgment is to be formed—it is not his cue, he -has neither the effrontery nor the meanness to falsify facts or to -suppress objections. In the latter case, or where a vein of sarcasm or -irony is resorted to, the ridicule is not barbed by some allusion (false -or true) to private history; the object of it has brought the infliction -on himself by some literary folly or political delinquency which is -referred to as the understood and justifiable provocation, instead of -being held up to scorn as a knave for not being a tool, or as a -blockhead for thinking for himself. In the _Edinburgh Review_ the -talents of those on the opposite side are always extolled _pleno ore_—in -the _Quarterly Review_ they are denied altogether, and the justice that -is in this way withheld from them is compensated by a proportionable -supply of personal abuse. A man of genius who is a lord, and who -publishes with Mr. Murray, may now and then stand as good a chance as a -lord who is not a man of genius and who publishes with Messrs. Longman: -but that it the utmost extent of the impartiality of the _Quarterly_. -From its account you would take Lord Byron and Mr. Stuart Rose for two -very pretty poets; but Mr. Moore’s Magdalen Muse is sent to Bridewell -without mercy, to beat hemp in silk-stockings. In the _Quarterly_ -nothing is regarded but the political creed or external circumstances of -a writer; in the _Edinburgh_ nothing is ever adverted to but his -literary merits. Or if there is a bias of any kind, it arises from an -affectation of magnanimity and candour in giving heaped measure to those -on the aristocratic side in politics, and in being critically severe on -others. Thus Sir Walter Scott is lauded to the skies for his romantic -powers, without any allusion to his political demerits (as if this would -be compromising the dignity of genius and of criticism by the -introduction of party-spirit)—while Lord Byron is called to a grave -moral reckoning. There is, however, little of the cant of morality in -the _Edinburgh Review_—and it is quite free from that of religion. It -keeps to its province, which is that of criticism—or to the discussion -of debateable topics, and acquits itself in both with force and spirit. -This is the natural consequence of the composition of the two Reviews. -The one appeals with confidence to its own intellectual resources, to -the variety of its topics, to its very character and existence as a -literary journal, which depend on its setting up no pretensions but -those which it can make good by the talent and ingenuity it can bring to -bear upon them—it therefore meets every question, whether of a lighter -or a graver cast, on its own grounds; the other _blinks_ every question, -for it has no confidence but in the _powers that be_—shuts itself up in -the impregnable fastnesses of authority, or makes some paltry cowardly -attack (under cover of anonymous criticism) on individuals, or dispenses -its award of merit entirely according to the rank or party of the -writer. The faults of the _Edinburgh Review_ arise out of the very -consciousness of critical and logical power. In political questions it -relies too little on the broad basis of liberty and humanity, enters too -much into mere dry formalities, deals too often in _moot-points_, and -descends too readily to a sort of special-pleading in defence of _home_ -truths and natural feelings: in matters of taste and criticism, its tone -is sometimes apt to be supercilious and _cavalier_ from its habitual -faculty of analysing defects and beauties according to given principles, -from its quickness in deciding, from its facility in illustrating its -views. In this latter department it has been guilty of some capital -oversights. The chief was in its treatment of the _Lyrical Ballads_ at -their first appearance—not in its ridicule of their puerilities, but in -its denial of their beauties, because they were included in no school, -because they were reducible to no previous standard or theory of -poetical excellence. For this, however, considerable reparation has been -made by the prompt and liberal spirit that has been shown in bringing -forward other examples of poetical genius. Its capital sin, in a -doctrinal point of view, has been (we shrewdly suspect) in the uniform -and unqualified encouragement it has bestowed on Mr. Malthus’s system. -We do not mean that the _Edinburgh Review_ was to join in the general -_hue and cry_ that was raised against this writer; but while it asserted -the soundness of many of his arguments, and yielded its assent to the -truths he has divulged, it need not have screened his errors. On this -subject alone we think the _Quarterly_ has the advantage of it. But as -the _Quarterly Review_ is a mere mass and tissue of prejudices on all -subjects, it is the foible of the _Edinburgh Review_ to affect a -somewhat fastidious air of superiority over prejudices of all kinds, and -a determination not to indulge in any of the amiable weaknesses of our -nature, except as it can give a reason for the faith that is in it. -Luckily, it is seldom reduced to this alternative: ‘reasons’ are with it -‘as plenty as blackberries!’ - -Mr. Jeffrey is the Editor of the _Edinburgh Review_, and is understood -to have contributed nearly a fourth part of the articles from its -commencement. No man is better qualified for this situation; nor indeed -so much so. He is certainly a person in advance of the age, and yet -perfectly fitted both from knowledge and habits of mind to put a curb -upon its rash and headlong spirit. He is thoroughly acquainted with the -progress and pretensions of modern literature and philosophy; and to -this he adds the natural acuteness and discrimination of the logician -with the habitual caution and coolness of his profession. If the -_Edinburgh Review_ may be considered as the organ of or at all pledged -to a party, that party is at least a respectable one, and is placed in -the middle between two extremes. The Editor is bound to lend a patient -hearing to the most paradoxical opinions and extravagant theories which -have resulted in our times from the ‘infinite agitation of wit,’ but he -is disposed to qualify them by a number of practical objections, of -speculative doubts, of checks and drawbacks, arising out of actual -circumstances and prevailing opinions, or the frailties of human nature. -He has a great range of knowledge, an incessant activity of mind; but -the suspension of his judgment, the well-balanced moderation of his -sentiments, is the consequence of the very discursiveness of his reason. -What may be considered as a _common-place_ conclusion is often the -result of a comprehensive view of all the circumstances of a case. -Paradox, violence, nay even originality of conception is not seldom -owing to our dwelling long and pertinaciously on some one part of a -subject, instead of attending to the whole. Mr. Jeffrey is neither a -bigot nor an enthusiast. He is not the dupe of the prejudices of others, -nor of his own. He is not wedded to any dogma, he is not long the sport -of any whim; before he can settle in any fond or fantastic opinion, -another starts up to match it, like beads on sparkling wine. A too -restless display of talent, a too undisguised statement of all that can -be said for and against a question, is perhaps the great fault that is -to be attributed to him. Where there is so much power and prejudice to -contend with in the opposite scale, it may be thought that the balance -of truth can hardly be held with a slack or an even hand; and that the -infusion of a little more visionary speculation, of a little more -popular indignation into the great Whig Review would be an advantage -both to itself and to the cause of freedom. Much of this effect is -chargeable less on an Epicurean levity of feeling or on party-trammels, -than on real sanguineness of disposition, and a certain fineness of -professional tact. Our sprightly Scotchman is not of a desponding and -gloomy turn of mind. He argues well for the future hopes of mankind from -the smallest beginnings, watches the slow, gradual, reluctant growth of -liberal views, and smiling sees the aloe of Reform blossom at the end of -a hundred years; while the habitual subtlety of his mind makes him -perceive decided advantages where vulgar ignorance or passion sees only -doubts and difficulty; and a flaw in an adversary’s argument stands him -instead of the shout of a mob, the votes of a majority, or the fate of a -pitched battle. The Editor is satisfied with his own conclusions, and -does not make himself uneasy about the fate of mankind. The issue, he -thinks, will verify his moderate and well-founded expectations.—We -believe also that late events have given a more decided turn to Mr. -Jeffrey’s mind, and that he feels that as in the struggle between -liberty and slavery, the views of the one party have been laid bare with -their success, so the exertions on the other side should become more -strenuous, and a more positive stand be made against the avowed and -appalling encroachments of priestcraft and arbitrary power. - -The characteristics of Mr. Jeffrey’s general style as a writer -correspond, we think, with what we have here stated as the -characteristics of his mind. He is a master of the foils; he makes an -exulting display of the dazzling fence of wit and argument. His strength -consists in great range of knowledge, an equal familiarity with the -principles and the details of a subject, and in a glancing brilliancy -and rapidity of style. Indeed, we doubt whether the brilliancy of his -manner does not resolve itself into the rapidity, the variety and -aptness of his illustrations. His pen is never at a loss, never stands -still; and would dazzle for this reason alone, like an eye that is ever -in motion. Mr. Jeffrey is far from a flowery or affected writer; he has -few tropes or figures, still less any odd startling thoughts or quaint -innovations in expression:—but he has a constant supply of ingenious -solutions and pertinent examples; he never proses, never grows dull, -never wears an argument to tatters; and by the number, the liveliness -and facility of his transitions, keeps up that appearance of vivacity, -of novel and sparkling effect, for which others are too often indebted -to singularity of combination or tinsel ornaments. - -It may be discovered, by a nice observer, that Mr. Jeffrey’s style of -composition is that of a person accustomed to public speaking. There is -no pause, no meagreness, no inanimateness, but a flow, a redundance and -volubility like that of a stream or of a rolling-stone. The language is -more copious than select, and sometimes two or three words perform the -office of one. This copiousness and facility is perhaps an advantage in -_extempore_ speaking, where no stop or break is allowed in the -discourse, and where any word or any number of words almost is better -than coming to a dead stand; but in written compositions it gives an air -of either too much carelessness or too much labour. Mr. Jeffrey’s -excellence, as a public speaker, has betrayed him into this peculiarity. -He makes fewer _blots_ in addressing an audience than any one we -remember to have heard. There is not a hair’s-breadth space between any -two of his words, nor is there a single expression either ill-chosen or -out of its place. He speaks without stopping to take breath, with ease, -with point, with elegance, and without ‘spinning the thread of his -verbosity finer than the staple of his argument.’ He may be said to -weave words into any shapes he pleases for use or ornament, as the -glass-blower moulds the vitreous fluid with his breath; and his -sentences shine like glass from their polished smoothness, and are -equally transparent. His style of eloquence, indeed, is remarkable for -neatness, for correctness, and epigrammatic point; and he has applied -this as a standard to his written compositions, where the very same -degree of correctness and precision produces, from the contrast between -writing and speaking, an agreeable diffuseness, freedom and animation. -Whenever the Scotch advocate has appeared at the bar of the English -House of Lords, he has been admired by those who were in the habit of -attending to speeches there, as having the greatest fluency of language -and the greatest subtlety of distinction of any one of the profession. -The law-reporters were as little able to follow him from the extreme -rapidity of his utterance as from the tenuity and evanescent nature of -his reasoning. - -Mr. Jeffrey’s conversation is equally lively, various, and instructive. -There is no subject on which he is not _au fait_: no company in which he -is not ready to scatter his pearls for sport. Whether it be politics, or -poetry, or science, or anecdote, or wit, or raillery, he takes up his -cue without effort, without preparation, and appears equally incapable -of tiring himself or his hearers. His only difficulty seems to be, not -to speak, but to be silent. There is a constitutional buoyancy and -elasticity of mind about him that cannot subside into repose, much less -sink into dulness. There may be more original talkers, persons who -occasionally surprise or interest you more; few, if any, with a more -uninterrupted flow of cheerfulness and animal spirits, with a greater -fund of information, and with fewer specimens of the _bathos_ in their -conversation. He is never absurd, nor has he any favourite points which -he is always bringing forward. It cannot be denied that there is -something bordering on petulance of manner, but it is of that least -offensive kind which may be accounted for from merit and from success, -and implies no exclusive pretensions nor the least particle of ill-will -to others. On the contrary, Mr. Jeffrey is profuse of his encomiums and -admiration of others, but still with a certain reservation of a right to -differ or to blame. He cannot rest on one side of a question: he is -obliged by a mercurial habit and disposition to vary his point of view. -If he is ever tedious, it is from an excess of liveliness: he oppresses -from a sense of airy lightness. He is always setting out on a fresh -scent: there are always _relays_ of topics; the harness is put to, and -he rattles away as delightfully and as briskly as ever. New causes are -called; he holds a brief in his hand for every possible question. This -is a fault. Mr. Jeffrey is not obtrusive, is not impatient of -opposition, is not unwilling to be interrupted; but what is said by -another, seems to make no impression on him; he is bound to dispute, to -answer it, as if he was in Court, or as if it were in a paltry Debating -Society, where young beginners were trying their hands. This is not to -maintain a character, or for want of good-nature—it is a thoughtless -habit. He cannot help cross-examining a witness, or stating the adverse -view of the question. He listens not to judge, but to reply. In -consequence of this, you can as little tell the impression your -observations make on him as what weight to assign to his. Mr. Jeffrey -shines in mixed company; he is not good in a _tête-à-tête_. You can only -show your wisdom or your wit in general society: but in private your -follies or your weaknesses are not the least interesting topics; and our -critic has neither any of his own to confess, nor does he take delight -in hearing those of others. Indeed in Scotland generally, the display of -personal character, the indulging your whims and humours in the presence -of a friend, is not much encouraged—every one there is looked upon in -the light of a machine or a collection of topics. They turn you round -like a cylinder to see what use they can make of you, and drag you into -a dispute with as little ceremony as they would drag out an article from -an Encyclopedia. They criticise every thing, analyse every thing, argue -upon every thing, dogmatise upon every thing; and the bundle of your -habits, feelings, humours, follies and pursuits is regarded by them no -more than a bundle of old clothes. They stop you in a sentiment by a -question or a stare, and cut you short in a narrative by the time of -night. The accomplished and ingenious person of whom we speak, has been -a little infected by the tone of his countrymen—he is too didactic, too -pugnacious, too full of electrical shocks, too much like a voltaic -battery, and reposes too little on his own excellent good sense, his own -love of ease, his cordial frankness of temper and unaffected candour. He -ought to have belonged to us! - -The severest of critics (as he has been sometimes termed) is the -best-natured of men. Whatever there may be of wavering or indecision in -Mr. Jeffrey’s reasoning, or of harshness in his critical decisions, in -his disposition there is nothing but simplicity and kindness. He is a -person that no one knows without esteeming, and who both in his public -connections and private friendships, shows the same manly uprightness -and unbiassed independence of spirit. At a distance, in his writings, or -even in his manner, there may be something to excite a little uneasiness -and apprehension: in his conduct there is nothing to except against. He -is a person of strict integrity himself, without pretence or -affectation; and knows how to respect this quality in others, without -prudery or intolerance. He can censure a friend or a stranger, and serve -him effectually at the same time. He expresses his disapprobation, but -not as an excuse for closing up the avenues of his liberality. He is a -Scotchman without one particle of hypocrisy, of cant, of servility, or -selfishness in his composition. He has not been spoiled by fortune—has -not been tempted by power—is firm without violence, friendly without -weakness—a critic and even-tempered, a casuist and an honest man—and -amidst the toils of his profession and the distractions of the world, -retains the gaiety, the unpretending carelessness and simplicity of -youth. Mr. Jeffrey in his person is slight, with a countenance of much -expression, and a voice of great flexibility and acuteness of tone. - - - - - MR. BROUGHAM—SIR F. BURDETT - - -There is a class of eloquence which has been described and particularly -insisted on, under the style and title of _Irish Eloquence_: there is -another class which it is not absolutely unfair to oppose to this, and -that is the Scotch. The first of these is entirely the offspring of -_impulse_: the last of _mechanism_. The one is as full of fancy as it is -bare of facts: the other excludes all fancy, and is weighed down with -facts. The one is all fire, the other all ice: the one nothing but -enthusiasm, extravagance, eccentricity; the other nothing but logical -deductions, and the most approved postulates. The one without scruple, -nay, with reckless zeal, throws the reins loose on the neck of the -imagination: the other pulls up with a curb-bridle, and starts at every -casual object it meets in the way as a bugbear. The genius of Irish -oratory stands forth in the naked majesty of untutored nature, its eye -glancing wildly round on all objects, its tongue darting forked fire: -the genius of Scottish eloquence is armed in all the panoply of the -schools; its drawling, ambiguous dialect seconds its circumspect -dialectics; from behind the vizor that guards its mouth and shadows its -pent-up brows, it sees no visions but its own set purpose, its own -_data_, and its own dogmas. It ‘has no figures, nor no fantasies,’ but -‘those which busy care draws in the brains of men,’ or which set off its -own superior acquirements and wisdom. It scorns to ‘tread the primrose -path of dalliance’—it shrinks back from it as from a precipice, and -keeps in the iron rail-way of the understanding. Irish oratory, on the -contrary, is a sort of aëronaut: it is always going up in a balloon, and -breaking its neck, or coming down in the parachute. It is filled full -with gaseous matter, with whim and fancy, with alliteration and -antithesis, with heated passion and bloated metaphors, that burst the -slender silken covering of sense; and the airy pageant, that glittered -in empty space and rose in all the bliss of ignorance, flutters and -sinks down to its native bogs! If the Irish orator riots in a studied -neglect of his subject and a natural confusion of ideas, playing with -words, ranging them into all sorts of fantastic combinations, because in -the unlettered void or chaos of his mind there is no obstacle to their -coalescing into any shapes they please, it must be confessed that the -eloquence of the Scotch is encumbered with an excess of knowledge, that -it cannot get on for a crowd of difficulties, that it staggers under a -load of topics, that it is so environed in the forms of logic and -rhetoric as to be equally precluded from originality or absurdity, from -beauty or deformity:—the plea of humanity is lost by going through the -process of law, the firm and manly tone of principle is exchanged for -the wavering and pitiful cant of policy, the living bursts of passion -are reduced to a defunct _common-place_, and all true imagination is -buried under the dust and rubbish of learned models and imposing -authorities. If the one is a bodiless phantom, the other is a lifeless -skeleton: if the one in its feverish and hectic extravagance resembles a -sick man’s dream, the other is akin to the sleep of death—cold, stiff, -unfeeling, monumental! Upon the whole, we despair less of the first than -of the last, for the principle of life and motion is, after all, the -primary condition of all genius. The luxuriant wildness of the one may -be disciplined, and its excesses sobered down into reason; but the dry -and rigid formality of the other can never burst the shell or husk of -oratory. It is true that the one is disfigured by the puerilities and -affectation of a Phillips; but then it is redeemed by the manly sense -and fervour of a Plunket, the impassioned appeals and flashes of wit of -a Curran, and by the golden tide of wisdom, eloquence, and fancy, that -flowed from the lips of a Burke. In the other, we do not sink so low in -the negative series; but we get no higher in the ascending scale than a -Mackintosh or a Brougham.[58] It may be suggested that the late Lord -Erskine enjoyed a higher reputation as an orator than either of these: -but he owed it to a dashing and graceful manner, to presence of mind, -and to great animation in delivering his sentiments. Stripped of these -outward and personal advantages, the matter of his speeches, like that -of his writings, is nothing, or perfectly inert and dead. - -Mr. Brougham is from the North of England, but he was educated in -Edinburgh, and represents that school of politics and political economy -in the House. He differs from Sir James Mackintosh in this, that he -deals less in abstract principles, and more in individual details. He -makes less use of general topics, and more of immediate facts. Sir James -is better acquainted with the balance of an argument in old authors; Mr. -Brougham with the balance of power in Europe. If the first is better -versed in the progress of history, no man excels the last in a knowledge -of the course of exchange. He is apprised of the exact state of our -exports and imports, and scarce a ship clears out its cargo at Liverpool -or Hull, but he has notice of the bill of lading. Our colonial policy, -prison-discipline, the state of the Hulks, agricultural distress, -commerce and manufactures, the Bullion question, the Catholic question, -the Bourbons or the Inquisition, ‘domestic treason, foreign levy,’ -nothing can come amiss to him—he is at home in the crooked mazes of -rotten boroughs, is not baffled by Scotch law, and can follow the -meaning of one of Mr. Canning’s speeches. With so many resources, with -such variety and solidity of information, Mr. Brougham is rather a -powerful and alarming, than an effectual debater. In so many details -(which he himself goes through with unwearied and unshrinking -resolution) the spirit of the question is lost to others who have not -the same voluntary power of attention or the same interest in hearing -that he has in speaking; the original impulse that urged him forward is -forgotten in so wide a field, in so interminable a career. If he can, -others _cannot_ carry all he knows in their heads at the same time; a -rope of circumstantial evidence does not hold well together, nor drag -the unwilling mind along with it (the willing mind hurries on before it, -and grows impatient and absent)—he moves in an unmanageable procession -of facts and proofs, instead of coming to the point at once—and his -premises (so anxious is he to proceed on sure and ample grounds) overlay -and block up his conclusion, so that you cannot arrive at it, or not -till the first fury and shock of the onset is over. The ball, from the -too great width of the _calibre_ from which it is sent, and from -striking against such a number of hard, projecting points, is almost -spent before it reaches its destination. He keeps a ledger or a -debtor-and-creditor account between the Government and the Country, -posts so much actual crime, corruption, and injustice against so much -contingent advantage or sluggish prejudice, and at the bottom of the -page brings in the balance of indignation and contempt, where it is due. -But people are not to be _calculated into_ contempt or indignation on -abstract grounds; for however they may submit to this process where -their own interests are concerned, in what regards the public good we -believe they must see and feel instinctively, or not at all. There is -(it is to be lamented) a good deal of froth as well as strength in the -popular spirit, which will not admit of being _decanted_ or served out -in formal driblets; nor will spleen (the soul of Opposition) bear to be -corked up in square patent bottles, and kept for future use! In a word, -Mr. Brougham’s is ticketed and labelled eloquence, registered and in -numeros (like the successive parts of a Scotch Encyclopedia)—it is -clever, knowing, imposing, masterly, an extraordinary display of -clearness of head, of quickness and energy of thought, of application -and industry; but it is not the eloquence of the imagination or the -heart, and will never save a nation or an individual from perdition. - -Mr. Brougham has one considerable advantage in debate: he is overcome by -no false modesty, no deference to others. But then, by a natural -consequence or parity of reasoning, he has little sympathy with other -people, and is liable to be mistaken in the effect his arguments will -have upon them. He relies too much, among other things, on the patience -of his hearers, and on his ability to turn every thing to his own -advantage. He accordingly goes to the full length of _his tether_ (in -vulgar phrase) and often overshoots the mark. _C’est dommage._ He has no -reserve of discretion, no retentiveness of mind or check upon himself. -He needs, with so much wit, - - ‘As much again to govern it.’ - -He cannot keep a good thing or a shrewd piece of information in his -possession, though the letting it out should mar a cause. It is not that -he thinks too much of himself, too little of his cause: but he is -absorbed in the pursuit of truth as an abstract inquiry, he is led away -by the headstrong and overmastering activity of his own mind. He is -borne along, almost involuntarily, and not impossibly against his better -judgment, by the throng and restlessness of his ideas as by a crowd of -people in motion. His perceptions are literal, tenacious, -_epileptic_—his understanding voracious of facts, and equally -communicative of them—and he proceeds to - - ‘——Pour out all as plain - As downright Shippen or as old Montaigne’— - -without either the virulence of the one or the _bonhommie_ of the other. -The repeated, smart, unforeseen discharges of the truth jar those that -are next him. He does not dislike this state of irritation and -collision, indulges his curiosity or his triumph, till by calling for -more facts or hazarding some extreme inference, he urges a question to -the verge of a precipice, his adversaries urge it _over_, and he himself -shrinks back from the consequence— - - ‘Scared at the sound himself has made!’ - -Mr. Brougham has great fearlessness, but not equal firmness; and after -going too far on the _forlorn hope_, turns short round without due -warning to others or respect for himself. He is adventurous, but easily -panic-struck; and sacrifices the vanity of self-opinion to the necessity -of self-preservation. He is too improvident for a leader, too petulant -for a partisan; and does not sufficiently consult those with whom he is -supposed to act in concert. He sometimes leaves them in the lurch, and -is sometimes left in the lurch by them. He wants the principle of -co-operation. He frequently, in a fit of thoughtless levity, gives an -unexpected turn to the political machine, which alarms older and more -experienced heads: if he was not himself the first to get out of harm’s -way and escape from the danger, it would be well!—We hold, indeed, as a -general rule, that no man born or bred in Scotland can be a great -orator, unless he is a mere quack; or a great statesman, unless he turns -plain knave. The national gravity is against the first: the national -caution is against the last. To a Scotchman if a thing _is_, _it is_; -there is an end of the question with his opinion about it. He is -positive and abrupt, and is not in the habit of conciliating the -feelings or soothing the follies of others. His only way therefore to -produce a popular effect is to sail with the stream of prejudice, and to -vent common dogmas, ‘the total grist, unsifted, husks and all,’ from -some evangelical pulpit. This may answer, and it has answered. On the -other hand, if a Scotchman, born or bred, comes to think at all of the -feelings of others, it is not as they regard them, but as their opinion -reacts on his own interest and safety. He is therefore either -pragmatical and offensive, or if he tries to please, he becomes cowardly -and fawning. His public spirit wants pliancy; his selfish compliances go -all lengths. He is as impracticable as a popular partisan, as he is -mischievous as a tool of Government. We do not wish to press this -argument farther, and must leave it involved in some degree of -obscurity, rather than bring the armed intellect of a whole nation on -our heads. - -Mr. Brougham speaks in a loud and unmitigated tone of voice, sometimes -almost approaching to a scream. He is fluent, rapid, vehement, full of -his subject, with evidently a great deal to say, and very regardless of -the manner of saying it. As a lawyer, he has not hitherto been -remarkably successful. He is not profound in cases and reports, nor does -he take much interest in the peculiar features of a particular cause, or -show much adroitness in the management of it. He carries too much weight -of metal for ordinary and petty occasions: he must have a pretty large -question to discuss, and must make _thorough-stitch_ work of it. He, -however, had an encounter with Mr. Phillips the other day, and shook all -his tender blossoms, so that they fell to the ground, and withered in an -hour; but they soon bloomed again! Mr. Brougham writes almost, if not -quite, as well as he speaks. In the midst of an Election contest he -comes out to address the populace, and goes back to his study to finish -an article for the Edinburgh Review; sometimes indeed wedging three or -four articles (in the shape of _refaccimentos_ of his own pamphlets or -speeches in parliament) into a single number. Such indeed is the -activity of his mind that it appears to require neither repose, nor any -other stimulus than a delight in its own exercise. He can turn his hand -to any thing, but he cannot be idle. There are few intellectual -accomplishments which he does not possess, and possess in a very high -degree. He speaks French (and, we believe, several other modern -languages) fluently: is a capital mathematician, and obtained an -introduction to the celebrated Carnot in this latter character, when the -conversation turned on squaring the circle, and not on the propriety of -confining France within the natural boundary of the Rhine. Mr. Brougham -is, in fact, a striking instance of the versatility and strength of the -human mind, and also in one sense of the length of human life, if we -make a good use of our time. There is room enough to crowd almost every -art and science into it. If we pass ‘no day without a line,’ visit no -place without the company of a book, we may with ease fill libraries or -empty them of their contents. Those who complain of the shortness of -life, let it slide by them without wishing to seize and make the most of -its golden minutes. The more we do, the more we can do; the more busy we -are, the more leisure we have. If any one possesses any advantage in a -considerable degree, he may make himself master of nearly as many more -as he pleases, by employing his spare time and cultivating the waste -faculties of his mind. While one person is determining on the choice of -a profession or study, another shall have made a fortune or gained a -merited reputation. While one person is dreaming over the meaning of a -word, another will have learnt several languages. It is not incapacity, -but indolence, indecision, want of imagination, and a proneness to a -sort of mental tautology, to repeat the same images and tread the same -circle, that leaves us so poor, so dull, and inert as we are, so naked -of acquirement, so barren of resources! While we are walking backwards -and forwards between Charing-Cross and Temple-Bar, and sitting in the -same coffee-house every day, we might make the grand tour of Europe, and -visit the Vatican and the Louvre. Mr. Brougham, among other means of -strengthening and enlarging his views, has visited, we believe, most of -the courts, and turned his attention to most of the Constitutions of the -continent. He is, no doubt, a very accomplished, active-minded, and -admirable person. - -Sir Francis Burdett, in many respects, affords a contrast to the -foregoing character. He is a plain, unaffected, unsophisticated English -gentleman. He is a person of great reading too and considerable -information, but he makes very little display of these, unless it be to -quote Shakespear, which he does often with extreme aptness and felicity. -Sir Francis is one of the most pleasing speakers in the House, and is a -prodigious favourite of the English people. So he ought to be: for he is -one of the few remaining examples of the old English understanding and -old English character. All that he pretends to is common sense and -common honesty; and a greater compliment cannot be paid to these than -the attention with which he is listened to in the House of Commons. We -cannot conceive a higher proof of courage than the saying things which -he has been known to say there; and we have seen him blush and appear -ashamed of the truths he has been obliged to utter, like a bashful -novice. He could not have uttered what he often did there, if, besides -his general respectability, he had not been a very honest, a very -good-tempered, and a very good-looking man. But there was evidently no -wish to shine, nor any desire to offend: it was painful to him to hurt -the feelings of those who heard him, but it was a higher duty in him not -to suppress his sincere and earnest convictions. It is wonderful how -much virtue and plain-dealing a man may be guilty of with impunity, if -he has no vanity, or ill-nature, or duplicity to provoke the contempt or -resentment of others, and to make them impatient of the superiority he -sets up over them. We do not recollect that Sir Francis ever endeavoured -to atone for any occasional indiscretions or intemperance by giving the -Duke of York credit for the battle of Waterloo, or congratulating -Ministers on the confinement of Buonaparte at St. Helena. There is no -honest cause which he dares not avow: no oppressed individual that he is -not forward to succour. He has the firmness of manhood with the -unimpaired enthusiasm of youthful feeling about him. His principles are -mellowed and improved, without having become less sound with time: for -at one period he sometimes appeared to come charged to the House with -the petulance and caustic sententiousness he had imbibed at Wimbledon -Common. He is never violent or in extremes, except when the people or -the parliament happen to be out of their senses; and then he seems to -regret the necessity of plainly telling them he thinks so, instead of -pluming himself upon it or exulting over impending calamities. There is -only one error he seems to labour under (which, we believe, he also -borrowed from Mr. Horne Tooke or Major Cartwright), the wanting to go -back to the early times of our Constitution and history in search of the -principles of law and liberty. He might as well - - ‘Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.’ - -Liberty, in our opinion, is but a modern invention (the growth of books -and printing)—and whether new or old, is not the less desirable. A man -may be a patriot, without being an antiquary. This is the only point on -which Sir Francis is at all inclined to a tincture of pedantry. In -general, his love of liberty is pure, as it is warm and steady: his -humanity is unconstrained and free. His heart does not ask leave of his -head to feel; nor does prudence always keep a guard upon his tongue or -his pen. No man writes a better letter to his Constituents than the -Member for Westminster; and his compositions of that kind ought to be -good, for they have occasionally cost him dear. He is the idol of the -people of Westminster: few persons have a greater number of friends and -well-wishers; and he has still greater reason to be proud of his -enemies, for his integrity and independence have made them so. Sir -Francis Burdett has often been left in a Minority in the House of -Commons, with only one or two on his side. We suspect, unfortunately for -his country, that History will be found to enter its protest on the same -side of the question! - - - - - LORD ELDON AND MR. WILBERFORCE - - -Lord Eldon is an exceedingly good-natured man; but this does not prevent -him, like other good-natured people, from consulting his own ease or -interest. The character of _good-nature_, as it is called, has been a -good deal mistaken; and the present Chancellor is not a bad illustration -of the grounds of the prevailing error. When we happen to see an -individual whose countenance is ‘all tranquillity and smiles;’ who is -full of good-humour and pleasantry; whose manners are gentle and -conciliating; who is uniformly temperate in his expressions, and -punctual and just in his every-day dealings; we are apt to conclude from -so fair an outside, that - - ‘All is conscience and tender heart’ - -within also, and that such a one would not hurt a fly. And neither would -he without a motive. But mere good-nature (or what passes in the world -for such) is often no better than indolent selfishness. A person -distinguished and praised for this quality will not needlessly offend -others, because they may retaliate; and besides, it ruffles his own -temper. He likes to enjoy a perfect calm, and to live in an interchange -of kind offices. He suffers few things to irritate or annoy him. He has -a fine oiliness in his disposition, which smooths the waves of passion -as they rise. He does not enter into the quarrels or enmities of others; -bears their calamities with patience; he listens to the din and clang of -war, the earthquake and the hurricane of the political and moral world -with the temper and spirit of a philosopher; no act of injustice puts -him beside himself, the follies and absurdities of mankind never give -him a moment’s uneasiness, he has none of the ordinary causes of -fretfulness or chagrin that torment others from the undue interest they -take in the conduct of their neighbours or in the public good. None of -these idle or frivolous sources of discontent, that make such havoc with -the peace of human life, ever discompose his features or alter the -serenity of his pulse. If a nation is robbed of its rights, - - ‘If wretches hang that Ministers may dine,’— - -the laughing jest still collects in his eye, the cordial squeeze of the -hand is still the same. But tread on the toe of one of these amiable and -imperturbable mortals, or let a lump of soot fall down the chimney and -spoil their dinners, and see how they will bear it. All their patience -is confined to the accidents that befal others: all their good-humour is -to be resolved into giving themselves no concern about any thing but -their own ease and self-indulgence. Their charity begins and ends at -home. Their being free from the common infirmities of temper is owing to -their indifference to the common feelings of humanity; and if you touch -the sore place, they betray more resentment, and break out (like spoiled -children) into greater fractiousness than others, partly from a greater -degree of selfishness, and partly because they are taken by surprise, -and mad to think they have not guarded every point against annoyance or -attack, by a habit of callous insensibility and pampered indolence. - -An instance of what we mean occurred but the other day. An allusion was -made in the House of Commons to something in the proceedings in the -Court of Chancery, and the Lord Chancellor comes to his place in the -Court, with the statement in his hand, fire in his eyes, and a direct -charge of falsehood in his mouth, without knowing any thing certain of -the matter, without making any inquiry into it, without using any -precaution or putting the least restraint upon himself, and all on no -better authority than a common newspaper report. The thing was (not that -we are imputing any strong blame in this case, we merely bring it as an -illustration) it touched himself, his office, the inviolability of his -jurisdiction, the unexceptionableness of his proceedings, and the wet -blanket of the Chancellor’s temper instantly took fire like tinder! All -the fine balancing was at an end; all the doubts, all the delicacy, all -the candour real or affected, all the chances that there might be a -mistake in the report, all the decencies to be observed towards a Member -of the House, are overlooked by the blindness of passion, and the wary -Judge pounces upon the paragraph without mercy, without a moment’s -delay, or the smallest attention to forms! This was indeed serious -business, there was to be no trifling here; every instant was an age -till the Chancellor had discharged his sense of indignation on the head -of the indiscreet interloper on his authority. Had it been another -person’s case, another person’s dignity that had been compromised, -another person’s conduct that had been called in question, who doubts -but that the matter might have stood over till the next term, that the -Noble Lord would have taken the Newspaper home in his pocket, that he -would have compared it carefully with other newspapers, that he would -have written in the most mild and gentlemanly terms to the Honourable -Member to inquire into the truth of the statement, that he would have -watched a convenient opportunity good-humouredly to ask other Honourable -Members what all this was about, that the greatest caution and fairness -would have been observed, and that to this hour the lawyers’ clerks and -the junior counsel would have been in the greatest admiration of the -Chancellor’s nicety of discrimination, and the utter inefficacy of the -heats, importunities, haste, and passions of others to influence his -judgment? This would have been true; yet his readiness to decide and to -condemn where he himself is concerned, shows that passion is not dead in -him, nor subject to the control of reason; but that self-love is the -mainspring that moves it, though on all beyond that limit he looks with -the most perfect calmness and philosophic indifference. - - ‘Resistless passion sways us to the mood - Of what it likes or loaths.’ - -All people are passionate in what concerns themselves, or in what they -take an interest in. The range of this last is different in different -persons; but the want of passion is but another name for the want of -sympathy and imagination. - -The Lord Chancellor’s impartiality and conscientious exactness are -proverbial; and is, we believe, as inflexible as it is delicate in all -cases that occur in the stated routine of legal practice. The -impatience, the irritation, the hopes, the fears, the confident tone of -the applicants move him not a jot from his intended course, he looks at -their claims with the ‘lack lustre eye’ of professional indifference. -Power and influence apart, his next strongest passion is to indulge in -the exercise of professional learning and skill, to amuse himself with -the dry details and intricate windings of the law of equity. He delights -to balance a straw, to see a feather turn the scale, or make it even -again; and divides and subdivides a scruple to the smallest fraction. He -unravels the web of argument and pieces it together again; folds it up -and lays it aside, that he may examine it more at his leisure. He hugs -indecision to his breast, and takes home a modest doubt or a nice point -to solace himself with it in protracted, luxurious dalliance. Delay -seems, in his mind, to be of the very essence of justice. He no more -hurries through a question than if no one was waiting for the result, -and he was merely a _dilettanti_, fanciful judge, who played at my Lord -Chancellor, and busied himself with quibbles and punctilios as an idle -hobby and harmless illusion. The phlegm of the Chancellor’s disposition -gives one almost a surfeit of impartiality and candour: we are sick of -the eternal poise of childish dilatoriness; and would wish law and -justice to be decided at once by a cast of the dice (as they were in -Rabelais) rather than be kept in frivolous and tormenting suspense. But -there is a limit even to this extreme refinement and scrupulousness of -the Chancellor. The understanding acts only in the absence of the -passions. At the approach of the loadstone, the needle trembles, and -points to it. The air of a political question has a wonderful tendency -to brace and quicken the learned Lord’s faculties. The breath of a court -speedily oversets a thousand objections, and scatters the cobwebs of his -brain. The secret wish of power is a thumping _make-weight_, where all -is so nicely balanced beforehand. In the case of a celebrated beauty and -heiress, and the brother of a Noble Lord, the Chancellor hesitated long, -and went through the forms, as usual: but who ever doubted, where all -this indecision would end? No man in his senses, for a single instant! -We shall not press this point, which is rather a ticklish one. Some -persons thought that from entertaining a fellow-feeling on the subject, -the Chancellor would have been ready to favour the Poet-Laureate’s -application to the Court of Chancery for an injunction against Wat -Tyler. His Lordship’s sentiments on such points are not so variable, he -has too much at stake. He recollected the year 1794, though Mr. Southey -had forgotten it!— - -The personal always prevails over the intellectual, where the latter is -not backed by strong feeling and principle. Where remote and speculative -objects do not excite a predominant interest and passion, gross and -immediate ones are sure to carry the day, even in ingenuous and -well-disposed minds. The will yields necessarily to some motive or -other; and where the public good or distant consequences excite no -sympathy in the breast, either from shortsightedness or an easiness of -temperament that shrinks from any violent effort or painful emotion, -self-interest, indolence, the opinion of others, a desire to please, the -sense of personal obligation, come in and fill up the void of public -spirit, patriotism, and humanity. The best men in the world in their own -natural dispositions or in private life (for this reason) often become -the most dangerous public characters, from their pliancy to the unruly -passions of others, and from their having no set-off in strong moral -_stamina_ to the temptations that are held out to them, if, as is -frequently the case, they are men of versatile talent or patient -industry.—Lord Eldon has one of the best-natured faces in the world; it -is pleasant to meet him in the street, plodding along with an umbrella -under his arm, without one trace of pride, of spleen, or discontent in -his whole demeanour, void of offence, with almost rustic simplicity and -honesty of appearance—a man that makes friends at first sight, and could -hardly make enemies, if he would; and whose only fault is that he cannot -say _Nay_ to power, or subject himself to an unkind word or look from a -King or a Minister. He is a thorough-bred Tory. Others boggle or are at -fault in their career, or give back at a pinch, they split into -different factions, have various objects to distract them, their private -friendships or antipathies stand in their way; but he has never -flinched, never gone back, never missed his way, he is an -_out-and-outer_ in this respect, his allegiance has been without flaw, -like ‘one entire and perfect chrysolite,’ his implicit understanding is -a kind of taffeta-lining to the Crown, his servility has assumed an air -of the most determined independence, and he has - - ‘Read his history in a Prince’s eyes!’— - -There has been no stretch of power attempted in his time that he has not -seconded: no existing abuse, so odious or so absurd, that he has not -sanctioned it. He has gone the whole length of the most unpopular -designs of Ministers. When the heavy artillery of interest, power, and -prejudice is brought into the field, the paper pellets of the brain go -for nothing: his labyrinth of nice, lady-like doubts explodes like a -mine of gunpowder. The Chancellor may weigh and palter—the courtier is -decided, the politician is firm, and rivetted to his place in the -Cabinet! On all the great questions that have divided party opinion or -agitated the public mind, the Chancellor has been found uniformly and -without a single exception on the side of prerogative and power, and -against every proposal for the advancement of freedom. He was a -strenuous supporter of the wars and coalitions against the principles of -liberty abroad; he has been equally zealous in urging or defending every -act and infringement of the Constitution, for abridging it at home: he -at the same time opposes every amelioration of the penal laws, on the -alleged ground of his abhorrence of even the shadow of innovation: he -has studiously set his face against Catholic emancipation; he laboured -hard in his vocation to prevent the abolition of the Slave Trade; he was -Attorney-General in the trials for High Treason in 1794; and the other -day in giving his opinion on the Queen’s Trial, shed tears and protested -his innocence before God! This was natural and to be expected; but on -all occasions he is to be found at his post, true to the call of -prejudice, of power, to the will of others and to his own interest. In -the whole of his public career, and with all the goodness of his -disposition, he has not shown ‘so small a drop of pity as a wren’s eye.’ -He seems to be on his guard against every thing liberal and humane as -his weak side. Others relax in their obsequiousness either from satiety -or disgust, or a hankering after popularity, or a wish to be thought -above narrow prejudices. The Lord Chancellor alone is fixed and -immovable. Is it want of understanding or of principle? No—it is want of -imagination, a phlegmatic habit, an excess of false complaisance and -good-nature. He signs a warrant in Council, devoting ten thousand men to -an untimely death, with steady nerves—Is it that he is cruel and -unfeeling? No!—but he thinks neither of their sufferings nor their -cries; he sees only the gracious smile, the ready hand stretched out to -thank him for his compliance with the dictates of rooted hate. He dooms -a Continent to slavery. Is it that he is a tyrant, or an enemy to the -human race? No!—but he cannot find in his heart to resist the commands -or to give pain to a kind and generous benefactor. Common sense and -justice are little better than vague terms to him: he acts upon his -immediate feelings and least irksome impulses. The King’s hand is velvet -to the touch—the Woolsack is a seat of honour and profit! That is all he -knows about the matter. As to abstract metaphysical calculations, the ox -that stands staring at the corner of the street troubles his head as -much about them as he does: yet this last is a very good sort of animal -with no harm or malice in him, unless he is goaded on to mischief, and -then it is necessary to keep out of his way, or warn others against him! - -Mr. Wilberforce is a less perfect character in his way. He acts from -mixed motives. He would willingly serve two masters, God and Mammon. He -is a person of many excellent and admirable qualifications, but he has -made a mistake in wishing to reconcile those that are incompatible. He -has a most winning eloquence, specious, persuasive, familiar, -silver-tongued, is amiable, charitable, conscientious, pious, loyal, -humane, tractable to power, accessible to popularity, honouring the -king, and no less charmed with the homage of his fellow-citizens. ‘What -lacks he then?’ Nothing but an economy of good parts. By aiming at too -much, he has spoiled all, and neutralised what might have been an -estimable character, distinguished by signal services to mankind. A man -must take his choice not only between virtue and vice, but between -different virtues. Otherwise, he will not gain his own approbation, or -secure the respect of others. The graces and accomplishments of private -life mar the man of business and the statesman. There is a severity, a -sternness, a self-denial, and a painful sense of duty required in the -one, which ill-befits the softness and sweetness which should -characterise the other. Loyalty, patriotism, friendship, humanity, are -all virtues; but may they not sometimes clash? By being unwilling to -forego the praise due to any, we may forfeit the reputation of all; and, -instead of uniting the suffrages of the whole world in our favour, we -may end in becoming a sort of by-word for affectation, cant, hollow -professions, trimming, fickleness, and effeminate imbecility. It is best -to choose and act up to some one leading character, as it is best to -have some settled profession or regular pursuit in life. - -We can readily believe that Mr. Wilberforce’s first object and principle -of action is to do what he thinks right: his next (and that we fear is -of almost equal weight with the first) is to do what will be thought so -by other people. He is always at a game of _hawk and buzzard_ between -these two: his ‘conscience will not budge,’ unless the world goes with -it. He does not seem greatly to dread the denunciation in Scripture, but -rather to court it—‘Woe unto you, when all men shall speak well of you!’ -We suspect he is not quite easy in his mind, because West-India planters -and Guinea traders do not join in his praise. His ears are not strongly -enough tuned to drink in the execrations of the spoiler and the -oppressor as the sweetest music. It is not enough that one-half of the -human species (the images of God carved in ebony, as old Fuller calls -them) shout his name as a champion and a saviour through vast burning -zones, and moisten their parched lips with the gush of gratitude for -deliverance from chains—he must have a Prime-Minister drink his health -at a Cabinet-dinner for aiding to rivet on those of his country and of -Europe! He goes hand and heart along with Government in all their -notions of legitimacy and political aggrandizement, in the hope that -they will leave him a sort of _no-man’s ground_ of humanity in the Great -Desert, where his reputation for benevolence and public spirit may -spring up and flourish, till its head touches the clouds, and it -stretches out its branches to the farthest part of the earth. He has no -mercy on those who claim a property in negro-slaves as so much -live-stock on their estates; the country rings with the applause of his -wit, his eloquence, and his indignant appeals to common sense and -humanity on this subject—but not a word has he to say, not a whisper -does he breathe against the claim set up by the Despots of the Earth -over their Continental subjects, but does every thing in his power to -confirm and sanction it! He must give no offence. Mr. Wilberforce’s -humanity will go all lengths that it can with safety and discretion: but -it is not to be supposed that it should lose him his seat for Yorkshire, -the smile of Majesty, or the countenance of the loyal and pious. He is -anxious to do all the good he can without hurting himself or his fair -fame. His conscience and his character compound matters very amicably. -He rather patronises honesty than is a martyr to it. His patriotism, his -philanthropy are not so ill-bred, as to quarrel with his loyalty or to -banish him from the first circles. He preaches vital Christianity to -untutored savages; and tolerates its worst abuses in civilized states. -He thus shows his respect for religion without offending the clergy, or -circumscribing the sphere of his usefulness. There is in all this an -appearance of a good deal of cant and tricking. His patriotism may be -accused of being servile; his humanity ostentatious; his loyalty -conditional; his religion a mixture of fashion and fanaticism. ‘Out upon -such half-faced fellowship!’ Mr. Wilberforce has the pride of being -familiar with the great; the vanity of being popular; the conceit of an -approving conscience. He is coy in his approaches to power: his public -spirit is, in a manner, _under the rose_. He thus reaps the credit of -independence, without the obloquy; and secures the advantages of -servility, without incurring any obligations. He has two strings to his -bow:—he by no means neglects his worldly interests, while he expects a -bright reversion in the skies. Mr. Wilberforce is far from being a -hypocrite; but he is, we think, as fine a specimen of _moral -equivocation_ as can well be conceived. A hypocrite is one who is the -very reverse of, or who despises the character he pretends to be: Mr. -Wilberforce would be all that he pretends to be, and he is it in fact, -as far as words, plausible theories, good inclinations, and easy -services go, but not in heart and soul, or so as to give up the -appearance of any one of his pretensions to preserve the reality of any -other. He carefully chooses his ground to fight the battles of loyalty, -religion, and humanity, and it is such as is always safe and -advantageous to himself! This is perhaps hardly fair, and it is of -dangerous or doubtful tendency. Lord Eldon, for instance, is known to be -a thorough-paced ministerialist: his opinion is only that of his party. -But Mr. Wilberforce is not a party-man. He is the more looked up to on -this account, but not with sufficient reason. By tampering with -different temptations and personal projects, he has all the air of the -most perfect independence, and gains a character for impartiality and -candour, when he is only striking a balance in his mind between the -_éclat_ of differing from a Minister on some ‘vantage ground, and the -risk or odium that may attend it. He carries all the weight of his -artificial popularity over to the Government on vital points and hardrun -questions; while they, in return, lend him a little of the gilding of -court-favour to set off his disinterested philanthropy and tramontane -enthusiasm. As a leader or a follower, he makes an odd jumble of -interests. By virtue of religious sympathy, he has brought the Saints -over to the side of the abolition of Negro slavery. This his adversaries -think hard and stealing a march upon them. What have the SAINTS to do -with freedom or reform of any kind?—Mr. Wilberforce’s style of speaking -is not quite _parliamentary_, it is halfway between that and -_evangelical_. He is altogether a _double-entendre_: the very tone of -his voice is a _double-entendre_. It winds, and undulates, and glides up -and down on texts of Scriptures, and scraps from Paley, and trite -sophistry, and pathetic appeals to his hearers in a faltering, -in-progressive, side-long way, like those birds of weak wing, that are -borne from their strait-forward course - - ‘By every little breath that under heaven is blown.’ - -Something of this fluctuating, time-serving principle was visible even -in the great question of the Abolition of the Slave Trade. He was, at -one time, half inclined to surrender it into Mr. Pitt’s dilatory hands, -and seemed to think the gloss of novelty was gone from it, and the gaudy -colouring of popularity sunk into the _sable_ ground from which it rose! -It was, however, persisted in and carried to a triumphant conclusion. -Mr. Wilberforce said too little on this occasion of one, compared with -whom he was but the frontispiece to that great chapter in the history of -the world—the mask, the varnishing, and painting—the man that effected -it by Herculean labours of body, and equally gigantic labours of mind, -was Clarkson, the true Apostle of human Redemption on that occasion, and -who, it is remarkable, resembles in his person and lineaments more than -one of the Apostles in the _Cartoons_ of Raphael. He deserves to be -added to the Twelve![59] - - - - - MR. COBBETT. - - -People have about as substantial an idea of Cobbett as they have of -Cribb. His blows are as hard, and he himself is as impenetrable. One has -no notion of him as making use of a fine pen, but a great mutton-fist; -his style stuns his readers, and he ‘fillips the ear of the public with -a three-man beetle.’ He is too much for any single newspaper antagonist; -‘lays waste’ a city orator or Member of Parliament, and bears hard upon -the Government itself. He is a kind of _fourth estate_ in the politics -of the country. He is not only unquestionably the most powerful -political writer of the present day, but one of the best writers in the -language. He speaks and thinks plain, broad, downright English. He might -be said to have the clearness of Swift, the naturalness of Defoe, and -the picturesque satirical description of Mandeville; if all such -comparisons were not impertinent. A really great and original writer is -like nobody but himself. In one sense, Sterne was not a wit, nor -Shakespear a poet. It is easy to describe second-rate talents, because -they fall into a class and enlist under a standard: but first-rate -powers defy calculation or comparison, and can be defined only by -themselves. They are _sui generis_, and make the class to which they -belong. I have tried half-a-dozen times to describe Burke’s style -without ever succeeding;—its severe extravagance; its literal boldness; -its matter-of-fact hyperboles; its running away with a subject, and from -it at the same time—but there is no making it out, for there is no -example of the same thing any where else. We have no common measure to -refer to; and his qualities contradict even themselves. - -Cobbett is not so difficult. He has been compared to Paine; and so far -it is true there are no two writers who come more into juxtaposition -from the nature of their subjects, from the internal resources on which -they draw, and from the popular effect of their writings and their -adaptation (though that is a bad word in the present case) to the -capacity of every reader. But still if we turn to a volume of Paine’s -(his Common Sense or Rights of Man) we are struck (not to say somewhat -refreshed) by the difference. Paine is a much more sententious writer -than Cobbett. You cannot open a page in any of his best and earlier -works without meeting with some maxim, some antithetical and memorable -saying, which is a sort of starting-place for the argument, and the goal -to which it returns. There is not a single _bon-mot_, a single sentence -in Cobbett that has ever been quoted again. If any thing is ever quoted -from him, it is an epithet of abuse or a nickname. He is an excellent -hand at invention in that way, and has ‘damnable iteration in him.’ What -could be better than his pestering Erskine year after year with his -second title of Baron Clackmannan? He is rather too fond of such phrases -as _the Sons and Daughters of Corruption_. Paine affected to reduce -things to first principles, to announce self-evident truths. Cobbett -troubles himself about little but the details and local circumstances. -The first appeared to have made up his mind beforehand to certain -opinions, and to try to find the most compendious and pointed -expressions for them: his successor appears to have no clue, no fixed or -leading principles, nor ever to have thought on a question till he sits -down to write about it: but then there seems no end of his matters of -fact and raw materials, which are brought out in all their strength and -sharpness from not having been squared or frittered down or vamped up to -suit a theory—he goes on with his descriptions and illustrations as if -he would never come to a stop; they have all the force of novelty with -all the familiarity of old acquaintance; his knowledge grows out of the -subject, and his style is that of a man who has an absolute intuition of -what he is talking about, and never thinks of any thing else. He deals -in premises and speaks to evidence—the coming to a conclusion and -summing up (which was Paine’s _forte_) lies in a smaller compass. The -one could not compose an elementary treatise on politics to become a -manual for the popular reader; nor could the other in all probability -have kept up a weekly journal for the same number of years with the same -spirit, interest, and untired perseverance. Paine’s writings are a sort -of introduction to political arithmetic on a new plan: Cobbett keeps a -day-book, and makes an entry at full of all the occurrences and -troublesome questions that start up throughout the year. Cobbett, with -vast industry, vast information, and the utmost power of making what he -says intelligible, never seems to get at the beginning or come to the -end of any question: Paine in a few short sentences seems by his -peremptory manner ‘to clear it from all controversy, past, present, and -to come.’ Paine takes a bird’s-eye view of things.—Cobbett sticks close -to them, inspects the component parts, and keeps fast hold of the -smallest advantages they afford him. Or if I might here be indulged in a -pastoral allusion, Paine tries to enclose his ideas in a fold for -security and repose; Cobbett lets _his_ pour out upon the plain like a -flock of sheep to feed and batten. Cobbett is a pleasanter writer for -those to read who do not agree with him; for he is less dogmatical, goes -more into the common grounds of fact and argument to which all appeal, -is more desultory and various, and appears less to be driving at a -previous conclusion than urged on by the force of present conviction. He -is therefore tolerated by all parties, though he has made himself by -turns obnoxious to all; and even those he abuses read him. The Reformers -read him when he was a Tory, and the Tories read him now that he is a -Reformer. He must, I think, however, be _caviare_ to the Whigs.[60] - -If he is less metaphysical and poetical than his celebrated prototype, -he is more picturesque and dramatic. His episodes, which are numerous as -they are pertinent, are striking, interesting, full of life and -_naïveté_, minute, double measure running over, but never -tedious—_nunquam sufflaminandus erat_. He is one of those writers who -can never tire us—not even of himself; and the reason is, he is always -‘full of matter.’ He never runs to lees, never gives us the vapid -leavings of himself, is never ‘weary, stale, and unprofitable,’ but -always setting out afresh on his journey, clearing away some old -nuisance, and turning up new mould. His egotism is delightful, for there -is no affectation in it. He does not talk of himself for lack of -something to write about, but because some circumstance that has -happened to himself is the best possible illustration of the subject, -and he is not the man to shrink from giving the best possible -illustration of the subject from a squeamish delicacy. He likes both -himself and his subject too well. He does not put himself before it, and -say ‘admire me first’; but places us in the same situation with himself, -and makes us see all that he does. There is no blindman’s buff, no -conscious hints, no awkward ventriloquism, no testimonies of applause, -no abstract, senseless self-complacency, no smuggled admiration of his -own person by proxy; it is all plain and above-board. He writes himself -plain William Cobbett, strips himself quite as naked as any body could -wish—in a word, his egotism is full of individuality, and has room for -very little vanity in it. We feel delighted, rub our hands, and draw our -chair to the fire, when we come to a passage of this sort: we know it -will be something new and good, manly and simple, not the same insipid -story of self over again. We sit down at table with the writer, but it -is of a course of rich viands—flesh, fish, and wild fowl—and not to a -nominal entertainment, like that given to Barmecide in the Arabian -Nights, who put off his visitors with calling for a number of exquisite -things that never appeared, and with the honour of his company. Mr. -Cobbett is not a _make-believe_ writer. His worst enemy cannot say that -of him. Still less is he a vulgar one. He must be a puny common-place -critic indeed, who thinks him so. How fine were the graphical -descriptions he sent us from America: what a transatlantic flavour, what -a native _gusto_, what a fine _sauce piquante_ of contempt they were -seasoned with! If he had sat down to look at himself in the glass, -instead of looking about him like Adam in Paradise, he would not have -got up these articles in so capital a style. What a noble account of his -first breakfast after his arrival in America! It might serve for a -month. There is no scene on the stage more amusing. How well he paints -the gold and scarlet plumage of the American birds, only to lament more -pathetically the want of the wild wood-notes of his native land! The -groves of the Ohio that had just fallen beneath the axe’s stroke, ‘live -in his description,’ and the turnips that he transplanted from Botley -‘look green’ in prose! How well at another time he describes the poor -sheep that had got the tick, and had tumbled down in the agonies of -death! It is a portrait in the manner of Bewick, with the strength, the -simplicity, and feeling of that great naturalist. What havoc he makes, -when he pleases, of the curls of Dr. Parr’s wig and of the Whig -consistency of Mr. ——! His Grammar, too, is as entertaining as a -storybook. He is too hard, however, upon the style of others, and not -enough (sometimes) on his own. - -As a political partisan, no one can stand against him. With his -brandished club, like Giant Despair in the Pilgrim’s Progress, he knocks -out their brains: and not only no individual, but no corrupt system, -could hold out against his powerful and repeated attacks; but with the -same weapon, swung round like a flail, with which he levels his -antagonists, he lays his friends low, and puts his own party _hors de -combat_. This is a bad propensity, and a worse principle in political -tactics, though a common one. If his blows were straight forward and -steadily directed to the same object, no unpopular minister could live -before him; instead of which he lays about right and left, impartially -and remorselessly, makes a clear stage, has all the ring to himself, and -then runs out of it, just when he should stand his ground. He throws his -head into his adversary’s stomach, and takes away from him all -inclination for the fight, hits fair or foul, strikes at every thing, -and as you come up to his aid or stand ready to pursue his advantage, -trips up your heels or lays you sprawling, and pummels you when down as -much to his heart’s content as ever the Yanguesian carriers belaboured -Rosinante with their packstaves. ‘_He has the back-trick simply the best -of any man in Illyria._’ He pays off both scores of old friendship and -new-acquired enmity in a breath, in one perpetual volley, one raking -fire of ‘arrowy sleet’ shot from his pen. However his own reputation or -the cause may suffer in consequence, he cares not one pin about that, so -that he disables all who oppose or who pretend to help him. In fact, he -cannot bear success of any kind, not even of his own views or party; and -if any principle were likely to become popular, would turn round against -it, to show his power, in shouldering it on one side. In short, wherever -power is, there is he against it; he naturally butts at all obstacles, -as unicorns are attracted to oak-trees, and feels his own strength only -by resistance to the opinions and wishes of the rest of the world. To -sail with the stream, to agree with the company, is not his humour. If -he could bring about a Reform in Parliament, the odds are that he would -instantly fall foul of and try to mar his own handy-work; and he -quarrels with his own creatures as soon as he has written them into a -little vogue—and a prison. I do not think this is vanity or fickleness -so much as a pugnacious disposition, that must have an antagonist power -to contend with, and only finds itself at ease in systematic opposition. -If it were not for this, the high towers and rotten places of the world -would fall before the battering-ram of his hard-headed reasoning: but if -he once found them tottering, he would apply his strength to prop them -up, and disappoint the expectations of his followers. He cannot agree to -any thing established, nor to set up any thing else in its stead. While -it is established, he presses hard against it, because it presses upon -him, at least in imagination. Let it crumble under his grasp, and the -motive to resistance is gone. He then requires some other grievance to -set his face against. His principle is repulsion, his nature -contradiction: he is made up of mere antipathies; an Ishmaelite indeed, -without a fellow. He is always playing at _hunt-the-slipper_ in -politics. He turns round upon whoever is next to him. The way to wean -him from any opinion, and make him conceive an intolerable hatred -against it, would be to place somebody near him who was perpetually -dinning it in his ears. When he is in England, he does nothing but abuse -the Boroughmongers, and laugh at the whole system: when he is in -America, he grows impatient of freedom and a republic. If he had staid -there a little longer, he would have become a loyal and a loving subject -of his Majesty King George IV. He lampooned the French Revolution when -it was hailed as the dawn of liberty by millions: by the time it was -brought into almost universal ill-odour by some means or other (partly -no doubt by himself) he had turned, with one or two or three others, -staunch Bonapartist. He is always of the militant, not of the triumphant -party: so far he bears a gallant show of magnanimity; but his gallantry -is hardly of the right stamp: it wants principle. For though he is not -servile or mercenary, he is the victim of self-will. He must pull down -and pull in pieces: it is not in his disposition to do otherwise. It is -a pity; for with his great talents he might do great things, if he would -go right forward to any useful object, make thorough-stitch work of any -question, or join hand and heart with any principle. He changes his -opinions as he does his friends, and much on the same account. He has no -comfort in fixed principles: as soon as any thing is settled in his own -mind, he quarrels with it. He has no satisfaction but in the chase after -truth, runs a question down, worries and kills it, then quits it like -vermin, and starts some new game, to lead him a new dance, and give him -a fresh breathing through bog and brake, with the rabble yelping at his -heels and the leaders perpetually at fault. This he calls sport-royal. -He thinks it as good as cudgel-playing or single-stick, or any thing -else that has life in it. He likes the cut and thrust, the falls, -bruises, and dry blows of an argument: as to any good or useful results -that may come of the amicable settling of it, any one is welcome to them -for him. The amusement is over, when the matter is once fairly decided. - -There is another point of view in which this may be put. I might say -that Mr. Cobbett is a very honest man, with a total want of principle; -and I might explain this paradox thus, I mean that he is, I think, in -downright earnest in what he says, in the part he takes at the time; but -in taking that part, he is led entirely by headstrong obstinacy, -caprice, novelty, pique or personal motive of some sort, and not by a -steadfast regard for truth or habitual anxiety for what is right -uppermost in his mind. He is not a feed, time-serving, shuffling -advocate (no man could write as he does who did not believe himself -sincere)—but his understanding is the dupe and slave of his momentary, -violent, and irritable humours. He does not adopt an opinion -‘deliberately or for money’; yet his conscience is at the mercy of the -first provocation he receives, of the first whim he takes in his head; -he sees things through the medium of heat and passion, not with -reference to any general principles, and his whole system of thinking is -deranged by the first object that strikes his fancy or sours his -temper.—One cause of this phenomenon is perhaps his want of a regular -education. He is a self-taught man, and has the faults as well as -excellences of that class of persons in their most striking and glaring -excess. It must be acknowledged that the Editor of the Political -Register (the _two-penny trash_, as it was called, till a Bill passed -the House to raise the price to sixpence) is not ‘the gentleman and -scholar:’ though he has qualities that, with a little better management, -would be worth (to the public) both those titles. For want of knowing -what has been discovered before him, he has not certain general -landmarks to refer to, or a general standard of thought to apply to -individual cases. He relies on his own acuteness and the immediate -evidence, without being acquainted with the comparative anatomy or -philosophical structure of opinion. He does not view things on a large -scale or at the horizon (dim and airy enough perhaps); but as they -affect himself,—close, palpable, tangible. Whatever he finds out is his -own, and he only knows what he finds out. He is in the constant hurry -and fever of gestation: his brain teems incessantly with some fresh -project. Every new light is the birth of a new system, the dawn of a new -world to him. He is continually outstripping and overreaching himself. -The last opinion is the only true one. He is wiser to-day than he was -yesterday. Why should he not be wiser to-morrow than he was to-day?—Men -of a learned education are not so sharp-witted as clever men without it; -but they know the balance of the human intellect better: if they are -more stupid, they are more steady; and are less liable to be led astray -by their own sagacity and the over-weening petulance of hard-earned and -late-acquired wisdom. They do not fall in love with every meretricious -extravagance at first sight, or mistake an old battered hypothesis for a -vestal, because they are new to the ways of this old world. They do not -seize upon it as a prize, but are safe from gross imposition by being as -wise and no wiser than those who went before them. - -Paine said on some occasion, ‘What I have written, I have written’—as -rendering any farther declaration of his principles unnecessary. Not so -Mr. Cobbett. What he has written is no rule to him what he is to write. -He learns something every day, and every week he takes the field to -maintain the opinions of the last six days against friend or foe. I -doubt whether this outrageous inconsistency, this headstrong fickleness, -this understood want of all rule and method, does not enable him to go -on with the spirit, vigour, and variety that he does. He is not pledged -to repeat himself. Every new Register is a kind of new Prospectus. He -blesses himself from all ties and shackles on his understanding; he has -no mortgages on his brain; his notions are free and unincumbered. If he -was put in trammels, he might become a vile hack like so many more. But -he gives himself ‘ample scope and verge enough.’ He takes both sides of -a question, and maintains one as sturdily as the other. If nobody else -can argue against him, he is a very good match for himself. He writes -better in favour of reform than any body else; he used to write better -against it. Wherever he is, there is the tug of war, the weight of the -argument, the strength of abuse. He is not like a man in danger of being -_bed-rid_ in his faculties—he tosses and tumbles about his unwieldy -bulk, and when he is tired of lying on one side, relieves himself by -turning on the other. His shifting his point of view from time to time -not merely adds variety and greater comforts to his topics (so that the -Political Register is an armoury and magazine for all the materials and -weapons of political warfare), but it gives a greater zest and -liveliness to his manner of treating them. Mr. Cobbett takes nothing for -granted, as what he has proved before; he does not write a book of -reference. We see his ideas in their first concoction, fermenting and -overflowing with the ebullitions of a lively conception. We look on at -the actual process, and are put in immediate possession of the grounds -and materials on which he forms his sanguine, unsettled conclusions. He -does not give us samples of reasoning, but the whole solid mass, refuse -and all. - - ——‘He pours out all as plain - As downright Shippen or as old Montaigne.’ - -This is one cause of the clearness and force of his writings. An -argument does not stop to stagnate and muddle in his brain, but passes -at once to his paper. His ideas are served up, like pancakes, hot and -hot. Fresh theories give him fresh courage. He is like a young and lusty -bridegroom, that divorces a favourite speculation every morning, and -marries a new one every night. He is not wedded to his notions, not he. -He has not one Mrs. Cobbett among all his opinions. He makes the most of -the last thought that has come in his way, seizes fast hold of it, -rumples it about in all directions with rough strong hands, has his -wicked will of it, takes a surfeit, and throws it away.—Our author’s -changing his opinions for new ones is not so wonderful; what is more -remarkable is his felicity in forgetting his old ones. He does not -pretend to consistency (like Mr. Coleridge); he frankly disavows all -connexion with himself. He feels no personal responsibility in this way, -and cuts a friend or principle with the same decided indifference that -Antipholis of Ephesus cuts Ægeon of Syracuse. It is a hollow thing. The -only time he ever grew romantic was in bringing over the relics of Mr. -Thomas Paine with him from America, to go a progress with them through -the disaffected districts. Scarce had he landed in Liverpool, when he -left the bones of a great man to shift for themselves; and no sooner did -he arrive in London, than he made a speech to disclaim all participation -in the political and theological sentiments of his late idol, and to -place the whole stock of his admiration and enthusiasm towards him to -the account of his financial speculations, and of his having predicted -the fate of paper-money. If he had erected a little gold statue to him, -it might have proved the sincerity of this assertion: but to make a -martyr and a patron-saint of a man, and to dig up ‘his canonized bones’ -in order to expose them as objects of devotion to the rabble’s gaze, -asks something that has more life and spirit in it, more mind and -vivifying soul, than has to do with any calculation of pounds, -shillings, and pence! The fact is, he _ratted_ from his own project. He -found the thing not so ripe as he had expected. His heart failed him: -his enthusiasm fled, and he made his retraction. His admiration is -short-lived: his contempt only is rooted, and his resentment -lasting.—The above was only one instance of his building too much on -practical _data_. He has an ill habit of prophesying, and goes on, -though still deceived. The art of prophesying does not suit Mr. -Cobbett’s style. He has a knack of fixing names and times and places. -According to him, the Reformed Parliament was to meet in March, 1818: it -did not, and we heard no more of the matter. When his predictions fail, -he takes no farther notice of them, but applies himself to new ones—like -the country-people, who turn to see what weather there is in the almanac -for the next week, though it has been out in its reckoning every day of -the last. - -Mr. Cobbett is great in attack, not in defence: he cannot fight an -up-hill battle. He will not bear the least punishing. If any one turns -upon him (which few people like to do), he immediately turns tail. Like -an overgrown school-boy, he is so used to have it all his own way, that -he cannot submit to any thing like competition, or a struggle for the -mastery: he must lay on all the blows, and take none. He is bullying and -cowardly; a Big Ben in politics, who will fall upon others and crush -them by his weight, but is not prepared for resistance, and is soon -staggered by a few smart blows. Whenever he has been set upon, he has -slunk out of the controversy. The Edinburgh Review made (what is called) -a dead set at him some years ago, to which he only retorted by an eulogy -on the superior neatness of an English kitchen-garden to a Scotch one. I -remember going one day into a bookseller’s shop in Fleet-street to ask -for the Review; and on my expressing my opinion to a young Scotchman, -who stood behind the counter, that Mr. Cobbett might hit as hard in his -reply, the North Briton said with some alarm—‘But you don’t think, Sir, -Mr. Cobbett will be able to injure the Scottish nation?’ I said I could -not speak to that point, but I thought he was very well able to defend -himself. He however did not, but has born a grudge to the Edinburgh -Review ever since, which he hates worse than the Quarterly. I cannot say -I do.[61] - - - - - MR. CAMPBELL AND MR. CRABBE. - - -Mr. Campbell may be said to hold a place (among modern poets) between -Lord Byron and Mr. Rogers. With much of the glossy splendour, the -pointed vigour, and romantic interest of the one, he possesses the -fastidious refinement, the classic elegance of the other. Mr. Rogers, as -a writer, is too effeminate, Lord Byron too extravagant: Mr. Campbell is -neither. The author of the _Pleasures of Memory_ polishes his lines till -they sparkle with the most exquisite finish; he attenuates them into the -utmost degree of trembling softness: but we may complain, in spite of -the delicacy and brilliancy of the execution, of a want of strength and -solidity. The author of the _Pleasures of Hope_, with a richer and -deeper vein of thought and imagination, works it out into figures of -equal grace and dazzling beauty, avoiding on the one hand the tinsel of -flimsy affectation, and on the other the vices of a rude and barbarous -negligence. His Pegasus is not a rough, skittish colt, running wild -among the mountains, covered with bur-docks and thistles, nor a tame, -sleek pad, unable to get out of the same ambling pace; but a beautiful -_manège_ horse, full of life and spirit in itself, and subject to the -complete controul of the rider. Mr. Campbell gives scope to his feelings -and his fancy, and embodies them in a noble and naturally interesting -subject; and he at the same time conceives himself called upon (in these -days of critical nicety) to pay the exact attention to the expression of -each thought, and to modulate each line into the most faultless harmony. -The character of his mind is a lofty and self-scrutinising ambition, -that strives to reconcile the integrity of general design with the -perfect elaboration of each component part, that aims at striking -effect, but is jealous of the means by which this is to be produced. Our -poet is not averse to popularity (nay, he is tremblingly alive to -it)—but self-respect is the primary law, the indispensable condition on -which it must be obtained. We should dread to point out (even if we -could) a false concord, a mixed metaphor, an imperfect rhyme, in any of -Mr. Campbell’s productions; for we think that all his fame would hardly -compensate to him for the discovery. He seeks for perfection, and -nothing evidently short of it can satisfy his mind. He is a _high -finisher_ in poetry, whose every work must bear inspection, whose -slightest touch is precious—not a coarse dauber, who is contented to -impose on public wonder and credulity by some huge, ill-executed design, -or who endeavours to wear out patience and opposition together by a load -of lumbering, feeble, awkward, improgressive lines—on the contrary, Mr. -Campbell labours to lend every grace of execution to his subject, while -he borrows his ardour and inspiration from it, and to deserve the -laurels he has earned, by true genius and by true pains. There is an -apparent consciousness of this in most of his writings. He has attained -to great excellence by aiming at the greatest, by a cautious and yet -daring selection of topics, and by studiously (and with a religious -horror) avoiding all those faults which arise from grossness, vulgarity, -haste, and disregard of public opinion. He seizes on the highest point -of eminence, and strives to keep it to himself—he ‘snatches a grace -beyond the reach of art,’ and will not let it go—he steeps a single -thought or image so deep in the Tyrian dyes of a gorgeous imagination, -that it throws its lustre over a whole page—every where vivid _ideal_ -forms hover (in intense conception) over the poet’s verse, which -ascends, like the aloe, to the clouds, with pure flowers at its top. Or, -to take an humbler comparison (the pride of genius must sometimes stoop -to the lowliness of criticism), Mr. Campbell’s poetry often reminds us -of the purple gilliflower, both for its colour and its scent, its -glowing warmth, its rich, languid, sullen hue, - - ‘Yet sweeter than the lids of Juno’s eyes, - Or Cytherea’s breath!’ - -There are those who complain of the little that Mr. Campbell has done in -poetry, and who seem to insinuate that he is deterred by his own -reputation from making any farther or higher attempts. But after having -produced two poems that have gone to the heart of a nation, and are -gifts to a world, he may surely linger out the rest of his life in a -dream of immortality. There are moments in our lives so exquisite that -all that remains of them afterwards seems useless and barren; and there -are lines and stanzas in our author’s early writings in which he may be -thought to have exhausted all the sweetness and all the essence of -poetry, so that nothing farther was left to his efforts or his ambition. -Happy is it for those few and fortunate worshippers of the Muse (not a -subject of grudging or envy to others) who already enjoy in their -life-time a foretaste of their future fame, who see their names -accompanying them, like a cloud of glory, from youth to age, - - ‘And by the vision splendid, - Are on their way attended’— - -and who know that they have built a shrine for the thoughts and feelings -that were most dear to them, in the minds and memories of other men, -till the language which they lisped in childhood is forgotten, or the -human heart shall beat no more! - -The _Pleasures of Hope_ alone would not have called forth these remarks -from us; but there are passages in the _Gertrude of Wyoming_ of so rare -and ripe a beauty, that they challenge, as they exceed all praise. Such, -for instance, is the following peerless description of Gertrude’s -childhood:- - - ‘A loved bequest,—and I may half impart - To those that feel the strong paternal tie, - How like a new existence to his heart - That living flow’r uprose beneath his eye, - Dear as she was from cherub infancy, - From hours when she would round his garden play, - To time when as the rip’ning years went by, - Her lovely mind could culture well repay, - And more engaging grew, from pleasing day to day. - - ‘I may not paint those thousand infant charms; - (Unconscious fascination, undesign’d!) - The orison repeated in his arms, - For God to bless her sire and all mankind; - The book, the bosom on his knee reclined, - Or how sweet fairy-lore he heard her con, - (The playmate ere the teacher of her mind): - All uncompanion’d else her heart had gone - Till now, in Gertrude’s eyes, their ninth blue summer shone. - - ‘And summer was the tide, and sweet the hour, - When sire and daughter saw, with fleet descent, - An Indian from his bark approach their bow’r, - Of buskin’d limb and swarthy lineament; - The red wild feathers on his brow were blent, - And bracelets bound the arm that help’d to light - A boy, who seem’d, as he beside him went, - Of Christian vesture and complexion bright, - Led by his dusky guide, like morning brought by night.’ - -In the foregoing stanzas we particularly admire the line— - - ‘Till now, in Gertrude’s eyes, their ninth blue summer shone.’ - -It appears to us like the ecstatic union of natural beauty and poetic -fancy, and in its playful sublimity resembles the azure canopy mirrored -in the smiling waters, bright, liquid, serene, heavenly! A great outcry, -we know, has prevailed for some time past against poetic diction and -affected conceits, and, to a certain degree, we go along with it; but -this must not prevent us from feeling the thrill of pleasure when we see -beauty linked to beauty, like kindred flame to flame, or from applauding -the voluptuous fancy that raises and adorns the fairy fabric of thought, -that nature has begun! Pleasure is ‘scattered in stray-gifts o’er the -earth’—beauty streaks the ‘famous poet’s page’ in occasional lines of -inconceivable brightness; and wherever this is the case, no splenetic -censures or ‘jealous leer malign,’ no idle theories or cold indifference -should hinder us from greeting it with rapture. There are other parts of -this poem equally delightful, in which there is a light startling as the -red-bird’s wing; a perfume like that of the magnolia; a music like the -murmuring of pathless woods or of the everlasting ocean. We conceive, -however, that Mr. Campbell excels chiefly in sentiment and imagery. The -story moves slow, and is mechanically conducted, and rather resembles a -Scotch canal carried over lengthened aqueducts and with a number of -_locks_ in it, than one of those rivers that sweep in their majestic -course, broad and full, over Transatlantic plains and lose themselves in -rolling gulfs, or thunder down lofty precipices. But in the centre, the -inmost recesses of our poet’s heart, the pearly dew of sensibility is -distilled and collects, like the diamond in the mine, and the structure -of his fame rests on the crystal columns of a polished imagination. We -prefer the _Gertrude_ to the _Pleasures of Hope_, because with perhaps -less brilliancy, there is more of tenderness and natural imagery in the -former. In the _Pleasures of Hope_ Mr. Campbell had not completely -emancipated himself from the trammels of the more artificial style of -poetry—from epigram, and antithesis, and hyperbole. The best line in it, -in which earthly joys are said to be— - - ‘Like angels’ visits, few and far between’— - -is a borrowed one.[62] But in the Gertrude of Wyoming ‘we perceive a -softness coming over the heart of the author, and the scales and crust -of formality, that fence in his couplets and give them a somewhat -glittering and rigid appearance, fall off,’ and he has succeeded in -engrafting the wild and more expansive interest of the romantic school -of poetry on classic elegance and precision. After the poem we have just -named, Mr. Campbell’s Songs are the happiest efforts of his -Muse:—breathing freshness, blushing like the morn, they seem, like -clustering roses, to weave a chaplet for love and liberty; or their -bleeding words gush out in mournful and hurried succession, like ‘ruddy -drops that visit the sad heart’ of thoughtful Humanity. The _Battle of -Hohenlinden_ is of all modern compositions the most lyrical in spirit -and in sound. To justify this encomium, we need only recall the lines to -the reader’s memory. - - ‘On Linden, when the sun was low, - All bloodless lay th’ untrodden snow, - And dark as winter was the flow - Of Iser, rolling rapidly. - - ‘But Linden saw another sight, - When the drum beat at dead of night, - Commanding fires of death to light - The darkness of her scenery. - - ‘By torch and trumpet fast array’d, - Each horseman drew his battle blade, - And furious every charger neigh’d, - To join the dreadful revelry. - - ‘Then shook the hills with thunder riv’n, - Then rush’d the steed to battle driv’n, - And louder than the bolts of heav’n - Far flash’d the red artillery. - - ‘But redder yet that light shall glow - On Linden’s hills of stained snow, - And bloodier yet the torrent flow - Of Iser, rolling rapidly. - - ‘’Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun - Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling[63] dun, - Where furious Frank and fiery Hun - Shout in their sulph’rous canopy. - - ‘The combat deepens. On, ye brave, - Who rush to glory, or the grave! - Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave! - And charge with all thy chivalry! - - ‘Few, few shall part where many meet! - The snow shall be their winding-sheet, - And every turf beneath their feet - Shall be a soldier’s sepulchre.’ - -Mr. Campbell’s prose-criticisms on contemporary and other poets (which -have appeared in the New Monthly Magazine) are in a style at once -chaste, temperate, guarded, and just. - -Mr. Crabbe presents an entire contrast to Mr. Campbell:—The one is the -most ambitious and aspiring of living poets, the other the most humble -and prosaic. If the poetry of the one is like the arch of the rainbow, -spanning and adorning the earth, that of the other is like a dull, -leaden cloud hanging over it. Mr. Crabbe’s style might be cited as an -answer to Audrey’s question—‘Is poetry a true thing?’ There are here no -ornaments, no flights of fancy, no illusions of sentiment, no tinsel of -words. His song is one sad reality, one unraised, unvaried note of -unavailing woe. Literal fidelity serves him in the place of invention; -he assumes importance by a number of petty details; he rivets attention -by being tedious. He not only deals in incessant matters of fact, but in -matters of fact of the most familiar, the least animating, and the most -unpleasant kind; but he relies for the effect of novelty on the -microscopic minuteness with which he dissects the most trivial -objects—and for the interest he excites, on the unshrinking -determination with which he handles the most painful. His poetry has an -official and professional air. He is called in to cases of difficult -births, of fractured limbs, or breaches of the peace; and makes out a -parochial list of accidents and offences. He takes the most trite, the -most gross and obvious and revolting part of nature, for the subject of -his elaborate descriptions; but it is Nature still, and Nature is a -great and mighty Goddess! It is well for the Reverend Author that it is -so. Individuality is, in his theory, the only definition of poetry. -Whatever _is_, he hitches into rhyme. Whoever makes an exact image of -any thing on the earth, however deformed or insignificant, according to -him, must succeed—and he himself has succeeded. Mr. Crabbe is one of the -most popular and admired of our living authors. That he is so, can be -accounted for on no other principle than the strong ties that bind us to -the world about us, and our involuntary yearnings after whatever in any -manner powerfully and directly reminds us of it. His Muse is not one of -_the Daughters of Memory_, but the old toothless, mumbling, dame -herself, doling out the gossip and scandal of the neighbourhood, -recounting _totidem verbis et literis_, what happens in every place of -the kingdom every hour in the year, and fastening always on the worst as -the most palatable morsels. But she is a circumstantial old lady, -communicative, scrupulous, leaving nothing to the imagination, harping -on the smallest grievances, a village oracle and critic, most veritable, -most identical, bringing us acquainted with persons and things just as -they chanced to exist, and giving us a local interest in all she knows -and tells. Mr. Crabbe’s Helicon is choked up with weeds and corruption; -it reflects no light from heaven, it emits no cheerful sound: no flowers -of love, of hope, or joy spring up near it, or they bloom only to wither -in a moment. Our poet’s verse does not put a spirit of youth in every -thing, but a spirit of fear, despondency, and decay: it is not an -electric spark to kindle or expand, but acts like the torpedo’s touch to -deaden or contract. It lends no dazzling tints to fancy, it aids no -soothing feelings in the heart, it gladdens no prospect, it stirs no -wish; in its view the current of life runs slow, dull, cold, dispirited, -half under ground, muddy, and clogged with all creeping things. The -world is one vast infirmary; the hill of Parnassus is a penitentiary, of -which our author is the overseer: to read him is a penance, yet we read -on! Mr. Crabbe, it must be confessed, is a repulsive writer. He -contrives to ‘turn diseases to commodities,’ and makes a virtue of -necessity. He puts us out of conceit with this world, which perhaps a -severe divine should do; yet does not, as a charitable divine ought, -point to another. His morbid feelings droop and cling to the earth, -grovel where they should soar; and throw a dead weight on every -aspiration of the soul after the good or beautiful. By degrees we -submit, and are reconciled to our fate, like patients to the physician, -or prisoners in the condemned cell. We can only explain this by saying, -as we said before, that Mr. Crabbe gives us one part of nature, the -mean, the little, the disgusting, the distressing; that he does this -thoroughly and like a master, and we forgive all the rest. - -Mr. Crabbe’s first poems were published so long ago as the year 1782, -and received the approbation of Dr. Johnson only a little before he -died. This was a testimony from an enemy; for Dr. Johnson was not an -admirer of the simple in style or minute in description. Still he was an -acute, strong-minded man, and could see truth when it was presented to -him, even through the mist of his prejudices and his foibles. There was -something in Mr. Crabbe’s intricate points that did not, after all, so -ill accord with the Doctor’s purblind vision; and he knew quite enough -of the petty ills of life to judge of the merit of our poet’s -descriptions, though he himself chose to slur them over in high-sounding -dogmas or general invectives. Mr. Crabbe’s earliest poem of the -_Village_ was recommended to the notice of Dr. Johnson by Sir Joshua -Reynolds; and we cannot help thinking that a taste for that sort of -poetry, which leans for support on the truth and fidelity of its -imitations of nature, began to display itself much about that time, and, -in a good measure, in consequence of the direction of the public taste -to the subject of painting. Book-learning, the accumulation of wordy -common-places, the gaudy pretensions of poetical fiction, had enfeebled -and perverted our eye for nature. The study of the fine arts, which came -into fashion about forty years ago, and was then first considered as a -polite accomplishment, would tend imperceptibly to restore it. Painting -is essentially an imitative art; it cannot subsist for a moment on empty -generalities: the critic, therefore, who had been used to this sort of -substantial entertainment, would be disposed to read poetry with the eye -of a connoisseur, would be little captivated with smooth, polished, -unmeaning periods, and would turn with double eagerness and relish to -the force and precision of individual details, transferred, as it were, -to the page from the canvas. Thus an admirer of Teniers or Hobbima might -think little of the pastoral sketches of Pope or Goldsmith; even Thomson -describes not so much the naked object as what he sees in his mind’s -eye, surrounded and glowing with the mild, bland, genial vapours of his -brain:—but the adept in Dutch interiors, hovels, and pig-styes must find -in Mr. Crabbe a man after his own heart. He is the very thing itself; he -paints in words, instead of colours: there is no other difference. As -Mr. Crabbe is not a painter, only because he does not use a brush and -colours, so he is for the most part a poet, only because he writes in -lines of ten syllables. All the rest might be found in a newspaper, an -old magazine, or a county-register. Our author is himself a little -jealous of the prudish fidelity of his homely Muse, and tries to justify -himself by precedents. He brings as a parallel instance of merely -literal description, Pope’s lines on the gay Duke of Buckingham, -beginning ‘In the worst inn’s worst room see Villiers lies!’ But surely -nothing can be more dissimilar. Pope describes what is striking, Crabbe -would have described merely what was there. The objects in Pope stand -out to the fancy from the mixture of the mean with the gaudy, from the -contrast of the scene and the character. There is an appeal to the -imagination; you see what is passing in a poetical point of view. In -Crabbe there is no foil, no contrast, no impulse given to the mind. It -is all on a level and of a piece. In fact, there is so little connection -between the subject-matter of Mr. Crabbe’s lines and the ornament of -rhyme which is tacked to them, that many of his verses read like serious -burlesque, and the parodies which have been made upon them are hardly so -quaint as the originals. - -Mr. Crabbe’s great fault is certainly that he is a sickly, a querulous, -a uniformly dissatisfied poet. He sings the country; and he sings it in -a pitiful tone. He chooses this subject only to take the charm out of -it, and to dispel the illusion, the glory, and the dream, which had -hovered over it in golden verse from Theocritus to Cowper. He sets out -with professing to overturn the theory which had hallowed a shepherd’s -life, and made the names of grove and valley music to our ears, in order -to give us truth in its stead; but why not lay aside the fool’s cap and -bells at once? Why not insist on the unwelcome reality in plain prose? -If our author is a poet, why trouble himself with statistics? If he is a -statistic writer, why set his ill news to harsh and grating verse? The -philosopher in painting the dark side of human nature may have reason on -his side, and a moral lesson or remedy in view. The tragic poet, who -shows the sad vicissitudes of things and the disappointments of the -passions, at least strengthens our yearnings after imaginary good, and -lends wings to our desires, by which we, ‘at one bound, high overleap -all bound’ of actual suffering. But Mr. Crabbe does neither. He gives us -discoloured paintings of life; helpless, repining, unprofitable, -unedifying distress. He is not a philosopher, but a sophist, a -misanthrope in verse; a _namby-pamby_ Mandeville, a Malthus turned -metrical romancer. He professes historical fidelity; but his vein is not -dramatic; nor does he give us the _pros_ and _cons_ of that versatile -gipsey, Nature. He does not indulge his fancy or sympathise with us, or -tell us how the poor feel; but how he should feel in their situation, -which we do not want to know. He does not weave the web of their lives -of a mingled yarn, good and ill together, but clothes them all in the -same dingy linsey-woolsey, or tinges them with a green and yellow -melancholy. He blocks out all possibility of good, cancels the hope, or -even the wish for it as a weakness; checkmates Tityrus and Virgil at the -game of pastoral cross-purposes, disables all his adversary’s white -pieces, and leaves none but black ones on the board. The situation of a -country clergyman is not necessarily favourable to the cultivation of -the Muse. He is set down, perhaps, as he thinks, in a small curacy for -life, and he takes his revenge by imprisoning the reader’s imagination -in luckless verse. Shut out from social converse, from learned colleges -and halls, where he passed his youth, he has no cordial fellow-feeling -with the unlettered manners of the _Village_ or the _Borough_; and he -describes his neighbours as more uncomfortable and discontented than -himself. All this while he dedicates successive volumes to rising -generations of noble patrons; and while he desolates a line of coast -with sterile, blighting lines, the only leaf of his books where honour, -beauty, worth, or pleasure bloom, is that inscribed to the Rutland -family! We might adduce instances of what we have said from every page -of his works: let one suffice— - - ‘Thus by himself compelled to live each day, - To wait for certain hours the tide’s delay; - At the same times the same dull views to see, - The bounding marsh-bank and the blighted tree; - The water only when the tides were high, - When low, the mud half-covered and half-dry; - The sun-burnt tar that blisters on the planks, - And bank-side stakes in their uneven ranks; - Heaps of entangled weeds that slowly float, - As the tide rolls by the impeded boat. - When tides were neap, and in the sultry day, - Through the tall bounding mud-banks made their way, - Which on each side rose swelling, and below - The dark warm flood ran silently and slow; - There anchoring, Peter chose from man to hide, - There hang his head, and view the lazy tide - In its hot slimy channel slowly glide; - Where the small eels, that left the deeper way - For the warm shore, within the shallows play; - Where gaping muscles, left upon the mud, - Slope their slow passage to the fall’n flood: - Here dull and hopeless he’d lie down and trace - How side-long crabs had crawled their crooked race; - Or sadly listen to the tuneless cry - Of fishing gull or clanging golden-eye; - What time the sea-birds to the marsh would come, - And the loud bittern, from the bull-rush home, - Gave from the salt-ditch-side the bellowing boom: - He nursed the feelings these dull scenes produce - And loved to stop beside the opening sluice; - Where the small stream, confined in narrow bound, - Ran with a dull, unvaried, saddening sound; - Where all, presented to the eye or ear, - Oppressed the soul with misery, grief, and fear.’ - -This is an exact _fac-simile_ of some of the most unlovely parts of the -creation. Indeed the whole of Mr. Crabbe’s _Borough_, from which the -above passage is taken, is done so to the life, that it seems almost -like some sea-monster, crawled out of the neighbouring slime, and -harbouring a breed of strange vermin, with a strong local scent of tar -and bulge-water. Mr. Crabbe’s _Tales_ are more readable than his -_Poems_; but in proportion as the interest increases, they become more -oppressive. They turn, one and all, upon the same sort of teazing, -helpless, mechanical, unimaginative distress;—and though it is not easy -to lay them down, you never wish to take them up again. Still in this -way, they are highly finished, striking, and original portraits, worked -out with an eye to nature, and an intimate knowledge of the small and -intricate folds of the human heart. Some of the best are the -_Confidant_, the story of _Silly Shore_, the _Young Poet_, the -_Painter_. The episode of _Phœbe Dawson_ in the _Village_, is one of the -most tender and pensive; and the character of the methodist parson who -persecutes the sailor’s widow with his godly, selfish love is one of the -most profound. In a word, if Mr. Crabbe’s writings do not add greatly to -the store of entertaining and delightful fiction, yet they will remain, -‘as a thorn in the side of poetry,’ perhaps for a century to come! - - - - - MR. T. MOORE—MR. LEIGH HUNT - - ‘Or winglet of the fairy humming-bird, - Like atoms of the rainbow fluttering round.’ - CAMPBELL. - - -The lines placed at the head of this sketch, from a contemporary writer, -appear to us very descriptive of Mr. Moore’s poetry. His verse is like a -shower of beauty; a dance of images; a stream of music; or like the -spray of the water-fall, tinged by the morning-beam with rosy light. The -characteristic distinction of our author’s style is this continuous and -incessant flow of voluptuous thoughts and shining allusions. He ought to -write with a crystal pen on silver paper. His subject is set off by a -dazzling veil of poetic diction, like a wreath of flowers gemmed with -innumerous dew-drops, that weep, tremble, and glitter in liquid softness -and pearly light, while the song of birds ravishes the ear, and languid -odours breathe around, and Aurora opens Heaven’s smiling portals, Peris -and nymphs peep through the golden glades, and an Angel’s wing glances -over the glossy scene. - - ‘No dainty flower or herb that grows on ground, - No arboret with painted blossoms drest, - And smelling sweet, but there it might be found - To bud out fair, and its sweet smells throw all around. - - ‘No tree, whose branches did not bravely spring; - No branch, whereon a fine bird did not sit; - No bird, but did her shrill notes sweetly sing; - No song, but did contain a lovely dit: - Trees, branches, birds, and songs were framed fit - For to allure frail minds to careless ease.’ - -Mr. Campbell’s imagination is fastidious and select; and hence, though -we meet with more exquisite beauties in his writings, we meet with them -more rarely: there is comparatively a dearth of ornament. But Mr. -Moore’s strictest economy is ‘wasteful and superfluous excess’: he is -always liberal, and never at a loss; for sooner than not stimulate and -delight the reader, he is willing to be tawdry, or superficial, or -common-place. His Muse must be fine at any rate, though she should -paint, and wear cast-off decorations. Rather than have any lack of -excitement, he repeats himself; and ‘Eden, and Eblis, and cherub-smiles’ -fill up the pauses of the sentiment with a sickly monotony.—It has been -too much our author’s object to pander to the artificial taste of the -age; and his productions, however brilliant and agreeable, are in -consequence somewhat meretricious and effeminate. It was thought -formerly enough to have an occasionally fine passage in the progress of -a story or a poem, and an occasionally striking image or expression in a -fine passage or description. But this style, it seems, was to be -exploded as rude, Gothic, meagre, and dry. Now all must be raised to the -same tantalising and preposterous level. There must be no pause, no -interval, no repose, no gradation. Simplicity and truth yield up the -palm to affectation and grimace. The craving of the public mind after -novelty and effect is a false and uneasy appetite that must be pampered -with fine words at every step—we must be tickled with sound, startled -with show, and relieved by the importunate, uninterrupted display of -fancy and verbal tinsel as much as possible from the fatigue of thought -or shock of feeling. A poem is to resemble an exhibition of fire-works, -with a continual explosion of quaint figures and devices, flash after -flash, that surprise for the moment, and leave no trace of light or -warmth behind them. Or modern poetry in its retrograde progress comes at -last to be constructed on the principles of the modern OPERA, where an -attempt is made to gratify every sense at every instant, and where the -understanding alone is insulted and the heart mocked. It is in this view -only that we can discover that Mr. Moore’s poetry is vitiated or -immoral,—it seduces the taste and enervates the imagination. It creates -a false standard of reference, and inverts or decompounds the natural -order of association, in which objects strike the thoughts and feelings. -His is the poetry of the bath, of the toilette, of the saloon, of the -fashionable world; not the poetry of nature, of the heart, or of human -life. He stunts and enfeebles equally the growth of the imagination and -the affections, by not taking the seed of poetry and sowing it in the -ground of truth, and letting it expand in the dew and rain, and shoot up -to heaven, - - ‘And spread its sweet leaves to the air, - Or dedicate its beauty to the sun,’ - -instead of which he anticipates and defeats his own object, by plucking -flowers and blossoms from the stem, and setting them in the ground of -idleness and folly—or in the cap of his own vanity, where they soon -wither and disappear, ‘dying or ere they sicken!’ This is but a sort of -child’s play, a short-sighted ambition. In Milton we meet with many -prosaic lines, either because the subject does not require raising or -because they are necessary to connect the story, or serve as a relief to -other passages—there is not such a thing to be found in all Mr. Moore’s -writings. His volumes present us with ‘a perpetual feast of nectar’d -sweets’—but we cannot add—‘where no crude surfeit reigns.’ He indeed -cloys with sweetness; he obscures with splendour; he fatigues with -gaiety. We are stifled on beds of roses—we literally lie ‘on the rack of -restless ecstacy.’ His flowery fancy ‘looks so fair and smells so sweet, -that the sense aches at it.’ His verse droops and languishes under a -load of beauty, like a bough laden with fruit. His gorgeous style is -like ‘another morn risen on mid-noon.’ There is no passage that is not -made up of blushing lines, no line that is not enriched with a sparkling -metaphor, no image that is left unadorned with a double epithet—all his -verbs, nouns, adjectives, are equally glossy, smooth, and beautiful. -Every stanza is transparent with light, perfumed with odours, floating -in liquid harmony, melting in luxurious, evanescent delights. His Muse -is never contented with an offering from one sense alone, but brings -another rifled charm to match it, and revels in a fairy round of -pleasure. The interest is not dramatic, but melodramatic—it is a mixture -of painting, poetry, and music, of the natural and preternatural, of -obvious sentiment and romantic costume. A rose is a _Gul_, a nightingale -a _Bulbul_. We might fancy ourselves in an eastern harem, amidst -Ottomans, and otto of roses, and veils and spangles, and marble pillars, -and cool fountains, and Arab maids and Genii, and magicians, and Peris, -and cherubs, and what not? Mr. Moore has a little mistaken the art of -poetry for the _cosmetic art_. He does not compose an historic group, or -work out a single figure; but throws a variety of elementary sensations, -of vivid impressions together, and calls it a description. He makes out -an inventory of beauty—the smile on the lips, the dimple on the cheeks, -_item_, golden locks, _item_, a pair of blue wings, _item_, a silver -sound, with breathing fragrance and radiant light, and thinks it a -character or a story. He gets together a number of fine things and fine -names, and thinks that, flung on heaps, they make up a fine poem. This -dissipated, fulsome, painted, patchwork style may succeed in the levity -and languor of the _boudoir_, or might have been adapted to the -Pavilions of royalty, but it is not the style of Parnassus, nor a -passport to Immortality. It is not the taste of the ancients, ‘’tis not -classical lore’—nor the fashion of Tibullus, or Theocritus, or Anacreon, -or Virgil, or Ariosto, or Pope, or Byron, or any great writer among the -living or the dead, but it is the style of our English Anacreon, and it -is (or was) the fashion of the day! Let one example (and that an admired -one), taken from _Lalla Rookh_, suffice to explain the mystery and -soften the harshness of the foregoing criticism. - - ‘Now, upon Syria’s land of roses - Softly the light of eve reposes, - And, like a glory, the broad sun - Hangs over sainted Lebanon; - Whose head in wintry grandeur towers, - And whitens with eternal sleet, - While summer, in a vale of flowers, - Is sleeping rosy at his feet. - - ‘To one who look’d from upper air - O’er all the enchanted regions there, - How beauteous must have been the glow, - The life, the sparkling from below! - Fair gardens, shining streams, with ranks - Of golden melons on their banks, - More golden where the sun-light falls;— - Gay lizards, glittering on the walls - Of ruin’d shrines, busy and bright - As they were all alive with light;— - And, yet more splendid, numerous flocks - Of pigeons, settling on the rocks, - With their rich restless wings, that gleam - Variously in the crimson beam - Of the warm west,—as if inlaid - With brilliants from the mine, or made - Of tearless rainbows, such as span - The unclouded skies of Peristan! - And then, the mingling sounds that come, - Of shepherd’s ancient reed, with hum - Of the wild bees of Palestine, - Banquetting through the flowery vales;— - And, Jordan, those sweet banks of thine, - And woods, so full of nightingales!’ - -The following lines are the very perfection of Della Cruscan sentiment, -and affected orientalism of style. The Peri exclaims on finding that old -talisman and hackneyed poetical machine, ‘a penitent tear’— - - ‘Joy, joy for ever! my task is done— - The gates are pass’d, and Heaven is won! - Oh! am I not happy? I am, I am— - To thee, sweet Eden! how dark and sad - Are the diamond turrets of Shadukiam, - And the fragrant bowers of Amberabad.’ - -There is in all this a play of fancy, a glitter of words, a shallowness -of thought, and a want of truth and solidity that is wonderful, and that -nothing but the heedless, rapid glide of the verse could render -tolerable:——it seems that the poet, as well as the lover, - - ‘May bestride the Gossamer, - That wantons in the idle, summer air, - And yet not fall, so light is vanity!’ - -Mr. Moore ought not to contend with serious difficulties or with entire -subjects. He can write verses, not a poem. There is no principle of -massing or of continuity in his productions—neither height nor breadth -nor depth of capacity. There is no truth of representation, no strong -internal feeling—but a continual flutter and display of affected airs -and graces, like a finished coquette, who hides the want of symmetry by -extravagance of dress, and the want of passion by flippant forwardness -and unmeaning sentimentality. All is flimsy, all is florid to excess. -His imagination may dally with insect beauties, with Rosicrucian spells; -may describe a butterfly’s wing, a flower-pot, a fan: but it should not -attempt to span the great outlines of nature, or keep pace with the -sounding march of events, or grapple with the strong fibres of the human -heart. The great becomes turgid in his hands, the pathetic insipid. If -Mr. Moore were to describe the heights of Chimboraco, instead of the -loneliness, the vastness and the shadowy might, he would only think of -adorning it with roseate tints, like a strawberry-ice, and would -transform a magician’s fortress in the Himmalaya (stripped of its -mysterious gloom and frowning horrors) into a jeweller’s toy, to be set -upon a lady’s toilette. In proof of this, see above ‘the diamond turrets -of Shadukiam,’ &c. The description of Mokanna in the fight, though it -has spirit and grandeur of effect, has still a great alloy of the -mock-heroic in it. The route of blood and death, which is otherwise well -marked, is infested with a swarm of ‘fire-fly’ fancies. - - ‘In vain Mokanna, ‘midst the general flight, - Stands, like the red moon, in some stormy night, - Among the fugitive clouds, that hurrying by, - Leave only her unshaken in the sky.’ - -This simile is fine, and would have been perfect, but that the moon is -not red, and that she seems to hurry by the clouds, not they by her. - -The description of the warrior’s youthful adversary, - - ——‘Whose coming seems - A light, a glory, such as breaks in dreams——’ - -is fantastic and enervated—a field of battle has nothing to do with -dreams:—and again, the two lines immediately after, - - ‘And every sword, true as o’er billows dim - The needle tracks the load-star, following him’— - -are a mere piece of enigmatical ingenuity and scientific -_mimminee-pimminee_. - -We cannot except the _Irish Melodies_ from the same censure. If these -national airs do indeed express the soul of impassioned feeling in his -countrymen, the case of Ireland is hopeless. If these prettinesses pass -for patriotism, if a country can heave from its heart’s core only these -vapid, varnished sentiments, lip-deep, and let its tears of blood -evaporate in an empty conceit, let it be governed as it has been. There -are here no tones to waken Liberty, to console Humanity. Mr. Moore -converts the wild harp of Erin into a musical snuff-box![64]—We _do_ -except from this censure the author’s political squibs, and the -‘Twopenny Post-bag.’ These are essences, are ‘nests of spicery,’ bitter -and sweet, honey and gall together. No one can so well describe the set -speech of a dull formalist,[65] or the flowing locks of a Dowager, - - ‘In the manner of Ackermann’s dresses for May.’ - -His light, agreeable, polished style pierces through the body of the -court—hits off the faded graces of ‘an Adonis of fifty,’ weighs the -vanity of fashion in tremulous scales, mimics the grimace of affectation -and folly, shows up the littleness of the great, and spears a phalanx of -statesmen with its glittering point as with a diamond broach. - - ‘In choosing songs the Regent named, - “Had I a heart for falsehood fram’d:” - While gentle Hertford begg’d and pray’d - For “Young I am, and sore afraid.’” - -Nothing in Pope or Prior ever surpassed the delicate insinuation and -adroit satire of these lines, and hundreds more of our author’s -composition. We wish he would not take pains to make us think of them -with less pleasure than formerly.—The ‘Fudge Family’ is in the same -spirit, but with a little falling-off. There is too great a mixture of -undisguised Jacobinism and fashionable _slang_. The ‘divine Fanny Bias’ -and ‘the mountains _à la Russe_’ figure in somewhat quaintly with -Buonaparte and the Bourbons. The poet also launches the lightning of -political indignation; but it rather plays round and illumines his own -pen than reaches the devoted heads at which it is aimed! - -Mr. Moore is in private life an amiable and estimable man. The -embellished and voluptuous style of his poetry, his unpretending origin, -and his _mignon_ figure, soon introduced him to the notice of the great, -and his gaiety, his wit, his good-humour, and many agreeable -accomplishments fixed him there, the darling of his friends and the idol -of fashion. If he is no longer familiar with Royalty as with his garter, -the fault is not his—his adherence to his principles caused the -separation—his love of his country was the cloud that intercepted the -sunshine of court-favour. This is so far well. Mr. Moore vindicates his -own dignity; but the sense of intrinsic worth, of wide-spread fame, and -of the intimacy of the great makes him perhaps a little too fastidious -and _exigeant_ as to the pretensions of others. He has been so long -accustomed to the society of Whig Lords, and so enchanted with the smile -of beauty and fashion, that he really fancies himself one of the _set_, -to which he is admitted on sufferance, and tries very unnecessarily to -keep others out of it. He talks familiarly of works that are or are not -read ‘in _our_ circle’; and seated smiling and at his ease in a -coronet-coach, enlivening the owner by his brisk sallies and Attic -conceits, is shocked, as he passes, to see a Peer of the realm shake -hands with a poet. There is a little indulgence of spleen and envy, a -little servility and pandering to aristocratic pride in this proceeding. -Is Mr. Moore bound to advise a Noble Poet to get as fast as possible out -of a certain publication, lest he should not be able to give an account -at Holland or at Lansdown House, how his friend Lord B—— had associated -himself with his friend L. H——? Is he afraid that the ‘Spirit of -Monarchy’ will eclipse the ‘Fables for the Holy Alliance’ in virulence -and plain speaking? Or are the members of the ‘Fudge Family’ to secure a -monopoly for the abuse of the Bourbons and the doctrine of Divine Right? -Because he is genteel and sarcastic, may not others be paradoxical and -argumentative? Or must no one bark at a Minister or General, unless they -have been first dandled, like a little French pug-dog, in the lap of a -lady of quality? Does Mr. Moore insist on the double claim of birth and -genius as a title to respectability in all advocates of the popular -side—but himself? Or is he anxious to keep the pretensions of his -patrician and plebeian friends quite separate, so as to be himself the -only point of union, a sort of _double meaning_, between the two? It is -idle to think of setting bounds to the weakness and illusions of -self-love as long as it is confined to a man’s own breast; but it ought -not to be made a plea for holding back the powerful hand that is -stretched out to save another struggling with the tide of popular -prejudice, who has suffered shipwreck of health, fame, and fortune in a -common cause, and who has deserved the aid and the good wishes of all -who are (on principle) embarked in the same cause by equal zeal and -honesty, if not by equal talents to support and to adorn it! - -We shall conclude the present article with a short notice of an -individual who, in the cast of his mind and in political principle, -bears no very remote resemblance to the patriot and wit just spoken of, -and on whose merits we should descant at greater length, but that -personal intimacy might be supposed to render us partial. It is well -when personal intimacy produces this effect; and when the light, that -dazzled us at a distance, does not on a closer inspection turn out an -opaque substance. This is a charge that none of his friends will bring -against Mr. Leigh Hunt. He improves upon acquaintance. The author -translates admirably into the man. Indeed the very faults of his style -are virtues in the individual. His natural gaiety and sprightliness of -manner, his high animal spirits, and the _vinous_ quality of his mind, -produce an immediate fascination and intoxication in those who come in -contact with him, and carry off in society whatever in his writings may -to some seem flat and impertinent. From great sanguineness of temper, -from great quickness and unsuspecting simplicity, he runs on to the -public as he does at his own fireside, and talks about himself, -forgetting that he is not always among friends. His look, his tone are -required to point many things that he says: his frank, cordial manner -reconciles you instantly to a little over-bearing, over-weening -self-complacency. ‘To be admired, he needs but to be seen’: but perhaps -he ought to be seen to be fully appreciated. No one ever sought his -society who did not come away with a more favourable opinion of him: no -one was ever disappointed, except those who had entertained idle -prejudices against him. He sometimes trifles with his readers, or tires -of a subject (from not being urged on by the stimulus of immediate -sympathy)—but in conversation he is all life and animation, combining -the vivacity of the school-boy with the resources of the wit and the -taste of the scholar. The personal character, the spontaneous impulses, -do not appear to excuse the author, unless you are acquainted with his -situation and habits—like some proud beauty who gives herself what we -think strange airs and graces under a mask, but who is instantly -forgiven when she shews her face. We have said that Lord Byron is a -sublime coxcomb: why should we not say that Mr. Hunt is a delightful -one? There is certainly an exuberance of satisfaction in his manner -which is more than the strict logical premises warrant, and which dull -and phlegmatic constitutions know nothing of, and cannot understand till -they see it. He is the only poet or literary man we ever knew who puts -us in mind of Sir John Suckling or Killigrew or Carew; or who united -rare intellectual acquirements with outward grace and natural gentility. -Mr. Hunt ought to have been a gentleman born, and to have patronised men -of letters. He might then have played, and sung, and laughed, and talked -his life away; have written manly prose, elegant verse; and his _Story -of Rimini_ would have been praised by Mr. Blackwood. As it is, there is -no man now living who at the same time writes prose and verse so well, -with the exception of Mr. Southey (an exception, we fear, that will be -little palatable to either of these gentlemen). His prose writings, -however, display more consistency of principle than the laureate’s; his -verses more taste. We will venture to oppose his Third Canto of the -_Story of Rimini_ for classic elegance and natural feeling to any equal -number of lines from Mr. Southey’s Epics or from Mr. Moore’s Lalla -Rookh. In a more gay and conversational style of writing, we think his -_Epistle to Lord Byron_ on his going abroad, is a masterpiece;—and the -_Feast of the Poets_ has run through several editions. A light, familiar -grace, and mild unpretending pathos are the characteristics of his more -sportive or serious writings, whether in poetry or prose. A smile plays -round the sparkling features of the one; a tear is ready to start from -the thoughtful gaze of the other. He perhaps takes too little pains, and -indulges in too much wayward caprice in both. A wit and a poet, Mr. Hunt -is also distinguished by fineness of tact and sterling sense: he has -only been a visionary in humanity, the fool of virtue. What then is the -drawback to so many shining qualities, that has made them useless, or -even hurtful to their owner? His crime is, to have been Editor of the -_Examiner_ ten years ago, when some allusion was made in it to the age -of the present King, and though his Majesty has grown older, our -luckless politician is no wiser than he was then! - - - - - ELIA, AND GEOFFREY CRAYON - - -So Mr. Charles Lamb and Mr. Washington Irvine choose to designate -themselves; and as their lucubrations under one or other of these _noms -de guerre_ have gained considerable notice from the public, we shall -here attempt to discriminate their several styles and manner, and to -point out the beauties and defects of each in treating of somewhat -similar subjects. - -Mr. Irvine is, we take it, the more popular writer of the two, or a more -general favourite: Mr. Lamb has more devoted, and perhaps more judicious -partisans. Mr. Irvine is by birth an American, and has, as it were, -_skimmed the cream_, and taken off patterns with great skill and -cleverness, from our best known and happiest writers, so that their -thoughts and almost their reputation are indirectly transferred to his -page, and smile upon us from another hemisphere, like ‘the pale reflex -of Cynthia’s brow’: he succeeds to our admiration and our sympathy by a -sort of prescriptive title and traditional privilege. Mr. Lamb, on the -contrary, being ‘native to the manner here,’ though he too has borrowed -from previous sources, instead of availing himself of the most popular -and admired, has groped out his way, and made his most successful -researches among the more obscure and intricate, though certainly not -the least pithy or pleasant of our writers. Mr. Washington Irvine has -culled and transplanted the flowers of modern literature, for the -amusement of the general reader: Mr. Lamb has raked among the dust and -cobwebs of a more remote period, has exhibited specimens of curious -relics, and pored over moth-eaten, decayed manuscripts, for the benefit -of the more inquisitive and discerning part of the public. Antiquity -after time has the grace of novelty, as old fashions revived are -mistaken for new ones; and a certain quaintness and singularity of style -is an agreeable relief to the smooth and insipid monotony of modern -composition. Mr. Lamb has succeeded not by conforming to the _Spirit of -the Age_, but in opposition to it. He does not march boldly along with -the crowd, but steals off the pavement to pick his way in the contrary -direction. He prefers _bye-ways_ to _highways_. When the full tide of -human life pours along to some festive show, to some pageant of a day, -Elia would stand on one side to look over an old book-stall, or stroll -down some deserted pathway in search of a pensive inscription over a -tottering doorway, or some quaint device in architecture, illustrative -of embryo art and ancient manners. Mr. Lamb has the very soul of an -antiquarian, as this implies a reflecting humanity; the film of the past -hovers forever before him. He is shy, sensitive, the reverse of every -thing coarse, vulgar, obtrusive, and _common-place_. He would fain -‘shuffle off this mortal coil,’ and his spirit clothes itself in the -garb of elder time, homelier, but more durable. He is borne along with -no pompous paradoxes, shines in no glittering tinsel of a fashionable -phraseology; is neither fop nor sophist. He has none of the turbulence -or froth of new-fangled opinions. His style runs pure and clear, though -it may often take an underground course, or be conveyed through -old-fashioned conduit-pipes. Mr. Lamb does not court popularity, nor -strut in gaudy plumes, but shrinks from every kind of ostentatious and -obvious pretension into the retirement of his own mind. - - ‘The self-applauding bird, the peacock see:— - Mark what a sumptuous pharisee is he! - Meridian sun-beams tempt him to unfold - His radiant glories, azure, green, and gold: - He treads as if, some solemn music near, - His measured step were governed by his ear: - And seems to say—‘Ye meaner fowl, give place, - I am all splendour, dignity, and grace!’ - Not so the pheasant on his charms presumes, - Though he too has a glory in his plumes. - He, Christian-like, retreats with modest mien } - To the close copse or far sequestered green, } - and shines without desiring to be seen.’ } - -These lines well describe the modest and delicate beauties of Mr. Lamb’s -writings, contrasted with the lofty and vain-glorious pretensions of -some of his contemporaries. This gentleman is not one of those who pay -all their homage to the prevailing idol: he thinks that - - ‘New-born gauds are made and moulded of things past,’ - -nor does he - - ‘Give to dust that is a little gilt - More laud than gilt o’er-dusted.’ - -His convictions ‘do not in broad rumour lie,’ nor are they ‘set off to -the world in the glistering foil’ of fashion; but ‘live and breathe -aloft in those pure eyes, and perfect judgment of all-seeing _time_.’ -Mr. Lamb rather affects and is tenacious of the obscure and remote: of -that which rests on its own intrinsic and silent merit; which scorns all -alliance, or even the suspicion of owing any thing to noisy clamour, to -the glare of circumstances. There is a fine tone of _chiaro-scuro_, a -moral perspective in his writings. He delights to dwell on that which is -fresh to the eye of memory; he yearns after and covets what soothes the -frailty of human nature. That touches him most nearly which is withdrawn -to a certain distance, which verges on the borders of oblivion:—that -piques and provokes his fancy most, which is hid from a superficial -glance. That which, though gone by, is still remembered, is in his view -more genuine, and has given more ‘vital signs that it will live,’ than a -thing of yesterday, that may be forgotten to-morrow. Death has in this -sense the spirit of life in it; and the shadowy has to our author -something substantial in it. Ideas savour most of reality in his mind; -or rather his imagination loiters on the edge of each, and a page of his -writings recals to our fancy the _stranger_ on the grate, fluttering in -its dusky tenuity, with its idle superstition and hospitable welcome! - -Mr. Lamb has a distaste to new faces, to new books, to new buildings, to -new customs. He is shy of all imposing appearances, of all assumptions -of self-importance, of all adventitious ornaments, of all mechanical -advantages, even to a nervous excess. It is not merely that he does not -rely upon, or ordinarily avail himself of them; he holds them in -abhorrence, he utterly abjures and discards them, and places a great -gulph between him and them. He disdains all the vulgar artifices of -authorship, all the cant of criticism, and helps to notoriety. He has no -grand swelling theories to attract the visionary and the enthusiast, no -passing topics to allure the thoughtless and the vain. He evades the -present, he mocks the future. His affections revert to, and settle on -the past, but then, even this must have something personal and local in -it to interest him deeply and thoroughly; he pitches his tent in the -suburbs of existing manners; brings down the account of character to the -few straggling remains of the last generation; seldom ventures beyond -the bills of mortality, and occupies that nice point between egotism and -disinterested humanity. No one makes the tour of our southern -metropolis, or describes the manners of the last age, so well as Mr. -Lamb—with so fine, and yet so formal an air—with such vivid obscurity, -with such arch piquancy, such picturesque quaintness, such smiling -pathos. How admirably he has sketched the former inmates of the -South-Sea House; what ‘fine fretwork he makes of their double and single -entries!’ With what a firm, yet subtle pencil he has embodied _Mrs. -Battle’s Opinions on Whist_! How notably he embalms a battered _beau_; -how delightfully an amour, that was cold forty years ago, revives in his -pages! With what well-disguised humour, he introduces us to his -relations, and how freely he serves up his friends! Certainly, some of -his portraits are _fixtures_, and will do to hang up as lasting and -lively emblems of human infirmity. Then there is no one who has so sure -an ear for ‘the chimes at midnight,’ not even excepting Mr. Justice -Shallow; nor could Master Silence himself take his ‘cheese and pippins’ -with a more significant and satisfactory air. With what a gusto Mr. Lamb -describes the inns and courts of law, the Temple and Gray’s-Inn, as if -he had been a student there for the last two hundred years, and had been -as well acquainted with the person of Sir Francis Bacon as he is with -his portrait or writings! It is hard to say whether St. John’s Gate is -connected with more intense and authentic associations in his mind, as a -part of old London Wall, or as the frontispiece (time out of mind) of -the Gentleman’s Magazine. He haunts Watling-street like a gentle spirit; -the avenues to the play-houses are thick with panting recollections, and -Christ’s-Hospital still breathes the balmy breath of infancy in his -description of it! Whittington and his Cat are a fine hallucination for -Mr. Lamb’s historic Muse, and we believe he never heartily forgave a -certain writer who took the subject of Guy Faux out of his hands. The -streets of London are his fairy-land, teeming with wonder, with life and -interest to his retrospective glance, as it did to the eager eye of -childhood; he has contrived to weave its tritest traditions into a -bright and endless romance! - -Mr. Lamb’s taste in books is also fine, and it is peculiar. It is not -the worse for a little _idiosyncrasy_. He does not go deep into the -Scotch novels, but he is at home in Smollet or Fielding. He is little -read in Junius or Gibbon, but no man can give a better account of -Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy, or Sir Thomas Brown’s Urn-Burial, or -Fuller’s Worthies, or John Bunyan’s Holy War. No one is more -unimpressible to a specious declamation; no one relishes a recondite -beauty more. His admiration of Shakespear and Milton does not make him -despise Pope; and he can read Parnell with patience, and Gay with -delight. His taste in French and German literature is somewhat -defective; nor has he made much progress in the science of Political -Economy or other abstruse studies, though he has read vast folios of -controversial divinity, merely for the sake of the intricacy of style, -and to save himself the pain of thinking. Mr. Lamb is a good judge of -prints and pictures. His admiration of Hogarth does credit to both, -particularly when it is considered that Leonardo da Vinci is his next -greatest favourite, and that his love of the _actual_ does not proceed -from a want of taste for the _ideal_. His worst fault is an -over-eagerness of enthusiasm, which occasionally makes him take a -surfeit of his highest favourites.—Mr. Lamb excels in familiar -conversation almost as much as in writing, when his modesty does not -overpower his self-possession. He is as little of a proser as possible; -but he _blurts_ out the finest wit and sense in the world. He keeps a -good deal in the back-ground at first, till some excellent conceit -pushes him forward, and then he abounds in whim and pleasantry. There is -a primitive simplicity and self-denial about his manners; and a -Quakerism in his personal appearance, which is, however, relieved by a -fine Titian head, full of dumb eloquence! Mr. Lamb is a general -favourite with those who know him. His character is equally singular and -amiable. He is endeared to his friends not less by his foibles than his -virtues; he insures their esteem by the one, and does not wound their -self-love by the other. He gains ground in the opinion of others, by -making no advances in his own. We easily admire genius where the -diffidence of the possessor makes our acknowledgment of merit seem like -a sort of patronage, or act of condescension, as we willingly extend our -good offices where they are not exacted as obligations, or repaid with -sullen indifference.—The style of the Essays of Elia is liable to the -charge of a certain _mannerism_. His sentences are cast in the mould of -old authors; his expressions are borrowed from them; but his feelings -and observations are genuine and original, taken from actual life, or -from his own breast; and he may be said (if any one can) ‘to have coined -his heart for _jests_,’ and to have split his brain for fine -distinctions! Mr. Lamb, from the peculiarity of his exterior and address -as an author, would probably never have made his way by detached and -independent efforts; but, fortunately for himself and others, he has -taken advantage of the Periodical Press, where he has been stuck into -notice, and the texture of his compositions is assuredly fine enough to -bear the broadest glare of popularity that has hitherto shone upon them. -Mr. Lamb’s literary efforts have procured him civic honours (a thing -unheard of in our times), and he has been invited, in his character of -ELIA, to dine at a select party with the Lord Mayor. We should prefer -this distinction to that of being poet-laureat. We would recommend to -Mr. Waithman’s perusal (if Mr. Lamb has not anticipated us) the -_Rosamond Gray_ and the _John Woodvil_ of the same author, as an -agreeable relief to the noise of a City feast, and the heat of City -elections. A friend, a short time ago, quoted some lines[66] from the -last-mentioned of these works, which meeting Mr. Godwin’s eye, he was so -struck with the beauty of the passage, and with a consciousness of -having seen it before, that he was uneasy till he could recollect where, -and after hunting in vain for it in Ben Jonson, Beaumont and Fletcher, -and other not unlikely places, sent to Mr. Lamb to know if he could help -him to the author! - -Mr. Washington Irvine’s acquaintance with English literature begins -almost where Mr. Lamb’s ends,—with the Spectator, Tom Brown’s works and -the wits of Queen Anne. He is not bottomed in our elder writers, nor do -we think that he has tasked his own faculties much, at least on English -ground. Of the merit of his _Knicker-bocker_, and New York stories, we -cannot pretend to judge. But in his _Sketch-book_ and _Bracebridge-Hall_ -he gives us very good American copies of our British Essayists and -Novelists, which may be very well on the other side of the water, or as -proofs of the capabilities of the national genius, but which might be -dispensed with here, where we have to boast of the originals. Not only -Mr. Irvine’s language is with great taste and felicity modelled on that -of Addison, Goldsmith, Sterne, or Mackenzie; but the thoughts and -sentiments are taken at the rebound, and as they are brought forward at -the present period, want both freshness and probability. Mr. Irvine’s -writings are literary _anachronisms_. He comes to England for the first -time; and being on the spot, fancies himself in the midst of those -characters and manners which he had read of in the Spectator and other -approved authors, and which were the only idea he had hitherto formed of -the parent country. Instead of looking round to see what _we are_, he -sets to work to describe us as _we were_—at second hand. He has Parson -Adams, or Sir Roger de Coverley in his ‘_mind’s eye_‘; and he makes a -village curate or a country ‘squire in Yorkshire or Hampshire sit to -these admired models for their portraits in the beginning of the -nineteenth century. Whatever the ingenious author has been most -delighted with in the representations of books, he transfers to his -port-folio, and swears that he has found it actually existing in the -course of his observation and travels through Great Britain. Instead of -tracing the changes that have taken place in society since Addison or -Fielding wrote, he transcribes their account in a different -hand-writing, and thus keeps us stationary, at least in our most -attractive and praise-worthy qualities of simplicity, honesty, modesty, -hospitality, and good-nature. This is a very flattering mode of turning -fiction into history, or history into fiction; and we should scarcely -know ourselves again in the softened and altered likeness, but that it -bears the date of 1820, and issues from the press in Albemarle-street. -This is one way of complimenting our national and Tory prejudices; and -coupled with literal or exaggerated portraits of _Yankee_ peculiarities, -could hardly fail to please. The first Essay in the _Sketch-book_, that -on national Antipathies, is the best; but after that, the sterling ore -of wit or feeling is gradually spun thinner and thinner, till it fades -to the shadow of a shade. Mr. Irvine is himself, we believe, a most -agreeable and deserving man, and has been led into the natural and -pardonable error we speak of, by the tempting bait of European -popularity, in which he thought there was no more likely method of -succeeding than by imitating the style of our standard authors, and -giving us credit for the virtues of our forefathers. - - * * * * * - -We should not feel that we had discharged our obligations to truth or -friendship, if we were to let this volume go without introducing into it -the name of the author of _Virginius_. This is the more proper, inasmuch -as he is a character by himself, and the only poet now living that is a -mere poet. If we were asked what sort of man Mr. Knowles is, we could -only say, ‘he is the writer of Virginius.’ His most intimate friends see -nothing in him, by which they could trace the work to the author. The -seeds of dramatic genius are contained and fostered in the warmth of the -blood that flows in his veins; his heart dictates to his head. The most -unconscious, the most unpretending, the most artless of mortals, he -instinctively obeys the impulses of natural feeling, and produces a -perfect work of art. He has hardly read a poem or a play or seen any -thing of the world, but he hears the anxious beatings of his own heart, -and makes others feel them by the force of sympathy. Ignorant alike of -rules, regardless of models, he follows the steps of truth and -simplicity; and strength, proportion, and delicacy are the infallible -results. By thinking of nothing but his subject, he rivets the attention -of the audience to it. All his dialogue tends to action, all his -situations form classic groups. There is no doubt that Virginius is the -best acting tragedy that has been produced on the modern stage. Mr. -Knowles himself was a player at one time, and this circumstance has -probably enabled him to judge of the picturesque and dramatic effect of -his lines, as we think it might have assisted Shakespear. There is no -impertinent display, no flaunting poetry; the writer immediately -conceives how a thought would tell if he had to speak it himself. Mr. -Knowles is the first tragic writer of the age; in other respects he is a -common man; and divides his time and his affections between his plots -and his fishing-tackle, between the Muses’ spring, and those -mountain-streams which sparkle like his own eye, that gush out like his -own voice at the sight of an old friend. We have known him almost from a -child, and we must say he appears to us the same boy-poet that he ever -was. He has been cradled in song, and rocked in it as in a dream, -forgetful of himself and of the world! - - - The End of THE SPIRIT OF THE AGE. - - - - - PREFACE TO AN ABRIDGMENT OF ABRAHAM TUCKER’S LIGHT OF NATURE PURSUED - - - - - BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE - - -Published in 1807 in an 8vo volume (xlvii + 529 pp.) with the following -title-page:—‘An Abridgment of the Light of Nature Pursued, by Abraham -Tucker, Esq. originally published, in seven volumes, under the name of -Edward Search, Esq. London: Printed for J. Johnson, St. Paul’s -Churchyard; By T. Bensley, Bolt Court. 1807.’ - - - - - PREFACE TO AN ABRIDGMENT OF THE LIGHT OF NATURE PURSUED - - -There are two considerations which seem necessary to be attended to in -abridging any author; the size of the work, rendering it inaccessible to -the generality of readers, and the merit of the work, rendering it -desirable that it should be within every one’s reach. It is easy to -perceive, that these two conditions are not always united: there are -some works whose only merit seems to be, that they are so large that -nobody can read them; whose ponderous bulk, and formidable appearance, -happily serve as a barrier to keep out the infection of their dulness. - -The work, of which the following is an abridgment, notwithstanding its -excellence, has been little read. A philosophical work in seven large -volumes presents no very great attractions to the indolent curiosity of -most readers. Even the seven volumes of Clarissa, and Sir Charles -Grandison, are at present viewed with doubtful looks by the eye of -taste, and reluctantly engaged in: and our modern novelists, that -happily privileged race of authors, whose works ‘not sicklied o’er with -the pale cast of thought,’ are exempt from the charge of dulness or -_ennui_, have been obliged to contract the boundless scenes of their -imagination within four slender volumes, where the diminutive page vies -in vain with the luxuriant margin. As to the studious and recluse -reader, there is generally another obstacle which prevents him from -gratifying his curiosity with respect to works of this extent, however -valuable or important. - -Again, there are works of great length, which cannot, however, be -reduced into a less compass, ‘without suffering loss and diminution.’ -Though vast, there is nothing useless, nothing superfluous in them; and -nothing can be taken away or displaced, without destroying the symmetry -and connection of the whole. This is certainly not the case with the -writings of Abraham Tucker: they are encumbered and weighed down with a -load of unnecessary matter. Not that there are any great inequalities in -them, nor any parts which, taken separately, are not entertaining and -valuable; but the work is swelled out with endless repetitions of -itself. The same thing is said over and over again; the same subjects -discussed in a different shape, till the reader is tired, and his -attention quite distracted. This radical defect, which is certainly a -drawback on the usefulness of the work, appears evidently to have arisen -from the manner of composing it. The author was a private gentleman, who -wrote at his ease, and for his own amusement: he had nothing to do but -to take his time, and follow the whim of the moment. He wrote without -any regular plan, and without foreseeing or being concerned about the -deviations, the shiftings and windings, and the intricate -cross-movements in which he should be entangled. He had leisure on his -hands; and provided he got out of the labyrinth at last, he was -satisfied—no matter how often he had lost his way in it. When a subject -presented itself to him, he exhausted all he had to say upon it, and -then dismissed it for another. The chapter was thrown aside, and -forgotten. If the same subject recurred again in a different connection, -he turned it over in his thoughts afresh; as his ideas arose in his -mind, he committed them to paper; he repeated the same things over -again, or inserted any new observation or example that suggested itself -to him in confirmation of his argument; and thus by the help of a new -title, and by giving a different application to the whole, a new chapter -was completed. By this means, as he himself remarks, his writings are -rather a tissue of loose essays than a regular work; and indeed the -leaves of the Sybils could not be more loose and unconnected. It is so -far then from being an injury, that it must be rather an advantage to -the original work to expunge its repetitions, and confine its -digressions, if this could be done properly. - -This is, in fact, what I have attempted to do: whenever I came to a -passage that was merely a repetition of a former one, I struck it out: -and at the same time, I endeavoured to abridge those detailed parts of -the work which were the longest, and the least interesting, and to -correct the general redundance of the style. I have not, however (that I -know of), omitted any thing essential to the merit of the work. All the -singular observations, all the fine illustrations, I have given nearly -in an entire state to the reader: I was afraid to touch them, lest I -should spoil them. The rule that I went by was, to give every thing that -I thought would strike the attention in reading the work itself, and to -leave out every thing (except what was absolutely necessary to the -understanding of the subject), that would be likely to make no lasting -impression on the mind. A good abridgment ought to contain just as much -as we should wish to recollect of a book; it should give back (only in a -more perfect manner) to a reader well acquainted with the original, ‘the -image of his mind,’ so that he would miss no favourite passage, none of -the prominent parts, or distinguishing features of the work. How far I -have succeeded, must be left to the decision of others: and perhaps in -some respects one is less a judge of the execution of a work like this, -than of an original performance. The same deception takes place here, -as, I have been told by painters, sometimes happens in copying a fine -picture. Your mind is full of the original, and you see the imitation -through this borrowed medium; you transfuse its grace and spirit into -the copy; you connect its glowing tints and delicate touches with a -meagre outline, and a warm fancy sheds its lustre over that which is -little better than a blank: but when the original impression is faded, -and you have nothing left but the copy for the imagination to feed on, -you find the spirit evaporated, the expression gone, and you wonder at -your own mistake. I can only say, that I have done my best to prevent my -copy of the Light of Nature from degenerating into a mere _caput -mortuum_. As to the pains and labour it has cost me, or the time I have -devoted to it, I shall say nothing. However, if any one should be -scrupulous on that head, I might answer, as Sir Joshua Reynolds is said -to have done to some person who cavilled at the price of a picture, and -desired to know how long he had been doing it, ‘All my life.’ - -Of the work itself, I can speak with more confidence. I do not know of -any work in the shape of a philosophical treatise that contains so much -good sense so agreeably expressed. The character of the work is, in this -respect, altogether singular. Amidst all the abstruseness of the most -subtle disquisitions, it is as familiar as Montaigne, and as wild and -entertaining as John Buncle. To the ingenuity and closeness of the -metaphysician, he unites the principal knowledge of the man of the -world, and the utmost sprightliness, and even levity of imagination. He -is the only philosopher who appears to have had his senses always _about -him_, or to have possessed the enviable faculty of attending at the same -time to what was passing in his own mind, and what was going on without -him. He applied every thing to the purposes of philosophy; he could not -see any thing, the most familiar objects or the commonest events, -without connecting them with the illustration of some difficult problem. -The tricks of a young kitten, or a little child at play, were sure to -suggest to him some useful observation, or nice distinction. To this -habit, he was, no doubt, indebted for what Paley justly calls ‘his -unrivalled power of illustration.’ To be convinced that he possessed -this power in the highest degree, it is only necessary to look into -almost any page of his writings: at least, I think it impossible for any -one not to perceive the beauty, the _naiveté_, the force, the clearness, -and propriety of his illustrations, who has not previously had his -understanding strangely overlaid with logic and criticism.[67]—If he was -surpassed by one or two writers in logical precision and systematic -profundity, there is no metaphysical writer who is equal to him in -clearness of apprehension, and a various insight into human nature. -Though he excelled greatly in both, yet, he excelled more in what is -called the method of induction, than that of analysis: he convinces the -reader oftener by shewing him the thing in dispute, than by defining its -abstract qualities; as the philosopher is said to have proved the -existence of motion by getting up and walking. I do not, for my own -part, look up with all that awe and admiration to the grave professors -of abstract reasoning that it is usual to do. They are so far from being -men of great comprehension of mind, (if by this we are to understand -comprehending the whole of every subject) that the contrary is generally -the case. They are persons of few ideas, of slow perceptions, of narrow -capacities, of dull but retentive feelings, who cannot seize or enter -into the infinite variety and rapid succession of natural objects, and -are only susceptible of those impressions of things, which being common -to all objects, and constantly repeated, come at length to fix those -lasting traces in the mind, which nothing can ever alter or wear out. By -attending only to one aspect of things, and that the same, and by -leaving out always those minute differences and perplexing -irregularities which disturb the sluggish uniformity of our ideas, and -give life and motion to our being, men of formal understandings are -sometimes able to pursue their inquiries with a steadiness and certainty -that are incompatible with a more extensive range of thought. -Abstraction is a trick to supply the defect of comprehension. The moulds -of the understanding may be said not to be large enough to contain the -gross concrete objects of nature, but will still admit of their names, -and descriptions, and general forms, which lie flatter and closer in the -brain, and are more easily managed. The most perfect abstraction is -nothing more than the art of making use of only one half of the -understanding, and never seeing more than one half of a subject, in the -same manner as we find that those persons have the acutest perceptions, -who have lost some one of their senses. A man, therefore, who disdains -the use of common sense, and thinks to arrive at the highest point of -philosophy, by thus denaturalizing his understanding, is like a person -who should deprive himself of the use of his eye-sight, in order that he -might be able to grope his way better in the dark! - -A man may set up for a system-maker, upon a single idea: he cannot write -a sensible book without a great many. I do not deny that one idea may -often involve, and be the parent of many others: but I do not see how -knowledge is at all the worse, because it brings us immediately -acquainted with the very form of truth, instead of serving merely as an -index, or clue to direct us in the search of it. If the one method tends -more effectually to sharpen the understanding, the other enriches it -more. The one method puts you upon exerting your own faculties; the -other, meeting you half way, wisely saves you from the necessity of -taking all that pains and trouble in the search after truth, which few -persons are disposed to take, and is therefore more generally useful. -The great merit of our author’s writings is undoubtedly that sound, -practical, comprehensive good sense, which is to be found in every part -of them. What is I believe the truest test of fine sense, is that -affecting simplicity in his observations, which proceeds from their -extreme truth and liveliness. Whatever recalls strongly to our -remembrance the common feelings of human nature, and marks distinctly -the changes that take place in the human breast, must always be -accompanied with some sense of emotion; for our own nature can never be -indifferent to us. - -If there is any fault in his practical reasonings, it is that they are -too discursive, and without a determinate object. No difficulty ever -escapes his penetration; every view of his subject, every consequence of -his principles is stated and examined with scrupulous exactness, and the -weak sides and inconveniences of every rule are pointed out, till a sort -of sceptical uncertainty is introduced, and the mind sinks into a -passive indifference. This kind of reasoning is certainly not calculated -to rouse the energy of our active powers; but I believe it is that which -generally accompanies much dispassionate inquiry. I am afraid the most -patient thinkers are those who have the most doubts and the fewest -violent prejudices; and perhaps, after all, we shall be forced to -acknowledge with Sterne, as the truest philosophy, ‘that there is not so -much difference between good and evil as the world are apt to imagine.’ -A writer, indeed, who has a system to support, is not likely to fall -into this error; but then, if it is only because he has a system to -support, what is the value of that confidence in his opinions, which is -the result of wilful blindness? A man’s living much in retirement (as -was the case with our author) where his thoughts have a calm and even -course to flow in, may also contribute much to this indecision of mind. -There is many a champion who would soon sink into silent scepticism, if -he was not urged on by the necessity of maintaining opinions which he -has once avowed, and had nobody to dispute against but himself. The -spirit of contradiction is the great source of dogmatism and pertinacity -of opinion. I am aware, that a habit of much disputing also produces the -contrary effect. But even where it renders men sceptical, it does not -render them candid. It is therefore in great cities, in literary clubs, -that you meet with the fewest sincere opinions, and the most extravagant -assertions. - -As to his system of belief on the subject of religion, I am unable to -say what it was: and perhaps he did not know himself. I have however no -doubt, that he was sincere in his professions of attachment to the -established doctrines, or that he was habitually accustomed to look upon -them as true. Still there is a distinction, which is not always attended -to, between that kind of assent which is merely habitual, or the effect -of choice, which depends upon a disposition to regard any object in a -certain point of view, and that internal conviction, in which the will -has no concern, which is the result of a free and unbiassed judgment, -and which a man retains in spite of himself. Subtle distinctions are not -always the most palpable; and therefore sometimes require the aid of -violent suppositions to render them intelligible. I can conceive, that a -person may all his life live in the belief of a certain notion, without -once suspecting the contrary; yet, that if the case could be put to him, -to declare his opinion freely to the best of his judgment, for that, if -he were mistaken, his life must answer for it, he would instantly find -by what slender threads his former opinion hung. The sense of -convenience, humour, or vanity, are sufficient to blind the -understanding, and determine our opinions in speculative points, and -matters of indifference. Common compliance, or good-nature, or personal -regard, may lead them to give credit to, and defend the truth of a story -told by a friend, which yet, if I were put to my oath, I could not do. -So that we, in fact, very often believe that to be true, which we _know_ -to be false.[68] The atheist is no longer an atheist on a sickbed; and a -violent thunderstorm has been known not only to clear the air, but to -cure the freethinker of his affected scruples with respect to the proofs -of a superintending Providence. But the difference of our conclusions in -such cases does not arise from any new evidence, or farther -investigation of the subject, but from the greater interest we have to -examine carefully into the real state of our opinions, and to throw off -all disguises that conceal them from ourselves. Now this ultimate test -cannot very well be applied to a man’s religious professions, because -the power of denouncing ‘pains and penalties’ is already lodged in other -hands; but I cannot help suspecting, that if this test could have been -applied to some of our author’s notions, his external and internal, or, -to use his own expressions, his exoteric and esoteric creed, would not -have been found to coalesce perfectly together. It is amusing to observe -with what gravity he sets himself to inveigh against freethinkers and -free-thinking; when he himself, as to his mode of reasoning, is one of -the greatest of freethinkers. He seems to have been willing to _keep the -game_ entirely in his own hands; or else to have supposed that the -liberal exercise of reason was only proper for gentlemen of independent -fortune; and that none but those who were in the commission of the -peace, should be allowed to censure vulgar errors. This was certainly a -weakness. - -With respect to his metaphysical system, he must be considered as the -founder of his own school; or at least, the opinions of different sects -are so mingled up in him, that he cannot be considered as belonging to -any party. He professes himself indeed, and seems anxious to be thought, -a disciple of Locke, but this is evidently very much _against the -grain_; and he is perpetually put to it to reconcile the differences -between them on the most essential points.—I know but of two sorts of -philosophy; that of those who believe what they feel, and endeavour to -account for it, and that of those who only believe what they understand, -and have already accounted for. The one is the philosophy of -consciousness, the other that of experiment; the one may be called the -intellectual, the other the material philosophy. The one rests chiefly -on the general notions and conscious perceptions of mankind, and -endeavours to discover what the mind is, by looking into the mind -itself; the other denies the existence of every thing in the mind, of -which it cannot find some rubbishly archetype, and visible image in its -crucibles and furnaces, or in the distinct forms of verbal analysis. The -first of these is the only philosophy that is fit for men of sense, the -other should be left to chymists and logicians. Of this last kind is the -philosophy of Locke; though I would be understood to speak of him rather -as having laid the foundation, on which others have built absurd -conclusions, than of what he was in himself. He was a man of much -studious thought and reflection; and if everything by being carried to -extremes, were not converted into abuse, his writings might have been of -lasting service to his country and mankind. He staggered under the -‘petrific mace’ of Hobbes’s philosophy, which he had not strength to -resist, but yet he attempted to make some stand; and was not quite -overpowered by the gripe of that demon of the understanding. He took for -his basis a bad simile, that the mind is like a blank sheet of paper, -equally adapted to receive every kind of external impression. Or at -least, if this illustration was proper for the purpose to which he -applied it (which was to overturn the doctrine of innate ideas), a very -bad use has been made of it since; as if it was meant to prove, that the -mind is nothing in itself, nor the cause of any thing, never acting, but -always acted upon, the mere receiver and passive instrument of whatever -impressions are made upon it; so that being fairly _gutted_ of itself, -and of all positive qualities, it in fact resembles the bare walls and -empty rooms of an unfurnished lodging, into which you bring whatever -furniture you please; and which never contains any thing more than what -is brought into it through the doors of the senses. Hence all those -superadded feelings and ideas, all those operations and modifications -which our impressions undergo from the active powers and independent -nature of the mind itself, are treated as chimerical and visionary -notions by the profound adepts in this clear-sighted philosophy.[69] The -object of the German philosophy, or the system of professor Kant, as far -as I can understand it, is to explode this mechanical ignorance, to take -the subject out of the hands of its present possessors, and to admit our -own immediate perceptions to be some evidence of what passes in the -human mind. It takes for granted the common notions prevalent among -mankind, and then endeavours to explain them; or to shew their -foundation in nature, and the universal relations of things. This, at -least, is a modest proposal, and worthy of a philosopher. The -understanding here pays a proper deference to the other parts of our -being, and knows its own place: whereas our modern sophists, meddling, -noisy, and self-sufficient, think that truth is only made to be disputed -about; that it exists no where but in their experiments, demonstrations, -and syllogisms; and leaving nothing to the silent operations of nature -and common sense, believe that all our opinions, thoughts, and feelings, -are of no value, till the understanding, like a pert commentator, comes -forward to enforce and explain them; as if a book could be nothing -without notes, or as if a picture had no meaning in it till it was -pointed out by the connoisseur! Tucker was certainly an arrant truant -from the system he pretends to adopt, and one of the common sense -school. Thus he believed with professor Kant in the unity of -consciousness, or ‘that the mind alone is formative,’ that fundamental -article of the _transcendental_ creed; in the immateriality of the soul, -etc. His chapter on consciousness is one of the best in the whole work; -and is perhaps as close an example of reasoning as is any where to be -met with. I would recommend it to the serious perusal of all our -professed _reasoners_, but that they are so thoroughly satisfied with -the profession of the thing, so fortified and wrapped up in the mere -name, that it is impossible to make any impression upon them with the -thing itself. On some other questions, which form the great leading -outlines of the two creeds, as that of self-love, for instance, his -opinions seem to have been more unsettled and wavering. I have already -offered what I have to say on this subject in a little work published by -Mr. Johnson; and I shall therefore say the less about it here.[71] -However, as I may not soon have an opportunity of recurring to the same -subject, and as there is a part of that work with which I am not very -well satisfied, the subject of which is also treated of in the following -pages, it may not perhaps be altogether impertinent to add a few -observations for the further clearing of it up. - -We are told, that sympathy is only self-love disguised in another form, -that it is a mere mechanical impulse or tendency to our own -gratification. It is asked, Do we not attach ourselves to the idea of -another’s welfare, because it is pleasing to us, and do we not feel an -aversion or dislike to certain objects, whether relating to ourselves or -others, merely because they are disagreeable to us; and is not this -self-love? I answer no. Because, in this logical way of speaking, it is -a misnomer to call my attachment to any particular object or idea by a -name that implies my attachment to a general principle, or to any thing -beyond itself. Numerically and absolutely speaking, the particular idea -or modification which produces any given action, is as much a distinct, -individual, independent thing in nature, and has no more to do with -myself, that is, with other objects, and ideas which have no immediate -concern in producing it, than one individual has to do with another. The -notion that our motives are blind mechanical impulses, if it proves -anything, proves, that instead of being always governed by self-love, -there is in reality no such thing. So that, as far as this argument -goes, it is no less absurd to trace our love of others to self-love, -than it would be to account for a man’s love of reading from his -fondness for bread and butter, or to say that his having an ear for -music arose from his relish for port wine. It is therefore necessary to -suppose, that when we attempt to resolve all our motives into self-love, -we only mean to refer them to a certain class, and to say, that they all -agree in having some circumstance in common which brings them under the -same general denomination. Now, there is one way in which this has been -attempted, by proving that they are all _ours_, that they all belong to -the same being, and are therefore all equally selfish. This is as bad as -Soame Jenyns’s argument, that all men may be said to be born equal, -because they are equally born. So, if it is contended, that sympathy is -a part of our nature, and therefore selfish; that the imagination and -understanding are real efficient causes of action, and therefore operate -mechanically; that our ideas of all external existences, of other -persons, their names, qualities and feelings, are only impressions -existing in our own minds, and are therefore properly selfish, and ought -to be called so; I shall have nothing to object to this kind of -reasoning, but that it is taking a great deal of perverse pains to no -purpose. The question stands just where it did, it is not moved a jot -further. For what difference can be made in the question, by our calling -benevolence selfishness, or sympathy self-love, I cannot discover, -except that we should lose the advantage of having a distinct word to -express those affections and feelings which confessedly have nothing to -do with sympathy. The question therefore is, whether all our affections -are of this latter class, or whether the two words do not express a -distinction which has no real foundation in nature. This is in fact what -must be meant by saying that sympathy is self-love in disguise; for this -must imply that sympathy does not operate as such, that it is only the -ostensible motive, the accidental circumstance, the form or vehicle that -serves to transmit the efficacy of another principle lying hid beneath -it, and that has no power but what it derives from its connection with -something else. But, in order to establish this mechanical theory of -self-love, it appears to me necessary to exhibit sympathy as it were -abstracted from itself, to resolve it into another principle, and to -shew that it would still produce exactly the same effects as it does at -present. Now there are two ways in which I can conceive that this might -be satisfactorily made out, viz. if it could be shewn, first, that our -concern for others only affects the mind as connected with physical or -bodily uneasiness; or, 2ndly, as abstract uneasiness. Suppose, for -instance, that the imaginary feeling of what other persons suffer, as -far as it is confined to the mind only, does not affect me at all, or -produce the least disposition in my mind or wish to relieve them, but -that the idea of what they suffer gives me a pain in the head, or -produces an uneasiness at my stomach, and that then, for the first time, -I begin to feel some concern for them, and try to relieve them, in order -to get rid of my own uneasiness, because I do not like the head-ach or -the stomach-ach; this, I grant, would not entitle me to the character of -much disinterestedness, but however I might attempt to gloss the matter -over by an affectation of sensibility, and make a virtue of necessity, -would be downright, unequivocal selfishness. This first supposition, -however, is not true. To prove this, I need only appeal to every one’s -own breast, or at least to our observation of human nature; for it must -be clear to every person, in one or other of these ways, that our -interest in the pleasures and pains of others is not excited in the -manner here described. Besides, how should the mind communicate an -uneasiness to the body, which it does not feel itself? We must therefore -have recourse to the second supposition for resolving benevolence into a -mere mechanical principle, or shewing that it is at bottom the same -with, and governed by the same laws as our most selfish impulses. There -is no contradiction in supposing, that however great a disposition there -might be in the mind to be immediately affected by the pleasures and -pains of others, yet the impression made upon us by them might be -nothing more than a mere abstract sensation of pleasure or pain, a -simple detached or insulated feeling, existing by itself, and operating -as a motive to action no further than the individual was concerned, or -than he was affected by it as a positive, momentary thing. This would -still be a mechanical and selfish feeling. Compassion would in this case -be an immediate repugnance or aversion of the mind to an actual -impression, and a disposition to take the shortest way to escape from -it, every thing else being a matter of perfect indifference. This -account supposes the particles of individual feeling to be as it were -drawn off by some metaphysical process, and thus disengaged from the -lifeless unsubstantial forms, to which they were attached, to bend their -whole force to remove every thing that may cause the least disturbance -or detriment to the mind to which they belong. You must believe, on this -hypothesis, that our gross material desires setting themselves free from -the airy yoke of fancy, tend directly to the centre of self-interest, as -the lead and iron work, when once disengaged from the body of the ship, -no longer float on the surface of the water, borne about by the winds, -but sink at once to the bottom. But I have already shewn at large, and -the reader may easily perceive, that this description of the manner in -which our motives operate, has not the least foundation in nature. Our -ideas and feelings act in concert. The will cannot act without ideas, -nor otherwise than as it is directed by them. The mind is not so loosely -constructed, as that the different parts can disengage themselves at -will from the rest of the system, and follow their own separate -impulses. It is governed by many different springs united together, and -acting in subordination to the same conscious power. It is formed, that -if it could only wish to get rid of its own immediate uneasiness, it -could never get rid of it at all, because it could not _will_ the -necessary means for that purpose, and would be perpetually tormented by -ideal causes of pain, without being able to exert itself to remove them. -The sore part might shrink, but the hand would not be stretched out to -remove the object that irritated it. Without allowing an elastic power -to the understanding; a power of collecting and concentrating its forces -in any direction that seems necessary; and without supposing that our -ideas have a power to act as relative representative things, connected -together in a certain regular order, and not as mere simple pleasure and -pain; the will would be entirely useless: indeed, there could be no such -thing as volition, either with respect to our own affairs or those of -others. But the fact is, that our ideas of certain things are interwoven -into the finer texture of the mind, in a certain order and connection, -as closely as the things themselves are joined in nature; and if, as -they exist and are perceived there, they are true and efficient causes -of action, I see no reason for asserting that they act mechanically, -when, by this expression, if we affix any distinct idea to it, we must -mean something entirely different; nor for ascribing those actions and -motives to self-love, which neither take their rise from, nor are -directed by, nor end in securing the exclusive interest of the -individual as a numerical unit, a mere solitary existence. As the idea -which influences the mind is not a detached idea starting up of its own -accord, but an idea connected with other ideas and circumstances, -presented involuntarily to the mind, and which cannot be separated from -one another, or the whole of them banished from our thoughts, without -overturning the foundation of all our habits of judging and reasoning, -and deranging the understanding itself; it follows that the object of -the mind, as an intelligent and rational agent, must be, not to remove -the idea itself immediately as it is impressed on itself, but to remove -those associated feelings and ideas which connect it with the world of -external nature; that is, to make such an alteration in the relation of -external objects, as, according to the necessary connection between -certain objects and certain ideas, can alone produce the desired effect -upon the mind. Our mechanical, and voluntary motives are not therefore -the same, and it is absurd to attempt to reduce them under the same law. -They do not move in concentric spheres, but are like the opposite -currents of a river running many different ways at the same time. The -springs that give birth to our social affections are, by means of the -understanding, as much regulated by the feelings of others, as if they -had a real communication and sympathy with them, and are swayed by an -impulse that is altogether foreign to self-love. - -But to return to my author: it may be expected that I should point out -some of those parts of the work which I think the most excellent. I have -already mentioned the chapter on the nature of consciousness. That on -the necessary connection of our motives is equally admirable for the -clearness and closeness of the reasoning, though he afterwards, somehow -or other, unaccountably deserts his own doctrine. Among the chapters on -subjects of morality, some of those, which I have entitled -miscellaneous, are perhaps the best, as those on vanity, education, -death, etc. The last of these, I have sometimes conceived, has a -resemblance, in a certain peculiar style of reasoning, in which truth -and sophistry are artfully blended together, to Cicero’s beautiful -little treatise on Old Age; and, setting aside the exquisite polish of -style, and gracefulness of the manner, in which it would be ridiculous -to make any comparison with that elegant writer, I think the advantage -is clearly on the side of our author, in ingenuity and richness of -illustration.[72] But he has taken his boldest and most successful -flight, in what he calls the Vision; this is the most singular part of -the work, and that by which our author’s reputation as a man of genius -must stand or fall. I have given it with care, and more at large than -any other part. The best things in it are his meeting with his wife, and -the lecture delivered by Pythagoras. - -Had our author been a vain man, his situation would not have been an -enviable one. Even the sternest stoic of us all wishes at least for some -person to enter into his views and feelings, and confirm him in the -opinion he entertains of himself. But he does not seem to have had his -spirits once cheered by the animating cordial of friendly sympathy. -Discouraged by his friends, neglected by the public, and ridiculed by -the reviewers, he still drew sufficient encouragement from the testimony -of his own mind, and the inward consciousness of truth. He still pursued -his inquiries with the same calmness and industry, and entered into the -little round of his amusements with the same cheerfulness as ever. He -rested satisfied with the enjoyment of himself, and of his own -faculties; and was not disgusted with his simple employments, because -this made no noise in the world. He did not seek for truth as the echo -of loud folly; and he did not desist from the exercise of his own -reason, because he could make no impression on ignorance and vulgarity. -He could contemplate the truth by its own clear light, without the aid -of the false lustre and glittering appearance which it assumes in the -admiring eyes of the beholders. He sought for his reward, where only the -philosopher will find it, in the secret approbation of his own heart, -and the clear convictions of an enlightened understanding. The man of -deep reflection is not likely to gain much popular applause; and he does -not stand in need of it. He has learned to live upon his own stock, and -can build his self-esteem on a better foundation than that of vanity. I -cannot help mentioning, that though Mr. Tucker was blind when he wrote -the last volumes of his work, which he did with a machine contrived by -himself, he has not said a word of this circumstance: this would be with -me a sufficient trait of his character. - - - THE AUTHOR OF An Essay on The Principles of Human Action. - - - - - PREFACE TO A NEW AND IMPROVED GRAMMAR OF THE ENGLISH TONGUE - - - - - BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE - - -Published in one volume 12mo in 1810 (xvii. + 205 pp.) with the -following title-page: ‘A new and improved Grammar of the English Tongue: -for the use of Schools In which the Genius of our Speech is especially -attended to And the Discoveries of Mr. Horne Tooke and other Modern -Writers on the Formation of Language are, for the first time -incorporated By William Hazlitt. Author of an Essay on the Principles of -Human Action etc. etc. etc. To which is added A new Guide to the English -Tongue In a letter to Mr. W. F. Mylius, Author of the School Dictionary, -By Edward Baldwin, Esq. London: Printed for M. J. Godwin, at the -Juvenile Library, No. 41, Skinner Street; And to be had of all -Booksellers. 1810.’ The volume was printed by Richard Taylor and Co., -Shoe-Lane, London. - - - - - PREFACE TO A NEW AND IMPROVED GRAMMAR OF THE ENGLISH TONGUE - - -It is a circumstance which may at first excite some surprise, that, -amidst the various improvements in books of modern education, there has -hitherto been no such thing as a real English Grammar. Those which we -have are little else than translations of the Latin Grammar into -English. We shall, however, no longer wonder at this circumstance, when -we recollect that the Latin Grammar was regularly taught in our schools -several centuries before any attempt was made to introduce the study of -the mother-tongue; and that even since some attention has been paid to -the latter, the study of the learned languages still having the -precedence, our first notions of grammar are necessarily derived from -them. Those who have written on the subject have not been exempt from -the influence of early prejudice, and instead of correcting the error, -have strengthened it. - -The following is an attempt to explain the principles of the English -language, such as it really is. We have endeavoured to admit no -distinctions, which, but for our acquaintance with other languages, we -should never have suspected to exist. The common method of teaching -English grammar by transferring the artificial rules of other languages -to our own, not only occasions much unnecessary trouble and perplexity; -but by loading the memory with mere technical formalities, accustoms the -mind to one of the worst habits that can be,—that of mistaking words for -things, and of admitting a distinction without a difference. We might -here refer particularly to the accounts given, in the most approved and -popular grammars, of the genders, and the objective case of English -nouns, that is, of a case without any difference of termination, and of -genders without any mark denoting sex, &c. &c. In this respect the -French seem to have much the advantage of us; as their grammars are, -generally speaking, real descriptions of their language, not a fanciful -and laboured account of what has no where any existence. - -It is now above twenty years since Mr. Horne Tooke published his -celebrated work on grammar, called the Diversions of Purley. Though this -has produced a very important change in the theory of language, no -notice has been taken of it by grammarians in their definitions of the -Parts of Speech, or in that branch of grammar which usurps the name of -Etymology—an almost inexcusable neglect in those whose professed -business it was to instruct others in the nature and origin of language. -It is the object of the following compilation to take advantage of the -discoveries contained in that work, without adopting its errors.[73] - -The soundest and most useful parts of Mr. T.’s system, are his -researches into the origin of indeclinable words, and we have engrafted -the result of most of these into our little work, so far at least as to -make the subject intelligible to the learner, though if we have merely -excited his curiosity, we shall not have entirely failed in our object. - -The practical rules and observations in the following work are almost -entirely selected from other works of the same kind: if it should be -thought to have any advantage over them, it must be chiefly in the -theoretical and logical part. We shall here therefore present the reader -with a short general view of the subject, to enable him to judge in what -we differ from others, and whether it is for the better or worse. - -It is common to suppose that the parts of speech, or different sorts of -words, relate to different sorts of things or ideas; and that it was to -express this difference in the subject-matter of discourse, that one -class of words was originally appropriated to one class of things, and -another to another. We have endeavoured to show on the contrary, that -the grammatical distinctions of words do not relate to the nature of the -things or ideas spoken of, but to our manner of speaking of them, _i.e._ -to the particular point of view in which we have occasion to consider -them, or combine them with others in the same discourse. The difference -between a substantive and an adjective for instance, does not depend on -the intrinsical nature of the object we think or speak of, but on its -being that concerning which we affirm something, or that which we affirm -of it. So if we say that snow is white, snow, the name of the subject of -discourse, is a substantive, and white, the name of the quality we -attribute to it, is an adjective, not because snow is a substance, and -white a quality, for we may speak of a snowy mountain, or say that -whiteness is hurtful to the eyes, when these words will change their -character, though the things themselves cannot. The things themselves do -not change, but it is we who view them in a different connection with -other things, and who accordingly use different sorts of words to show -the difference of the situation which they occupy in our thoughts and -discourse. - -The article is generally left quite unexplained, a mere anomaly in -language. We have endeavoured to show that it is either the numeral -adjective (_un_, one) or that it belongs to the same class with the -demonstrative pronouns, _this_, _that_, &c. - -A substantive had been generally supposed to be a word expressing a real -thing or substance, as A man, a tree, a house, &c. It was however found -that this definition would exclude many words from being substantives, -which are universally allowed to be so; for example, all words -expressing qualities, actions, abstract ideas, &c. &c. such as, -Whiteness, conquest, kingdom, virtue. The only definition which in -common grammars has been substituted for this circumscribed one is as -much too loose and general: for a substantive is defined by Lowth, -Murray, &c., to be the name of any thing that exists, or of which we can -form any notion. So that all words, _i.e._ all signs of our ideas, must -be substantives. We believe that a substantive is neither the name of a -thing, nor the name of a substance, but the name of a substance or of -any other thing or idea, considered as it is in itself, or as a distinct -individual. That is, it is not the name of a thing really subsisting by -itself (according to the old definition), but of a thing _considered_ as -subsisting by itself. So if we speak of _white_ as a circumstance or -quality of snow, it is an adjective; but if we abstract the idea of -_white_ from the substance to which it belongs, and consider this colour -as it really is in itself, or as a distinct subject of discourse, it -then becomes a substantive, as in the sentence, White or whiteness is -hurtful to the sight. - -Adjectives are constantly defined as if they were the names of certain -qualities, and of no other class of ideas. It is evident from what has -been said that this definition is fallacious. We speak of a _stony_ -road, a _golden_ mountain, a _leather_ girdle, where the words marked in -italics, and which refer to the substance of which a thing is made, not -to its qualities, are confessedly adjectives. Any idea or thing, -considered as a circumstance belonging to or connected with another, may -be an adjective. An adjective therefore differs from a substantive, not -from its expressing some _quality_ of a substance, but from its -expressing any thing that is affirmed of or connected with another, to -wit, its quality, number, form, size, substance, situation, &c. &c., as -may be seen in the instances, A _white_ horse, A _tenth_ part, A _round_ -table, A _small_ book, An _iron_ crown, A _sea_ port. On the other hand, -the characteristic difference between the adjective and the verb is, -that the former expresses something that is usually known to belong to a -thing, or which is taken for granted as a circumstance belonging to it; -whereas the latter or the verb expresses something not usually belonging -to a thing, or known to make a part of it, and which therefore forms the -subject of a distinct proposition. The use of the adjective is to -describe or define the subject of discourse, that of the verb to _mark_ -any addition which the speaker wishes to make to it, or any circumstance -respecting it which it is his immediate object to enforce upon the -hearer. So if we speak of a ‘_poisonous_ plant,’ we take for granted the -connection between the subject and the attribute as a thing of course, -or as already understood; but if we say, ‘hemlock _poisons_, or _is -poisonous_,’ we then distinguish this connection of ideas as one which -we suppose the hearer to be ignorant of, or which we particularly wish -to recal to his attention. - -We have been led unintentionally in speaking of the adjectives to -anticipate our account of the verb. Nothing can be more vague, -unsatisfactory and confused than the definition commonly given of the -last, namely, that it is a word signifying To be, To do, or To suffer. -From this definition the student may be tempted to suppose that Being, -Doing, and Suffering are three particular classes of ideas, which are -always expressed by the verb, and by no other part of speech. Let us -examine how far this is the case. To love, then, is a verb, because it -expresses Being, Doing, or Suffering. Love (the substantive) is not a -verb, and yet it surely expresses either Being, Doing, or Suffering. -Battle, Conquest, &c., are the names of actions, yet they are not verbs, -but substantives. Active, Hasty, Cowardly, are adjectives, all of them -expressing Action, Suffering, Being, or a state of being. In fact, those -who have made and adopted this definition, have sheltered its weakness -under an ambiguous form of expression. If they had said that a verb is a -word signifying Being, Doing, or Suffering, their account would not have -been admitted. The prefix of the infinitive mood (To be, To do, &c.) is -the only resemblance which the definition has to the subject. Instead of -defining the verb, they make use of one. It remains however to show in -what respect To Be, To Do, and To Suffer differ from Being, Doing, and -Suffering. It cannot be in the subject-matter, or the ideas themselves, -for these are the same. - -Some persons have confined the signification of the verb to action. See -Introduction to an Analytical Dictionary by David Booth. But this -hypothesis, which is more determinate than the other, and at least aims -at a meaning, is hardly tenable. The verb To Be does not express action. -To belong to, To possess, To contain, To extend over, &c., do not -express action, _i.e._ motion or change. Not to say that other classes -of words, as nouns and adjectives, express action as well as verbs, as -we have shown above. It would be better to say that a verb expresses -some fact or event, that is to say, Being, Doing, or Suffering, as -distinguished from a state of Being, Doing, or Suffering. But neither do -all verbs express a single act or instance of a thing. When we say Two -and two make four, we do not mean they do so in a single instance, but -always. It is true, however, that verbs oftener express what happens to -a thing, than what belongs to it, and that they do not express any -proposition more generally than the nature of the subject requires. They -make any thing known in a more marked and pointed, and therefore in a -more limited manner. This secondary quality in the verb, however, seems -to form the chief distinction between the participle and the adjective. -Those indeed who make the participle an essential part of the verb, must -adopt the definition here referred to, _viz._ that a verb is a word -signifying a single, not a general attribution of one thing to another, -or the actually being, doing, or suffering any thing, as distinct from a -state of being, doing, or suffering. If we were to adopt any other -definition of the verb than the one we have inserted, it would certainly -be this. But we think it more consistent both with the particular -meaning of words, and with the logic of grammar, to divide adjectives -and verbs into words intended to express a _given_, or known connection -between our ideas, and words intended to communicate a new or unknown -one, than into words representing a continued connection between the -subject and the attribute, and an accidental or momentary one. - -We shall here just notice by the way the very unsatisfactory account of -active and passive verbs given by grammarians. A verb is active, they -say, when it denotes the doing of an action, passive when it denotes the -receiving one. The words _To receive a blow_ will upon this principle -signify the doing of an action, and to say _that an action is performed_ -will signify the receiving one. In fact the notion of agency or -passiveness has no necessary connection with the active and passive -forms of verbs. For an attempt to explain this subject, we refer to the -grammar itself. - -A pronoun is a general term to express an individual. Thus by the words -He, she, it, I, you, &c., we mean that particular person or thing, which -occupies a certain situation in the discourse, the person speaking, or -the person spoken to, &c. A pronoun is literally a word used instead of, -or which supplies the place of a noun, because instead of mentioning the -name of the individual, we only refer to it by some known circumstance -of situation which ascertains the object we mean. Pronouns are therefore -adjectives defining some circumstance of a thing, and put absolutely. - -Adverbs are for the most part words expressing the circumstance, manner, -degree, &c., of an action, or attribute. Some of them, however, as the -words No, Yes, are properly abbreviations of whole sentences, that is, -convey assent to or dissent from an entire proposition. The last of -these words is in fact the French verb, _Ouis_, _I hear_, used as an -indeclinable term, that is, a term having a definite sense and meaning -like declinable words, but not varied to adapt it to different -situations, because it is restricted by custom to a particular -application. The same account may be given of the other indeclinable -words. Prepositions and conjunctions are either nouns or verbs -expressing certain ideas like other nouns and verbs, but which are now -used only for a particular purpose, and in a particular manner; that is -to say, they are abruptly inserted between other words or sentences to -join them together, and point out some such abstract relation between -them as is implied in the original words themselves. So when we say All -except John, we do not mean to address ourselves formally to any person -who is to except or leave out John, though the preposition Except is -undoubtedly the imperative mood of the same verb. We merely mean to -convey the abstract idea, that John is to be excepted from the -observation we have made, or that what is true of the others is not true -of him. So the word From is a noun originally signifying Beginning, and -now inserted before another noun to point it out as the source, cause, -or first instance of any thing: as He speaks _from_ (source) -inspiration, or inspiration being the _cause_ of his speaking. -Interjections are the last class of indeclinable words, and they admit -of a similar explanation. For they are merely words, conveying some -sudden burst of passion, and left standing by themselves without any -regular connection with the rest of the discourse. We also give an -interjectional form to half sentences, when we are hurried on by passion -into the middle of what we mean to express without making any -preparation, as ‘Oh virtue! how amiable thou art! _i.e._ _I cannot -express_ how amiable thou art.’ - -We have thus gone through the different parts of the subject, in order -to enable those who are conversant in such questions, to judge at one -view of the merits or demerits of our plan. It is, we confess, a little -different from others. But those, whose time is chiefly occupied in -learning grammar, whether Latin or English, are not very strongly -prejudiced in favour of established systems. The imperfections of those -systems are obvious and unquestionable; and therefore an assiduous -endeavour to improve upon them, and to place the fundamental articles of -grammatical knowledge on a clearer and more intelligible footing without -implicitly subscribing to error and absurdity merely because they are -old, can scarcely fail to be received with favour, and examined with -fairness, by competent judges. - - - - - NOTES - - - - - A REPLY TO THE ESSAY ON POPULATION - - -Thomas Robert Malthus’s (1766–1834) _Essay on the Principle of -Population as it affects the Future Improvement of Society_ was -published anonymously in 1798. The second edition ‘very much enlarged’ -appeared with the author’s name in a large 4to volume in 1803. For a -sketch of Malthus’s life and doctrine and of the Malthusian controversy, -see Sir Leslie Stephen’s _The English Utilitarians_, II. 137–185 and -238–259. The references in the following notes are to the second (1803) -edition of the Essay. Cf. Hazlitt’s essay on Malthus in _The Spirit of -the Age, ante_, pp. 287–298, and the last five essays in _Political -Essays_, vol. III. pp. 356–385. A paper by De Quincey, entitled -‘Malthus,’ in the _London Magazine_ for Oct. 1823, led to a brief -controversy between De Quincey and Hazlitt, the particulars of which -will be found in De Quincey’s _Works_ (ed. Masson), IX. pp. 3, 20–31. -Hazlitt’s _Reply to Malthus_ was reviewed in the _Edinburgh Review_ for -August 1810 (vol. xvi. p. 464), or rather, as Hazlitt complains, the -title of his _Reply_ was prefixed to an article in the _Edinburgh_ ‘as a -pretence for making a formal eulogy’ on Malthus’s work. Hazlitt -thereupon wrote the following letter to Cobbett’s _Political Register_ -(Nov. 24, 1810, vol. xviii. p. 1014) under the heading ‘Mr. Malthus and -the Edinburgh Reviewers’:— - -‘SIR,—The title-page of a pamphlet which I published some time ago, and -part of which appeared in the Political Register in answer to the Essay -on Population, having been lately prefixed to an article in the -Edinburgh Review as a pretence for making a formal eulogy on that work, -I take the liberty to request your insertion of a few queries, which may -perhaps bring the dispute between Mr. Malthus’s admirers and his -opponents, to some sort of issue. It will, however, first of all be -proper to say something of the article in the Review. The writer of the -article accuses the ‘anonymous’ writer of the reply to the Essay, of -misrepresenting and misunderstanding his author, and undertakes to give -a statement of the real principles of Mr. Malthus’s work. He at the same -time informs us for whom this statement is intended, namely, for those -who are not likely even to read the work itself, and who take their -opinions on all subjects moral, political, and religious, from the -periodical reports of the Edinburgh Review. For my own part, what I have -to say will be addressed to those who have read Mr. Malthus’s work, and -who may be disposed to form some opinion of their own on the -subject.—The most remarkable circumstance in the Review is, that it is a -complete confession of the force of the arguments which have been -brought against the Essay. The defence here set up of it may indeed be -regarded as the euthanasia of that performance. For in what does this -defence consist but in an adoption, point by point, of the principal -objections and limitation, which have been offered to Mr. Malthus’s -system; and which being thus ingeniously applied to gloss its defects, -the Reviewer charges those who had pointed them out with misrepresenting -and vilifying the author? In fact, the advocates of this celebrated work -do not at present defend its doctrines, but deny them. The only resource -left them is that of screening its fallacies from the notice of the -public by raising a cry of misrepresentation against those who attempt -to expose them, and by holding a mask of flimsy affectation over the -real and distinguishing features of the work. Scarcely a glimpse remains -of the striking peculiarities of Mr. Malthus’s reasoning, his bold -paradoxes dwindle by refined gradations into mere harmless -common-places, and what is still more extraordinary, an almost entire -coincidence of sentiment is found to subsist between the author of the -essay and his most zealous opponents, if the ignorance and prejudices of -the latter would but allow them to see it. Indeed the Edinburgh Reviewer -gives pretty broad hints that neither friends nor foes have ever -understood much of the matter, and kindly presents his readers for the -first time, with the true key to this much admired production. He -accordingly proceeds with considerable self-complacency to translate the -language of the essay into the dialect of the Scotch school of economy, -to put quite on one side the author’s geometrical and arithmetical -ratios, which had wrought such wonders, to state that Mr. Malthus never -pretended to make any new discovery, and to quote a passage from Adam -Smith, which suggested the plan of his work; to shew that this far-famed -work which has been so idly magnified, and so unjustly decried as -overturning all the commonly received axioms of political philosophy, -proves absolutely nothing with respect to the prospects of mankind or -the means of social improvement, that the sole hopes either of the -present or of future generations do not centre (strange to tell!) in the -continuance of vice and misery, but in the gradual removal of these, by -diffusing rational views of things and motives of action, and -particularly by ameliorating the condition, securing the independence, -and raising the spirit, of the lower classes of society; and finally -that both the extent of population, and the degree of happiness enjoyed -by the people of any country depend very much upon, and, as far as there -is any difference observable between one country or state of society and -another, are wholly regulated by political institutions, a good or bad -government, moral habits, the state of civilization, commerce, or -agriculture, the improvements in art or science, and a variety of other -causes quite distinct from the sole mechanical principle of population. -And, this Sir, is what the Reviewer imposes on his unsuspecting readers -as the sum and substance, the true scope and effect of Mr. Malthus’s -reasoning. It is in truth an almost literal recapitulation of the chief -topics insisted on in the Reply to the Essay, which the Reviewer seems -silently to regard as a kind of necessary supplement to that work.—In -this account it is evident, both that Mr. Malthus’s pretentions as an -original discoverer are given up by the Reviewer, and that his obnoxious -and extravagant conclusions are carefully suppressed. Now with regard to -the general principle of the disproportion between the power of increase -in population, and in the means of subsistence, and the necessity of -providing some checks, moral or physical, to the former, in order to -keep it on a level with the means of subsistence, I have never in any -instance called in question either of “these important and radical -facts,” which it is the business of Mr. M.’s work to illustrate. All -that I undertook in the Reply to the Essay was to disprove Mr. Malthus’s -claim to the discovery of these facts, and to shew that he had drawn -some very false and sophistical conclusions from them, which do not -appear in the article in the Review. As far therefore as relates to the -Edinburgh Reviewers, and their readers, I might consider my aim as -accomplished, and leave Mr. Malthus’s system and pretensions in the -hands of these friendly critics, who will hardly set the seal of their -authority—on either one or the other, till they have reduced both to -something like their own ordinary standard. But against this I have -several reasons. First, as I never looked upon Mr. Malthus as “a man of -no mark or likelihood,”[74] I should be sorry to see him dandled into -insignificance, and made a mere puppet in the hands of the Reviewers. -Secondly, I in some measure owe it to myself to prove that the -objections I have brought against his system are not the phantoms of my -own imagination. Thirdly, Mr. Malthus’s work cannot be considered as -entirely superseded by the account of it in the Review, as there are, no -doubt, many persons who will still take their opinion of Mr. Malthus’s -doctrines from his own writings, and abide by what they find in the text -as good authority and sound argument, though not sanctioned in the -Commentary.—I will therefore proceed to put the questions I at first -proposed as the best means I can devise for determining, both what the -contents of Mr. Malthus’s work really are, and to what degree of credit -they are entitled, or how far they are true or false, original or -borrowed.’ - -The queries which follow were with a few alterations republished by -Hazlitt in _The Examiner_ (Oct. 29, 1815—The _Round Table_, No. 23) and -in _Political Essays_ (vol. III. pp. 381–5). The alterations are almost -entirely confined to the omission of all reference to the _Edinburgh -Review_, for which Hazlitt himself had begun to write in 1814. The -letter concludes as follows: ‘The drift of these questions, is, I -believe, sufficiently obvious and direct; but if they should not be -thought clear enough in themselves, I am ready to add a suitable -commentary to them, by collating a convenient number of passages from -the Essay, the Reply, and the Review.’ - - PAGE - - 1. LETTER I. First published in Cobbett’s _Political Register_, March - 14, 1807: xi. 398. - - _The proposed alteration._ Hazlitt alludes to the poor-law bill of - Samuel Whitbread (1758–1815), introduced on February 19, 1807. - One of the main features of the scheme was the establishment of - a system of free education. The bill was attacked not only by - Cobbett (_Political Register_, August, September, and October, - 1807), and Hazlitt, but also by Malthus. Portions of the scheme - passed their second readings as separate bills, but were - abandoned. See Martineau, _History of the Peace_, I. 116. - - 2. ‘_Who have none to help them._’ _Job_, xxix. 12. - - ‘_Pride and covetousness._’ _St. Mark_, vii. 22. - - ‘_The compunctious visitings of nature._’ _Macbeth_, Act I. Scene - 5. - - ‘_Laying the flattering unction._’ _Hamlet_, Act III. Scene 4. - - ‘_Grinding the faces of the poor._’ _Isaiah_, iii. 15. - - _Mandeville._ He refers to Bernard Mandeville (1670?–1733), whose - _Fable of the Bees, or Private Vices Public Benefits_, appeared - in 1714. - - ‘_Will but skin and film_,’ _etc._ _Hamlet_, Act III. Scene 4. - - Note. _The late Sir W. Pulteney._ Sir William Johnstone Pulteney, - 5th bart. of Westerhall (1721–1805), M.P. for Shrewsbury in - seven successive parliaments. His name was originally Johnstone, - but he took the name of Pulteney on marrying the youngest - daughter and heiress of Daniel Pulteney, Lord of the Admiralty - in Sir R. Walpole’s Ministry. ‘In private life he was remarked - principally for his frugal habits, which were perhaps the more - striking, as he was supposed to be the richest Commoner in the - kingdom.... In the latter part of his life he was remarkable for - his abstemious manner of living, his food being composed of the - most simple nourishment, principally bread and milk.’ - _Gentleman’s Magazine_, June, 1805, Vol. LXXV., p. 587. In 1804 - he married the widow of Andrew Stuart, who fought a duel with - Thurlow in connection with the Douglas cause. Cf. _ante_, p. - 298. - - 3. _In corpore vili._ This well known saying was quoted by Burke in - his great speech on conciliation with America. See _Select - Works_, ed. Payne, I. 224. The editor in a note (p. 325) quotes - from Menagiana (3rd ed., p. 129) an anecdote of Muretus which is - said to be the origin of the saying. - - 4. ‘_Baser matter._’ _Hamlet_, Act I. Scene 5. - - 5. _Leurre de dupe._ An expression of Rousseau’s (_Confessions_, Liv. - IV.). - - _Unsuccessful endeavours_, _etc._ Hazlitt refers to Whitbread’s - management of the impeachment of Lord Melville for malversation - as Treasurer of the Navy. Melville was acquitted on June 12, - 1806. - - 6. _The celebrated Howard._ John Howard died of camp fever at Kerson - on January 20, 1790, while investigating the condition of - Russian military hospitals. - - _The ‘champion,’_ _etc._ A reference to Pitt’s description of - Buonaparte as ‘the child and champion of Jacobinism. See Vol. - III., note to page 99. - - 7. ‘_The latter end_,’ _etc._ _Tempest_, Act II. Scene 1. - - LETTER II. _Political Register_, May 16, 1807: XI. 883. - - _The English have been called_, _etc._ Diderot said this in his - _Lettre sur les aveugles_, ed. Tourneux, I. 312, but the opinion - was expressed more than once in France during the period of - Anglomania which prevailed in the middle of the eighteenth - century. Cf. Texte, _Jean-Jacques Rousseau_ (trans. Matthews) - pp. 96 _et. seq._ - - 8. ‘_Worthless importunity in rags._’ - - ‘——Lib’ral of their aid - To clam’rous Importunity in rags.’ - Cowper, _The Task_, IV. 413–4. - - 9. ‘_Its bane and antidote._’ Addison’s _Cato_, Act V. Scene 1. - - _Multum abludit imago._ Horace, _Satires_, II. 3, 320. - - _Wallace is the chief._ Robert Wallace (1697–1771), a minister of - the Scottish Church, published his _Various Prospects of - Mankind, Nature, and Providence_, in 1761. The British Museum - copy of Hazlitt’s _Reply_ contains the following MS. note: ‘The - writer of this note put into the hands of Mr. Hazlitt in the - year 1828 a small volume entitled “a philosophical survey of the - animal creation, which is a translation (by the author) of the - Théorie du Système Animal,” which the Rev. John Bruckner had - published some time before: after a perusal of the English - edition of this work, Mr. Hazlitt admitted that the principles - of the Essay on Population had been anticipated to a greater - extent by the Flemish Divine, who settled in England, than they - had been by Mr. Wallace.’ The Rev. John Bruckner (1726–1804), - Minister of the Dutch Church at Norwich, published his _Théorie - du Système Animal_ in 1767, and _Criticisms on the Diversions of - Purley_ in 1790. - - 14. ‘_Present circumstances of the earth._’ In the _Political - Register_ Hazlitt has the following note: ‘A different spirit - breathes through this chapter from that of the Essay; the spirit - of a gentleman, a philosopher, and a philanthropist. Mr. - Malthus, indeed, sometimes limps after his model, and _cants_ - liberality in the true whine of hypocrisy.’ - - 15. ‘_So will his anticipation_,’ _etc._ ‘So shall my anticipation - prevent your discovery.’ _Hamlet_, Act II. Scene 2. - - _Arithmetical series._ In the _Political Register_ the following - note is appended: ‘As far as I understand the nature of an - arithmetical and geometrical series, I do not apprehend that Mr. - M. could make good their strict application to the subject. An - arithmetical series is where any number or quantity is increased - by the perpetual addition of the same given sum or quantity. But - how does Mr. M. know that this is true of the cultivation of the - land, or that much more rapid strides may not be made at one - time than at another?’ - - 15. _Mr. Shandy was of opinion, etc._ _Tristram Shandy_, Book I. chap. - xix. - - 18. LETTER III. _Political Register_, May 23, 1807: xi. 935. Hazlitt - published part of this letter in his _Political Essays_. See - vol. III. pp. 367–374. - - ‘_A swaggering paradox_,’ _etc._ Cf. ‘The paradoxes of one age - become the common-places of the next.’ Jowett, _Plato_, III. - 155. - - 19. _The reply of the author of the Political Justice._ In _Thoughts - on Dr. Parr’s Spital Sermon_ (1801) Godwin replied to Parr, - Mackintosh, and Malthus. Many years later, in 1820, he wrote _Of - Population. An Enquiry concerning the Power of Increase in the - Numbers of Mankind, in Answer to Mr. Malthus on that Subject_. - - 21. ‘_The exuberant strength of my argument._’ A phrase of Malthus’s. - _Essay on Population_, p. 372. - - 22. ‘_What conjuration_,’ _etc._ _Othello_, Act I. Scene 3. - - 23. _And as Trim._ _Tristram Shandy_, Book VI. chap. xxiii. - - 24. ‘_These three bear record_,’ _etc._ Cf. _1 John_, v. 7. - - 25. ‘_Tis as easy as lying_,’ _etc._ _Hamlet_, Act III. Scene 2. - - _To sum up the whole of the argument._ The conclusion of Letter - III. from this point is not in the _Political Register_. - - ‘_And less than smallest dwarfs_,’ _etc._ _Paradise Lost_, I. - 779–781. - - 28. ‘_It cannot but be_,’ _etc._ Malthus, _Essay on Population_, pp. - 353–4. - - 29. ‘_Who am no great clerk._’ Cf. Burke, _A Letter to a Noble Lord_ - (_Works_, Bohn, V. 150). ‘He [Lord Keppel] was no great clerk.’ - - 35. ‘_It may be safely affirmed_,’ _etc._ Malthus, pp. 7–8. - - 36. _Sancho Panza._ _Don Quixote_, Part II., Book III., chap. xlix. - - 38. ‘_Fast by_,’ _etc._ _Paradise Lost_, II. 1051–2. - - ‘_To nature’s furthest verge_,’ _etc._ - - ‘Shoots far into the bosom of dim night - A glimmering dawn. Here Nature first begins - Her farthest verge, and Chaos to retire,’ etc. - _Paradise Lost_, II. 1036–8. - - ‘_Come on, sir_,’ _etc._ _King Lear_, Act IV. Scene 6. - - 41. _A new Iliad of woes._ See note to vol. III. p. 10. - - 42. ‘_It keeps on its way_,’ _etc._ Cf. - - ‘——I do know but one - That unassailable holds on his rank, - Unshaked of motion.’ - _Julius Caesar_, Act III. Scene 1. - - 44. ‘_Squalid poverty._’ Malthus, p. 516. - - Note. ‘_I am not as this poor Hottentot._’ Cf. ‘God, I thank thee, - that I am not as other men are, etc.’ _St. Luke_, xviii. II. - - Note. ‘_Chill and comfortless._’ Cf. ‘All dark and comfortless.’ - _King Lear_, Act III. Scene 7. - - 45. ‘_Palaces, her ladies and her pomp._’ - - ‘Our palaces, our ladies, and our pomp of equipage.’ - Cowper, _The Task_, I. 643–4. - - 46. ‘_Upland swells_,’ _etc._ - - ‘The grassy uplands’ gentle swells - Echo to the bleat of flocks.’ - Coleridge, _Ode on the Departing Year_, ll. 125–6. - - 53. _When Don Quixote had to encounter_, _etc._ See _Don Quixote_, - Part II., Book I. Chap. xiv. - - 55. ‘_Their greatest merit_,’ _etc._ _Othello_, Act III. Scene 3. - - _No maid could live near such a man._ See note to vol. I. p. 305. - - 56. ‘_Were they as prime_,’ _etc._ _Othello_, Act III. Scene 3. - - Note. _Even Miss Howe_, _etc._ In _Clarissa Harlowe_. - - 62. ‘_The sin that most easily besets him._’ _Hebrews_, xii. I. - - ‘_The rich golden shaft_,’ _etc._ _Twelfth Night_, Act I. Scene 1. - - ‘_All for love, or the world well lost._’ Dryden’s version of - _Antony and Cleopatra_ (1678). - - 63. ‘_But as the dust in the balance._’ _Isaiah_, xl. 15. - - _Aaron’s rod._ _Exodus_, vii. 12. - - ‘_Sits umpire_,’ _etc._ _Paradise Lost_, II. 907–9. - - ‘_Our greatest good_,’ _etc._ - - ‘Its former strength was but plethoric ill.’ - Goldsmith, _The Traveller_, 144. - - 66. _Described by Hogarth._ In what Lamb calls the ‘sublime print,’ - entitled ‘Gin Lane.’ - - 70. _Hume’s assertion._ _Dialogues on Natural Religion_, Part XI. p. - 212. The assertion is denied by Malthus in his Essay, p. 587. - - 71. Note. _A late publication._ _Letters to Samuel Whitbread, M.P., on - his proposed Bill for the Amendment of the Poor Laws_ (1807). - - Note. _Jactet_, _etc._ ‘Illa se jactet in aula Aeolus.’ Virgil, - _Aeneid_, I. 140–1. - - 81. _Algernon Sydney._ Sidney’s _Discourses concerning Government_, - written about 1680, in reply to Sir Robert Filmer’s - _Patriarcha_, were first published in 1698. - - 82. ‘_The face of the clearest warning_,’ _etc._ Quoted inaccurately - from Malthus. See _ante_, pp. 173–4. - - 83. Note. ‘_Monks, eremites_,’ _etc._ - - ‘Embryos and idiots, eremites and friars, - White, black, and grey, with all their trumpery.’ - _Paradise Lost_, III. 474–5. - - 84. _Lord Kaims’s account_, _etc._ See Lord Kaims’s _Sketches of the - History of Man_, vol. II. pp. 240–1 (edit. 1788). - - 85. _A common-place book._ Hazlitt refers to James Burgh’s (1714–1775) - _Political Disquisitions: or, an Enquiry into public Errors, - Defects, and Abuses. Illustrated by, and established upon Facts - and Remarks extracted from a Variety of Authors, ancient and - modern. Calculated to draw the timely attention of Government - and People to a due Consideration of the Necessity, and the - Means, of reforming those Errors, Defects, and Abuses; of - restoring the Constitution, and saving the State._ (3 vols. - 1774–5). - - ‘_That honest Chronicler._’ ‘But such an honest chronicler as - Griffith.’ _Henry VIII._, Act IV. Scene 2. - - ‘_The excellent Montague._’ _Reflections on the Rise and Fall of - the Ancient Republics. Adapted to the Present State of Great - Britain_, by Edward Wortley Montagu (1713–1776), son of Lady - Mary Wortley Montagu, was published in 1759. See Burgh’s - _Political Disquisitions_, III. 68 _et seq._ - - 90. _The descendants of the heroes_, _etc._ This passage to the end of - the quotation is from Bolingbroke’s _Political Tracts_, 270. See - Burgh, III. 414. - - 91. _The account which Voltaire gives._ Burgh (III. 410) quotes this - passage from _Essais sur l’Histoire_, II. 60. - - _Since that time it has fallen_, _etc._ It is difficult to - understand what such a worshipper of Napoleon as Hazlitt means - by this sentence. The Vienna Congress (1815) ultimately declared - the perpetual neutrality of Switzerland. - - 92. ‘_I see_,’ _he says, etc._ Burgh, III. 416. - - ‘_A consummation_,’ _etc._ _Hamlet_, Act III. Scene 1. - - 93. _Lord Molesworth._ Robert Molesworth, first Viscount Molesworth - (1656–1725), was appointed envoy extraordinary at the Danish - Court in 1692, but left abruptly in 1694, and in the same year - published _An Account of Denmark as it was in the year 1692_. - See Burgh, III. 412. - - 95. ‘_It must indeed be an answer_,’ _etc._ _All’s Well that Ends - Well_, Act II. Scene 2. - - ‘_A thing may serve_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ - - _Burnet’s Travels._ Gilbert Burnet’s _Some Letters containing an - Account of what seemed most remarkable in Switzerland, Italy, - etc._ (1686). See Burgh, III. 398–9. - - ‘_Italy shews_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ III. 399. - - ‘_In England_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ III. 400. - - 96. ‘_The title of freemen_,’ _etc._ From Spelman’s _Glossary_, quoted - in Burgh, III. 400. - - ‘_It is constantly_,’ _etc._ Quoted by Burgh (III. 400) from - Hume’s _History of the Tudors_, II. 640. - - ‘_Nations have often_,’ _etc._ Burgh, III. 34. - - ‘_A single genius_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ III. 220. - - ‘_Commerce_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ III. 83–4. - - ‘_The extreme poverty_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ III. 84. - - 97. ‘_Government, according to Plato_,’ _etc._ Cf. Burgh, III. 175–8. - - ‘_The great difference we see_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ III. 220. - - ‘_Among the Lacedemonians_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ III. 150. - - 98. ‘_Aristotle lays down_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ III. 156. - - ‘_Lycurgus did not allow_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ - - ‘_At Sparta_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ III. 181. - - ‘_A very wise man_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ III. 100. - - 99. ‘_The grave Romans_,’ _etc._ Cf. _Ibid._ III. 100. The saying - alluded to is Cicero’s. ‘Nemo enim fere saltat sobrius, nisi - forte insanit.’ _Pro Murena._ Cap. 6. - - ‘_In the old English laws_,’ _etc._ Quoted by Burgh (III. 139) - from Spelman’s _Concilia_. - - ‘_Who elbow us aside_,’ _etc._ - - ‘Till prostitution elbow us aside - In all our crowded streets.’ - Cowper, _The Task_, III. 60–1. - - 100. ‘_Insensés qui vous plaignez_,’ _etc._ Hazlitt seems to be - recalling imperfectly a passage in Rousseau’s _Émile_ (Liv. - I.):—‘Nous plaignons le sort de l’enfance, et c’est le nôtre - qu’il faudroit plaindre. Nos plus grands maux nous viennent de - nous.’ See also a letter to Voltaire, 18th August 1756. - _Correspondance_ (1822), I. 216 et seq. - - 101. _Zaleucus._ See Burgh, III. 180. - - _The greedy eye_, _etc._ Cf. _The English Comic Writers_. (‘Comic - Writers of the last Century’), and _The Round Table_ (‘On Modern - Comedy’), vol. I., p. 13. - - 102. _Narcissus and the Graces._ A ballet by Sir Henry Rowley Bishop - (1786–1855), produced at the King’s Theatre, June, 1806. - - Note. _The Memoirs of Fanny Hill._ _Fanny Hill, or the Memoirs of - a Woman of Pleasure_, by John Cleland (1709–1789), was - published, Part I. in 1748, Part II. in 1749. In 1750 the work - was republished in a milder form by Ralph Griffiths, who is said - to have paid twenty guineas for the copyright, and made a profit - of £10,000. Cleland was summoned before the Privy Council, and - received a pension of £100 from Lord Granville that he might - devote himself to worthier forms of literature. - - 104. ‘_In which the wicked_,’ _etc._ _Job_, iii. 17. - - ‘_Happy are they_,’ _etc._ Hazlitt repeated this paragraph in a - paper in _The Yellow Dwarf_. See _Political Essays_, vol. III., - note to p. 266. - - ‘_Hurt by the archers._’ Cowper, _The Task_, III. 113. - - 105. ‘_M. Condorcet’s “Esquisse,”_’ _etc._ Malthus, p. 354. Condorcet’s - work appeared in 1794. - - 106. ‘_This posthumous publication_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ - - 107. ‘_This would indeed_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ p. 368. - - 108. _White Conduit-House._ A ‘popular place of entertainment and - tea-gardens’ at Pentonville. See Wheatley and Cunningham’s - _London Past and Present_, III. 496, and _ibid._, I. 86, for an - account of Bagnigge-Wells, a ‘noted place of entertainment, much - resorted to the lower sort of tradesman,’ in the neighbourhood - of King’s Cross. - - ‘_There exists_,’ _etc._ Malthus, p. 355. - - 109. ‘_Such establishments_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ p. 356. - - 110. _‘Killing frost._’ _Henry VIII._, Act III. Scene 2. See Malthus, - p. 356. - - 111. ‘_Variations’ etc._ Malthus, p, 359. - - 112. ‘_It will be said, perhaps._’ _Ibid._ p. 362. - - 113. ‘_What can we reason_,’ _etc._ Pope’s _Essay on Man_, I. 18. - - 116. Note. Dr. Paley. See his _Evidences of Christianity_. Preparatory - Considerations. Of the antecedent credibility of miracles. - - 117. _The old argument of the Heap._ Hazlitt alludes to a favourite - logical _impasse_ of the Stoics: ‘What constitutes a heap? Is it - two, three, or four atoms, and on taking them away, when does a - heap cease to exist?’ Cf. Horace, _Ep._ II. 1–47; and Cicero, - _De Div._ II. 4. - - _‘It does not, however_,’ _etc._ Malthus, p. 363. - - _Quotes Bickerstaff._ See _The Tatler_, No. 75. - - ‘_Mr. Godwin_,’ _etc._ Malthus, p. 367. - - 118. ‘_It is not, therefore_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ p. 43. - - 120. ‘_They neither marry_,’ _etc._ _St. Matthew_, xxii. 30. - - 122. ‘_It may be curious_,’ _etc._ Malthus, p. 374. - - 128. _The charge which he brings against Paine._ _Ibid._ p. 530. - - 130. ‘_Those who were born_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ p. 377. - - 132. ‘_‘A man’ he says_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ p. 531. - - 134. ‘_In most countries_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ p. 537. - - 135. ‘_There is one right_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ p. 531. - - 138. ‘_Sharpens his understanding_,’ _etc._ ‘Thy flinty heart,’ occurs - in _Henry VI._, Part II., Act III. Scene 2. - - 139. ‘_Metaphysical aid._’ _Macbeth_, Act I. Scene 5. - - 140. ‘_The quantity of food_,’ _etc._ Malthus, p. 375. - - 142. ‘_As Mr. Godwin_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ p. 381. - - 143. ‘_He is himself again._’ ‘Richard’s himself again.’ Colley - Cibber’s version of _Richard III._, Act V. Scene 3. - - 145. ‘_Which after_,’ _etc._ Butler, _Hudibras_, Part II., Canto I, - 377–8. - - ‘_Suppose_,’ _etc._ Malthus, p. 396. - - ‘_The question is_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ p. 422. - - 146. ‘_It may at fist_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ p. 398. - - 150. ‘_They lay heavy burthens_,’ _etc._ _St. Matthew_, xxiii. 4. - - ‘_Fared sumptuously_,’ _etc._ _St. Luke_, xvi. 19. - - 151. ‘_If instead_,’ _etc._ Malthus, p. 405. - - 153. ‘_Whose solid virtue_,’ _etc._ _Othello_, Act IV. Scene 1. - - 156. ‘_Independently of any considerations_,’ _etc._ Malthus, p. 409. - - 157. ‘_Alas from what height fallen._’ Cf. - - ‘——into what pit thou seest - From what highth fallen.’ - _Paradise Lost_, I. 91–2. - - And - - ‘Alas, from what high hope to what relapse - Unlooked for are we fallen!’ - _Paradise Regained_, II. 30–1. - - 158. ‘_Comes to him_,’ _etc._ _Romeo and Juliet_, Act I. Scene 4. - - ‘_Shall no more impart_,’ _etc._ Goldsmith, _The Deserted - Village_, 239–40. - - ‘_Their drunkenness and dissipation._’ Malthus, p. 411. - - ‘_Their squalid appearance._’ See _Ibid._ p. 516. - - 159. ‘_The symmetry of person_,’ _etc._ This is a quotation of - Malthus’s (p. 488) from Godwin (_Political Justice_, Vol. I., - Book I., Chap. v). - - ‘_Our Doctors Commons_,’ _etc._ Malthus, p. 576. - - ‘_Father Paul._’ In Sheridan’s _Duenna_, first performed in 1775 - at Covent Garden. - - ‘_That the poor_,’ _etc._ Malthus, p. 411. - - ‘_A man who_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ - - 160. ‘_“If,” says he_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ p. 540. - - 161. ‘_This is well said_,’ _etc._ _Henry VIII._, Act III. Scene 2. - - 162. ‘_I like not_,’ _etc._ _Merry Wives of Windsor_, Act. IV. Scene 2. - - 165. _Omne tulit punctum._ Horace, _Ars Poetica_, 343. - - 166. _Mr. Burke has said._ ‘Nobody will be argued into slavery.’ - _Speech on American Taxation_ (April 19, 1774, _Select Works_, - ed. Payne, I. 155). - - 166. ‘_Among the prejudices_,’ _etc._ Malthus, p. 477. - - Note. _Tucker._ Abraham Tucker (1705–1774), whose chief work _The - Light of Nature Pursued_ (7 vols., 1768–1778) was abridged by - Hazlitt (1807). See _ante_, pp. 371–385. Paley admitted his - obligations to Tucker. - - 168. ‘_Will come when it will come._’ _Julius Caesar_, Act II. Scene 2. - - ‘_The object of those_,’ _etc._ Malthus, p. 508. - - 169. ‘_The pressure of distress_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ p. 525. - - _Blifil._ In _Tom Jones_. - - _The euthanasia foretold by Hume._ See his Essay ‘On the British - Government.’ ‘They talk,’ said Burke, ‘of Mr. Hume’s Euthanasia - of the British Constitution gently expiring without a groan in - the paternal arms of a mere Monarchy. In a monarchy! Fine - trifling indeed! There is no such Euthanasia for the British - Constitution.’ _Regicide Peace_ (ed. Payne), p. 352. - - 172. _Timeo Danaos, et dona ferentes._ Virgil, _Aeneid_, II. 49. - - _As the husband secured the virtue of his wife_, _etc._ That is, - presumably, by cutting off her head, ‘the Sign of the Good - Woman,’ representing a headless woman carrying her head in her - hand. - - 173. ‘_I should propose_,’ _etc._ Malthus, p. 538. A great part of the - rest of Hazlitt’s _Reply_ was repeated in the _Political - Essays_. See vol. III. pp. 374–381. - - 176. ‘_These paper bullets of the brain._’ _Much Ado about Nothing_, - Act II. Scene 3. - - 177. ‘_Would submit to the sufferings_‘, _etc._ Malthus, p. 539. - - 180. ‘_The scanty relief_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ p. 415. - - ‘_If, as in Ireland_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ p. 548. - - 181. ‘_It is not enough_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ p. 549. - - 183. ‘_In some conversations_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ p. 553. - - _Anthony’s repeated declaration._ _Julius Caesar_, Act III. Scene - 2. - - 184. ‘_It very rarely_,’ _etc._ Malthus’s _Essay_ (1st edition, 1798), - p. 34. - - - THE SPIRIT OF THE AGE - - 189. JEREMY BENTHAM. This essay appeared originally in the _New Monthly - Magazine_ (1824, vol. X. p. 68), of which Thomas Campbell was - editor from 1820 to 1830. For an account of Bentham’s life and - work, see Sir Leslie Stephen’s _The English Utilitarians_, vol. - I. pp. 169–326. - - _The old adage._ ‘A prophet is not without honour, save in his own - country, and in his own house.’ _St. Matthew_, xiii. 57. - - _In the plains of Chili_, _etc._ Bentham had many disciples among - the patriots of South America, and in 1808 thought seriously of - going to Mexico. - - _Westminster, where he lives._ In Queen Square Place, now Queen - Anne’s Gate. Hazlitt himself was from 1812 to 1819 a tenant of - Bentham’s in Milton’s old house in Petty France, the garden of - which Bentham had added to his house in Queen Square. See - frontispiece to vol. III., and _ante_, p. 190. - - ‘_I know thee_,’ _etc._ ‘I have seen thee in her, and I do adore - thee: my mistress show’d me thee, and thy dog, and thy bush.’ - _The Tempest_, Act II. Scene 2. - - _Mr. Hobhouse._ John Cam Hobhouse (1786–1869) was defeated at - Westminster in February 1819, but was returned in the following - year. - - _Lord Rolle._ John Rolle (1795–1842) was the hero of _The - Rolliad_, and sat for the great maritime county of Devonshire. - He was raised to the peerage in 1796. See Wraxall’s _Historical - and Posthumous Memoirs_ (ed. Wheatley, IV. 116–119). - - ‘_That waft a thought_,’ _etc._ ‘And waft a sigh from Indus to the - Pole.’ Pope, _Eloisa to Abelard_, 58. - - _Sir Samuel Romilly._ Romilly was returned for Westminster in July - 1818. He had already taken an active part in Parliament as a - law-reformer. - - 190. ‘_Lone island_,’ _etc._ ‘Some happier island in the watery waste.’ - Pope, _Essay on Man_, I. 106. - - _Chrestomathic School._ The object of this was to apply - Lancasterian principles to the education of the middle classes. - An association, of which Mackintosh, Brougham, James Mill, and - others were trustees, was formed in 1814, and Bentham offered - his garden as a site, but the scheme came to nothing. See Sir - Leslie Stephen’s _The English Utilitarians_, vol. II. p. 22. - - _Franklin._ Bentham seems to have had a strong personal - resemblance to Benjamin Franklin. - - 191. _Foregone conclusion._ _Othello_, Act III. Scene 3. - - 192. _Mr. Bentham is not the first writer_, _etc._ The principle of - utility had been expressed by (among others) Priestley (_Essay - on Government_, 1768), Hutcheson (_Enquiry concerning Moral Good - and Evil_, 1725), and Beccaria (_On Crimes and Punishments_, - 1764). See _The English Utilitarians_, vol. I. p. 178. - - ‘_He has not allowed for the wind._’ A familiar expression which - Hazlitt may have seen in _Ivanhoe_, Chap. xiii. - - ‘_Bound volatile Hermes._’ _Paradise Lost_, III. 602–3. - - 193. ‘_All appliances_,’ _etc._ _Henry IV._, Part II., Act III. Scene - 1. - - _Posthæc, etc._ ‘Forsan et haec olim meminisse juvabit.’ Virgil, - _Aeneid_, I. 203. - - 195. _No more than Montaigne_, _etc._ Essays, Booke II., Chap. xii. An - Apologie of Raymond Sebond. Florio’s translation, _Temple - Classics_, Vol. II., p. 209. - - 196. ‘_All men act_,’ _etc._ ‘Men calculate, some with less exactness, - indeed, some with more: but all men calculate. I would not say, - that even a madman does not calculate.’ _Principles of Morals - and Legislation_, Chap. XIV. § xxviii. - - 196. _Too knowing by half._ ‘That’s too civil by half.’ Sheridan, _The - Rivals_, Act III. Scene 4. - - 197. _A Panopticon._ ‘A mill for grinding rogues honest, and idle men - industrious’ (Bentham, _Works_, X. 226). Bentham published an - account of the scheme in 1791 under the title of ‘The - Panopticon, or the Inspection House,’ and spent a great deal of - money in connection with it. Ultimately a committee reported - against the scheme and proceeded to found the Millbank - Penitentiary, which was opened in 1816. See _The English - Utilitarians_, I. 193–206. - - 197. ‘_Dip it in the ocean_,’ _etc._ ‘But I fear, friend, said I, this - buckle won’t stand ... you may immerse it, replied he, into the - ocean, and it will stand.’ _A Sentimental Journey_, The Wig, - Paris. - - 198. _Mr. Owen._ Cf. _Political Essays_ (vol. III. pp. 121–7) and - _Table-Talk_ (‘On People with one Idea’). - - _His address to the higher and middle classes._ The second of - Coleridge’s Lay Sermons (1817) was ‘addressed to the higher and - middle classes.’ - - _Hunter’s captivity among the North American Indians._ J. Dunn - Hunter’s _Memoirs of a Captivity amongst the Indians of North - America, from Childhood to the Age of Nineteen_, _etc._, 1824. - - 199. _In nook monastic._ ‘To forswear the full stream of the world and - to live in a nook merely monastic.’ _As You Like It_, Act III. - Scene 2. - - ‘_Men of Ind._’ _The Tempest_, Act II. Scene 2. - - _Mr. Speaker Abbott._ Charles Abbot (1757–1829) was Speaker from - 1802 to 1817, when he retired and became Lord Colchester. His - mother was the second wife of Bentham’s father. His unique Diary - and Correspondence, extending from 1795 to 1829, were published - in 3 vols. in 1861. - - _He was educated at Eton._ Bentham was a Westminster boy. - - 200. _At the University._ Bentham went to Queen’s College, Oxford, in - 1760, and took his M.A. degree in 1766. - - _Church-of-Englandism._ _Church of Englandism and its Catechism - examined_, published in 1818. - - ‘_To be honest_,’ _etc._ _Hamlet_, Act II. Scene 2. - - ‘_Looked enough abroad_,’ _etc._ ‘The corrupter sort of - politicians, who are not by learning established in a love of - duty, nor ever look abroad into universality.’ _Advancement of - Learning_, Book I. - - _Mr. Godwin._ For Godwin see C. Kegan Paul’s _William Godwin: his - Friends and Contemporaries_, 2 vols. 1876. - - 201. _Political Justice._ Godwin’s _Enquiry concerning Political - Justice and its Influence on Morals and Happiness_ was published - in 1793, _Things as they are; or the Adventures of Caleb - Williams_ in 1794. - - _As Goldsmith used to say._ ‘Whenever I write any thing, the - public _make a point_ to know nothing about it.’ Boswell, _Life - of Johnson_ (ed. G. B. Hill), III. 252. - - _Sedet, in eternumque, etc._ - - ‘Sedet, aeternumque sedebit, - Infelix Theseus.’ - Virgil, _Aeneid_, VI. 617–18. - - _The false Duessa._ _The Faerie Queene_, Book II., Canto ii., and - Canto viii. Stanzas 46–8. - - 201. _His House of Pride._ - - ‘And all the hinder partes, that few could spie, - Were ruinous and old, but painted cunningly.’ - _Ibid._ Book I., Canto iv. Stanza 5. - - ‘_The pillar’d firmament_,’ _etc._ _Comus_, 598–9. - - 202. ‘_What, then_,’ _etc._ _St. Matthew_, xi. 7. - - _Mr. Southey’s Inscriptions._ Southey’s early ‘Inscriptions’ - (1796–9), some of which he reprinted in the collected edition of - his poems (1837–8), are, like his _Joan of Arc_ and _Wat Tyler_, - strongly radical in sentiment. See Hazlitt’s _Political Essays_ - (vol. III. p. 205). - - _Mr. Coleridge’s Religious Musings._ Published in _Poems on - Various Subjects_, 1796. - - ‘_Like Cato_,’ _etc._ Pope, _Prologue to the Satires_, 208. The - line is taken from Pope’s own Prologue to Addison’s _Cato_. - - ‘_By that sin fell the angels._’ _Henry VIII._, Act III. Scene 2. - - 204. ‘_There was the rub_,’ _etc._ - - ‘There’s the respect - That makes calamity of so long life.’ - _Hamlet_, Act III. Scene 1. - - 204. ‘_Trenchant blade._’ - - ‘Let not the virgin’s cheek - Make soft thy trenchant sword.’ - _Timon of Athens_, Act IV. Scene 3. - - ‘_All is conscience and tender heart._’ Chaucer, _Prologue_, 150. - - Note. See John Leland’s _A View of the Deistical Writers_, _etc._, - Letter vii. - - 205. ‘_So ran the tenour of the bond._’ Cf. _The Merchant of Venice_, - Act IV. Scene 1. - - ‘_It was well said_,’ _etc._ See _ante_, note to p. 161. - - ‘_Fallen first_,’ _etc._ _Hamlet_, Act II. Scene 2. - - ‘_Lost the immortal part_,’ _etc._ _Othello_, Act II. Scene 3. - - ‘_The guide_,’ _etc._ - - ‘The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, - The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul - Of all my moral being.’ - Wordsworth, _Lines composed a few miles above Tintern Abbey_. - - 206. _Sir Walter Scott._ ‘Scott’s baronetcy,’ says Lockhart, ‘was - conferred on him, not in consequence of any Ministerial - suggestion, but by the King personally, and of his own - unsolicited motion; and when the Poet kissed his hand he said to - him: “I shall always reflect with pleasure on Sir Walter Scott’s - having been the first creation of my reign.”’ The baronetcy was - Gazetted on March 30, 1820. - - ‘_When in Auvergne_,’ _etc._ Quoted inaccurately from _Quentin - Durward_, Chap. i. - - ‘_Reason is the queen_,’ _etc._ Hazlitt quotes a passage of his - own. See _Political Essays_, Vol. III., pp. 90–1. - - 207. ‘_The unreasonableness of the reason_,’ _etc._ See _Don Quixote_, - Book I., Chap. i. - - ‘_Flying an eagle flight_,’ _etc._ _Timon of Athens_, Act I. Scene - 1. - - ‘_Thus far_,’ _etc._ _Job_, xxxviii. 11. - - _Captain Parry._ Captain, afterwards Sir William Edward Parry - (1790–1855) had recently returned from the second of his voyages - for the discovery of a north-west passage. - - 208. ‘_Championing it to the Outrance._’ ‘And champion me to the - utterance!’ _Macbeth_, Act III. Scene 1. - - 208. _Caleb Williams._ Published in 1794. _St. Leon: A Tale of the - Sixteenth Century_, appeared in 1799. - - Note. _Mr. Fuseli._ Henry Fuseli (1741–1825), the painter, for - whom, according to his biographer, Mary Wollstonecraft - (afterwards Godwin’s wife) formed her first attachment. - - 209. ‘_Bastards of his art._’ Cf. - - ‘Thought characters and words merely but art - And bastards of his foul adulterate heart.’ - Shakespeare, _A Lover’s Complaint_, ll. 174–5. - - _Allen-a-Dale._ This ‘northern minstrel’ figures in Scott’s own - _Ivanhoe_. - - _Fleetwood._ _Fleetwood; or, the New Man of Feeling_, was - published in 1805, _Mandeville: a Tale of the Seventeenth - Century_, in 1817. - - 210. _His Life of Chaucer._ Published in 1803. _His Remarks on Judge - Eyre’s Charge to the Jury. Cursory Strictures on the Charge of - Chief-Justice Eyre_ appeared in the _Morning Chronicle_ on - October 20, 1794. Godwin’s own note and the notes of his - daughter, Mrs. Shelley, on the political trials of that year, - will be found in C. Kegan Paul’s _William Godwin: His Friends - and Contemporaries_ (I. 117–137). Cf. Hazlitt’s _Life of Thomas - Holcroft_, Vol. II., pp. 139 _et seq._ - - _Skulked behind a British throne._ See Vol. I., p. 378, note. - - _A Volume of Sermons._ _Sketches of History, in Six Sermons_ - (1784). - - _A life of Chatham._ Published anonymously in 1783. - - Note. _Antonio_, a tragedy in verse, was produced on December - 13, 1800, and ‘damned finally and hopelessly.’ See Kegan Paul - (II. 36–55), where Lamb’s account of the tragedy and its - representation (not reprinted in the _Essays of Elia_) is - quoted from a paper in the _London Magazine_ (April 1, 1822). - _Faulkener_ (not _Ferdinand_), a tragedy in prose, was - produced with more success on December 16, 1807. Lamb wrote - prologues to both plays. This play, which was sent to Holcroft - to be touched up for the stage, led to a quarrel between the - friends. See Kegan Paul, II. 122 _et seq._ - - _Mr. Fawcett._ For Hazlitt’s account of Joseph Fawcett see _Table - Talk_ (On Criticism). - - _A Speech on General Warrants._ Hazlitt refers to a speech of - Chatham’s, not on General Warrants, but on the Cyder Tax in the - Budget of 1763. The Parliamentary History gives only a few - lines, but the passage quoted by Hazlitt will be found in Lord - Brougham’s _Historical Studies of Statesmen during George III.’s - reign_. - - 212. _Mr. Coleridge, who_, _etc._ Hazlitt seems to refer to Coleridge’s - Lectures on Poetry, delivered at the Royal Institution in 1808. - - _A History of the Commonwealth of England._ Published in 4 - volumes, 1824–8. - - _A very admirable likeness._ Reproduced as frontispiece to Vol. I. - of Kegan Paul’s _William Godwin_, _etc._ - - _Mrs. Wollstonecraft._ Godwin married Mary Wollstonecraft on March - 29, 1797. Mrs. Inchbald, according to Mrs. Shelley (Kegan Paul, - I. 239) shed tears when the announcement was made to her. - - 213. _And thank the bounteous Pan._ ‘In wanton dance they praise the - bounteous Pan.’ _Comus_, 176. - - ‘_A mind reflecting ages past._’ These words occur in the first - line of a laudatory poem on Shakespeare printed in the second - folio (1632). The poem is signed ‘J. M. S.’ and was attributed - by Coleridge to ‘John Milton, Student.’ See his _Lectures on - Shakspere_ (ed. T. Ashe), pp. 129–30. - - 213. ‘_Dark rearward and abyss._’ Cf. ‘In the dark backward and abysm - of time.’ _The Tempest_, Act I., Scene 2. - - ‘_That which was now a horse_,’ _etc._ _Antony and Cleopatra_, Act - IV. Scene 14. - - ‘_Quick, forgetive, apprehensive._’ ‘Makes it apprehensive, quick, - forgetive.’ _Henry IV._, Part II., Act IV. Scene 3. - - 214. ‘_What in him is weak_,’ _etc._ Cf. - - ‘——what in me is dark, - Illumine, what is low raise and support.’ - _Paradise Lost_, I. 22–3. - - ‘_And by the force_,’ _etc._ - - ‘As by the strength of their illusion - Shall draw him on to his confusion.’ - _Macbeth_, Act III. Scene 5. - - ‘_Blear_ illusion’ is a phrase of Milton’s (_Comus_, 155). - - ‘_Rich strond._’ See _The Faerie Queene_, Book III., Canto iv., - Stanzas 18., 29., and 34. - - ‘_Goes sounding on his way._’ Hazlitt seems to have had a hazy - recollection of two passages in Chaucer’s _Prologue_. In his - essay on ‘My First Acquaintance with Poets,’ he says, ‘the - scholar in Chaucer is described as going “sounding on his way,”’ - and in his _Lectures on the English Poets_ (see Vol. V., p. 13) - he says ‘the merchant, as described in Chaucer, went on his way - “sounding always the increase of his winning.’” The scholar is - not described as ‘sounding on his way,’ but Chaucer says of him, - ‘Souninge in moral vertu was his speche,’ while the merchant, - though ‘souninge alway th’ encrees of his winning,’ is - not described as going on his way. Wordsworth has a line - (_Excursion_, Book III.), ‘Went sounding on a dim and perilous - way,’ but it seems clear that Hazlitt thought he was quoting - Chaucer. - - ‘_His own nothings monstered._’ _Coriolanus_, Act II. Scene 2. - - 215. ‘_Letting contemplation_,’ _etc._ Cf. ‘Till Contemplation had her - fill.’ Dyer, _Grongar Hill_, l. 26. - - ‘_Sailing with supreme dominion_,’ _etc._ Gray, _The Progress of - Poesy_, 115–6. - - ‘_He lisped in numbers_,’ _etc._ Pope, _Prologue to the Satires_, - 128. - - _Ode on Chatterton._ _Monody on the Death of Chatterton_, written - in 1790 when Coleridge was eighteen. - - _Gained several prizes._ At Cambridge Coleridge won the Browne - Gold Medal for a Greek Ode in 1792. - - 216. ‘_Struggling in vain_,’ _etc._ Wordsworth, _The Excursion_, Book - VI. - - ‘_Etherial braid_,’ _etc._ Hazlitt perhaps recalled two passages - from Collins, ‘with brede etherial wove’ (_Ode to Evening_), and - ‘the shadowy tribes of mind, in braided dance their murmurs - joined’ (_Ode on the Poetical Character_). - - _Next he was engaged_, _etc._ Some foundation for this account of - Coleridge will be found in his published writings, especially in - _The Friend_ and _Biographia Literaria_, but Hazlitt seems to - have drawn largely upon his recollections of Coleridge’s - conversation. See his essay, ‘My First Acquaintance with the - Poets.’ - - _Like Ariel._ _The Tempest_, Act I. Scene 2. - - Note. ‘_And so by many winding nooks_,’ _etc._ _Two Gentlemen of - Verona_, Act II. Scene 7. - - _Malebranche._ The _De la Recherche de la Vérité_ of Nicolas - Malebranche (1638–1715) was published in 1674. - - _Cudworth’s Intellectual System._ Ralph Cudworth’s (1617–1688) - _True Intellectual System of the Universe_ (1678). - - 216. _Lord Brook’s hieroglyphic theories._ For Fulke Greville, Lord - Brooke (1554–1628), the friend of Sir Philip Sidney, see - Hazlitt’s essay ‘On persons one would wish to have seen’ - (_Literary Remains_), where Lamb speaks of Greville’s - ‘apocalyptical, cabalistical’ style. - - _The Duchess of Newcastle’s fantastic folios._ Margaret Cavendish, - Duchess of Newcastle (1624–1674), published between 1653 - and 1668 a number of folio volumes of poems, plays, and - philosophical treatises. Lamb speaks of her (_Essays of Elia_, - ‘Mackery End in Hertfordshire’) as ‘the thrice noble, - chaste, and virtuous, but again somewhat fantastical, and - original-brained, generous Margaret Newcastle,’ and in another - essay (The Two Races of Men) charges Kenney with having carried - off” with him ‘the letters of that princely woman, the thrice - noble Margaret Newcastle.’ - - _The hortus siccus of Dissent._ Burke, _Reflections on the - Revolution in France_ (_Select Works_, ed. Payne, II. 14). - - 217. _John Huss_, _etc._ Cf. a passage in the _Political Essays_, vol, - III. p. 265, and notes thereon. - - _His Religious Musings._ First published in _Poems on various - subjects_ (1796). - - _The John Bull._ The first number of ‘John Bull,’ Theodore Hook’s - rascally paper founded to oppose the agitation in favour of - Queen Caroline, appeared on Dec. 17, 1820. Arbuthnot’s _History - of John Bull_ appeared in 1712. - - ‘_Laughed with Rabelais_,’ _etc._ - - ‘Or laugh and shake in Rab’lais easy chair.’ - Pope, _The Dunciad_, I. 22. - - ‘_Spoke with rapture of Raphael_,’ _etc._ Coleridge visited Rome - in 1806 on his way from Malta to England. - - 218. _Sang for joy_, _etc._ Coleridge’s Stanzas entitled _Destruction - of the Bastile_ (of which the second and third are lost) were - first published in 1834. They were written about 1789, and - Hazlitt may have seen them. - - ‘_In Philarmonia’s undivided dale._’ Coleridge in his lines _To - the Rev. W. J. Hort_, plainly refers to the Pantisocracy scheme. - Stanza 3, begins - - ‘In Freedom’s UNDIVIDED dell, - Where _Toil_ and _Health_ with mellowed _Love_ shall dwell, - Far from folly, far from men,’ etc. - - ‘_Frailty_,’ _etc._ ‘Frailty, thy name is woman!’ _Hamlet_, Act I. - Scene 2. - - _Paragraphs in the Courier._ Many of Coleridge’s contributions to - _The Courier_, chiefly from 1809 to 1811, are published in - _Essays on his own Times_ (1850). - - _A poet-laureate or stamp-distributor._ The reference is of course - to Southey and Wordsworth. - - ‘_Bourne from whence_,’ _etc._ _Hamlet_, Act III. Scene 1. - - 219. _One splendid passage._ ‘Alas! they had been friends in youth,’ - etc., lines 408–426. Cf. Hazlitt’s _Lectures on the English - Poets_ (on the Living Poets). - - _The Friend._ See note to vol. III. p. 139. - - 220. ‘_He cannot be constrained by mastery._’ Wordsworth, _The - Excursion_, Book VI. See note to vol. III. p. 166. - - 221. ‘_Taught with the little nautilus to sail._’ Pope, _Essay on Man_, - III. 177. - - ‘_Youth at its prow_,’ _etc._ Gray, _The Bard_, II. 2. - - _It was a misfortune_, _etc._ This concluding paragraph was added - in the second edition. - - _Instead of gathering_, _etc._ Cf. Hazlitt’s essay ‘On Poetical - Versatility’ in _The Round Table_ (vol. III. p. 151). - - ‘_From the pelting of the pitiless storm._’ _King Lear_, Act III. - Scene 4. - - ‘_As with triple steel._’ _Paradise Lost_, II. 569. - - ‘_His words were hollow_’ _etc._ Cf. ‘But all was false and - hollow ... yet he pleased the ear.’ _Paradise Lost_, II. 112–7. - - 222. ‘_And curs’d the hour_,’ _etc._ - - ‘Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, - When first from Schiraz’ walls I bent my way!’ - Collins, _Oriental Eclogues_, II. - - MR. IRVING. This essay is from the _New Monthly Magazine_ (1824, - vol. X. p. 187). Edward Irving (1792–1834), after having been - for a time Dr. Chalmers’s assistant at Glasgow, came to London - in July 1822, as minister of the Caledonian Asylum Chapel in - Cross Street, Hatton Garden. In 1829 he removed into the new - church, built for him in Regent Square, where the ‘unknown - tongues’ began to be heard. Hazlitt wrote a paper for _The - Liberal_ (1823) entitled ‘Pulpit Oratory, Dr. Chalmers and Mr. - Irving,’ reprinted in the present edition. - - _A burning and a shining light._ _St. John_, V. 35. - - ‘_Nothing extenuate_,’ _etc._ _Othello_, Act V. Scene 2. - - 223. _After the last fight._ Between the Gas-man and Bill Neate - described by Hazlitt himself in the Essay entitled ‘The Fight,’ - republished in _Literary Remains_. - - _Shaw the Life-guardsman._ Apostrophised by Moore in his _Epistle - from Tom Crib to Big Ben_. In a note Moore describes him as ‘a - Life Guardsman, one of the Fancy, who distinguished himself, and - was killed in the memorable _set-to_ at Waterloo.’ - - _Crib or Molyneux._ Tom Cribb (1781–1848) the champion pugilist - defeated Tom Molineaux, an American black, in two fights (1810 - and 1811). At the time of Hazlitt’s essay, Cribb had retired, - and was proprietor of a public house, the King’s Arms, at the - corner of Duke Street and King Street, St. James’s. - - _Miss Macauley’s readings._ Elizabeth Wright Macauley (1785–1837), - poetess, actress, public reader, pamphleteer and preacher, - appeared at Covent Garden in 1819 in the rôles of Mary Stuart - and Jane Shore, but did not satisfy the managers, and was - dismissed. After that she gave public readings and became a - woman with a grievance. See her pamphlets, _Theatric Revolution_ - (1819) and _Facts against Falsehood_ (1824). In 1833 she - published a fragment of _Autobiographical Memoirs_. - - _Exeter-Change._ The upper rooms of Exeter ‘Change in the Strand - were let for various purposes, among others for the purposes of - a menagerie. Byron writes in his Journal (Nov. 1813, ed. - Prothero, II. 319): ‘Two nights ago I saw the tigers sup at - Exeter ‘Change.’ - - 224. ‘_Lies floating many a rood._’ _Paradise Lost_, I. 196. - - ‘_Bestrode the world_,’ _etc._ _Julius Caesar_, Act I. Scene 2. - - ‘_The player’s province_,’ _etc._ Robert Lloyd, _The Actor_ - (1760), ll. 67–8. - - ‘_Damnation round the land._’ Pope, _The Universal Prayer_, St. 7. - - ‘_Hath a smooth aspect_,’ _etc._ - - ‘He hath a person and a smooth dispose - To be suspected; framed to make women false.’ - _Othello_, Act I. Scene 3. - - ‘_Faultless monster._’ From the _Essay on Poetry_ of John - Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham. - - 225. ‘_Consummation_,’ _etc._ _Hamlet_, Act III. Scene 1. - - ‘_A lusty man’_, _etc._ - - ‘A manly man, to been an abbot able.’ - Chaucer, _Prologue_, 167. - - 225. _Glanced an eye at Mr. Canning._ The immediate cause of Irving’s - popularity is said to have been a flattering reference to him by - Canning in the House of Commons. - - ‘_Like an eagle_,’ _etc._ _Coriolanus_, Act V. Scene 6. - - _Peter Aretine._ Pietro Aretino (1492–1557) ‘the scourge of - princes.’ - - 226. ‘_God made the country_,’ _etc._ Cowper, _The Task_, i. 749. - - 227. The ‘Saints,’ etc. Wilberforce was a prominent member of the - ‘Clapham Sect,’ and represented Yorkshire from 1784 to 1812. - - ‘_Hilting the house_,’ _etc._ This expression is used by Burke in - his speech on American taxation (Ap. 19, 1774). See _Select - Works_ (ed. Payne), i. 147 and note. - - _A Mr. Fox._ William Johnson Fox (1786–1864), the anti-corn law - orator, was at this time Unitarian preacher at the Chapel in - South Place, Finsbury, which was built for him, and opened in - 1824. - - 228. _The Duke of Sussex._ The sixth son of George III., created Duke - of Sussex in 1801. - - _Miraturque_, _etc._ - - ‘Miraturque novas frondes et non sua poma.’ - Virgil, _Georgics_, II. 82. - - _Dr. Chalmers._ Chalmers’s _Astronomical Discourses_ (week-day - sermons delivered at the Tron Church, Glasgow) were published in - 1817, and in the same year he visited London where his sermons, - at the Surrey Chapel, and at the Scotch Churches in London Wall - and Swallow Street, created extraordinary enthusiasm. Hazlitt - had heard him in Glasgow. See _Memoirs of W. Hazlitt_, II. 42. - - ‘_Four Orations_,’ _etc._ Irving’s _For the Oracles of God, four - Orations; for Judgment to Come, an Argument in nine Parts_ was - published in 1823. Lowndes mentions a third edition in 1824. - - 229. _Orator Henley._ John Henley (1692–1756), who preached at Newport - Market, and, later, in what Pope calls ‘Henley’s gilt tub,’ at - Clare Market, is one of the heroes of the _Dunciad_— - - ‘Embrowned with native bronze, lo! Henley stands, - Tuning his voice, and balancing his hands.’ - Act III. 199, _et seq._ - - Pope gives a long note upon him. - - ‘_A monkey preacher._’ Hazlitt probably refers to the passage from - the _Dunciad_ referred to in the last note— - - ‘Oh worthy thou of Aegypt’s wise abodes, - A decent priest, where monkeys were the gods!’ - III. 207–8. - - ‘_By the coinage_,’ _etc._ A composite quotation. Cf. ‘This is the - very coinage of your brain’ (_Hamlet_, Act III. Scene 4), and ‘A - false creation, proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain’ - (_Macbeth_, Act II. Scene 1). - - 230. ‘_There’s magic in the web._’ _Othello_, Act III. Scene 4. - - ‘_By his so potent art_,’ _etc._ _The Tempest_, Act V. Scene 1. - - ‘_Now of the planetary_,’ _etc._ Cf. - - ‘And tell us whence the stars; why some are fix’d, - And planetary some.’ - Cowper, _The Task_, Book III. 158. - - ‘_In the very storm_,’ _etc._ _Hamlet_, Act III. Scene 2. - - 230. ‘_To be admired_,’ _etc._ Cf. - - ‘Religion, if in heavenly truths attired, - Needs only to be seen to be admired.’ - Cowper, _Expostulation_, 492–3. - - 231. _The late Mr. Horne Tooke._ Published originally in the _New - Monthly Magazine_ (1824, Vol. X. p. 246). Cf. _ante_, pp. 378 - note and 389–390, and an essay ‘On the Diversions of Purley’ - (_Literary Remains_). - - ‘_So is the London Tavern!_’ According to the usual version Horne - Tooke said: ‘So is the London Tavern—to those who can pay!’ - - _Sir Allan Gardiner._ Alan Gardner (1742–1809) the admiral, - created a baronet in 1794, represented Westminster from 1796 - till 1806, when he was raised to the peerage as Lord Gardner of - Uttoxeter. Hazlitt refers to the general election of 1796 when - Horne Tooke unsuccessfully stood for Westminster against Fox and - Gardner. - - 232. ‘_The King’s Old Courtier_’ _etc._ - - ‘Like an old courtier of the queen’s, - And the queen’s old courtier,’ - - is the burden of ‘The Old and Young Courtier.’ (See Percy’s - _Reliques_, ed. Wheatley, II. 315.) - - ‘_Lord of himself_,’ _etc._ ‘Lord of yourself, uncumbered with a - wife.’ Dryden, _Epistle to John Driden_, 18. - - 233. _He used to plague Fuseli_, _etc._ ‘He made strange havoc of - Fuseli’s fantastic hieroglyphics, violent humours, and oddity of - dialect.’ Hazlitt, ‘On the Conversation of Authors.’ - - _At G——‘s._ Godwin’s presumably. - - _Young Betty’s acting._ William Henry West Betty (1791–1874), the - young Roscius, made his first appearance in 1803 at the age of - eleven, and finally retired from the stage in 1824. Many critics - declared that his acting was finer than Kemble’s, and Home said - that he had not seen his own creation of Douglas adequately - realised until he had seen Betty in the part. Cf. Hazlitt’s - essay on ‘On Patronage and Puffing’ in _Table-Talk_. - - _A professed orator._ This was Coleridge. See Hazlitt’s Essay ‘On - the Conversation of Authors’ in _The Plain Speaker_, where Horne - Tooke’s conversational powers are described again. - - 235. ‘_Sacred vehemence._’ _Comus_, 795. - - _Lord Camelford._ Thomas Pitt (1775–1804), second Lord Camelford, - duellist and naval commander. - - _The only palpable hit_, _etc._ Hazlitt included in his _Eloquence - of the British Senate_ Horne Tooke’s speech (on the eligibility - of clergymen to sit in Parliament), in which this hit was made. - The reference in the note is to Letter LXVIII., to Lord - Chief-Justice Mansfield. - - 236. ‘_Native and endued_,’ _etc._ _Hamlet_, Act IV. Scene 7. - - _His trial before Lord Kenyon._ In 1790 Horne Tooke unsuccessfully - contested Westminster against Fox and presented a petition to - the House of Commons complaining of the riotous conduct of the - electors. The House voted the petition ‘frivolous and - vexatious,’ and Fox brought an action against Horne Tooke to - recover the costs. An account of this action, which was tried by - Lord Kenyon, was published in 1792. - - _His examination before the Commissioners of the Income-Tax._ See - Stephens’s _Life of John Horne Tooke_ (II. 157). - - _The State Trials in 1794._ See _ante_, p. 211 note, and Hazlitt’s - _Memoirs of Thomas Holcroft_ (Vol. II. pp. 139 _et seq._). Home - Tooke was acquitted on Nov. 22, 1794. - - 236. _An intercepted letter._ See Stephens’s _Life of John Horne Tooke_ - (II. 119). The letter related, not to a social invitation, but - to the preparation of a list of sinecures held by the - Grenvilles. The letter closed with these words: ‘Query, is it - possible to get ready by Thursday?’ - - 237. _The celebrated philosopher of Malmesbury._ Thomas Hobbes - (1588–1679), born at Malmesbury. - - _Fabellas aniles._ Horace, _Satires_, II. 6, 77–8. - - _A hasty charge._ Junius accused Horne Tooke of having deserted - Wilkes in connection with the election of Sheriffs for the city - in 1771. See the Letters of Junius (1805, Vol. II. pp. 104 _et - seq._). - - ‘_Under him_,’ _etc._ _Macbeth_, Act. _III._ Scene 1. - - _He comes off more shabbily_, _etc._ Sir Leslie Stephen takes a - different view and speaks of Horne Tooke as ‘the most successful - antagonist of his formidable enemy.’ - - 238. Sir William Draper (1721–1787), who had commanded the expedition - against Manilla, involved himself in a controversy with Junius - by his defence of Lord Granby who was one of the persons - attacked in Junius’s first letter (21st Jan. 1769). - - _His work on Grammar._ Part I. of Horne Tooke’s ‘Diversions of - Purley,’ appeared in 1786, another edition containing Part II. - in 1798–1805. - - _The essence of it_, _etc._ The _Letter to Dunning_ was written - and published in 1778 when Horne Tooke was undergoing a term - of imprisonment in consequence of a resolution of the - Constitutional Society in favour of ‘our beloved American - fellow-subjects.’ The letter contained his reasoning on the - word _That_. Coleridge (_Table-Talk_, May 7, 1830) said: ‘All - that is worth anything (and that is but little) in the - Diversions of Purley is contained in a short pamphlet-letter - which he addressed to Mr. Dunning.’ - - _Mr. Harris’s Hermes._ The _Hermes, or a Philosophical Inquiry - concerning Universal Grammar_ of James Harris (1709–1780), - father of the first Earl of Malmesbury, was published in 1751. - Johnson said, ‘Harris, however, is a prig, and a bad prig. I - looked into his book, and thought he did not understand his own - system.’ (Boswell, _Life of Johnson_, ed. G. B. Hill, III. 245.) - - 239. ‘_Bear a charmed life_,’ _etc._ _Macbeth_, Act V. Scene 8. - - ‘_Palpable to feeling as to sight._’ Cf. ‘If ’tis not gross in - sense ... ’tis probable and palpable to thinking.’ _Othello_, - Act I. Scene 2. - - ‘_Familiar as his garter._’ - - ‘The Gordian knot of it he will unloose, - Familiar as his garter.’ - _Henry V._, Act I. Scene 1. - - _Mr. Windham._ Horne Tooke in the 4to edition of his _Diversions_, - speaking of Bruckner’s _Criticisms on the Diversions of Purley_ - (1790) says that the substance of that work ‘was, with singular - industry and a characteristical affectation, gossiped by the - present precious Secretary at War, in Payne the bookseller’s - shop; the cannibal commencing with this modest observation, - that—“I had found a mare’s nest.”’ See the _Diversions_ (ed. R. - Taylor, 1860 ed.), p. 122. - - _Bull-baiting._ Windham spoke twice in defence of bull-baiting, on - April 18, 1800, and May 24, 1802. See his _Speeches_, i. - 331–356. - - 240. ‘_A complex idea_,’ _etc._ See Horne Tooke’s _Diversions_ (ed. R. - Taylor, 1860), p. 19. - - 240. _Mr. Lindley Murray’s Grammar._ Published in 1795 at York, where - Lindley Murray (1745–1826) settled on coming to England from - America in 1784. De Quincey refers to Murray as ‘an imbecile - stranger’ (_Works_, ed. Masson, x. 127), and speaks (_ib._ XI. - 352) of Hazlitt’s _New and Improved Grammar of the English - Tongue_, _etc._ (see _ante_, p. 389) as an ‘examination’ of - Lindley Murray’s English Grammar. - - 241. _Mr. C***_ ... _Mr. M***_. Probably Croker and Malthus. - - SIR WALTER SCOTT. Published originally in the _New Monthly - Magazine_ (1824, Vol. X. p. 297). Cf. Hazlitt’s Essay on Scott, - Racine, and Shakespeare in _The Plain Speaker_. - - ‘_The present ignorant time._’ _Macbeth_, Act I. Scene 5. - - ‘_Laudator temporis acti._’ Horace, _Ars Poetica_, 173. - - 242. ‘_Poetry of no mark_,’ _etc._ ‘A fellow of no mark nor - likelihood.’ _Henry IV._, Part I., Act III. Scene 2. - - In the _New Monthly Magazine_ there is the following editorial - note on this passage: ‘The writer of this paper, and not the - Editor, must be considered as here presuming to be the critical - arbiter of Sir Walter’s poetry. A journal such as this cannot be - supported without the aid of writers of a certain degree of - talent, and it is not possible to modify all their opinions so - as to suit everybody’s taste.’ - - 243. Note. _Agnes._ _Agnes, or the Triumph of Principle_, 1822. - - _The late Mr. John Scott._ John Scott (1783–1821), editor of the - _London Magazine_, died in Feb. 1821, from a wound received in a - duel with Lockhart’s friend Christie, arising out of a quarrel - between _Blackwood’s Magazine_ and the _London Magazine_. The - ‘elaborate panegyric’ of the Scotch Novels had appeared in the - latter magazine early in 1820. - - ‘_Skinned and filmed over._’ ‘It will but skin and film the - ulcerous place.’ _Hamlet_, Act III. Scene 4. - - 244. _Mr. Westall’s drawings._ Richard Westall illustrated _Marmion_ - (1809) and _The Lord of the Isles_ (1813). - - _A story goes_, _etc._ A very unlikely story. Long before the - publication of _The Lay of the Last Minstrel_ (1805), Scott had - written not only the translations from the German, but a good - deal of original work in _The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_ - (1802–3). - - ‘_A metre ballad-monger._’ _Henry IV._, Part I., Act III. Scene 1. - - ‘_Fancies and good-nights._’ _Henry IV._, Part II., Act III. Scene - 2. - - ‘_Glances from heaven to earth_’ _etc._ _Midsummer Night’s Dream_, - Act V. Scene 1. - - 245. _Like Dorothea._ _Don Quixote_, Part I., Book IV., Chap. xxviii. - - _As Lord Peter_, _etc._ It was Martin who ‘at one twitch brought - off a large handful of points; and, with a second pull, stripped - away ten dozen yards of fringe,’ and Jack, who, ‘stripping down - a parcel of gold lace a little too hastily,’ ‘rent the main body - of his coat from top to bottom.’ _A Tale of a Tub_, Sect. VI. - - ‘_Over-laboured lassitude_.’ Burke, _Reflections on the Revolution - in France_ (_Select Works_, ed. Payne, II. 120). - - _Mr. Constable._ Archibald Constable (1774–1827) was publisher of - the _Edinburgh Review_, of _Marmion_, and of _Waverley_, and the - greater number of the novels. - - 246. ‘_The embryo fry_,’ _etc._ Cf. ‘An eyrie of children, little - eyases, that cry out on the top of question,’ etc. _Hamlet_, Act - II. Scene 2. - - ‘_Comes like a satyr_,’ _etc._ - - ‘A satyr that comes staring from the woods, - Must not at first speak like an orator.’ - - Earl of Roscommon, Translation of Horace’s _Ars Poetica_, ll. - 281–2. Cf. _Ars Poetica_, ll. 244 _et seq._ - - 246. ‘_A holy water sprinkle_,’ _etc._ _The Faerie Queene_, Book III., - Canto xii. Stanza 13. - - ‘_More lively_,’ _etc._ ‘It’s spritely, waking, audible, and full - of vent.’ _Coriolanus_, Act IV. Scene 5. - - ‘_Their habits as they lived._’ _Hamlet_, Act III. Scene 4. - - ‘_Give her hand to another_,’ _etc._ _Old Mortality_, Chap. - xxxviii. - - 248. ‘_Her head to the east._’ ‘Na, na! Not that way, the feet to the - east.’ _Guy Mannering_, Chap. XV. - - ‘_Thick-coming._’ ‘Thick-coming fancies.’ _Macbeth_, Act V. Scene - 3. - - Note. _Perhaps the finest scene._ _Guy Mannering_, Chap. li. - - 249. ‘_Consummation_,’ _etc._ _Hamlet_, Act III. Scene 1. - - Note. _Ivanhoe_, Chap. xxiii. - - 250. _Flints and dungs._ Hazlitt refers to a passage at the beginning - of Chap. xliii. of _Ivanhoe_. - - ‘_Calls backing his friends._’ ‘Call you that backing of your - friends?’ _Henry IV._, Part I., Act II. Scene 4. - - _Mr. Mac-Adam._ John Loudon McAdam (1756–1836), whose services in - the improvement of highways had been recognised and rewarded by - Parliament in 1823. - - ‘_Sixty years since._’ ‘’Tis sixty years since,’ the second title - of _Waverley_. - - _Mr. Peel’s Police-Bill._ Peel succeeded in establishing the - Metropolitan Police in 1829. - - 251. _Every living author ... but himself_. Many of the mottoes were of - course written by Scott himself, though that does not affect - Hazlitt’s argument. - - ‘_If there were a writer_,’ _etc._ This concluding paragraph did - not appear in the _New Monthly Magazine_. - - ‘_Born for the universe_,’ _etc._ Goldsmith, _Retaliation_, 31–2. - - ‘Winked and shut his apprehension up.’ - Prologue to _Antonio’s Revenge_ (_History of Antonio and - Mellida_, Part II.). By John Marston. - - 252. _A gang of desperadoes._ Hazlitt seems to refer to the founders of - _The Quarterly Review_. - - _The lowest panders of a venal press._ The writers in _Blackwood’s - Magazine_, presumably. - - ‘_Who would not grieve_,’ _etc._ - - ‘Who but must laugh, if such a man there be? - Who would not weep, if Atticus were he?’ - Pope, _Prologue to the Satires_, 213–4. - - 253. ‘_As if a man_,’ _etc._ _Coriolanus_, Act V. Scene 3. - - ‘_Cloud-capt._’ _The Tempest._ Act IV. Scene 1. - - ‘_Golden mean._’ The English form of Horace’s ‘auream - mediocritatem.’ Odes, II. 10–5. - - ‘_Prouder than_,’ _etc._ - - ‘and make him fall - His crest that prouder than blue Iris bends.’ - _Troilus and Cressida_, Act I. Scene 3. - - Note. Byron died at Mesolonghi on April 19, 1824. - - 254. ‘_Silly sooth_,’ _etc._ _Twelfth Night_, Act II. Scene 4. - - 255. ‘_Denotes a foregone conclusion._’ _Othello_, Act III. Scene 3. - - 255. ‘_In cell monastic._’ ‘To live in a nook merely monastic.’ _As You - Like It_, Act III. Scene 2. - - 256. ‘_Thoughts that breathe_,’ _etc._ Gray, _The Progress of Poesy_, - l. 110. - - 257. ‘_Poor men’s cottages_,’ _etc._ _The Merchant of Venice_, Act I. - Scene 2. - - ‘_Reasons high_,’ _etc._ _Paradise Lost_, II. 558–9. - - ‘_Till contemplation_,’ _etc._ Dyer, _Grongar Hill_, l. 26. - - ‘_This bank and shoal of time._’ _Macbeth_, Act I. Scene 7. - - 258. _Published in the Liberal._ Byron’s fragment _Heaven and Earth: A - Mystery_, was published in the second number of _The Liberal: - Verse and Prose from the South_, the ill-fated quarterly review - established by Shelley, Byron, and Leigh Hunt in Italy. Byron - and Hunt found themselves unable to work together, especially - after Shelley’s death in July, 1822, and the review only lived - through four numbers (1822–3). - - ‘_It is his aversion._’ - - ‘A drowsy frowzy poem, call’d the “Excursion,” - Writ in a manner which is my aversion.’ - _Don Juan_, Canto III. Stanza 94. - - ‘_Born in a garret_,’ _etc._ - - ‘The Tolbooth felt defrauded of his charms, - If Jeffrey died, except within her arms: - Nay last not least, on that portentous morn, - The sixteenth story, where himself was born, - His patrimonial garret, fell to ground.’ - _English Bards and Scotch Reviewers._ - - ‘_Letter to the Editor_,’ _etc._ Byron’s letter to William - Roberts, Editor of the _British Review_, was published in No. 1 - of _The Liberal_. See Byron’s _Letters and Journals_ (ed. - Prothero), Vol. IV., Appendix vii. - - 259. Long’s. ‘I saw Byron for the last time in 1815, after I returned - from France. He dined, or lunched, with me at Long’s, in Bond - Street.’ Lockhart’s _Life of Scott_, III. 336. - - _The controversy about Pope._ See Byron’s _Letters and Journals_ - (ed. Prothero), Vol. V. Appendix iii. Byron wrote two letters to - John Murray ‘on the Rev. W. L. Bowles’s Strictures on the Life - and Writings of Pope,’ the first of which was published in 1821, - the second not till 1835. Hazlitt himself wrote a paper in the - _New Scots Magazine_ (Feb. 1818) ‘on the question whether Pope - was a poet.’ - - _From the sublime_, _etc._ ‘Du sublime au ridicule il n’y a qu’un - pas,’ was a saying of Napoleon’s. Paine, in _The Age of Reason_, - (Part II.) had already expressed the same thought less - concisely. - - _Scrub in the Farce._ Scrub, in Farquhar’s _Beaux’ Stratagem_, is - quoted for the variety of his occupations in the household of - Squire Sullen. See Act III. Scene 3. - - ‘_Very tolerable_,’ _etc._ _Much Ado About Nothing_, Act III. - Scene 3. - - 260. ‘_A chartered libertine._’ _Henry V._, Act I. Scene 1. - - ‘_Like proud seas under him._’ _Two Noble Kinsmen_, Act II. Scene - 1. - - _It is a ludicrous circumstance_, _etc._ Scott acknowledged the - obligation in a letter to John Murray (Dec. 17, 1821), in which - he says: ‘I accept with feelings of great obligation, the - flattering proposal of Lord Byron to prefix my name to the very - grand and tremendous drama of “Cain.” I may be partial to it, - and you will allow I have cause; but I do not think that his - Muse has ever taken so lofty a flight amid her former soarings,’ - etc., Lockhart, v. 150. In a letter to Rose (Dec. 18, 1821), - after comparing Byron’s devil with Milton’s he says: ‘I think, - however, the work will not escape censure, for it is scarce - possible to make the devil speak as the devil without giving - offence,’ and adds, ‘I question whether our noble friend has - brought up his friend sufficiently cleanly.’ _Familiar Letters - of Sir Walter Scott_, II. 127. - - 261. ‘_Furthest from them is best._’ Paradise Lost, I. 247. - - _The first Vision of Judgment._ Southey’s, published in 1821, and - dedicated to the King. - - ‘_None but itself_,’ _etc._ From _The Double Falsehood_, produced - in 1727, and written or adapted by Lewis Theobald. The line is - quoted by Burke (_Regicide Peace_, ed. Payne, p. 40). - - ‘_The tenth transmitter_,’ _etc._ Richard Savage’s _The Bastard_, - l. 8. - - _Lord Byron’s preposterous liberalism._ Hazlitt probably refers - specially to Byron’s relations with Leigh Hunt and _The - Liberal_. See _ante_, note to p. 258. - - 262. ‘_Nothing can cover_,’ _etc._ Beaumont and Fletcher, or Fletcher - and Massinger, _The False One_, Act II. Scene 1. - - MR. SOUTHEY. Cf. _Political Essays_, Vol. III. pp. 48–51, 192–232. - - 263. ‘_Where he must live_,’ _etc._. _Othello_, Act IV. Scene 2. - - ‘_Whatever is, is right._’ Pope, _Essay on Man_, IV. 394. - - _Old Sarum._ The allusion is to Southey’s early radical - inscription for Old Sarum. - - ‘_His generous ardour_,’ _etc._ ‘A generous friendship no cold - medium knows.’ - - Pope, Homer’s _Iliad_, IX. 725. - - 264. ‘_The words of truth and soberness._’ _Acts_, xxvi. 25. - - ‘_We relish Mr. Southey_,’ _etc._ ‘You may relish him more in the - soldier than in the scholar.’ _Othello_, Act II. Scene 1. - - ‘_He is nothing_,’ _etc._ Cf. ‘For I am nothing, if not critical.’ - _Ibid._ - - 265. _Teres et rotundus._ ‘Fortis, et in se ipso totus, teres atque - rotundus.’ - - Horace, _Sat._ II. 7, 86. - - ‘_Does he not dedicate_,’ _etc._ See _ante_, note to p. 261. - - _His own Glendoveer._ _Curse of Kehama_, vi. 2. - - 266. ‘_Or if a composer_,’ _etc._ Perhaps Hazlitt refers to William - Sotheby (1757–1833), author of _Orestes_ (1802) and _Saul_ - (1807), or to Henry Hart Milman (1791–1868), afterwards Dean of - St. Paul’s, who had published _Samor_ (1818), _The Fall of - Jerusalem_ (1820), and _The Martyr of Antioch_ (1822), and was a - constant contributor to _The Quarterly Review_. ‘A translator of - an old Latin author’ is presumably Gifford. - - ‘_Far from the sun_,’ _etc._ Gray, _The Progress of Poesy_, l. 83. - - 267. ‘_Because he is virtuous_,’ _etc._ _Twelfth Night_, Act II. Scene - 3. - - _The Book of the Church._ Southey’s _The Book of the Church_, - published in 2 vols. 1824. - - ‘_A little leaven_,’ _etc._ _Galatians_, V. 9. - - ‘_There hangs_,’ _etc._ _Macbeth_, Act III. Scene 5. - - _Once a philanthropist_, _etc._ Cf. ‘Once a Jacobin, always a - Jacobin.’ See vol. III. pp. 110, 159. - - 268. ‘_Like the high leaves_,’ _etc._ Southey’s _The Holly Tree_, - Stanza 5. - - ‘_Full of wise saws_,’ _etc._ _As You Like It_, Act II. Scene 7. - - 269. _Mandeville’s description of Addison._ Cf. _The Round Table_, vol. - I. p. 9. - - ‘_And follows so_,’ _etc._ _Henry V._, Act IV. Scene 1. - - 270. MR. WORDSWORTH. Hazlitt had met Wordsworth at Alfoxden in 1798 - (see the essay ‘My First Acquaintance with Poets’), and in the - Lake District in 1803, when he painted a portrait of the poet - which proved unsatisfactory and was destroyed. In a letter to - Hazlitt’s son (May 23, 1831), Wordsworth says that he does not - recollect having met Hazlitt on more than one occasion after - their meeting at the Lakes. Some of the opinions which Hazlitt - attributes to Wordsworth appear to be recollections of the - poet’s conversation. Hazlitt reviewed _The Excursion_ in _The - Examiner_ (see _The Round Table_, vol. I. pp. 111–125), and - spoke of him in his Lecture ‘On the Living Poets’ (see _English - Poets_, vol. V. 161–4). - - 270. ‘_Lowliness_,’ _etc._ _Julius Caesar_, Act II. Scene 1. - - ‘_No figures_,’ _etc._ - - ‘Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies, - Which busy care draws in the brains of men.’—_Ibid._ - - ‘_Skyey influences._’ _Measure for Measure_, Act III. Scene 1. - - ‘_Nihil humani_,’ _etc._ Terence, _Heautontimorumenos_, Act I. - Scene 1. - - 271. _The Lyrical Ballads._ _Lyrical Ballads, with a few other Poems_, - published in 1798. - - ‘_The cloud-capt towers_,’ _etc._ _The Tempest_, Act IV. Scene 1. - - ‘_The judge’s robe_,’ _etc._ Quoted inaccurately from _Measure for - Measure_, Act II. Scene 2. - - 272. ‘_A sense of joy_,’ _etc._ Wordsworth, _To my Sister_. - - ‘_Beneath the hills_,’ _etc._ _The Excursion_, Book VI. - - _Vain pomp and glory_, _etc._ _Henry VIII._, Act III. Scene 2. - - 273. ‘_To him_,’ _etc._ _Ode on the Intimations of Immortality._ - - 274. _Cole-Orton._ The seat of Wordsworth’s friend, Sir George Howland - Beaumont, to whom he dedicated the 1815 edition of his Poems. - ‘Some of the best pieces were composed under the shade of your - own groves, upon the classic ground of Coleorton.’ - - ‘_Calm contemplation_,’ _etc._ - - ‘Calm pleasures there abide—majestic pains.’ - _Laodamia_, l. 72. - - ‘_Fall blunted_,’ _etc._ - - ‘Fall blunted from each indurated heart.’ - Goldsmith, _The Traveller_. - - 275. _Milton’s wish._ Wordsworth, in that part of _The Recluse_ which - he published at the beginning of _The Excursion_, quotes - Milton’s words (_Paradise Lost_, VII. 31) - - ‘——“fit audience let me find though few!” - So prayed, more gaining than he asked, the Bard— - In holiest mood.’ - - _Toujours perdrix._ Attributed to the confessor of Henry IV. of - France, when the King illustrated the advantage of variety by - ordering every course to consist of partridge. See _Notes and - Queries_, 4th Ser. IV. 336–7. - - ‘_A man of no mark_,’ _etc._ ‘A fellow of no mark nor likelihood.’ - _Henry IV._ Part I., Act III. Scene 2. - - 276. ‘_Flushed with a purple grace_,’ _etc._ _Alexander’s Feast_, III. - 51–2. Byron, in his ‘Reply to Blackwood’s Magazine’ (_Letters - and Journals_, ed. Prothero, IV., Appendix IX. p. 484) says of - Southey and Wordsworth, ‘Are they not of those who called - Dryden’s _Ode_ “a drunken song”?’ - - _Dares to compare himself_, _etc._ Byron in the same essay refers - to Wordsworth’s postscripts to Lyrical Ballads, ‘where the two - great instances of the sublime are taken from himself and - Milton.’ - - Wordsworth’s ‘Selections from Chaucer Modernised,’ written in - 1801, were published, _The Prioress’ Tale_ in 1820, _The Cuckoo - and the Nightingale_, and _Troilus and Cressida_ in 1841. - - ‘_Action is momentary_,’ _etc._ Quoted inaccurately from _The - Borderers_ (written 1795–6, published 1842), Act III. In a note - to _The White Doe of Rylstone_, to which these lines were added - as a kind of motto in 1837, Wordsworth writes: ‘This, and the - five lines that follow, were either read or recited by me, more - than thirty years since, to the late Mr. Hazlitt, who quoted - some expressions in them (imperfectly remembered) in a work of - his published several years ago.’ - - 277. _A great dislike to Gray._ Coleridge was induced ‘by Mr. - Wordsworth’s conversation ... to re-examine with impartial - strictness Gray’s celebrated Elegy.’ (_Biographia Literaria_, - Chap. II.) - - ‘_Let observation_,’ _etc._ De Quincey (_Works_ ed. Masson, X. - 128) attributes this criticism to the author of ‘a little - biographic sketch of Dr. Johnson, published immediately after - his death.’ Coleridge makes the same criticism. _Lectures on - Shakspere and Milton_, 1811–12 (ed. Ashe, p. 72). - - _Drawcansir._ In the Duke of Buckingham’s play, _The Rehearsal_ - (1671). - - ‘Let petty Kings the names of parties know: - Where’er I come, I slay both friend and foe.’ - Act V. Scene 1. - - _Bewick’s woodcuts._ Thomas Bewick (1753–1828), the famous - wood-engraver. - - _Waterloo’s Sylvan etchings._ Antoine Waterloo (1609?–1676?), a - native of Lille, painter, engraver, and etcher. - - ‘_He hates conchology_,’ _etc._ Hazlitt quotes from himself. See - his Lecture on the Living Poets (_English Poets_, Vol. V. pp. - 163–4). - - 278. ‘_Where one for sense_,’ _etc._ _Hudibras_, II. l. 29–30. - - ‘_Take the good_,’ _etc._ Plautus, _Rudens_, Act IV. Scene 7. - - 279. SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH. Sir James Mackintosh (1765–1832), born in - Inverness-shire, and educated at Aberdeen and Edinburgh - Universities, with a view to the medical profession, came to - London in 1788, and soon turned to politics. His _Vindiciæ - Gallicæ_, in reply to Burke’s _Reflections on the Revolution in - France_, appeared in 1791. Called to the bar in 1795, he soon - gained a considerable practice. In 1803 he was appointed to a - Judgeship in India, where he remained till 1811. Soon after his - return he was elected (in 1813) for Nairn. From 1819 till his - death, he sat for Knaresborough. In 1818 he was appointed to the - professorship of law and general politics at Haileybury, a post - which he held till 1824. He was made a privy councillor in 1827, - and a Commissioner of the Board of Control in 1830. His - _Dissertation on the Progress of Ethical Philosophy, chiefly - during the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries_, contributed to - the seventh edition of the _Encyclopædia Britannica_, was - republished in 1836 with a preface by Whewell. See Macaulay’s - Essay on Mackintosh’s _History of the Revolution_. - - 281. _His maiden speech._ The speech referred to was delivered on Dec. - 20, 1813. Colonel St. Paul said: ‘A more finical opposition to - any measure he had never heard in that House.’ _Parl. Hist._, - XXVII. pp. 301 _et seq._ Mackintosh had spoken before on Dec. - 14. - - 282. _Lectures on the Law of Nature and Nations._ A course of - thirty-nine lectures, delivered between February and June 1799. - An ‘Introductory Discourse,’ published in 1798, contains a - recantation of the revolutionary doctrines of the _Vindiciæ - Gallicæ_, and an attack on Godwin. The lectures do not appear to - have been published, but some ms. notes, taken by Sir John - Stoddart at the time, are still preserved. - - ‘_The whiff and wind_,’ _etc._ ‘The whiff and wind of his fell - sword.’ _Hamlet_, Act II. Scene 2. - - 282. ‘_Laid waste the borders_,’ _etc._ Cf. ‘Lay waste thy woods, - destroy thy blissful bower.’ Dryden, _The Hind and the Panther_, - Part 1. l. 158. - - ‘_Carve them as a dish_,’ _etc._ _Julius Caesar_, Act II. Scene 1. - - 283. _Guicciardini._ Francesco Guicciardini (1483–1540), author of a - History of Italy from 1494 to 1532. - - _Thuanus._ Jacques Auguste de Thou (1553–1617), whose _Historia - sui Temporis_ Johnson ‘seriously entertained the thought of - translating.’ - - _Dr. Pangloss._ In George Colman, the younger’s (1762–1836), _The - Heir-at-law_, produced in 1797. - - 284. ‘_Of lamentation_,’ _etc._ - - ‘Cocytus, named of lamentation loud - Heard on the rueful stream.’ - _Paradise Lost_, II. 579–80. - - 285. ‘_Unbought grace of life._’ Burke, _Reflections on the Revolution - in France_ (_Select Works_, ed. Payne, II. 89). - - ‘_And gladly_,’ _etc._ Chaucer, _The Canterbury Tales_, the - Prologue, l. 308. - - 286. _An Essay on the Principles of Human Action._ By Hazlitt, - published in 1805. - - 287. _A History of England._ Mackintosh collected materials for a - history of England from 1688 to the French Revolution, but left - only a fragment posthumously published in 1834 under the title - of ‘A History of the Revolution in England in 1688.’ - - MR. MALTHUS. Cf. _ante_, pp. 1–184 and Vol. III. pp. 356–385. - - 289. ‘_Like the toad_,’ _etc._ _As You Like It_, Act. II. Scene 1. - - 290. ‘_The mighty stream of tendency._’ Wordsworth, _The Excursion_, - Book IX. - - ‘_The Corinthian capitals of polished society._’ Burke, - _Reflections on the Revolution in France_ (_Select Works_, ed. - Payne, II. 164). - - 291. ‘_Palmy state._’ ‘In the most high and palmy state of Rome.’ - _Hamlet_, Act I. Scene 1. - - _An obscure and almost forgotten work._ Cf. Hazlitt’s essay ‘On - the Originality of Mr. Malthus’s Essay’ (_Political Essays_, - Vol. III. pp. 361–7), where long passages are quoted from - Wallace’s book. - - 295. ‘_Gospel is preached to the poor._’ ‘The Spirit of the Lord is - upon me, because he hath anointed me to preach the gospel to the - poor.’ _Luke_, iv. 18. - - ‘_The laws of nature_,’ _etc._ Malthus, _Essay on Population_, 4to - ed., 1803, Book IV., Chap. vii. p. 540. - - _The ‘tables are not full.’_ Hazlitt refers to Malthus’s figure of - ‘nature’s mighty feast.’ _Ibid._ Book IV., Chap. vi. pp. 531–2. - - 296. ‘_To make it thick and slab._’ _Macbeth_, Act IV. Scene 1. - - _Mr. Godwin has lately attempted an answer._ ‘Of Population. An - Enquiry concerning the Power of Increase in the Numbers of - Mankind, in Answer to Mr. Malthus on that Subject,’ 1820. - - _A curious passage of Judge Blackstone._ _Commentaries on the Laws - of England_, Book II. Chap. xiv. - - 298. _Broke a lance with Mr. Ricardo._ In 1814 and 1815 Malthus - published two pamphlets on the corn laws, to which Ricardo - replied in an _Essay on the Influence of a low price of Corn on - the Profits of Stock_ (1815). Hazlitt probably refers to - Malthus’s _Political Economy_ (1820), in which his differences - with Ricardo are explained. See Sir Leslie Stephen’s _The - English Utilitarians_, II. 189 _et seq._ - - _Mandeville._ The second edition (1723) of Bernard Mandeville’s - _The Fable of the Bees, or Private Vices Public Benefits_, - contained _An Essay on Charity and Charity Schools_. - - 298. _Plug Pulteney._ See _ante_, note to p. 2, note. - - MR. GIFFORD. Cf. _A Letter to William Gifford_, Vol. I. pp. - 365–411. - - ‘_In the event of his death_,’ _etc._ Gifford resigned the - editorship of _The Quarterly Review_ in 1824, and after a short - interval, during which John Taylor Coleridge was editor, was - succeeded by J. G. Lockhart. - - 299. _In his critical pages._ Gifford, though he used his editorial pen - very freely, does not seem to have written so many articles in - the _Quarterly_ as his contemporaries imagined. ‘The only entire - article ever contributed to the _Review_ by Gifford himself was - that which he wrote, in conjunction with Barron Field, on Ford’s - “Dramatic works.”’ See Smiles, _Memoirs of John Murray_, I. 180, - 200; II. 44, 49. Sometimes he appears to have inserted what Dr. - Smiles calls ‘the pungent wit, the Attic salt’ into the articles - of his contributors. - - 300. ‘_Destroy his fib_,’ _etc._ Pope, _Prologue to the Satires_, 91–2. - - ‘_I am not Stephano_,’ _etc._ _The Tempest_, Act V. Scene 1. - - 301. _If a lady goes on crutches_, _etc._ The allusion is to Gifford’s - lines on Mrs. Robinson. See _A Letter to William Gifford_, Vol. - I. note to p. 378. - - 302. _The Feast of the Poets._ By Leigh Hunt, published in 1814. See - Vol. I. p. 377. - - ‘_A man was confined in Newgate_,’ _etc._ See Vol. I. p. 378 for - an account of the _Quarterly review_ of Leigh Hunt’s _Rimini_. - - _Verses to Anna._ _Ibid._ p. 375. - - ‘_A bud_,’ _etc._ _Romeo and Juliet_, Act I. Scene 1. - - _Mr. Keats’s ostensible crime_, _etc._ The famous _Quarterly - Review_ article on _Endymion_ appeared in September 1818, and - was written by Croker. - - 303. ‘_Out went the taper_,’ _etc._ Stanzas XXIII. to XXVII. of _The - Eve of St. Agnes_, published in 1820. - - 304. _Ecce iterum Crispinus._ Juvenal, _Sat._ IV. 1. - - 305. ‘_I wish I was_,’ _etc._ See Vol. I. p. 375. - - Note. ‘_He! jam satis est._’ ‘Ohe jam satis est.’ Horace, _Sat._, - l. 5, 12–3. - - Note. ‘_Why rack a grub_,’ _etc._ - - ‘Satire or sense, alas! can Sporus feel, - Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel? - Yet let me flap this bug with gilded wings, - This painted child of dirt, that stinks and stings,’ etc. - Pope, _Prologue to the Satires_, 307 _et - seq._ - - 306. _Keats died when he was scarce twenty!_ Keats died in his 26th - year. - - 307. _Thus he informed the world_, _etc._ See a review of Hazlitt’s - _Characters of Shakespear’s Plays_ in the _Quarterly Review_ - (Vol. XVIII., p. 458). - - ‘_It was amusing_,’ _etc._ See a review of _Political Essays_ in - the _Quarterly Review_ (Vol. XXII. p. 162), and _A Letter to - William Gifford_, Vol. I. p. 410. In the _Quarterly_ review of - _Table Talk_ Hazlitt is described as a ‘slang-whanger.’ - - 308. _The St. Helena articles._ Two articles, in which Hudson Lowe’s - treatment of Buonaparte is defended, appeared in the _Quarterly - Review_ shortly after Buonaparte’s death. See Vol. XXVIII. p. - 219, and Vol. XXXIII. 177. - - _Lady Morgan._ Sydney Owenson, Lady Morgan (1783?–1859), authoress - of _The Wild Irish Girl_ (1806) was a favourite subject for the - vulgar personal abuse of the _Quarterly Review_. - - 309. _Peter Pindar._ John Wolcot, ‘Peter Pindar,’ assaulted Gifford, - mistaking him for his namesake John Gifford, editor of the - _Anti-Jacobin Review and Magazine_. The result was Gifford’s - _Epistle to Peter Pindar_ (1800). - - _This Drawcansir._ See _ante_, note to p. 277. - - 309. _His attacks on Mrs. Robinson_, _etc._ See _A Letter to William - Gifford_. (Vol. I., p. 378 note). - - _What he will make of Marlowe._ Gifford did not publish an edition - of Marlowe. - - ‘_The fiery quality._’ _King Lear_, Act II. Scene 4. - - _Spiritus_, _etc._ Petronius Arbiter (_Satirae_, 118, 3rd ed. - Bücheler, p. 84), quoted by Coleridge in _Biographia Literaria_, - Chap. xiv. ‘Praecipitandus est liber spiritus’ in the original. - - _In attempting to add the name_, _etc._ See Gifford’s edition of - _Massinger_ (2nd ed. 1813, Vol. I., p. 14). - - 310. _An article had appeared_, _etc._ John Murray had conceived the - scheme of establishing a Tory review, and had obtained many - promises of support before the appearance of Jeffrey’s article - in the _Edinburgh_ (Oct. 1808, Vol. XIII., p. 215), on Cevallos - and the affairs of Spain. (See Smiles, _Memoirs of John Murray_, - I. 97). The first number of the _Quarterly Review_ appeared in - Feb. 1809. - - 311. ‘_Those who are not for them_,’ _etc._ _St. Matthew_, xii. 30. - - ‘_Ugly all over with hypocrisy._’ See nowowte to Vol. I., p. 211. - - Note. William Taylor (1765–1836), whose version of Bürger’s - _Lenore_ so fired the imagination of Scott, was a regular - contributor to _The Monthly Review_ from 1793 to 1800, and from - 1809 to 1824. - - 312. _Mr. Stuart Rose._ William Stewart Rose (1775–1843), the friend of - Scott, and translator of Ariosto (1823–1831). - - 313. _The Lyrical Ballads._ Hazlitt presumably refers to some - introductory remarks on a new ‘sect of poets’ in a review by - Jeffrey of Southey’s _Thalaba_. (_Edinburgh Review_, Oct. 1802, - Vol. I., p. 63). - - _Unqualified encouragement_, _etc._ For favourable references to - Malthus see _Edinburgh Review_, Oct. 1807 (Vol. XI., p. 100), - August 1810 (Vol. XVI., p. 464), and March 1817 (Vol. XXVIII., - p. 1). Southey attacked Malthus in the _Quarterly Review_ (Dec. - 1812), but the _Essay on Population_ was defended five years - later (July 1817) by Sumner. - - ‘_Reasons_,’ _etc._ _Henry IV._, Part I., Act II., Scene 4. - - _Mr. Jeffrey is the Editor of the Edinburgh Review._ Sydney Smith - claimed to have been editor of the first number (Oct. 1802), - Jeffrey was editor from that time till 1829, when he retired on - being appointed Dean of the Faculty of Advocates. - - 314. _Nearly a fourth part of the articles._ Lord Cockburn in his _Life - of Lord Jeffrey_ (1874 ed., p. 404 _et seq._) gives a total list - of 200 contributions. A selection was published in four volumes - in 1844. - - ‘_Infinite agitation of wit._’ Bacon, _Advancement of Learning_, - Book I., IV. 5. - - 316. ‘_Spinning the thread_,’ _etc._ _Love’s Labour’s Lost_, Act V. - Scene 1. - - 317. _But in private your follies_, _etc._ Hazlitt very likely put - Jeffrey to this test when he was in Edinburgh in 1823 on his - divorce business. See Vol. II., p. 314 and note. - - 319. ‘_Has no figures_,’ _etc._ _Julius Caesar_, Act II. Scene 1. - - ‘_Tread the primrose path_,’ _etc._ _Hamlet_, Act I. Scene 3. - - _A Phillips._ Charles Phillips (1787?–1859), a native of Sligo, - who enjoyed a great reputation, both at the Irish bar, and at - the English bar, to which he was called in 1821. Brougham - himself described his speeches as ‘horticultural.’ - - _A Plunket._ William Conyngham Plunket (1764–1854), the advocate - of Catholic Emancipation, famous for his eloquence both at the - bar and in Parliament, created Baron Plunket in 1827, - chief-justice of the Irish common pleas (1827–30), and Lord - Chancellor of Ireland (1830–1841). - - 319. Note. Brougham was born in Edinburgh, where he was educated. His - mother was Scotch (a niece of Robertson the historian), and his - father belonged to an old Westmoreland family. - - _The late Lord Erskine._ Erskine died in November, 1823. - - 320. ‘_Domestic treason_,’ _etc._ - - ‘Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, - Can touch him further.’ - _Macbeth_, Act III. Scene 2. - - 321. ‘_As much again to govern it._’ In _Table Talk_ Hazlitt quotes - this line as Butler’s. - - ‘_Pour out all as plain_,’ _etc._ Pope, _Imitations of Horace_, - Sat. I. 51–2. - - 322. ‘_Scared at the sound_,’ _etc._ Cf. - - ‘And back recoiled, he knew not why, - Even at the sound himself had made.’ - Collins, _The Passions_, ll. 19–20. - - ‘_The total grist_,’ _etc._ Cowper, _The Task_, Book VI., 108. - - 323. _There are few intellectual accomplishments_, _etc._ It was said - of Brougham that if he had known a little law, he would have - known a little of everything. - - _The celebrated Carnot._ Lazare Nicolas Marguerite Carnot - (1753–1823), the first organiser of the armies of the - Revolution. He left Napoleon in 1800, but returned to him in - 1814, and was Minister of the Interior during the Hundred Days. - He wrote many works on mathematical subjects. - - ‘_No day without a line._’ ‘Nulla dies sine linea,’ a phrase based - on a saying of Apelles reported by Pliny. (_Nat. Hist._ XXXV., - 36, 10). - - 325. _Imbibed at Wimbledon Common._ Where Horne Tooke lived. - - ‘_Hunt half a day_,’ _etc._ Wordsworth, _Hart-Leap Well_, Part II. - - LORD ELDON AND MR. WILBERFORCE. The paper on Lord Eldon appeared - in the _New Monthly Magazine_ (1824, Vol. XI., p. 17). - - ‘_All tranquillity and smiles._’ Cowper, _The Task_, Book IV., 49. - - 326. ‘_All is conscience_,’ _etc._ Chaucer, _Prologue_, 150. - - ‘_If wretches hang_,’ _etc._ - - ‘And wretches hang that jurymen may dine.’ - Pope, _Rape of the Lock_, III. 22. - - _An instance_, _etc._ For John Williams’s attack on the Court of - Chancery, see _Parl. Hist._ (June 4, 1823, and Feb. 24, 1824), - and Walpole’s _History of England_, III. 281. An inaccurate - report of a speech of Abercromby’s on the second of John - Williams’s motions led the Chancellor to make some angry - observations from the bench. The incident created a considerable - sensation and led to a debate in Parliament. (See Twiss’s _Life - of Lord Eldon_, II. 490–502). - - 327. ‘_Resistless passion_,’ _etc._ - - ‘—— for affection, - Mistress of passion, sways it to the mood - Of what it likes or loathes.’ - _Merchant of Venice_, Act IV. Scene 1. - - 328. ‘_Lack lustre eye._’ _As You Like It_, Act II. 7. - - ‘_As they were in Rabelais._’ See _Pantagruel_, Liv. II., Chap. - xxxix _et seq._ - - _An injunction against Wat Tyler._ See Vol. III., note to p. 192. - - 329. _The Year 1794._ The Year of unsuccessful prosecutions of Horne - Tooke, Hardy, Thelwall, Holcroft, and others, and the year in - which _Wat Tyler_ was written. - - ‘_One entire and perfect chrysolite._’ _Othello_, Act V. Scene 2. - - ‘_Read his history_,’ _etc._ - - ‘And read their history in a nation’s eyes.’ - Gray, _Elegy in a Country Churchyard_, Stanza 16. - - 330. ‘_So small a drop_,’ _etc._ _Cymbeline_, Act IV. Scene 2. - - 331. _Mr. Wilberforce._ William Wilberforce (1759–1833), member for - Hull 1780–4, for Yorkshire 1784–1812, and for Bramber 1812–1825, - was early converted to the evangelical party known as the - ‘Clapham Sect’ or the ‘Saints,’ and became the parliamentary - leader of the anti-slavery cause. The slave trade was abolished - by the coalition government in 1807, and emancipation was - carried in 1833, the year of Wilberforce’s death. Apart from his - efforts in this cause and on behalf of missionary work in India, - he gave a general support to the Tory ministries of Pitt (his - intimate friend), and of the Duke of Portland, Perceval, and - Lord Liverpool. In particular he approved the coercive measures - of 1795 and 1817. This partly accounts for the bitter attack not - only of Hazlitt, but of Cobbett (_Political Register_, Aug. - 1823). - - ‘_What lacks he then._’ _King John_, Act IV. Scene 1. - - ‘_Conscience will not budge._’ ‘Well, my conscience says, - “Launcelot, budge not.” “Budge,” says the fiend. “Budge not,” - says my conscience. “Conscience,” say I, “You counsel well.”’ - _Merchant of Venice_, Act II. Scene 2. - - ‘_Woe unto you_,’ _etc._ _St. Luke_, vi. 26. - - _As old Fuller calls them._ _Holy and Profane State._ _The Good - Sea Captain_, Maxim 5. - - 332. ‘_Out upon such half-faced fellowship._’ _Henry IV._, Part I., Act - I. Scene 3. - - 333. ‘_By every little breath_,’ _etc._ _The Faerie Queene_, Book I., - Canto vii. Stanza 32. - - _Clarkson._ Thomas Clarkson (1760–1846). The most indefatigable of - the extra-parliamentary agitators against slavery. Coleridge - referred to him as ‘the moral steam engine, or Giant with one - idea.’ - - 334. Note. Byron in his _Detached Notes_ (see _Letters and Journals_, - ed. Prothero, II. 241 note) relates this well-known story as - having been told to him by Sheridan himself. - - MR. COBBETT. This essay appeared in _Table Talk_ (Vol. I., 1821) - and was republished in a small volume in 1835, the year of - Cobbett’s death. Cf. a passage on Cobbett in the _Examiner_ - printed in notes to the _Round Table_, Vol. I. p. 424. - - _Cribb._ See _ante_, note to p. 223. - - ‘_Fillips the ear_,’ _etc._ _Henry IV._, Part II., Act I. Scene 2. - - _‘Lays waste’ a city orator_, _etc._ The reference is probably to - an attack on Robert Waithman in the _Political Register_. (See - _Political Works_, IV. 319 and V. 298.) Waithman was member for - the City of London from 1816 till 1820, and from 1826 till his - death in 1833. See _ante_, p. 282, and _post_, note to p. 366. - - 335. ‘_Damnable iteration._’ _Henry IV._, Part I., Act I. Scene 2. - - 336. _Nunquam sufflaminandus erat._ ‘Itaque D. Augustus optime dixit, - Aterius noster sufflaminandus est.’ M. Annaeus Seneca, - _Controversiae_, 4, praef. § 7. The saying is quoted by Ben - Jonson (_Timber_, LXIV.). - - ‘_Weary, stale_,’ _etc._ _Hamlet_, Act I. Scene 2. - - 337. _Barmecide._ _Arabian Nights_, The Barber’s Story of his Sixth - Brother. - - ‘_Live in his description._’ A reminiscence, perhaps of the line - in Pope’s _Dunciad_ (I. 69), ‘But liv’d in Settle’s numbers one - day more.’ - - _Mr. ——._ Probably Brougham. See _Political Works_, V. 145 _et - seq._ - - _His Grammar._ ‘A Grammar of the English Language, in a Series of - Letters’ (1818). - - _Like Giant Despair._ ‘So, when he arose, he getteth him a - grievous crab-tree cudgel.... Then he falls upon them, and beats - them fearfully, in such sort, that they were not able to help - themselves, or to turn them upon the floor.’ _Pilgrim’s - Progress_, Part I. - - 338. _The Yanguesian carriers._ _Don Quixote_, Part I., Book III. Chap. - xv. - - ‘_He has the back-trick_,’ _etc._ _Twelfth Night_, Act I. Scene 3. - - ‘_Arrowy sleet._’ - - ‘——and flying behind them shot - Sharp sleet of arrowy showers against the face - Of their pursuers.’ - _Paradise Regained_, III. 323–5. - - _An Ishmaelite indeed._ Cf. ‘Behold an Israelite indeed,’ etc. - _St. John_, i. 47. Hazlitt has in mind the description - (_Genesis_, xvi. 12) of Ishmael: ‘And he will be a wild man; his - hand will be against every man, and every man’s hand against - him; and he shall dwell in the presence of all his brethren.’ - - 340. _The two-penny trash._ Set _Political Register_, August 1817 - (_Political Works_, V. 236). - - ‘_Till a Bill passed the House_,’ _etc._ Cobbett’s _Political - Register_ had evaded the stamp duty until 1819, when it was - rendered liable to duty by the fifth of the famous Six Acts - passed in that year. - - ‘_Ample scope_,’ _etc._ ‘Give ample room, and verge enough.’ Gray, - _The Bard_, II. 1. - - 341. ‘_He pours out_,’ _etc._ Pope, _Imitations of Horace_, Sat. I. - 51–2. - - _Antipholis of Ephesus_, _etc._ See _The Comedy of Errors_, Act V. - Scene 1. - - _The relics of Mr. Thomas Paine_, _etc._ When Cobbett returned to - England from America in 1819 he brought Paine’s bones to - Liverpool and left them there. After Cobbett’s death they were - seized as part of the property of Paine’s son who became a - bankrupt. - - ‘_His canonized bones._’ _Hamlet_, Act I. Scene 4. - - 342. _The Edinburgh Review_, _etc._ In an article by Jeffrey, July - 1807, Vol. X. 386. The reply of Cobbett referred to by Hazlitt - appeared in the _Political Register_, August 1807. _Political - Works_, II. 294. - - 343. _The Pleasures of Memory._ By Rogers, published in 1792. - - _The Pleasures of Hope._ By Campbell, published in 1799. - - 344. _We should dread to point out_, _etc._ Scott said to Washington - Irving (Lockhart, IV. 93): ‘The fact is, Campbell is, in a - manner, a bugbear to himself. The brightness of his early - success is a detriment to all his further efforts. _He is afraid - of the shadow that his own fame casts before him._’ - - ‘_Snatches a grace_,’ _etc._ Pope, _Essay on Criticism_, 155. - - ‘_Yet sweeter_,’ _etc._ _Winter’s Tale_, Act. IV. Scene 4. - - 345. ‘_And by the vision_,’ _etc._ Wordsworth’s _Ode, Intimations of - Immortality_, 73–4. - - _Gertrude of Wyoming._ Published in 1809. - - ‘_A loved bequest_,’ _etc._ Part I. Stanzas 11–13. - - 346. ‘_Famous poet’s page._’ Cf. ‘A most famous Poet’s witt.’ Spenser, - _Verses addressed by the Author of the Faerie Queene_ (to the - Earl of Essex). - - ‘_Jealous leer malign._’ _Paradise Lost_, IV. 503. - - 346. ‘_Scattered in stray-gifts_,’ _etc._ Wordsworth, _Stray - Pleasures_. - - ‘_Like angel’s visits_,’ _etc._ _Pleasures of Hope_, Part II. l. - 378. Cf. _Lectures on the English Poets_ (Vol. V. p. 150), where - Hazlitt adds: ‘Mr. Campbell in altering the expression has - spoiled it. “Few,” and “far between” are the same thing.’ - - ‘_We perceive a softness_,’ _etc._ Cf. Vol. V. p. 184. - - 347. ‘_Ruddy drops_,’ _etc._ _Julius Caesar_, Act II. Scene 1. - - _Hohenlinden._ Published anonymously with _Lochiel_ in 1802, and - included in the 4to (1803) edition of _The Pleasures of Hope_. - - 348. _Mr. Campbell’s prose-criticisms._ Campbell’s ‘Lectures on Poetry - Re-written’ appeared in the _New Monthly Magazine_ of which he - was editor from 1820 to 1830. Hazlitt does not refer to his - _Specimens of the British Poets, with biographical and critical - notices, and an Essay on English Poetry_ (7 vols. 1819). - - _Mr. Crabbe._ The Poems of George Crabbe (1754–1832), with a Life - by his son George, were published in 8 vols. 1834, and in one - volume 1847. The one volume edition has recently been re-issued, - as a result of the praises bestowed on Crabbe by Edward - Fitzgerald, who himself made a Selection from the _Tales of the - Hall_. - - _Audrey’s question._ _As You Like It._ Act III. Scene 3. - - 349. ‘_Turns diseases_,’ _etc._ _Henry IV._, Part II., Act I. Scene 2. - - _Mr. Crabbe’s first poems_, _etc._ Crabbe’s first poems were - _Inebriety_ (published anonymously in 1775), _The Candidate_ - (1780), and _The Library_ (1781). It was _The Village_ (1783) - that Johnson read and approved. (See Boswell’s _Life_, ed. G. B. - Hill, IV. 175.) Crabbe’s patron was Burke, by whom he was no - doubt introduced to Reynolds, and later to Johnson. - - 350. _He brings as a parallel instance_, _etc._ In the Preface to the - _Tales_ (1812). See _Works_ (1834, IV. 144). - - ‘_In the worst inn’s worst room_,’ _etc._ Pope, _Moral Essays_, - III. 299. - - 351. _He sets out with professing_, _etc._ Hazlitt refers to the - opening lines of _The Village_. - - _The sad vicissitudes of things._ This phrase occurs in a poem, - _Contemplation_, by the Rev. Richard Gifford, which was quoted - by Johnson. See _Tour to the Hebrides_ (Boswell’s _Life_, ed. G. - B. Hill, V. 117–8). The phrase also occurs in Sterne’s _Sermons_ - (No. XVI.). - - ‘_At one bound_,’ _etc._ _Paradise Lost_, IV. 181. - - _He does not weave the web_, _etc._ An unacknowledged quotation - from _All’s Well that Ends Well_, Act IV. Scene 3. - - _The only leaf_, _etc._ Crabbe resided for some time at Belvoir - Castle as chaplain to the fourth Duke of Rutland. He dedicated - _The Borough_ to the fifth Duke, and _Tales of the Hall_ to the - Duchess. - - 352. ‘_Thus by himself_,’ _etc._ _The Borough_, Letter xxii., Peter - Grimes. - - 353. _The episode of Phœbe Dawson._ In _The Parish Register_ (Part - II.). The tale interested Fox on his death-bed. (See _Works_, - 1834, II. 16, 180.) - - _The character of the Methodist parson_, _etc._ Hazlitt probably - refers to the story of Ruth (_Tales of the Hall_, Book V., - _Works_, 1834, VI. 93). - - _Mr. T. Moore._ Cf. _Political Essays_ (Vol. III., pp. 311–321). - - ‘_Or winglet_,’ _etc._ Campbell, _Gertrude of Wyoming_, Part II., - Stanza 12. - - ‘_No dainty flower_,’ _etc._ Spenser, _The Faerie Queene_, Book - II., Canto vi., Stanzas 12 and 13. - - 354. ‘_Wasteful and superfluous excess._’ ‘Wasteful and ridiculous - excess.’ _King John_, Act IV. Scene 2. - - 355. ‘_And spread_,’ _etc._ _Romeo and Juliet_, Act I. Scene 1. - - ‘_Dying or ere they sicken._’ _Macbeth_, Act IV. Scene 3. - - 355. ‘_A perpetual feast_,’ _etc._ Milton, _Comus_, 478–9. - - ‘_On the rack_,’ _etc._ Cf. ‘That on the torture of the mind to - lie in restless ecstasy.’ _Macbeth_, Act III. Scene 2. - - ‘_Looks so fair_,’ _etc._ _Othello_, Act IV. Scene 2. - - ‘_Another morn_,’ _etc._ _Paradise Lost_, V. 310–1. - - 356. ‘_Now, upon Syria’s_,’ _etc._ _Lalla Rookh_, ‘Paradise and the - Peri.’ - - _Della Cruscan sentiment._ See the essay on Gifford, _ante_, p. - 309. - - 357. ‘_A penitent tear._’ - - ‘——the tear that, warm and meek, - Dew’d that repentant sinner’s cheek.’ - ‘Paradise and the Peri.’ - - ‘_Joy, joy for ever_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ - - ‘_May bestride the Gossamer_,’ _etc._ _Romeo and Juliet_, Act II. - Scene 6. - - ‘_In vain Mokanna_,’ _etc._ _Lalla Rookh_, ‘The Veiled Prophet of - Khorassan.’ - - 358. ‘_Whose coming_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ - - _The ‘Twopenny Post-bag.’_ Published in 1812. - - ‘_Nests of spicery._’ _Richard III._, Act IV. Scene 4. - - ‘_In the manner_,’ _etc._ Moore, _Horace_, Ode XI. Lib. II. Freely - translated by the Pr—ce R—g—t. - - ‘_An Adonis of fifty._’ ‘This Adonis in loveliness was a corpulent - man of fifty.’ These words occur in a paper in _The Examiner_ - (March 22, 1812), for which Leigh Hunt and his brother John were - sent to prison. - - Note 2. Moore’s _Little Man and Little Soul_ was dedicated to - Charles Abbot (1757–1829) the Speaker, afterwards Lord - Colchester. Abbot, in his address to the Regent in July - 1813, referred to a Bill for the removal of Roman Catholic - disabilities which had been defeated. - - 359. ‘_In choosing songs_,’ _etc._ Moore, _Satirical and Humorous - Poems. Extracts from the Diary of a Politician_. - - _The ‘Fudge Family.’_ See Hazlitt’s _Political Essays_, Vol. III., - pp. 311–321. - - _The ‘divine Fanny Bias.’_ _The ‘Fudge Family in Paris._’ Letter - V. - - _The ‘mountains_ à la Russe.’ _Ibid._ Letter VIII. - - _Is Mr. Moore bound_, _etc._ Moore had urged Byron not to become - associated with Leigh Hunt in _The Liberal_. See Byron’s - _Letters and Journals_, ed. Prothero, VI. 22. Hazlitt himself - deals with this matter at some length in an essay in the _Plain - Speaker_, entitled, ‘On the Jealousy and Spleen of Party.’ See - also _Memoirs of William Hazlitt_, II., 69–73. ‘The Spirit of - Monarchy’ was a paper contributed by Hazlitt to _The Liberal_; - ‘Fables for the Holy Alliance,’ a skit of Moore’s, published in - 1823. - - 360. ‘_To be admired_,’ _etc._ ‘Needs only to be seen to be admired.’ - Cowper, _Expostulation_, 493. - - 361. _His Story of Rimini._ Published in 1816. A savage review appeared - in _Blackwood’s Magazine_ for May 1818. - - _His Epistle to Lord Byron._ Included in _Foliage; or, Poems, - Original and Translated_ (1818). - - _The Feast of the Poets._ Published in 1814. See Vol. I., p. 377. - - 362. _Some allusion was made_, _etc._ See _ante_, note to p. 358. - - _Elia, and Geoffrey Crayon._ Cf. Hazlitt’s essay ‘On Persons one - would wish to have seen’ (_Literary Remains_), for another - account of Lamb. In a letter to Bernard Barton (Feb. 10, 1825) - Lamb says: ‘The “Spirit of the Age” is by Hazlitt. The - characters of Coleridge, etc., he had done better in former - publications, the praise and abuse much stronger, etc., but the - new ones are capitally done. Horne Tooke is a matchless - portrait. My advice is to borrow it rather than buy it. I have - it. He has laid too many colours on my likeness; but I have had - so much injustice done me in my own name, that I make a rule of - accepting as much over-measure to “Elia” as gentlemen think - proper to bestow.’ In a letter to J. Taylor (_Letters_, ed. - Ainger, II., 35) he explains how he came to take the name of - ‘Elia.’ - - 362. ‘_The pale reflex_,’ _etc._ _Romeo and Juliet_, Act III. Scene 5. - - ‘_Native to_,’ _etc._ ‘Though I am native here, and to the manner - born.’ _Hamlet_ Act I. Scene 4. - - 363. ‘_Shuffle off_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._, Act III. Scene 1. - - ‘_The self-applauding bird_,’ _etc._ Cowper, _Truth_, l. 58 _et - seq._ - - ‘_New-born gauds_,’ _etc._ _Troilus and Cressida_, Act III. Scene - 3. - - ‘_Give to dust_,’ _etc._ _Ibid._ - - ‘_Do not in broad_,’ _etc._ - - ‘Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, - Nor in the glistering foil - Set off to the world, nor in the broad rumour lies, - But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes - And perfect witness of all-judging love.’ - _Lycidas_, 78–82. - - 364. ‘_Fine fretwork_,’ _etc._ _Essays of Elia._ The South-Sea House. - - 365. ‘_The chimes at midnight._’ ‘We have heard the chimes at midnight, - Master Shallow.’ _Henry IV._, Part II., Act III. Scene 2. - - ‘_Cheese and pippins._’ Cf. _Merry Wives of Windsor_. Act I. Scene - 2, and _Henry IV._, Part II., Act V. Scene 3. - - _A certain writer._ Hazlitt himself, who contributed three papers - on Guy Faux to _The Examiner_ in 1821, reprinted for the first - time in the present edition. Lamb wrote a paper on the same - subject in _The London Magazine_ for November 1823, _Works_, ed. - R. H. Shepherd, vol. I. p. 345. See Hazlitt’s essay ‘On Persons - one would wish to have seen’ (_Literary Remains_). - - 366. ‘_To have coined_,’ _etc._ _Julius Caesar_, Act IV. Scene 3. - - ‘_Civic honours._’ See _Letters of Charles Lamb_, ed. W. C. - Hazlitt, II. 159, where, in a letter to Mrs. Hazlitt, Lamb - describes his dinner at the Mansion House. - - _Mr. Waithman’s perusal._ Robert Waithman (1764–1833), the - political reformer, was Lord Mayor in 1823. See _ante_, note to - p. 334. - - Note. _John Woodvil_ was published in 1802. The lines quoted are - in Act II. - - 367. _Mr. Washington Irvine’s acquaintance_, _etc._ Washington Irving - (1783–1859), published in New York _The History of New York, By - Diedrich Knickerbocker_ (1809), and came in 1815 to Europe, - where he stayed for seventeen years. His _Sketch Book of - Geoffrey Crayon, Gent_, was published in America in 1819, and in - London first in part by Miller, then by Murray in 1820; his - _Bracebridge Hall_ by Murray in 1822. These and his later books, - _Tales of a Traveller_ (1824), _Tales of the Alhambra_ (1832), - _Life of Oliver Goldsmith_ (1849), _Life of Mahomet_ (1850), - _Life of Washington_ (1855), and others are now included in - fifteen volumes of Bohn’s Standard Library. For an account of - their publication and of Murray’s lawsuit against Bohn, see - Smiles’s _Memoirs of John Murray_, Vol. II. _passim_. - - _In his_ ‘mind’s eye.’ _Hamlet_, Act I. Scene 2. - - 368. _Mr. Knowles._ James Sheridan Knowles (1784–1862) whose - _Virginius_ was produced at Covent Garden in May 1820, had - recently been a confidant of Hazlitt’s in the matter of Sarah - Walker. See Vol. II. p. 328 (_Liber Amoris_). - - 368. _Mr. Knowles himself_, _etc._ Knowles who had acted in the - provinces as early as 1802, returned to the stage in 1832, when - he played Master Walter in his own comedy of _The Hunchback_. He - continued to act till 1843. - - 371. _Preface to An Abridgment_, _etc._ The first four volumes of - Abraham Tucker’s (1705–1774) _The Light of Nature Pursued_ were - published under the name of ‘Edward Search’ in 1768, the - remaining three, edited by his daughter, appearing posthumously - in 1778. - - _Clarissa._ The _eight_ volumes of _Clarissa Harlowe_ were - abridged by E. S. Dallas in 1868, the _six_ volumes of _Sir - Charles Grandison_ by Mary Howitt in 1873. - - _Without suffering_, _etc._ Apparently a kind of legal formula, as - in Hall’s Chronicles (Henry V. 70 b.): ‘that we suffre harm or - diminucion in person estate worship or goods.’ - - ‘_Not sicklied o’er_,’ _etc._ _Hamlet_, Act III. Scene 1. - - 373. _John Buncle._ See Vol. I. pp. 51–7 (_The Round Table_). - - ‘_His unrivalled power of illustration._’ See the Preface to - Paley’s _Moral Philosophy_. - - 377. ‘_Petrific mace._’ ‘Death with his mace petrific.’ _Paradise - Lost_, X. 294. - - 378. Note. ‘_Just such shard-born beetle things._’ _Macbeth_, Act III. - Scene 2. - - Note. _Mr. Horne Tooke._ Cf. _ante_, 231–241. - - Note. _Promontory of noses._ _Tristram Shandy_, Slaukenbergius’s - Tale. - - Note. _Andrew Paraeus’s._ Ambrose Paraeus’s ‘Solution of noses’ is - in _Tristram Shandy_, Book III. Chap, xxviii. - - Note. ‘_It is as absurd_,’ _etc._ Cf. _ante_, p. 240. - - 381. _Soame Jenyns’s argument._ See Disquisition VII. (_Works_, 1790, - III. 258 _et seq._). The argument is controverted by Jenyns. - - 384. Note. _There is one argument_, _etc._ ‘At sperat adolescens diu se - victurum: quod sperare idem senex non potest. Insipienter - sperat. Quid enim stultius, quam incerta pro certis habere, - falsa pro veris! Senex, ne quod speret quidem, habet: at est eo - meliore conditione, quam adolescens, quum id, quod ille sperat, - his jam consecutus est. Ille vult diu vivere: his diu vixit.’ - _De Senectute_, Cap. xix. - - 388. _Edward Baldwin._ The name under which Godwin wrote various works - published by his wife. - - 393. _David Booth._ David Booth (1766–1846) published an _Introduction - to an Analytical Dictionary of the English Language_ in 1806. - Only one volume of the Dictionary itself was published (1835). - - - Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, (late) Printers to Her Majesty at the - Edinburgh University Press - ------ - -Footnote 1: - - The late Sir W. Pulteney, whose character for liberality is well - known, was firmly persuaded that the author of the Essay on Population - was the greatest man that ever lived, and really wished to have - bestowed some personal remuneration on Mr. M. as his political - confessor, for having absolved him from all doubts and scruples in the - exercise of his favourite virtue. - -Footnote 2: - - Among the former are Hume, Wallace, Smith, and Price; among the latter - are the Economists, Montesquieu, Franklin, Sir James Steuart, Arthur - Young, Mr. Townshend, Plato, and Aristotle. - -Footnote 3: - - I beg leave to refer the reader to some letters which appeared on this - subject, in the Monthly Magazine, written by a well informed and - ingenious man, who had too much good sense and firmness to be carried - away by the tide of vulgar prejudice. - -Footnote 4: - - Yet it is extraordinary that with all their wisdom and virtue they - would not be able to take any steps to prevent this distress. This is - a species of fascination, of which it is difficult to form any - conception. - -Footnote 5: - - The prevalence of this check may be estimated _by the general - proportion_ of virtue and happiness in the world, for if there had - been no such check there could have been nothing but vice and misery. - -Footnote 6: - - In the second edition, it says, _moral restraint_, vice or misery. - What are we to think of a man who writes a book to prove that vice and - misery are the only security for the happiness of the human race, and - then writes another to say, that vice and folly are not the only - security, but that our only resource must be either in vice and folly, - or in wisdom and virtue? This is like making a white skin part of the - definition of a man, and defending it by saying that they are all - _white_, except those who are _black_ or _tawny_. - -Footnote 7: - - I here follow the text of Mr. Malthus, who takes great pains to give a - striking description of the savage tribes, as a pleasing contrast, no - doubt, to the elegancies and comforts of polished life. Mr. Malthus’s - extreme sensibility to the grossness and inconveniences of the savage - state, may be construed into refinement and delicacy. But it does not - strike me so. There is something in this mis-placed and selfish - fastidiousness, that shocks me more than the objects of it. It does - not lead to compassion but to hatred. We strive to get rid of our - uneasiness, by hardening ourselves towards the objects which occasion - it, and lose the passive feelings of disgust excited in us by others - in the active desire to inflict pain upon them. Aversion too easily - changes into malice. Mr. Malthus seems fond of indulging this feeling - against all those who have not the same advantages as himself. With a - pious gratitude he seems fond of repeating to himself, ‘I am not as - this poor Hottentot.’ He then gives you his bill of fare, which is - none of the most delicate, without omitting a single article, and by - shrugging up his shoulders, making wry mouths at him, and fairly - turning your stomach, excites in you the same loathing and abhorrence - of this poor creature that he takes delight in feeling himself. ‘Your - very nice people have the nastiest imaginations.’ He triumphs over the - calamities and degradation of his fellow-creatures. He lays open all - the sores and blotches of humanity with the same calmness and alacrity - as a hospital surgeon does those of a diseased body. He turns the - world into a charnel-house. Through a dreary space of 300 ‘chill and - comfortless’ pages, he ransacks all quarters of the globe only ‘to - present a speaking picture of hunger and nakedness, in quest of - objects best suited to his feelings, in anxious search of calamities - most akin to his _invalid_ imagination,’ and eagerly gropes into every - hole and corner of wretchedness to collect evidence in support of his - grand misery-scheme, as at the time of an election, you see the - city-candidates sneaking into the dirty alleys, and putrid cellars of - Shoreditch or Whitechapel, and the candidates for Westminster into - those of St. Giles’s, canvassing for votes, their patriotic zeal - prevailing over their sense of dignity, and sense of smell. - -Footnote 8: - - I mention these names because it is always customary to mention them - in speaking on this subject: and there are some readers who are more - impressed with a thing, the oftener it is repeated. - -Footnote 9: - - I here leave out of the question, as not essential to it, the effect - of sudden rises or falls, and other accidental variations in the - produce of a country which cannot be foreseen or provided against, on - the state of population. - -Footnote 10: - - I find there is here some transposition of names and circumstances, - but it does not much matter. - -Footnote 11: - - I am happy to find that a philosophical work, like Mr. Malthus’s, has - got a good deal into the hands of young ladies of a liberal education - and an inquisitive turn of mind. The question is no doubt highly - interesting; and the author has thrown over it a warmth of colouring, - that can hardly fail to please. Even Miss Howe was fond of ardours. - -Footnote 12: - - I have here purposely left an opening for Mr. Malthus’s ingenuity. He - will I hope take the hint and write another quarto volume to prove by - anatomical and medical inquiries into the state of all countries, - beginning at the north and ending at the south pole, that there is the - same variation in the quantity and kind of food required by the human - stomach in different climates and countries, as there is in the - quantity of sexual indulgence. - -Footnote 13: - - Such a change would not require the perfect subjugation, or rather - annihilation of these passions, or perfect virtue, in the literal - sense, as Mr. Malthus seems to imply in a late publication—which I - have not read. It might as well be pretended that no man could ever - keep his fingers off bank-notes, or pay his debts, who was not - perfectly honest. In neither case is there required any thing more - than such a superiority in one set for motives over another, from - pride, habit, example, opinion, &c. as just to incline the balance. - The gentlemen of the society of Lloyd’s fund would no doubt scorn to - touch a shilling of the money entrusted to their care: yet we should - hardly conclude from hence that they are all of them persons of - perfectly disinterested characters, and altogether indifferent to - money-matters. The Turks, it is said, who are very far from the - character of perfection, leave their goods for sale on an open stall, - and the buyer comes and takes what he wants, and leaves the money on - the stall. Men are not governed by extreme motives. If perfect virtue - were necessary to common honesty, fair dealing, and propriety of - conduct, there would be nothing but swindlers and black-guards in the - world. Men steer clear of the law not so much through fear, as because - it stamps the public opinion. It is a positive thing. If men could - make up their minds as decidedly about the general characters and - conduct of individuals without, as they do with, the rough rebuke of - the law to sharpen their moral sense (to which by the bye Mr. Godwin’s - plan of plain speaking would contribute not a little) this would go a - great way towards rendering a system of equality practicable. But I - meddle with these questions only as things of idle speculation. - _Jactet se in aulis, &c._ - -Footnote 14: - - See also other passages giving an account of the state of population - in Africa, &c. which will be found at the end. - -Footnote 15: - - This is a work which I would recommend to every reader of whatever - party, not only for the knowledge it contains, but for the purity, - simplicity, and noble dignity of the style. It smacks of the old Roman - elevation. - -Footnote 16: - - I should like to know whether Mr. Malthus would go so far as to say - that all the wars and rebellions occasioned by religion, that all the - plots, assassinations, burnings, massacres, the persecutions, feuds, - animosities, hatreds and jealousy of different sects, that the - cruelty, bigotry, the pernicious customs, and abominable practices of - the Pagan and other superstitions, such as human sacrifices, &c. - whether all those mischiefs and enormities of which religion has been - made a tool, whether the martyrdom of the first christians, the - massacre of St. Bartholomew, the fires of Smithfield, the expeditions - to the holy land, the Gunpowder Plot, the Inquisition, the long - Parliament, the Reformation and the Revolution,—Popery, Protestantism, - monks, eremites, and friars, with all their trumpery’ were the - offspring of the principle of population. - -Footnote 17: - - See the extracts from Davenant, Montague, and Bolingbroke. - -Footnote 18: - - See the ingenious and elegant defence of the Slave-Trade, attributed - in the newspapers to his Royal Highness the Duke of Clarence. There is - a magnanimity and noble ingenuousness in the avowal of such a - sentiment, which can only be expected from those, who from the - elevated superiority of their situation can look down with contempt on - the opinion of mankind, and the vulgar notions of decency and order. - -Footnote 19: - - Mr. Malthus, for what reason I know not, in his account of the state - of population in the different countries of modern Europe, has - declined giving any account of the state of population in Italy. - -Footnote 20: - - Among other instances it is mentioned, that every vassal was obliged - to give the first night of his bride to the lord of the manor, if he - demanded it. It is hard to be sure for a man to be cuckolded the very - first night of his marriage. But even at present, though the formality - of the thing is abolished, there are very few husbands who are not - tolerably certain of being cuckolded by the first lord, or duke, who - thinks it worth his while to attempt it. It is some consolation to us - poor devils of authors, that we have no chance of getting a wife who - is at all likely to meet with any such distinction. But if I were a - snug tradesman or city-merchant, and had bargained for a sweet girl - whose smile was Elysium, whose air was enchantment, and her looks all - love,—I should be terribly afraid of the cocked hats at the opera. I - should tremble at every coronet coach that passed the door, and should - run mad at the sight of a prince’s feather. - -Footnote 21: - - Even this is making a very large concession to Mr. Malthus. The real - points to be given are the possible power of productiveness in the - earth and the necessary tendency of population to increase. - -Footnote 22: - - Fletcher of Saltoun. - -Footnote 23: - - Spelman’s Glossary. - -Footnote 24: - - Have Dryden’s Fables, the New Eloise, or the Memoirs of Fanny Hill - never added any thing to the pressure of the principle of population, - without any reference to the parish registers of deaths and marriages? - -Footnote 25: - - Mr. M. always translates the word _misere_ or want misery, and has - adopted it as the burthen of his song. He has made a very significant - use of this equivoque in many parts of his work. - -Footnote 26: - - The engrafting of trees might be mentioned as an instance in point. - -Footnote 27: - - Dr. Paley, of whose depth or originality I have in general but a - slender opinion, has made one very shrewd and effectual observation in - reply to Hume’s argument upon miracles; which is, that according to - Hume’s reasoning, miracles must be _equally_ inadmissible and - improbable, whether we believe in a superintending Providence or not. - There must therefore be some fallacy in an argument, which completely - sets aside so material a consideration. I would recommend this answer, - which I think a true and philosophical one, to Mr. Malthus’s - attention, as it may perhaps lead him ‘to new-model some of his - arguments’ about experience. - -Footnote 28: - - It is to no purpose to object, that they would hinder the poor from - increasing in proportion. This would be merely a negative - check,—preventing the increase on one side, but setting no bounds to - it on the other. Besides, not having the poor to work for them, they - must work for themselves. Neither can it be said that property is a - fluctuating thing, that changes hands, and passes from the rich to the - poor and from the poor back again to the rich, still keeping up the - same inequality; for the greatest wealth would soon be melted down by - the principle of population, and it is only by the accumulation and - transmission of property in regular descents that any great inequality - can subsist. Mr. Malthus wishes to preserve the balance of society by - hindering the poor from marrying; perhaps it would be preserved as - effectually by forcing the rich to marry. - -Footnote 29: - - Thus the shop-keeper cannot in general be supposed to be actuated by - any fear of want. His exertions are animated entirely by the prospect - of gain, or advantage. Yet how trifling are his profits compared with - those of the merchant. This however does not abate his diligence. It - may be said that the advantage is as great to him. That is, it is the - greatest in his power to make; which is the very thing I mean to say. - In fact we are wound up to a certain pitch of resolution and activity - almost as mechanically as we wind up a clock. - -Footnote 30: - - The immediate rise in the price of manufactured articles upon any rise - in the price of labour is either a foolish impatience of loss, or a - trick to make the labourer refund his own earnings by paying more for - what he wants himself, and by being _pigeoned_ by others that they may - be able to pay the additional price. It has nothing to do with a fair - and liberal determination to raise the price of labour, which of - itself, and if not immediately counteracted by the power and artifices - of the rich must always tend to the benefit of the labouring part of - the community. - -Footnote 31: - - This is something like Mr. Godwin’s saying, he does not regard a - new-born infant with any peculiar complacency. They both differ from - the founder of the Christian religion, who has said, Bring unto me - little children. But modern philosophers scorn to pin their faith on - musty sayings. - -Footnote 32: - - But a moment ago the subject was involved in the most profound - obscurity, and great advantages were expected from the manner in which - Mr. Malthus was to bring it home to each man’s comprehension. In the - passage immediately following the above, our author quotes Dr. Paley’s - Moral Philosophy, and as he often refers to this work, I shall here - take the liberty of entering my protest against it. It is a school in - which a man learns to tamper with his own mind, and will become any - thing sooner than an honest man. It is a directory, shewing him how to - disguise and palliate his real motives (however unworthy) by - metaphysical subterfuges, and where to look for every infirmity which - can beset him, with its appropriate apology, taken from the common - topics of religion and morality. All that is good in Paley is taken - from Tucker; and even _his_ morality is not the most bracing that can - be imagined. - -Footnote 33: - - Now Lord Colchester. - -Footnote 34: - - Lord Bacon’s Advancement of Learning. - -Footnote 35: - - Shaftesbury made this an objection to Christianity, which was answered - by Foster, Leland, and other eminent divines, on the ground that - Christianity had a higher object in view, namely, general - philanthropy. - -Footnote 36: - - Mr. Fuseli used to object to this striking delineation a want of - historical correctness, inasmuch as the animating principle of the - true chivalrous character was the sense of honour, not the mere regard - to, or saving of, appearances. This, we think, must be an - hypercriticism, from all we remember of books of chivalry and heroes - of romance. - -Footnote 37: - - We had forgotten the tragedies of Antonio and Ferdinand. Peace be with - their _manes_! - -Footnote 38: - - To be sure, it was redeemed by a high respect and by some magnificent - compliments. Once in particular, at his own table, after a good deal - of _badinage_ and cross-questioning about his being the author of the - Reply to Judge Eyre’s Charge, on Mr. Godwin’s acknowledging that he - was, Mr. Tooke said, ‘Come here then,’—and when his guest went round - to his chair, he took his hand, and pressed it to his lips, saying—‘I - can do no less for the hand that saved my life!‘ - -Footnote 39: - - Mr. Coleridge named his eldest son (the writer of some beautiful - Sonnets) after Hartley, and the second after Berkeley. The third was - called Derwent, after the river of that name. Nothing can be more - characteristic of his mind than this circumstance. All his ideas - indeed are like a river, flowing on for ever, and still murmuring as - it flows, discharging its waters and still replenished— - - ‘And so by many winding nooks it strays, - With willing sport to the wild ocean!’ - -Footnote 40: - - We remember finding the volume in the orchard at Burford-bridge near - Boxhill, and passing a whole and very delightful morning in reading - it, without quitting the shade of an apple-tree. We have not been able - to pay Mr. Irving’s book the same compliment of reading it at a - sitting. - -Footnote 41: - - ‘They receive him like a virgin at the Magdalen, _Go thou and do - likewise_’—JUNIUS. - -Footnote 42: - - This work is not without merit in the details and examples of English - construction. But its fault even in that part is that he confounds the - genius of the English language, making it periphrastic and literal, - instead of elliptical and idiomatic. According to Mr. Murray, hardly - any of our best writers ever wrote a word of English. - -Footnote 43: - - At least, with only one change in the genitive case. - -Footnote 44: - - No! For we met with a young lady who kept a circulating library and a - milliner’s shop, in a watering-place in the country, who, when we - inquired for the _Scotch Novels_, spoke indifferently about them, said - they were ‘so dry she could hardly get through them,’ and recommended - us to read _Agnes_. We never thought of it before; but we would - venture to lay a wager that there are many other young ladies in the - same situation, and who think ‘Old Mortality’ ‘dry.’ - -Footnote 45: - - Just as Cobbett is a matter-of-fact reasoner. - -Footnote 46: - - St. Ronan’s Well. - -Footnote 47: - - Perhaps the finest scene in all these novels, is that where the - Dominie meets his pupil, Miss Lucy, the morning after her brother’s - arrival. - -Footnote 48: - - ‘And here we cannot but think it necessary to offer some better proof - than the incidents of an idle tale, to vindicate the melancholy - representation of manners which has been just laid before the reader. - It is grievous to think that those valiant Barons, to whose stand - against the crown the liberties of England were indebted for their - existence, should themselves have been such dreadful oppressors, and - capable of excesses, contrary not only to the laws of England, but to - those of nature and humanity. But alas! we have only to extract from - the industrious Henry one of those numerous passages which he has - collected from contemporary historians, to prove that fiction itself - can hardly reach the dark reality of the horrors of the period. - - ‘The description given by the author of the Saxon Chronicle of the - cruelties exercised in the reign of King Stephen by the great barons - and lords of castles, who were all Normans, affords a strong proof of - the excesses of which they were capable when their passions were - inflamed. “They grievously oppressed the poor people by building - castles; and when they were built, they filled them with wicked men or - rather devils, who seized both men and women who they imagined had any - money, threw them into prison, and put them to more cruel tortures - than the martyrs ever endured. They suffocated some in mud, and - suspended others by the feet, or the head, or the thumbs, kindling - fires below them. They squeezed the heads of some with knotted cords - till they pierced their brains, while they threw others into dungeons - swarming with serpents, snakes, and toads.” But it would be cruel to - put the reader to the pain of perusing the remainder of the - description.’—_Henry’s Hist._ edit. 1805, vol. vii. p. 346. - -Footnote 49: - - This Essay was written just before Lord Byron’s death. - -Footnote 50: - - ‘Don Juan was my Moscow, and Faliero - My Leipsic, and my Mont St. Jean seems Cain.’ - _Don Juan_, Canto xi. - -Footnote 51: - - This censure applies to the first Cantos of DON JUAN much more than to - the last. It has been called a TRISTRAM SHANDY in rhyme: it is rather - a poem written about itself. - -Footnote 52: - - The late Rev. Joseph Fawcett, of Walthamstow. - -Footnote 53: - - At the time when the _Vindiciæ Gallicæ_ first made its appearance, as - a reply to the _Reflections on the French Revolution_, it was cried up - by the partisans of the new school, as a work superior in the charms - of composition to its redoubted rival: in acuteness, depth, and - soundness of reasoning, of course there was supposed to be no - comparison. - -Footnote 54: - - What an awkward bedfellow for a tuft of violets! - -Footnote 55: - - ‘How oft, O Dart! what time the faithful pair - Walk’d forth, the fragrant hour of eve to share, - On thy romantic banks, have my _wild strains_ - (Not yet forgot amidst my native plains) - While thou hast sweetly gurgled down the vale, - Filled up the pause of love’s delightful tale! - While, ever as she read, the conscious maid, - By faultering voice and downcast looks betray’d, - Would blushing on her lover’s neck recline, - And with her finger—point the tenderest line!’ - _Mæviad_, _pp._ 194, 202. - - Yet the author assures us just before, that in these ‘wild strains’ - ‘all was plain.’ - - ‘Even then (admire, John Bell! my simple ways) - No heaven and hell danced madly through my lays, - No oaths, no execrations; _all was plain_; - Yet trust me, while thy ever jingling train - Chime their sonorous woes with frigid art, - And shock the reason and revolt the heart; - My hopes and fears, in nature’s language drest, - Awakened love in many a gentle breast.’ - _Ibid._, _v._ 185–92. - - If any one else had composed these ‘wild strains,’ in which ‘all is - plain,’ Mr. Gifford would have accused them of three things. ‘1. - Downright nonsense. 2. Downright frigidity. 3. Downright doggrel;’ and - proceeded to anatomise them very cordially in his way. As it is, he is - thrilled with a very pleasing horror at his former scenes of - tenderness, and ‘gasps at the recollection’ ‘of _watery Aquarius_!’ - _he! jam satis est!_ ‘Why rack a grub—a butterfly upon a wheel?‘ - -Footnote 56: - - Mr. Merry was even with our author in personality of abuse. See his - Lines on the Story of the Ape that was given in charge to the - ex-tutor. - -Footnote 57: - - The style of philosophical criticism, which has been the boast of the - Edinburgh Review, was first introduced into the Monthly Review about - the year 1796, in a series of articles by Mr. William Taylor, of - Norwich. - -Footnote 58: - - Mr. Brougham is not a Scotchman literally, but by adoption. - -Footnote 59: - - After all, the best as well as most amusing comment on the character - just described was that made by Sheridan, who being picked up in no - very creditable plight by the watch, and asked rather roughly who he - was, made answer—‘I am Mr. Wilberforce!’ The guardians of the night - conducted him home with all the honours due to Grace and Nature. - -Footnote 60: - - The late Lord Chancellor Thurlow used to say that Cobbett was the only - writer that deserved the name of a political reasoner. - -Footnote 61: - - Mr. Cobbett speaks almost as well as he writes. The only time I ever - saw him he seemed to me a very pleasant man—easy of access, affable, - clear-headed, simple and mild in his manner, deliberate and unruffled - in his speech, though some of his expressions were not very qualified. - His figure is tall and portly: he has a good sensible face—rather - full, with little grey eyes, a hard, square forehead, a ruddy - complexion, with hair grey or powdered; and had on a scarlet - broad-cloth waistcoat, with the flaps of the pockets hanging down, as - was the custom for gentlemen-farmers in the last century, or as we see - it in the pictures of Members of Parliament in the reign of George I. - I certainly did not think less favourably of him for seeing him. - -Footnote 62: - - Like angels’ visits, short and far between’— - _Blair’s Grave._ - -Footnote 63: - - Is not this word, which occurs in the last line but one, (as well as - before) an instance of that repetition, which we so often meet with in - the most correct and elegant writers? - -Footnote 64: - - Compare his songs with Burns’s. - -Footnote 65: - - ‘There was a little man, and he had a little soul, - And he said, Little soul, let us try,’ &c. - - Parody on - - ‘There was a little man, and he had a little gun.— - - One should think this exquisite ridicule of a pedantic effusion might - have silenced for ever the automaton that delivered it: but the - official personage in question at the close of the Session addressed - an extra-official congratulation to the Prince Regent on a bill that - had _not_ passed—as if to repeat and insist upon our errors were to - justify them. - -Footnote 66: - - The description of sports in the forest: - - ‘To see the sun to bed and to arise, - Like some hot amourist with glowing eyes,’ &c. - -Footnote 67: - - These persons who have been so long on the rack of incomprehensible - theories and captious disputes, whose minds have been stretched on the - Procrustes’ bed of metaphysical systems, till they have acquired a - horror of any thing like common sense or familiar expression, put me - in mind of what is said of those who have been really put to the rack: - they can bear their unnatural distorted state tolerably well; it is - the return of sense and motion which is death to them. - -Footnote 68: - - How difficult do we find it, to believe that a person is telling us a - falsehood, while we are with him, though we may at the same time be - thoroughly convinced that this is the case. - -Footnote 69: - - In this age of solid reason, it is always necessary to refer to - particular examples, as it was formerly necessary to explain all hard - words to the ladies. Condillac, in his Logic, that favourite manual of - the modern sciolist, with admirable clearness proves, that our idea of - virtue is a sensible image; because virtue implies a law, and that law - must be written in a book, which must consist of letters, or figures - of a certain shape, colour, and dimensions, which are real things, the - objects of sense: that we are therefore right in asserting virtue to - have a real existence, namely on paper, and in supposing that we have - some idea of it, that is, as consisting of the letters of the - alphabet. Mr. Horne Tooke, a man of wonderful wit, knowledge, and - acuteness, but who, with my consent, shall not be empanelled as a - juror to decide upon any question of abstruse reasoning, has - endeavoured to explain away the whole meaning of language, by doing - away its habitual or customary meaning, by denying that words have any - meaning but what is derived to them from the umbilical root which - first unites them to matter; and by making it out, that our thoughts - having no life or motion in them, but as they are dragged about - mechanically by words, are ‘just such shard-born beetle things’ - - ‘As only buz to heav’n on ev’ning wings; - Strike in the dark, offending but by chance; - - · · · · · - - They know not beings, and but _bear_ a name.’ - - Mr. Tooke’s description of the formation of language[70] is a sort of - pantomime or masquerade, where you see the trunks of our abstract - ideas going about in search of their _heads_, or clumsily setting on - their own _noses_, and afterwards pointing to them in answer to all - questions: it reminds you of the island of Pantagruel (or some such - place), where the men carry their heads before them - -Footnote 70: - - See his account of the terminations head and ness, or nez. in their - hands, or you would fancy that our author had lately been at the - Promontory of noses. Andrew Paraeus, on the solution of noses, was a - novice to him. I am a little uneasy at this scheme of reducing all our - ideas to points and solid substances. It is like the project to the - philosopher, who contended that all the solid matter in the universe - might be contained in a nutshell. This is ticklish ground to tread - upon. At this rate, and if the proportion holds, each man will hardly - have a single particle of understanding left to his share; and in two - large quarto volumes, there may not perhaps be three grains of solid - sense. Mr. Tooke, as a man of wit, may naturally wish to turn every - thing to _point_. But this method will not hold in metaphysics: it is - necessary to spin the thread of our ideas a little finer, and to take - up with the flimsy texture of mental appearances. It is not easy to - philosophize in solid epigrams, or explain abstruse questions by the - tagging of points. I do not, however, mean to object to Mr. Tooke’s - etymological system as an actual history of language, but to that - superficial gloss of philosophy which is spread over it, and to the - whole of his logic: I might instance in the axiom, on which the whole - turns, that ‘it is as absurd to talk of a complex idea as of a complex - star.’ Now this and such like phrases had better have been left out: - it is a good antithesis, but it is nothing more. Or if it had been put - into the mouth of Sir Francis, who is a young man of lively parts, and - then gravely answered by Mr. Tooke, it would have been all very well. - But as it stands, it is injurious to the interests of philosophy, and - an affront to common sense. Hartley proceeded a good way in making a - dissected map of the brain; and did all he could to prove the human - soul to consist of a white curd. After all, he was forced to confess, - that it was impossible to get at the mind itself; and he was obliged - to rest satisfied with having spent many years, and wasted immense - ingenuity, in ‘vicariously torturing and defacing’ its nearest - representative in matter. He was too great a man not to perceive the - impossibility of ever reconciling matter and motion with the nature of - thought; and he therefore left his system imperfect. But it fell into - good hands, and soon had all its deficiencies supplied, and its doubts - cleared up, to the entire satisfaction and admiration of all the dull, - the superficial, and the ignorant. - -Footnote 71: - - Essay on Human Action. - -Footnote 72: - - There is one argument in defence of Old Age, in Cicero, which is so - exquisitely put, that nothing can surpass it: it is a perfect _bon - bouche_ for a metaphysician. It is where some one objects to old age, - that the old man, whatever comforts he may enjoy, cannot hope to live - long, which the young man at least expects to do. To which is - answered: So much the better; the one has already done what the other - only hopes to do: the old man has already lived long: the young man - only hopes that he may. A man would be happy a whole day after having - such a thought as this. - -Footnote 73: - - Mr. Tooke has fallen into the same mistake with which he reproaches - preceding writers, that of supposing the different sorts of words to - be the measure of the different sorts of things. He has only reversed - their inference: for as the old grammarians, who admitted more - different sorts of words, contended for more differences of things, so - Mr. Tooke, who admits of fewer sorts of words, argues that there can - be only as many different ideas or things, as are expressed by the - different parts of speech. Thus, if substantives and adjectives do not - represent substance and quality, there can be no such difference in - nature, or in the human understanding. This we conceive to be a piece - of as false philosophy, as if we were to affirm that there can be no - difference between blue or yellow, because they are both adjectives, - or between light and sound, because they are both substantives. Mr. - Tooke’s whole object is to show that the different parts of speech do - not relate to the differences in ideas or things, and yet he would - make the difference in the one, the test of the difference in the - other. As to all that he has said of abstraction, and the real or - physical meaning of words, we believe that we do not understand him; - for, as far as we do, his facts and cases seem to us to prove the very - reverse of his conclusions. So he has brought 2000 instances of the - meaning of words to demonstrate that we have no abstract ideas, not - one of which 2000 meanings is any thing else but an abstract idea. - Logic and metaphysics are the weak sides of his reasoning. But he has - rendered essential services to grammar, which cannot be overlooked or - forgotten. - -Footnote 74: - - ‘A fellow of no mark nor likelihood,’ _Henry IV._, Part I., Act III. - Scene 2. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES - - - 1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling. - 2. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed. - 3. Footnotes have been re-indexed using numbers and collected together - at the end of the last chapter. - 4. 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