The Selected Writings of William Hazlitt. Liber Amoris. The Spirit of The Age. Edited by Duncan Wu

THE PICKERING MASTERS
THE SELECTED WRITINGS OF WILLIAM HAZLITT
Volume 7
Uher Amoris
The Spirit of the Age
THE PICKERING MASTERS
THE SELECTED WRITINGS OF WILLIAM HAZLITT
Consulting Editors: David Bromwich

Stanley Jones
Roy Park
Tom Paulin
THE SELECTED WRITINGS
OF WILLIAM HAZLITT
Edited by
DuncanWu
VOLUME 7
Liber Amoris
I~ ~~o~;!~n~~:up
LONDON AND NEW YORK
First published 1998 by Pickering & Chatto (Publishers) Limited
Published 2016 by Routledge
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Copyright ©Taylor & Francis 1998

© General Introduction Tom Paulin 1998
© Editor's Introduction, editorial and Introductory Notes Duncan Wu 1998
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BRITISH LIBRARY CATALOGUING IN PUBLICATION DATA
Hazlitt. William, 1778-1830
Selected works of William Hazlitt. - (The Pickering masters)
1. English Essays - 18th century
I. Tide II. Wu, Duncan
824.7
ISBN 13: 978-1-13876-326-5 (hbk) (vol-07)
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

Hazlitt, William, 1778-1830.
[Selections. 1998]
The selected writings of William Hazlitt / edited by Duncan Wu;
consulting editors David Bromwich, Stanley Jones, Roy Park, Tom Paulin;
introduction by Tom Paulin.
p. cm.
Contents: v. 1. An essay on the principles of human action; Characters of
Shakespear's plays - v. 2. The round table; Lectures on the English poets - v. 3. A
view of the English stage - v. 4. Political essays - v. 5. A letter to William Gifford,
Esq; Lectures on the English Comic writers; Lectures on the dramatic literature of the
Age of Elizabeth - v. 6. Table talk - v. 7. Liber Amoris; The spirit of the age - v.
8. The plain speaker - v.9. Uncollected essays.
Includes bibliographical references and indexes.
ISBN 1-85196-369-3 (set: alk. paper). - ISBN 1-85196-361-8 (v. 1 : alk.
paper). - ISBN 1-85196-362-6 (v. 2 : alk. paper). - ISBN 1-85196-363-4 (v. 3 :
alk. paper). - ISBN 1-85196-364-2 (v. 4: alk. paper). - ISBN 1-85196-365--0 (v.
5: alk. paper). - ISBN 1-85196-366-9 (v. 6 : alk. paper). - ISBN 1-85196-367-7
(v. 7 : alk. paper). ISBN 1-85196-368-5 (v. 8 : alk. paper). - ISBN 1-85196-397-9
(v. 9 : alk. paper).
I. Wu. Duncan. II. Tide
PR4771.W81998
824'.7-dc21
98-10129
CIP
Typeset by Antony Gray, London
Volume 7
CONTENTS
List of abbreviations vii

Introductory notes xi
Briefbiographical directory of selected personages XXXlll
LIBER AMORIS 1
Advertisement 3
Part I
The Picture 7
The Invitation 8
The Message 10
The Flageolet 11
The Confession 12
The Quarrel 14
The Reconciliation 17
Letters to the Same 20
To the Same 21
Written in a Blank Leaf of Endymion 22
A Proposal of Love 22
Part II
Letter to C. P--, Esq. 25
Letter II 26
Letter III 28
Letter IV (Written in the Winter) 29
Letter V 30
Letter VI (Written in May) 31
Letter VII 32
Letter VIII 34
To Edinburgh 35
A Thought 36
Letter IX 37
Letter X 39
Letter XI 41
To S.L. 42
Letter XII. To C. P - - 43
Unaltered Love 43
v
SELECTED WRITINGS OF WILLIAM HAZLlTT: VOLUME 7
Perfect Love 44
From C. P. Esq. 45
Letter XIII 48
Letter the Last 49
Part III
Addressed to J.S.K--- 53
To the Same (in continuation) 60
To the Same (in Conclusion) 70
THE SPIRIT OF THE AGE 75

Jeremy Bentham 77
William Godwin 87
Mr Coleridge 98
Rev. Mr Irving 106
The Late Mr Horne Tooke 114
Sir Walter Scott 124
Lord Byron 134
Mr Campbell and Mr Crabbe 143
Sir James Mackintosh 153
Mr Wordsworth 161
Mr Malthus 170
Mr Gifford 180
MrJeffrey 192
Mr Brougham - Sir Francis Burdett 199
Lord Eldon and Mr Wilberforce 206
Mr Southey 214
Mr T. Moore - Mr Leigh Hunt 221
Elia, and Geoffrey Crayon 230
APPENDIX I: 'Mr Canning' 237

APPENDIX II: Cancelled passage from the manuscript of 'The Fight' 249
APPENDIX III: Two extracts from Hazlitt's letter to Patmore,
29 or 30 May 1822 251
APPENDIX IV: Contents lists for The Spirit oj the Age, Paris and
second London editions 255
APPENDIX V: 'A Half-length' - a postscript to The Spirit oj the Age 259
Notes 263
Books referred to in the notes to volume 7 318
VI
LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS
Amyot Speeches in Parliament, of the Rt. Hon. William Windham, ed.

Thomas Amyot (3 vols., London, 1812)
Bate and Engell Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Biographia Literaria, eds. W.]. Bate
and James Engell (2 vols., Princeton, NJ, 1983)
Bonner The Journals of Sarah and William Hazlitt 1822-1831, ed.
Willard Hallam Bonner, The University of Buffalo Studies, 24, 3
(February 1959)
Boswell's Life Boswell's Life ofJohnson, ed. George Birkbeck Hill, rev. L. F.
Powell (6 vols., Oxford, 1934-50)
Butler and Green William Wordsworth, Lyrical Ballads, and Other Poems, 1797-
1800, eds. James Butler and Karen Green (Ithaca, NY, 1992)
Cannon The Letters ofJunius, ed.John Cannon (Oxford, 1978)
Cervantes Miguel de Cervantes, The History and Adventures of the
renowned Don Quixote, tr. Tobias Smollett (6th edn., 4 vols.,
London, 1792)
Champneys The Complete Poetical Works of George Crabbe, eds. Norma
Dalrymple-Champneys and Arthur Pollard (3 vols., Oxford,
1988)
Confessions Jean Jacques Rousseau, Les Confessions de]. J. Rousseau (2
vols., Amsterdam, 1762)
Diversions John Home Tooke, "Em:u 1t'tEPO£V'tU, Or, the Diversions of
Purley (2nd edn., 2 vols., London, 1798-1805)
Dowden The Letters of Thomas Moore, ed. Wilfred S. Dowden (2 vols.,
Oxford, 1964)
EHC The Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, ed. E. H.
Coleridge (2 vols., Oxford, 1912)
EY The Letters of William and Dorothy Wordsworth: The Early Years,
1787-1805, ed. Ernest de Selincourt, rev. Chester L. Shaver
(Oxford, 1967)
Foakes Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Lectures 1808-1819 On Literature,
ed. R. A. Foakes (2 vols., Princeton, NJ, 1987)
Gifford The Plays of Philip Massinger, ed. William Gifford (4 vols.,
London, 1805)
VB
Griggs Collected Letters of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, ed. Earl Leslie

Griggs (6 vols., Oxford, 1956-71)
Hill Samuel johnson, Lives of the English Poets, ed. George
Birkbeck Hill (3 vols., Oxford, 1895)
Howe The Works of William Hazlitt, ed. P. P. Howe (21 vols.,
London, 1930-4)
jones Stanley jones, Hazlitt: A Life (Oxford, 1989)
jones (1964) Stanley jones, 'Hazlitt in Edinburgh: An Evening with Mr
Ritchie of The Scotsman', Etudes Anglaises, 17 (1964), pp. 9-
20,113-27
jones (1966) Stanley jones, 'Hazlitt and John Bull: A Neglected Letter',
RES, 17 (1966), pp. 163-70
jones (1977) Stanley jones, 'Some New Hazlitt Letters', N&Q (1977) 336-
42
jones (1980) Stanley jones, review of Letters, The Library, 2 (1980), pp.
356-62
jones (1983) Stanley jones, 'Some Notes on the Letters ofWilliam Hazlitt',
The Library, 3 (1983), pp. 269-75
jones (1995) Stanley jones, 'More Hazlitt Quotations and Allusions:
Shakespeare, the Bible, Milton, Quintilian/Steele, Pope,
Burke', N&Q, 42 (1995), pp. 186-7
jones (1996) Stanley jones, 'Further Quotations and Reminiscences in
Hazlitt: Daniel, the Bible, Milton, Paine, Dorset', N&Q, 43
(1996), pp. 37-8
Ker john Dryden, Essays ofJohn Dryden, ed. W. P. Ker (2 vols.,
Oxford, 1900)
Lamb, Letters The Letters of Charles and Mary Lamb, ed. E. V. Lucas (2 vols.,
London, 1912)
Langford The Writings and Speeches of Edmund Burke Volume 2: Party,
Parliament, and the American Crisis 1766-1774, ed. Paul
Langford (Oxford, 1981)
Larpent Dougald MacMillan, Catalogue of the Larpent Plays in the
Huntington Library (1939)
Letters The Letters of William Hazlitt, ed. Herschel Moreland Sikes,
assisted by Willard Hallam Bonner and Gerald Lahey (New
York,1978)
Life P. P. Howe, The Life of William Hazlitt (3rd edn., London,
1947)
Literary Remains William Hazlitt,jr, Literary Remains of the Late William Hazlitt
(2 vols., London, 1836)
viii
LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS
Little Barron Field's Memoirs if Wordsworth, ed. Geoffrey Little

(Sydney, 1975)
LY The Letters if William and Dorothy Wordsworth: The Later
Years, ed. Ernest De Selincourt, i: 1821-8, rev. Alan G. Hill
(Oxford, 1978); ii: 1829-34, rev. Alan G. Hill (Oxford,
1982); iii: 1835-9, rev. Alan G. Hill (Oxford, 1982); iv:
1840-53, rev. Alan G. Hill (Oxford, 1988)
Mackintosh, Memoirs RobertJames Mackintosh, Memoirs ifthe Life ifthe Rt Hon.
SirJames Mackintosh (2 vols., London, 1835)
Malone The Works if Sir Joshua Reynolds, Knight, ed. Edmond
Malone (3 vols., London, 1809)
Marchand Byron's Letters andJournals, ed. Leslie A. Marchand (12 vols.,
London, 1973-82)
Maxwell (1951) J. C. Maxwell, 'Some Hazlitt Quotations', N&Q, 196
(1951), p. 409
McDowell The Writings and Speeches if Edmund Burke Volume 9: I: The
Revolutionary War 1794-1797; II: Ireland, ed. R. B.
McDowell (Oxford, 1991)
Milton, Prose Works Complete Prose Works ifJohn Milton (8 vols., New Haven,
1953-82)
Mitchell The Writings and Speeches ifEdmund Burke Vol. 8: The French
Revolution 1790-1794, ed. L. G. Mitchell (Oxford, 1989)
MY The Letters if William and Dorothy Wordsworth: The Middle
Years, ed. Ernest De Selincourt, i: 1806-11, rev. Mary
Moorman (Oxford, 1969); ii: 1812-20, rev. Mary
Moorman and Alan G. Hill (Oxford, 1970)
Nicholson Lard Byron: The Complete Miscellaneous Prose, ed. Andrew
Nicholson (Oxford, 1991)
N&Q Notes and Queries
Redford The Letters if Samuel Johnson, ed. Bruce Redford (5 vols.,
Princeton, NJ, 1992-4)
Reid J. C. Reid, Bucks and Bruisers: Pierce Egan and Regency
England (London, 1971)
Robinson William Hazlitt to his Publishers, Friends, and Creditors:
Twenty-Seven New Holograph Letters, ed. Charles E.
Robinson (York, 1987)
Rosenbaum Barbara Rosenbaum, Index to English Literary Manuscripts
Vol. IV: 1800-1900, Part 4 (London, 1990)
SA (1886) William Hazlitt, The Spirit if the Age, ed. William Carew
Hazlitt (4th edn., London, 1886)
IX
SELECTED WRITINGS OF WILLIAM HAZLITT: VOLUME 7
Stephens Alexander Stephens, Memoirs of John Horne Tooke,

interspersed with original documents (2 vols., London,
1813)
Stout Laurence Sterne, A Sentimental Journey through France
and Italy by Mr Yorick, ed. Gardner D. Stout, Jr
(Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1967)
Therry The Speeches ofthe Right Honourable George Canning, ed.
R. Therry (6 vols., London, 1828)
Woodring Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Table Talk, ed. Carl
Woodring (2 vols., Princeton, NJ, 1990)
Wordsworth, Prose Works The Prose Works of William Wordsworth, eds. W. J. B.
Owen and Jane Worthington Smyser (3 vols., Oxford,
1974)
WR Duncan Wu, Wordsworth's Reading 177~1815 (2
vols., Cambridge, 1993-5)
Wright Sir Francis Bacon, The Advancement of Learning, ed.
William Aldis Wright (5th edn., Oxford, 1926)
x
INTRODUCTORY NOTES
Liber Amoris
Hazlitt had separated from his wife by the autumn of1819, and in mid-August 1820
he took up new lodgings in 9 Southampton Buildings, where his landlord was
Micaiah Walker, a tailor. It was on the 16th that he first saw his landlord's second
daughter, Sarah.! He seems to have fallen in love with her immediately, and in the
following year sought to divorce his wife, so as to marry her. The divorce, which
he obtained in Scodand, was granted only after a series of tormenting delays and
legal tangles, on 17 July 1822, by which time he suspected that Sarah was not
seriously interested in him. On 29 July he found confirmation ofher preference for
another of her father's lodgers, John Tomkins.
This long, painful tale is told in painful detail in Liber Amoris, which draws freely
on letters written while these events were taking place. The clean break that is
implied in the closing pages of the work never took place; Hazlitt continued to be
tortured by his obsession. As late as March 1823 he arranged for a friend, known
to us only as 'F.', 2 to attempt to seduce her as final, conclusive proof that she was
no longer inclined towards him. This wretched postscript to the affair is
documented in Hazlitt's diary of 4-16 March 1823, which has been edited with
Sarah Stoddart Hazlitt's diary by Professor Bonner.3 Anyone using Bonner's
edition as a source should be mindful ofthe provisos, emendations and corrections
listed by Stanley Jones, 'Hazlitt'sJournal of1823: Some Notes and Emendations',
The Library, 26 (1971), pp. 325-36.
The events surrounding Liber Amoris have been retold by most of Hazlitt's
biographers, and continue to be subject to much (sometimes unfruitful)
speculation. The most comprehensive and accurate account is given by Jones, pp.
308-38 - and that is where all those with a serious interest in it should begin. No
amount of speculation, however tendentious, could be sillier than the
contemporary reception, which is dealt with below (pp. xiii-xviii). The affair left
its mark on several works written at this period besides Liber A moris, including 'On
Living to One's Self, 'The Past and Future', 'On Great and Litde Things', and 'The
Fight' (where, however, its effects were eliminated before publication; see
Appendix II, pp. 249-50, below).
Xl
Text
Why did Hazlitt decide to publish the book? Jones conjectures usefully on the
matter (Jones, p. 337),4 and it does seem likely, as he suggests, that Hazlitt saw it as
a way of assuming power over the appalling experience through which he had
lived, and of gaining revenge on Sarah Walker. At all events, it was published on
9 May 1823 by John Hunt, without authorial attribution; Hazlitt is said to have
been paid £100 for the copyright. The portrait on the title-page was engraved from
a drawing ofSarah Walker by Hazlitt, and is the subject of the first 'conversation'.
The first edition provides my copy-text.
The work was reprinted in 1884. Richard Le Gallienne wrote the introduction
for another reprint in 1893, and in the following year published the most important
scholarly edition thus far, which contained transcriptions ofsome ofthe manuscript
materials now retained at SUNY at Buffalo. Cheap editions appeared subsequently
in 1907 and 1948. Charles Morgan edited the text afresh in 1958 in Liber Amoris and
Dramatic Criticisms.
Manuscripts
It is an irony that Liber Amoris, the work which occasions most unease among
Hazlittians, is the best accounted for in terms of manuscripts. Of the letters in the
text based on 'real' letters, only those sent to P. G. Patmore are extant. Most are at
SUNY at Buffalo, although one has made its way into the Princeton University
Library. Before dealing with them, I must first mention two major sources for Part
I of the book:
(1) revised autograph draft of Part I, up to page 44 of the printed text, in a small octavo
notebook, now retained at the Pierpont Morgan library;
(2) red leather notebook containing a transcript ofthe contents ofthe above, in the hand
ofP. G. Patmore, with annotations by Hazlitt (none ofthe annotations appears in the
printed text). The inside front cover contains the inscription 'Stamford, Jany. 29. /
1822'. The copy contains a number ofcorrections, most ofwhich bring the text closer
to that of the published volume; indeed, it provided printer's copy, but further
alterations were evidently made in proo£ Manuscript variants from this text are
supplied in the annotations.
Of the letters that formed the basis of Part II of the book, the following are
known to me:
(1) eleven original letters to Patmore, including nine used as the basis for Part II, letters
III-V, VII-IX, XI-XIII, and two others not used in Liber Amoris, survive at SUNY at
Buffalo.
(2) letter to Patmore, used as the basis for Part II, Letter II, is now at Princeton, and has
been accurately published by Robinson, pp. 16-20.
xii
INTRODUCTORY NOTES
(3) letter to Patmore used as the basis for Part II, Letter the Last; 17 July 1822, recorded
by Howe as owned in 1932 by the Marquess ofCrewe (Howe, ix, p. 266). The original
ofthis letter turned up in the hands ofa dealer during work on the present edition, but
I was not permitted to consult it.
(4) letter to Patmore used as the basis for Part II, Letter VI; the original turned up in the
hands of a dealer during work on this edition but I was not permitted to consult it.
According to the dealer, the letter is written on the conjugate leaf of a letter from
Benjamin Robert Haydon to Hazlitt; Hazlitt's letter is undated, but Haydon's is dated
28 May 1822. Two extracts from the original were published by Le Gallienne and are
reproduced in Appendix III, below.
(5) cancelled passage on page 11 ofthe MS of 'The Fight', used in Part II, Letter VI, and
as the second part of'A Thought'. As Rosenbaum observes, the previous leaf of this
manuscript is missing and it probably contained another cancelled passage later
incorporated into Uber Amoris. This MS is at the Pierpont Morgan Library. My
transcription of the relevant passage is in Appendix II, below.
Hazlitt's diary describing the experiences of ' Mr. F', a lodger at the Walkers',
comprises eleven numbered loose pages dated 4-16 March 1823, and is now at
SUNY at Buffalo. This is published, Bonner, pp. 266-77, and reprinted verbatim in
Letters, pp. 379-89. OfHazlitt's letters to Sarah Walker texts ofthree survive. They
appear in revised fonn in Liber Amaris (pp. 20-1, 42-3), and may be dated 11-19
February,S 5 March,6 20-8June 1822 (Letters, pp. 214-15, 241-4, 277). However,
the originals for these letters have not survived. During work on this edition the
original ofa note by Hazlitt to Sarah Walker (the only one known to survive) came
into the hands of a dealer. I was not pennitted to consult it. It is, according to the
dealer, written in pencil on the address panel of an autograph letter to Hazlitt by
Patmore, and tells Walker of his unhappiness, asserting that he would dedicate
himself to making her happy. The note remains unpublished at the time ofwriting.
There is, as yet, no reliable edition ofthe letters. In my collations ofthe originals
against the texts in Sikes's edition (1978), I, like Jones, have found errors so
numerous as to render the published texts virtually useless. In the absence of
anything else, however, I am compelled to refer the reader to that edition in my
notes. Its use must be subject to the provisos, reservations and corrections, noted by
StanleyJones in his review, The Library, 2 (1980), pp. 356-62, and his article, 'Some
Notes on the Letters ofWilliam Hazlitt', 3 (1983), pp. 269-75. It is earnesdy to be
hoped that a more accurate edition will one day be published.
Reception
The publication of Uber Amoris unleashed a critical stonn that took years to die
down; from an early stage, Hazlitt must have realized that he had handed his
enemies a powerful weapon. The first review, by Albany Fonblanque (writing as
'Q') came only a few days after publication (no doubt thanks to an advance copy)
in The Examiner for 11 May 1823; it marked the calm before the stonn. As a friend
Xlll
of Hazlitt, Fonblanque knew who had written the volume, but did not let on.
Instead, he invoked Goethe, Rousseau and even Le Sage, making literary claims for
the work, while playing along with the pretence that the author was deceased: 'We
regret exceedingly the death ofthe impassioned author, because we are ofopinion,
from the close ofthe book, that ifhe had lived for some time longer he would have
survived his passion'.7 He concludes that 'Liber Amoris is a novelty in the English
language, and we doubt not will be received as a rara avis in this land ofphlegm and
sea-coal.'8 Overall, the review is composed in a slightly tongue-in-cheek fashion
that suggests that Fonblanque lacked conviction in the qualities of the volume but
felt obliged to wish it well.
The onslaught began with a review on the front page of Edward Shackell's
Literary Register within the week, which began by returning to the question of the
author's identity: 'Ecce iterum Crispinus - i.e. behold Billy again; it can be no one
else. A dukedom to a ducat it is Billy! "A native of North Britain, who died in the
Netherlands?"9 Pooh! - no such thing. It is he of the "Libera!!" '10 The reviewer
goes on to point to Sarah Walker's identity, when he says that 'Billy' had fallen in
love
with his landlord's daughter, a pert, cunning, coming, good-for-nothing chit,

who amuses herself with Silly Billy's tomfoolery, till she draws him on to an
exposure of himself in all the nakedness of his conceit, selfishness, slavering
sensuality, filthy profligacy, and howling idiotcy; and all this, the poor mistaken
man has deemed it fit to publish to the world, with a studied minuteness ofdetail,
a gloating fondness of recollection, and a solemn earnestness of manner, as ifhe
were actually performing a duty which might both profit and please society,
instead ofwriting a book from which every mind, with one single spark ofgood
sense and right feeling left within it, will tum with horror, loathing, and
contempt. II
The reviewer is motivated largely by political prejudice; in the second paragraph he

comments that his aim is to give the public 'every opportunity of seeing what
materials go to the composition of these liberal and radical rapscallions, who take
upon them the airs of philosophers, poets, and politicians, disseminaters of truth,
improvers of taste, reformers of abuses, and ameliorators of mankind, as they call
themselves' .12 That element ofpolitical recrimination invades even the description
of Sarah Walker:
'A tradesman's daughter' - a commonjlirt - a common lodging-house servant-

nay, a common trader in indecencies with every fellow in the house, this poor
infatuated idiot calls 'a glorious girl,' who would 'ennoble any family' 'by true
nobility of mind.' Pooh! - but these are a cockney's and a liberal's notions of
nobility; and how should they be otherwise?13
Extracts are introduced with the observation that they consist of ' unprincipled and
xiv
INTRODUCTORY NOTES
indecent trash' and the 'ordure ofa filthy mind',14 and the attack on Hazlitt's morals
continues. Having taken a swipe at The Examiner for its coverage, the reviewer
promises a further instalment on 24 May.
The following day, a review appeared in The British Luminary and Weekly
Intelligencer; it too was apparently written in the knowledge ofHazlitt's authorship,
as it alludes to him (without naming him) in the concluding paragraph. But the
reviewer holds offfrom an attack, contenting himself with a facetious summary of
the volume and the comment that 'We hold it no impeachment of a man's
understanding, that he talks and writes absurdly in a love fit' .15
As promised, the Literary Register published the second part of its review on 24
May, which consisted of a diatribe against Hazlitt for his 'hateful and nauseous
depravity' .16 Lengthy chunks ofthe volume are quoted; in fact, as Jones has noted,
the 'two numbers of the Register, 17 and 24 May, might almost be said to have
pirated the text in eighteen closely printed columns of"selections" , Oones, p. 338).
The concluding attack on Hazlitt is particularly revealing; he is categorised as one
of those who 'lecture upon the crimes, forsooth, of their nation, their governors,
and their sovereign; and undertake to teach them better ... they hookwink their
minds and prostitute their talents to mock their country, their monarch, and their
God':
Fools! let them philosophize with the French and sensualize with the Italians,
they are ignorant ofthe moral, as ofthe religious, character ofEngland. England
disowns and rejects them .... The crested pride of the aristocratic demon who
heads them has fallen into the utter darkness of neglect, and hooting, and
mockery only, now wait upon him and his floundering and paltry followers. One
publication after another sinks them deeper and deeper into derision. From
Rimini, Beppo, Juan, the Liberal, down to the Liber Amoris, the last as it is the
lowest and most despicable specimen of the talents which are conjoined in the
Pisan firm of Liberal literature. 17
In this way, the ingenious reviewer in the Literary Register managed to tum a notice
of Liber Amoris into an attack on Byron and Leigh Hunt.
Within the week, The Times published a brief paragraph about the volume by
someone who found Part III 'somewhat tawdry', and found Hazlitt's descriptions
ofhis behaviour painful and disgusting. IS All the same, the reviewer ranks it 'among
the curiosities ofliterature' - a description which, according to the reviewer inJohn
Bull, was calculated to help the volume sell. The following day the Literary Gazette
published a review by William Jerdan that began by naming Hazlitt as the author
in the opening sentence, adding that 'we are only surprised that a writer so prone
to resent attack has not leaped forth to disclaim the foul reproach, through all the
channels of Cocaigne-periodicalliterature' .19 Jerdan had read the Literary Register
account, because, as there, Hazlitt is called 'Pyg' (for Pygmalion); he too belittles
the book by a vulgarised account of its contents:
xv
The name of love profaned by this Oaf (whoever he is) is, if we can call it a
passion at all, the passion which might best be described by saying, that the man's
mind was wo"eted about a light lodging-house wanton, who permitted the fool
to take every indecent liberty with her, and humbugged him preciously.20
After several extracts interspersed by ribald corrunents, Jerdan concludes by

remarking that 'a greater blockhead or sillier creature never wrote himselfdown as
ass in the face of a despising and hissing public' than the author of Liber Amoris. 21
Hazlitt may have hoped that this was as bad as the reviews would get; ifso, he was
cruelly mistaken. John Bull was a newspaper, edited by Theodore Hook, that had
so far taken little notice ofhim; that was about to change. On 15 June it published
the first part ofa review which named him in its opening sentence, and went on to
name Patmore - 'a pawnbroker's son, who, alas! was second to the Mr Scott, who
was shot in a duel'.22 The second part would name Sarah as well. Moreover, along
with a degree ofvituperation and ridicule that, ifanything, surpasses anything thus
far administered, it published the text ofan original letter from Hazlitt to Sarah that
had fallen into the reviewer's hands (Hazlitt believed the reviewer to be John
Wilson Croker). Having named both Hazlitt and John Hunt as being jointly
responsible for the volume, the reviewer proceeds with his rant:
The dirty abominations of the raffs ofliterature are far below notice, but when
to innate stupidity, grossness, vulgarity, and impudence are added the most
degraded practical sensuality, the most inveterate ignorance, and the most
depraved principle, it becomes necessary to take a double view of their
abominable struggles against taste, decency, and morality.23
The attack continues with a spoof on Liber Amoris set in 'The Tailor's Lodging
House' between 'Mr Billy Hazlitt' and 'Sally - (the Landlord's daughter)" and
makes a number ofjibes about Hazlitt's looks and age ('a very ill-looking middle-
aged man'), and Sarah's class ('a poor plebeian girl'). A second part was published
in John Bull on 23 June, and this carried the full text of the letter which provided
the basis for the letter of March 1822 on p. 21, below. (Ironically,John Bull is the
only source we have for this letter, and it provided the copy-text for the editors of
Letters, pp. 241-4.) The reviewer concludes with the pious declaration that 'we will
not submit to have beastliness and folly stuffed down the public throat, or a virtuous
female calumniated groundlessly, though her libeller be a cockney lecturer on
Shakespeare, and she no better than "a tradesman's daughter" '.24 Fora complete text
ofthe letter, and a discussion ofthe circumstances surrounding the review, see Jones
(1966), and Jones, pp. 338-42. Hazlitt took his revenge on Croker for this attack by
contributing 'A Half-length' to The Examiner in August 1824 (see pp. 259-62).
Hazlitt's identity as the author of Liber Amoris was now generally known, and
reviewers continued to express their disgust. The Country Literary Chronicle and
xvi
INTRODUCTORY NOTES
Weekly Review found the book an insult to 'public decency and public morals';25 in
Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine Lockhart described it as 'a veritable transcript ofthe
feelings and doings of an individual living LIBERAL'.26 Taking this argument to its
conclusion, he argues that it 'HAS EXPOSED AND RUINED THE COCKNEY SCHOOL'.27
Lockhart concludes with an imprecation that, once again, underlines the political
motivation behind the attack: 'we call down upon his head, and upon the heads of
those accomplished reformers in ethics, religion, and politics, who are now
enjoying his chef-d'oeuvre, the scorn and loathing ofevery thing that bears the name
ofMan.'28 Blackwood's did not allow their cause to drop here. References continued
to be made to Liber Amoris for months after. 29 Perhaps the most unpleasant was in
Noctes Ambrosianae, xii, by Wilson and Lockhart, in which Timothy Tickler is made
to say:
Hazlitt is the most loathsome, Hunt the most ludicrous. Pygmalion is so brutified
and besotted now, that he walks out into the public street, enters a bookseller's
shop, mounts a stool, and represents Priapus in Ludgate Hill. 30
Elsewhere, the reviewer in the New European Magazine echoed the scornful
judgements made in John Bull and Blackwood's. Once again, the motivation for the
attack was partly political:
A book under this title has just emanated from that birth-place ofcorruption and
iniquity, the office ofthe Liberal; and a more disgraceful specimen ofrhapsodical
nonsense has never before been submitted to our critical scrutiny.... The real
history ofits origin, and all the iniquitous particulars ofits concoction, are far too
disgusting to insert, and, for a long period, its magnanimous author was himself
afraid to give it publicity.31
The reviewer ridicules Hazlitt for his attempts in the advertisement to obscure his
identity, calls him a 'blockhead', and goes on to observe that Liber Amoris 'is the
actual history ofa man who sets himself up as a critic, a moralist, a judge of human
nature, and, - horresco referens, - a reformer of the morals and the politics of the
people!,32 It concludes damningly, with the observation that Hazlitt's notoriety 'is
from a poisoned and pestiferous source, which, like the noxious exhalations of a
sepulchre, taints all colours it touches with its own. He will pass away from the
earth, leaving only a scorned name, and a long catalogue ofwell-remembered evil-
doings'.33
The excoriation brought down on Hazlitt by publication of Liber Amoris had a
lasting effect on him and his reputation; for the remainder of his professional life,
reviewers took pleasure, whenever discussing his work, in referring to it and the
sad affair it describes. Even his supporters perceived him and his work through
the filter of Liber Amoris. Mary Russell Mitford was a fervent admirer of Hazlitt's
writing, but she could not suppress a certain glee when recounting a story
xvii
concerning him in a letter to Sir William Elford of November 1826:
My friend, Archdeacon Wrangham, who is a thorough-paced bibliomaniac - a

complete collector ofscarce books, and never purchases any other - bought the
Sally-Walker book (the 'Modem Pygmalion,' was not it called?) on speculation
- it being so exceedingly bad, that he was sure it would soon become scarce. I
think this an admirable piece of anticipation. 34
(Incidentally, Wrangham was wrong: Keynes records that the volume 'is not
particularly rare at the present time'. 35) And in 1838, when writing to Julius Charles
Hare about Hazlitt, Wordsworth recorded that 'the wreck of his morals was the
ruin of him, as it must be of every one else' (LY, iii. 595), no doubt with Liber
Amoris in mind. It was the epitaph for a literary experiment that, at least in its own
day, failed to find its audience.
xviii
INTRODUCTORY NOTES
NOTES
By far the most sympathetic and perceptive account of this meeting is provided by
Jones, pp. 310-14.
2 Jones's suggested identification is Albany Fonblanque, who succeeded Leigh Hunt as
editor of The Examiner, and who wrote the first of the reviews of Liber Amoris.
3 It was first published by W. C. Hazlitt in his Lamb and Hazlitt (1900), pp. 113-27.
4 See also Jones (1966) p. 163.
5 The dating is Jones's.
6 The dating is Jones's; and my preferred text would be that published by Jones (1966),
pp. 164-6.
7 The Examiner (11 May 1823), pp. 313-15, p. 315.
8 Ibid.
9 See p. 3, above.
10 Literary Register (17 May 1823), pp. 305-8, p. 305.
11 Ibid.
12 Ibid.
13 Ibid., p. 307.
14 Ibid., p. 305.
15 The British Luminary and Weekly Intelligencer (18 May 1823), p. 154.
16 Literary Register (24 May 1823), pp. 322-5, p. 323.
17 Ibid., p. 325.
18 The Times (30 May 1823).
19 Literary Gazette (31 May 1823), pp. 339-40, p. 339.
20 Ibid.
21 Ibid., p. 340.
22 John Bull, 15 June 1823, pp. 188-9, p. 189.
23 Ibid., p. 188.
24 John Bull (23 June 1823), pp. 197-8, p. 198.
25 Country Literary Chronicle and Weekly Review (28 June 1823), p. 409.
26 Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, 13 Gune 1823), pp. 640-6. The review has been
doubtfully attributed to Lockhart.
27 Ibid., p. 645.
28 Ibid., p. 646.
29 See, for instance, Timothy Tickler's eighth letter, by Maginn and Lockhart,
Blackwood's, 14 (August 1823), pp. 308-29 (which is largely an attack on Hazlitt).
30 Blackwood's, 14 (October 1823), pp. 484-503, p. 488. Ludgate Hill was where William
Hone, publisher of Hazlitt's Political Essays, had his offices.
31 New European Magazine, 2 Gune 1823), pp. 518-21, p. 518.
32 Ibid., p. 52!.
33 Ibid.
34 The Life ofMary Russell Miiford, ed. Revd. A. G. L'Estrange (3 vols., London, 1870),
ii, pp. 235-6.
35 Bibliography of William Hazlitt (2nd edn., Godalming, 1981), p. 68.
XIX
In his essay 'On the Pleasure of Hating', written at Winterslow Hut in late 1823,
Hazlitt defined the 'spirit of the age' as 'the progress of intellectual refinement,
warring with our natural infirmities'.' It was a brilliandy conceived idea, and
Hazlitt was the ideal person to discourse upon it. He perceived, all too clearly, the
weaknesses and foibles ofhis contemporaries, and in the wake ofthe brutally harsh
reviews of Liber Amoris, he no longer had anything to lose by committing his
insights to print. From the judicious assessment ofMackintosh to the score-setding
with Gifford and Croker (in 'A Half-length', Appendix V, pp. 259-62 below),
Hazlitt weighs up the merits or otherwise of his various subjects with no apparent
anxiety as to the consequences.
The idea had been brewing for some time; his first 'portrait' was of Crabbe,
published in the London Magazine for May 1821. At around the time he defined the
concept ofthe volume in 'On the Pleasure ofHating' , he began work on the other
'portraits'. He was working very hard at this moment, pardy as a means of
recovering from the Sarah Walker affair; as he told Landor, 'you can hardly suppose
the depression of body and mind under which I wrote some of these articles'.2
The essay on Bentham appeared in the New Monthly in January 1824. Those on
Irving, Home Tooke, Scott and Eldon were published over the succeeding
months. The remainder were not previously published, but all were completed by
the time the 'Half-length' portrait of Croker appeared in The Examiner in August.
In other words, most ofthe essays in what is now regarded as Hazlitt's greatest single
volume were written at breakneck speed, within months, while he was in a state of
severe depression. In this state ofheightened creativity, Hazlitt was able to draw on
years ofexperience; the Spirit of the Age portraits are remarkably allusive and wide-
ranging, taking in a vast spectrum of historical events and literary sources. And for
all that, he seldom quotes direcdy from any particular source; most of the
quotations are recollected. To take an example, none ofthe apparent quotations in
the essay on Malthus is taken from his writings; instead, Hazlitt uses Malthus's
terminology to create sentences that sound like the original, and echo Malthus's
ideas, but which originate with Hazlitt. Similarly, the essay on Canning recalls with
considerable accuracy the contents of his speeches, but none of the apparent
quotations come direcdy from the published texts. The notable exception to this
is the poetry by Gifford on pp. 185-6, which Hazlitt directs his copyist to take from
a printed source.
xx
INTRODUCTORY NOTES
Text
Colburn published the first edition anonymously on 11 January 1825, according to
Jones. 3 Two further editions were published soon after. It seems likely that in late
December 1824 or early January 1825 Hazlitt had signed a contract with the
Galignani brothers for what was essentially a second edition, published in two
volumes in Paris by 19 May 1825. 4 That text was considerably altered from that of
the London edition: the essays on Moore and Geoffrey Crayon (Washington
Irving) were dropped, and those on Cobbett and Canning added.
A second London imprint was published subsequently, again by Colburn,
bearing the date '1825' on its title-page. Keynes makes no comment about the
precise date of publication, and nothing, so far as I know, has hitherto been said
about it. However, Stanley Jones tells me that Colburn's list at the British Library
(MS room M/612) gives its precise date as 26 January 1826. Jones comments: 'My
guess is that it was printed in December 1825 but not put on sale until 26 January
1826, so that it succeeds the Galignani edition. Hazlitt must have seen the second
London edition through the press after his return from the Continent' (letter to
me). The contents of the second London edition are further rearranged. They
incorporate a number of alterations not found elsewhere.
Hazlitt's son published a 'third edition' in 1858, following the text ofthe second
London edition, with the addition ofthe essay on Canning. William Carew Hazlitt
published a 'fourth edition' in 1886, which took its text 'from a copy ofthe second
issue of 1825, belonging to Mr C. W. Reynell [from which] a few verbal changes
in Hazlitt's own hand have been introduced'.5 That copy, with Hazlitt's alterations,
is not now to be found. W. C. Hazlitt's edition was reissued in 1904. Further
editions appeared in 1893,1904. E. D. Mackerness published an exemplary edition
of the work in 1969, with helpful notes, to which I am much indebted.
The matter of selecting an appropriate copy-text is, for most ofHazlitt's works,
relatively straightforward. In most cases, as with Characters of Shakespear's Plays or
Lectures on the English Poets, it is clear that Hazlitt regarded further editions as
providing him with an opportunity to emend and correct, where necessary; such
alterations are invariably minor, and the rationale for them is self-explanatory
(tightening up of style, or factual accuracy). For that reason, the latest lifetime
edition almost always provides my preferred copy-text. But the alterations made to
the second and third lifetime editions of The Spirit of the Age are distinct from the
sort ofthing usually encountered in Hazlitt's work, and consequently the choice of
copy-text is much more complicated. Firstly, verbal revisions and additions are
sometimes quite substantial: most notably, passages are added to the portraits of
Lord Eldon and Coleridge (see pp. 310, 283). Secondly, the order of the essays is
changed, quite drastically, from one edition to the next.
XXl
SELECTED WRITINGS OF WILLIAM HAZLITT:VOLUME 7
Howe's solution was to opt for the second London edition as copy-text, 'with
the substitution of the essay on Canning for that on Cobbett'. Leaving aside the
matter ofthe substitution (made because the essay on Cobbett had already appeared
in Table Talk, Howe, vol. 8), that strategy has an obvious logic. The second London
edition is longer than the first, and the more accurate of the three. It should,
however, be said that the Paris edition is different again, containing verbal elements
not present elsewhere: in textual terms, it might, without much trouble, be
presented as the fuller, and more interesting. However, I am disquieted by the
drastic differences in the ordering of the essays between the Paris and second
London editions; it would strongly indicate that Hazlitt remained discontented
with the shape of this most important of his works.
The order ofthe contents in the first edition is not, perhaps, beyond criticism, not
least because Hazlitt could not regard it as final. However, the first edition does
present the essays in an order that follows an associative logic not always clear in
later editions. For example, the first three essays concern Bentham, Godwin and
Coleridge. Numerous thematic connections run through that opening triptych-
which, incidentally, Hazlitt exploits several times, as in the comparison ofGodwin
and Coleridge (p. 105). Keenly aware of the effect of those associative links, he
returns to that opening trio for the second London edition. I would argue that the
ordering of the first edition is consistently more persuasive, and suggestive, than
that of subsequent ones, and have followed it in the present text.
The matter of text is more complex. The second London edition is usually
followed by editors (perhaps because it is the more easily available). On the other
hand, the Paris edition is the fruit ofintensive work by Hazlitt, and contains many
additions and alterations not present elsewhere. In considering the different
editions and their competing claims I am mindful of the fact that some of the
alterations were made in response to critidsms <if thefirst edition. In the section of this
introduction concerned with the critical reception of the work, below, I observe
that Hazlitt was harshly criticised, particularly by Lockhart (in Blackwood's for
March 1825), for his rough treatment ofEIdon. Intriguingly, it is in the first edition
text of that essay that Hazlitt inserts an ellipsis, indicating an omission (see p. 210).
I believe that it was as a defiant, angry response to Lockhart's strictures that he
replaced the elided passage, which makes a number of stinging judgements of
Eldon, into the Paris edition text, and subsequently (with some revision) that ofthe
second London edition. It is my suspicion, though I am a long way from being able
to prove it, that Lockhart's attack also persuaded Hazlitt that he no longer had
anything to lose by adding the concluding paragraph to the essay on Coleridge,
which was also absent from the first edition text. It also made its first appearance in
the Paris edition.
In other words, the peculiar way in which this work evolved was detennined at
least in part by its hostile reception. All of which does, I think, argue for the pre-
xxii
INTRODUCTORY NOTES
eminence ofthe first edition when selecting copy-text. The remarks on Eldon and
concluding paragraph on Coleridge, though important, were not part of the work
as it originally appeared; they were later additions which Hazlitt preferred not to
include in the first edition. It is as added material that those passages should be read.
While being aware that the second London edition is the usual copy-text ofchoice,
my view is that it, and the ordering ofits contents, needs to be understood as a work
with a physical and textual shape distinct from that of the first. The first edition is
indeed a substantially distinct work, and the story of its evolution is most clearly
told if it provides the copy-text with which readers are presented. This is the
reasoning that has led me to depart from tradition and select the first London
edition as copy-text for The Spirit of the Age. Material added to that text in later
editions is presented in annotations.
That said, I see no point in preserving obvious errors of fact or stylistic solecisms
which Hazlitt cleared up in subsequent revisions, and emendations of that kind
have been incorporated into the copy-text. 6 Hazlitt's rearrangement of the
contents in each successive edition is a vital part of the story of the work, and for
that reason the contents lists of the Paris and second London editions are provided
in Appendix IV. The essay on Cobbett is not repeated from Table Talk, and the
essay on Canning appears in Appendix I, pp. 238-48, below.
Editorial emendations
The errata listed in the first edition are silently incorporated into the present text.
In addition, the following corrections have been made: 'meeting sat' is emended to
'meetings at' (p. 116); 'Mid Lothian' to 'Midlothian' (p. 129); 'nuber' (an obvious
misprint) to 'number' (p. 158); 'inprogressive' is changed to 'improgressive' (p.
212), and noted; and 'rayes' (a misprint) corrected to 'raves' (p. 242). In only one
case have I made a correction based on a manuscript reading, replacing 'he!' on p.
186 with 'ohe!'
Hazlitt is notoriously wayward with his accents. In general, it is the policy ofthis
edition to reproduce all non-English passages exactly as they appear in the copy-
text. Hence, 'Petit Andre' is retained on p. 132. However, 'Barre' on p. 119 has
been replaced with 'Barre', on the authority of the Paris edition.
It is worth noting that the epigraph on the first edition title-page (see p. 75), from
Hamlet, V. ii. 139-40 ('to know a man well were to know himself') is given with
typical inexactitude, as 'To know another well were to know one's sel£' It survived
in erroneous form in the Paris edition but was corrected for the second London
edition.
xxiii
Manuscripts
A number of manuscripts have survived, all of them fragmentary:
(1) 'The Late Mr Home Tooke': single fragment, headed 'Spirit of the Age. - No.6
/ The late M' Home Tooke', eight numbered leaves, now at SUNY at Buffalo.
(2) 'Lord Byron': fragment, one page numbered 6, now at Harvard University
Library.
(3) 'Lord Eldon and Mr Wilberforce': two fragments, comprising five leaves
numbered 3-7 and one page numbered 20, now at Harvard University
Library.
(4) 'Lord Eldon and Mr Wilberforce': a fragment, consisting ofone page numbered
15, is at the Manchester Central Library.
(5) 'Mr Brougham and Sir F. Burdett': fragment consisting of one page numbered
8, Yale University Library.
(6) 'Mr Campbell and Mr Crabbe': fragment here entitled 'The Spirit of the Age.
- No. VIII. / M' Campbell & M' Crabbe', five leaves, now at Harvard
University Library.
(7) 'Mr Gifford': fragment consisting of three pages (two leaves), now at Harvard
University Library.
(8) 'Mr Malthus': fragment consisting ofsix leaves numbered 7-12, now at Harvard
University Library.
(9) 'Mr Southey': fragment consisting often pages (seven leaves) numbered 8-17,
now at Harvard University Library.
(10) 'Mr T. Moore and Mr Leigh Hunt': fragment consisiting of sixteen pages
(fourteen leaves) numbered 3-18, now at SUNY at Buffalo.
(11) 'Sir Walter Scott': two fragments, six leaves and three leaves, now at Harvard
University Library.
Some of these manuscripts have been bound in to W. C. Hazlitt's copy of the
third edition of The Spirit if the Age (1858), retained at Harvard (see Rosenbaum,
p.229).
Reception
After the lashing administered by critics to Uher Amoris, Hazlitt cannot realistically
have believed there would be too many favourable reviews even for this, his most
accomplished single work thus far. Indeed, the very nature of The Spirit if the Age
made it unlikely that good reviews would ensue; after all, many of the reviewers
must have known, and perhaps owed favours to, some ofthe volume's subjects, and
would have been unlikely to incur their displeasure.
As with Liher Amoris, an advance copy of The Spirit if the Age ensured an early
XXIV
INTRODUCTORY NOTES
review in The Examiner - in this case, two days prior to publication, on 9 January
1825. Once again, it was written by Albany Fonblanque, a friend of Hazlitt's.
Given the firestorrn of invective unleashed by the publication of Liher Amoris, his
tone is understandably defensive:
The peculiar spirit and tact of the Author of these Portraits are now so well
understood, it would be a mere waste of paper to dwell upon attributes so
universally allowed and firmly established. The miserable enmity ofmere party,
political, literary, or bookselling, may indeed continue more or less to vent its
froth, its venom, and its slang, in affected disparagement ...'
Fonblanque then criticises John Bull, the Quarterly, and Blackwood's, alluding to
Southey's Wat Tyler, before admitting Hazlitt's 'general demerits'. These consist of
his being 'a good hater';8 being guilty of underrating 'every order of mind which
is not imbued with a fine distinctive perception of the felicity of genius';9 and
therefore not being properly qualified to assess the merits of those he discusses.
However, after criticising the essay on Bentham, he praises most of other essays,
with lengthy extracts from that on Gifford.
The Spirit of the Age was published anonymously, and Fonblanque made no effort
to suggest its author's identity; however, it would not remain a secret for long -
Blackwood's was gearing up for the attack. In February 1825 it published an article
on 'Lord Byron' by Lockhart, which criticises Henry Southern's essay on
Medwin's Conversations in the London Magazine 10 (November 1824), pp. 449-62:
The same tone (here is a compliment!) has, we observe, been taken up by the
distinguished author of the Liber Amoris, in a new octavo (chiefly, ut mos est,
made up ofold materials,) which he has published under the modest tide of'The
Spirit of the Age! ! !' The Hero ofSouthampton-row is exceedingly bitter with
Lord Byron, because he had a pedigree. He cannot away with the patrician soul
that breaks out continually even in the most radical ravings ofByron's muse. It
is evident, that if Mr Hazlitt had seen the living Lion down, he would have
rejoiced in kicking him: he now does his pleasure with the dead. to
Besides the sneers and the insults, this aside reiterates an argument stated
throughout the contemporary reviews: that Hazlitt is a measly, proletarian scribbler
consumed with bitterness and resentment at his low standing. But Lockhart also
manages to ensure that Hazlitt's other enemies, who were waiting in the wings,
were aware of the book's paternity, and could programme their coverage
accordingly.
It was the prelude to a more sustained onslaught, which began in earnest the
following month in an article entitled 'Works of the First Importance. No. II. The
Spirit of the Age', almost certainly by Lockhart. As in the article on Byron,
Lockhart's subtext is that Hazlitt is a vulgar, lower-class hack, intent on using the
status of his social superiors as a means of boosting his own. He argues his case by
xxv
reference to Hazlitt's essay on Eldon, from which he quotes an extract before

remarking:
Weare in more than usual good-humour this evening with the whole world and
all its inhabitants; and are determined not to use an uncivil word to the most
worthless individual. Yet surely we may, with perfect bonhommie, ask, is not this
a vile knave? The lies he here tells are of no moment, but are you not disgusted
with his ape-like impudence? To bring the absurdity of the impudence of the
Thing more home to itself, suppose, for a moment, such a person as Mr Hazlitt
were to be made Lord Chancellor! Only think of Eldon's wig on Pygmalion!
Was ever a poor case before in such extremity? Yet, to hear the Creature speak,
you would conclude that he feels his infinite superiority over his Lordship. No
notion has he ofthe difference between one ofthe greatest ofmen and one ofthe
meanest of monkeys.u
Lockhart hardly needed to have read the book to write this sort of thing, and little
of the comment in his review bears any relation to its contents. He complains at
length about Hazlitt's treatment of Eldon, going on to call Hazlitt 'an
acknowledged scamp ofthe lowest order - a scamp, by his own confession, steep' d
in ignorance and malice to his very ribald lips, arraigning the character ofthe most
learned, the best, the wisest man in all England' .12 Lockhart devotes nearly three
columns of closely-spaced print to the Eldon essay, and it seems likely that it
persuaded Hazlitt that he had nothing to lose by replacing in the Paris and second
London editions of The Spirit ofthe Age the harsh comments about Eldon suppressed
in the first (see p. 310).
Lockhart goes on to affect concern for Hazlitt's essays on Gifford and Southey
but saves his severest remarks for his conclusion which, once, again, has no status
as literary criticism, but no doubt scores highly as pure insult:
Now that the Pillory is (perhaps wisely) taken down, what adequate and
appropriate punishment is there that we can inflict on this rabid caitiff? The old
Germans used to enclose certain criminals in wicker creels, and sink them in mud
and slime. 'Is there a man in all Scotland,' or in merry England, that would not
give his vote for the temporary immersion of this unnatural liar in the jakes?
Who, if that punishment were carried into effect by the hands of a mud-lark,
would not laugh at the incurable culprit as he wriggled himself, in laborious
extrication, from the penal ordure, and, dropping at every faultering step filth
from his body almost as loathsome as that which he had discharged from his soul,
rushed for refuge into some obscene receptacle of the infamous and
excommunicated, in the pestilent regions of Cockaigne?13
None of this has anything to do with Hazlitt and his work, but it shows how
desperate the Tory critics were to discredit him. Incidentally, this flow ofinvective,
withering though it was, left Lockhart distinctly unappeased, and his attacks on
Hazlitt continued. Two months later he published a poem entitled 'April
XXVI
INTRODUCTORY NOTES
Nonsense. A Fragment', which refers to 'Cockneys with teapots' (an obvious

allusion to Sarah Walker), and one 'Pygmalion - / He weeps for Sally, and his
pimpled state!,14
Another hostile review appeared in the Monthly Critical Gazette at the beginning
ofFebruary; it was published before Lockhart's review, and its author was unaware
ofHazlitt's authorship. For him, the volume 'is in the same vicious tone which has
characterized many public writings during the last seven years. Instead of
discussions about the quicquid agunt homines, and the economy oflife and society, we
are pestered at every tum with animadversions written by Mr Campbell about Mr
Lambe; by Mr Lambe about Mr Campbell; by MrJeffrey about Mr Gifford; and by
Mr Gifford about MrJeffrey: and, in like manner, the same ball is banded about by
others of these egotists .... Which of these egotists wrote the present volume, or
whether each one contributed the article about himself, or one for the other, can
only be known to the printer or editor; but, with two or three exceptions, the
volume seems calculated to afford materials, on which some new Pope might write
a brilliant Dunciad.'15 The reviewer concludes by observing that the title is a
misnomer because 'the subjects treated in the present volume, with two or three
exceptions, are a race of puppets ephemeral and obtrusive'.
This reviewer was not the only one unaware ofHazlitt's authorship. The Eclectic
Review was hostile to Hazlitt on principle - he generally received scathing coverage
at its hands - but on this occasion his work received a favourable review. The
unknown author, we are told,
has the pencil of Gilray, and can hit off a likeness with a few artist-like touches,
which may, indeed, be called a caricature, but still, the exaggeration is so
dexterously managed as never to injure the likeness.... the execution of the
work is so brilliant as to conceal, if not atone for the equivocal and irregular
character of the performance. 16
Overall, this reviewer enjoyed the volume, and, as there was no reason for resorting
to party-prejudice, said so. It is all highly amusing. Only the portrait ofGifford was
offensive to the reviewer, who thought it deformed by 'personal feeling' - an irony,
considering that his own observations would have been influenced by the same
thing, had he known whose book he was reading!
The Gentleman's Magazine for March was measured in its observations, even
though its reviewer was aware of Hazlitt's authorship. It expressed approval for
some ofthe essays (those on Godwin, Bentham and Coleridge), but objected to the
'mists ofprejudice and passion'17 that obscured those on Gifford, Wilberforce and
Irving. It includes an assessment of Hazlitt's powers that, though unsympathetic,
does acknowledge some of his virtues:
xxvii
Still, however, it must be confessed that Mr Hazlitt is a man of no ordinary

powers, and were it not for a dash of the coxcomb in his criticisms, he would
stand higher in the estimation ofthe world than he does. He has the 'slashing' of
Bentley, without the leaming - the dogmatism of Johnson without his
profundity. His style is peculiar to himself, it is deeply impregnated with the spirit
ofthe masters ofour language, and strengthened by a rich infusion ofgolden ore
dug from the pure mine of classic antiquity. IS
The European Magazine took a similarly balanced line, noting that 'the book has an
abundance of eloquent writing, though somewhat overcharged with metaphorical
illustrations and antithetical comparisons'.19 The New Monthly Magazine was
positively enthusiastic; apparently the reviewer was unaware ofHazlitt's authorship,
and suggests that the volume was ajoint production. He goes on to note that it is 'full
of ideas, and consequently full of entertainment. You cannot sleep over it'.20
Other reviewers had scores to settle with Hazlitt: William Ritchie of The
Scotsman had in past years been responsible for some of the warmest reviews of
Hazlitt's work. He had become acquainted with him during the divorce in 1822,
had entertained him on at least two occasions at his home in Edinburgh, and even
aided Hazlitt in the legal proceedings connected with the divorce. However,Jones
suggests that he took umbrage at Hazlitt's essay 'On the Scotch Character', which
appeared in The Liberal for January 1823, and that he shared in the general
incomprehension and disgust that greeted the publication of Liber Amoris. This may
account, at least in part, for the excuse with which he began his review of The Spirit
of the Age: 'It is not long possible to serve him who is bent on dis-serving himsel£
It is weakness to persevere in being generous to one who can be just to nobody.'21
Ritchie proceeds to criticise the 'indelicate freedom' with which Hazlitt treats his
subjects, and suggests that his comparative mildness towards Campbell and Jeffrey
is due to 'the power which they possess, as Editors, of giving money for centos of
his former essays; for, with our author, one publication is made up either of
collections or refacciomentos of what has gone before, and the same imposing
swagger ofstyle is common to them all'.22 Hazlitt is then criticised for his treatment
ofthe Scots, particularly for his remarks at the outset ofthe essay on Brougham (see
pp. 199-200), before Ritchie launches into an impassioned 'portrait' of Hazlitt:
... he likes exceedingly to talk ofhimsel£ Tete-a-tete, you can have nothing
else; and there you have both the selfishness ofthe Englishman and the self-love
of the small author; while in general company, you have either silence, or a
straining after something trenchant, or striking. He cannot act as ifhe were one
string ofa large instrument, which, by the subordination and proper working of
the parts, is to produce one harmonious whole. He must playa solo; and then he
hits as if intensity were every thing. He abandons himself, upon system, to the
feeling of the moment; but, although he thus gains in force of conception, he
loses in power ofdiscrimination, to say nothing ofrelief, repose, or graduation. 23
XXVlll
INTRODUCTORY NOTES
Ritchie's article is distinguished by its deeply personal nature; it draws throughout

on evidence that only a former acquaintance and friend could have possessed, and
it is, on that account, one ofthe more poignant. For more on relations between the
two men, see Jones (1964).
Another Edinburgh acquaintance, Francis Jeffrey, was waiting in the wings.
What can Hazlitt have expected from the Edinburgh Review? It is hard to say. He
may have hoped that their friendship during his stay in Edinburgh three years
before would count for something, and he had been a contributor to the Edinburgh
for many years. But then, on the other hand, the equivocal portrait ofJeffrey could
hardly have given its subject unalloyed pleasure, and Hazlitt must have guessed
that Jeffrey himself would decide to write the review. Jeffrey began by suggesting
that Hazlitt was not qualified to write such a book: 'We protest against the subject;
and indeed every one must see how very apt it is to be abused, and made the
vehicle of very unfair praise and censure - of adulation, the offspring of friendly
partiality, or more sordid interest - of vituperation, dictated by personal dislike.
What else indeed would any reasonable man expect, in a pretended account of
satires and panegyrics?'24 Jeffrey then wades through the volume, picking out
errors of fact, and taking exception to opinions with which he disagrees, even
stooping to defend Gifford (,but who can seriously assert, that he is a person of
little knowledge and no taste?'25). He goes on to write a thoroughly ambiguous
paragraph, in which Hazlitt is described as a 'man not merely of talents, but of
genius', whose work is flawed by 'his own bad taste and affectations'.26 Before an
extract from the essay on Wordsworth, Jeffrey then congratulates Hazlitt on being
an 'advocate of liberty and human improvement'.27 Hazlitt read Jeffrey's
condescending notice in Paris, and was dismayed - though not, perhaps, surprised.
He must have had Jeffrey's nit-picking litany of factual errors in mind when, in
August 1825, he dashed off his satirical poem, The Damned Author's Address to his
Reviewers, which concluded with the line: 'Teach me, great J[effrey], to be
dull! '28
Another journal with which Hazlitt had connections, the London Magazine, also
failed to do justice to the volume. In June George Darley contributed an article
entitled 'Letter from an Absent Contributor on Hazlitt's Spirit of the Age', under
the signature P.P.29 It was devoted to illustrating the thesis that, 'such as it is, it
utterly passeth my comprehension'.30 In Darley's opinion, most of what Hazlitt
wrote was 'verbiage': 'as he is a very good ear tickler, and can write sentences which
sound so well that they deserve to be sense, he doubtless very often succeeds in
baffiing unsophisticated readers, who surrender their understandings at discretion
to a power of fine words'.3! Darley goes on to argue that, as he doubts whether
Hazlitt actually knows the people he has written about, the portraits are bound to
be incorrect. Of the essay on Bentham he remarks that 'those who know this
xxix
venerable philosopher say that it is about as much like Jeremy Bentham as it is like
Jeremy Diddler, or any other Jeremy that can be named' Y Darley accuses Hazlitt
of using poetic jargon that means nothing, alongside some very perceptive and
acute writing, and uses the opening paragraphs of the essay on Coleridge as
evidence: 'It is thus that the boys feed the swans in the Serpentine. When the bread
is exhausted they throw them a stone, and the great stupid birds swallow the latter
with manifest satisfaction, obviously mistaking it for the staff oflife, and showing
all the gratitude that a swan can show for these flinty favours.'33
The volume enjoyed a comparatively cordial reception in the Oxford Quarterly
Magazine, which carried a review in its June number. It gave a number of extracts
with the aim of showing that all of them were, 'in a greater or less degree, tinged
with the pollution ofparty-feeling, - that abominable corruption, which, like the
poison of the upas tree, withers and destroys all subjected to its influence.'34 In the
Monthly Review, Hazlitt was reproached for obscurity, quaintness of expression,
repetitive borrowings from other writers (Burke and Taylor are named) and his
'rough handling'35 ofScott and Gifford. Hazlitt would not have expected a positive
review from WilliamJerdan's Literary Gazette after its mauling of Liber Amoris, and
it provided a brief paragraph in which The Spirit of the Age was thoroughly
patronised:
Where the author is intelligible, there is some spirited writing; but as for the truth
ofthe portraits, it is quite evident that the limner had no sufficient opportunities
for studying them from the originals; and that his pencil has been guided by
personal feelings rather than by a regard to fidelity and likeness. 36
The remaining reviews were, in general, positive, with reservations: The Circulator
of Usiful Knowledge praised the volume: 'Though Mr Hazlit is considered the best
possible ofportrait painters, we doubt whether he always paints to the life. '37 To the
reviewer in the PhilomathicJournal, 'the book displays extraordinary talent'. 38 He
takes issue with some of Hazlitt's opinions, but concludes that in the volume the
reader 'will find many happy illustrations, many ingenious thoughts, excellent
sentiments, and brilliant displays of imagination'.39
xxx
INTRODUCTORY NOTES
NOTES
1 See vol. 8, p. 119.

2 Letters, p. 338.
3 Review ofKeynes, Analytical and Enumerative Bibliography, 6 (1982), pp. 272-6, p. 276.
4 See Hazlitt's letter to his son, Letters, p. 340. I have followed the dating given for this
letter by Jones (1980), p. 360.
5 William Hazlitt, The Spirit if the Age, ed. William Carew Hazlitt (4th edn., London,
1886), p. v. That putative copy ought, I suppose, to be added to Rosenbaum's list of
unlocated or lost manuscripts (Rosenbaum, pp. 229-30).
6 For instance, the words 'at home' replace 'house' on p. 104 (a stylistic improvement
made to the second London edition), and 'Robarts' is replaced by 'Roberts' on p. 139
(a correction of fact made to the second London edition).
7 The Examiner (9 January 1825), pp. 21-2, p. 21.
8 Ibid.
9 Ibid.
10 Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, 17 (February 1825), p. 131.
11 Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, 17 (March 1825), pp. 361-5, pp. 362-3.
12 Ibid., p. 363.
13 Ibid., p. 365.
14 Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, 17 (April 1825), pp. 415-16.
15 Monthly Critical Gazette, 2 (1 February 1825), p. 207.
16 Eclectic Review, 23 (February 1825), pp. 152-64, p. 152.
17 Gentleman's Magazine, 95 (March 1825), pp. 243-4, p. 243.
18 Ibid.
19 European Magazine, 87 (April 1825), pp. 347-8, p. 347.
20 New Monthly Magazine, 15 (March 1825), pp. 121-2, p. 122.
21 The Scotsman, (28 May 1825), front page.
22 Ibid.
23 Ibid.
24 Edinburgh Review, 42 (April 1825), pp. 254-60, p. 255. In spite ofits date, this number
of the Edinburgh was not published until mid-June.
25 Ibid., p. 258.
26 Ibid., pp. 258-9.
27 Ibid., p. 259.
28 I refer to the text in Robinson, pp. 29-30.
29 London Magazine, 2 Oune 1825), pp. 182-9.
30 Ibid., p. 182.
31 Ibid., p. 183.
32 Ibid.
33 Ibid., p. 188.
34 Oxford Quarterly Magazine, 1 Oune 1825), pp. 199-212, p. 212.
35 Monthly Review, 107 (May 1825), pp. 1-15, p. 6.
36 Literary Gazette, (11 June 1825), p. 377.
37 The Circulator ifUsiful Knowledge, 1 (1825), pp. 70-2, p. 70.
38 The PhilomathicJoumal, 4 (1826), pp. 197-208, p. 197.
39 Ibid., p. 208.
xxxi
BRIEF BIOGRAPHICAL DIRECTORY OF
SELECTED PERSONAGES MENTIONED,
OR REFERRED TO, BY HAZLITT
JEREMY BENTHAM (1748-1832) was the son ofJeremiah Bentham, a prosperous

attorney. He had a brilliant career at Westminster School (not Eton, as Hazlitt
asserts) and at Queen's College, Oxford. He was subsequently called to the Bar.
He is usually regarded as the leading exponent of 'philosophic radicalism', and
was regarded by John Stuart Mill as one of 'the two great seminal minds of
England in their age', the other being Coleridge.
W. H. W. BETTY (1791-1874) began his theatrical career in 1801. He enjoyed great
success as a child actor, but later left the profession to go to Charterhouse and
then to Christ's College, Cambridge. He later returned to the stage, and for
years enjoyed a second career there. Having amassed a fortune in his early days,
he retired in 1824.
THOMAS CHALMERS (1780-1847), famous Scottish theologian. He began his career
as an evangelical preacher in Glasgow, where he initiated welfare work among
the poor. He was later Professor of Theology at Edinburgh University. and
Principal ofthe New College, Edinburgh. His published works included books
on commerce, political economy and natural theology. He was a subscriber to
Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine when it first started.
JOHN PHILPOT CURRAN (1750-1817), Irish lawyer and statesman, remembered
both as a great advocate and as a champion ofIrish liberties. Hazlitt met him at
Home Tooke's house in Wimbledon, and formed a closer acquaintance with
him in the year before his death in 1817. See Jones, pp. 251-2.
SIR WILLIAM CURTIS (1752-1829) was MP for the City ofLondon and Lord Mayor
of London in 1795-6. He was an active Tory politician and a firm supporter of
Pitt.
THOMAS, 1ST BARON ERSKINE (1750-1823) studied law and became Attorney
General to the Prince ofWales, a post he lost by appearing in court on behalfof
Thomas Paine. He was MP for Portsmouth (1790-1806) and was counsel for
the defence in the treason trials of 1794. He opposed the bill against Queen
Caroline, and the Six Acts (the repressive measures taken by the government in
1819).
XXXlll
JOSEPH FAWCETT (d. 1804) was a Unitarian preacher at the Old Jewry when
Wordsworth met him in the mid-1790s, and provided the model for the Solitary
in The Excursion. He retired from the ministry shortly after the war with France
began, and retired to Edgegrove near Watford. It was here that Hazlitt met him.
See Life, pp. 24-5.
HENRY FUSELI (born Johann Heinrich Fuessli in Zurich) (1741-1825), portrait-
painter and art critic. Haydon recorded that he spoke with 'a strong Swiss
accent, and a guttural energetic diction'. His diminutive size and bitter wit made
him one of the best-known figures in London cultural life.
WILLIAM GODWIN (1756-1836) was brought up partly by a violently puritanical
Sandemanian minister, Samuel Newton, who whipped him for the slightest
deviation from religious practice or thought. By the time he graduated from the
Hoxton Dissenting Academy in 1778, he was a staunch Tory Calvinist. But after
reading Holbach and Helvetius, the deist thinkers who influenced the French
Revolution, Godwin abandoned the Church, became an atheist and went to
London to earn his living as a writer. Politicaljustice (1793) was ostensibly a reply
to Burke, though it came out three years after the Riflections, and was
considerably more ambitious as a work of philosophy. He later survived by
writing novels, and was the father of Mary Shelley. By 1825, he was, as Hazlitt
observes, all but forgotten.
JOHN CAM HOBHOUSE (1786-1869) was a radical politician who had a stormy career
and was at one time imprisoned for breach of privilege. As a close friend of the
poet Byron he supported the cause of Greek independence; but he was also
active in opposing repressive and illiberal measures in England.
THOMAS HOLCROFT (1745-1809) began his theatrical career as a prompter at the
Dublin Theatre; in due course he started to write and translate plays. Later, he
became interested in radical politics and joined the Society for Constitutional
Reform. Along with Thomas Hardy, Home Tooke and others he was accused
of high treason in 1794, but eventually acquitted. He produced further dramas
and other literary works, including The Road to Ruin (1792), a great success.
WILLIAM HONE (1780-1842) was a bookseller and writer who published anti-
government satires. He was associated with George Cruikshank the caricaturist,
and in 1819 brought out The Political House thatJack Built, which went to fifty-
four editions. His Every-Day Book was dedicated to Charles Lamb.
JOHN HUNT (?1775-1848), elder brother of Leigh Hunt, founded The Examiner
with his brother in 1808. They were both sent to prison for libelling the Prince
Regent, 1813-15, and John was imprisoned again, 1821-2, for a similar offence.
Hazlitt's attachment to The Examiner and Yellow Dwarf owed much to his
friendship with John Hunt. Hunt owned Hazlitt's painting, 'An Old Woman',
and took it to Coldbath Fields during his second spell in prison. He was the
dedicatee of Political Essays (1819), and published Liber Amoris in 1823.
xxxiv
BRIEF BIOGRAPHICAL DIRECTORY
ELIZABETH INCHBALD (1753-1821), novelist, dramatist, and actress, started her

career as an actress in the 1770s, acting with her husband Joseph Inchbald in King
Lear, Henry VIII, and other Shakespeare plays, largely in Scotland. She and her
husband were close to John Philip Kemble, and after her husband's sudden death
in 1779 Kemble contemplated marrying her. The dinner with Home Tooke,
Kemble, Sheridan and W ollstonecraft mentioned by Hazlitt in the essay on
Godwin (p. 97) is mentioned also in the Plain Speaker essay 'On the
Conversation of Authors' (see vol. 8), and presumably dates from this period.
She went on, in the 1780s, to become a successful dramatist, and in 1791
published A Simple Story, the romance by which she was best known. Hazlitt
gave a copy of her Nature and Art to Sarah Walker (p. 61).
EDWARD IRVING (1792-1834) was an ordained minister ofthe Presbyterian Church
of Scotland. In 1822 he took charge of the Caledonian Chapel in Hatton
Garden, where his preaching gained him an enonnous popularity, especially
among intellectuals and the nobility. He published several volumes ofsennons
and lectures as well as various doctrinal works. Hazlitt heard him on 22 June
1823, while researching a paper for The Liberal entitled 'Pulpit Oratory - Dr
Chalmers and Mr Irving' (Howe, xx. pp. 113-22). During the late 1820s Irving
developed his ideas on the probability ofa Second Advent, and his views on the
personality of the Saviour ran counter to those commonly entertained by
Presbyterians. This led to his being ejected from his church, and to fonn an
independent sect known as the Catholic Apostolic Church, the tenets ofwhich
were publicised in The Morning Watch, a quarterly journal of prophecy.
EDMUND KEAN (1787-1833) began his stage career in the provinces. At Dorchester
one of his perfonnances was witnessed by Arnold, the stage-manager of Drury
Lane, through whom an engagement was made with the management of that
theatre. Kean insisted on playing Shylock, and though the management and his
fellow-actors were incredulous as to his powers, his success was undisputed.
Hazlitt's reviews in the Morning Chronicle did much for his reputation.
Henceforward his many triumphs in London were associated with the Drury
Lane theatre, except for a short period from 1827 to 1829, when his services
were transferred to Covent Garden.
JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES was best known as the author of a successful play,
Virginius. Hazlitt had known him since the late 1790s, when he had been a
frequent visitor at the house of Knowles's father (see Life, pp. 55-6). Knowles
was Hazlitt's host in Glasgow, May 1822, and arranged for him to deliver some
lectures there (see Jones, p. 328).
JOHN LISTON (1776-1846) was the favourite actor and good friend of Lamb. His
early appearances in tragedies were not notable, but he gained success as a
comedic actor, becoming the first to command a salary higher than a tragedian.
His skill was such that he had only to appear on stage to set the audience
xxxv
laughing. He and his wife frequently visited the Lambs, sometimes at their
Thursday evening parties, and it would be a fair guess (though one for which I
have no evidence) that Hazlitt encountered them there. Like many comics,
Liston was apparently rather a depressed man, but he enjoyed practical jokes and
puns.
ROBERT JENKINSON EARL OF LIVERPOOL (1770--1828) was Prime Minister from
1812 until 1827, a period of determined Tory rule.
JOHN LOUDON MACADAM (1756-1836) spent many years surveying the state of
public roads in England and Scotland, and devised a method ofsurfacing which
he called 'macadamisation'. He published a Practical Essay on the Scientific Repair
and Preservation of Roads in 1819, and was later appointed general surveyor of
roads throughout Britain.
ELIZABETH WRIGHT MACAULEY (1785-1837) was an actress whose failure led her to
take up public lecturing on 'domestic philosophy' and other subjects. She also
gave recitations and preached: among her publications is a collection of Literary
Amusements (Newcastle-on-Tyne, 1809), consisting ofmiscellaneous extracts in
verse and prose.
SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH (1765-1832) was educated at King's College, Aberdeen,
and afterwards trained as a physician in Edinburgh; later he read for the Bar, and
created some stir as an orator and debater. He was drawn into politics, and in
1790 supported Home Tooke at the Westminster election. At that time he
wrote Vindicire GalliCCl? (1791), a reply to Burke's R~ections on the Revolution in
France (1790); later in life, under Burke's influence, he renounced his radical
principles. After a lucrative career as a lawyer, Mackintosh went for some years
to India as Recorder at Bombay; while there, he read Hazlitt's Essay on the
Principle of Human Action, A Reply to Malthus, and the Eloquence of the British
Senate. On his return from India in 1812 he entered Parliament as MP for Nairn.
Hazlitt was present when he made his maiden speech in the Commons.
WILLIAM CHARLES MACREADY (1793-1873), actor, was engaged at Covent Garden
in 1816 where Hazlitt reviewed his first appearance in The Distressed Mother (vol.
3, pp. 166-7). He went on to become one of the most eminent Shakespearean
actors of the age.
ROBERT OWEN (1771-1858) published his New View of Society in 1813. A successful
and experienced industrialist, he endeavoured to improve the condition of the
working people by factory legislation, housing schemes and practical methods
ofeducation; he developed industrial communities in England and America and
is remembered for his pioneering work as a socialist employer and enlightened
philanthropist. Owen is discussed in Hazlitt's Table Talk essay, 'On People With
One Idea' (vol. 6).
SAMUEL PARR (1747-1825), pedagogue and clergyman, was a dedicated Whig, and
wrote in support of the coalition of Burke, North and Fox. His best-known
XXXV1
utterance was the spital sermon preached before the Lord Mayor of London at
Christ Church, Newgate Street, Easter Tuesday 1800. Its chief point was an
attack on Godwin. Hazlitt met Parr at the Montagus' probably in 1815; he may
have seen him at Home Tooke's in earlier years (Jones, p. 196).
PETER GEORGE PATMORE (1786-1855), journalist and author, father of Coventry
Patmore. He met Hazlitt in 1817 and later said that he never knew him out of
love. However, that comment, along with his other recollections of Hazlitt in
My Friends and Acquaintance (3 vols., 1854) are, says Howe, 'to be read with
reserve'.
RICHARD PORSON (1759-1808), one of the outstanding English classical scholars,
born the son of a weaver. Thanks to the kindness of his local vicar he was
schooled at Eton and Cambridge, where he was made a fellow in 1782. His
fellowship ended ten years later but his friends subscribed enough to produce an
annuity of£1 00; later in 1792 he was appointed to the professorship of Greek
at Cambridge, which carried a salary of £40. He lived in London from 1792,
and like Hazlitt was a friend ofJames Perry, editor ofthe Morning Chronicle. He
published four volumes of a projected edition of Euripides in 1798-1801.
RAFFAELLO SANTI (1483-1520), one of the greatest Italian painters of the
Renaissance. He was a friend of Castiglione, and painted a portrait of him
(1516), now in the Louvre.
RAPHAEL, SEE RAFFAELLO SANTI
WILLIAM RITCHIE (1781-1831), lawyer and journalist, founder-editor, with
Charles Maclaren, of the Scotsman newspaper in January 1817. Soon after,
Ritchie went to the Continent on business, but on his return in 1818 he
resumed editorial duties, which he continued until his death. He was
responsible for some very warm reviews of Hazlitt's work, and probably as a
result of this, became involved in the divorce from Sarah Stoddart Hazlitt.
However, that involvement led to a hostility between the two men that
culminated with Ritchie's bitter review of The Spirit if the Age. For more on
Ritchie and Hazlitt, see Stanley Jones, 'Hazlitt in Edinburgh: An Evening with
Mr Ritchie of The Scotsman', Etudes Anglaises, 17 (1964), pp. 9-20, 113-27.
JOHN ROLLE (1750-1842), staunch Tory MP for Devonshire (from 1780), was a
fierce opponent ofthe 1832 Reform Bill. He was satirised in The Rolliad (1784-
5), a poem composed by a group ofWhigs, ofwhom the best-known is George
Ellis (1753-1815), later a contributor to the Tory Anti:Jacobin.
SIR SAMUEL ROMILLY (1757-1818), a law reformer of French descent. As an
enlightened radical he had much in common with Bentham, who was a close
friend. He was an eminent lawyer, and also served as MP from 1806 till his
death.
XXXVII
MARTHA ROSCOE (NEE WALKER) (1798-1884), eldest daughter ofMicaiah Walker,

Hazlitt's landlord at Southampton Buildings, married Robert Roscoe (see next
note).
ROBERT ROSCOE (1789-1850), fourth son ofWilliam Roscoe, the banker (whose
portrait Hazlitt painted), married Martha, eldest child ofMicaiah Walker, at St
Andrew's, Holborn, on 1 May 1819.
WILLIAM STEWART ROSE (1775-1843), poet and translator, clerk to the House of
Lords (180~24), and friend of Scott. Moore mentions in his Diary (14 April
1819) that Murray offered him £2,000 for his translation of Ariosto, the first
volume of which appeared in 1823.
CATHERINE STEPHENS (1794-1882), English singer and actress, first appeared at
Covent Garden in September 1813 as Mandane in Arne's Artaxerxes, and in
October as Polly in The Beggar's Opera at Drury Lane. She played mainly at
Covent Garden, 1813-22, and at Drury Lane, 1823-7. She was a great favourite
ofHazlitt's, especially as Polly. She also enjoyed a successful career as a concert
soprano. In 1835 she retired and three years later married the 5th Earl ofEssex.
WILLIAM TAYLOR (1765-1836) was a distinguished scholar and critic of German
literature. He translated works by Biirger, Lessing and Goethe, and was a
contributor to the Monthly Review. He was in France in 1802, when he met
Holcroft and Manning, but it is not known whether he ever met Hazlitt. Crabb
Robinson introduced him to Hazlitt's criticisms of Coleridge in The Examiner
in 1816, which he considered 'masterpieces of banter'.
JOHN TOMKINS (71798-1858) was one ofHazlitt's fellow-lodgers at Southampton
Buildings; Sarah Walker bore him a son, Frederick, in 1824, and although it may
be assumed that they remained together until his death, they were never married.
JOHN HORNE TOOKE (1736-1812) was admitted to holy orders in 1760. He became
a popular preacher, but maintained a vigorous interest in legal and political
issues. Attacked by Junius, he was charged with libel in 1777 and subsequently
jailed. In 1773 he resigned his living at New Brentford and in 1780 retired to a
small estate near Huntingdon. However, he continued to campaign for
parliamentary reform. He was one of the defendants at the Treason Trials of
1794, and was imprisoned in the Tower of London from May to October that
year. In 1801 he was elected MP for Old Sarum. Hazlitt met him in the late
1790s, and attended soirees at his fine house overlooking Rushmere Pond on
Wimbledon Common in subsequent years.
LEONORA ELIZABETH ('BETSEY') WALKER (b. 1809), the fifth child of Hazlitt's
landlord, Micaiah Walker, later wife of Charles Augustus Nott.
MARTHA WALKER, SEE MARTHA ROSCOE
MICAIAH WALKER (1774-1845), tailor, also a member of the Elim Baptist Chapel,
Fetter Lane. He owned the rooms in 9 Southampton Buildings which Hazlitt
rented after separating from his wife.
XXXVlll
MICAIAH HILDITCH WALKER (1803-99), son ofMicaiah Walker, Hazlitt's landlord.
He later became a solicitor and the founder of a respectable law-firm.
SARAH WALKER (1800-78), protagonist of Liber Amoris, was the second daughter of
Hazlitt's landlord, Micaiah Walker, a tailor. She bore a son, Frederick, to
another lodger present during Hazlitt's tenure of his rooms in Southampton
Buildings, John Tomkins. They never married, however, and she survived both
him and her son, who died in 1852.
RICHARD WESTALL (1765-1836), historical painter, made RA in 1794. He
contributed to Boydell's Shakespeare Gallery, and provided illustrations for
editions of poetry by Milton, Young, Thomson, Goldsmith, Cowper, Beattie
and many others. He was at his best in watercolour, and notably failed when
painting large canvases in oils.
WILLIAM WILBERFORCE (1759-1833), MP for Hull, 1780-4; for Yorkshire, 1784-
1812; and for Bramber 1812-25. He was a member of the 'Clapham Sect', and
led the fight for abolition of the slave trade; it was abolished by the coalition
government in 1807, and emancipation was carried in 1833. Apart from his
efforts in this cause and on behalfofmissionary work in India, he supported the
Tory ministries ofPitt (his intimate friend), the Duke ofPordand, Perceval and
Lord Liverpool. In particular he approved the coercive measures of 1795 and
1817.
JOHN WILKES (1727-97), British politician, journalist and agitator, famous for his
championship ofliberty of the press. He became MP for Aylesbury in 1757; as
one of the severest critics of Lord Bute's administration, he was expelled from
Parliament in 1764 so that libel proceedings could be brought against him for
attacks on Bute's government in his own paper, The North Briton.
WILLIAM WINDHAM (1750-1810), MP for Norwich, supported the war against
France and led an active political life, interesting himself especially in army
affairs and national defence. He helped William Cobbett to found the Political
Register.
XXXIX
THE NEW PYGMALION.
LIBER AMORIS [mlIv]
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The drcumstances, an outline ofwhich is given in these pages, happened a very short time ago
to a native of North Britain, who lift his own country early in life, in consequence ofpolitical
animosities and an ill-advised connection in marriage. It was some years tifter that heformed
thefatal attachment which is the subject of thefollowing narrative. The whole was transcribed
very carifully with his own hand, a little bifore he set out for the Continent in hopes of
benifiting by a change ofscene, but he died soon tifter in the Netherlands - it is supposed, of
disappointment preying on a sickly frame and morbid state of mind. / It was his wish that
what had been his strongestfeeling while living, should be preserved in this shape when he
was no more. - It has been suggested to the friend, into whose hands the manuscript was
entrusted, that many things (particularly in the Conversations in the first Part) either
childish or redundant, might have been omitted; but a promise was given that not a word
should be altered, and the pledge was held sacred. The names and drcumstances are so far
disguised, it is presumed, as to prevent any consequences resultingfrom the publication,Jarther
than the amusement or sympathy of the reader. /
3
LIBER AMORIS
PART!
LIBER AMORIS [1/3]
The Picture
H. Oh! is it you? I had something to shew you - I have got a picture here. Do
you know anyone it's like?
S. No, Sir.
H. Don't you think it like yourself?
S. No: it's much handsomer than I can pretend to be.
H. That's because you don't see yourself with the same eyes that others do. I
don't think it handsomer, and the expression is hardly so fine as yours sometimes
is.
S. Now you flatter me. Besides, the complexion is fair, and mine is dark.
H. Thine is pale and beautiful, my love, not dark! But ifyour colour were a little
heightened, and you wore the same dress, and your hair were let down over your
shoulders, as it is here, it might be taken for a / picture ofyou. Look here, only see
how like it is. The forehead is like, with that little obstinate protrusion in the
middle; the eyebrows are like, and the eyes are just like yours, when you look up
and say - 'No - never!'
S. What then, do I always say 'No - never!' when I look up?
H. I don't know about that - I never heard you say so but once: but that was once
too often for my peace. It was when you told me, 'you could never be mine.' Ah!
ifyou are never to be mine, I shall not long be myself. I cannot go on as I am. My
faculties leave me: I think of nothing, I have no feeling about any thing but thee:
thy sweet image has taken possession of me, haunts me,! and will drive me to
distraction. Yet I could almost wish to go mad for thy sake: for then I might fancy
that I had thy love in return, which I cannot live without!
S. Do not, I beg, talk in that manner, but tell me what this is a picture of. /
H. I hardly know; but it is a very small and delicate copy (painted in oil on a gold
ground) of some fine old Italian picture, Guido's or Raphael's, but I think
Raphael's. Some say it is a Madona; others call it a Magdalen, and say you may
distinguish the tear upon the cheek, though no tear is there. But it seems to me
more like Raphael's St Cecilia, 'with looks commercing with the skies,'2 than any
thing else. - See, Sarah, how beautiful it is! Ah! dear girl, these are the ideas I have
cherished in my heart, and in my brain; and I never found any thing to realize them
7
[3/6] SELECTED WRITINGS OF WILLIAM HAZLITT: VOLUME 7
on earth till I met with thee, my love! While thou didst seem sensible of my
kindness, I was but too happy: but now thou hast cruelly cast me off.
S. You have no reason to say so: you are the same to me as ever.
H. That is, nothing. You are to me every thing, and I am nothing to you. Is it
not too true?
S. No. /
H. Then kiss me, my sweetest. Oh! could you see your face now - your mouth
full ofsuppressed sensibility, your down-cast eyes, the soft blush upon that cheek,
you would not say the picture is not like because it is too handsome, or because you
want complexion. Thou art heavenly-fair, my love - like her from whom the
picture was taken - the idol ofthe painter's heart, as thou art ofmine! Shall I make
a drawing of it, altering the dress a little, to shew you how like it is?
S. As you please. - /
The Invitation
H. But I am afraid I tire you with this prosing description ofthe French character
and abuse ofthe English? You know there is but one subject on which I should ever
wish to talk, if you would let me.
S. I must say, you don't seem to have a very high opinion of this country.
H. Yes, it is the place that gave you birth.
S. Do you like the French women better than the English?
H. No: though they have fiJ:ler eyes, talk better, and are better made. But they
none ofthem look like you. I like the Italian women I have seen, much better than
the French: they have darker eyes, darker hair, and the accents of their native
tongue are much richer and more melodious. But I will give you a better account
of them / when I come back from Italy,! if you would like to hear it.
S. I should much. It is for that I have sometimes had a wish for travelling abroad,
to understand something of the manners and characters of different people.
H. My sweet girl! I will give you the best account I can - unless you would rather
go and judge for yourself
S. I cannot.
H. Yes, you shall go with me, and you shall go with honour - you know what I
mean.
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LIBER AMORIS [6/8]
S. You know it is not in your power to take me so.

H. But it soon may: and if you would consent to bear me company, I would
swear never to think ofan Italian woman while I am abroad, nor ofan English one
after I return home. Thou art to me more than thy whole sex.
S. I require no such sacrifices.
H. Is that what you thought I meant by sacrifices last night? But sacrifices are no
/ sacrifices when they are repaid a thousand fold.
S. I have no way of doing it.
H. You have not the will. -
S. I must go now.
H. Stay, and hear me a litde. I shall soon be where I can no more hear thy voice,
far distant from her I love, to see what change of climate and bright skies will do
for a sad heart. I shall perhaps see thee no more, but I shall still think ofthee the same
as ever - I shall say to myself, 'Where is she now? - what is she doing?' But I shall
hardly wish you to think ofme, unless you could do so more favourably than I am
afraid you will. Ah! dearest creature, I shall be 'far distant from you,' as you once
said ofanother, but you will not think ofme as ofhim, 'with the sincerest affection.'
The smallest share of thy tenderness would make me blest; but couldst thou ever
love me as thou didst him, I should feel like a God! My face would change to a
different expression: my whole / fonn would undergo alteration. I was getting
well, I was growing young in the sweet proofs of your friendship: you see how I
droop and wither under your displeasure! Thou art divine, my love, and canst make
me either more or less than mortal. Indeed I am thy creature, thy slave2 - I only
wish to live for your sake - I would gladly die for you -
S. That would give me no pleasure. But indeed you gready over-rate my power.
H. Your power over me is that ofsovereign grace and beauty. When I am near
thee, nothing can hann me. Thou art an angel oflight, shadowing me with thy
softness. But when I let go thy hand, I stagger on a precipice: out of thy sight the
world is dark to me and comfordess. There is no breathing out of this house: the
air ofItaly will stifle me. Go with me and lighten it. I can know no pleasure away
from thee-
But I will come again, my love,

An it were ten thousand mileP /
9
The Message
S. Mrs E- has called for the book, Sir.

H. Oh! it is there. Let her wait a minute or two. I see this is a busy-day with you.
How beautiful your anns look in those short sleeves!
S. I do not like to wear them.
H. Then that is because you are merciful, and would spare frail mortals who
might die with gazing.
S. I have no power to kill.
H. You have, you have - Your charms are irresistible as your will is inexorable.
I wish I could see you always thus. But I would have no one else see you so. I am
jealous of all eyes but my own. I should almost like you to wear a veil, and to be
mumed up from head to foot; but even if / you were, and not a glimpse of you
could be seen, it would be to no purpose - you would only have to move, and you
would be admired as the most graceful creature in the world. You smile - Well, if
you were to be won by fine speeches -
S. You could supply them!
H. It is however no laughing matter with me; thy beauty kills me daily, and I shall
think ofnothing but thy channs, till the last word trembles on my tongue, and that
will be thy name, my love - the name of my InfeliceP You will live by that name,
you rogue, fifty years after you are dead. Don't you thank me for that?
S. I have no such ambition, Sir. But Mrs E- is waiting.
H. She is not in love, like me. You look so handsome to-day, I cannot let you
go. You have got a colour.
S. But you say I look best when I am pale.
H. When you are pale, I think so; but when you have a colour, I then think you
/ still more beautiful. It is you that I admire; and whatever you are, I like best. I like
you as Miss L-, I should like you still more as Mrs - . I once thought you were
half-inclined to be a prude, and I admired you as a 'pensive nun, devout and pure.'2
I now think you are more than half a coquet, and I like you for your roguery. The
truth is, I am in love with you, my angel; and whatever you are, is to me the
perfection ofthy sex. I care not what thou art, while thou art still thysel£ Smile but
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LIBER AMORIS [11114]
so, and tum my heart to what shape you please!

S. I am afraid, Sir, Mrs E- will think you have forgotten her.
H. I had, my charmer. But go, and make her a sweet apology, all graceful as thou
art. One kiss! Ah! ought I not to think myself the happiest of men? /
The Flageolet
H. Where have you been, my love!

S. I have been down to see my aunt, Sir.
H. And I hope she has been giving you good advice.
S. I did not go to ask her opinion about any thing.
H. And yet you seem anxious and agitated. You appear pale and dejected, as if
your refusal ofme had touched your own breast with pity. Crue}! girl! you look at
this moment heavenly-soft, saint-like, or resemble some graceful marble statue, in
the moon's pale ray! Sadness only heightens the elegance ofyour features. How can
I escape from you, when every new occasion, even your cruelty and scorn, brings
out some new charm. Nay, your rejection of me, by the way in which you do it,
is only a new link / added to my chain. Raise those down-cast eyes, bend as if an
angel stooped, and kiss me. . . . Ah! enchanting little trembler! if such is thy
sweetness where thou dost not love, what must thy love have been? I cannot think
how any man, having the heart of one, could go and leave it.
S. No one did, that I know of.
H. Yes, you told me yourself he left you (though he liked you, and though he
knew - Oh! gracious God! - that you loved him) he left you because 'the pride of
birth would not permit a union. '2 - For myself, I would leave a throne to ascend
to the heaven of thy charms. I live but for thee, here - I only wish to live again to
pass all eternity with thee. But even in another world, I suppose you would tum
from me to seek him out, who scorned you here.
S. If the proud scorn us here, in that place we shall all be equal.
H. Do not look so - do not talk so - unless you would drive me mad. I could
worship / you at this moment. Can I witness such perfection, and bear to think I
have lost you for ever? Oh! let me hope! You see you can mould me as you like.
You can lead me by the hand, like a little child; and with you my way would be like
a little child's: - you could strew flowers in my path, and pour new life and hope
11
into me. I should then indeed hail the return ofspring with joy, could I indulge the
faintest hope - would you but let me try to please you!
S. Nothing can alter my resolution, Sir.
H. Will you go and leave me so?
S. It is late, and my father will be getting impatient at my stopping so long.
H. You know he has nothing to fear for you - it is poor I that am alone in danger.
But I wanted to ask about buying you a flageolet. Could I see that which you have?
If it is a pretty one, it would hardly be worth while; but if it isn't, I thought of
bespeaking an ivory one for you. Can't you bring up your own to shew me? 1
S. Not to-night, Sir.
H. I wish you could.
S. I cannot - but I will in the morning.
H. Whatever you determine, I must submit to. Good night, and bless thee!
[The next morning, S. brought up the tea-kettle as usual; and looking towards the tea-tray,
she said, 'Oh! I see my sister has forgot the tea-pot.' It was not there, sure enough; and
tripping down stairs, she came up in a minute, with the tea-pot in one hand, and theflageolet
in the other, balanced so sweetly andgracefully. It would have been awkward to have brought
up theflageolet in the tea-tray, and she could not well have gone down again on purpose to
fetch it. Something therefore was to be omitted as an excuse. Exquisite witch! But do I love
her the less dearly for it? I cannot.] /
The Confession
H. You say you cannot love. Is there not a prior attachment in the case? Was
there anyone else that you did like?
S. Yes, there was another.
H. Ah! I thought as much. Is it long ago then?
S. It is two years, Sir.
H. And has time made no alteration? Or do you still see him sometimes?
S. No, Sir! But he is one to whom I feel the sincerest affection, and ever shall,
though he is far distant.
H. And did he return your regard?
S. I had every reason to think so.
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LIBER AMORIS [16/19]
H. What then broke off your intimacy?

S. It was the pride ofbirth, Sir, that would not pennit him to think of an union.
H. Was he a young man of rank, then? /
S. His connections were high.
H. And did he never attempt to persuade you to any other step?
S. No - he had too great a regard for me.
H. Tell me, my angel, how was it? Was he so very handsome? Or was it the
fineness of his manners?
S. It was more his manner: but I can't tell how it was. It was chiefly my own fault.
I was foolish to suppose he could ever think seriously of me. But he used to make
me read with him - and I used to be with him a good deal, though not much neither
- and I found my affections entangled before I was aware of it.
H. And did your mother and family know of it?
S. No - I have never told anyone but you; nor I should not have mentioned it
now, but I thought it might give you some satisfaction.
H. Why did he go at last?
S. We thought it better to part. /
H. And do you correspond?
S. No, Sir. But perhaps I may see him again some time or other, though it will
be only in the way of friendship.
H. My God! what a heart is thine, to live for years upon that bare hope!
S. I did not wish to live always, Sir - I wished to die for a long time after, till I
thought it not right; and since then I have endeavoured to be as resigned as I can.
H. And do you think the impression will never wear out?
S. Not ifI canjudge from my feelings hitherto. It is now some time since, - and
I find no difference.
H. May God for ever bless you! How can I thank you for your condescension in
letting me know your sweet sentiments? You have changed my esteem into
adoration. - Never can I harbour a thought of ill in thee again.
S. Indeed, Sir, I wish for your good opinion and your friendship.
H. And can you return them? /
S. Yes.
H. And nothing more?
S. No, Sir.
H. You are an angel, and I will spend my life, if you will let me, in paying you
the homage that my heart feels towards you. /
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[20122] SELECTED WRITINGS OF WILLIAM HAZLlTT: VOLUME 7
The Quarrel
H. You are angry with me?

S. Have I not reason?
H. I hope you have; for I would give the world to believe my suspicions unjust.
But, oh! my God! after what I have thought ofyou and felt towards you, as little
less than an angel, to have but a doubt cross my mind for an instant that you were
what I dare not name - a common lodging-house decoy, a kissing convenience,
that your lips were as common as the stairs -
S. Let me go, Sir!
H. Nay - prove to me that you are not so, and I will fall down and worship you.
You were the only creature that ever seemed to love me; and to have my hopes,
and all my fondness for you, thus turned to a mockery - it is too much! Tell me why
you have / deceived me, and singled me out as your victim?
S. I never have, Sir. I always said I could not love.
H. There is a difference between love and making me a laughing-stock. Yet what
else could be the meaning ofyour little sister's running out to you, and saying, 'He
thought I did not see him!' when I had followed you into! the other room? Is it a
joke upon me that I make free with yoU?2 Oris not the joke rather against her sister,
unless you make my courtship of you ajest to the whole house? Indeed I do not
well see how you can come and stay with me as you do, by the hour together, and
day after day, as openly as you do, unless you give it some such turn with your
family. Or do you deceive them as well as me?
S. I deceive no one, Sir. But my sister Betsey was always watching and listening
when Mr M_3 was courting my eldest sister, till he was obliged to complain
of it. /
H. That I can understand, but not the other. You may remember, when your
servant Maria looked in and found you sitting in my lap one day, and I was afraid
she might tell your mother, you said 'You did not care, for you had no secrets from
your mother.' This seemed to me odd at the time, but I thought no more ofit, till
other things brought it to my mind. Am I to suppose, then, that you are acting a
part, a vile part, all this time, and that you come up here, and stay as long as I like,
that you sit on my knee and put your arms round my neck, and feed me with kisses,
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L1BER AMORIS [22125]
and let me take other liberties with you, and that for a year together; and that you
do all this not out oflove, or liking, or regard, but go through your regular task, like
some young witch, without one natural feeling, to shew your cleverness, and get
a few presents out ofme, and go down into the kitchen to make a fine laugh ofit?
There is something monstrous in it, that I cannot believe of you. /
S. Sir, you have no right to harass my feelings in the manner you do. I have never
made a jest ofyou to anyone, but always felt and expressed the greatest esteem for
you. You have no ground for complaint in my conduct; and I cannot help what
Betsey or others do. I have always been consistent from the first. I told you my
regard could amount to no more than friendship.
H. Nay, Sarah, it was more than half a year before I knew that there was an
insurmountable obstacle in the way. You say your regard is merely friendship, and
that you are sorry I have ever felt any thing more for you. Yet the first time I ever
asked you, you let me kiss you: the first time I ever saw you, as you went out ofthe
room, you turned full round at the door, with that inimitable grace with which you
do every thing, and fixed your eyes full upon me, as much as to say, 'Is he caught?'
- that very week you sat upon my knee, twined your / arms round me, caressed me
with every mark of tenderness consistent with modesty; and I have not got much
farther since. Now ifyou did all this with me, a perfect stranger to you, and without
any particular liking to me, must I not conclude you do so as a matter ofcourse with
every one? - Or ifyou do not do so with others, it was because you took a liking
to me for some reason or other.
S. It was gratitude, Sir, for different obligations.
H. Ifyou mean by obligations the presents I made you, 4 I had given you none the
first day I came. You do not consider yourself obliged to every one who asks you for
a kiss?
S. No, Sir.
H. I should not have thought any thing ofit in anyone but you. But you seemed
so reserved and modest, so soft, so timid, you spoke so low, you looked so innocent5
- I thought it impossible you could deceive me. / Whatever favors you granted must
proceed from pure regard. No betrothed virgin ever gave the object of her choice
kisses, caresses more modest or more bewitching than those you have given me a
thousand and a thousand times. Could I have thought I should ever live to believe
them an inhuman mockery of one who had the sincerest regard for you? Do you
think they will not now tum to rank poison in my veins, and kill me, soul and body?
You say it is friendship - but ifthis is friendship, I'll forswear love. Ah! Sarah! it must
be something more or less than friendship. If your caresses are sincere, they shew
fondness - ifthey are not, I must be more than indifferent to you. Indeed you once
let some words drop, as ifI were out ofthe question in such matters, and you could
trifle with me with impunity. 6 Yet you complain at other times that no one ever
took such liberties with you as I have done. I remember once in particular your
15
[25129] SELECTED WRITINGS OF WILLIAM HAZLITT:VOLUME 7
saying, as you went out at the door in anger - 'I had an attachment / before, but that
person never attempted any thing ofthe kind.' Good God! How did 1 dwell on that
word before, thinking it implied an attachment to me also; but you have since
disclaimed any such meaning. You say you have never professed more than esteem.
Yet once, when you were sitting in your old place, on my knee, embracing and
fondly embraced, and 1 asked you ifyou could not love, you made answer, 'I could
easily say so, whether I did or not - YOU SHOULD JUDGE BY MY ACTIONS!' And
another time, when you were in the same posture, and I reproached you with
indifference, you replied in these words, 'Do I SEEM INDIFFERENT?' Was I to blame
after this to indulge my passion for the loveliest of her sex? Or what can I think?7
S. I am no prude, Sir.
H. Yet you might be taken for one. So your mother said, 'It was hard ifyou might
not indulge in a little levity.' She has strange notions oflevity. Butlevity, my / dear,
is quite out of character in you. Your ordinary walk is as if you were performing
some religious ceremony: you come up to my table ofa morning, when you merely
bring in the tea-things, as ifyou were advancing to the altar. You move in minuet-
time: you measure every step, as if you were afraid of offending in the smallest
things. I never hear your approach on the stairs, but by a sort of hushed silence.
When you enter the room, the Graces wait on you, and Love waves round your
person in gentle undulations, breathing balm into the soul! By Heaven, you are an
angel! You look like one at this instant! Do I not adore you - and have I merited
this return?
S. I have repeatedly answered that question. You sit and fancy things out ofyour
own head, and then lay them to my charge. There is not a word of truth in your
suspicions.
H. Did I not overhear the conversation / down-stairs last night, to which you
were a party? Shall I repeat it?8
S. I had rather not hear it!
H. Or what am I to think of this story of the footman?
S. It is false, Sir, I never did any thing of the sort.
H. Nay, when I told your mother I wished she wouldn't **** ** ****
************ 9(as I heard she did) she said 'Oh, there's nothing in that, for Sarah
very often ***** ** *** *'10 and your doing so before company, is only a trifling
addition to the sport.
S. I'll call my mother, Sir, and she shall contradict you.
H. Then she'll contradict herself But did not you boast you were very
persevering in your resistance to gay young men,' and had been 'several times
obliged to ring the bell?' Did you always ring it? Or did you get into these dilemmas
that made it necessary, / merely by the demureness ofyour looks and ways? Or had
nothing else passed? Or have you two characters, one that you palm off upon me,
and another, your natural one, that you resume when you get out ofthe room, like
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an actress who throws aside her artificial part behind the scenes? Did you not, when
I was courting you on the staircase the first night Mr C- came, beg me to desist,
for if the new lodger heard us, he'd take you for a light character? Was that all?
Were you only afraid of being taken for a light character? Oh! Sarah!
S. I'll stay and hear this no longer.
H. Yes, one word more. Did you not love another?
S. Yes, and ever shall most sincerely.
H. Then, that is my only hope. If you could feel this sentiment for him, you
cannot be what you seem to me oflate. But there is another thing I had to say - be
what you will, I love you to distraction! You are the only woman that ever made
me think she loved me, and / that feeling was so new to me, and so delicious, that
it 'will never from my heart.'l1 Thou wert to me a little tender flower, blooming in
the wilderness of my life; and though thou should'st tum out a weed, I'll not fling
thee from me, while I can help it. Wert thou all that I dread to think - wert thou
a wretched wanderer in the street, covered with rags, disease, and infamy, I'd clasp
thee to my bosom, and live and die with thee, my love. Kiss me, thou little sorceress!
S. NEVER!
H. Then go: but remember I cannot live without you - nor I will not. /
The Reconciliation
H. I have then lost your friendship?

S. Nothing tends more to alienate friendship than insult.
H. The words I uttered hurt me more than they did you.
S. It was not words merely, but actions as well.
H. Nothing I can say or do can ever alter my fondness for you - Ah, Sarah! I am
unworthy ofyour love: I hardly dare ask for your pity; but oh! save me - save me
from your scorn: I cannot bear it - it withers me like lightning.
S. I bear no malice, Sir; but my brother, who would scorn to tell a lie for his sister,
can bear witness for me that there was no truth in what you were told.
H. I believe it; or there is no truth in / woman. It is enough for me to know that
you do not return my regard; it would be too much for me to think that you did
not deserve it. But cannot you forgive the agony of the moment?
S. I can forgive; but it is not easy to forget some things!
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[32/35] SELECTED WRITINGS OF WILLIAM HAZLlTT: VOLUME 7
H. Nay, my sweet Sarah (frown ifyou will, I can bear your resentment for my
ill behaviour, it is only your scorn and indifference that harrow up my soul) - but
I was going to ask, ifyou had been engaged to be married to anyone, and the day
was fixed, and he had heard what I did, whether he could have felt any true regard
for the character ofhis bride, his wife, ifhe had not been hurt and alarmed as I was?
S. I believe, actual contracts of marriage have sometimes been broken off by
unjust suspicions.
H. Or had it been your old friend, what do you think he would have said in my
case? /
S. He would never have listened to any thing of the sort.
H. He had greater reasons for confidence than I have. But it is your repeated cruel
rejection ofme that drives me almost to madness. Tell me, love, is there not, besides
your attachment to him, a repugnance to me?
S No, none whatever.
H. I fear there is an original dislike, which no efforts of mine can overcome.
S. It is not you - it is my feelings with respect to another, which are unalterable.
H. And yet you have no hope ofever being his? And yet you accuse me ofbeing
romantic in my sentiments.
S. I have indeed long ceased to hope; but yet I sometimes hope against hope.
H. My love! were it in my power, thy hopes should be fulfilled to-morrow. Next
to my own, there is nothing that could give me so much satisfaction as to see thine
realized! Do I not love thee, when I can feel such an / interest in thy love for
another? It was that which first wedded my very soul to you. I would give worlds
for a share in a heart so rich in pure affection!
S. And yet I did not tell you ofthe circumstance to raise myself in your opinion.
H. You are a sublime little thing! And yet, as you have no prospects there, I
cannot help thinking, the best thing would be to do as I have said.
S. I would never marry a man I did not love beyond all the world.
H. I should be satisfied with less than that - with the love, or regard, or whatever
you call it, you have shown me before marriage, ifthat has only been sincere. You
would hardly like me less afterwards.
S. Endearments would, I should think, increase regard, where there was love
beforehand; but that is not exactly my case.
H. But I think you would be happier than you are at present. You take pleasure
in / my conversation, and you say you have an esteem for me; and it is upon this,
after the honey-moon, that marriage chiefly turns,
S. Do you think there is no pleasure in a single life?1
H. Do you mean on account of its liberty?
S. No, but I feel that forced duty is no duty. I have high ideas ofthe married state!
H. Higher than of the maiden state?
S. I understand you, Sir.
18
H. I meant nothing; but you have sometimes spoken of any serious attachment
as a tie upon you. It is not that you prefer flirting with 'gay young men' to
becoming a mere dull domestic wife?
S. You have no right to throw out such insinuations: for though I am but a
tradesman's daughter, I have as nice a sense of honour as anyone can have.
H. Talk ofa tradesman's daughter! you would ennoble any family, thou glorious
girl, by true nobility of mind. I
S. Oh! Sir, you flatter me. I know my own inferiority to most.
H. To none; there is no one above thee, man nor woman either. You are above
your situation, which is not fit for you.
S. I am contented with my lot, and do my duty as cheerfully as I can.
H. Have you not told me your spirits grow worse every year?
S. Not on that account: but some disappointments are hard to bear up against.
H. Ifyou talk about that, you'll unman me. But tell me, my love, - I have thought
of it as something that might account for some circumstances; that is, as a mere
possibility. But tell me, there was not a likeness between me and your old lover that
struck you at first sight? Was there?
S. No, Sir, none.
H. Well, I didn't think it likely there should.
S. But there was a likeness. /
H. To whom?
S. To that little image! (looking intently on a small bronzefigure of Buonaparte on the
mantle-piece.)
H. What, do you mean to Buonaparte?
S. Yes, all but the nose was just like.
H. And was his figure the same?
S. He was taller!
[I got up and gave her the image, and told her it was hers by every right that was sacred.
She refused atfirst to take so valuable a curiosity, and said she would keep itfor me. But I
pressed it eagerly, and she took it. She immediately came and sat down, and put her arm
round my neck, and kissed me, and I said' Is it not plain we are the bestfriends in the world,
since we are always so glad to make it up?' And then I added' How odd it was that the God
of my idolatry should turn out to be like her Idol, and said it was no wonder that the same
face which awed the world should conquer the sweetest I creature in it!' How I loved her at
that moment! Is it possible that the wretch who writes this could ever have been so blest!
Heavenly delicious creature! Can I live without her? - Oh! no - never - never.
What is this world? What asken men to have,

Now with his love, now in the cold grave,
Alone withouten any compagnieF
Let me but see her again! She cannot hate the man who loves her as I do.] /
19
Letters to the Same
Feb. 1822.1
- You will scold me for this, and ask me if this is keeping my promise to mind my
work. One half ofit was to think of Sarah: and besides, I do not neglect my work
either, I assure you. I regularly do ten pages a day, which mounts up to thirty
guineas' worth a week, so that you see I should grow rich at this rate, ifI could keep
on so; and I could keep on so, ifI had you with me to encourage me with your sweet
smiles, and share my lot. The Berwick smacks sail twice a week, and the wind sits
fair. When I think ofthe thousand endearing caresses that have passed between us,
I do not wonder at the strong attachment that draws me to you; but I am sorry for
my own want of power to / please. I hear the wind sigh through the lattice, and
keep repeating over and over to myself two lines of Lord Byron's Tragedy-
So shalt thou find me ever at thy side

Here and hereafter, if the last may be - 2
applying them to thee, my love, and thinking whether I shall ever see thee again.
Perhaps not - for some years at least - till both thou and I are old - and then, when
all else have forsaken thee, I will creep to thee, and die in thine arms. You once made
me believe I was not hated by her I loved; and for that sensation, so delicious was
it, though but a mockery and a dream, lowe you more than I can ever pay. I thought
to have dried up my tears for ever, the day I left you; but as I write this, they stream
again. Ifthey did not, I think my heart would burst. I walk out here ofan afternoon,
and hear the notes of the thrush, that come up from a sheltered valley below,
welcome in the spring; but they do not melt my heart as / they used: it is grown cold
and dead. As you say, it will one day be colder. - Forgive what I have written above;
I did not intend it: but you were once my little all, and I cannot bear the thought
ofhaving lost you for ever, I fear through my own fault. Has anyone called? Do not
send any letters that come. I should like you and your mother (ifagreeable) to go and
see Mr Kean in Othello, and Miss Stephens in Love in a Village. 3 Ifyou will, I will
write to Mr T- , to send you tickets. Has Mr P- called? I think I must send to him
20
for the picture to kiss and talk to. Kiss me, my best-beloved. Ah! if you can never
be mine, still let me be your proud and happy slave.
To the Samet
March. 1822.
- You will be glad to learn I have done my work - a volume in less than a month.
This is one reason why I am better than when I came, and another is, I have had
two letters from Sarah. I am pleased I have got through this job, as I was afraid I
might lose reputation by it (which I can little afford to lose) - and besides, I am
more anxious to do well now, as I wish you to hear me well spoken o£ I walk out
ofan afternoon, and hear the birds sing as I told you, and think, ifI had you hanging
on my arm, and thatfor life, how happy I should be - happier than I ever hoped to
be, or had any conception of till I knew you. 'But that can never be' - / I hear you
answer in a soft, low murmur. Well, let me dream ofit sometimes - I am not happy
too often, except when that favorite note, the harbinger of spring, recalling the
hopes ofmy youth, whispers thy name and peace together in my ear. I was reading 2
something about Mr Macready to-day, and this put me in mind of that delicious
night, when I went with your mother and you to see Romeo and Juliet. 3 Can I
forget it for a moment - your sweet modest looks, your infinite propriety of
behaviour, all your sweet winning ways - your hesitating about taking my arm as
we came out till your mother did - your laughing about nearly losing your cloak
- your stepping into the coach without my being able to make the slightest
discovery - and oh! my sitting down beside you there, you whom I had loved so
long, so well, and your assuring me I had not lessened your pleasure at the play by
being with you, and giving me your dear hand to press in mine! I thought I was in
heaven - that slender exquisitely / turned form contained my all of heaven upon
earth; and as I folded you - yes, you, my own best Sarah, to my bosom, there was,
as you say, a tie between us - you did seem to me, for those few short moments, to
be mine in all truth and honour and sacredness - Oh! that we could be always so
- Do not mock me, for I am a very child in love. I ought to beg pardon for behaving
so ill afterwards, but I hope the little image made it up between us, &c.
[To this letter I have received no answer, not a line. The rolling years ifeternity will never
fill up that blank. J.Vhere shall I be? J.Vhat am I? Or where have I been?] /
21
[45/46] SELECTED WRITINGS OF WILLIAM HAZLITT:VOLUME 7
Written in a Blank Leaf of Endymion 1
I want a hand to guide me, an eye to cheer me, a bosom to repose on; all which I
shall never have, but shall stagger into my grave, old before my time, unloved and
unlovely, unless S. L. keeps her faith with me.
**********************
- But by her dove's eyes and serpent-shape, I think she does not hate me; by her
smooth forehead and her crested hair, I own I love her; by her soft looks and queen-
like grace (which men might faIl down and worship) I swear to live and die for her! /
A Proposal of Love
(Given to her in our early acquaintance)
Oh! if I thought it could be in a woman

(As, if it can, I will presume in you)
To feed for aye her lamp and flames oflove,
To keep her constancy in plight and youth,
Outliving beauties outward with a mind
That doth renew swifter than blood decays:
Or that persuasion could but thus convince me,
That my integrity and truth to you
Might be confronted with the match and weight
Of such a winnowed purity in love -
How were I then uplifted! But, alas,
I am as true as truth's simplicity,
And simpler than the infancy of truth.!
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. /
22
LIBER AMORIS
PART II /
UBER AMORIS [49/51]
Letter to C. P-, Esq.!
Bees-Inn. 2
MY GOOD FRIEND,
Here I am in Scotland (and shall have been here three weeks, next Monday) as I
may say, on my probation. This is a lone inn, but on a great scale, forty miles from
Edinburgh. It is situated on a rising ground (a mark for all the winds, which blow
here incessantly) - there is a woody hill opposite, with a winding valley below, and
the London road stretches out on either side. You may guess which way I oftenest
walk. I have written two letters to S. L. and got one cold, prudish answer,
beginning Sir, and ending From yours truly, with Best respectsJrom herselfand relations.
I was going to give in, but have returned an answer, which I think / is a touch-
stone. I send it you on the other side to keep as a curiosity, in case she kills me by
her exquisite rejoinder. I am convinced from the profound contemplations I have
had on the subject here and coming along, that I am in the wrong box. We had a
famous parting-scene, a complete blow-up and then a reconciliation, in which she
did beguile me ofmy tears, 3 but the deuce a one did she shed. What do you think?
She cajoled me out of my little Buonaparte as clean as a whistle, in manner as
follows. She was shy the Saturday and Sunday (the day ofmy departure) so I got in
dudgeon, and began to rip up grievances. I asked her how she came to admit me
to such extreme familiarities, the first week I entered the house. 'If she had no
particular regard for me, she must do so (or more) with every one: ifshe had a liking
to me from the first, why refuse me with scorn and wilfulness?' Ifyou had seen how
she flounced, and looked, / and went to the door, saying 'She was obliged to me
for letting her know the opinion I had always entertained of her' - then I said,
'Sarah!' and she came back and took my hand, and fixed her eyes on the mantle-
piece - (she must have been invoking her idol then - ifI thought so, I could devour
her, the darling - but I doubt her) - So I said 'There is one thing that has occurred
to me sometimes as possible, to account for your conduct to me at first - there
wasn't a likeness, was there, to your old friend?' She answered 'No, none - but
there was a likeness' - I asked, to what? She said 'To that little image!' I said, 'Do
you mean Buonaparte?' - She said, 'Yes, all but the nose.' - 'And the figure?' - 'He
25
[51154] SELECTED WRITINGS OF WILLIAM HAZLITT: VOLUME 7
was taller.' - I could not stand this. So I got up and took it, and gave it her, and after
some reluctance, she consented to 'keep it for me.' What will you bet me that it
wasn't all a trick? I'll tell you why I suspect it, besides being / fairly out of my wits
about her. I had told her mother half an hour before, that I should take this image
and leave it at Mrs B.'s, for that I didn't wish to leave any thing behind me that must
bring me back again. Then up she comes and starts a likeness to her lover: she knew
I should give it her on the spot - 'No, she would keep it for me!' So I must come
back for it. Whether art or nature, it is sublime. I told her I should write and tell you
so, and that I parted from her, confiding, adoring! - She is beyond me, that's
certain. Do go and see her, and desire her not to give my present address to a single
soul, and learn if the lodging is let, and to whom. My letter to her is as follows. If
she shews the least remorse at it, I'll be hanged, though it might move a stone, I
modestly think. (See bifore, Part I. page 39.)
N.B. I have begun a book of our conversations (I mean mine and the statue's) /
which I call UBER AMORIS. I was detained at Stamford and found myself dull, and
could hit upon no other way of employing my time so agreeably. /
Letter lIt
DEAR P--,
Here without loss of time, in order that I may have your opinion upon it, is little
YES and No's2 answer to my last.
'SIR,
'I should not have disregarded your injunction not to send you any more letters that
might come to you, had I not promised the Gentleman who left the enclosed to
forward it the earliest opportunity, as he said it was ofconsequence. Mr P- called the
day after you left town. 3 My mother and myself are much obliged by your kind
offer oftickets to the play, but must decline accepting it. My family send their best
respects, in which they are joined by
Yours, truly,
S. L.' /
26
The deuce a bit more is there of it. If you can make any thing out of it (or any
body else) I'll be hanged. You are to understand, this comes in a frank, the second
I have received from her, with a name I can't make out,4 and she won't tell me,
though I asked her, where she got franks, as also whether the lodgings were let, to
neither ofwhich a word of answer. **** is the name on the frank: see ifyou can
decypher it by a Red-book. s I suspect her grievously of being an arrant jilt, to say
no more-yet I love her dearly. Doyou know I'm going to write to the sweet rogue
presently, having a whole evening to myself in advance of my work? Now mark,
before you set about your exposition of the new Apocalypse of the new Calypso,
the only thing to be endured in the above letter is the date. It was written the very
day after she received mine. By this she seems willing to lose no time in receiving
these letters'ofsuch sweet breath composed.'6 IfI thought so - but I wait for your
reply. / After all, what is there in her but a pretty figure, and that you can't get a
word out of her? Hers is the Fabian method of making love and conquests. What
do you suppose she said the night before I left her?
'H. Could you not come and live with me as a friend?
S. I don't know: and yet it would be of no use if I did, you would always be
hankering after what could never be!'
I asked her ifshe would do so at once - the very next day? And what do you guess
was her answer - 'Do you think it would be prudent?' As I didn't proceed to
extremities on the spot, she began to look grave, and declare off. 'Would she live
with me in her own house - to be with me all day as dear friends, if nothing more,
to sit and read and talk with me?' - 'She would make no promises, but I should find
her the same.' - 'Would she go to the play with me sometimes, and let it be
understood that I was paying my addresses to her?' - 'She / could not, as a habit -
her father was rather strict, and would object.' - Now what am I to think ofall this?
Am I mad or a fool? Answer me to that, Master BrookF You are a philosopher. /
27
Letter lIlt
DEAR FRIEND,
I ought to have written to you before; but since I received your letter, I have been
in a sort of purgatory, and what is worse, I see no prospect of getting out of it. I
would put an end to my torments at once; but I am as great a coward as I have been
a dupe. Do you know I have not had a word of answer from her since! What can
be the reason? Is she offended at my letting you know she wrote to me, or is it some
new affair? I wrote to her in the tenderest, most respectful manner, poured my soul
at her feet, and this is the return she makes me! Can you account for it, except on
the admission of my worst doubts concerning her? Oh God! can I bear after all to
think ofher so, or that I am scorned and made a sport ofby the creature / to whom
I had given my whole heart? - Thus has it been with me all my life; and so will it
be to the end of it! - Ifyou should learn any thing, good or bad, tell me, I conjure
you: I can bear any thing but this cruel suspense. IfI knew she was a mere abandoned
creature, I should try to forget her; but till I do know this, nothing can tear me from
her, I have drank in poison from her lips too long - alas! mine do not poison again.
I sit and indulge my grief by the hour together; my weakness grows upon me; and
I have no hope left, unless I could lose my senses quite. Do you know I think I
should like this? To forget, ah! to forget - there would be something in that - to
change to an ideot for some few years, and then to wake up a poor wretched old
man, to recollect my misery as past, and die! Yet, oh! with her, only a little while
ago, I had different hopes, forfeited for nothing that I know of! **** ***2 Ifyou
can give me any consolation on the subject of my tormentor, pray do. / The pain
I suffer wears me out daily. I write this on the supposition that Mrs - may still come
here, and that I may be detained some weeks longer. Direct to me at the Post-office;
and ifI return to town directly as I fear, I will leave word for them to forward the
letter to me in London - not at myoId lodgings. I will not go back there: yet how
can I breathe away from her? Her hatred ofme must be great, since my love ofher
could not overcome it! I have finished the book of my conversations with her,3
which I told you of: if I am not mistaken, you will think it very nice reading.
Yours ever.
Have you read Sardanapalus?4 How like the little Greek slave, Myrrha, is to her! /
28
UBER AMORIS [61163]
Letter IV!
(Written in the Winter)
MY GOOD FRIEND,
I received your letter this morning, and I kiss the rod not only with submission, but
gratitude. Your reproofs of me and your defences of her are the only things that
save my soul from perdition. She is my heart's idol; and believe me those words of
yours applied to the dear saint - 'To lip a chaste one and suppose her wanton'2-
were balm and rapture to me. I have lipped her, God knows how often, and oh! is
it even possible that she is chaste, and that she has bestowed her loved 'endearments'
on me (her own sweet word) out of true regard? That thought, out of the lowest
depths ofdespair, would at any time make me strike my forehead against the stars. 3
Could I but think the / love 'honest,'4 I am proof against all hazards. She by her
silence makes my dark hour;5 and you by your encouragements dissipate it for
twenty-four hours. Another thing has brought me to life. Mrs - is actually on her
way here about the divorce. Should this unpleasant business (which has been so
long talked of) succeed, and I should become free,6 do you think S. L. will agree
to change her name to -? If she will, she shall; and to call her so to you or to hear
her called so by others, would be music to my ears, such as they never drank in. Do
you think if she knew how I love her, my depressions and my altitudes, my
wanderings and my constancy, it would not move her? She knows it all; and ifshe
is not an incorrigible, she loves me, or regards me with a feeling next to love. I don't
believe that any woman was ever courted more passionately than she has been by
me. As Rousseau said of Madame d'Houptot (forgive the allusion) my heart has
found a tongue in speaking to her, and / I have talked to her the divine language
oflove. 7 Yet she says, she is insensible to it. Am I to believe her or you? You - for
I wish it and wish it to madness, now that I am like to be free, and to have it in my
power to say to her without a possibility of suspicion, 'Sarah, will you be mine?'
When I sometimes think of the time I first saw the sweet apparition, August 16,
1820, and that possibly she may be my bride before that day two years, it makes me
dizzy with incredible joy and love of her. Write soon. /
29
LetterV 1
MY DEAR FRIEND,
I read your answer this morning with gratitude. I have felt somewhat easier since.
It shewed your interest in my vexations, and also that you know nothing worse
than I do. I cannot describe the weakness of mind to which she has reduced me.
This state of suspense is like hanging in the air by a single thread that exhausts all
your strength to keep hold of it; and yet if that fails you, you have nothing in the
world else left to trust to. I am come back to Edinburgh about this cursed business,
and Mrs - is coming from Montrose2 next week. How it will end, I can't say; and
don't care, except as it regards the other affair. I should, I confess, like to have it in
my power to make her the offer direct and unequivocal, to see how she'd / receive
it. It would be worth something at any rate to see her superfine airs upon the
occasion; and ifshe should take it into her head to tum round her sweet neck, drop
her eye-lids, and say - 'Yes, I will be yours!' - why then, 'treason domestic, foreign
levy, nothing could touch me further.'3 By Heaven! I doat on her. The truth is, I
never had any pleasure, like love, with anyone but her. Then how can I bear to part
with her? Do you know I like to think ofher best in her morning-gown and mob-
cap - it is so she has oftenest come into my room and enchanted me! She was once
ill, pale, and had lost all her freshness. I only adored her the more for it, and fell in
love with the decay of her beauty. I could devour the little witch. If she had a
plague-spot on her, I could touch the infection: if she was in a burning fever, I
could kiss her, and drink death as I have drank life from her lips. When I press her
hand, I enjoy perfect happiness and contentment ofsoul. It is not what she / says
or what she does - it is herself that I love. To be with her is to be at peace. I have
no other wish or desire. The air about her is serene, blissful; and he who breathes
it is like one of the Gods! So that I can but have her with me always, I care for
nothing more. I never could tire of her sweetness; I feel that I could grow to her,
body and soul. My heart, my heart is hers. /
30
LIBER AMORIS [67/69)
Letter VI I
(Written in May)
DEAR 1'--,
What have I suffered since I parted with you! A raging fire is in my heart and in my
brain, that never quits me. The steam-boat (which I foolishly ventured on board)
seems a prison-house, a sort of spectre-ship, moving on through an infernal lake,
without wind or tide, by some necromantic power - the splashing ofthe waves, the
noise ofthe engine gives me no rest, night or day - no tree, no natural object varies
the scene - but the abyss is before me, and all my peace lies weltering in it! I feel
the eternity of punishment in this life; for I see no end of my woes. The people
about me are ill, uncomfortable, wretched enough, many ofthem - but to-morrow
or next day, they reach the / place of their destination, and all will be new and
delightful. To me it will be the same. I can neither escape from her, nor from
mysel£ All is endurable where there is a limit: but I have nothing but the blackness
and the fiendishness ofscorn around me - mocked by her (the false one) in whom
I placed my hope, and who hardens herself against me! - I believe you thought me
quite gay, vain, insolent, half mad, the night I left the house - no tongue can tell
the heaviness ofheart I felt at that moment. No footsteps ever fell more slow, more
sad than mine; for every step bore me farther from her, with whom my soul and
every thought lingered. I had parted with her in anger, and each had spoken words
ofhigh disdain, not soon to be forgiven. Should I ever behold her again? Where go
to live and die far from her? In her sight there was Elysium; her smile was heaven;
her voice was enchantment; the air oflove waved round her, breathing balm into
my heart: for a little / while I had sat with the Gods at their golden tables, I had
tasted of all earth's bliss, 'both living and loving! '2 But now Paradise barred its doors
against me; I was driven from her presence, where rosy blushes and delicious sighs
and all soft wishes dwelt, the outcast ofnature and the scoffoflove! I thought ofthe
time when I was a little happy careless child, of my father's house, of my early
lessons, of my brother's picture of me when a boy, of all that had since happened
to me, and of the waste of years to come - I stopped, faultered, and was going to
turn back once more to make a longer truce with wretchedness and patch up a
31
hollow league with love,3 when the recollection of her words - 'I always told you
I had no affection for you' - steeled my resolution, and I determined to proceed.
You see by this she always hated me, and only played with my credulity till she
could find some one to supply the place of her unalterable attachment to the little
image. ****** lama /little, a very little better to-day. Would it were quietly over;
and that this misshapen form (made to be mocked) were hid out ofthe sight ofcold,
sullen eyes! The people about me even take notice of my dumb despair, and pity
me. What is to be done? I cannot forget her; and I can find no other like what she
seemed. I should wish you to call, ifyou can make an excuse, and see whether or no
she is quite marble - whether I may go back again at my return, and whether she
will see me and talk to me sometimes as an old friend. Suppose you were to call on
M- from me, and ask him what his impression is that I ought to do. But do as you
think best. Pardon, pardon.
P. S. I send this from Scarborough, where the vessel stops for a few minutes. I
scarcely know what I should have done, but for this relief to my feelings. /
Letter VII I
MY DEAR FRIEND,
The important step is taken, and I am virtually a free man. *** What had I better
do in these circumstances? I dare not write to her, I dare not write to her father, or
else I would. She has shot me through with poisoned arrows, and I think another
'winged wound'2 would finish me. It is a pleasant sort ofbalm (as you express it) she
has left in my heart! One thing I agree with you in, it will remain there for ever;
but yet not very long. It festers, and consumes me. Ifit were not for my little boy,
whose face I see struck blank at the news, looking through the world for pity and
meeting with contempt instead, I should soon, I fear, settle the question by my
death. That recollection is the only thought that brings / my wandering reason to
an anchor; that stirs the smallest interest in me; or gives me fortitude to bear up
against what I am doomed to feel for the ungrateful. Otherwise, I am dead to every
thing but the sense of what I have lost. She was my life - it is gone from me, and
I am grown spectral! IfI find myself in a place lam acquainted with, it reminds me
of her, of the way in which I thought of her,
32
LIBER AMORIS [72175]
and carved on every tree

The soft, the fair, the inexpressive sheP
If it is a place that is new to me, it is desolate, barren of all interest; for nothing
touches me but what has a reference to her. Ifthe clock strikes, the sound jars me;
a million ofhours will not bring back peace to my breast. The light startles me; the
darkness terrifies me. I seem falling into a pit, without a hand to help me. She has
deceived me, and the earth fails from under my feet: no object in nature is
substantial, / real, but false and hollow, like her faith on which I built my trust. She
came (I knew not how) and sat by my side and was folded in my arms, a vision of
love andjoy, as ifshe had dropped from the Heavens to bless me by some especial
dispensation of a favouring Providence, and make me amends for all; and now
without any fault of mine but too much fondness, she has vanished from me, and
I am left to perish. My heart is tom out ofme, with every feeling for which I wished
to live. The whole is like a dream, an effect of enchantment; it torments me, and
it drives me mad. I lie down with it; I rise up with it; and see no chance of repose.
I grasp at a shadow, I try to undo the past, and weep with rage and pity over my own
weakness and misery. I spared her again and again (fool that I was) thinking what
she allowed from me was love, friendship, sweetness, not wantonness. How could
I doubt it, looking in her face, and hearing her words, like sighs breathed from the
gendest / of all bosoms? I had hopes, I had prospects to come, the flattery of
something like fame, a pleasure in writing, health even would have come back with
her smile - she has blighted all, turned all to poison and childish tears. Yet the
barbed arrow is in my heart - I can neither endure it, nor draw it out; for with it
flows my life's-blood. I had conversed too long with abstracted truth to trust myself
with the immortal thoughts oflove. That S. L. might have been mine, and now never
can - these are the two sole propositions that forever stare me in the face, and look
ghasdy in at my poor brain. I am in some sense proud that I can feel this dreadful
passion - it gives me a kind of rank in the kingdom of love - but I could have
wished it had been for an object that at least could have understood its value and
pitied its excess. You say her not coming to the door when you went is a proof-
yes, that her complement is at present full! That is the reason she doesn't want me
there, lest I / should discover the new affair - wretch that I am! Another has
possession ofher, oh Hell! I'm satisfied ofit from her manner, which had a wanton
insolence in it. Well might I run wild when I received no letters from her. I
foresaw, I felt my fate. The gates of Paradise were once open to me too, and I
blushed to enter but with the golden keys oflove! I would die; but her lover - my
love of her - ought not to die. When I am dead, who will love her as I have done?
If she should be in misfortune, who will comfort her? When she is old, who will
look in her face, and bless her? Would there be any harm in calling upon M-, to
know confidentially ifhe thinks it worth my while to make her an offer the instant
33
it is in my power? Let me have an answer, and save me, ifpossible,for her andfrom
mysel£ /
Letter VIII t
MY DEAR FRIEND,
Your letter raised me for a moment from the depths of despair; but not hearing
from you yesterday or to-day (as I hoped) I have had a relapse. You say I want to
get rid of her. I hope you are more right in your conjectures about her than in this
about me. Oh no! believe it, I love her as I do my own soul; my very heart is
wedded to her (be she what she may) and I would not hesitate a moment between
her and 'an angel from Heaven.'2 I grant all you say about my self-tormenting folly:
but has it been without cause? Has she not refused me again and again with a
mixture of scorn and resentment, after going the utmost lengths with a man for
whom she now disclaims all affection; and what security can I have for / her reserve
with others, who will not be restrained by feelings of delicacy towards her, and
whom she has probably preferred to me for their want of it? 'She can make no more
confidences' - these words ring for ever in my ears, and will be my death-watch.
They can have but one meaning, be sure of it - she always expressed herself with
the exactest propriety. That was one ofthe things for which I loved her - shall I live
to hate her for it? My poor fond heart, that brooded over her and the remains ofher
affections as my only hope of comfort upon earth, cannot brook this new
degradation. Who is there so low as me? Who is there besides (I ask) after the
homage I have paid her and the caresses she has lavished on me, so vile, so abhorrent
to love, to whom such an indignity could have happened? When I think ofthis (and
I think ofnothing else) it stifles me. I am pent up in burning, fruitless desires, which
can find no vent or object. Am I not hated, repulsed, derided by her whom / alone
I love or ever did love? I cannot stay in any place, and seek in vain for relief from
the sense of her contempt and her ingratitude. I can settle to nothing: what is the
use of all I have done? Is it not that very circumstance (my thinking beyond my
strength, my feeling more than I need about so many things) that has withered me
up, and made me a thing for Love to shrink from and wonder at? Who could ever
feel that peace from the touch ofher dear hand that I have done; and is it not torn
from me for ever? My state is this, that I shall never lie down again at night nor rise
34
up in the morning in peace, nor ever behold my little boy's face with pleasure while
I live - unless I am restored to her favour. Instead of that delicious feeling I had
when she was heavenly-kind to me, and my heart softened and melted in its own
tenderness and her sweetness, I am now inclosed in a dungeon of despair. The sky
is marble to my thoughts; nature is dead around me, as hope is within me; no /
object can give me one gleam ofsatisfaction now, nor the prospect of it in time to
come. I wander by the sea-side; and the eternal ocean and lasting despair and her
face are before me. Slighted by her, on whom my heart by its last fibre hung, where
shall I turn? I wake with her by my side, not as my sweet bedfellow, but as the
corpse of my love, without a heart in her bosom, cold, insensible, or struggling
from me; and the worm gnaws me, and the sting ofunrequited love, and the canker
of a hopeless, endless sorrow. I have lost the taste of my food by feverish anxiety;
and my favourite beverage, which used to refresh me when I got up, has no
moisture in it. Oh! cold, solitary, sepulchral breakfasts, compared with those which
I promised myself with her; or which I made when she had been standing an hour
by my side, my guardian-angel, my wife, my sister, my sweet friend, my Eve, my
all; and had blest me with her seraph-kisses! Ah! what I suffer at present only shews
what I / have enjoyed. But 'the girl is a good girl, if there is goodness in human
nature.' I thank you for those words; and I will fall down and worship you, ifyou
can prove them true: and I would not do much less for him that proves her a
demon. She is one or the other, that's certain; but I fear the worst. Do let me know
if any thing has passed: suspense is my greatest punishment. I am going into the
country to see ifI can work a little in the three weeks I have yet to stay here. Write
on the receipt of this, and believe me ever your unspeakably obliged friend. /
To Edinburgh
- 'Stony-hearted' EdinburghP What art thou to me? The dust of thy streets
mingles with my tears and blinds me. City ofpalaces, or oftombs - a quarry, rather
than the habitation of men! Art thou like London, that populous hive, with its
sunburnt, well-baked, brick-built houses - its public edifices, its theatres, its
bridges, its squares, its ladies, and its pomp, 2 its throng of wealth, its outstretched
magnitude, and its mighty heart that never lies still?3 Thy cold grey walls reflect
back the leaden melancholy of the soul. The square, hard-edged, unyielding faces
35
(81184) SELECTED WRITINGS OF WILLIAM HAZLlTT: VOLUME 7
of thy inhabitants have no sympathy to impart. What is it to me that I look along

the level line ofthy tenantless streets, and meet perhaps a lawyer / like a grasshopper
chirping and skipping, or the daughter of a Highland laird, haughty, fair, and
freckled? Or why should I look down your boasted Prince's-street, with the beetle-
browed Castle on one side, and the Calton-hill with its proud monument at the
further end, and the ridgy steep of Salisbury-Crag, cut off abruptly by Nature's
boldest hand, and Arthur's-Seat overlooking all, like a lioness watching her cubs?
Or shall I tum to the far-off Pentland-hills, with Craig-Crook nestling beneath
them, where lives the prince ofcritics and the king ofmen?4 Or cast my eye unsated
over the Frith of Forth, that from my window ofan evening (as I read ofAMY and
her love)S glitters like a broad golden mirror in the sun, and kisses the winding
shores ofkingly Fife? Oh no! But to thee, to thee I tum, North Berwick-Law, with
thy blue cone rising out of summer seas; for thou art the beacon of my banished
thoughts, and dost / point my way to her, who is my heart's true home. The air is
too thin for me, that has not the breath of Love in it; that is not embalmed by her
sighs! /
A Thought
I am not mad, but my heart is so; and raves within me, fierce and untameable, like
a panther in its den, and tries to get loose to its lost mate, and fawn on her hand, and
bend lowly at her feet.
ANOTHER
Oh! thou dumb heart, lonely, sad, shut up in the prison-house of this rude form,
that hast never found a fellow but for an instant, and in very mockery ofthy misery,
speak, find bleeding words to express thy thoughts, break thy dungeon-gloom, or
die pronouncing thy Infelice's nameP
ANOTHER
Within my heart is lurking suspicion, and base fear, and shame and hate; but above
all, tyrannous love sits throned, crowned with her graces, silent and in tears. /
36
Letter IX!
MY DEAR 1'--,
You have been very kind to me in this business; but I fear even your indulgence for
my infirmities is beginning to fail. To what a state am I reduced, and for what? For
fancying a little artful vixen to be an angel and a saint, because she affected to look
like one, to hide her rank thoughts and deadly purposes. Has she not murdered me
under the mask of the tenderest friendship? And why? Because I have loved her
with unutterable love, and sought to make her my wife. You say it is my own
'outrageous conduct' that has estranged her: nay, I have been too gentle with her. I
ask you first in candour whether the ambiguity ofher behaviour with respect to me,
sitting and fondling a man (circumstanced as I was) sometimes / for half a day
together, and then declaring she had no love for him beyond common regard, and
professing never to marry, was not enough to excite my suspicions, which the
different exposures from the conversations below-stairs were not calculated to
allay? I ask you what you yourself would have felt or done, ifloving her as I did,
you had heard what I did, time after time? Did not her mother own to one of the
grossest charges2 (which I shall not repeat) - and is such indelicacy to be reconciled
with her pretended character (that character with which I fell in love, and to which
I made love) without supposing her to be the greatest hypocrite in the world? My
unpardonable offence has been that I took her at her word, and was willing to
believe her the precise little puritanical person she set up for. After exciting her
wayward desires by the fondest embraces and the purest kisses, as if she had been
'made my wedded wife yestreen,'3 or was to become so to-morrow (for that was
always / my feeling with respect to her) - I did not proceed to gratify them, or to
follow up my advantage by any action which should declare, 'I think you a
common adventurer, and will see whether you are so or not!' Yet anyone but a
credulous fool like me would have made the experiment, with whatever violence
to himself, as a matter of life and death; for I had every reason to distrust
appearances. Her conduct has been of a piece from the beginning. In the midst of
her closest and falsest endearments, she has always (with one or two exceptions)
disclaimed the natural inference to be drawn from them, and made a verbal
reservation, by which she might lead me on in a Fool's Paradise, and make me the
37
tool of her levity, her avarice, and her love of intrigue as long as she liked, and
dismiss me whenever it suited her. This, you see, she has done, because my
intentions grew serious, and ifcomplied with, would deprive her of the pleasures of
a single life! Offer marriage to this / 'tradesman's daughter, who has as nice a sense
of honour as anyone can have;'4 and like Lady Bellaston in Tom Jones, she cuts you
immediately in a fit of abhorrence and alarm. 5 Yet she seemed to be of a different
mind formerly, when struggling from me in the height of our first intimacy, she
exclaimed - 'However I might agree to my own ruin, I never will consent to bring
disgrace upon my family!' That I should have spared the traitress after expressions
like this, astonishes me when I look back upon it. Yet ifit were all to do over again,
I know I should act just the same part. Such is her power over me! I cannot run the
least risk of offending her - I love her so. When I look in her face, I cannot doubt
her truth! Wretched being that I am! I have thrown away my heart and soul upon
an unfeeling girl; and my life (that might have been so happy, had she been what
I thought her) will soon follow either voluntarily, or by the force ofgrief, remorse,
and disappointment. I I cannot get rid ofthe reflection for an instant, nor even seek
relief from its galling pressure. Ah! what a heart she has lost! All the love and
affection ofmy whole life were centred in her, who alone, I thought, ofall women
had found out my true character, and knew how to value my tenderness. Alas! alas!
that this, the only hope, joy, or comfort I ever had, should tum to a mockery, and
hang like an ugly film over the remainder of my days! - I was at Roslin Castle
yesterday. It lies low in a rude, but sheltered valley, hid from the vulgar gaze, and
powerfully reminds one of the old song. 6 The straggling fragments of the russet
ruins, suspended smiling and graceful in the air as if they would linger out another
century to please the curious beholder, the green larch-trees trembling between
with the blue sky and white silver clouds, the wild mountain plants starting out here
and there, the date of the year on an old low door-way, but still more, the beds of
flowers in orderly decay, that seem I to have no hand to tend them, but keep up
a sort of traditional remembrance of civilization in former ages, present altogether
a delightful and amiable subject for contemplation. The exquisite beauty of the
scene, with the thought ofwhat I should feel, should I ever be restored to her, and
have to lead her through such places as my adored, my angel-wife, almost drove me
beside mysel£ For this picture, this ecstatic vision, what have I oflate instead as the
image of the reality? Demoniacal possessions. I see the young witch seated in
another's lap, twining her serpent arms round him, her eye glancing and her cheeks
on fire - why does not the hideous thought choke me? Or why do I not go and find
out the truth at once? The moonlight streams over the silver waters: the bark is in
the bay that might waft me to her, almost with a wish . The mountain-breeze sighs
out her name: old ocean with a world of tears murmurs back my woes! Does not
my heart yearn to be with her; and shall I I not follow its bidding? No, I must wait
till I am free; and then I will take my Freedom (a glad prize) and lay it at her feet
38
and tell her my proud love of her that would not brook a rival in her dishonour,
and that would have her all or none, and gain her or lose myself for ever! -
You see by this letter the way I am in, and I hope you will excuse it as the picture
of a half-disordered mind. The least respite from my uneasiness (such as I had
yesterday) only brings the contrary reflection back upon me, like a flood; and by
letting me see the happiness I have lost, makes me feel, by contrast, more acutely
what I am doomed to bear. /
Letter Xl
DEAR FRIEND,
Here I am at St Bees once more, amid the scenes which I greeted in their barrenness
in winter; but which have now put on their full green attire that shews luxuriant
to the eye, but speaks a tale of sadness to this heart widowed of its last, its dearest,
its only hope! Oh! lovely Bees-Inn! here I composed a volume oflaw-cases,2 here
I wrote my enamoured follies to her, thinking her human, and that 'all below was
not the fiend's'3 - here I got two cold, sullen answers from the little witch, and here
I was _ 4 and I was damned. I thought the revisiting the old haunts would have
soothed me for a time, but it only brings back the sense ofwhat I have suffered for
her and ofher unkindness the more strongly, till I cannot endure / the recollection.
I eye the Heavens in dumb despair, or vent my sorrows in the desart air.5 'To the
winds, to the waves, to the rocks I complain'6 - you may suppose with what effect!
I fear I shall be obliged to return. I am tossed about (backwards and forwards) by
my passion, so as to become ridiculous. I can now understand how it is that mad
people never remain in the same place - they are moving on for ever, from
themselves!
Do you know, you would have been delighted with the effect of the Northern
twilight on this romantic country as I rode along last night? The hills and groves and
herds ofcattle were seen reposing in the grey dawn ofmidnight, as in a moonlight
without shadow. The whole wide canopy of Heaven shed its reflex light upon
them, like a pure crystal mirror. No sharp points, no petty details, no hard contrasts
- every object was seen softened yet distinct, in its simple outline and natural tones,
transparent / with an inward light, breathing its own mild lustre. The landscape
39
altogether was like an airy piece of mosaic-work, or like one of Poussin's broad
massy landscapes or Titian's lovely pastoral scenes. Is it not so, that poets see nature,
veiled to the sight, but revealed to the soul in visionary grace and grandeur! I
confess the sight touched me; and might have removed all sadness except mine. So
(I thought) the light ofher celestial face once shone into my soul, and wrapt me in
a heavenly trance. The sense I have ofbeauty raises me for a moment above myself,
but depresses me the more afterwards, when I recollect how it is thrown away in
vain admiration, and that it only makes me more susceptible of pain from the
mortifications I meet with. Would I had never seen her! I might then not indeed
have been happy, but at least I might have passed my life in peace, and have sunk
into forgetfulness without a pang. - The noble scenery in this country mixes with
my / passion, and refines, but does not relieve it. I was at Stirling Castle not long
ago. It gave me no pleasure. The declivity seemed to me abrupt, not sublime; for
in truth I did not shrink back from it with terror. The weather-beaten towers were
stiff and formal: the air was damp and chill: the river winded its dull, slimy way like
a snake along the marshy grounds: and the dim misty tops of Ben Leddi, and the
lovely Highlands (woven fantastically of thin air) mocked my embraces and
tempted my longing eyes like her, the sole queen and mistress of my thoughts! I
never found my contemplations on this subject so subtilised and at the same time
so desponding as on that occasion. I wept myself almost blind, and I gazed at the
broad golden sun-set through my tears that fell in showers. As I trod the green
mountain turf, oh! how I wished to be laid beneath it - in one grave with her - that
I might sleep with her in that cold bed, my hand in hers, and my heart for ever still
- while worms should / taste her sweet body, that I had never tasted! There was a
time when I could bear solitude; but it is too much for me at present. Now I am
no sooner left to myself than I am lost in infinite space, and look round me in vain
for support or comfort. She was my stay, my hope: without her hand to cling to,
I stagger like an infant on the edge ofa precipice. The universe without her is one
wide, hollow abyss, in which my harassed thoughts can find no resting-place. I
must break off here; for the hysterica passio7 comes upon me, and threatens to
unhinge my reason. /
40
Letter XI!
MY DEAR AND GOOD fRIEND,

I am afraid I trouble you with my querulous epistles, but this is probably the last.
To-morrow or the next day decides my fate with respect to the divorce,2 when I
expect to be a free man. In vain! Was it not for her and to lay my freedom at her
feet, that I consented to this step which has cost me infinite perplexity, and now to
be discarded for the first pretender that came in her way! Ifso, I hardly think I can
survive it. You who have been a favourite with women, do not know what it is to
be deprived ofone's only hope, and to have it turned to shame and disappointment.
There is nothing in the world left that can afford me one drop of comfort - this I
feel more and more. Every thing is to me a mockery ofpleasure, like / her love. The
breeze does not cool me: the blue sky does not cheer me. I gaze only on her face
averted from me - alas! the only face that ever was turned fondly to me! And why
am I thus treated? Because I wanted her to be mine for ever in love or friendship,
and did not push my gross familiarities as far as I might. 'Why can you not go on
as we have done, and say nothing about the word, forever? , Was it not plain from
this that she even then meditated an escape from me to some less sentimental lover?
'Do you allow anyone else to do so?' I said to her once, as I was toying with her.
'No, not now!' was her answer; that is, because there was nobody else in the house
to take freedoms with her. I was very well as a stopgap, but I was to be nothing
more. While the coast was clear, I had it all my own way: but the instant C-3
came, she flung herself at his head in the most barefaced way, ran breathless up stairs
before him, blushed when his foot was heard, watched / for him in the passage, and
was sure to be in close conference with him when he went down again. It was then
my mad proceedings commenced. No wonder. Had I not reason to be jealous of
every appearance of familiarity with others, knowing how easy she had been with
me at first, and that she only grew shy when I did not take farther liberties? What
has her character to rest upon but her attachment to me, which she now denies, not
modestly, but impudently? Will you yourself say that if she had all along no
particular regard for me, she will not do as much or more with other more likely
men? 'She has had,' she says, 'enough of my conversation,' so it could not be that!
41
Ah! my friend, it was not to be supposed I should ever meet even with the outward
demonstrations of regard from any woman but a common trader in the
endeannents oflove! I have tasted the sweets ofthe well practised illusion, and now
feel the bitterness of knowing what a bliss I am deprived / of, and must ever be
deprived o£ Intolerable conviction! Yet I might, I believe, have won her by other
methods; but some demon held my hand. How indeed could I offer her the least
insult when I worshipped her very footsteps; and even now pay her divine honours
from my inmost heart, whenever I think ofher, abased and brutalised as I have been
by that Circean cup of kisses, of enchantments, of which I have drunk! I am
choked, withered, dried up with chagrin, remorse, despair, from which I have not
a moment's respite, day or night. I have always some horrid dream about her, and
wake wondering what is the matter that 'she is no longer the same to me as ever?'
I thought at least we should always remain dear friends, if nothing more - did she
not talk of coming to live with me only the day before I left her in the winter? But
'she's gone, I am abused, and my revenge must be to love her!,4 - Yet she knows that
one line, one word would save me, the 1 cruel, heartless destroyer! I see nothing
for it but madness, unless Friday brings a change, or unless she is willing to let me
go back. You must know I wrote to her to that purpose, but it was a very quiet,
sober letter, begging pardon, and professing refonn for the future, and all that.
What effect it will have, I know not. I was forced to get out of the way of her
answer, till Friday came.
Ever yours. 1
To S. L.t
MY DEAR MISS L-
Evil to them that evil think, is an old saying; and I have found it a true one. I have
ruined myself by my unjust suspicions ofyou. Your sweet friendship was the balm
ofmy life; and I have lost it, I fear for ever, by one fault and folly after another. What
would I give to be restored to the place in your esteem, which, you assured me, I
held only a few months ago! Yet I was not contented, but did all I could to tonnent
myself and harass you by endless doubts and jealousy. Can you not forget and
forgive the past, and judge ofme by my conduct in future? Can you not take all my
follies in the lump, and say like a good, generous girl, 'Well, I'll think no more of
42
them?' In a word, may I come back, and try to behave / better? A line to say so
would be an additional favour to so many already received by
Your obliged friend,
And sincere well-wisher. /
Letter XII. 1 To C. P-.
I have no answer from her. I'm mad. I wish you to calIon M _ 2 in confidence, to
say I intend to make her an offer ofmy hand, and that I will write to her father to
that effect the instant I am free, and ask him whether he thinks it will be to any
purpose, and what he would advise me to do. /
Unaltered Love
Love is not love that alteration finds:

Oh no! it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken. 1
Shall I not love her for herself alone, in spite offickleness and folly? To love her for
her regard to me, is not to love her, but mysel£ She has robbed me of herself: shall
she also rob me ofmy love ofher? Did I not live on her smile? Is it less sweet because
it is withdrawn from me? Did I not adore her every grace? Does she bend less
enchantingly, because she has turned from me to another? Is my love then in the
power offortune, or ofher caprice? No, I will have it lasting as it is pure; and I will
make a Goddess of her, and build a temple to her in my heart, and worship her on
indestructible / altars, and raise statues to her: and my homage shall be unblemished
as her unrivalled symmetry of form; and when that fails, the memory of it shall
survive; and my bosom shall be proof to scorn, as hers has been to pity; and I will
43
pursue her with an unrelenting love, and sue to be her slave, and tend her steps
without notice and without reward; and serve her living, and mourn for her when
dead. And thus my love will have shewn itself superior to her hate; and I shall
triumph and then die. This is my idea ofthe only true and heroic love! Such is mine
for her. /
Perfect Love
Perfect love has this advantage in it, that it leaves the possessor ofit nothing farther
to desire. There is one object (at least) in which the soul finds absolute content, for
which it seeks to live, or dares to die. The heart has as it were filled up the moulds
of the imagination. The truth of passion keeps pace with and outvies the
extravagance ofmere language. There are no words so fine, no flattery so soft, that
there is not a sentiment beyond them, that it is impossible to express, at the bottom
of the heart where true love is. What idle sounds the common phrases, adorable
creature, angel, divinity, are! What a proud reflection it is to have a feeling answering
to all these, rooted in the breast, unalterable, unutterable, / to which all other
feelings are light and vain! Perfect love reposes on the object ofits choice, like the
halcyon on the wave; and the air of heaven is around it. /
44
L1BER AMORIS [109/111]
From C. P. Esq.
London, July 4th, 1822.
I have seen M-! Now, my dear H-, let me entreat and adjure you to take what
I have to tell you,for what it is worth - neither for less, nor more. In the first place,
I have learned nothing decisive from him. This, as you will at once see, is, as far as
it goes, good. I am either to hear from him, or see him again in a day or two; but
I thought you would like to know what passed inconclusive as it was - so I write
without delay, and in great haste to save a post. I found him frank, and even friendly
in his manner to me, and in his views respecting you. I think that he is sincerely
sorry for your situation; and he feels that the person who has placed you in that
situation is not much less / awkwardly situated herself; and he professes that he
would willingly do what he can for the good of both. But he sees great difficulties
attending the affair - which he frankly professes to consider as an altogether
unfortunate one. With respect to the marriage, he seems to see the most formidable
objections to it, on both sides; but yet he by no means decidedly says that it cannot,
or that it ought not to take place. These, mind you, are his own feelings on the
subject: but the most important point I learn from him is this, that he is not prepared
to use his influence either way - that the rest of the family are of the same way of
feeling; and that, in fact, the thing must and does entirely rest with hersel£ To learn
this was, as you see, gaining a great point. - When I then endeavoured to ascertain
whether he knew any thing decisive as to what are her views on the subject, I found
that he did not. He has an opinion on the subject, and he didn't scruple to tell me
what it was; but he has / no positive knowledge. In short, he believes, from what
he learns from herself (and he had purposely seen her on the subject, in
consequence of my application to him) that she is at present indisposed to the
marriage; but he is not prepared to say positively that she will not consent to it.
Now all this, coming from him in the most frank and unaffected manner, and
without any appearance ofcant, caution, or reserve, I take to be most important as
it respects your views, whatever they may be; and certainly much more favorable
to them (I confess it) than I was prepared to expect, supposing them to remain as
they were. In fact, as I said before, the affair rests entirely with hersel£ They are
45
none ofthem disposed either to further the marriage, or throw any insurmountable
obstacles in the way of it; and what is more important than all, they are evidently
by no means certain that SHE may not, at some future period, consent to it; or they
would, for her sake as well as their own, let you / know as much flatly, and put an
end to the affair at once.
Seeing in how frank and straitforward a manner he received what I had to say to
him, and replied to it, I proceeded to ask him what were his views, and what were
likely to be hers (in case she did not consent) as to whether you should return to live
in the house; - but I added, without waiting for his answer, that ifshe intended to
persist in treating you as she had done for some time past, it would be worse than
madness for you to think of returning. I added that, in case you did return, all you
would expect from her would be that she would treat you with civility and
kindness - that she would continue to evince that friendly feeling towards you, that
she had done for a great length of time, &c. To this, he said, he could really give
no decisive reply, but that he should be most happy if, by any intervention of his,
he could conduce to your comfort; but he seemed to think that for you / to return
on any express understanding that she should behave to you in any particular
manner, would be to place her in a most awkward situation. He went somewhat
at length into this point, and talked very reasonably about it; the result however was
that he would not throw any obstacles in the way ofyour return, or ofher treating
you as a friend, &c. nor did it appear that he believed she would refuse to do so.
And, finally, we parted on the understanding that he would see them on the
subject, and ascertain what could be done for the comfort ofall parties: though he
was of opinion that ifyou could make up your mind to break off the acquaintance
altogether, it would be the best plan of all. I am to hear from him again in a day or
two. - Well, what do you say to all this? Can you tum it to any thing but good -
comparative good? Ifyou would know what I say to it, it is this: - She is still to be
won by wise and prudent conduct on your part; - she was always to have been /
won by such; - and ifshe is lost, it has been (not, as you sometimes suppose, because
you have not carried that unwise, may I not say unworthy? conduct still further, but)
because you gave way to it at all. Ofcourse I use the terms 'wise' and 'prudent' with
reference to your object. Whether the pursuit of that object is wise, only yourself
can judge. I say she has all along been to be won, and she still is to be won; and all
that stands in the way ofyour views at this moment is your past conduct. They are
all of them, every soul, frightened at you; they have seen enough of you to make
them so; and they have doubtless heard ten times more than they have seen, or than
anyone else has seen. They are all of them, including M- (and particularly she
herself) frightened out of their wits, as to what might be your treatment of her if
she were yours; and they dare not trust you - they will not trust you, at present. I
do not say that they will trust you or rather that she will, for it all/depends on her,
when you have gone through a probation, but I am sure that she will not trust you
46
till you have. You will, I hope, not be angry with me when I say that she would be
a fool if she did. If she were to accept you at present, and without knowing more
ofyou, even I should begin to suspect that she had an unworthy motive for doing
it. Let me not forget to mention what is perhaps as important a point as any, as it
regards the marriage. I of course stated to M- that when you are free, you are
prepared to make her a formal offer of your hand; but I begged him, if he was
certain that such an offer would be refused, to tell me so plainly at once, that I might
endeavour, in that case, to dissuade you from subjecting yourself to the pain ofsuch
a refusal. He would not tell me that he was certain. He said his opinion was that she
would not accept your offer, but still he seemed to think that there would be no
harm in making it! - One word more, and a very / important one. He once, and
without my referring in the slightest manner to that part ofthe subject, spoke ofher
as a good girl, and likely to make any man an excellent wife! Do you think if she were
a bad girl (and ifshe were, he must know her to be so) he would have dared to do
this, under these circumstances? - And once, in speaking of his not being a fit
person to set his face against 'marrying for love,' he added 'I did so myself, and out
of that house; and I have had reason to rejoice at it ever since.' And mind (for I
anticipate your cursed suspicions) I'm certain, at least, if manner can entitle one to
be certain of any thing, that he said all this spontaneously, and without any
understood motive; and I'm certain, too, that he knows you to be a person that it
would not do to play any tricks of this kind with. I believe - (and all this would
never have entered my thoughts, but that I know it will enter yours) I believe that
even if they thought (as you have sometimes supposed / they do) that she needs
whitewashing, or making an honest woman of, you would be the last person they
would think of using for such a purpose, for they know (as well as I do) that you
couldn't fail to find out the trick in a month, and would turn her into the street the
next moment, though she were twenty times your wife - and that, as to the
consequences of doing so, you would laugh at them, even if you cou'dn't escape
from them. - I shall lose the post ifI say more.
Believe me,
Ever truly your friend,
c. P. /
47
Letter XlIII
MY DEAR P-,
You have saved my life. If I do not keep friends with her now, I deserve to be
hanged, drawn, and quartered. She is an angel from Heaven, and you cannot
pretend I ever said a word to the contrary! The little rogue must have liked me from
the first, or she never could have stood all these hurricanes without slipping her
cable. What could she find in me? 'I have mistook my person all this while,'2 &c.
Do you know I saw a picture, the very pattern of her, the other day, at Dalkeith
Palace (Hope finding Fortune in the Sea)3 just before this blessed news came, and
the resemblance drove me almost out of my senses. Such delicacy, such fulness,
such perfect softness, such buoyancy, such grace! Ifit is not the very image of/her,
I am no judge. - You have the face to doubt my making the best husband in the
world: you might as well doubt it ifI was married to one ofthe Houris ofParadise.
She is a saint, an angel, a love. Ifshe deceives me again, she kills me. But I will have
such a kiss when I get back, as shall last me twenty years. May God bless her for not
utterly disowning and destroying me! What an exquisite little creature it is, and
how she holds out to the last in her system of consistent contradictions! Since I
wrote to you about making a formal proposal, I have had her face constantly before
me, looking so like some faultless marble statue, as cold, as fixed and graceful as ever
statue did; the expression (nothing was ever like that!) seemed to say - 'I wish I
could love you better than I do, but still I will be yours.' No, I'll never believe again
that she will not be mine; for I think she was made on purpose for me. Ifthere's any
one else that / understands that turn of her head as I do, I'll give her up without
scruple. I have made up my mind to this, never to dream ofanother woman, while
she even thinks it worth her while to rifuse to have me. You see I am not hard to
please, after all. Did M- know of the intimacy that had subsisted between us? Or
did you hint at it? I think it would be a clencher, ifhe did. How ought I to behave
when I go back? Advise a fool, who had nearly lost a Goddess by his folly. The thing
was, I could not think it possible she should ever like me. Her taste is singular, but
not the worse for that. I'd rather have her love, or liking (call it what you will) than
empires. I deserve to call her mine; for nothing else can atone for what I've gone
through for her. I hope your next letter will not reverse all, and then I shall be happy
48
till I see her - one ofthe blest when I do see her, ifshe looks like my own beautiful
love. I may perhaps write a line / when I come to my right wits. - Farewel at
present, and thank you a thousand times for what you have done for your poor
friend.
P. S. I like what M- said about her sister, much. There are good people in the
world: I begin to see it, and believe it. /
Letter the Last 1
DEARP-,
To-morrow is the decisive day that makes me or mars me. 2 I will let you know the
result by a line added to this. Yet what signifies it, since either way I have little hope
there, 'whence alone my hope cometh!'3 You must know I am strangely in the
dumps at this present writing. My reception with her is doubtful, and my fate is
then certain. The hearing ofyour happiness4 has, I own, made me thoughtful. It is
just what I proposed to her to do - to have crossed the Alps with me, to sail on
sunny seas, to bask in Italian skies, to have visited Vevai and the rocks ofMeillerie,s
and to have repeated to her on the spot the story ofJulia and St Preux, and to have
shewn her all that my heart had stored up for her - but on my forehead / alone is
written - REJECTED! Yet I too could have adored as fervently, and loved as tenderly
as others, had I been permitted. You are going abroad, you say, happy in making
happy. Where shall I be? In the grave, I hope, or else in her arms. To me, alas! there
is no sweetness out of her sight, and that sweetness has turned to bitterness, I fear;
that gentleness to sullen scorn! Still I hope for the best. If she will but have me, I'll
make her love me: and I think her not giving a positive answer looks like it, and also
shews that there is no one else. Her holding out to the last also, I think, proves that
she was never to have been gained but with honour. She's a strange, almost an
inscrutable girl: but if! once win her consent, I shall kill her with kindness. 6 - Will
you let me have a sight of somebody before you go? I should be most proud. I was
in hopes to have got away by the Steam-boat to-morrow, but owing to the business
not coming on till then, I cannot; and may not / be in town for another week,
unless I come by the Mail, which I am strongly tempted to do. In the latter case I
shall be there, and visible on Saturday evening. Will you look in and see, about eight
49
o'clock? I wish much to see you and her and]. H.7 and my little boy once more;
and then, ifshe is not what she once was to me, I care not ifl die that instant. I will
conclude here till to-morrow, as I am getting into myoId melancholy. -
It is all over, and I am my own man, and yours ever - /
50
LIBER AMORIS
PART III /
Addressed to J. S. K_t
MY DEARK-,
It is all over, and I know my fate. I told you I would send you word, if any thing
decisive happened; but an impenetrable mystery hung over the affair till lately. It
is at last (by the merest accident in the world) dissipated; and I keep my promise,
both for your satisfaction, and for the ease of my own mind.
You remember the morning when I said 'I will go and repose my sorrows at the
foot of Ben Lomond' - and when from Dumbarton-bridge its giant-shadow, clad
in air and sunshine, appeared in view. 2 We had a pleasant day's walk. We passed
Smollett's monumen~ on the road (somehow these poets touch one in reflection
more than most military heroes) - talked of old times; you I repeated Logan's
beautiful verses to the cuckoo, *4 which I wanted to compare with Wordsworth's,S
but my courage failed me; you then told me some passages of an early attachment
which was suddenly broken off; we considered together which was the most to be
pitied, a disappointment in love where the attachment was mutual or one where
there has been no return, and we both agreed, I think, that the former was best to
be endured, and that to have the consciousness of it a companion for life was the
least evil ofthe two, as there was a secret sweetness that I took offthe bitterness and
the sting of regret, and 'the memory of what once had been' atoned, in some
measure, and at intervals, for what 'never more could be. '6 In the other case, there
was nothing to look back to with tender satisfaction, no redeeming trait, not even
Sweet bird, thy bower is ever green,

My sky is ever clear;
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,
No winter in thy year. 7
So they begin. It was the month of May; the cuckoo sang shrouded in some woody copse; the
showers fell between whiles; my friend repeated the lines with native enthusiasm in a clear
manly voice, still resonant of youth and hope. Mr Wordsworth will excuse me, if in these
circumstances I declined entering the field with his profounder metaphysical strain, and kept my
preference to myself.
53
a possibility of turning it to good. It left behind it not cherished sighs, but stifled
pangs. The galling sense ofit did not bring moisture into the eyes, but dried up the
heart ever after. One had been my fate, the other had been yours! -
You startled me every now and then from my reverie by the robust voice, in
which you asked the country people (by no means prodigal of their answers) - 'If
there was any trout-fishing in those streams?' - and our dinner at Luss set us up for
the rest of our day's march. The sky now became overcast; but this, I think, added
to the effect of the scene. The road to Tarbet is superb. It is on the very verge of
the lake - hard, level, rocky, with low stone-bridges constantly / £lung across it, and
fringed with birch trees, just then budding into spring, behind which, as through
a slight veil, you saw the huge shadowy form ofBen Lomond. It lifts its enormous
but graceful bulk direct from the edge of the water without any projecting
lowlands, and has in this respect much the advantage of Skiddaw. Loch Lomond
comes upon you by degrees as you advance, unfolding and then withdrawing its
conscious beauties like an accomplished coquet. You are struck with the point of
a rock, the arch of a bridge, the Highland huts (like the first rude habitations of
men) dug out of the soil, built of turf, and covered with brown heather, a sheep-
cote, some straggling cattle feeding half-way down a precipice; but as you advance
farther on, the view expands into the perfection oflake scenery. It is nothing (or
your eye is caught by nothing) but water, earth, and sky. Ben Lomond waves to the
right, in its simple majesty, cloud-capt or bare, and descending to a point at the
head / of the lake, shews the Trossacs beyond,S tumbling about their blue ridges
like woods waving; to the left is the Cobler, whose top is like a castle shattered in
pieces and nodding to its ruin; and at your side rise the shapes ofround pastoral hills,
green, fleeced with herds, and retiring into mountainous bays and upland valleys,
where solitude and peace might make their lasting home, ifpeace were to be found
in solitude! That it was not always so, I was a sufficient proof; for there was one
image that alone haunted me in the midst of all this sublimity and beauty, and
turned it to a mockery and a dream!
The snow on the mountain would not let us ascend; and being weary ofwaiting
and of being visited by the guide every two hours to let us know that the weather
would not do, we returned, you homewards, and I to London -
Italiam, Italiam!9
You know the anxious expectations with which I set out: - now hear the
result. - /
As the vessel sailed up the Thames, the air thickened with the consciousness of
being near her, and I 'heaved her name pantingly forth.'lo As I approached the
house, I could not help thinking of the lines -
54
How near am I to a happiness,

That earth exceeds not! Not another like it.
The treasures of the deep are not so precious
As are the conceal'd comforts of a man
Lock'd up in woman's love. I scent the air
Of blessings when I come but near the house.
What a delicious breath true love sends forth!
The violet-beds not sweeter. Now for a welcome
Able to draw men's envies upon man:
A kiss now that will hang upon my lip,
As sweet as morning dew upon a rose,
And full as 10ngP 1
I saw her, but I saw at the first glance that there was something amiss. It was with
much difficulty and after several pressing intreaties that she was prevailed on to
come up into the room; and when she did, she stood at the door, cold, distant,
averse; and when at length she was persuaded by I my repeated remonstrances to
come and take my hand, and I offered to touch her lips, she turned her head and
shrunk from my embraces, as if quite alienated or mortally offended. I asked what
it could mean? What had I done in her absence to have incurred her displeasure?
Why had she not written to me? I could get only short, sullen, disconnected
answers, as ifthere was something labouring in her mind which she either could not
or would not impart. I hardly knew how to hear this first reception after so long an
absence, and so different from the one my sentiments towards her merited; but I
thought it possible it might be prudery (as I had returned without having actually
accomplished what I went about) or that she had taken offence at something in my
letters. She saw how much I was hurt. I asked her, 'Ifshe was altered since I went
away?' - 'No.' 'If there was anyone else who had been so fortunate as to gain her
favourable opinion?' - 'No, there was I no one else.' 'What was it then? Was it any
thing in my letters? Or had I displeased her by letting Mr p_12 know she wrote to
me?' - 'No, not at all; but she did not apprehend my last letter required any answer,
or she would have replied to it.' All this appeared to me very unsatisfactory and
evasive; but I could get no more from her, and was obliged to let her go with a
heavy, foreboding heart. I however found that C-t3 was gone, and no one else had
been there, ofwhom I had cause to be jealous. - 'Should I see her on the morrow?'
- 'She believed so, but she could not promise.' The next morning she did not
appear with the breakfast as usual. At this I grew somewhat uneasy. The little
Buonaparte, however, was placed in its old position on the mantle-piece, which I
considered as a sort of recognition of old times. I saw her once or twice casually;
nothing particular happened till the next day, which was Sunday. I took occasion
to go into the parlour I for the newspaper, which she gave me with a gracious smile,
and seemed tolerably frank and cordial. This of course acted as a spell upon me. I
55
walked out with my little boy,14 intending to go and dine out at one or two places,
but 1 found that 1 still contrived to bend my steps towards her, and 1 went back to
take tea at home. While we were out, 1 talked to William about Sarah, saying that
she too was unhappy, and asking him to make it up with her. He said, if she was
unhappy, he would not bear her malice any more. When she came up with the tea-
things, 1 said to her, 'William has something to say to you - 1 believe he wants to
be friends.' On which he said in his abrupt, hearty manner, 'Sarah, I'm sorry ifI've
ever said any thing to vex you' - so they shook hands, and she said, smiling affably
- 'Then I'll think no more ofit!' 1 added - 'I see you've brought me back my little
Buonaparte' - She answered with tremulous softness - 'I told you I'd keep it safe
for you!' / - as ifher pride and pleasure in doing so had been equal, and she had,
as it were, thought of nothing during my absence but how to greet me with this
proofofher fidelity on my return. 1 cannot describe her manner. Her words are few
and simple; but you can have no idea ofthe exquisite, unstudied, irresistible graces
with which she accompanies them, unless you can suppose a Greek statue to smile,
move, and speak. Those lines in Tibullus seem to have been written on purpose for
her-
Quicquid agit, quoquo vestigia vertit,

Componit furtim, subsequiturque decor. IS
Or what do you think of those in a modem play, which were actually composed
with an eye to this little trifler (though that's a secret) -
See with what a waving air she goes

Along the corridor. How like a fawn!
Yet statelier. No sound (however soft)
Nor gentlest echo telleth when she treads,
But every motion of her shape doth seem /
Hallowed by silence. So did Hebe grow
Among the Gods a paragon! Away, I'm grown
The very fool ofLoveP6
The truth is, 1 never saw any thing like her, nor 1 never shall again. How then do
1 console myself for the loss of her? Shall 1 tell you, but you will not mention it
again? 1 am foolish enough to believe that she and I, in spite of every thing, shall
be sitting together over a sea-coal fire, a comfortable good old couple, twenty years
hence! But to my narrative. -
1 was delighted with the alteration in her manner, and said, referring to the bust
- 'You know it is not mine, but yours; 1 gave it you; nay, 1 have given you all- my
heart, and whatever 1 possess, is yours!' She seemed good-humouredly to decline
this carte blanche offer, and waved, like a thing of enchantment, out of the room.
False calm! - Deceitful smiles! - Short interval of peace, followed by lasting woe!
56
I sought an interview with her that same / evening. I could not get her to come any
fartherthan the door. 'She was busy - she could hear what I had to say there.' 'Why
do you seem to avoid me as you do? Not one five minutes' conversation, for the
sake of old acquaintance? Well, then, for the sake of the little image!' The appeal
seemed to have lost its efficacy; the charm was broken; she remained immoveable.
'Well, then, I must come to you, if you will not run away.' I went and sat down
in a chair near the door, and took her hand, and talked to her for three quarters of
an hour; and she listened patiently, thoughtfully, and seemed a good deal affected
by what I said. I told her how much I had felt, how much I had suffered for her in
my absence, and how much I had been hurt by her sudden silence, for which I
knew not how to account. I could have done nothing to offend her while I was
away; and my letters were, I hoped, tender and respectful. I had had but one
thought ever present with me; her image / never quitted my side, alone or in
company, to delight or distract me. Without her I could have no peace, nor ever
should again, unless she would behave to me as she had done formerly. There was
no abatement of my regard to her; why was she so changed? I said to her, 'Ah!
Sarah, when I think that it is only a year ago that you were every thing to me I could
wish, and that now you seem lost to me for ever, the month of May (the name of
which ought to be a signal for joy and hope) strikes chill to my heart. - How
different is this meeting from that delicious parting, when you seemed never weary
of repeating the proofs ofyour regard and tenderness, and it was with difficulty we
tore ourselves asunder at last! I am ten thousand times fonder ofyou than I was then,
and ten thousand times more unhappy.' 'You have no reason to be so; my feelings
towards you are the same as they ever were.' I told her 'She was my all of hope or
comfort: my passion for her grew stronger every / time I saw her.' She answered,
'She was sorry for it; for that she never could return.' I said something about looking
ill: she said in her pretty, mincing, emphatic way, 'I despise looks!' So, thought I,
it is not that; and she says there's no one else: it must be some strange air she gives
herself, in consequence of the approaching change in my circumstances. She has
been probably advised not to give up till all is fairly over, and then she will be my
own sweet girl again. All this time she was standingjust outside the door, my hand
in hers (would that they could have grown together!) she was dressed in a loose
morning-gown, her hair curled beautifully; she stood with her profile to me, and
looked down the whole time. No expression was ever more soft or perfect. Her
whole attitude, her whole form, was dignity and bewitching grace. I said to her,
'You look like a queen, my love, adorned with your own graces!' I grew idolatrous,
and would have kneeled to her. / She made a movement, as if she was displeased.
I tried to draw her towards me. She wouldn't. I then got up, and offered to kiss her
at parting. I found she obstinately refused. This stung me to the quick. It was the
first time in her life she had ever done so. There must be some new bar between
us to produce these continued denials; and she had not even esteem enough left to
57
(1411144] SELECTED WRITINGS OF WILLIAM HAZLITT: VOLUME 7
tell me so. I followed her half-way down-stairs, but to no purpose, and returned
into my room, confirmed in my most dreadful surmises. I could bear it no longer.
I gave way to all the fury ofdisappointed hope and jealous passion. I was made the
dupe of trick and cunning, killed with cold, sullen scorn; and, after all the agony I
had suffered, could obtain no explanation why I was subjected to it. I was still to
be tantalized, tortured, made the cruel sport of one, for whom I would have
sacrificed all. I tore the locket which contained her hair (and which I used to wear
continually in my / bosom, as the precious token ofher dear regard) from my neck,
and trampled it in pieces. I then dashed the little Buonaparte on the ground, and
stamped upon it, as one of her instruments of mockery. I could not stay in the
room; I could not leave it; my rage, my despair were uncontroulable. I shrieked
curses on her name, and on her false love; and the scream I uttered (so pitiful and
so piercing was it, that the sound of it terrified me) instantly brought the whole
house, father, mother, lodgers and all, into the room. They thought I was
destroying her and myself I had gone into the bed-room, merely to hide away from
myself, and as I came out ofit, raging-mad with the new sense ofpresent shame and
lasting misery, Mrs F_17 said, 'She's in there! He has got her in there!' thinking the
cries had proceeded from her, and that I had been offering her violence. 'Oh! no,'
I said, 'She's in no danger from me; I am not the person;' and tried to burst from
this / scene of degradation. The mother endeavoured to stop me, and said, 'For
God's sake, don't go out, Mr-! for God's sake, don't!' Her father, who was not,
I believe, in the secret, and was therefore justly scandalised at such outrageous
conduct, said angrily, 'Let him go! Why should he stay?' I however sprang down
stairs, and as they called out to me, 'What is it? - What has she done to you?' I
answered, 'She has murdered me! - She has destroyed me for ever! - She has
doomed my soul to perdition!' I rushed out ofthe house, thinking to quit it forever;
but I was no sooner in the street, than the desolation and the darkness became
greater, more intolerable; and the eddying violence of my passion drove me back
to the source, from whence it sprung. This unexpected explosion, with the
conjectures to which it would give rise, could not be very agreeable to the precieuse
or her family; and when I went back, the father was waiting at the door, as if
anticipating / this sudden turn ofmy feelings, with no friendly aspect. I said, 'I have
to beg pardon, Sir; but my mad fit is over, and I wish to say a few words to you in
private.' He seemed to hesitate, but some uneasy forebodings on his own account,
probably, prevailed over his resentment; or, perhaps (as philosophers have a desire
to know the cause of thunder) it was a natural curiosity to know what
circumstances of provocation had given rise to such an extraordinary scene of
confusion. When we reached my room, I requested him to be seated. I said, 'It is
true, Sir, I have lost my peace of mind forever, but at present I am quite calm and
collected, and I wish to explain to you why I have behaved in so extravagant a way,
and to ask for your advice and intercession.' He appeared satisfied, and I went on.
58
I had no chance either of exculpating myself, or of probing the question to the

bottom, but by stating the naked truth, and therefore I said at / once, 'Sarah told
me, Sir (and I never shall forget the way in which she told me, fixing her dove's eyes
upon me, and looking a thousand tender reproaches for the loss of that good
opinion, which she held dearer than all the world) she told me, Sir, that as you one
day passed the door, which stood a-jar, you saw her in an attitude which a good deal
startled you; I mean sitting in my lap, with her arms round my neck, and mine
twined round her in the fondest manner. What I wished to ask was, whether this
was actually the case, or whether it was a mere invention of her own, to enhance
the sense of my obligations to her; for I begin to doubt every thing?' - 'Indeed, it
was so; and very much surprised and hurt I was to see it. ' 'Well, then, Sir, I can only
say, that as you saw her sitting then, so she had been sitting for the last year and a
half, almost every day ofher life, by the hour together; and you may judge yourself,
knowing what a nice modest-looking girl / she is, whether, after having been
admitted to such intimacy with so sweet a creature, and for so long a time, it is not
enough to make anyone frantic to be received by her as I have been since my
return, without any provocation given or cause assigned for it.' The old man
answered very seriously, and, as I think, sincerely, 'What you now tell me, Sir,
mortifies and shocks me, as much as it can do yourself I had no idea such a thing
was possible. I was much pained at what I saw; but I thought it an accident, and that
it would never happen again.' - 'It was a constant habit; it has happened a hundred
times since, and a thousand before. I lived on her caresses as my daily food, nor can
I live without them.' So I told him the whole story, 'what conjurations, and what
mighty magic I won his daughter with,'18 to be any thing but minefor life. Nothing
could well exceed his astonishment and apparent mortification. 'What I had said,'
he owned, 'had left a / weight upon his mind that he should not easily get rid of'
I told him, 'For myself, I never could recover the blow I had received. I thought,
however, for her own sake, she ought to alter her present behaviour. Her marked
neglect and dislike, so far from justifying, left her former intimacies without excuse;
for nothing could reconcile them to propriety, or even a pretence to common
decency, but either love, or friendship so strong and pure that it could put on the
guise oflove. She was certainly a singular girl. Did she think it right and becoming
to be free with strangers, and strange to old friends?' I frankly declared, 'I did not
see how it was in human nature for anyone who was not rendered callous to such
familiarities by bestowing them indiscriminately on every one, to grant the extreme
and continued indulgences she had done' to me. without either liking the man at
first, or coming to like him in the end, in spite of herself When my addresses had
nothing, / and could have nothing honourable in them, she gave them every
encouragement; when I wished to make them honourable, she treated them with
the utmost contempt. The terms we had been all along on were such as if she had
been to be my bride next day. It was only when I wished her actually to become
59
so, to ensure her own character and my happiness, that she shrunk back with
precipitation and panic-fear. There seemed to me something wrong in all this; a
want both of common propriety, and 1 might say, of natural feeling; yet, with all
her faults, 1loved her, and ever should, beyond any other human being. 1 had drank
in the poison of her sweetness too long ever to be cured of it; and though 1 might
find it to be poison in the end, it was still in my veins. My only ambition was to be
permitted to live with her, and to die in her arms. Be she what she would, treat me
how she would, 1 felt that my soul was wedded to hers; and were she a mere lost
creature, 1 would try to 1 snatch her from perdition, and marry her to-morrow if
she would have me. That was the question - 'Would she have me, or would she
not?' He said he could not tell; but should not attempt to put any constraint upon
her inclinations, one way or other. 1 acquiesced, and added, that 'I had brought all
this upon myself, by acting contrary to the suggestions ofmy friend, Mr _,19 who
had desired me to take no notice whether she came near me or kept away, whether
she smiled or frowned, was kind or contemptuous - all you have to do, is to wait
patiendy for a month till you are your own man, as you will be in all probability;
then make her an offer ofyour hand, and ifshe refuses, there's an end ofthe matter.'
Mr L_20 said, 'Well, Sir, and 1 don't think you can follow a better advice!' 1 took
this as at least a sort of negative encouragement, and so we parted. 1
To the Same (in continuation)
MY DEAR FRIEND,
The next day 1 felt almost as sailors must do after a violent storm over-night, that
has subsided towards day-break. The morning was a dull and stupid calm, and 1
found she was unwell, in consequence of what had happened. In the evening I
grew more uneasy, and determined on going into the country for a week or two.
I gathered up the fragments of the locket of her hair, and the litde bronze statue,
which were strewed about the floor, kissed them, folded them up in a sheet of
paper, and sent them to her, with these lines written in pencil on the outside -
'Pieces of a broken heart, to be kept in remembrance of the unhappy. Farewell.' No notice
was taken; nor did I expect any. The following morning I requested Betsey / to
pack up my box for me, as 1 should go out of town the next day, and at the same
time wrote a note to her sister to say, 1 should take it as a favour ifshe would please
60
to accept of the enclosed copies of the Vicar oj Waktifield, The Man oj Feeling, and
Nature and Art, 1 in lieu ofthree volumes ofmy own writings, which I had given her
on different occasions, in the course ofour acquaintance. I was piqued, in fact, that
she should have these to shew as proofs ofmy weakness, and as if! thought the way
to win her was by plaguing her with my own performances. She sent me word back
that the books I had sent were ofno use to her, and that I should have those I wished
for in the afternoon; but that she could not before, as she had lent them to her sister,
Mrs M-.2 I said, 'Very well;' but observed (laughing) to Betsey, 'It's a bad rule to
give and take; so, if Sarah won't have these books, you must; they are very pretty
ones, I assure you.' She curtsied and took them, / according to the family custom.
In the afternoon, when I came back to tea, I found the little girl on her knees, busy
in packing up my things, and a large paper-parcel on the table, which I could not
at first tell what to make of. On opening it, however, I soon found what it was. It
contained a number of volumes which I had given her at different times (among
others, a little Prayer-Book, bound in crimson velvet, with green silk linings; she
kissed it twenty times when she received it, and said it was the prettiest present in
the world, and that she would shew it to her aunt, who would be proud ofit) - and
all these she had returned together. Her name in the title-page was cut out ofthem
all. I doubted at the instant whether she had done this before or after I had sent for
them back, and I have doubted ofit since; but there is no occasion to suppose her
ugly all over with hypocrisy. 3 Poor little thing! She has enough to answer for, as it is.
I asked Betsey if she could carry a message / for me, and she said 'Yes.' 'Will you
tell your sister, then, that I did not want all these books; and give my love to her,
and say that I shall be obliged if she will still keep these that I have sent back, and
tell her that it is only those ofmy own writing that I think unworthy ofher.' What
do you think the little imp made answer? She raised herself on the other side ofthe
table where she stood, as ifinspired by the genius ofthe place, and said - 'AND THOSE
ARE THE ONES THAT SHE PRIZES THE MOST!' If there were ever words spoken that
could revive the dead, those were the words. Let me kiss them, and forget that my
ears have heard aught else! I said, 'Are you sure of that?' and she said, 'Yes, quite
sure.' I told her, 'If! could be, I should be very different from what I was.' And I
became so that instant, for these casual words carried assurance to my heart of her
esteem - that once implied, I had proofs enough of her fondness. Oh! how I felt /
at that moment! Restored to love, hope, and joy, by a breath which I had caught
by the merest accident, and which I might have pined in absence and mute despair
for want ofhearing! I did not know how to contain myself; I was childish, wanton,
drunk with pleasure. I gave Betsey a twenty-shilling note which I happened to have
in my hand, and on her asking 'What's this for, Sir?' I said, 'It's for you. Don't you
think it worth that to be made happy? You once made me very wretched by some
words I heard you drop, and now you have made me as happy; and all I wish you
is, when you grow up, that you may find some one to love you as well as I do your
61
sister, and that you may love better than she does me!' I continued in this state of
delirium or dotage all that day and the next, talked incessandy, laughed at every
thing, and was so extravagant, nobody could tell what was the matter with me. I
murmured her name; I blest her; I folded her to my heart in delicious fondness; I
called her by my own name, I 1 worshipped her; I was mad for her. I told p_4 I
should laugh in her face, if ever she pretended not to like me again. Her mother
came in and said, she hoped I should excuse Sarah's coming up. 'Oh! Ma'am,' I
said, 'I have no wish to see her; I feel her at my heart; she does not hate me after
all, and I wish for nothing. Let her come when she will, she is to me welcomer than
light, than life; but let it be in her own sweet time, and at her own dear pleasure.'
Betsey also told me she was 'so glad to get the books back.' I, however, sobered and
wavered (by degrees) from seeing nothing of her, day after day; and in less than a
week I was devoted to the Infernal Gods. I could hold out no longer than the
Monday evening following. I sent a message to her; she returned an ambiguous
answer; but she came up. Pity me, my friend, for the shame of this recital. Pity me
for the pain ofhaving ever had to make it! Ifthe spirits ofmortal creatures, purified
by faith and hope, 1 can (according to the highest assurances) ever, during
thousands ofyears ofsmooth-rolling eternity and balmy, sainted repose, forget the
pain, the toil, the anguish, the helplessness, and the despair they have suffered here,
in this frail being, then may I forget that withering hour, and her, that fair, pale form
that entered, my inhuman betrayer, and my only earthly love! She said, 'Did you
wish to speak to me, Sir?' I said 'Yes, may I not speak to you? I wanted to see you
and be friends.' I rose up, offered her an arm-chair which stood facing, bowed on
it, and knelt to her adoring. She said (going) 'If that's all, I have nothing to say.' I
replied, 'Why do you treat me thus? What have I done to become thus hateful to
you?' Answer, 'I always told you I had no affection for you.' You may suppose this
was a blow, after the imaginary honey-moon in which I had passed the preceding
week. I was stunned by it; my heart sunk within me. I contrived to say, 1 'Nay, my
dear girl, not always neither; for did you not once (ifI might presume to look back
to those happy, happy times) when you were sitting on my knee as usual,
embracing and embraced, and I asked ifyou could not love me at last, did you not
make answer, in the softest tones that ever man heard, "I could easily say so, whether
I did or not; you should judge by my actions!" Was I to blame in taking you at your
word, when every hope I had depended on your sincerity? And did you not say
since I came back, "Your feelings to me were the same as ever?" Why then is your
behaviour so different?' S. 'Is it nothing, your exposing me to the whole house in
the way you did the other evening?' H. 'Nay, that was the consequence of your
cruel reception of me, not the cause ofit. I had better have gone away last year, as
I proposed to do, unless you would give some pledge of your fidelity; but it was
your own offer that I should remain. 'Why should I go?' you said, 'Why 1 could
we not go on the same as we had done, and say nothing about the word forever?'
62
UBER AMORIS [158/161]
S. 'And how did you behave when you returned?' H. 'That was all forgiven when
we last parted, and your last words were, "I should find you the same as ever" when
I came back? Did you not that very day enchant and madden me over again by the
purest kisses and embraces, and did I not go from you (as I said) adoring, confiding,
with every assurance ofmutual esteem and friendship?' S. 'Yes, and in your absence
I found that you had told my aunt what had passed between us.' H. 'It was to induce
her to extort your real sentiments from you, that you might no longer make a secret
of your true regard for me, which your actions (but not your words) confessed.'
S. 'I own I have been guilty ofimproprieties, which you have gone and repeated,
not only in the house, but out of it; so that it has come to my ears from various
quarters, as if! was a light character. / And I am determined in future to be guided
by the advice ofmy relations, and particularly ofmy aunt, whom I consider as my
best friend, and keep every lodger at a proper distance.' You will find hereafter that
her favourite lodger, whom she visits daily, had left the house; so that she might
easily make and keep this vow of extraordinary self-denial. Precious little
dissembler! Yet her aunt, her best friend, says, 'No, Sir, no; Sarah's no hypocrite!'
which I was fool enough to believe; and yet my great and unpardonable offence is
to have entertained passing doubts on this delicate point. I said, Whatever errors I
had committed, arose from my anxiety to have every thing explained to her
honour: my conduct shewed that I had that at heart, and that I built on the purity
of her character as on a rock. My esteem for her amounted to adoration. 'She did
not want adoration.' It was only when any thing happened to imply that I had been
mistaken, that I committed any / extravagance, because I could not bear to think
her short of perfection. 'She was far from perfection,' she replied, with an air and
manner (oh, my God!) as near it as possible. 'How could she accuse me of a want
of regard to her? It was but the other day, Sarah,' I said to her, 'when that little
circumstance of the books happened, and I fancied the expressions your sister
dropped proved the sincerity ofall your kindness to me - you don't know how my
heart melted within me at the thought, that after all, I might be dear to you. New
hopes sprung up in my heart, and I felt as Adam must have done when his Eve was
created for him!' 'She had heard enough of that sort of conversation,' (moving
towards the door). This, I own, was the unkindest cut ofall. I had, in that case, no
hopes whatever. I felt that I had expended words in vain, and that the conversation
below stairss (which I told you ofwhen I saw you) had spoiled her taste for mine.
Ifthe allusion had been / classical I should have been to blame; but it was scriptural,
it was a sort of religious courtship, and Miss L. is religious!
At once he took his Muse and dipt her

Right in the middle of the Scripture.6
It would not do - the lady could make neither head nor tail of it. This is a poor
attempt at levity. Alas! I am sad enough. 'Would she go and leave me so? Ifit was
63
only my own behaviour, I still did not doubt ofsuccess. I knew the sincerity ofmy
love, and she would be convinced of it in time. If that was all, I did not care: but
tell me true, is there not a new attachment that is the real cause of your
estrangement? Tell me, my sweet friend, and before you tell me, give me your hand
(nay, both hands) that I may have something to support me under the dreadful
conviction.' She let me take her hands in mine, saying, 'She supposed there could
be no objection to that,' - as if she acted on the suggestions of others, instead of
following her own will / - but still avoided giving me any answer. I conjured her
to tell me the worst, and kill me on the spot. Any thing was better than my present
state. I said, 'Is it Mr C-?'7 She smiled, and said with gay indifference, 'Mr C-
was here a very short time.' 'Well, then, was it Mr-?' She hesitated, and then
replied faintly, 'No.' This was a mere trick to mislead; one of the profoundnesses
ofSatan, in which she is an adept. 'But,' she added hastily, 'she could make no more
confidences.' 'Then,' said I, 'you have something to communicate.' 'No; but she
had once mentioned a thing of the sort, which I had hinted to her mother, though
it signified little.' All this while I was in tortures. Every word, every half-denial,
stabbed me. 'Had she any tie?' 'No, I have no tie?' 'You are not going to be married
soon?' 'I don't intend ever to marry at all!' 'Can't you be friends with me as ofold?'
'She could give no promises. ' 'Would she make her / own terms?' 'She would
make none.' - 'I was sadly afraid the little image was dethroned from her heart, as
I had dashed it to the ground the other night.' - 'She was neither desperate nor
violent.' I did not answer - 'But deliberate and deadly,' - though I might; and so
she vanished in this running fight ofquestion and answer, in spite ofmy vain efforts
to detain her. The cockatrice, I said, mocks me: so she has always done. The
thought was a dagger to me. My head reeled, my heart recoiled within me. I was
stung with scorpions; my flesh crawled; I was choked with rage; her scorn scorched
me like flames; her air (her heavenly air) withdrawn from me, stifled me, and left
me gasping for breath and being. It was a fable. She started up in her own likeness,
a serpent in place of a woman. She had fascinated, she had stung me, and had
returned to her proper shape, gliding from me after inflicting the mortal wound,
and instilling deadly poison into every / pore; but her form lost none ofits original
brightness by the change ofcharacter, but was all glittering, beauteous, voluptuous
grace. Seed of the serpent or of the woman, she was divine! I felt that she was a
witch, and had bewitched me. Fate had enclosed me round about. I was
transformed too, no longer human (any more than she, to whom I had knit myself)
my feelings were marble; my blood was ofmolten lead; my thoughts on fire. I was
taken out of myself, wrapt into another sphere, far from the light of day, of hope,
of love. I had no natural affection left; she had slain me, but no other thing had
power over me. Her arms embraced another; but her mock-embrace, the phantom
of her love, still bound me, and I had not a wish to escape. So I felt then, and so
perhaps shall feel till I grow old and die, nor have any desire that my years should
64
last longer than they are linked in the chain of those amorous folds, or than her
enchantments steep my soul in 1 oblivion ofall other things! I started to find myself
alone - for ever alone, without a creature to love me. I looked round the room for
help; I saw the tables, the chairs, the places where she stood or sat, empty, deserted,
dead. I could not stay where I was; I had no one to go to but to the parent-mischief,
the preternatural hag, that had 'drugged this posset'8 of her daughter's charms and
falsehood for me, and I went down and (such was my weakness and helplessness)
sat with her for an hour, and talked with her of her daughter, and the sweet days
we had passed together, and said I thought her a good girl, and believed that ifthere
was no rival, she still had a regard for me at the bottom ofher heart; and how I liked
her all the better for her coy, maiden airs: and I received the assurance over and over
that there was no one else; and that Sarah (they all knew) never staid five minutes
with any other lodger, while with me she would stay by the hour together, in spite
of all her / father could say to her (what were her motives, was best known to
herselfl) and while we were talking of her, she came bounding into the room,
smiling with smothered delight at the consummation of my folly and her own art;
and I asked her mother whether she thought she looked as if she hated me, and I
took her wrinkled, withered, cadaverous, clammy hand at parting, and kissed it.
Faugh! -
I will make an end ofthis story; there is something in it discordant to honest ears.
I left the house the next day,9 and returned to Scotland in a state so near to phrenzy,
that I take it the shades sometimes ran into one another. R_IO met me the day after
I arrived, and will tell you the way I was in. I was like a person in a high fever; only
mine was in the mind instead ofthe body. It had the same irritating uncomfortable
effect on the bye-standers. I was incapable ofany application, and don't know what
I should have done, had it not been / for the kindness of_.11 I came to see you, to
'bestow some ofmy tediousness upon you,'12 but you were gone from home. Every
thing went on well as to the law-business; and as it approached to a conclusion, I
wrote to my good friend P- to go to M-, who had married her sister, and ask him
ifit would be worth my while to make her a formal offer, as soon as I was free, as,
with the least encouragement, I was ready to throw myself at her feet; and to know,
in case ofrefusal, whether I might go back there and be treated as an old friend. Not
a word of answer could be got from her on either point, notwithstanding every
importunity and intreaty; but it was the opinion of M- that I might go and try my
fortune. I did so with joy, with something like confidence. I thought her giving no
positive answer implied a chance, at least, of the reversion of her favour, in case I
behaved well. All was false, hollow, insidious. The first night after I got home,13 I
slept on down. In Scotland, the flint / had been my pillow. But now I slept under
the same roofwith her. What softness, what balmy repose in the very thought! I saw
her that same day and shook hands with her, and told her how glad I was to see her;
and she was kind and comfortable, though still cold and distant. Her manner was
65
altered from what it was the last time. She still absented herself from the room, but
was mild and affable when she did come. She was pale, dejected, evidently uneasy
about something, and had been ill. I thought it was perhaps her reluctance to yield
to my wishes, her pity for what I suffered; and that in the struggle between both, she
did not know what to do. How I worshipped her at these moments! We had a long
interview the third day, and I thought all was doing well. I found her sitting, at work
in the window-seat of the front parlour; and on my asking if I might come in, she
made no objection. I sat down by her; she let me take her hand; I talked to her of
indifferent things, and of / old times. I asked her if she would put some new frills
on my shirts? - 'With the greatest pleasure.' Ifshe could get the little image mended?
'It was broken in three pieces, and the sword was gone, but she would try.' I then
asked her to make up a plaid silk which I had given her in the winter, and which she
said would make a pretty summer gown. I so longed to see her in it! - 'She had little
time to spare, but perhaps might!' Think what I felt, talking peaceably, kindly,
tenderly with my love, - not passionately, not violently. I tried to take pattern by
her patient meekness, as I thought it, and to subdue my desires to her will. I then
sued to her, but respectfully, to be admitted to her friendship - she must know I was
as true a friend as ever woman had - or if there was a bar to our intimacy from a
dearer attachment, to let me know it frankly, as I shewed her all my heart. She drew
out her handkerchief and wiped her eyes' oftears which sacred pity had engendered
there. '14 Was it so or / not? I cannot tell. But so she stood (while I pleaded my cause
to her with all the earnestness and fondness in the world) with the tears trickling
from her eye-lashes, her head stooping, her attitude fixed, with the finest expression
that ever was seen of mixed regret, pity, and stubborn resolution; but without
speaking a word, without altering a feature. It was like a petrifaction ofa human face
in the softest moment of passion. 'Ah!' I said, 'how you look! I have prayed again
and again while I was away from you, in the agony ofmy spirit, that I might but live
to see you look so again, and then breathe my last!' I intreated her to give me some
explanation. In vain! At length she said she must go, and disappeared like a spirit.
That week she did all the little trifling favours I had asked ofher. The frills were put
on, and she sent up to know if I wanted any more done. She got the Buonaparte
mended. This was like healing old wounds indeed! How? As / follows, for thereby
hangs the conclusion of my tale. Listen.
I had sent a message one evening to speak to her about some special affairs ofthe
house, and received no answer. I waited an hour expecting her, and then went out
in great vexation at my disappointment. I complained to her mother a day or two
after, saying I thought it so unlike Sarah's usual propriety of behaviour, that she
must mean it as a mark ofdisrespect. Mrs L_15 said, 'La! Sir, you're always fancying
things. Why, she was dressing to go out, and she was only going to get the little
image you're both so fond ofmended; and it's to be done this evening. She has been
to two or three places to see about it, before she could get anyone to undertake it.'
66
My heart, my poor fond heart, almost melted within me at this news. I answered,
'Ah! Madam, that's always the way with the dear creature. I am finding fault with
her and thinking the hardest things of her; and at that very time 1 she's doing
something to shew the most delicate attention, and that she has no greater
satisfaction than in gratifying my wishes!' On this we had some farther talk, and I
took nearly the whole of the lodgings at a hundred guineas a year, that (as I said)
she might have a little leisure to sit at her needle of an evening, or to read if she
chose, or to walk out when it was fine. She was not in good health, and it would
do her good to be less confined. I would be the drudge and she should no longer
be the slave. I asked nothing in return. To see her happy, to make her so, was to
be so mysel£ - This was agreed to. I went over to Blackheath that evening,
delighted as I could be after all I had suffered, and lay the whole ofthe next morning
on the heath under the open sky, dreaming of my earthly Goddess. This was
Sunday. That evening I returned, for I could hardly bear to be for a moment out
of the house where she was, and the next morning she tapped at the door - it was
opened - it was / she - she hesitated and then came forward: she had got the little
image in her hand, I took it, and blest her from my heart. She said 'They had been
obliged to put some new pieces to it.' I said 'I didn't care how it was done, so that
I had it restored to me safe, and by her.' I thanked her and begged to shake hands
with her. She did so, and as I held the only hand in the world that I never wished
to let go, I looked up in her face, and said 'Have pity on me, have pity on me, and
save me ifyou can!' Not a word ofanswer, but she looked full in my eyes, as much
as to say, 'Well, I'll think of it; and ifI can, I will save you!' We talked about the
expense of repairing the figure. 'Was the man waiting?' - 'No, she had fetched it
on Saturday evening.' I said I'd give her the money in the course of the day, and
then shook hands with her again in token of reconciliation; and she went waving
out of the room, but at the door turned round and looked full at me, as she / did
the first time she beguiled me of my heart. This was the last. -
All that day I longed to go down stairs to ask her and her mother to set out with
me for Scotland on Wednesday, and on Saturday I would make her my wife.
Something withheld me. In the evening, 16 however, I could not rest without seeing
her, and I said to her younger sister, 'Betsey, ifSarah will come up now, I'll pay her
what she laid out forme the other day.' - 'My sister's gone out, Sir,' was the answer.
What again! thought I, That's somewhat sudden. I told P- her sitting in the
window-seat of the front parlour boded me no good. It was not in her old
character. She did not use to know there were doors or windows in the house - and
now she goes out three times in a week. It is to meet some one, I'll lay my life on't.
'Where is she gone?' - 'To my grandmother's, Sir.' 'Where does your grandmother
live now?' - 'At Somers' Town.'17 I immediately set out to Somers' / Town. I
passed one or two streets, and at last turned up King-street, thinking it most likely
she would return that way home. I passed a house in King-street where I had once
67
(175/178) SELECTED WRITINGS OF WILLIAM HAZLlTT: VOLUME 7
lived,lS and had not proceeded many paces, ruminating on chance and change and
old times, when I saw her coming towards me. I felt a strange pang at the sight, but
I thought her alone. Some people before me moved on, and I saw another person
with her. The murder was out. It was a tall, rather well-looking young man, but I did
not at first recollect him. We passed at the crossing of the street without speaking.
Will you believe it, after all that had passed between us for two years, after what had
passed in the last half-year, after what had passed that very morning, she went by
me without even changing countenance, without expressing the slightest emotion,
without betraying either shame or pity or remorse or any other feeling that any
other human being but herself must have shewn in the same situation. She / had
no time to prepare for acting a part, to suppress her feelings - the truth is, she has
not one natural feeling in her bosom to suppress. I turned and looked - they also
turned and looked - and as if by mutual consent, we both retrod our steps and
passed again, in the same way. I went home. I was stifled. I could not stay in the
house, walked into the street, and met them coming towards home. As soon as he
had left her at the door (I fancy she had prevailed with him to accompany her,
dreading some violence) I returned, went up stairs, and requested an interview.
Tell her, I said, I'm in excellent temper and good spirits, but I must see her! She
came smiling, and I said, 'Come in, my dear girl, and sit down, and tell me all about
it, how it is and who it is.' - 'What,' she said, 'do you mean Mr C-?' 'Oh,' said
I, 'then it is he! Ah! you rogue, I always suspected there was something between
you, but you know you denied it lustily: why did you not tell me all about it at the
/ time, instead ofletting me suffer as I have done? But however, no reproaches. I
only wish it may all end happily and honourably for you, and I am satisfied. But,'
I said, 'you know you used to tell me, you despised looks.' - 'She didn't think Mr
C- was so particularly handsome.' 'No, but he's very well to pass, and a well-
grown youth into the bargain.' Pshaw! let me put an end to the fulsome detail. I
found he had lived over the way, that he had been lured thence, no doubt, almost
a year before, that they had first spoken in the street, and that he had never once
hinted at marriage, and had gone away, because (as he said) they were too much
together, and that it was better for her to meet him occasionally out of doors.
'There could be no harm in their walking together.' 'No, but you may go some
where afterwards.' - 'One must trust to one's principle for that.' Consummate
hypocrite! **** ******* ******* **** I told her Mr M-, / who had married
her sister, did not wish to leave the house. I, who would have married her, did not
wish to leave it. I told her I hoped I should not live to see her come to shame, after
all my love of her; but put her on her guard as well as I could, and said, after the
lengths she had permitted herself with me, I could not help being alarmed at the
influence of one over her, whom she could hardly herself suppose to have a tenth
part of my esteem for her!! She made no answer to this, but thanked me coldly for
my good advice, and rose to go. I begged her to sit a few minutes, that I might try
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L1BER AMORIS [178/181]
to recollect if there was any thing else I wished to say to her, perhaps for the last
time; and then, not finding any thing, I bade her good night, and asked for a farewel
kiss. Do you know she refused; so little does she understand what is due to
friendship, or love, or honour! We parted friends, however, and I felt deep grief,
but no enmity against her. I thought C- had pressed his suit after I went, and had
1 prevailed. There was no harm in that - a little fickleness or so, a little over-
pretension to unalterable attachment - but that was all. She liked him better than
me - it was my hard hap, but I must bear it. I went out to roam the desart streets,
when, turning a comer, whom should I meet but her very lover? I went up to him
and asked for a few minutes' conversation on a subject that was highly interesting
to me and I believed not indifferent to him: and in the course of four hours' talk,
it came out that for three months previous to my quitting London for Scotland, she
had been playing the same game with him as with me - that he breakfasted first, and
enjoyed an hour of her society, and then I took my tum, so that we never jostled;
and this explained why, when he came back sometimes and passed my door, as she
was sitting in my lap, she coloured violently, thinking, ifher lover looked in, what
a denouement there would be. He could not help again and again expressing his
astonishment at / finding that our intimacy had continued unimpaired up to so late
a period after he came, and when they were on the most intimate footing. She used
to deny positively to him that there was any thing between us, just as she used to
assure me with impenetrable effrontery that 'Mr C- was nothing to her, but
merely a lodger.' All this while she kept up the farce ofher romantic attachment to
her old lover, vowed that she never could alter in that respect, let me go to Scotland
on the solemn and repeated assurance that there was no new flame, that there was
no bar between us but this shadowy love - I leave her on this understanding, she
becomes more fond or more intimate with her new lover; he quitting the house
(whether tired out or not, I can't say) - in revenge she ceases to write to me, keeps
me in wretched suspense, treats me like something loathsome to her when I return
to enquire the cause, denies it with scorn and impudence, destroys me and shews
no pity, no desire to soothe or shorten / the pangs she has occasioned by her
wantonness and hypocrisy, and wishes to linger the affair on to the last moment,
going out to keep an appointment with another while she pretends to be obliging
me in the tenderest point (which C- himself said was too much).... What do you
think of all this? Shall I tell you my opinion? But I must try to do it in another
letter. /
69
To the Same (in Conclusion)
I did not sleep a wink all that night; nor did I know till the next day the full meaning
ofwhat had happened to me. With the morning's light, conviction glared in upon
me that I had not only lost her for ever - but every feeling I had ever had towards
her - respect, tenderness, pity - all but my fatal passion, was gone. The whole was
a mockery, a frightful illusion. I had embraced the false FlorimeP instead ofthe true;
or was like the man in the Arabian Nights who had married agouf.2 How different
was the idea I once had of her! Was this she,
Who had been beguiled - she who was made

Within a gentle bosom to be laid -
To bless and to be blessed - to be heart-bare
To one who found his bettered likeness there -
To think for ever with him, like a bride-
To haunt his eye, like taste personified -
To double his delight, to share his sorrow,
And like a morning beam, wake to him every morrow?3 1
I saw her pale, cold form glide silent by me, dead to shame as to pity. Still I
seemed to clasp this piece ofwitchcraft to my bosom; this lifeless image, which was
all that was left ofmy love, was the only thing to which my sad heart clung. Were
she dead, should I not wish to gaze once more upon her pallid features? She is dead
to me; but what she once was to me, can never die! The agony, the conflict ofhope
and fear, ofadoration and jealousy is over; or it would, ere long, have ended with
my life. I am no more lifted now to Heaven, and then plunged in the abyss; but I
seem to have been thrown from the top of a precipice, and to lie groveling,
stunned, and stupefied. I am melancholy, lonesome, and weaker than a child. The
worst is, I have no prospect of any alteration for the better: she has cut off all
possibility ofa reconcilement at any future period. Were she even to return to her
former pretended fondness and endearments, I could have no pleasure, 1 no
confidence in them. I can scarce make out the contradiction to myself. I strive to
think she always was what I now know she is; but I have great difficulty in it, and
can hardly believe but she still is what she so long seemed. Poor thing! I am afraid
she is little better offherself; nor do I see what is to become ofher, unless she throws
70
LlBER AMORIS (184/187)
off the mask at once, and runs a-muck at infamy. She is exposed and laid bare to all
those whose opinion she set a value upon. Yet she held her head very high, and
must feel (if she feels any thing) proportionably mortified. - A more complete
experiment on character was never made. IfI had not met her lover immediately
after I parted with her, it would have been nothing. I might have supposed she had
changed her mind in my absence, and had given him the preference as soon as she
felt it, and even shewn her delicacy in declining any farther intimacy with me. But
it comes out that she had gone on in the most forward and / familiar way with both
at once - (she could not change her mind in passing from one room to another) -
told both the same barefaced and unblushing falsehoods, like the commonest
creature; received presents from me to the very last, and wished to keep up the
game still longer, either to gratify her humour, her avarice, or her vanity in playing
with my passion, or to have me as a dernier resort, in case of accidents. Again, it
would have been nothing, if she had not come up with her demure, well-
composed, wheedling looks that morning, and then met me in the evening in a
situation, which (she believed) might kill me on the spot, with no more feeling than
a common courtesan shews, who bilks a customer, and passes him, leering up at her
bully, the moment after. Ifthere had been the frailty ofpassion, it would have been
excusable; but it is evident she is a practised, callous jilt, a regular lodging-house
decoy, played offby her mother upon the lodgers, one after another, / applying
them to her different purposes, laughing at them in turns, and herself the probable
dupe and victim ofsome favourite gallant in the end. I know all this; but what do
I gain by it, unless I could find some one with her shape and air, to supply the place
of the lovely apparition? That a professed wanton should come and sit on a man's
knee, and put her arms round his neck, and caress him, and seem fond of him,
means nothing, proves nothing, no one concludes any thing from it; but that a
pretty, reserved, modest, delicate-looking girl should do this, from the first hour to
the last ofyour being in the house, without intending any thing by it, is new, and,
I think, worth explaining. It was, I confess, out of my calculation, and may be out
ofthat ofothers. Her unmoved indifference and self-possession all the while, shew
that it is her constant practice. Her look even, if closely examined, bears this
interpretation. It is that ofstudied hypocrisy or startled guilt, / rather than ofrefined
sensibility or conscious innocence. 'She defied anyone to read her thoughts,' she
once told me. 'Do they then require concealing?' I imprudently asked her. The
command over herself is surprising. She never once betrays herself by any
momentary forgetfulness, by any appearance of triumph or superiority to the
person who is her dupe, by any levity of manner in the plenitude of her success; it
is one faultless, undeviating, consistent, consummate piece of acting. Were she a
saint on earth, she could not seem more like one. Her hypocritical high-flown
pretensions, indeed, make her the worse: but still the ascendancy of her will, her
determined perseverance in what she undertakes to do, has something admirable in
71
it, approaching to the heroic. She is certainly an extraordinary girl! Her retired
manner, and invariable propriety ofbehaviour made me think it next to impossible
she could grant the same favours indiscriminately to every one / that she did to
me. Yet this now appears to be the fact. She must have done the very same with
C-, invited him into the house to carry on a closer intrigue with her and then
commenced the double game with both together. She always 'despised looks.' This
was a favourite phrase with her, and one of the hooks which she baited for me.
Nothing could win her but a man's behaviour and sentiments. Besides, she could
never like another - she was a martyr to disappointed affection - and friendship was
all she could even extend to any other man. All the time, she was making signals,
playing off her pretty person, and having occasional interviews in the street with
this very man, whom she could only have taken so sudden and violent a liking to
from his looks, his personal appearance, and what she probably conjectured of his
circumstances. Her sister had married a counsellor - the Miss F-'s, who kept the
house before, had done so too - and so would / she. 'There was precedent for it.'4
Yet if she was so desperately enamoured of this new acquaintance, if he had
displaced the little image from her breast, if he was become her second 'unalterable
attachment' (which I would have given my life to have been) why continue the
same unwarrantable familiarities with me to the last, and promise that they should
be renewed on my return (ifI had not unfortunately stumbled upon the truth to her
aunt) - and yet keep up the same refined cant about her old attachment all the time,
as ifit was that which stood in the way ofmy pretensions, and not her faithlessness
to it? 'Ifone swerves from one, one shall swerve from another' - was her excuse for
not returning my regard. Yet that which I thought a prophecy, was I suspect a
history. She had swerved twice from her vowed engagements, first to me, and then
from me to another. If she made a fool of me, what did she make of her lover? I
fancy he has put that question to himsel£ / I said nothing to him about the amount
of the presents; which is another damning circumstance, that might have opened
my eyes long before; but they were shut by my fond affection, which 'turned all to
favour and to prettiness. '5 She cannot be supposed to have kept up an appearance
ofold regard to me, from a fear ofhurting my feelings by her desertion; for she not
only shewed herself indifferent to, but evidently triumphed in my sufferings, and
heaped every kind of insult and indignity upon them. I must have incurred her
contempt and resentment by my mistaken delicacy at different times; and her
manner, when I have hinted at becoming a reformed man in this respect, convinces
me of it. 'She hated it!' She always hated whatever she liked most. She 'hated Mr
C-'s red slippers,' when he first came! One more count finishes the indictment.
She not only discovered the most hardened indifference to the feelings of others;
she / has not shewn the least regard to her own character, or shame when she was
detected. When found out, she seemed to say, 'Well, what ifI am? I have played
the game as long as I could; and ifI could keep it up no longer, it was not for want
72
of good will!' Her colouring once or twice is the only sign of grace she has
exhibited. Such is the creature on whom I had thrown away my heart and soul -
one who was incapable of feeling the commonest emotions of human nature, as
they regarded herself or anyone else. 'She had no feelings with respect to herself,'
she often said. She in fact knows what she is, and recoils from the good opinion or
sympathy of others, which she feels to be founded on a deception; so that my
overweening opinion of her must have appeared like irony, or direct insult. My
seeing her in the street has gone a good way to satisfy me. Her manner there
explains her manner in-doors to be conscious and overdone; and besides, she looks
but indifferently. / She is diminutive in stature, and her measured step and timid air
do not suit these public airings. I am afraid she will soon grow common to my
imagination, as well as worthless in hersel£ Her image seems fast 'going into the
wastes of time,'6 like a weed that the wave bears farther and farther from me. Alas!
thou poor hapless weed, when I entirely lose sight of thee, and forever, no flower
will ever bloom on earth to glad my heart again!
THE END /
73
THE
SPIRIT OF THE AGE:
OR
CONTEMPORARY PORTRAIT&
H To know another well were to know one' 8 self,"
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR HENRY COLBURN,
NEW BURLINGTON STREET,
1825.
JEREMY BENTHAM [3/5]
Jeremy Bentham
Mr Bentham is one of those persons who verify the old adage, that 'A prophet has
no honour, except 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 ofall in the plains ofChili and the mines ofMexico. 2 He has offered
constitutions for the New W orId, and legislated for future times. The people of
Westminster, where he lives,3 hardly know ofsuch 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!'4 The tawny Indian may hold out the
hand offellowship 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, s 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,6 Lord Rolle at Plymouth Dock; but Mr Bentham would carry it
hollow, on the score ofpopularity, at Paris or Pegu. The reason is, that our author's
influence is purely intellectual. He has devoted his life to the pursuit ofabstract and
general truths, and to those studies -
That waft a thought from Indus to the Pole _7
and has never mixed himself up with personal intrigues or party politics. He once,
indeed, stuck up a hand-bill to say that he Oeremy Bentham) being ofsound 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.
77
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 ofthe entree, 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 anyone calls upon him, he invites them to take a turn
round his garden with him (Mr Bentham is an economist ofhis 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 ofClose Boroughs,8 or planning a
code oflaws for some 'lone island in the watery waste, '9 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 _10 or pausing, perhaps, for want ofbreath 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 if Poets, which marks the house where
Milton formerly lived. II To shew 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 ofTruth and Heaven for near
half a century into a paltry Chreistomathic School,I2 and to make Milton's house (the
cradle ofParadise Lost) a thoroughfare, like a three-stalled stable, for the idle rabble
ofWestminster 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 ofthe one, and the quivering lip,
the restless eye!3, 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 summerY He meditates
the coming age. He hears and sees only what suits his purpose, or some 'foregone
conclusion;'15 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 ofsome subtle
theory, as the miller looks out for grist to his mill! Add to this physiognomical
sketch the minor points ofcostume, 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 ofage. In a word, our celebrated jurist presents a striking illustration
78
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 ofthe / fierceness ofpride 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 oflife, 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 itselfbe nothing!
Mr Bentham, perhaps, over-rates the importance ofhis own theories. He has been
heard to say (without any appearance ofpride or affectation) that 'he should like to
live the remaining years ofhis life, a year at a time at the end ofthe 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 offact, 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'sJorte 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 ofknowledge, 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. I Mr Bentham is not the first
writer (by a great many) who has assumed the principle of UTILITY as the foundation
ofjust laws, and of all moral and political reasoning: 16 - 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 ticketted, under this one head, and
made a more constant and explicit reference to it at every step ofhis progress, than
any other writer. Perhaps the weak side ofhis conclusions also is, that he has carried
this single view of his subject too far, and not made sufficient allowance for the
79
varieties ofhuman nature, and the caprices and irregularities ofthe human will. 'He
has not allowed for the wind. 'i7 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 ofthe material) - but it might be plausibly objected
that he had struck the whole mass offancy, prejudice, passion, sense, whim, with his
petrific, leaden mace,18 that he had 'bound volatile Hermes,'19 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 ofthe
matter will hardly hold water. Ifwe 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: ifwe 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 ofits 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,'20 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
80
is a similar contradiction and anomaly in the mind and heart of man. Again, what
would become of the PosthCl!c meminisse juvabit 21 of the poet, if a principle of
fluctuation and reaction is not inherent in the very constitution of our nature, or
ifall 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 ofmole-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 ofview, 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 ofabstract humanity affect an extraordinary regard for
the Turks and Tartars, have been accused ofneglecting 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 oftime or place, as another; but he is not ofso 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 or wishes, we might then busy ourselves to advantage with the
Hottentots, or hold intimate converse with the inhabitants ofthe Moon; but being
as we are, our feelings evaporate in so large a space - we must draw the circle ofour
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 ofrefinement, 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 ofabhorrence 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 shews the depth
of his malignity. Now the mind revolts against this by mere natural antipathy, ifit
81
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, 1 cannot extend so much candour and
courtesy to the antagonist principle of evil: virtue, to be sincere and practical,
cannot be divested entirely ofthe blindness and impetuosity ofpassion! It has been
made a plea (halfjest, half earnest) for the horrors ofwar, 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 ofpeople 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 ofsophistry that it might be difficult to disprove on the bare
scheme ofcontingent utility; but on the ground that we have stated, it must pass for
a mere irony. What the proportion between the good and the evil will really be
found in any ofthe 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 ofmankind, and the habitual feelings of
that class ofpersons for whom they are more particularly 1 designed. Legislators (we
mean writers on legislation) are philosophers, and governed by their reason:
criminals, for whose controullaws 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 ofNewgate22 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,23 and looking out at a
beautiful prospect when he is at a loss for an idea, know of the principles ofaction
ofrogues, outlaws, and vagabonds? No more than Montaigne ofthe motions ofhis
cat!24 Ifsanguine 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 ofwhat 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
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JEREMY BENTHAM [18121]
Press-yard, with Jack Ketch at its head,26 aided by confidential persons from the
county prisons or the Hulks,26 and would make a dear 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 house-breakers 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.'27 And, in
our opinion, he might as well carry this maxim I to Bedlam or St Luke's,28 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 that ifhe 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 ofthe laws, is not the dupe ofignorance, but
the slave ofpassion, the victim of habit or necessity. To argue with strong passion,
with inveterate I 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. 29 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 ofhim. 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 ofthe 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 Drop30
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 ofpride and
obstinacy struck from under his feet. This is what gives I the swells ofthe metropolis
such a dread ofthe tread-mill- it makes them ridiculous. It must be confessed, that
83
this very circumstance renders the refonn of criminals nearly hopeless. It is the
apprehension of being stigmatized by public opinion, the fear of what will be
thought and said ofthem, that deters men from the violation ofthe 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 ofa 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 tum 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,31 / 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 refonned man, and as confident ofthe
success ofhis handy-work, as the shoemaker ofthat which he has just taken offthe
last, or the Parisian barber in Sterne, ofthe buckle of his wig. 'Dip it in the ocean,'
said the perruquier, 'and it will stand!'32 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 ofsitting vis-a-vis
with a philosopher oflate? 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 chann 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 oflife, 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 these
proprietors and patentees of refonn, 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
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JEREMY BENTHAM [23126]
moment imagine that his Address to the higher and middle classes,33 with all its
advantages of fiction, makes any thing like so interesting a romance as Hunter's
Captivity among the North American Indians?34 Has he any thing to shew, 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 ofa 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 ofwild buffaloes, that came rushing on like the
sound ofthunder? Or his account ofthe 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
parallellograms35 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 ofdifferent
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 relie£ 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 framework / 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 oflaw-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
85
glad to pick out ifyou could. In short, Mr Bentham writes as ifhe was allowed but
a single sentence to express his whole view ofa subject in, and as if, should he omit
a single circumstance or step ofthe 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 oflanguage altogether. Mr
Bentham has acquired this disability - it is not natural to him. His admirable little
work On Usury, published forty years ago,36 is clear, easy, and vigorous. But Mr
Bentham has shut himself up since then 'in nook monastic, '37 conversing only with
followers of his own, or with 'men of Ind, '38 and has endeavoured to overlay his
natural humour, sense, spirit, and style with the dust and cobwebs of an obscure
solitude. The best ofit 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, ifhe cannot prove them
to be wrong in their premises or their conclusions, thinks himselfbound in reason to
stake his money on the venture. Strict logicians are licensed visionaries. Mr
Bentham is half-brother to the late Mr Speaker Abbott*39 - Proh pudor! He was
educated at Eton,40 and still takes our novices to task about a passage in Homer, or
a metre in Virgil. He was afterwards at the University,41 and he has described the
scruples of an ingenuous youthful mind about subscribing the articles, in a passage
in his Church-<if-Englandism,42 which smacks oftruth 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 often thousand!'43 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 ofShakespear. 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,44 for green fields and trees, and is for referring every thing to Utility.
There is a little narrowness in this; for ifall the sources ofsatisfaction 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.f'4s /
* Now Lord Colchester.

t Lord Bacon's Advancement of Learning.
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WILLIAM GODWIN [31/33]
William Godwin
The Spirit ofthe Age was never more fully shewn than in its treatment ofthis 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 ofreputation; 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 lifetime, 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 ofignorance, or scorched with the lightning ofmomentary 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 ofadmirers, 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;1 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 ofnow like any eminent writer a hundred-and fifty years ago, orjust
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 etemumque sedebit infelix Theseus. 2 /
No work in our time gave such a blow to the philosophical mind of the country
as the celebrated Enquiry concerning PoliticalJustice. 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
87
oracles of thought. 'Throw aside your books of chemistry,' said Wordsworth to a

young man, a student in the Temple,3 '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 ofmanhood and ofcommon 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 ofa sudden to become an abomination and an anathema? Could so many
young men oftalent, ofeducation, and ofprinciple have been hurried away by what
had neither truth, nor nature, not one particle ofhonest feeling nor the least / shew
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?4
Or is the vaunted edifice ofReason, like his House ofPride, gorgeous in front, and
dazzling to approach, while 'its hinder parts are ruinous, decayed, and 0Id?'5 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:6
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 ofthe 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 ofschool-divinity, to
throw themselves at the feet of the new Gamaliel, 8 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 ofpreferment and the law as too narrow,
tortuous, and unseemly to bear the pure and broad light ofreason? 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 9 pointed? to this that Mr Coleridge's Religious MusingslO tended? Was it
for this, that Mr Godwin himselfsat with arms folded, and, 'like Cato, gave his little
senate laws?'ll 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?12 Is this sun ofintellect 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 ofour own interests and prejudices?
88
Were we fools then, or are we dishonest now? Or was the impulse ofthe 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!'13 He conceived too nobly ofhis 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 ofmorality above the reach ofhumanity,
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 ofsense, 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 ofthe supplementary / aids ofan 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. '14 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 ofnecessity. Mr Godwin's theory and that ofmore 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 ofwhat is right is to be at all times wrought up to a pitch ofenthusiastic 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 ofmankind, well and good; but those who accuse
the author ofhaving trampled on the common feelings and prejudices ofmankind
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 ofour affections on the ocean-tide ofhumanity,
we may be forced to paddle along its shores, or shelter in its creeks and rivulets: but
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(38/40] SELECTED WRITINGS OF WILLIAM HAZLlTT: VOLUME 7
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 PoliticalJustice (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 ofthe vulgar objections and outcry that have been
raised against the Modern Philosophy, as ifit were a new and monstrous / birth in
morals, it may be worth noticing, that volumes of sermons have been written to
excuse the founder ofChristianity for not including friendship and private affection
among its golden rules, but rather excluding them. * 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 ofothers, 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!'IS Mr Godwin's definition of morals was the same as the
admired one oflaw, reason without passion; but with the unlimited scope of private
opinion, and in a boundless field ofspeculation (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'16 on every vulnerable point of human
infirmity; but there is a want in his system of the mild and persuasive tone of the
* 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.
90
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')!8 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.!9
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 ofthe 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 ofothers to the highest and most impartial tribunal, namely, his
own breast. Two persons agree to live together in Chambers on principles ofpure
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,20
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
ofbye-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!'2! 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!'22 /
The point ofview 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. '23 In proportion as
91
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 ofa doubt that we advance to the goal ofperfection, 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 ofhuman frailty, yet,
stripped wholly ofit, he sinks at once into the brute. Ifit 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 ofloyalty, of
passive obedience and non-resistance as an acknowledgment for his having been
created a Baronet by a Prince ofthe House ofBrunswick,24 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,'25 when the castle ofeach 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 ofa contemporary writer, 'Reason is the queen ofthe moral
world, the soul of the universe, the lamp of human life, the pillar of society, the
foundation oflaw, 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 ofthe world, to blot out this light ofthe mind, to deface this
fair column, to break in pieces this golden chain! Weare 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 ofthe 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
ofhis Maker stamped upon him at his birth, 1 the understanding breathed into him
92
with the breath oflife, and in the participation and improvement of which alone
he is raised above the brute creation and his own physical nature!,26 - 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 modem sciolists 'so
unreason our reason,'27 as to debar us ofthe benefit ofthis 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 shew 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,'28 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 ofthe 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 ofaffection, to emancipate ourselves from the force ofhabit; 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 ofhuman intellect- 'Thus far shalt thou come,
and no farther!'29 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,30 than ifhe 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 offancy! This is the effect ofall 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 theJust and True were one, by 'championing it
to the Outrance,'31 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 ofromance, as well as a skilful and hardy
explorer of those of moral truth. Caleb Williams and St Leon 32 are two of the most
splendid and impressive works of the imagination that have appeared in our times.
93
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 master-piece, both as to invention and execution. The romantic and chivalrous
principle ofthe love ofpersonal fame is embodied in / the finest possible manner in
the character ofFalkland; * 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 offiction, with the exception ofthe 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 flame ofhis jealous ambition,
struggling with agonized remorse; and the hapless but noble-minded Falkland at
length falls a martyr to the persecution ofthat 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 ifthe events and feelings had been personal to himsel£ This is the case
also with the story of St Leon, which, with less dramatic interest and intensity of
purpose, is set offby 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 ofhis art. '33 He is not an indifferent,
callous spectator of the scenes which he himself pourtrays, but without seeming to
feel them. There is no look ofpatch-work 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 ofthe 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
* 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 ofhonour, 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.
94
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 ofAllen-a-Dale.34 At least, we may claim this advantage for
the English author, that the chains with which he rivets our attention are forged out
ofhis own thoughts, link by link, blow for blow, with glowing enthusiasm: we see
the genuine ore melted in the furnace offervid 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 ofincident or ease ofmanner. This necessary defect is observable in his best
works, and is still more so in Fleetwood and Mandeville;35 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 oj Chaucer36
would have given celebrity to any man ofletters possessed ofthree thousand a year,
with leisure to write quartos: as the legal acuteness displayed in his Remarks onJudge
Eyre's Charge to theJury37 would have raised any briefless barrister to the height ofhis
profession. This temporary effusion did more - it gave a tum to the trials for high
treason in the year 1794, and possibly saved the lives oftwelve innocent individuals,
marked out as political victims to / the Moloch ofLegitimacy, 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 ofday, to brave the opinion ofthe world. Ifit had
then glutted its maw with its intended prey (the sharpness ofMr 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. *38
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
* We had forgotten the tragedies ofAntonio and Ferdinand.39 Peace be with their manes!
95
light on the history and progress ofMr 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 Warrants40 / 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 ofmind and by accumulated stores
ofthought and powers oflanguage. 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 anyone 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 ofintellect: 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
ofopinion or brilliant tracks ofinvention. In company, Home Tooke used to make
a mere child ofhim - or ofany man! Mr Godwin liked this treatment*, 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
*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!'
96
ascertained before he admits it) - and has a favourite hypothesis that Understanding
and Virtue are the same thing. Mr Godwin possesses a high degree ofphilosophical
candour, and studiously paid the homage of his pen and person to Mr Malthus, Sir
James Macintosh, 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 ofpopularity,41 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 himsel£
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 Times; 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 ofpedantry and bonhommie.
He is not one ofthose who do not grow wiser with opportunity and reflection: he
changes his opinions, and changes them for the better. The alteration ofhis taste in
poetry, from an exclusive admiration of the age of Queen Anne to an almost
equally exclusive one ofthat ofElizabeth, is, we suspect, owing to Mr Coleridge,42
who some twenty years ago, threw a great stone into the standing pool ofcriticism,
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 ofEngland.43 -
Esto perpetual 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. 44 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 ofintimacy. He speaks ofthem 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 Wolstonecraft and Mrs
Inchbald, when the conversation took a most animated tum and the subject was of
Love. 45 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! /
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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 atchievements. 1 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 ofobjects 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'2 - 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 ofvictory is in their ears,
like the rushing of innumerable waters!
Mr Coleridge has 'a mind reflecting ages past:'3 his voice is like the echo of the
congregated roar of the 'dark rearward and abyss'4 of thought. He who has seen a
mouldering tower by the side ofa chrystal lake, hid by the mist, but glittering in the
wave below, may conceive the dim, gleaming, uncertain intelligence ofhis eye: he
who has marked the evening clouds uprolled (a world of vapours), has seen the
picture ofhis 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. 5
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,'6 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
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MR COLERIDGE [63/65]
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 oftapestry: 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 ofthe Courier. There
is no man ofgenius, 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: '7 / nor is there any work ofgenius that does not come out ofhis hands like
an Illuminated Missal, sparkling even in its defects. If Mr Coleridge had not been
the most impressive talker ofhis age, he would probably have been the finest writer;
but he lays down his pen to make sure ofan auditor, and mortgages the admiration
ofposterity for the stare ofan idler. Ifhe had not been a poet, he would have been
a powerful logician; ifhe had not dipped his wing in the Unitarian controversy, he
might have soared to the very summit offancy. 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 ofhis 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 ofhis 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.s 1
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,'9 or golden sky above him, and 'goes sounding on his way,'10 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 ofview, amidst the infinite variety
ofthe 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 ofour faculties, no great progress can be made in anyone
thing. It is not merely that the mind is not capable ofthe effort; it does not think the
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[65/68] SELECTED WRITINGS OF WILLIAM HAZLlTT:VOLUME 7
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:'11 / but he must do this, before he can give his whole soul
to them. The mind, after 'letting contemplation have its fill,'12 or
Sailing with supreme dominion

Through the azure deep of air,13
sinks down on the ground, breathless, exhausted, powerless, inactive; or ifit 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. 14 1
At sixteen he wrote his Ode on Chatterton,15 and he still reverts to that period with
delight, not so much as it relates to himself (for that string ofhis 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 Universityl6 by his knowledge of the classics, and gained several prizes for
Greek epigrams. 17 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 oftheir lives but of this achievement, ofa 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,IS he was the idol of those
among his schoolfellows, who mingled with their bookish studies the music of
thought and of humanity;19 and he was usually attended round the cloisters by a
group ofthese (inspiring and inspired) whose hearts, even then, burnt within them
as he talked,20 and where the sounds yet linger to mock ELlA 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 I 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 ofantiquity) - on the subtle reasonings and melting pathos of
100
Euripides, on the harmonious gracefulness ofSophocles, tuning his love-laboured

song, like sweetest warblings from a sacred grove; on the high-wrought trumpet-
tongued eloquence of1Eschylus, 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 affiicted will (the emblem of mortality)
Struggling in vain with ruthless destiny.2!
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 ofmind,22 'etherial braid, thought-
woven,'23 - and he busied himself for a year or two with vibrations and
vibratiuncles and the great law ofassociation 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,24 where he felt
himself imprisoned by the logician's spell, like Ariel in the cloven pine-tree,25 he
became suddenly enamoured of Bishop Berkeley's fairy-world*,26 and used in all
companies to build the universe, like a brave poetical fiction, of fine words - and
he was deep-read in Malebranche,27 and in Cudworth's Intellectual System (a huge
pile of learning, unwieldy, enormous)28 and in Lord Brook's hieroglyphic
theories,29 and in Bishop Butler's Sermons,30 and in the Duchess of Newcastle's
fantastic folios,3! and in Clarke and South and Tillotson,32 and all the fine thinkers
and masculine reasoners ofthat age - and Leibnitz's Pre-established Harmony33 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)34 into the hortus siccus ofDissent,35 where he pared religion down to
the standard of reason and stripped faith ofmystery, and preached Christ crucified
and the Unity ofthe Godhead, and so dwelt for a while in the spirit with John Huss
and Jerome of Prague and Socinus and old John Zisca,36 and ran through Neal's
History of the Puritans, and Calamy's Non-Conformists' Memorial,37 having like
thoughts and passions with them - but then Spinoza became his God,38 and he took
up the vast chain ofbeing 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
* Mr Coleridge named his eldest son (the writer of some beautiful Sonnets) after Hardey,
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 oceanP9
101
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 _40 /
and wedded with truth in Plato's shade, and in the writings ofProclus 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
Swedenborg41 through the pavilions ofthe NewJerusalem, and sung his faith in the
promise and in the word in his Religious Musings 42 - and lowering himselffrom that
dizzy height, poised himself on Milton's wings, and spread out his thoughts in
charity with the glad prose ofJeremy Taylor,43 and wept over Bowles's Sonnets,44
and studied Cowper's blank verse,45 and betook himself to Thomson's Castle of
Indolence,46 and sported with the wits of Charles the Second's days and of Queen
Anne,47 and relished Swift's style and that oftheJohn Bu1l48 (Arbuthnot's we mean,
not Mr Croker's) and dallied with the British Essayists and Novelists,49 and knew
all qualities ofmore modem writers with a learned spirit, Johnson, and Goldsmith,
and Junius, and Burke, and Godwin, and the Sorrows ofWerter, and Jean Jacques
Rousseau, and Voltaire, and Marivaux,50 and Crebillon,51 and thousands more -
now 'laughed with Rabelais in his easy chair'52 or pointed to Hogarth, / or
afterwards dwelt on Claude's classic scenes53 or spoke with rapture of Raphael,54
and compared the women at Rome to figures that had walked out ofhis pictures,55
or visited the Oratory ofPisa,56 and described the works ofGiotto and Ghirlandaio
and Massaccio, and gave the moral ofthe picture ofthe Triumph ofDeath,57 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 ofsiren sights and sounds, saw
a dance ofpeasant girls, and was charmed with lutes and gondolas, - or wandered
into Germany and lost himself in the labyrinths of the Hartz Foresrs8 and of the
Kantean philosophy, and amongst the cabalistic names ofFichte and Schelling and
Lessing,59 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 ofthe French Revolution, and sang for joy when the towers ofthe Bastile
and the proud places ofthe insolent and the oppressor fell,6O and would have floated
his bark, freighted with fondest fancies, across the Atlantic wave with Southey /
and others to seek for peace and freedom _61
102
MR COLERIDGE [73175]
In Philannonia's undivided dale!62
Alas! 'Frailty, thy name is Genius!,63 - What is become of all this mighty heap of
hope, of thought, oflearning, and humanity? It has ended in swallowing doses of
oblivion and in writing paragraphs in the Courier.64 - 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 ofhis early impressions. Liberty (the philosopher's and the
poet's bride) had fallen a victim, meanwhile, to the murderous practices ofthe hag,
Legitimacy.65 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 66 would not let him trammel
himself into a poet-laureate or stamp-distributo~7, and he stopped, ere he had quite
passed that well-known 'bourne from whence no traveller returns'68 - and so has
sunk into torpid, uneasy repose, tantalized by useless resources, / haunted by vain
imaginings, his lips idly moving, but his heart forever 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 Andent 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 ofgenius - ofwild, irregular, overwhelming
imagination, and has that rich, varied movement in the verse, which gives a distant
idea ofthe lofty or changeful tones ofMr Coleridge's voice. In the Christobel, there
is one splendid passage on divided friendship.69 The Translation of Schiller's
Wallenstein 70 is also a masterly production in its kind, faithful and spirited. Among
his smaller pieces there are occasional bursts ofpathos and fancy, equal to what we
might expect from him; but these fonn / the exception, and not the rule. Such, for
instance, is his affecting Sonnet to the author of the Robbers. 71
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
103
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,72 is full ofbeautiful 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.
Ifour 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
ofwater in the ground. The principal work, in which he has attempted to embody
his general views ofthings, is the FRIEND, ofwhich, 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 ofa 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 work-shop of the brain, diligently and effectually: Mr Coleridge's have
gossipped away their time, and gadded about from house to house, as if life's
business were73 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.'74 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
104
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.7s 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 ofmetaphysical 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 etemitatem 76 - 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,7s
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 ofhis 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
endsF9/
105
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, l not'one of the fixed, '2 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.'3
Few circumstances shew the prevailing and preposterous rage for novelty in a
more striking point of view, than the success ofMr 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 ifthe 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 ofideas. Ifthe 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 ofan obsolete style and mode ofthinking, 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 anyone spout Shakspeare
(and that not in a sneaking under-tone, but at the top ofhis voice, and with the full
breadth of his chest) from a Calvinistic pulpit, is new and wonderful. The Fancy4
have lately lost something oftheir gloss in public estimation, and after the last fight,
few would go far to see a / Neat or a Spring set-to;5 - 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-guards' man,6 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 MolyneuxS had turned Methodist parson, or as if a
106
REV. MR IRVING [85/87]
Patagonian savage were to come forward as the patron-saint of Evangelical

religion. Again, the doctrine ofeternal punishment was one ofthe staple arguments
with which, everlastingly drawled out, the old school ofPresbyterian 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 ofsceptical and infidel libraries, so as to excite a pleasing horror
in the female part ofhis 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 ofthe bar with the
dogmatism of the pulpit, the theatrical and theological, the modem 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,9 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 anyone 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 ofthe mire and slough ofsordid
obscurity, but would never have launched him into the ocean-stream ofpopularity,
in which he 'lies floating many a rood;'lo - but to these he adds uncommon height,
a graceful figure and action, a clear and powerful voice, a striking, ifnot a fine face,
a bold and fiery spirit, and a most portentous obliquity ofvision, 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.
107
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?'ll No, the
thing speaks for itself He would in vain have lifted his Lilliputian ann 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. 12
Conceive a rough, ugly, shock-headed Scotchman, standing up in the Caledonian

chapel,13 and dealing'damnation round the land'14 in a broad northern dialect, and
with a harsh, screaking voice, what ear polite,15 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'16 saints; his very unusual size and height are carried offand
moulded into elegance by the most admirable symmetry of fonn and ease of
gesture; his sable locks, his clear iron-grey complexion, and finn-set features, turn
the raw, uncouth Scotchman into the likeness of a noble Italian picture; and even
his distortion ofsight only / redeems the otherwise 'faultless monster'17 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 charlatanery to set them off, he had been nothing. He might,
keeping within the rigid line ofhis 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;'18 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; _19
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 anns. The thing was new. He
thus wiped the stain of musty ignorance and fonnal bigotry out of his style. Mr
Irving must have something superior in him, to look over the shining close-packed
heads ofhis congregation to have a hit at the GreatJurisconsult in his study. He next,
ere the report ofthe fonner blow had subsided, made a lunge at Mr Brougham, and
glanced an eye at Mr Canning;20 mystified Mr Coleridge, and stultified Lord
108
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. '21 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 by-standers, who like to witness this sort of onslaught - like a
charge ofcavalry, 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 oforthodoxy 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 strong-hold of religion
as a resting-place, from which he sallies forth, armed with modern topics and with
penal fire, like Achilles ofold rushing from the Grecian tents, against the adversaries
of God and man. Peter Aretine22 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 ofman, on his vices and his virtues,
on all existing institutions, and all possible improvements, that nothing may be left
but the Kirk of Scodand, and that he may be the head of it. He literally sends a
challenge to all London in the name ofthe KING ofHEAVEN, 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 oflogic, the grape-shot
of rhetoric, and the cross-fire ofhis 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 an old man with a blue bonnet, a fair-haired
girl, and a little child would form the flower ofhis flock! Such is the pretension and
the boast ofthis new Peter the Hermit,23 who would get rid of all we have done in
the way ofimprovement on a state ofbarbarous 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
109
great cities, as vitiated and stark-naught, ofrelegating religion to his / native glens,
and pretending that the hymn of praise or the sigh of contrition cannot ascend
acceptably to the throne ofgrace 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. 24
So says the poet; does Mr Irving say so? Ifhe does, and finds the air ofthe 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 ofhis early enthusiasm, and the simplicity and
purity ofthe 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 ofothers, that the glittering ofcoronet-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
shew more candour in speaking of himself? There is either a good deal of bigoted
intolerance with a deplorable want ofself-knowledge in all this; or at least an equal
degree of cant and quackery.
To whichever cause we are to attribute this hyperbolical tone, we hold it certain
he could not have adopted it, ifhe 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. 25 But
with that addition, he overcrows the town, browbeats their prejudices, and bullies
them out oftheir senses, and is not afraid ofbeing contradicted by anyone 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, '26 and
the population ofYorkshire to swell his influence, never venturing on the forlorn
110
hope, or doing any thing more than 'hitting the house between wind and water.'27
Yet he is probably a cleverer man than Mr Irving.
There is a Mr Fox, a Dissenting Minister 28, 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,29 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 ofa man ofgenius 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 ofany 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
ofcourage. The public, as well as the fair, are won by a show ofgallantry. 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 ofthe 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 Shakspeare and Melancthon30 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. 31
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 ofintellect and
more intensity ofpurpose. Both his matter and his manner, setting aside his face and
figure, are more impressive. Take the volume of' Sermons on Astronomy,'32 by Dr
Chalmers, and the 'Four Orations for the Oracles of God'33 which Mr Irving lately
111
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 ofwatering-places,
were laid in the windows ofinns, * and were to be met with in all places ofpublic
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 ofhis admirers
would rather see and hear Mr Irving than read him. The reason is, that the
groundwork of his compositions is trashy and hackneyed, though set off by
extravagant metaphors and an affected phraseology; that without the tum 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 playoff
his person, as Orator Henlef4 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'35 to the other. He cannot boast / of personal appearance to set him of[
But then he is like the very genius or demon oftheological 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,36 with his Bible in one hand and his sword in the other,
contending with the imaginary enemy ofmankind, gasping for breath, and with the
cold moisture running down his face, gives a lively idea ofDr 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,'37 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 gainsayers,
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 ofwhatever he chooses to advance, and weaves
the tissue ofhis 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.'38 Whatever appeals to the
pride of the human understanding, has a subde charm in it. The mind is naturally
*We remember finding the volume in the orchard at Burford-bridge39 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 back the same compliment of reading it at a sitting.
112
pugnacious, cannot refuse a challenge ofstrength or skill, sturdily enters the lists and
resolves to conquer, or to yield itself vanquished in the fonns. This is the chiefhold
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,'40 the art oflaying 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,'41
and almost / compel the stars in their courses to testify to his opinions. The mode
in which he undertook to make the circuit ofthe universe, and demand categorical
infonnation 'now of the planetary and now of the fixed,'42 might put one in mind
of Hecate's mode of ascending in a machine from the stage, 'midst troops of
spirits,'43 in which you now admire the skill of the artist, and next tremble for the
fate of the perfonner, fearing that the audacity of the attempt will turn his head or
break his neck. The style ofthese '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 ofdifficulties, and detennined 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 wann 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 ofgenius or fanaticism, but 'in / the very
stonn and whirlwind of his passion, he acquires and begets a temperance that may
give it smoothness. '44 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, '45 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 ofwhat 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 litde anthropomorphitism, Dr Chalmers effectually redeems it from that
scandal. /
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The Late Mr Horne Tooke
Mr Home 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 ofthe 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 ofattainment, and great versatility ofpursuit; but
the same shrewdness, quickness, cool self-possession, the same literalness of
perception, and absence ofpassion 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,1 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 ofthe moral qualities ofgenius; but
he was a man ofthe 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 ofhis 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 Gardiner2 (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. '3 This retort had all the effect, and produced the same surprise as the most
brilliant display ofwit or fancy: yet it was only the detecting a flaw in an argument,
like a flaw in an indictment, by a kind oflegal pertinacity, or rather by a rigid and
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THE LATE MR HORNE TOOKE [107/109]
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 variery
of topics and general trains of speculation.
Mr Home 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 ofthe burden ofthe song of'The King's
Old Courtier, and an Old Courtier of the King's. '4 He was, however, of the opposite
party. It was curious to hear our modem 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 ofthose
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 ofthe temperance ofhis
own pulse to chafe them into madness. He had not one particle ofdeference 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!S
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 ofthe 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 ofthe Teutonic
dialects, and Dr Parr, by wishing to know the meaning ofthe common copulative,
Is. Once at Godwin's,6 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 Douglas7 in the manner ofeach, to justify
the preference he gave to the former. The mentioning this will please the living; it
115
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 anyone 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,S
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 ofhis 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
Home 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 shew that it was still full. Mr Holcroft (the author ofthe 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. 9 One day he was so enraged by some
paradox or raillery ofhis 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?' - 'Ifyou please, Mr Tooke!' answered the angry philosopher, and sat
down again. - It was delightful to see him sometimes tum 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 ofage; 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 ofhim, 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 oflittle use in addressing large assemblies ofpeople; 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 shew 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 ofthe speaker - it is a personal contest, and
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THE LATE MR HORNE TOOKE [1121115]
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 shewing a sympathy
with the general and predominant feelings ofmankind. 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;10 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 ofhimself, either
in the world or in a popular assembly, will be sure to turn attention away from his
claims, instead offixing 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,'l1 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, ifthey turned him out on account of
his black coat, Lord Camelford12 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?13 What interest, then, what party did he
represent? He represented nobody but himself He was an example ofan ingenious
man, a clever talker, but he was out ofhis 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 ofhis sentences told very well in itself, but they did not all together
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 ofhis 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. 14 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
117
supposed purity of his clerical character, to the story of the girl at the Magdalen, 15
who was told 'she must tum out and qualify.'* 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 ofgrave 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
ofpolitical 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 ifhe was already seated in the House. But a Court ofLaw 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. '16 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 play-things, the darlings of Mr Tooke's mind; and with these he baffied the
Judge, dumb-founded the Counsel, and outwitted the Jury. The report ofhis trial
before Lord Kenyon 17 is a master-piece 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 himsel£ 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 ofa third (who was to be the responsible) party. He made Sir
Francis Burdett18 his spokesman in the House and to the country, often venting his
chagrin or singularity ofsentiment at the expense ofhis 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 himsel£ He kept repeating that 'others might
have gone on to Windsor, but he had stopped at Hounslow,'19 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.
* They receive him like a virgin at the Magdalen - Go thou and do likewise. - JUNIUS.
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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 ofan 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 ofpopular right,
that made a noise in the time ofJunius and Wilkes20 - and even ifhis understanding
had gone along with more modem and unqualified principles, his cautious temper
would have prevented his risking them in practice. Home Tooke (though not of
the same side in politics) had much of the tone ofmind and / more of the spirit of
moral feeling ofthe celebrated philosopher ofMalmesbury.21 The narrow scale and
fine-drawn distinctions ofhis political creed made his conversation on such subjects
infinitely amusing, particularly when contrasted with that ofpersons 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 ofsecret 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 22 (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 withJunius. 23 He has evidendy the best
ofthe argument, yet he makes nothing out ofit. 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 Home'
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knew who Junius was, and was afraid of him. 'Under him his genius is' quite
'rebuked.'24 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. 25
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.26 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,27 published about the
year 1775. Mr Tooke's work is truly elementary. Dr Lowth described Mr Harris's
Hennes 28 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 ofhis 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 ofold associations wound round
language, that is a kind ofveil 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'29 - 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 ofthe clothing ofhabit 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. 30 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 shewing 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 ofspeech
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 ofthe 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
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but another part ofspeech, the pronoun, that, with a third part ofspeech, the noun,
thing, understood. This is getting at a solution ofwords 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 anyone chooses to hunt out 'with laborious foolery.'31
Our author hit upon his parent-discovery in the course ofa law-suit, 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.'32 '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,'33 when he said, 'It is the common pronoun, adjective, or participle, that,
with the noun, thing orproposition, 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;'34 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 ofthe practice ofbull-baiting from the principles
ofhumanityPs
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. '36 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 ofscience: the rest
is pedantry and petit-maitreship. 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 oftwo quarto volumes, he refers the
reader for the true solution to a third volume, which he did not live to finish. 37 This
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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 oflanguage. The nature ofwords, 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 oflanguage. Thus he endeavours to shew
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 ofmetaphysical and moral non-entities, proved to
be so on the pure principle that the names ofthese 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 ofwords, 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 38 (a work out ofwhich Mr Crocker 39 helps himself
to English, and Mr Malthus40 to style*) has proceeded to the thirtieth edition in
complete defiance ofall 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, t and that English
verbs have all the moods, tenses, and persons that the Latin ones have. This is an
* 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.
t At least, with only one change in the genitive case.
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THE LATE MR HORNE TOOKE [128]
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 Home Tooke's
genuine anatomy of our native tongue is laid on the shel£ Can it be that our
politicians smell a rat in the Member for Old Sarum? That our clergy do not relish
Parson Home? 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 ofprejudice 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! /
123
Sir Walter Scott
Sir Walter Scott is undoubtedly the most popular writer ofthe age - the 'lord ofthe
ascendant'l for the time being. He is just half what the human intellect is capable
of being: ifyou 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. '2 He is 'laudator temporis acti'3 - a 'prophesier
ofthings 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 ofmemory, his accumulated weight of interested
prejudice or romantic association have / overlaid his other faculties. The cells ofhis
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 itselfbeyond
this into the world unknown, but mechanically shrinks back as from the edge of a
prejudice. The land ofpure reason is to his apprehension like Van Dieman's LAnd;4
- barren, miserable, distant, a place of exile, the dreary abode ofsavages, 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 ofold - 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.'s It slid out of the mind as soon
as read, like a river; and would have been forgotten, but that the public curiosity
124
SIR WALTER SCOTT [133/135]
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 if the lAst
Minstrel, Mannion, and so on, 6 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 if Waverley 8 to hear his readers and admirers (and
are not these the same thing?*) quarrelling which ofhis 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,9 we were willing to have our admiration shared, and our taste
confirmed by the town: / but the Novels are like the betrothed ofour hearts, bone
of our bone, and flesh of our flesh,1O and we are jealous that anyone 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 if the LAke can compare with the beautiful Rebecca?!2 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! \3 - 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'!4 - the details are lost or shaped into flimsy
and insipid decorum; and the truth offeeling and ofcircumstance 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
* 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 indifferendy
about them, said they were 'so dry she could hardly get through them; and recommended us to
read Agnes. 15 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.'
125
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 oftruth or fable:* 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 ofhis own mind.
The writer ofwhom 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 oflocal traditions and obsolete costume. We
see grim knights and iron annour; 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,16 which
accompany, and are intended to illustrate them. This facility and grace ofexecution
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 ofForth 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
ofgetting 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 ofwater. As to the rest,
and compared with true and great poets, our Scottish Minstrel is but 'a metre
ballad-monger. '17 We would rather have written one song of Bums, or a single
passage in Lord Byron's Heaven and Earth,IS or one of Wordsworth's 'fancies and
good-nights,'19 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-infonning power of Shakespear, whose eye, watching alike the
minutest traces ofcharacters and the strongest movements ofpassion, 'glances from
heaven to earth, from earth to heaven, '20 and with the lambent flame of genius,
* Just as Cobbett is a matter-cif-fact reasoner.

126
playing round each object, lights up the universe in a robe ofits own radiance? Sir
Walter has no voluntary power of combination: all his associations (as we said
before) are those ofhabit or oftradition. He is a mere narrative and descriptive poet,
garrulous of the old time. The definition of his poetry is a pleasing superficiality.
Not so ofhis 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 ofstyle, 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!21 The grand secret of the author's success in these latter productions
is that he has completely got rid of the trammels ofauthorship; and torn off at one
rent (as Lord Peter got rid of so many yards oflace in the Tale of a Tub)22 all the
ornaments of fine writing and worn-out sentimentality. All is fresh, as from the
hand ofnature: 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'23 ofmodern readers, like the effect ofplunging 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 ofthe / Calton-Hill, the inhabitants of' Auld Reekie'24 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. 25 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 ofworks proceeding from Mr Constable's
and Mr Blackwood's shops.26 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,'27 issuing through Mr Blackwood's
shop-door. This operates a diversion, which does not affect us here. The Author of
Waverley wears the palm oflegendary lore alone. Sir Walter may, indeed, surfeit
us: his imitators make us sickF8 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
127
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 ofDerncleugh: 29 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,3° 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,31 or sees a Black Dwarfgroping 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!'32 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'33 or a century back. His last work, *34 indeed, is mystical, is
romantic in nothing but the title-page. Instead of ' a holy-water sprinkle dipped in
dew, '35 he has given us a fashionable watering-place - and we see what he has made
ofit. He must not come down from his fastnesses in traditional barbarism and native
rusticity: the level, the littleness, the frippery ofmodern 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 ofvent,'36 than the fine-spun cobwebs of the brain.
With reverence be it spoken, he is like the man who having to imitate the
squeaking ofa 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. '37 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 ofthe 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
* St Ronan's Well.
128
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 ofthe subjects ofhis 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,38 because the earliest ofour 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 ofBurley, brandishing
his sword and his Bible with fire-eyed fury, trying a fall with the insolent, gigantic
Bothwell at the 'Change-house, and vanquishing him at the noble battle of
Loudonhill; there is Bothwell himself, drawn to the life, proud, cruel, selfish,
profligate, but with the love-letters ofthe 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, ofthe 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.'39 And in The Heart of Midlothian / we have Effie Deans (that sweet, faded
flower) and Jeanie, her more than sister, and old David Deans, the patriarch ofSt
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,'40 and Dirk Hatterick (equal to Shakespear's Master Barnardine),
and Glossin, the soul ofan 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, * 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 ofsecret-keepers; and in the Antiquary, the
ingenious and abstruse Mr Jonathan Oldbuck, and the old beadsman Edie
* 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.
129
Ochiltree, and that preternatural figure of old Edith Elspeith, a living shadow, in
whom / the lamp oflife had been long extinguished, had it not been fed by remorse
and 'thick-coming'41 recollections; and that striking picture of the effects offeudal
tyranny and fiendish pride, the unhappy Earl of Glenallan; and the Black Dwarf,
and his friend Habbie ofthe 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 ofGeorge ofDouglas - 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 ofIvanhoe. What a list ofnames! What a host ofassociations! What a thing
is human life! What a power is that ofgenius! 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 himselfdown. 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. 42 The candour ofSir 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 shew 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 ofthe 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 ofBrunswick are more firmly seated in point
130
offact, and the Bourbons, by collateral reasoning, become legitimate! In any other
point ofview, 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 ofrebellion.
Does he really think of making us enamoured of the 'good old times'43 by the
faithful and harrowing portraits he has drawn of them? Would he / carry us back
to the early stages ofbarbarism, ofclanship, ofthe feudal system as 'a consummation
devoutly to be wished?'44 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 modem reader by referring to the
authentic history of these delectable times?* / He is indeed so besotted as to the
moral ofhis own story, that he has even the blindness to go out of his way to have
a fling at flints and dungs 45 (the contemptible ingredients, as he would have us
believe, of a modem 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 modem 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 aJewess, 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 ofupstart
* 'And here we cannot but think it necessary to offer some better proof than the incidents ofan
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 ofEngland 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. 346.46
131
innovation!47 This is what he 'calls backing his friends'48 - 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 ofWaverley 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;'49 or
object to Mr Peel's Police-Bill,50 by insisting that Hounslow-Heath was formerly a
scene ofgreater interest and terror to highwaymen and travellers, and cut a greater
figure in the Newgate-Calendar 51 than it does at present. - Oh! Wickliff, Luther,
Hampden, Sidney, Somers,52 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 bum witches and heretics at
slow fires, that the thumb-screws are no longer applied by ghastly, smilingjudges,
to extort confession ofimputed 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 ofnobles, the divinity ofkings in former times; to whom we owe it, that we
no longer wear round our necks the collar of Gurth the swineherd, and ofWamba
the jester;53 that the castles of great lords are no longer the dens ofbanditti, 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 ofbeing burnt in our beds, or travel without making our wills; that no
Amy Robsarts54 are thrown down trap-doors by Richard Varneys with impunity;
that no Red Reiver of Westburn-Flat 55 sets fire to peaceful cottages; that no
Claverhouse56 signs / cold-blooded death-warrants in sport; that we have no
Tristan the Hermit,57 or Petit-Andre,58 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 ofSir 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
at 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 ofthe general opinion as to the source
from which they spring - and the other was, to hint our astonishment at the
innumerable and incessant instances ofbad 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.
132
SIR WALTER SCOTT 153/156]
Jfthere were a writer,59 who 'born for the universe'-
Narrow'd his mind,

And to party gave up what was meant for mankind- / 60
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'6\ to every
thought or purpose that tended to the future good of mankind - who, raised by
ailluence, 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), shewed 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 ofview 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 ofrankling 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 ofservility - who supported the worst abuses ofauthority 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;
shewing no remorse, no relenting or compassion towards the victims of this
nefarious and organized system ofparty-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? 62
But we believe there is no other age or country of the world (but ours), in which
such genius could have been so degraded! /
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Lord Byron
Lord Byron and Sir Walter Scott are among writers now living* 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. 2
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,'3 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 himsel£ 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.'4 All is strained, or petulant in the extreme. His thoughts
* This Essay was written just before Lord Byron's death.
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LORD BYRON [1611163]
are sphered and crystalline; his style 'prouder than when blue Iris bends;'5 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 other reflects the hues of Heaven,
or the face ofnature, 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 age6 - /
his Lordship's Muse spurns the olden time, and affects all the supercilious airs of a
modern fine lady and an upstart. The object ofthe 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 - ifhe 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 shews his
superiority ofexecution in this in a more marked manner than ifthe first suggestion
had been his own. It is not the value ofthe 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 oftone, and a characteristic inveteracy ofpurpose. Even in those collateral
ornaments ofmodern 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 anyone 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 ofothers (with a conscious sense that this is among the ways and means
ofprocuring admiration) are the proper categories ofhis 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
135
aristocratic: Walter Scott, who is an aristocrat in principle, is popular in his writings,

and is (as it were) equally sewile to nature and to opinion. The genius ofSir Walter
is essentially imitative, or 'denotes a foregone conclusion:'8 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 ofhis 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 ofhalf the universe in feeling,
character, description, much better than we do one who obstinately and invariably
shuts himself up in the Bastile ofhis 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
ofhis own individual impressions. He gives us man as he is, or as he was, in almost
every variety ofsituation, 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 ofhimself He hangs the cloud, the film ofhis existence over all
outward things - sits in the centre ofhis thoughts, and enjoys dark night, bright day,
the glitter and the gloom 'in cell monastic'9 - 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 ofour own thoughts - the other admired author draws aside the curtain, and the
veil of egotism is rent, and he shews us the crowd ofliving 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
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LORD BYRON [166/168]
from our minds. The colouring ofLord Byron's style, however rich and dipped in
Tyrian dyes,1O 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 ofHeaven is only a means ofsetting offthe gorgeousness ofart: 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 ofWaverley 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 ofthe
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 shewn 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
bum.'11 He composes (as he himself has said) whether he is in the bath, in his study,
or on horseback!2 - 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 ofhis subject. He does not, like Mr
Wordsworth, lift poetry from the ground, or create a sentiment out ofnothing. He
does not describe a daisy or a periwinkle, but the cedar or the cypress: not 'poor
men's cottages, but princes' palaces.'!3 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
137
school-boy; has brought out few new traits offeeling 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 offlowers strewed over the face
of death! In his Chi/de Harold (as has been just observed) he assumes a lofty and
philosophic tone, and 'reasons high of providence, fore-knowledge, will, and
fate.'14 He takes the highest points in the history of the world, and comments on
them from a more commanding eminence: he shews us the crumbling monuments
oftime, he invokes the great names, the mighty spirit ofantiquity. 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 offire. The names of Tasso,
of Ariosto, of Dante, of Cincinnatus, of Ca:sar, of Scipio,15 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 fi11.16
Lord Byron seems to cast himself indignantly from 'this bank and shoal of time,'17
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 ofhis contemporaries makes him turn back to the lustrous
past, or project himself forward to the dim future! - Lord Byron's tragedies,
Faliero, * Sardanapalus, &C. 18 are not equal to his other works. They want the
essence ofthe 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 ofgossamer 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. 19 We prefer it even to Manfred.
* Don Juan was my Moscow, and Faliero

My Leipsic, and my Mont St Jean seems Cain,
Don Juan, Canto. XI. 20
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LORD BYRON [1711174]
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,21 may be said to have drowned all his
own idle humours.
We must say we think little ofour author's tum for satire. His 'English Bards and
Scotch Reviewers'22 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.'23 That may be: but
whose fault is it? This is the satire ofa 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. '24
The insinuation is not true; or ifit were, it is low. The allusion degrades the person
who makes, not him to whom it is applied. This is also the satire ofa person ofbirth
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,'25
addresses him fifty times as 'my dear Roberts;' nor is there any other wit in the article.
This is surely a mere assumption ofsuperiority 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's26 - 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 ifhe were his chaplain / whom he had invited to dine with him, or
was about to present to a benefice. 27 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 DonJuan 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 anyone should tum 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 ofany other) a variety ofgenius.
A classical intoxication is followed by the splashing of soda-water, by frothy
effusions ofordinary bile. Mter the lightning and the hurricane, we are introduced
to the interior of the cabin and the Contents of wash-hand basins. 28 The solemn
hero of tragedy plays Scrub in the farce.29 This is 'very tolerable and not to be
endured. '30 The Noble Lord is almost the only writer who has / prostituted his
139
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 ajest by the very person who has kindled it, and
who thus fatally quenches the sparks ofboth. 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!*
In fact, Lord Byron is the spoiled child offame as well as fortune. He has taken
a surfeit of popularity, and is not contented to delight, unless he can shock the
public. He 1 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,'3! 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 shew signs ofweariness or disgust, threatens to discard them. He says
he will write on, whether he is read or not.32 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 ofthe 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 ofthe Author ofWaverley, 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;33
if the one defers too much to the spirit of antiquity, the other panders to the spirit
ofthe age, goes to the very edge ofextreme and licentious speculation, and breaks
his neck over it. Grossness and levity are the playthings ofhis pen. It is a ludicrous
* 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: 304 it is rather a poem written about itself.
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LORD BYRON [176/178]
circumstance that he should have dedicated his Cain to the worthy Baronet! Did
the latter ever acknowledge the obligation?35 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 ofDoctors ofLaw. We
like metaphysics as well as Lord Byron; but not to see them making flowery
speeches, nor dancing a measure in the fetters ofverse. We have as good as hinted,
that his Lordship's poetry consists mostly ofa tissue ofsuperb 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 ofnature 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 ofsome ofLord Byron's writings, is the spirit ofsome
of those opposed to him. They would provoke a man to write any thing. 'Farthest
from them is best. '36 The extravagance and license of the one seems a proper
antidote to the bigotry and narrowness ofthe other. The first Vision ofJudgment was
a set-off to the second, though
None but itself could be its paralleJ.37
Perhaps the chief cause ofmost ofLord 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 ofbirth and genius. The strength ofhis 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 ofLords,38 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 ofa foolish face: '39 a mere man ofgenius 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. Ifthere is nobody but ourselves
to come up to our idea offancied perfection, we easily get tired ofour 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: ifhe is a patrician in rank and feeling,
he would fain be one ofthe people. His ruling motive is not the love ofthe people,
but of distinction not of truth, but ofsingularity. He patronizes men ofletters out
of vanity, and deserts them from caprice, or from the advice of friends. 40 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
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[178/181 ] SELECTED WRITINGS OF WILLIAM HAZLlTT:VOLUME 7
Lord Byron's preposterous liberalism / little better. He may affect the principles of
equality, but he resumes his privilege ofpeerage, 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!41
*******
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,'42 or mould them into dull
praise, and an affected shew ofcandour. 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 tum 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
ofnatural canonization. It makes the meanest ofus 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 shew the real
superiority ofgenius in a more striking point ofview 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 offhis memory,
But the eternal substance of his greatnessY /
Lord Byron is dead: he also died a martyr to his zeal in the cause offreedom, for the
last, best hopes of man. Let that be his excuse and his epitaph! /
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MR CAMPBELL AND MR CRABBE [185/187]
Mr Campbell and Mr Crabbe
Mr Campbell may be said to hold a place (among modem poets) between Lord
Byron and Mr Rogers. With much ofthe 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 oj 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 oj Hope,2 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 offlimsy affectation, and on the other the vices ofa 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 ofthe same ambling pace, but a beautiful manege-horse, full oflife
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 exactest 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 ofMr 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
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[187/189) SELECTED WRITINGS OF WILLIAM HAZLITT: VOLUME 7
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 oftopics,
and by studiously (and with a religious horror) avoiding all those faults which arise
from grossness, vulgarity, haste, and disregard ofpublic / opinion. He seizes on the
highest point of eminence, and strives to keep it to himself - he 'snatches a grace
beyond the reach ofart, '3 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 jdeal 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 ofgenius 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 ofJuno's eyes,

Or Cytherea's breath!4
There are those who complain ofthe little that Mr Campbell has done in poetry,
and who seem to insinuate that he is deterred by his own reputation from making
any further or higher attempts. But after having produced two poems that have
gone to the heart ofa nation, S 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 ofthem 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 ofthe 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 _6
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
144
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 in 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 ripening 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 prison 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 play-mate ere the teacher of her mind)
All uncompanion'd else her years 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 bower,
Ofbuskin'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 dusty 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 ofnatural 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, 8 and, to a certain degree, we go along
with it; but this must not prevent us from feeling the thrill ofpleasure 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'9 - beauty streaks the
'famous poet's page'lO in occasional lines ofinconceivable brightness; and wherever
this is the case, no splenetic censures or 'jealous leer malign,' 11 no idle theories or
145
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/odes in it, than one ofthose 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
cdHope, because with perhaps less brilliancy, there is more oftenderness and natural
imagery in the former. In the Pleasures of Hope Mr Campbell had not completely
emancipated himself from the trammels ofthe more artificial style ofpoetry - 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 12 -
is a borrowed one. * But in the Gertrude of Wyoming 'we perceive a softness

coming over the heart ofthe author, and the scales and crust offormality that fence
in his couplets and give them a somewhat glittering and rigid / appearance, fall
off,'13 and he has succeeded in engrafting the wild and more expansive interest of
the romantic school ofpoetry on classic elegance and precision. After the poem we
have just named, Mr Campbell's SONGS 14 are the happiest efforts of his Muse: -
breathing freshness, blushing like the mom, 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'15 of thoughtful
Humanity. The Battle ofHohenlinden is of all modem 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
OfIser, rolling rapidly.
But Linden saw another sight,

When the drum beat at dead of night,
* Like angels' visits, short and far between. -

Blair's Grave.
146
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 ofheav'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
OfIser, rolling rapidly.
'Tis mom, but scarce yon level sun

Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling* 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 16 (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 ofliving poets, the other the most humble and prosaic. Ifthe
poetry ofthe one is like the arch ofthe rainbow, spanning and adorning the earth,
that ofthe 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?'17 There are
here no ornaments, no flights offancy, no illusions ofsentiment, no tinsel ofwords.
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
* 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?
147
of petty details; he rivets attention by being tedious. He not only deals in incessant
matters offact, but in matters offact of the most familiar, the least animating, and
the most unpleasant kind; but he relies for the effect ofnovelty on the microscopic
minuteness with which he dissects the most trivial objects - and for the interest he
excites, on the unshrinking detennination 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
ofaccidents and offences. He takes the most trite, the most gross and / obvious and
revolting part ofnature, for the subject ofhis elaborate descriptions; but it is Nature
still, and Nature is a great and mighty Goddess! It is well for the Reverend Authort :
that it is so. Individuality is, in his theory, the only definition ofpoetry. Whatever
is, he hitches into rhyme. Whoever makes an exact image ofany 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 oflove, 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,19 but a spirit offear, 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 oflife 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, ofwhich 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,'20 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
148
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 poems21 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 DrJohnson was not an admirer ofthe 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 ofhis 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 oflife 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 ofpoetry, 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 Hobbima22 might think little of the pastoral sketches of Pope or
Goldsmith; even Thompson / 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;23 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 ofmerely literal description, Pope's lines
on the gay Duke of Buckingham, beginning 'In the worst inn's worst room see
Villiers lies!'24 But surely nothing can be more dissimilar. Pope describes what is
149
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 ofthe 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. 25
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 ofit, and to dispel the illusion, the glory, and
the dream,26 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 ofgrove and valley music to our ears, in order
to give us truth in its stead;27 but why not lay aside the fool's cap and bells at once?
Why not insist on the unwelcome reality in plain prose? Ifour author is a poet, why
trouble himself with statistics? Ifhe is a statistic writer, why set his ill news to harsh
and grating verse? The philosopher in painting the dark side ofhuman nature may
have / reason on his side, and a moral lesson or remedy in view. The tragic poet,
who shews the sad vicissitudes of things28 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'29 ofactual 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 ofa mingled yam, good and ill together,3O but clothes them all in the same
dingy linsey-woolsey, or tinges them with a green and yellow melancholy.31 He
blocks out all possibility of good, cancels the hope, or even the wish for it as a
weakness; check-mates 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 ofthe 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
150
MR CAMPBELL AND MR CRABBE [2031205]
and discontented than himsel£ All this while he dedicates successive volumes to
rising generations of noble patrons;32 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 familyP3 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-bumt 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. 34
This is an exact fac-simile of some of the most unlovely parts of the creation.
Indeed the whole ofMr 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 35 are more readable than his
Poems; but in proportion as the interest increases, they become more oppressive.
151
They tum, 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 ofthe human heart. Some ofthe best are the Confidant,
the story of Silly Shore, the Young Poet, the Painter. The episode of Phcebe 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. 36 In a word, ifMr 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,'37 perhaps for a century to come! /
152
SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH [2091211]
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 ofa passing or ofa 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 tum ofhis mind, a college-man; and perhaps he would have passed his time
most happily and respectably, had he devoted himself entirely to that kind oflife.
The strength ofhis 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 ofthe composition,
by an appeal to authorities and by too formal a method; that in public speaking the
logician takes place ofthe 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 ofview, 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 ofstyle; but where he has a prejudiced or unfair antagonist to contend
with, he isjust 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 ofview, or warmth of
feeling, or liveliness of fancy. His eloquence is a litde 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
153
[2111214) SELECTED WRITINGS OF WILLIAM HAZLITT: VOLUME 7
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 Nairn2 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 ofpeace or war, ofpolitical rights or foreign interference, where the waves
ofparty run high, and the liberty ofnations or the fate ofmankind 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.3 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 tum of a fraction: another element, besides the love of truth, enters
into the composition oftheir decisions, / the reaction ofwhich 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 ofyouth, 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 ofhis 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 dextrous 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
154
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 ofanswering 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 ofthe understanding without zest or spirit left in it; and the
provident engineer who was to shatter in pieces the strong-holds ofcorruption and
oppression, by a well-directed and unsparing discharge ofartillery, seemed to have
brought not only his own cannon-balls, but his own wool-packs along with him to
ward off the threatened mischie£ 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 'afinical speech.'4 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 ofmind, and where the success would be more likely to be
proportioned to his zeal and his exertions.
There was a greater degree ofpower, 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,S formerly delivered by Sir James (then Mr) Mackintosh, in
Lincoln's-Inn Hall. He shewed 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 ofhis acquirements, dazzled
himselfby the admiration they excited, he lost fear as well as prudence; dared every
thing, carried every thing before him. The Modern Philosophy, counterscarp,
outworks, citadel, and all, fell without a blow, by 'the whiff and wind of his fell
doctrine,'6 as if it had been a pack of cards. The volcano of the French Revolution
was seen expiring in its own flames, like a bon-fire made ofstraw: the principles of
Reform were scattered in all directions, like chaffbefore 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 ofthe fabled Hesperides, he made
clear work of it, root and branch, with white, foaming tusks -
Laid waste the borders, and o'erthrew the bowers. 7
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.'8
Poor Godwin, 9 who had come, in the bonhommie and candour ofhis 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
155
mountain or a perfect man. '10 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 ofhis 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 humoursll of the
/ body politic, he seemed to stand with his back to the drawers in a metaphysical
dispensary, and to take out ofthem 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,12 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)13 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* going to hear one ofthese elaborate
effusions; and on his want of enthusiasm being accounted for from / its not being
one ofthe orator's brilliant days, he replied, 'he did not think a man ofgenius 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
* The late Rev. Joseph Fawcett, ofWalthamstow.

156
Lectures - the tone and spirit in which they seemed to have been composed and to
be delivered. Ifall that body ofopinions and principles ofwhich the orator read his
recantation was unfounded, and there was an end ofall those views and hopes that
pointed to future improvement, it was not a matter oftriumph 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-
Oflamentation loud heard through the rueful air.14
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 litde before
his death with Mr Burke, at his house at Beaconsfield. IS In the latter end ofthe year
1796, appeared the Regidde Peace, from the pen of the great apostate from liberty
and betrayer of his species into the hands ofthose 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 thunder-bolt) - 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. 16 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 Vindidce Gallicce. It was a testimony from an old, a powerful, and an
admired antagonist. * 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 l7 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 ofwar and the cries ofparty-spirit 'were lost
over a wide and unhearing ocean,'18 to recover from his surprise and from a
temporary alienation ofmind; 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 l9 was one,
* At the time when the Vindida? Gal/ica? first made its appearance, as a reply to the Re.flections 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.
157
[2211224} SELECTED WRITINGS OF WILLIAM HAZLlTT: VOLUME 7
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 oflife,'20 the
charm of literary conversation was gone. It was the habit of his mind, his ruling
passion to / enter into the shock and conflict ofopinions 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 ofsuperior sense
and information by meeting with men ofequal standing, to have a fair field pitched,
to argue, to distinguish, to reply, to hunt down the game ofintellect with eagerness
and skill, to push an advantage, to cover a retreat, to give and take a fa11-
And gladly would he learn, and gladly teach. 21
It is no wonder that this sort of friendly intellectual gladiatorship is Sir James's

greatest pleasure, for it is his peculiarforte. 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 ofpedantry, 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 ofwhich he has not a number ofanecdotes
to relate; an intricate question that he is not prepared to enter upon in a popular or
scientific manner. Ifan opinion in an abstruse metaphysical author is referred to, he
is probably able to repeat the passage by heart, can tell the side ofthe 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 School-men or
a note in one ofthe 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 oftalent was ofno use in India: the intellectual wares, ofwhich 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;22 and the way in which he spoke of that dry, tough, metaphysical
choke-pear, shewed the dearth ofintellectual intercourse in which he lived, and the
158
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.23 - Perhaps to another, the
novelty of the scene, the differences of mind and manners might have atoned for
a want ofsocial and literary agremens: but Sir James is one of those who see nature
through the spectacles ofbooks.24 He might like to read an account oflndia; but
India itself with its burning, shining face would be a mere blank, an endless waste
to him. To persons ofthis class ofmind 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 ofSir
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 Vindidce Gallicce is a work ofgreat 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 ofyouth are flown, from making
an affected display ofknowledge, 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;25 and the articles attributed to him there are full of matter of
159
great pith and moment. 26 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 ofthe 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 offormal division or frame-work ofthe understanding; and the
connexion 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 ofmalleability in the style. Sir James is at present said to be engaged in writing
a History of England after the downfall ofthe house ofStuart. 27 May it be worthy of
the talents of the author, and of the principles of the period it is intended to
illustrate! /
160
MR WORDSWORTH [2311233]
Mr Wordsworth
Mr Wordsworth's genius is a pure emanation ofthe Spirit ofthe Age. Had he lived
in any other period of the world, he would never have been heard o£ As it is, he
has some difficulty to contend with the hebetude ofhis intellect, and the meanness
ofhis 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 ofmen:'2 neither the gorgeous
machinery ofmythologic lore, nor the splendid colours ofpoetic 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 life-blood flow from the
wounded breast, this is the living colouring with which he paints his verse: ifhe 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,'3 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 anyone could.
'Nihil humani a me alienum puto'4 - is the motto ofhis 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 oftruth 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 ofthe 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
161
[2331235) SELECTED WRITINGS OF WILLIAM HAZLlTT: VOLUME 7
resources, and disdains external shew 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 ofthe ornaments ofdress or pomp ofcircumstances to set it off.
Hence the unaccountable mixture ofseeming 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 ofhis
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. '5 All the traditions oflearning, all the superstitions ofage,
are obliterated and effaced. We begin de novo, on a tabula rasa ofpoetry. The purple
pall, the nodding plume of tragedy are exploded as mere pantomime and trick, to
return to the simplicity oftruth and nature. Kings, queens, priests, nobles, the altar
and the throne, the distinctions ofrank, birth, wealth, power, 'the judge's robe, the
marshall's truncheon, the ceremony that to great ones 'longs,'6 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 Pin dar and of Alc.rus are still. The decencies of costume, the
decorations ofvanity are stripped offwithout 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 offlowers. 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 store of his own recollections. No cypress-grove loads his verse with
perfumes: but his imagination lends 'a sense ofjoy'
To the bare trees and mountains bare,

And grass in the green field. s
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,9 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,
162
The internal pangs are ready; the dread strife

Of poor humanity's afflicted will,
Struggling in vain with ruthless destiny. 10
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 oflearning or greatness, taught by political opinions to say to the vain
pomp and glory of the world, II 'I hate ye,' seeing the path of classical and artificial
poetry blocked up by the cumbrous ornaments ofstyle 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 ofhis 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 ofverse, and endeavoured
(not in vain) to aggrandise the trivial and add the charm of novelty to the familiar.
No one has shewn 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 ofnature. He exemplifies in an eminent
degree the power of association; 12 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 ofthought, a fibre ofhis 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 ofhis life. But to the author
ofthe Lyrical Ballads, nature is a kind ofhome; 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. 13
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. 14 He has described all these objects
163
in a way and with an intensity offeeling 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 ofnature, which can never die. Persons ofthis 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 ofthe 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 ofwhite-thorn from the spray: but in
describing it, his mind seems imbued with the majesty and solemnity ofthe objects
around him - the tall rock lifts its head in the erectness ofhis spirit; the cataract roars
in the sound ofhis verse; and in its dim and mysterious meaning, the mists seem to
gather in the hollows ofHelvellyn, and the forked Skiddaw hovers in the distance.
There is little mention ofmountainous 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. 15 We
might allude in particular, for examples ofwhat we mean, to the lines on a Picture
by Claude Lorraine,16 and to the exquisite poem, entitled LAodamia. 17 The / last of
these breathes the pure spirit ofthe finest fragments ofantiquity - the sweetness, the
gravity, the strength, the beauty and the langour of death -
Calm contemplation and majestic pains. 18
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 ofmarble. 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
164
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 ifthere are any ofthe latter's writings, that we can dwell upon in
the same way, that is, as lasting and heart-felt sentiments, it is when laying aside his
usual pomp and pretension, he descends with Mr Wordsworth to the common
ground ofa 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 _19
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:'20 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 ofthe thoughts and ofthe 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. 21 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 fulfllled, 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 ofthe age or by the pretensions ofthe 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 ofreading 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
165
likelihood.'22 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
the-a-the, Mr Wordsworth is often silent, indolent, and reserved. If he is become
verbose and oracular oflate 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 ofassociation in composing certain passages; or if one did
not always understand his distinctions, still there was no want ofinterest - there was
a latent meaning worth inquiring into, like avein ofore that one cannot exactly hit
upon at the moment, but ofwhich there are sure indications. His standard ofpoetry
is high and severe, almost to exclusiveness. He admits of nothing below, scarcely
I ofany 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 ofthe
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 shews his honest face _23
instead of representing the God returning from the conquest of India, crowned
with vine-leaves, and drawn by panthers, and followed by troops ofsatyrs, ofwild
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 modernise some of the
Canterbury Tales. 24 Those persons who look upon Mr Wordsworth as a merely
puerile writer, must be rather at a loss to account for his strong predilection I 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 ofdramatic composition. 'He hates those interlocutions between Lucius and
Caius. '25 Yet Mr Wordsworth himself wrote a tragedy when he was young;26 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!27
166
Perhaps for want of light and shade, and the unshackled spirit of the drama, this
performance was never brought forward. 28 Our critic has a great dislike to Gray,29
and a fondness for Thomson and Collins. It is mortifying to hear him speak ofPope
and Dryden,30 whom, because they have been supposed to have all the possible
excellences ofpoetry, 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 ofimagination accompanying the words, the same idea
is repeated three times under the disguise ofa 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. 3! Mr Wordsworth is, we must say, a perfect

Drawcansi22 as to prose writers. He complains ofthe dry reasoners and matter-of-
fact people for their want of passion;33 and he is jealous of the rhetorical declaimers
and rhapsodists as trenching on the province of poetry. He condemns all French
writers (as well ofpoetry as prose) in the lump.34 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. 35 In art, he greatly esteems Bewick's wood-cuts, and Waterloo's sylvan
etchings. 36 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 ofinvesting the minute details ofnature with
an atmosphere ofsentiment; and in pronouncing Rembrandt to be a man ofgenius,
feels that he strengthens his own claim to the title. 37 It has been said of Mr
Wordsworth, that 'he hates conchology, that he hates the Venus ofMedicis.'38 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 - /
167
Where one for sense and one for rhyme

Is quite sufficient at one time. 39
We think, however, that if Mr Wordsworth had been a more liberal and candid
critic, he would have been a more sterling writer. Ifa greater number ofsources 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 ofmen 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:'4O 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 oftheir lives, to deify men ofgenius 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: '41 Mr Wordsworth might plead, in mitigation ofsome peculiarities, that he
is 'the spoiled child of disappointment.' Weare convinced, if he had been early a
popular poet, he would have borne his honours meekly,42 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. 43 To have
produced works ofgenius, and to find them neglected or treated with scorn, is one
ofthe heaviest trials ofhuman 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 tum 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,44 or vents
itself in effusions of petulance and self-conceit. Mr Wordsworth has thought too
much ofcontemporary critics and criticism; and less than he ought ofthe 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
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MR WORDSWORTH [250]
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 ofgenius can be reduced
- that of becoming the God of his own idolatry! /
169
Mr Malthus
Mr Malthus may be considered as one ofthose rare and fortunate writers who have
attained a saentific 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 ofrenown or obloquy. It was said by a person
well qualified to judge both from strength and candour ofmind, that 'it would take
a thousand years at least to answer his work on Population. '1 He has certainly
thrown a new light on that question, and changed the aspect ofpolitical 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 ofman, 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 offwithout 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,2 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. 3 This is the essence of
the doctrine which Mr Malthus has been the first to bring into general notice, and
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MR MALTHUS [2551258]
as we think, to establish beyond the fear ofcontradiction. 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 PoliticalJustice. 4 It was well
got up for the purpose, and had an immediate effect. It was what in the language
ofthe ring is called afacer. It made Mr Godwin and the other advocates ofModern
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. '5 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 ofingenuity,
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 ofMr
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
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[2581260) SELECTED WRITINGS OF WILLIAM HAZLITT: VOLUME 7
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 ofspeculative
men could not but rush forward into this ideal world as into a vacuum ofgood; and
from 'the mighty stream of tendency'6 (as Mr Wordsworth in the cant of the day
calls it,) there was danger that the proud monuments oftime-hallowed institutions,
that the strong-holds of power and corruption, that 'the Corinthian capitals of
polished society,'7 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 ofthis mighty change ofopinion
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 ofimprovement, 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 ofthe Essay) 'let the principles ofMr Godwin's Enquiry and ofother similar
works be carried literally and completely into effect; let every corruption and abuse
ofpower 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 ofpopulation will still
prevail, and from the comfort, ease, and plenty that will abound, will receive an
increasing force and impetus; the number ofmouths 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 ofvice 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 ofhappiness, 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! '8 - 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
172
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 shew
themselves utterly blind to the / consequences of their actions, utterly indifferent
to their own well-being and that ofall 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. 9 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 ofman and with all experience, well and good - but
to say that society will have attained this high and 'palmy state,'IO 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 ofit) in an obscure and almost / forgotten work published about
the middle of the last century, entitled Various Prospects cif Mankind, Nature, and
Providence,l1 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 offood 'from a limited earth and a limited fertility'12 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 ofthis statement
as an insuperable bar to all schemes ofUtopian or progressive improvement - both
these he has borrowed (whole) from Wallace, with all their imperfections on their
173
heads, \3 and has added more and greater ones to them out ofhis 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 ofModern 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 ofgiving 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 spedes is an equally indispensable law
cif 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 ofhunger, and a man can
no more exist without propagating his species than he can live without eating.14
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 oftime 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 shewn some awkwardness or even reluctance in
softening down the harshness ofhis 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
ofmoral 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
174
contradictions plausibly or gracefully together. We wonder how he manages it -

how anyone should attempt it! The whole question, the gist ofthe argument ofhis
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 oflaws 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 15 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 shews 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 ofvice 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 ofincrease 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 ofpopulation; 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 ofsubsistence; and
again, it seems as if the evil increased with the progress of improvement and
175
civilization; for ifyou 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 of26 in 32, and so
on in proportion;16 the farther we proceed, the more enormous is the mass ofvice
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 mischie£ Accordingly, whenever
there is the least talk ofcolonizing 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 ofadvancing 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 ofacorns and scuttle-fish, as a security against the
luxuries and wants ofcivilized 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.'17 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 ofGod, 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 ofsubsistence are
not exhausted in themselves, that 'the tables are not full!,18 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 ofthe legislature, in
order to take away that impossible relief, which the laws ofGod deny, and which the
laws ofman 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-
176
fed horses. We have not a word to say against all this as exemplifying the spirit of
the English Constitution, as a part ofthe law ofthe land, / or as an artful distribution
oflight and shade in the social picture; but if anyone 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 ofsubsistence, so that not a mouthful offood 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 ofproducing a great work on the principle ofpopulation; 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 ofcertain
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 ofcontroversial asperity rankling in our minds,
sunk the philosopher / and the friend ofhis 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 Modem 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 ofthe poisonous
ingredients thrown into the cauldron of Legitimacy 'to make it thick and slab.'19
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 Essay20 (thus giving Mr Malthus a Roland for his
Oliver)21 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,22 which is as follows: -
177
'The doctrine oflineal consanguinity is sufficiently plain and obvious; but it is at

the first view astonishing to consider the number oflineal 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. Ofthese 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 grandmothers; 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 ofwhich is doubled at every remove, because each of
our ancestors had also two ancestors of his own.
Lineal Degrees Number cif 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 /
178
MRMALTHUS [2751276]
'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 ofthe world,23 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 shew 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. 24
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 2S on the question ofrent and value.
The partisans ofMr Ricardo, who are also the admirers ofMr Malthus, say that the
usual sagacity of the latter has here failed him, and that he has shewn himself to be
a very illogical/writer. To have said this ofhim formerly on another ground, was
accounted a heresy and a piece ofpresumption not easily to be forgiven. Indeed Mr
Malthus has always been a sort of, darling in the public eye,'26 whom it was unsafe
to meddle with. He has contrived to make himself as many friends by his attacks on
the schemes of Human Peifectibilityand on the Poor-LAws, as Mandeville formerly
procured enemies by his attacks on Human Perfections and on Charity-Schools;27 and
among other instances that we might mention, Plug Pulteney, the celebrated
miser,2l! of whom Mr Burke said on his having a large estate left him, 'that now it
was to be hoped he would set up apocket-handkerchiif,'29 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. /
179
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,2 the pedant, and the
dependant on the great contribute to form the Editor of the Quarterly Review. 3 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 ofgenius, oftaste, or even of
general knowledge. He merely understands the mechanical and instrumental part
oflearning. / He is a critic of the last age, when the different editions ofan author,
or the dates of his several performances were all that occupied the inquiries of a
profound scholar,4 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 ofthe press. In appreciating a modem one, ifit 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 shewn by reducing
anyone 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
oflow birth and breeding - imputations from one ofwhich he himselfhas 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
180
MR GIFFORD [281/283]
- a flogging. There is nothing liberal, nothing humane in his style ofjudging: 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. 5 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 ofindependence. 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 oflanguage 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 ofthe profligacy ofothers, 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!6
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 ofspite 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 ofpetty 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-stones7 in his understanding, and from being used to long confinement,
cannot bear the slightest jostling or irregularity ofmotion. He may call out with the
fellow in the Tempest - 'I am not Stephano, but a cramp!S 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
181
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 ofmind, and threaten (by implication) the safety
ofthe state. His slow, snail-paced, bed-rid habits ofreasoning cannot keep up with
the whirling, eccentric motion, the rapid, perhaps extravagant combinations of
modem literature. He has long been stationary himself, and is determined that
others shall remain so. The hazarding a paradox is like letting offa 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 cathedra at all
those writers who are indifferent alike to his precepts and his example!
Mr Gifford, in short, is possessed of that sort oflearning which is likely to result
from an over-anxious desire to supply the want ofthe first rudiments ofeducation;
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 ofthe 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 ofhis mind is an utter want ofindependence and magnanimity in all that
he attempts. He cannot go alone, he must have crutches, a go-cart and trammels,9
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 ofspirit than hirnsel£ 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. Ifhe finds anyone flying in the
face ofthese, 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. Ifa 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,
182
MR GIFFORD [2861289]
she is reminded ofit in Mr Gifford's manly satire. 10 He sneers at people oflow 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 himsel£ He stands atthe door ofMr Murray's shop,11 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.12 Otherwise, it is a breach of
etiquette to let him pass, an insult to the better sort who aspire to the love ofletters
- and may chance to drop in to the Feast oj the Poets. 13 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'14 - 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 l5 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 ofMr 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 l6 could enter into the spirit or delicacy ofMr 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. 17
Mr Keats's ostensible crime was that he had been praised in the Examiner
Newspaper. ls 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,
183
[2891290) SELECTED WRITINGS OF WILLIAM HAZLITT:VOLUME 7
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;
184
MR GIFFORD [290/291]
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.19
EVE OF ST AGNES.
With the rich beauties and the dim obscurities oflines like these, let us contrast the
Verses addressed To a Tuft ifearly Violets by the fastidious author ofthe Baviad and
Ma::viad. -
Sweet flowers! that from your humble beds

Thus prematurely dare to rise,
And trust your unprotected heads
To cold Aquarius' watery skies. 1
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.
185
O! I should think - that fragrant bed

Might I but hope with you to share - *
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. 20
We subjoin one more specimen ofthese 'wild strains't said to be ' Written two years
after the preceding.' ECCE ITERUM CRISPINUS. 21
* What an awkward bed-fellow for a tuft of violets!

t How oft, 0 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 oflove'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!
Mcwiad, 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 anyone 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! ohe! jam satis est!22 'Why rack a grub - a butterfly upon a wheel?' / 23
186
I wish I was where Anna lies;

For I am sick oflingering 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 turn'd 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 hallow'd mould?
And who, while Memory loves to dwell

Upon her name for ever dear,
Shall feel his heart with passion swell,
And pour the bitter, bitter tear? /
I and would fate allow,

DID IT;
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!
187
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 twentyF4 Farther it may be said, that Mr Gifford hazarded his first
poetical attempts under all the disadvantages ofa 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,25 and how they
imprudently associate themselves with men of mere popular talent or
independence offeeling! - It is the same in prose works. The Editor scorns to enter
the lists ofargument 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 himselfsafe in the fancied
insignificance ofothers: he only feels himselfsuperior to those whom he stigmatizes
as the lowest ofmankind. All persons are without common-sense and honesty who
do not believe implicitly (with him) in the immaculateness of Ministers and the
divine origin ofKings. Thus he informed the world that the author ofTABLE-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.26 He charged this writer with
imposing on the public by a flowery style;27 and when the latter ventured to refer
to a work of his, called An Essay on the Prindples of Human Action, which has not a
single ornament in it, as a specimen ofhis original studies and the proper bias ofhis
mind, the learned critic, with a shrug ofgreat 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!'28 The question was, whether the
subject ofMr Gifford's censure had ever written such a work or not; for ifhe 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 ofthem, 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 ofthe heads offamilies, is filled up with accounts ofbooks ofVoyages
and Travels for the amusement of the younger branches. The poetical department
is almost a sinecure, consisting ofmere summary decisions and a list of quotations.
188
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. 29 It is a double crime, and excites a double portion
ofspleen in the Editor, when female writers are not advocates ofpassive obedience
and non-resistance. This Journal, then, is a depository for every species ofpolitical
sophistry and personal calumny. There is no abuse or corruption that does not there
find a jesuitical palliation or a bare-faced vindication. There we meet the slime of
hypocrisy, the varnish of courts, the cant ofpedantry, the cobwebs of the law, the
iron hand ofpower. 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 ofpriestcraft 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 ofcourt-favourites. They keep as litde 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 ofpower,
ofwealth, ofrank 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 ofa 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 halfof the competitors as Jacobins and
levellers, and securing the suffrages of the other half in his favour as a loyal subject
and trusty partisan!
MrGifford, 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 litde 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 ofhumour.
His satire is mere peevishness and spleen, or something worse - personal antipathy
189
and rancour. We are in quite as much pain for the writer, as for the object of his
resentment. His address to Peter / Pindar 30 is laughable from its outrageousness. He
denounces him as a wretch hateful to God and man, for some ofthe 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.31- 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 ofstyle did not merit such severity of
castigation. * As a translator, Mr Gifford's version of the Roman satirist is the
baldest, and, in parts, the most offensive of all others. 32 We do not know why he
attempted it, unless he had got it in his head that he should thus follow in the steps
ofDryden, as he had already done in those ofPope in the Baviad and M;eviad. As
an editor ofold authors,33 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 offeeling more. As a critic, he has thrown no light on the character and
spirit of his authors. He has shewn no striking power of analysis nor of original
illustration, though he has chosen to exercise his pen on writers most congenial to
his own tum ofmind, from their dry and caustic vein; Massinger, and Ben Jonson.
What he will make of Marlowe, it is difficult to guess. 34 He has none of 'the fiery
quality'35 of the poet. Mr Gifford does not take for his motto on these occasions -
Spiritus predpitandus est!36 - 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 ofcrucifixes, glories, angelic visions, garlands ofroses,
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. 37 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 Seasonsp8 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 ofChristianity in general. What indeed shews the frivolousness ofthe whole
inference is that Deckar, who is asserted by our critic to have contributed some of
the most passionate and fantastic ofthese devotional scenes,39 is not even suspected
* Mr Merry was even with our author in personality ofabuse. See his Lines on the Story of the
Ape that was given in charge to the ex-tutor.
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MR GIFFORD [302]
of a leaning to Popery. In like manner, he excuses Massinger for the grossness of

one ofhis plots (that ofthe 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. 4O
The foregoing is a harsh criticism, and may be thought illiberal. But as Mr Gifford
assumes a right to say what he pleases ofothers - they may be allowed to speak the
truth of him! /
191
Mr Jefttey
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 ofmen and
things, and something must be done to check these escapades of the Edinburgh. 2 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 offfrom grave hypocrisy, and the most serious consequences were to be
apprehended. The persons who wrote in this Review seemed 'to have their hands
full oftruths,'3 and now and then, in a fit ofspleen / or gaiety, let some ofthem fly;
and while this practice continued, it was impossible to say that the Monarchy or the
Hierarchy was safe. Some ofthe arrows glanced, others might stick, and in the end
prove fatal. It was not the principles ofthe 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.'4 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 ofprejudice, the sordid tool ofpower; that
should go the whole length of want of principle in palliating every dishonest /
measure, ofwant 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, '5 and present one
foul blotch ofservility, intolerance, falsehood, spite, and ill-manners. The Quarterly
Review was accordingly set up.
192
MRJEFFREY [307/309]
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!6
This event was accordingly hailed (and the omen has been fulfilled!) as a great relief
to all those ofhis 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 ifyou 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. *
They are eminently characteristic ofthe Spirit ofthe Age; as it is the express object
ofthe Quarterly Review to discountenance and extinguish that spirit, both in theory
and practice. The Edinburgh Review stands upon the ground ofopinion; 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 himselfby some literary folly or political
delinquency which is referred to as the understood and justifiable provocation,
instead ofbeing held up to scorn as a knave for not being a tool, or as a blockhead
for thinking for himsel£ In the Edinburgh Review the talents ofthose 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 ofpersonal abuse. A man of genius who is a lord, 7 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: 8 but that is
the utmost extent ofthe impartiality ofthe Quarterly. From its account you would
* 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. 9
193
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. lo 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 ifthis would be compromising the dignity ofgenius and ofcriticism 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 II - 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 ofits 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 ofa 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 ofliberty 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 l2 at their first
appearance - not in its ridicule oftheir puerilities, but in its denial oftheir beauties,
because they were included in no school, because they were reducible to no
previous standard or theory ofpoetical excellence. For this, however, considerable
reparation has been made by the prompt and liberal spirit that has been / shewn 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
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MRJEFFREY [312/315]
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. 13 But as the Quarterly
Review is a mere mass and tissue ofprejudices 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!'14
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. IS 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 modem 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 ofor 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,'16 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 ofknowledge, 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 ofa 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 ofa subject, instead ofattending to the whole. MrJeffrey 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. 17 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 oftruth 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 offeeling or on party-trammels, than
on real sanguineness of disposition, and a certain fineness of professional tact. Our
sprightly / Scotchman is not ofa desponding and gloomy tum of mind. He argues
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[315/317] SELECTED WRITINGS OF WILLIAM HAZLlTT:VOLUME 7
welP8 for the future hopes of mankind from the smallest beginnings, watches the
slow, gradual, reluctant growth ofliberal views, and smiling sees the aloe ofReform
blossom at the end ofa hundred years; while the habitual subtlety ofhis 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 ofmankind. The issue, he thinks, will verity 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 ofthe 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. 19
The characteristics ofMrJeffrey'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
ofthe foils; he makes an exulting display ofthe dazzling fence ofwit 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 ofhis manner does not resolve itself
into the rapidity, the variety and aptness ofhis 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 anyone 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
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MRJEFFREY [317/320]
either ill-chosen or out ofits 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.'20 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 ofattending to speeches there, as having the greatest fluency
oflanguage and the greatest subtlety ofdistinction ofanyone ofthe 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 oftiring himself or his hearers. His only difficulty seems to be not
to speak, but to be silent. There is a constitutional buoyancy and elasticity / ofmind
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, ifany, 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 ofill-will to others. On the contrary, MrJeffrey is profuse ofhis encomiums
and admiration ofothers, 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
ofliveliness: he oppresses from a sense of airy lightness. He is always setting out on
a fresh scent: there are always relays oftopics; 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
197
ofgood-nature - it is a thoughtless habit. He cannot help cross-examining a witness,

or stating the adverse view ofthe question. He listens not to judge, but to reply. In
consequence ofthis, you can as little tell the impression your observations make on
him as what weight to assign to his. MrJeffrey shines in mixed company; he is not
good in a the-a-the. You can only shew 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 ofpersonal 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 tum you round like a cylinder to see what use they can
make ofyou, 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 ofyour 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 ofnight. The accomplished and ingenious person of
whom we speak, has been a little infected by the tone ofhis 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 ofease,
his cordial frankness of disposition 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 MrJeffrey'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, shews 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 ofhis liberality. He
is a Scotchman without one particle ofhypocrisy, ofcant, ofservility, or selfishness
in his composition. He has not been spoiled by fortune 21 - 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 ofyouth. MrJeffrey in his person is slight, with a countenance ofmuch
expression, and a voice of great flexibility and acuteness of tone. 22 /
198
MR BROUGHAM - SIR FRANCIS BURDETT [325/327]
Mr Brougham - Sir Francis 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 offacts: 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 bug-bear. The genius ofIrish oratory
stands forth in the naked majesty ofuntutored 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'2 - it shrinks back from it as from a
precipice, and keeps in the iron rail-way3 ofthe understanding. Irish oratory, on the
contrary, is a sort of a:ronaut: 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 ofignorance, flutters and sinks
/ down to its native bogs! Ifthe Irish orator riots in a studied neglect ofhis 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 ofhis 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 ofdifficulties, that it staggers under a load of topics, that
it is so environed in the forms oflogic and rhetoric as to be equally precluded from
199
originality or absurdity, from beauty or deformity: - the plea ofhumanity is lost by

going through the process oflaw, the firm and manly tone ofprinciple is exchanged
for the wavering and pitiful cant ofpolicy, the living bursts ofpassion 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, 4 and by the golden tide ofwisdom, 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. * It may
be suggested that the late Lord Erskine 5 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, 6 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 ofpower in Europe. Ifthe
first is better versed in the progress ofhistory, 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 oflading. 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,'8 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
ofMr 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
* Mr Brougham is not a Scotchman literally, but by adoption.9
200
unshrinking resolution) the spirit ofthe 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. Ifhe can, others cannot carry all he knows in their heads
at the same time; a rope ofcircumstantial 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 offacts 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 offroth as well
as strength in the popular spirit, which will not admit ofbeing 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 ofclearness ofhead, ofquickness and energy ofthought, ofapplication and
industry; but it is not the eloquence ofthe 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 ofhis 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. \0
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He cannot keep a good thing or a shrewd piece of infonnation in his possession,

though the letting it out should mar a cause. It is not that he thinks too much of
himself, too little ofhis cause: but he is absorbed in the pursuit oftruth as an abstract
inquiry, he is led away by the headstrong and over-mastering 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 _11
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 madeP2
Mr Brougham has great fearlessness, but not equal finnness; 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 ofself-
opinion to the necessity ofself-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 tum to the political
machine, / which alanns older and more experienced heads: ifhe was not himself
the first to get out ofhann'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 ofconciliating the feelings
or soothing the follies ofothers. His only way therefore to produce a popular effect
is to sail with the stream ofprejudice, and to vent common dogmas, 'the total grist,
unsifted, husks and all,'13 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
ofthe feelings ofothers, 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
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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 ofobscurity, rather
than bring the armed intellect of a whole nation on our heads. 14
Mr Brougham speaks in a loud and unmitigated tone ofvoice, 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 shew 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. IS 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 rifaccimentosl 6 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 l7 in this latter character, when the conversation turned on squaring the
circle, and not on the propriety ofconfining 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. Ifwe pass 'no day without a line,'18 visit no place without the
company ofa book, we may with ease fill libraries or empty them oftheir 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. Ifanyone 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
ofhis mind. While one person is determining on the choice ofa profession or study,
another shall have made a fortune or gained a merited reputation. While one person
is dreaming over the meaning ofa word, another will have learnt several languages.
It is not incapacity, but indolence, indecision, want ofimagination, and a proneness
203
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 ofEurope, 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 ofthese, 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 ofthe 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, ifhe 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 ofYork credit for the
battle ofWaterloo, or congratulating Ministers on the confinement ofBuonaparte
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 ofmanhood with
the unimpaired enthusiasm of youthful feeling about him. His principles are
mellowed and improved,19 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. 20 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
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MR BROUGHAM - SIR fRANCIS BURDETT [340/341]
calamities. There is only one error he seems to labour under (which, we believe,
he also borrowed from Mr Home Tooke or Major Cartwright),21 the wanting to
go back to the early times ofour Constitution and history in search ofthe principles
oflaw and liberty. He might as well
Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream. 22
Liberty, in our opinion, is but a modem 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 ofpedantry. In general, his love ofliberty 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 ofthat 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 / offriends 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 ofCommons, 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! /
205
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;'1 who is full ofgood-humour and pleasantry; whose manners are gende 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 hean:2
within also, and that such a one would not I 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
rumes 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 ofothers; bears their calamities with
patience; he listens to the din and clang of war, the earthquake and the hurricane
ofthe political and moral world with the temper and spirit ofa 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 ofhuman life, ever discompose his
features or alter the serenity of his pulse. If a nation is robbed of its rights, I
If wretches hang that Ministers may dine,3 -
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
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LORD ELDON AND MR WILBERFORCE [347/349]
let a lump ofsoot 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 ifyou 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 ofwhat 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 offalsehood in his mouth,
without knowing any thing certain ofthe 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. 4 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
207
have been true; yet his readiness to decide and to condemn where he himself is
concerned, shews that passion is not dead in him, nor subject to the controul of
reason; but that self-love is the main-spring 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. 5
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 is proverbial; and
is, we believe, as inflexible as it is delicate in all cases that occur in the stated routine
oflegal practice. The impatience, the irritation, the hopes, the fears, the confident
tone ofthe applicants move him not ajot from his intended course, he looks at their
claims with the 'lack lustre eye'6 ofprofessional indifference. Power and influence
apart, his next strongest passion is to indulge in the exercise ofprofessional 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 ofjustice.
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 ofa 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
208
fellow-feeling on the subject, the Chancellor would have been ready to favour the
Poet-Laureat's application to the Court ofChancery for an injunction against Wat
Tyler. s His Lordship's sentiments on such points are not so variable, he has too
much at stake. He recollected the year 1794,9 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 short-sightedness or an easiness of
temperament that shrinks from any violent effort or painful emotion, self-interest,
indolence, the opinion ofothers, a desire to please, the sense ofpersonal 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 ofversatile talent or patient industry. - Lord Eldon has one ofthe 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 ofpride, ofspleen, 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,
ifhe 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,'IO 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! _II
There has been no stretch ofpower 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 ofinterest, power, and prejudice is brought into the field, the paper pellets
of the brain 12 go for nothing: his labyrinth of nice, lady-like doubts explodes like
a mine of gun-powder. The Chancellor may weigh and palter - the courtier is
209
decided, the politician is finn, 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. 13 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 abhortence 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 ofthe 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 ofprejudice, ofpower,
to the will ofothers and to his own interest. In the whole of his public career, and
with all the goodness of his disposition, he has not shewn 'so small a drop of pity
as a wren's eye.'14 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 Chancellor alone is fixed and immoveable. Is it want of
understanding or ofprinciple? No - it is want of imagination, a phlegmatic habit,
an excess of false complaisance and good-nature l5 • • • Common humanity and
justice are little better than vague tenns 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 comer 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 hann 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 himP6
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 ofmany
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 channed with the homage of his fellow-citizens.· 'What lacks he then?'17
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 ofothers. The graces and accomplishments ofprivate life mar the
210
man ofbusiness and the statesman. There is a severity, a sternness, a self-denial, and
a painful sense ofduty 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 ofthe whole world in our favour, we may end in becoming a sort ofbye-
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,'18
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
ofyoU!'19 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)20 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
EuropeFI 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,22 the smile ofMajesty, or the countenance
of the loyal and pious. He is anxious to do all the good he can without hurting
himselfor 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
211
worst abuses in civilized states. 23 He thus shews 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!'24 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;25 his public spirit is, in a manner, under the rose. 26 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
skiesY 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 anyone of his pretensions to preserve the
reality of any other. He carefully chooses his ground to fight the battles ofloyalty,
religion, and humanity, and it is such as is always safe and advantageous to himself!
This is perhaps hardly fair, and it is ofdangerous or doubtful tendency. Lord Eldon,
for instance, is known to be a thorough-paced ministerialist: his opinion is only that
ofhis party. But Mr Wilberforce is not a party-man. 28 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 eclat ofdiffering 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 hard-run
questions; while they, in return, lend him a little of the gilding of court-favour to
set offhis disinterested philanthropy and tramontane enthusiasm. As a leader or a
follower, he makes an odd jumble ofinterests. 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 ofany kind? - Mr Wilberforce's style ofspeaking 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 ofScripture, and scraps from Paley, and
trite sophistry, and pathetic appeals to his hearers in a faltering, improgressive,29
sidelong way, like those birds of weak wing, that are borne from their strait-
forward course
212
By every little breath that under heaven is blown. 30
Something of this fluctuating, time-serving principle was visible even in the great
question of the Abolition ofthe Slave Trade. He was, at one time, half inclined to
surrender it into Mr Pitt's dilatory hands, and seemed / to think the gloss ofnovelty
was gone from it, and the gaudy colouring ofpopularity 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 Redemption3 ! 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!* /
* Mter 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 - 'r am Mr Wilberforce!'The guardians of the night
conducted him home with all the honours due to Grace and Nature. 32
213
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.'2 While he supposed it possible that a better form
of society could be introduced than any that had hitherto existed, while the light
ofthe 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 ofclouds, 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 ofthe
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.'3
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 unbelie[ He must either repose on actual or on
imaginary good. He missed his way in Utopia, he has found it at Old Sarum4 -
His generous ardour no cold medium knows: s
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his eagerness admits of no doubt or delay. He is ever in extremes, and ever in the
wrong! 6
The reason is, that not truth, but self-opinion is the ruling principle of Mr
Southey's mind. The charm ofnovelty, the applause ofthe 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 ofa stronger spirit ofthe 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. Ifit 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 ofthe moment. The temperament
of our politician's mind is poetical, not philosophical. He is more the creature of
impulse, than he is ofreflection. He invents the unreal, he embellishes the false with
the glosses offancy, but pays little attention to 'the words of truth and soberness.'7
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 ofhis 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 oforthodoxy, 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 ofthe
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,'8 in order to
stifle the recollection that he himself once was one!
215
We must say that 'we relish Mr Southey more in the Reformer'9 than in his lately
/ acquired, but by no means natural or becoming character of poet-Iaureat and
courtier. He may rest assured that a garland ofwild 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, ifnot fantastical. '10 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 ofhim and about him is from
the people. He is not classical, he is not legitimateY 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. 12 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 a-new,
wiser than his betters, judging for himself, dictating to others. He is decidedly
revolutionary. He may have given up the reform ofthe State: but depend upon it, he
has some other hobby ofthe same kind. Does he not dedicate to his present Majesty
that extraordinary poem on the death ofhis father, called The Vision ifJudgment, as
a specimen of what might be done in English hexameters?13 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 l4
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 ofprivate humour, the assumption ofinfallibility and even ofthe voice
ofHeaven in this poem, are pointed instances ofwhat we have said. They shew the
singular state ofover-excitement ofMr Southey's mind, and the force ofold 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. 15 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,16 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 com, as the unweeded growth of a luxuriant and wandering
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MR SOUTHEY [374/377]
fancy; or ifwe allow the yeasty workings ofan ardent spirit to fennent 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 ofservility, 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 ofan 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 palliater of every dull, incorrigible abuse, it would not
be much to be wondered at or even regretted. 17 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 ofJoan of A rei 8 - that work in which the love of Liberty
is exhaled like the breath of spring, mild, balmy, heaven-born, that is full of tears
and virgin-sighs, and yearnings ofaffection after truth and good, gushing wann 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 ofa 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! Ifwe speak or have ever spoken ofMr Southey with
severity, it is with 'the malice of old friends,'19 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 ofJudgment
are the Alpha and Omega of his disjointed career)20 full of sallies of humour, of
ebullitions of spleen, makingjets-d'eaux, cascades, fountains, and water-works of
his idle opinions, he would shut up the wits ofothers in leaden cisterns, to stagnate
and corrupt, or bury them under ground -
Far from the sun and summer galeFI
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
unifonnity 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
217
cakes and ale?'22 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?23 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:'24 and the spirit of humanity (thanks to Mr Southey) is not quite expelled
from the Quarterly Review. At the comer ofhis pen, 'there hangs a vapourous drop
profound'25 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 ofself-interest, / and a man like
Mr Southey. Once a philanthropist and always a philanthropist. 26 No man can entirely
baulk his nature: it breaks out in spite ofhim. In all those questions, where the spirit
ofcontradiction does not interfere, on which he is not sore from old bruises, or sick
from the extravagance ofyouthful 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. 27 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 ofhis 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 ofhis own infirmities oftemper, and to feel a wish / to correct by
thought and time the precocity and sharpness ofhis 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-treeFB
Mr Southey's prose-style can scarcely be too much praised. It is plain, clear,

pointed, familiar, perfectly modem 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 ofany 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
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a want of originality and even of impetus: but there is no want of playful or biting
satire, of ingenuity, of casuistry, oflearning and of information. He is 'full of wise
saws and modern' (as well as ancient) 'instances.'29 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 I 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. 3o His histories abound in
information, and exhibit proofs ofthe 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 I seen Mr
Southey in company where few people appear to advantage, we mean in that ofMr
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 ofstatement for what he wants in originality ofthought, or
impetuous declamation. The tones ofMr Coleridge's voice are eloquence: those of
Mr Southey are meagre, shrill, and dry. Mr Coleridge'sforte is conversation, and he
is conscious ofthis: Mr Southey evidently considers writing as his strong-hold, 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,3!
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 ofhis 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 ofpleasing, and therefore lays himself
less out to please. There is an air of condescension in his civility. With a tall, loose
I 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 ofAddison, 'a parson in a tye_wig.'32 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
219
but - want <ifcharity! Having fewer errors to plead guilty to, he is less lenient to those
ofothers. 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 ofthe time has
unsettled him, and the multiplicity ofhis pretensions have jostled with each other.
No man in our day (at least no man ofgenius) has led so uniformly and entirely the
life of a scholar from boyhood to the present hour, devoting himself to learning
with the enthusiasm ofan early love, with the severity and constancy ofa 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 ofhis 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 ifhe 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 _ 33
on Derwent's banks, beneath the foot ofSkiddaw. Study serves him for business,
exercise, recreation. He passes from verse to prose, from history to poetry, from
reading to writing, by a stop-watch. 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 ofknowledge, than the originator ofit. He has
hardly grasp ofthought 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! /
220
MR T MOORE - MR LEIGH HUNT [387/388]
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 ofMr Moore's poetry. His verse is like a shower of beauty; a
dance ofimages; a stream ofmusic; or like the spray ofthe water-fall, tinged by the
morning-beam with rosy light. The characteristic distinction of our author's style
is this continuous and incessant flow ofvoluptuous 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 offlowers gemmed with innumerous
dewdrops, / 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.... 2
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: '3 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
221
/ wear cast-off decorations. Rather than have any lack of excitement, he repeats
himself; and 'Eden, and Eblis, and cherub-smiles'4 fill up the pauses ofthe 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 shew, 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 offireworks, / with a continual explosion of quaint figures
and devices, £lash after £lash, that surprise for the moment, and leave no trace oflight
or warmth behind them. Or modem poetry in its retrograde progress comes at last
to be constructed on the principles ofthe 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 ofnature, ofthe heart, or ofhuman life. He stunts and enfeebles equally the
growth of the imagination and the affections, by not taking the seed ofpoetry 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, _5
instead ofwhich he anticipates and defeats his own object, by plucking £lowers and
blossoms / from the stem, and setting them in the ground ofidleness and folly - or
in the cap of his own vanity, where they soon wither and disappear, 'dying or ere
they sicken!'6 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 ofnectar' d sweets' - but we cannot add,
- 'where no crude surfeit reigns.'7 He indeed cloys with sweetness; he obscures
222
MR T MOORE - MR LEIGH HUNT [3911393]
with splendour; he fatigues with gaiety. We are stifled on beds ofroses - we literally
lie 'on the rack of restless ecstacy.'8 His flowery fancy 'looks so fair and smells so
sweet, that the sense aches at it.'9 His verse droops and languishes under a load of
beauty, like a bough laden with fruit. His gorgeous style is like 'another mom risen
on mid-noon.'loThere 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 charmll
to match it, and revels in a fairy round ofpleasure. The interest is not dramatic, but
melo-dramatic - it is a mixture of painting, poetry, and music, of the natural and
preternatural, of obvious sentiment and romantic costume. A rose is a Cui, 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 ofbeauty - 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, patch-work
style may succeed in the levity and languor of the boudoir, or might have been
adapted to the Pavilions of royalty,12 but it is not the style of Parnassus, nor a
passport to Immortality.13 It is not the taste of the ancients, "tis not classicallore'14
- nor the fashion ofTibullus, 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
ofour English Anacreon,15 and it is (or was) the fashion ofthe 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

Sofdy 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.
223
To one who look'd from upper air,

O'er all th' enchanted regions there,
How beauteous must have been the glow,
The life, the sparkling from below! 1
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
Ofruin'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 wann 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. _16
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 forever! 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. 1 17
There is in all this a play offancy, a glitter ofwords, 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 vanityP8
Mr Moore ought not to contend with serious difficulties or with entire subjects.
He can write verses, not a poem. There is no principle ofmassing or ofcontinuity
224
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 ofdress, and the want ofpassion 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 oudines 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. IfMr Moore were to describe the heights ofChimboraco, 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 ajeweller's toy, to be set upon a lady's toilette. In proof of
this, see above 'the diamond turrets of Shadukiam,'19 &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.20
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.21
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. _22
is fantastic and enervated - a field of batde 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 _23
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 ofblood evaporate in an empty conceit, let it be governed as it has been. There
225
are here no tones to waken Liberty, to console Humanity. Mr Moore converts the
wild harp ofErin into a musical snuff-box*! - We do except from this censure the
author's political squibs, and the 'Twopenny / Post-bag.'24 These are essences, are
'nests of spicery,'2S bitter and sweet, honey and gall together. No one can so well
describe the set speech of a dull formalist t, or the flowing locks of a Dowager,
In the manner of Ackermann's dresses for May.26
His light, agreeable, polished style pierces through the body ofthe court - hits off
the faded graces of ' an Adonis offifty,'27 weighs the vanity offashion in tremulous
scales, mimics the grimace of affectation and folly, shews up the littleness of the
great, and spears a phalanx ofstatesmen 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.'28 /
Nothing in Pope or Prior ever surpassed the delicate insinuation and adroit satire
ofthese lines, and hundreds more ofour author's composition. We wish he would
not take pains to make us think of them with less pleasure than formerly. - The
'Fudge Family'29 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'JO and 'the mountains Ii la Russe'31 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 ofthe great, and his gaiety, his wit, his good-humour,
and many agreeable accomplishments fixed him there, the darling ofhis friends and
the idol offashion. Ifhe is no longer familiar with Royalty as with his garter,32 the
* Compare his songs with Burns's.

t There was a litde man, and he had a litde soul,
And he said, Litde soul, let us try, &c. _ 33
Parody on
There was a litde man, and he had a litde 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.
226
fault is not his - his adherence to his principles caused the separation - his love of
his country34 was the cloud that intercepted the sunshine ofcourt-favour. This / is
so far well. Mr Moore vindicates his own dignity; but the sense ofintrinsic worth,
ofwide-spread fame, and ofthe intimacy ofthe 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 ofWhig Lords, and so enchanted by the smile ofbeauty
and fashion, that he really fancies himself one ofthe set, to which he is admitted on
sufferance, and tries very unnecessarily to keep others out ofit. He talks familiarly
ofworks 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. 35 There
is a little indulgence ofspleen 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 ofa certain publication, lest he should not be able to give an account
at Holland or at Lansdown House, how his friend Lord Byron had associated
himselfwith his friend Leigh Hunt?36 Is he afraid that the 'Spirit ofMonarchy'37 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 ofsetting bounds to the weakness and
illusions ofself-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 ofpopular prejudice, who has suffered shipwreck
ofhealth, fame and fortune in a common cause,38 and who has deserved the aid and
the good wishes ofall 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 ofan individual who,
in the cast ofhis 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 ofhis friends will bring against Mr Leigh Hunt.
He improves upon acquaintance. The author translates admirably into the man.
Indeed the very faults ofhis style are virtues in the individual. His natural gaiety and
227
[402l405J SELECTED WRITINGS OF WILLIAM HAZLlTT: VOLUME 7
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 fire-side, 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:'39 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 ofhim: 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 ofsatisfaction 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 ofletters. He might then have played, and sung, and laughed, and
talked his life away; have written manly prose, elegant verse; and his Story ofRimini
would have been praised by Mr Blackwood. 4O 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 oflines from Mr Southey's Epics or from Mr Moore's Lalla Rookh. In a
more gay and conversational style ofwriting, we think his Epistle to Lord Byron41 on
his going abroad, is a masterpiece; - and the Feast ofthe Poets has run through several
editions. 42 A light, familiar grace, and mild unpretending pathos are the /
characteristics ofhis more sportive or serious writings, whether in poetry or prose.
A smile plays round the 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
228
MR T MOORE - MR LEIGH HUNT [405]
much wayward caprice in both. A wit and a poet, Mr Hunt is also distinguished by
fineness oftact 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 that, though his Majesty has grown older, our luckless politician
is no wiser than he was then! /
229
Elia, and Geoffiey 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 ofCynthia'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,'2 though he too has borrowed from previous sources, instead of
availing himself ofthe 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 ofmodern literature, for the amusement ofthe
general reader: Mr Lamb has raked among the dust and cobwebs ofa more remote
period, has exhibited specimens of curious relics, and pored over moth-eaten,
decayed manuscripts, for the benefit ofthe more inquisitive and discerning part of
the public. Antiquity after a 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 ofhuman life pours along to some festive shew, to some pageant ofa day,
Elia would stand on one side to look over an old book-stall, or stroll down some
desertC';d pathway in search of a pensive inscription over a tottering door-way, or
some quaint device in architecture, illustrative ofembryo art and ancient manners.
230
ELlA AND GEOFFREY CRAYON [411/413)
Mr Lamb has the very soul of an antiquarian, as this implies a reflecting humanity;
the film of the past hovers for ever before him. He is shy, sensitive, the reverse of
every thing coarse, vulgar, obtrusive, and common-place. He would fain 'shuffie off
this mortal coil,'3 and his spirit clothes itself in the garb ofelder time, homelier, but
more durable. He is borne along with no pompous paradoxes, shines in no
glittering tinsel ofa 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 ofostentatious 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. 4
These lines well describe the modest and delicate beauties ofMr Lamb's writings,
contrasted with the lofty and vain-glorious pretensions of some of his
contemporaries. This gentleman is not one ofthose who pay all their homage to the
prevailing idol: he thinks that
New-born gauds are made and moulded of things past. s
nor does he
Give to dust that is a little gilt

More laud than gilt o'er-dusted. 6 1
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
perfectjudgment ofall-seeing time. '7 Mr Lamb rather affects and is tenacious ofthe
obscure and remote: ofthat which rests on its own intrinsic and silent merit; which
scorns all alliance, or even the suspicion ofowing any thing to noisy clamour, to the
glare ofcircumstances. 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
231
yearns after and covets what soothes the frailty ofhuman 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,'8 than a thing of
yesterday, that may be forgotten to-morrow. Death has in this sense the spirit oflife
in it; and the shadowy has to our author something substantial in it. Ideas savour
most ofreality in his mind; or rather his imagination loiters on the edge ofeach, and
a page ofhis writings / recals to our fancy the stranger on the grate, fluttering9 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
himselfofthem; 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 ofexisting manners; brings down the account ofcharacter 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 ofthe 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!'10 With what a firm, yet subtle pencil he has embodied Mrs Battle's Opinions
on Ulhist!l1 How notably he embalms a battered beau;12 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 ofhuman infirmity. Then there is no one who has so sure an ear for
'the chimes at midnight,'13 not even excepting Mr Justice Shallow; nor could
Master Silence himself take his 'cheese and pippins'14 with a more significant and
satisfactory air. With what a gusto Mr Lamb describes the inns and courts oflaw,
the Temple and Gray's-Inn, as if he had been a student there for the last two
hundred years;lS / 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
232
ELlA AND GEOFFREY CRAYON [416/418]
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,16 and Christ's-Hospital still breathes
the balmy breath of infancy in his description of itll7 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. IS The
streets ofLondon are his fairy-land, teeming with wonder, with life and interest to
his retrospective glance, as it did to the eager eye ofchildhood; 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
Smollett and 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 ofShakespear 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 goodjudge 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 ofenthusiasm, 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 ofa 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 ofmerit seem like a sort ofpatronage, or act ofcondescension, 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
233
charge ofa certain mannerism. His sentences are cast in the mould ofold 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
anyone / can) 'to have coined his heart for jests, '19 and to have split his brain for fine
distinctions! Mr Lamb, from the peculiarity ofhis 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,20 and the texture ofhis 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 ofin our times), and he has been invited, in his character ofELIA, to
dine at a select party with the Lord Mayor.21 We should prefer this distinction to
that of being poet-Iaureat. We would recommend to Mr Waithman's perusal22 (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* from the last-mentioned
of these works, which / meeting Mr Godwin's eye, he was so struck with the
beauty ofthe passage, and with a consciousness ofhaving 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 he has
tasked his own faculties much, at least on English ground. Of the merit of his
Knicker-bocker, and New York stories,23 we cannot pretend to judge. But in his
Sketch-book and Bracebridge-Hall 24 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, and as proofs of the capabilities of the national genius, but which might be
dispensed with here, where we have to boast ofthe originals. Not only Mr Irvine's
language is with great taste and felicity modelled on that of Addison, Sterne,
Goldsmith, 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
* The description of sports in the forest:

To see the sun to bed and to arise,
Like some hot amourist with glowing eyes, &C.25
234
ELlA AND GEOFFREY CRAYON [4211423]
approved authors, and which were the only idea he had hitherto fonned of the
parent country. Instead oflooking 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;'26 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 ofthe 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, hospitality, / modesty, 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. 27 This is one way of complimenting our national and Tory
prejudices;28 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. 29 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 ofa man Mr Knowles is, we could only say, 'he is the writer ofVirginius. ' His
most intimate friends see nothing in him, by which they could trace the work to
the author. The seeds ofdramatic genius are contained and fostered in the wannth
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 ofthe 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
235
simplicity; and strength, proportion, and delicacy are the infallible results. By
thinking ofnothing but his subject, he rivets the attention ofthe 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 modem
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 ifhe
had to speak it himsel£ 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 /
236
APPENDIX I
'Mr Canning'
The Spirit of the Age was published in what was effectively a second edition by A.
and W. Galignani in Paris, 1825. On this occasion the text was considerably altered.
The order ofthe essays was quite different. Those on Thomas Moore and Geoffrey
Crayon (Washington Irving) were omitted, and that on Canning was added. It had
appeared first in the Examiner, 11 July 1824, as 'Character ofMr Canning', without
signature. It is included here, edited from the Paris edition of 1825.
237
[192/194J
Mr Canning l
Mr Canning was the cleverest boy at Eton: 2 he is, perhaps, the cleverest man in the
House of Commons. It is, however, in the sense in which, according to Mr
Wordsworth, 'the child is father to the man. '3 He has grown up entirely out ofwhat
he then was. He has merely ingrafted a set of Parliamentary phrases and the
technicalities of debate on the themes and school-exercises he was set to compose
when a boy. Nor has he ever escaped from / the trammels imposed on youthful
genius: he has never assumed a manly independence of mind. He has been all his
life in the habit ofgetting up a speech at the nod ofa Minister, as he used to get up
a thesis under the direction of his school-master. The matter is nothing; the only
question is, how he shall express himsel£ The consequence has been as might be
expected. Not being at liberty to choose his own side of the question, nor to look
abroad into the world for original (but perhaps unwelcome) observations, nor to
follow up a strict chain ofreasoning into its unavoidable consequences, the whole
force of his mind has been exhausted in an attention to the ornaments ofstyle and
to an agreeable and imposing selection oftopics. It is his business and his inclination
to embellish what is trite, to gloss over what is true, to vamp up some feeble
sophism, to spread the colours of a meretricious fancy over the unexpected
exposure of some dark intrigue, some glaring iniquity -
Like as the sun-burnt Indians do array

Their tawny bodies in the proudest plight
With painted plumes in goodly order dight: 1
*******
As those same plumes, so seemed he vain and light,
That by his gait might easily appear;
For still he fared as dancing in delight,
In The Examiner text the essay has the epigraph: 'Party is the madness of many for the gain
of a few. - Pope'.
2 Mr Canning was the cleverest boy at Eton] It is true that Canning distinguished himself at Eton
for his wit, scholarship, and precocious powers of composition.
3 the child isfather to the man] from Wordworth, The Rainbow, 1. 7:'The child is father of the man'.
238
APPENDIX I: 'MR CANNING' [194/197]
And in his hands a wind fan did bear,

That in his idle air he moved still here and there. 4
SPENSER
His reasoning is a tissue of glittering sophistry; his language is a cento of florid

common-places. The smooth monotony of his style is indeed as much borrowed,
is as little his own, as the courtly and often fulsome strain of his sentiments. He has
no steady principles, no strong passions, nothing original, masculine, or striking in
thought or expression. There is a feeble, diffuse, showy, Asiatic redundancy in all
his speeches - something vapid, something second-hand in the whole cast of his
mind. The light that proceeds from it gleams from the mouldering materials of
corruption: the flowers that are seen there, gay and flaunting, bloom over the grave
of humanity! - Mr Canning never, by any chance, reminds one of the poet or the
philosopher, of the admirer of nature, or even the man of the world - he is a mere
House-of-Commons man, or, / since he was transferred there from College,S
appears never to have seen or thought of any other place. He may be said to have
passed his life in making and learning to make speeches. All other objects and
pursuits seem to have been quite lost upon him. He has overlooked the ordinary
objects ofnature, the familiar interests ofhuman life, as beneath his notice. * There
is no allusion in any of his speeches to any thing passing out of the House, or not
to be found in the classics. Their tone is quite Parliamentary - his is the Oelphin
edition ofNature. 6 Not an image has struck his eye, not an incident has touched his
heart, any farther than it could be got up for rhetorical and stage effect. This has an
ill effect upon his speeches: - it gives them that shining and bloated appearance
which is the result ofthe confined and heated atmosphere ofthe House. They have
* Mr Canning, when on a tour to the Lakes, did Mr Wordsworth the honour of paying him a
visit. The favour was duly appreciated, but quite unexpected.' Really we do not know anyone
so little capable of appreciating the Lyrical Ballads.
Like as the sun-burnt Indians do array . .. still here and there] from The Faerie Queene, III. xii.
st. 8, 11. 2-9.
5 since he was transferred there from College] Canning did not go straight to the House; in 1790
he entered Lincoln's Inn, residing in the Inner Temple. He did not become MP for Newtown
until January 1794.
6 the Delphin edition of Nature] Hazlitt refers to Delphin Classics, a series ofover 180 volumes of
classical texts, edited and annotated, which began publishing in 1819.
7 Mr Canning, when on a tour to the Lakes ... quite unexpected] Much might be said about
Wordsworth's relationship with Canning. It is not clear what visit Hazlitt has in mind here. The
two men met in Paris in 1820, and had a mutual friend in John Bolton, resident of Storrs Hall
on Windermere. They dined there together, 21 August 1825, and had probably encountered
each other there before that. In a letter to Alaric Watts of16 November 1824,Wordsworth noted
that The Idiot Boy was a special favourite with the late Mr Fox and with the present Mr Canning'
(LY, i, p. 285).
239
[1971200] WORKS OF WILLIAM HAZLITT:VOLUME 7
the look of exotics, of artificial, hot-house plants. Their glossiness, their /

luxuriance, and gorgeousness of colour are greater than their strength or stamina:
they are forced, not lasting, nor will they bear transplanting from the rank and
noxious soil in which they grow. Or rather, perhaps, they bear the same relation to
eloquence that artificial flowers do to real ones - alike, yet not the same, without
vital heat or the power of reproduction, painted, passionless, specious mockeries.
They are, in fact, not the growth oftruth, ofnature, and feeling, but ofstate policy,
of art, and practice. To deny that Mr Canning has arrived to a great perfection
(perhaps the greatest) in the manufacture ofthese sort of common-places, elegant, but
somewhat tarnished, imposing, but not solid, would, we think, show a want of
candour: to affirm that he has ever done any thing more (in his serious attempts)
would, we think, show an equal want of taste and understanding. * /
The way in which Mr Canning gets up the staple-commodity of his speeches
appears to be this. He hears an observation on the excellence of the English
Constitution, or on the dangers of Reform and the fickleness and headstrong
humours ofthe people, dropped by some Member ofthe House, or he meets with
it in an old Debate in the time of Sir Robert Walpole,S or in Paley's Moral and
Political Philosophy, which our accomplished scholar read, of course, as the
established text-book at the University. 9 He turns it in his mind: by dint ofmemory
and ingenuity he illustrates it by the application of some well-known and well-
authenticated simile at hand, such as 'the vessel ofthe state,' 'the torrent ofpopular
fury,' 'the precipice ofreform,' 'the thunder-bolt ofwar,' 'the smile ofpeace,' etc.
He improves the hint by the help ofa little play upon words and upon an idle fancy
into an allegory, he hooks this on to a verbal inference, which takes you by surprise,
equally from the novelty of the premises and the flatness of the conclusion, refers
to a passage in Cicero in support of his argument, / quotes his authority, relieves
exhausted attention by a sounding passage from Virgil, 'like the mom risen on mid-
noon,' 10 and launches the whole freight ofwisdom, wit, learning, and fancy, on the
floor of St Stephen's Chapel,1I where it floats and glitters amidst the mingled
curiosity and admiration of both sides of the House-
*We once heard it said, that'Mr Canning had the most elegant mind since Virgil.' But we could
not assent to this remark, as we just then happened to think of Claude Lorraine.
in the time of Sir Robert Walpole] Sir Robert Walpole, 1st Earl of Orford (1676-1745), in
power from 1721 to 1742, was the first British Prime Minister.
9 or in Paley's Moral and Political Philosophy . .. the established text-book at the University] Canning
was an undergraduate at Christ Church, Oxford, 1788-90.
10 like the morn risen on mid-noon] from Paradise Lost, v, 11. 310-11.
II St Stephen's Chapeij the building at Westminster in which the House of Commons met until
1834.
240
APPENDIX I: 'MR CANNING' [2001203]
Scylla heard,
And fell Charybdis murmur'd soft applause. 12
Beneath the broad and gilded chandelier that throws its light upon 'the nation's
Great Divan,'13 Mr Canning piles the lofty harangue, high over-arched with
metaphor, dazzling with epithets, sparkling with jests - take it out of doors, or
examine it by the light of common sense, and it is no more than a paltry string of
sophisms, of trite truisms, and sorry buffooneries. - There is also a House-of-
Commons jargon as well as a scholastic pedantry in this gentleman's style of
oratory, which is very displeasing to all but professional ears. 'The Honourable and
Learned Gentleman,' and 'his Honourable and Gallant Friend,' are trolled over the
tongue of the Honourable / Speaker, 'loud as a trumpet with a silver sound,'14 and
fill up the pauses ofthe sense or the gaps in the logic with a degree ofburlesque self-
complacency and pompous inanity. Mr Canning speaks by rote; and if the words
he utters become the mouth and round a period well, he cares little how cheaply
he comes by them, or how dear they cost the country! Such mechanic helps to style
and technical flourishes and trappings of upstart self-importance are, however,
unworthy of the meanest underling of office.
There is, notwithstanding, a facility, a brilliancy, and an elegance in Mr
Canning's general style, always graceful, never abrupt, never meagre, never dry,
copious without confusion, dignified without stiffness, perspicuous yet remote
from common life, that must excite surprise in an extempore speaker. Mr Canning,
we apprehend, is not an extempore speaker. He only makes set speeches on set
occasions. He indeed hooks them in as answers to some one that has gone before
him in the debate, by taking up and commenting on a single sentence or so, but he
immediately / recurs to some old and favourite topic, launches into the middle of
the stream, or mounts upon the high horse and rides it to the end ofthe chapter. He
never (that we are aware of) grappled with a powerful antagonist, overthrew him
on the spot, or contested the point with him foot to foot. Mr Canning's replies are
evasions. He indeed made a capital, and very deservedly-admired reply to Sir John
Coxe Hippesley;IS but Sir John had given notice of all his motions a month
12 Scylla heard ... soft applause] from Comus, 11. 256, 258.
13 the nation! Great Divan1perhaps a recollection of B. W. Procter, Pandemonium, 8: 'Come!
unto our great Divan!'
14 loud as a trumpet with a silver sound] from Dryden, Palamon and Arate, iii, 1. 85.
15 He indeed made a capital ... reply to Sir John Coxe Hippesley] On 11 March 1813 Sir John
Coxe Hippesley moved 'That a Select Committee be appointed, to examine and report the
state of the laws affecting His Majesty's Roman Catholic subjects within the Realm'. After an
eloquent review ofthe general position ofCatholics, Canning counselled Sir John 'to remember
his past deeds, and, like another repentant Coriolanus to quit the camp of his Volscian allies,
and return to Rome again' (Therry, iii, pp. 418-19); the whole of Canning's reply is at Therry,
iii, pp. 396-419.
241
beforehand, and Mr Canning had only to lie in ambush for him with a whole
magazine of facts, arguments, alliterations, quotations, jests, and squibs, prepared
ready to explode and blow him up into the air in an instant. In this manner he
contrives to slip into the debate and speak to the question, as ifhe had lately entered
the House and heard the arguments on the other side stated for the first time in his
life. He has conned his speeches over for a week or a month previously, but he gives
these premeditated effusions the effect of witty impromptus - the spontaneous
ebullitions ofthe laughter or indignation or lofty / enthusiasm ofthe moment. His
manner tells this. It is that of a person trying to recollect a speech, and reciting it
from beginning to end with studied gesture, and in an emphatic but monotonous
and somewhat affected tone of voice, rather than of a person uttering words and
thoughts that have occurred to him for the first time, and hurried away by an
involuntary impulse, speaking with more or less hesitation, faster or slower, and
with more or less passion, according as the occasion requires.
Mr Canning is a conventional speaker; he is an optional politician. He has a ready
and splendid assortment ofarguments upon all ordinary questions: he takes that side
or view of a question that is dictated by his vanity, his interest, or his habits, and
endeavours to make the best he can ofit. Truth, liberty, justice, humanity, war or
peace, civilization or barbarism, are things oflittle consequence, except for him to
make speeches upon them. He thinks 'the worse the better reason,' 16 ifhe can only
make it appear so to others; and in the attempt to confound and mislead, he is /
greatly assisted by really perceiving no difference himself. It is not what a thing is,
but what he can say about it, that is ever uppermost in his mind; and why should
he be squeamish or have any particular choice, since his words are all equally fine,
and delivered with equal volubility of tongue? His balanced periods are the scale
'that makes these odds all even.'l? Our Orator does not confine himself to anyone
view of a subject. He does not blind himself by any dull prejudice: he does not tie
himself down to any pedantic rules or abstract principle. He does not listen
implicitly to common sense, nor does he follow the independent dictates of his
own judgment. No, he picks and chooses among all these, as best suits his purpose.
He plucks out the grey hairs of a question, and then again the black. He shifts his
position; it is a ride-and-tie system with him. He mounts sometimes behind
prejudice, and sometimes behind reason. He is now with the wise, and then again
with the vulgar. He drivels, or he raves. He is now wedded to antiquity, anon there
is no innovation too startling for / him. At one time he is literal, at another visionary
and romantic. At one time the honour of the country sways him, at another its
interest. One moment he is all for liberty, and the next for slavery. First we are to
16 the worse the better reason] from Paradise Lost, ii, 11. 113-14.
17 that makes these odds all even] from Measure for Measure, III. i. 41.
242
hold the balance ofEurope, and to dictate and domineer over the whole world; and
then we are to creep into our shells and draw in our horns; one moment resembling
Don Quixote, and the next playing the part of Sancho Panza! And why not? All
these are topics, are cues used in the game ofpolitics, are colours in the changeable
coat ofparty, are dilemmas in casuistry, are pretexts in diplomacy; and Mr Canning
has them all at his fingers' ends. What is there then to prevent his using any ofthem
as he pleases? Nothing in the world but feeling or principle; and as Mr Canning is
not withheld by these from running his heedless career, the application of his
ingenuity and eloquence in all such cases is perfectly arbitrary, 'quite optional,' as Mr
Liston expresses it.IS A wise man would have some settled opinion, a good man
would wish well to some cause, a modest man would / be afraid to act without
feeling sure of his ground, or to show an utter disregard of right or wrong. Mr
Canning has the luckless ambition to playoff the tricks of a political rope-dancer,
and he chooses to do it on the nerves ofhumanity! He has called out for war during
thirty years without ceasing, 'like importunate Guinea fowls, one note day and
night;'19 he has made the House and the country ring with his vain clamour, and
now for the first time he is silent, 'quite chopfallen.'20 Like Bottom in the play, 'he
aggravates his voice like a sucking-dove;'21 'he roars you an 'twere any nightingale!'
After the failure of Bonaparte's Russian expedition, Mr Canning exclaimed
exultingly, and with a daring enthusiasm that seemed to come from the heart, that
'he rejoiced that barbarism had been the first to resist invasion, since it showed that
the love of national independence was an instinctive principle in every country,
superior even to the love ofliberty.'22 This plea served its turn at the time, and we
heard no more ofit last year when the French invaded Spain. In the war to restore
Ferdinand,23 / Mr Canning echoed with lungs of brass the roar of 'the universal
18 'quite optional,' as Mr Liston expresses it] Hazlitt refers to Liston's performance as Lubin Log in
James Kenney, Love, Law, and Physic (1821), I, i: 'Why! as to that you know, it's quite optional,
just as the passengers like .. .' (p. 7).
19 like importunate Guinea fowls ... day and night] from Burke, Letters on a Regidde Peace, Letter
I : 'like importunate Guinea-fowls crying one note day and night, they have called for peace'
(McDowell, p. 225).
20 quite chopfallen] from Hamlet, V. i. 192.
21 he aggravates his voice like a sucking-dove] from A Midsummer Night's Dream, I. ii. 81- 3.
22 he rejoiced that barbarism ... love of liberty] Hazlitt refers to Canning's speech at Liverpool, 10
January 1814:'By what power, in what part of the world, has that final blow been struck, which
has smitten the tyrant to the ground? I suppose, by some enlightened republic; by some recendy
regenerated government of pure philanthropy and uncorrupted virtue.... Alas, Gendemen,
such a republic I do indeed find; but I find it enlisted, and (God be thanked!) enlisted alone,
under the banner of the despot. But where was the blow struck? Where? Alas for theory! In the
wilds of despotic Russia!' (Therry, vi, pp. 335-6).
23 In the war to restore Ferdinand] FerdinandVII (1784-1833) was returned to the Spanish throne
in 1814. His tyrannical rule was constandy under threat, and from 1820-3 he was effectively the
243
[2091212] WORKS OF WILLIAM HAZLITT: VOLUME 7
Spanish nation,'24 and the words Liberty and Humanity hung like music on his
tongue; but when the feeble Monarch was restored, and trod upon the necks of
those who had restored him, and threw down the mock-scaffold of the
Constitution that had raised him once more to the throne, we heard no more of
'the universal Spanish nation,' ofLiberty and Humanity. When the speeches ofMr
Canning and the Manifestos of his friends had raised the power of France to a
gigantic height that hung like a precipice over our heads, we were to go on, and
fight out the battle ofliberty and independence, though 'we buried ourselves under
the ruins of the civilized world.'25 When a monstrous claim that threatens the
liberty and existence of the civilized world is openly set up and acted upon, and a
word from Mr Canning would arrest its progress in the direction in which it is
moving with obscene, ghastly, blood-stained strides, he courteously and with great
condescension reminds his hearers of 'the inimitable satire of Cervantes,'26/ that
there is a proverbial expression borrowed from it, and that the epithet Quixotic
would be eminently applicable to the conduct of Great Britain if she interfered in
the affairs of the continent at the present juncture. And yet there are persons who
persist in believing that Mr Canning is any thing more than a pivot on whose oily
hinges state policy turns easily at this moment, unheard, unseen, and that he has
views and feelings of his own that are a pledge for his integrity. - If all this were
fickleness, caprice, forgetfulness, accident, folly, it would be well or would not
much signify; we should stand a chance of sometimes being right, sometimes
wrong; or if the ostensible motives were the real ones, they would balance one
another. At one time we should be giving a lift to liberty, at another we should be
advancing our own interests: now we should be generous to others, then we should
be just to ourselves, but always we should be doing something or other fit to be
done and to be named, and acting up to one or other of Mr Canning's fine pleas
ofreligion, morality, or social order. Is that the case? Nothing / was said for twenty
prisoner of a group of revolutionaries led by the army leader, General Rafael del Riego. The
French moved into Spain on 7 April 1823 and restored Ferdinand to power; that is the 'war' to
which Hazlitt refers.
2. the universal Spanish nation] In a speech in the House of Commons on 24 February 1809,
Canning upheld the view that it was England's duty to go to the assistance of Spain, however
much its constitutional principles might differ from our own; he does at one point use the
phrase, 'the Spanish nation' (Therry, ii, p. 373).
25 we buried ourselves under . .. dvilized world] Hazlitt is recalling Canning's speech of17 October
1812 in Liverpool: 'Since the death ofMr Pitt, I acknowledge no leader. My political allegiance
lies buried in his grave' (Therry, vi, p. 326).
26 the inimitable satire of Cervantes] Canning does not use that phrase, but in his Plymouth
speech, October 1823, he applies the word 'Quixotic' to 'an enterprise, romantic in its origin,
and thankless in the end' (Therry, vi, p. 423); it is more likely that Hazlitt is echoing himself
(,the immortal satire of Cervantes', p. 94, above).
244
years about the restoration of the Bourbons as the object of the war. Who doubts
it now? This cause skulked behind the throne, and was not let out in any of Mr
Canning's speeches. The cloven foot was concealed by so much flaunting oratory,
by so many different facings and piebald patch-work liveries of ruinous policy or
perfidious principle, as not to be suspected. This is what makes such persons as Mr
Canning dangerous. Clever men are the tools with which bad men work. The
march of sophistry is devious: the march of power is one. Its means, its tools, its
pretexts are various, and borrowed like the hues of the camelion from any object
that happens to be at hand: its object is ever the same, and deadly as the serpent's
fang. It moves on to its end with crested majesty, erect, silent, with eyes sunk and
fixed, undiverted by fear, unabashed by shame, and puny orators and patriot
mountebanks play tricks before it to amuse the crowd, till it crushes the world in
its monstrous folds. There is one word about which nothing has been said all this
while in accounting / for Mr Canning's versatility of mind and vast resources in
reasoning - it is the word Legitimacy. It is the key with which you 'pluck out the
heart of his mystery.>27 It is the touchstone by which all his other eloquence is to
be tried, and made good or found wanting. It is the casting-weight in the scale of
sound policy, or that makes humanity and liberty kick the beam. It is the secret of
the Ayes and Noes: it accounts for the Majorities and Minorities. It weighs down
all other considerations, hides all flaws, makes up for all deficiencies, removes all
obstacles, is the crown ofsuccess, and makes defeat glorious. It has all the power of
the Crown on its side, and all the madness ofthe people. All Mr Canning's speeches
are but so many different periphrases for this one word - Legitimacy. It is the
foundation ofhis magnanimity, and the source ofhis pusillanimity. It is the watch-
word equally of his oratory or his silence. It is the principle of his interference and
of his forbearance. It makes him move forward, or retreat, or stand still. With this
word rounded closely in his ear, and with fifty evasions for / it in his mouth, he
advances boldly to 'the deliverance of mankind'28 - into the hands of legitimate
kings, but can do nothing to deliver them out oftheir power. When the liberty and
independence of mankind can be construed to mean the cause of kings and the
doctrine of divine right, Mr Canning is a virago on the side of humanity - when
they mean the cause of the people and the reducing of arbitrary power within the
limits of constitutional law, his patriotism and humanity flag, and he is
Of his port as meek as is a maid! 29
27 pluck out the heart of his mystery] from Hamlet, IIl.ii.365-6.

28 the deliverance of mankind] from the refrain of Southey. Carmen Triumphale: 'Glory to God, his
song, Deliverance for Mankind!'
29 OJ his port as meek as is a maid!] from Chaucer, General Prologue to the Canterbury Tales,1. 69.
245
This word makes his tropes and figures expand and blaze out like phosphorus, or
'freezes his spirits up like fish in a pond.'30 It smites with its petrific mace,31 it
deadens with its torpedo touch, the Minister, the Parliament, the people, and
makes this vast, free, enlightened, and enterprising country, a body without a soul,
an inert mass, like the hulks of our men at war, which Mr Canning saw and
described so well at Plymouth. 32 It is the same word, that announcing the
profanation of 'the / golden round that binds the hollow temples of a king'33 by
unhallowed hands, would ftll their sails, and hurl their thunders on rebel shores. It
denounces war, it whispers peace. It is echoed by the groans of the nations, is
sanctified by their blood, bought with their treasure. It is this that fills the time-rent
towers ofthe Inquisition with tears and piercing cries; and owing to this, Manzotti
shrieks in Italian dungeons,34 while Mr Canning soothes the House of Commons
with the soft accents ofliberty and peace! - In fine, Mr Canning's success as an
orator, and the space he occupies in the public mind, are strong indications of the
Genius ofthe Age, in which words have obtained a mastery over things, and 'to call
evil good and good evil,'35 is thought the mark of a superior and happy spirit. An
accomplished statesman in our day, is one who extols the Constitution and violates
it - who talks about religion and social order, and means slavery and superstition.
The Whigs are always reminding the reigning family of the principles that raised them
to the throne - the Tories labour as hard to substitute those / that will keep them there.
There is a dilemma here, which is not easily got over; and to solve the difficulty and
reconcile the contradiction, was the great problem of the late King's reign. The
doubtful lubricity of Mr Canning's style was one of the rollers by which the
transition was effected, and Legitimacy shown to be a middle term between divine
right and the choice cif the people, compatible with both, and convertible into either,
at the discretion of the Crown, or pleasure of the speaker. - Mr Canning does not
disgrace his pretensions on other questions. He is a sophist by profession, a palliator
30 freezes his spirits up like flsh in a pond] from 2 Henry IV, I. i. 199-200.
31 petriflc mace] from Paradise Lost, x, l. 294.
32 the hulks of our men at war . .. well at Plymouth] In his speech on receiving the freedom of
Plymouth, October 1823, Canning referred to 'the state of inertness and inactivity in which I
have seen those mighty masses that float in the waters above your town' (Therry, vi, pp. 423-4).
The passage is printed in italics because, as Therry notes, 'the passage in allusion to the ships at
anchor near the town, towards the close ofit, perhaps has seldom been equalled - never surpassed
- in the peculiar aptness, force, and beauty with which it illustrates the topic of which it treats'
(Therry, vi, p. 420).
33 the golden round that binds ... of a king] from Richard II, III. ii. 160-l.
34 Manzotti shrieks in Italian dungeons] The name ofManzotti is untraced. Hazlitt may be thinking
of Pietro Maroncelli who, with Silvio Pellico and others, was in 1822 condemned to lifelong
imprisonment by the Austrian government in Lombardy.
3S to call evil good and good eviij from Isaiah 5:20.
246
of every powerful and profitable abuse. His shuilling, trifling speeches on Reform
are well-known. He sometimes adds the petulance of the school-boy to his stock
of worn-out invention; though his unfeeling taunt on the 'revered and ruptured
Ogden'36 met with a reception which will make him cautious how he tampers
again with human infirmity and individual suffering, as the subject of ribald jests
and profligate alliteration.
The thing in which Mr Canning excels most / is wit; and his wit is confined to
parody. The Rejected Addresses have been much and deservedly admired; but we do
not think the parodies in them, however ingenious or ludicrous, are to be
compared with those in the' Poetry cif the Anti:!acobin,'37 and some of the very best
of these are by Mr Canning. Among others are, we believe, the German Play, and
the imitation ofMr Southey's Sapphics. Much as we admire, we do not wonder at
Mr Canning's excellence in this department. Real, original wit, he has none; for
that implies sense and feeling, and an insight into the real differences ofthings; but
fl.·om a want ofsympathy with any thing but forms and common-places, he can easily
let down the sense of others so as to make nonsense of it. He has no enthusiasm or
sensibility to make him overlook the meanness of a subject, or a little irregularity
in the treatment ofit, from the interest it excites: to a mind like his, the serious and
affecting is a kind of natural burlesque. It is a matter of course for him to be struck
with the absurdity of the romantic or singular in any way, to / whom every thing
out of the beaten track is absurd; and 'to tum what is serious into farce'38 by
transferring the same expressions to perfectly indifferent and therefore
contemptible subjects. To make any description or sentiment ludicrous, it is only
necessary to take away all feeling from it: the ludicrous is ready-made to Mr
Canning's hands. The poetry, the heart-felt interest ofevery thing escapes through
36 revered and ruptured Ogden] The reference is to a man named Ogden who sustained a hernia
before being arrested under the Act suspending Habeas Corpus. While in prison he was cured by
the prison surgeon, but after his release he petitioned parliament, alleging that his infirmity was
brol.1ght on in jail. Canning used the famously controversial phrase during the debates on the
Indemnity Bill, 1818: 'Ward and all his patient sufferings being thus abandoned, next, with all
the pomp ofeloquence, and all the flexibility ofpathos was introduced, the revered and ruptured
Ogden' (Therry, iv, p. 32). Therry appended a lengthy note in defence of Canning, observing
that 'a contruction has been eagerly assigned' to the phrase by Canning's enemies, 'differing and
remote from its obvious and intended meaning'. The Morning Chronicle was apparently the only
paper in which the phrase was quoted in full.
31 the 'Poetry of the Anti:Jacobin'] The Anti:Jacobin or J.#ekly Examiner ran from 20 November
1797 to 9 July 1798 under the editorship of Gifford. Canning was a contributor, along with
Ellis, Frere, Lord Wellesley, the Smiths, Lord Carlisle and Pitt.
38 to turn what is serious into farce] Matthew Prior, The Ladle, I. 139: 'What should be Great,You
turn to Farce'.
247
[218] WORKS OF WILLIAM HAZLITT: VOLUME 7
his apprehension, like a snake out ofits skin, and leaves the slough ofparody behind
it. Any thing more light or worthless cannot well be imagined. *
* We have said nothing here of the impiety of Mr Canning's parodies, though a great deal has
been said of the impiety of Mr Hone's, which unfortunately happen to be on the other side of
the question. It is true that one man may steal a horse sooner than another can look over a hedge. Mr
Hone is not a Cabinet Minister, and therefore is not allowed to take liberties with the Liturgy. It
is to no purpose to urge that Mr Hone is a very good-natured man, that he is mild and inoffensive
in his manners, that he is utterly void of guile, with a great deal of sincere piety, and that his
greatest vice is that he is fond of a joke, and given to black-letter reading. The answer is - 'But
he has written parodies' - and it is to no purpose to reply - So has Mr Canning! He is a Cabinet
Minister, and therefore incapable of any thing vulgar or profane. One would think that the
triumphant question put by / Mr Hone to his Jury, 'Whether Mr Jekyll's Parody on Black-eyed
Susan was meant to ridicule Sir William Curtis or the ballad ofBlack-eyed Susan?'39 would have
put an end for ever to the cant of this subject, if reason could put an end to cant on any subject.
The fate of different men is curious. Mr Canning, who has all his life been defending the most
odious and mischievous men and measures, passes, on that very account, for a most amiable
character and an accomplished statesman. Mr Hone, who defended himself against a charge of
blasphemy for a parody on the Church Service, ofwhich Mr Canning had furnished him with the
precedent, rose from the attack by the force of good-nature, and by that noble spirit of freedom
and honesty, in which to be unjustly accused is to be superior to all fear, and to speak truth is to
be eloquent - but that he did not suffer himself to be crushed to atoms, and made a willing
sacrifice to the prejudice, talent, and authority arrayed against him, is a resistance to the opinions
of the world and the insolence of power, that can never be overlooked or forgiven.
A wit's a feather, and a chief's a rod:

An honest man's the noblest work of God!40 /
39 Mr Jekyll's Parody on Black-eyed Susan . .. Black-eyed Susan?] Joseph Jekyll (1754-1837),

Master of Chancery, published his parody in the Morning Chronic/e, Friday, 19 August 1809,
under the title L>rd Castlereagh & Sir Wm . Curtis, where it is credited to a Mr Dent. Its first line
reads 'All in the Downs the Fleet was moor'd'.
40 A wit's afeather . .. noblest work of God.~ from Pope, Essay on Man, iv, 11. 247-8.
248
APPENDIX II
Cancelled passage from the manuscript of 'The Fight'
The manuscript of 'The Fight' is now preserved at the Pierpont Morgan Library,
New York. It is incomplete, comprising twenty-five leaves ofdraft: the first fifteen
numbered 9, 11-21, 23, 25-6, the next ten numbered 27-42, 45-8. The
watermark bears the date 1821, and the essay was composed after 11 December
1821.
The leaves numbered 9 and 11 contain parts of a cancelled passage which later
contributed to parts of Liber Amoris. It has been edited previously by Stewart C.
Wilcox, Hazlitt in the Workshop: The Manuscript of The Fight (Baltimore, 1943), p.
18, and by David Bromwich, Hazlitt: The Mind of a Critic (New York, 1983), pp.
436-7. In my transcription, below, the words in square brackets are deleted in the
MS.
249
The Fight
leaf 9
And now, reader, let me tell thee a secret: thou hast perhaps hitherto thought me
gay, vain, insolent, half-mad - no tongue can tell the heaviness ofheart I felt at that
moment. No foot-steps ever fell more slow, more reluctantly than mine, for every
step, that carried me nearer to Brentford, bore me farther from her with whom my
soul & every thought lingered. Dark was the night without me, dark & silent: but
a greater dark
Leaf 10 is missingfrom the manuscript.
leaf 11
should I return to her, after what had happened? Where go to live & die far from
her? Oh! thou dumb heart, lonely, sad, shut up in the prison house of this rude
form, that hast never found a fellow but for an hour & in very mockery of thy
misery, speak, find bleeding words to express thy thoughts, break thy dungeon-
gloom, or die pronouncing the name of thy ClarissaP I thought of the time when
I was a little happy careless child, of my father's house, of my early lessons, of my
brother's picture ofme when a boy, of all that had since happened to me & of the
waste ofyears to come - I stopped, faultered, & was going to turn back once more
to make a longer truce with wretched[ness & patch up a hollow league with love
- when]2 suddenly I heard the clattering ofa Brentford-stage [reminded me where
I was,] & the fight rushed full upon my [shifting] fancy.
Oh! thou dumb heart . . . the name if thy Clarissa] this passage was incorporated into 'A
Thought', p. 36, above. The words 'pronouncing the name of thy Clarissa' originally read: 'and
wither of pure scorn!'They were subsequendy deleted and the present reading entered.
2 I thought if the time when I was . .. league with love - when] this passage was incorporated into
Letter VI, pp. 31-2, above.
250
APPENDIX III
Two Extracts from Hazlitt's letter to Patmore,

29 or 30 May 1822
While staying in Scodand to engineer his divorce, Hazlitt returned briefly to

London for the last two weeks ofMay 1822. During the return journey, by sea, he
wrote a letter to Patmore, which he posted when the boat touched Scarborough,
30 May. This letter was revised for Liber Amoris for which it provided Letter VI (pp.
31-2). In the absence of the original, the editors of Letters derived their text from
Liber Amoris (Letters, pp. 260-1); however, during work on this edition, the original
came into the hands of a dealer. Unfortunately, I was not permitted to consult it.
According to the dealer, the letter is written on the conjugate leaf of a letter from
Benjamin Robert Haydon to Hazlitt; Hazlitt's letter is undated, but Haydon's is
dated 28 May 1822.
The text given in Letters is, as Jones notes, inadmissible; this is not because the
original has now turned up - despite having materialised it remains, at the time of
writing, inaccessible. The redundancy of the Letters text is due to the fact that two
extracts from the original were published by Patmore, My Friends and Acquaintance
(3 vols., London, 1854), iii, pp. 176-7, and reprinted in Le Gallienne, p. 362 (see
Jones (1980), p. 361). Furthermore, as Jones notes, the dating given in Letters is
incorrect; the original letter dates from 29 or 30 May 1822, as the vessel touched
at Scarborough on the 30th Oones (1980), p. 359). A text ofthe two extracts, taken
from Patmore, is provided below.
251
Letter to Patmore
(1)
What have 1 suffered since 1 parted with you! A raging fire in my heart and in my
brain, that 1 thought would drive me mad. The steam-boat seemed a prison - a hell
- and the everlasting waters an unendurable repetition ofthe same idea - my woes.
The abyss was before me, and her face, where all my peace was centred - all lost!
1 felt the eternity ofpunishment in this world. Mocked, mocked by her in whom
1 placed my hope - writhing, withering in misery and despair, caused by one who
hardens herself against me. 1 wished for courage to throw myself into the waters;
but 1could not even do that - and my little boy, too, prevented me, when 1 thought
of his face at hearing of his father's death, and his desolation in life.
(2)
You see she all along hated me ('1 always told you 1 had no affection for you'), and
only played with me.
1 am a little, a very little, better to-day. Would it were quietly over, and that this
form, made to be loathed, were hid out ofsight of cold, sullen eyes. 1 thought of
the breakfasts 1 had promised myself with her, ofthose 1 had had with her, standing
and listening to my true vows; and compared them to the one 1 had this morning.
The thought choked me. The people even take notice of my dumb despair, and
pity me. What can be done? 1 cannot forget her, and 1 can find no other like what
she seeemed. 1 should like you to see her, and learn whether 1 may come back again
as before, and whether she will see and talk to me as an old friend. Do as you think
best.
253
APPENDIX IV
Contents Lists for The Spirit of the Age,

Paris and second London editions
The changes Hazlitt made to the ordering of the essays in the Paris and second
London editions are intriguing. They are so drastic that it is hard to conclude
otherwise than that he was not content with any of them. To me, that of the first
has an associative logic, l but it would not be hard to argue for the validity ofthose
in subsequent editions. Keynes does not provide the contents lists in his
bibliography,2 and since they may be of use I provide them here, followed by the
numbers of the pages which each essay occupies.
That is to say, I can see why Byron might follow Scott, and why Campbell and Crabbe
might follow Byron.
2 See Keynes, pp. 92-3.
Contents Lists for The Spirit of the Age
Paris edition (2 volumes) Second edition, London

Vol. 1
Lord Byron (1-26) Jeremy Bentham (3-25)
Sir Walter Scott (27-56) William Godwin (29-53)
Mr Coleridge (57-80) Mr Coleridge (57-75)
Mr Southey (81-100) Rev. Mr Irving (79-96)
Mr Wordsworth (101-24) The Late Mr Home Tooke (99-120)
Mr Campbell and Mr Crabbe (125-48) Sir Walter Scott (123-45)
Jeremy Bentham (149-78) Lord Byron (149-68)
William Godwin (179-211) Mr Southey (171-85)
Vol. 2
Rev. Mr Irving (1-23) Mr Wordsworth (189-206)
The Late Mr Home Tooke (24-51) Sir James Mackintosh (209-25)
Sir James Mackintosh (52-73) Mr Malthus (229-50)
Mr Malthus (74-101) Mr Gifford (253-74)
Mr Gifford (102-29) MrJeffrey (277-92)
Mr Jeffrey (130-50) Mr Brougham - Sir Francis Burdett
(29S-309)
Mr Brougham - Sir F. Burdett (151-69) Lord Eldon and Mr Wilberforce
(313-30)
Lord Eldon and Mr Wilberforce (170-91) Mr Cobbett (333-51)
Mr Canning (192-214) Mr Campbell and Mr Crabbe (35S-73)
Mr Cobbett (21S-38) Mr T. Moore - Mr Leigh Hunt (377-92)
Elia (239-51) Elia, and Geoffrey Crayon (395-408)
[Mr Leigh Hunt] (no new page, no
heading, separated from 'Elia' only
by a rule, 251-5)
[Mr Knowles] (no new page, no
heading, separated from 'Mr Leigh
Hunt' only by a rule, 25S-7)
257
APPENDIXV
'A Half-length' - a postscript to The Spirit of the Age
Stanley Jones was the first scholar to argue for Hazlitt's authorship of this half-
length portrait ofJohn Wilson Croker; I find his arguments totally persuasive and
refer the reader to his article for the details as to attribution. I Why should Hazlitt
have written it? It was a sort of reprisal for Croker's alleged involvement in the
attack on Uher Amoris inJohn Bull (see p. xvi).2 Published only a few weeks after the
portrait of Canning, which later found a place in The Spirit if the Age, it may be
regarded as a kind ofpostscript to that volume. In manner and content, it is similar
to the essay on Gifford, except that it is, if anything, a more impassioned piece of
writing. For that reason, as Jones observed, Hazlitt probably did not consider it 'to
be suitable for inclusion among the more judicious studies that made up The Spirit
if the Age? The text is taken from The Examiner, 1 August 1824, p. 484.
In his article, 'Three Additions to the Canon ofHazlitt's Political Writings', Review ofEnglish
Studies, 38 (1987), pp. 355-63 (hereafter Jones RES)
2 Croker comes in for further criticism in 'On Envy', vol. 8, pp. 92-3.
Jones RES, p. 361.
259
A Half-Length
Hie niger est: hunc tu, Romane, caveto. 1
Who is it that you meet sauntering along Pall-mall with fleering eyes, and nose
turned up, as if the mud and the people offended him, - that has the look of an
informer, or the keeper of a bagnio, or a dealer in marine stores, or an attorney
struck off the list, - a walking nuisance, with the sense ofsmell added to it, a moving
nausea, with whose stomach nothing agrees, and that seeks some object to vent its
spleen and ill-humour upon, that turns another way, afraid to express it-
A dog, in forehead; and in heart, a deer;2
that stops to look at a print-shop with a supercilious air of indifference, as if he

would be thought to understand, but scorned to approve any thing - that finds fault
with Hogarth, and can see no grace in Raphael; with his round shoulders, hulking
stoop, slouching great-coat, and unwashed face, like the smut of his last night's
conversation - that's let in and out ofCarlton House/like a night-cart, full offilth,
and crawling with lies - the Thersites of modem politics, the ring-leader of the
Yahoos of the Press, the goul of the Boroughmongers; that preys on the carcase of
patriot reputation; the Probert4 of the Allies, that 'bags the game' ofliberty in the
Quarterly that Duke HumphreyS slew in the field - a Jack-pudding in wit,6 a
Hie niger est ... caveto:] from Horace, Satires, I, iv, 1. 85.
A dog, in forehead; and in heart, a deer] from Pope, Homer's Iliad, i, 11. 297-8:
o Monster, mix'd in Insolence and Fear,
Thou Dog in Forehead, but in Heart a Deer!
Carlton House] The Examiner text is more diplomatic; it reads ' - House'. Carlton House was the
residence of George IV, where Croker was a visitor.
• Probert] a reference to William Probert, a well-known villain of the day, believed to have been
involved in the murder ofWeare, but for which Thurtell was executed. Probert was hanged for horse-
stealing in 1825.
5 Duke Humphrey] the Duke ofWellington (by reference to 1 Henry VI, I. i. 75-103).
aJack-pudding in wit] In a footnote to an article in The Liberal, Hazlitt quotes Croker's father on the
Tories' choice of his son as Parliamentary candidate: 'They wanted alack-pudding, and so they chose
my son' (Howe, xx, p. 114n).
261
WORKS OF WILLIAM HAZLITT:VOLUME 7
pretender to sense, a tool ofpower, who thinks that a nick-name implies disgrace,
as a title confers honour, that to calumniate is to convince, and whose genius is on
an exact par with the taste and understanding of his employers; - whose highest
ambition is to be a cat's-paw, whose leading principle is to advocate his own interest
by betraying his country and his species; to whom the very names of LIBERTY,
HUMANITY, VIRTUE, PATRIOTISM, are a bye-word from the want of a single
generous or manly feeling in his own breast; whose only pleasure is in malignity,
and whose only pride is in degrading others to his own level; who affects literature,
and fancies he writes like Tacitus, by leaving out the conjunction and; who helps
himself to English out of Lindley Murray's Grammar,1 and maintains, with a
pragmatical air, that no one writes it but himself; who conceals his own writings
and publishes those of other people, which he procures from his relations at a
lodging-house; who frightens elderly gentlewomen who ask him to dinner, by
pleasantly offering to carve a 'Holy-Ghost Pye,' that is, a Pigeon-Pye, and gallantly
calling for a bit of the 'Leg of the Saviour,' that is, a leg of Lamb; who afterwards
props the Bible and the Crown with ribaldry and slander, but who has no objection
to the Pope, the Turk or the Devil, provided they are on the side ofhis LEGITIMATE
Patrons, and who keeps a fellow even more impudent than himself,8 who,
whenever the cause ofhumanity is mentioned, sticks his hands in his sides, and cries
HUMBUG, and while nations are massacring, and the hopes ofearth withered, plays
a tune on the salt-box for the amusement of the Ladies and Gentlemen of Great
Britain, and in honour of Great Fum?9
Undley Murray's Grammar] Lindley Murray (1745-1826) was an American who setded in
England in 1785. His English Grammar (1795), despite Hazlitt's reservations about it, was for a
long time accepted as a standard text-book; it had reached its 5th edition by 1824.
8 a fellow even more impudent than himself] Theodore Hook, editor of John Bull, which had
launched one of the bitterest attacks against Hazlitt for Uber Amoris (see pp. xvi).
9 the Great Fl1m] George IV (by reference to Byron, Don Juan, xi. 78)
262
NOTES
Liber Amoris
PART I
The Picture
haunts me] At this point in the MS the additional words 'tortures me' appear, later
deleted.
2 with looks commerdng with the skies] from n Penseroso, 1. 39.
The Invitation
when I come backfrom Italy] Hazlitt was contemplating an Italian tour, on the commission
of his publisher Colburn, in December 1821.
2 I am thy creature, thy slave] at this point in the MS: 'you mould me as you please'.
3 But I will come again, my love . .. ten thousand mile] from Burns, 0, my luve is like a red, red
rose, 11. 15-16.
The Message
my Infelice] the allusion is to a character in Dekker's The Honest Whore. Hazlitt had
applied it already to Sarah Walker in the Table Talk essay 'On Great and Little Things',
first published in the New Monthly Magazine, February 1822, as 'Table-Talk No. II', and
reprinted in volume 2 of Table Talk (1822); see vol. 6 of the present edition.
2 pensive nun, devout and pure] from n Penseroso, 1. 31.
The Flageolet
1 Crneij 'Cruelest' in the MS, deleted to the present reading.
2 the pride of birth would not permit a union] The statement referred to occurs in the next
conversation (p. 13).
The Quarrel
1 when I had followed you into] in the MS: 'when I had been kissing you in'.
2 make free with you?] in the MS:'kiss you?'
263
NOTES TO PAGES 14-17
3 Mr M-] Robert Roscoe.

4 the presents I made you] In the MS, Hazlitt has written a note to these words, later
deleted: 'Upwards of30£. worth - a trifle. Among others, is my hair in a golden heart,
which I see set down in the Jeweller's bill, A gold chased heart. A chased heart indeed, but
not given for a chaste heart!'
5 you looked so innocent] the MS continues at this point:' "a maiden never bold - so still &
quiet, that your motion blushed at itself'''.
6 Indeed you once let some words drop . .. with impunity] the original MS reading is as follows:
'Indeed you owned that, if I had been "a gay young man" you should not have let me
proceed so far with you - as if I was out of the question, & you could trifle with me
with impunity'.
7 Or what can I think?] At this point in the MS Hazlitr has entered a note, subsequently
deleted:
Once, as I was kissing her & she was struggling from me, she exclaimed - 'However
I might agree to my own ruin, I never will consent to bring disgrace upon my
family!' So that the disgrace to her family was the motive that held her back. This
was pretty well for one who now tells me she never had any regard for me. No
wonder it went off, after I did not take this hint! How could I take advantage ofher
when I worshipped her, & in spite of evidence, believed her to be all I could fancy
or wish a woman to be? -
8 Shall I repeat it?] In the MS, Hazlitt entered a transcription of a conversation between
Sarah, her sister Leonora Elizabeth (,Betsey', b. 1809), her brother Micaiah Hilditch
Walker (1803-99) and her mother:
Betsey. Oh! if those trowsers were to fall down, what a display there would be! (A
general laugh.)
Mother. He's a proper one: Mr. Follett is nothing to him.
Son (Aged 17). Then I suppose he must be seven inches. [This is deleted in the MS]
Mother. Oh! he's quite a monster. He nearly tumbled over Mr. H one night.
Sarah (my Sarah that was) said something inaudible, but in connection.
Son Qaughing) Sarah says ....
Sarah. I say, Mr. Follett wears straps.
It is not surprising I have been mad ever since I heard this conversation.
A married couple, the Folletts, also lived in Southampton Buildings. The lodger under
discussion was Griffiths, a pharmacist from north Wales. Hazlitt also copied the conver-
sation in a letter to Patmore postmarked Edinburgh 10 June 1822 (Letters, pp. 269-73).
9 I wished she wouldn't * * * * ] Instead of asterisks the MS has the words 'pull up your
petticoats'. See the letter from Hazlitt to Patmore of early July 1822 (Letters, p. 281).
10 for Sarah very iften * * * * * ] Instead ofasterisks the MS has the words 'pulls up mine'.
11 will neverfrom my heart] Stanley Jones, 'Some Quotations and Allusions in Hazlitt' , N&Q
4 (1992) pp. 174-6, identifies this as an allusion to Paradise Lost, ix,ll. 911-13:
Should God create another Eve, and I

Another rib afford, yet loss of thee
Would never from my heart ...
264
The Reconciliation
no pleasure in a single lifo?] Hazlitt has entered a note in the MS at this point: 'Quere,
sporting lifo?'The phrase seems to have been a slang term referring to sexual promiscuity;
see also Hazlitt's letter to Patmore of 3-5 July 1822 (Letters, p. 282), revised for Letter
IX, below, where 'sporting life' is changed to 'single life'.
2 What is this world? ... any compagnie.1 from Chaucer, The Knightj Tale, 11. 2777-9.
Letters to the Same

Feb. 1822
Feb. 1822] The original of this letter is now at SUNY at Buffalo, and a text appears in
Letters, pp. 214-15. The correct dating is 11-19 February 1822 (Jones (1980) p.359).
2 So shalt thou find me ... last may be] from Byron, Sardanapalus, IV, i, 11. 166-7.
3 Miss Stephens in Love in a Village] a performance mentioned also in the Table Talk essay
'On Patronage and Puffing'. The MS text continues:' & the Indian Jugglers & the glass
curtain at the Coburg'. The Royal Coburg Theatre, Waterloo Road, opened 1818. In
1833 it was renamed the Royal Victoria Theatre, and became the forerunner of the
present Old Vic. It was famous for its looking-glass curtain. On 9 March 1823, Sarah
told Hazlitt's friend, 'Po, that she 'liked Miss Stephens as a singer, her voice was very clear
& good but her acting was deficient' (Bonner, p. 271).
4 your proud and happy slave. H.] At this point in the MS, Patmore entered Sarah's letter to
Hazlitt of26 February 1822:
~
Sir,
I should not have disregarded your injunction not to send any letters that came, had
I not promised the gentleman who left the enclosed to forward it the earliest oppor-
tunity, as he said it was of consequence.
M'. P- called the day after you left town. My mother & myself are much obliged
by your kind offer, but must decline accepting it. All my family send their best
respects, in which they are joined by yours truly
S.w
A Book has been left entitled Somer's security for Englishmen's lives. Likewise, your
M.S.S. of the - from M'. C-.
This is, of course, a revised version of the note sent to Hazlitt by Sarah Walker on 26
February, and which Hazlitt forwarded to Patmore on 5 March (see Robinson, p. 16).
Sarah refers to the 'kind offer' oftheatre tickets, to John Somers's The Security of English-
menj Lives (1681, though Robinson suggests the 1821 edition), and to the MS of'The
Fight', which Colburn had returned as it was recently published in his New Monthly
Magazine, 4 (February 1822) pp. 102-12 (see vol. 9).
265
To The Same
March 1822
1 To the Same) Just below the title in the MS: 'Encore un coup'.
2 I was reading) The MS has 'writing'.
3 that delidous night ... Romeo andJuliet) Macready played Romeo at Covent Garden on
24 January 1822. Hazlitt left for Scotland on the 27th.
Written in a Blank Leaf of Endymion

a Blank Leaf <if Endymion) Hazlitt is drafting these lines, apparently, in Keats's volume,
published 1818. Hazlitt was reading it at around this time; he discusses it briefly toward
the end ofhis Table Talk essay, 'On the Effeminacy ofCharacter' (see vol. 6), published in
1822.
A Proposal of Love
Oh! if I thought . .. infancy <if trnth) from Troilus and Cressida, III. ii. 158-70.
PART II
Letter to C. P-, Esq.
Letter to C. P-, Esq.) For a text ofthis letter (deriving, however, from LiberAmoris), see
Letters, pp. 245-{); however, instead of the dating given there, 'middle of March 1822',
Jones suggests 19-25 February 1822: 'this is his first letter to Patmore since arriving in
Scotland a fortnight before the previous Monday, that is on 4 February' Oones (1980) p.
359). The location of the original is not known.
2 Bees-Inn) Renton Inn was forty miles east of Edinburgh on the mail-coach road ap-
proximately halfway between Berwick and Dunbar. He had checked in on 10 February
1822; this letter dates from mid-March.
3 in which she did beguile me <if my tears) ftom Othello, I. iii. 156.
Letter II
Letter II) from Renton Inn, 5 March, postmarked 9 March 1822. For a full and accurate
text of the actual letter see Robinson, pp. 16-18. The original MS is at Princeton
University Library. Letters merely reprints the text ftom Liber Amoris (Letters, pp. 239-
40).
2 little YES and No's) i.e. Sarah Walker's.
3 Mr P- called . .. lift town) Patmore would thus have called on 28 January.
4 afrank ... with a name I can't make out) Howe cites the OED: 'The superscribed signa-
ture of a person, e.g. a member of parliament, entitled to send letters post free.'
5 a Red-book) The popular name for The Royal Kalendar: and Court and City Register, which
listed MPs and other notables who were authorised to frank letters so that they could be
sent free of charge.
266
6 of such sweet breath composed] from Hamlet, III. i. 97.

7 Answer me to that, Master Brook] an allusion to The Merry Wives of Windsor, III. v. 122:
'think of that, Master Brook'.
Letter III
Letter III] This letter dates from 30 March 1822. It was written in Edinburgh but, as
Jones points out, dispatched from Renton Inn; see Jones (1983), p. 270. The original is
at SUNY at Buffalo, and a text appears in Letters, pp. 247-8.
2 * * * * * * * ]Instead of the asterisks, the letter reads: '0 I feel like one of the damned.
To be hated, loathed as I have been all my life, & to feel the utter impossibility ofits ever
being otherwise while I live - take what pains I may!'
3 the book of my conversations with her] i.e. Liber Amoris.
4 Sardanapalus] Hazlitt had Byron's play on his mind because, while in Edinburgh, 4-9
February, he had completed his article on it for the Edinburgh Review Oones, p. 321).
However, the published text (Edinburgh Review, 36 (February 1822), pp. 413-52) was
largely or completely by Jeffrey.
Letter IV
Letter IJ.1 from Edinburgh, 21 April 1822. The original is at SUNY at Buffalo, and a
text appears in Letters, pp. 254-6.
2 To lip a chaste one and suppose her wanton] a recollection of Othello, IV. i. 71-2:
'To lip a wanton in a secure couch, / And to suppose her chaste!'
3 strike my forehead against the stars] an allusion to Horace, Odes, I, i, 11. 35-6: 'quodsi me
lyricis vatibus inseris, / sublirni feriam sidera vertice'.
4 honest] Hazlitt is probably alluding to Othello's speech to Iago:
By the world,
I think my wife be honest, and think she is not;
I think that thou art just, and think thou art not. (III. iii. 383-5)
Howe cites Ford in The Merry Wives ofWindsor, II. i. 238-40: 'If I find her honest, I lose
not my labor; if she be otherwise, 'tis labor well bestow'd'.
5 my dark hour] from Macbeth, III. i. 137.
6 Should this unpleasant business . .. becomefree] Hazlitt was seeking a divorce from his wife
so as to marry Sarah Walker (see Introductory Notes p. xi above). Sarah Stoddart Hazlitt
was taking her time about corning up to Scotland for the divorce (see Jones, p. 323).
7 As Rousseau said . .. language of love] Hazlitt is probably recalling Rousseau's comment
in Confessions, VI: 'Jamais mes yeux, mes sens, mon coeur & ma bouche n'ont si bien
parle' (Confessions, ii, p. 248).
Letter V
Letter J.1 from Renton Inn, 7 April 1822 (Easter Day). The original of this letter is now
at SUNY at Buffalo, and a text appears in Letters, pp. 249-51.
2 from Montrose] This is fiction. Sarah Stoddart Hazlitt was at this moment in London,
seeing their son, William, during the Easter holidays. She would not sail for Scotland
267
until 14 April, and would not arrive in Edinburgh until 21 April (Bonner, p. 185).
3 treason domestic,Joreign levy ... touch meforther] from Macbeth, III. ii. 25-6.
Letter VI
1 Letter VI] Hazlitt was in London from 16 to 30 May, when he returned to Scotland. This
letter was written on the return journey on the boat and posted in Scarborough, 30 May.
The original is not now to be found, and a text, deriving from Liber Amoris, is in Letters,
pp. 260-1. That text, for the purposes of the Letters is, as Jones has noted, inadmissible,
and should be replaced by the two passages from the original which were printed by
Pattnore, My Friends and Acquaintances (3 vois., London, 1854), iii, p. 76, reprinted in Le
Gallienne, p. 362 (see Jones (1980) p.361) and presented in Appendix III, pp. 251-3,
above. Moreover, the dating given in Letters is incorrect; the letter dates from 29 or 30
May 1822, as the vessel touched at Scarborough on the 30th Oones (1980), p. 359).
2 both living and loving] Hazlitt may be recalling Lamb's Balad. From the German, ll. 9-10:
'I have had earnest of all earth's bliss, I Living right lovingly.' The poem was first
published at the end ofJohn Woodvil (1802), and reappeared in Works (1818).
3 I thought of the time when I was a little happy careless child ... league with love] This passage
derives not from Hazlitt's letter to Patmore of29 or 30 May 1822, but from a cancelled
draft from 'The Fight'; see Appendix II, pp. 249-50.
Letter VII
Letter VII] This letter was written during a particularly tense time for Hazlitt; for his
state ofmind at this period see Jones, pp. 330-1. It is erroneously dated 20 June 1822 by
the editors of Letters, where a text appears on pp. 274-6. The original is at SUNY at
Buffalo, and, as Jones has pointed out, the Edinburgh postmark is dated 17 June 1822
Oones (1983), p. 270); it was postmarked on arrival in London 20 June.
2 winged wound] from Dryden, The Hind and the Panther, i. I. 6.
3 and carved on every tree . .. inexpressive she.~ from As You Like It, III. ii. 9-10.
Letter VIII
Letter VIII] from Edinburgh, 9 June 1822. The original of this letter is at SUNY at
Buffalo, and a text appears in Letters, pp. 266-8. As Jones notes, it was posttnarked on
arrival in London, 13 June Oones (1983), p. 270).
2 an angel from Heaven] the phrase is so frequently used it is not possible to say whether
Hazlitt has any specific source in mind.
To Edinburgh
Stony-hearted] possibly, as Howe suggests, an allusion to Ezekiel, 11: 19: 'And 1 will give
them one heart, and 1 will put a new spirit within you; and 1 will take the stony heart
out of their flesh, and will give them an heart of flesh.'
2 Its squares, its ladies, and its pomp] an echo of Cowper, The Task, i, I. 643.
3 and its mighty heart that never lies still?] an allusion to the final line ofWordsworth, Com-
posed upon Westminster Bridge, 3 September 1802.
268
4 the prince ojcritics and the king ojmen] FrancisJeffrey, who had been resident at Craigcrook,
on the north-eastern slope of Corstorphine Hill, rather than on 'the far-off Pendand
Hills', since 1815. His first meeting with Hazlitt was at his home, in the last week of
March 1822 (Jones, p. 323).
5 as I read ojAMY and her love] a reference to Scott, Kenilworth (1821).
A Thought
1 Oh! thou dumb heart . .. Infelice's name~ This passage derives from a draft cancelled from
The Fight'; see Appendix II, pp. 249-50.
Letter IX
Letter IX] from Edinburgh, 3 July 1822. The original ofthis letter is at SUNY at Buffalo,
and a text appears in Letters, pp. 281-5. As Jones notes, it bears an Edinburgh post-paid
posttnark, 4 July, and was stamped on arrival at London, 7 July.
2 Did not her mother own to one oj the grossest cha.ges] that ofpulling down her petticoats (not
specified in the 1823 text); see pp. 16,264.
3 made my wedded wife yestreen] from Burns, Lament for James, Earl if Glencairn, 73-4: The
bridegroom may forget the bride, / Was made his wedded wife yestteen'.
4 tradesman's daughter . .. anyone can have] a quotation from Sarah in The Reconciliation',
p.19.
5 like Lady Bel/aston in Tom Jones . .. and alarm] at Tom's proposal of marriage, Tom Jones,
Xv, ix.
6 the old song] Howe suggests Richard Hewitt's Roslin Castle, beginning "Twas in that
season ofthe year', published in Johnson's Scots Musical Museum (1787-1803), and praised
by Burns. It is not known exacdy when Hazlitt was at Roslin Casde (although 2 July
would be a reasonable guess) or with whom (although Howe's suggestion of Richard
Hewitt seems likely).
Letter X
Letter X] The original of this letter is now at SUNY at Buffalo, and a text appears in
Letters, pp. 269-73. However, the Edinburgh postmark is dated 10 June 1822, not 18
June (as in Letters).Jones comments: The pmk PAID AT EDIN JUN 10 1822 is quite
clear: the letter was probably sent into Edinburgh in order to be despatched post-paid.
There is also a pencilled docket "June 10122". All this implies an earlier departure for
Renton Inn on Hazlitt's part than had hitherto seemed likely' (Jones (1983), p. 270).
However, in his biography,Jones plumps for a departure date ofThursday evening, 13
June, with Hazlitt returning to Edinburgh within 48 hours (Jones, pp. 330-1).
What are the facts? It can be said with certainty that Hazlitt was still in Edinburgh on
9 June, when he sent a letter to Pattnore (Letters, pp. 266-8), and at Renton by Thurs-
day 13 June, when Sarah Stoddart Hazlitt recorded in her diary:'Mr Bell called and said
that Mr Hazlitt was gone to Renton Inn' (Bonner, p. 224).
In a letter to me,Jones agrees with this schedule, and suggests that Hazlitt returned to
Edinburgh from Renton on 9 June, taking the letter with him, because his wife was
taking the oath of calumny on the 11 tho The letter was posted on the 10th, by Hazlitt,
from Edinburgh. Hazlitt returned to Renton on the 13th because his oath was not
269
administered and because of the appalling heat which prevented him from working.
2 a volume iflaw-cases] at Renton Inn Hazlitt wrote many ofthe Table Talk, and some ofthe
Plain Speaker essays.
3 all below was not the fiend's] from King Lear, IV. vi. 127.
4 and here I was -] 'cuckolded' in the MS.
5 vent my sorrows in the desart air] an echo of Gray, Elegy, 1. 56.
6 To the winds, to the waves, to the rocks I complain] untraced.
7 hysterica passio] from King Lear, II. iv. 57.
Letter XI
Letter XI] The original from which this text derives also provides the basis for Letter
XII; the original, postmarked Friday 28 June 1822, must have been written the day
before. It is now at SUNY at Buffalo, and appears in Letters, pp. 278-80.Jones describes
the emotions of this moment, Jones, p. 331.
2 To-morrow or the next day deddes my fate with respect to the divorce] Sarah Stoddart Hazlitt
had taken the oath ofcalumny on 11 June, so that he expected the divorce to be granted
14 days later, on the 28th. It was not to be (see Jones, pp. 330-1).
3 C-] 'Tomkins' in the original.
4 she's gone, I am abused, and my revenge must be to love her.~ Hazlitt is rewriting Othello, III.
iii. 267-8: 'She's gone. I am abus'd, and my relief / Must be to loathe her.'
To S. L.
To S.L.] The original is not now to be found; the editors of Letters date it to 'Edinburgh,
between 20 and 28 June, 1822' (Letters, p. 277).
Letter XII
Letter XII] derived from the same original as that which provided the basis for Letter XI;
the original, postmarked Friday 28 June 1822, must have been written the day before,
although Jones suggests that the postscripts, one of which provides the text of Letter
XII, were written on the Friday. The original is now at SUNY at Buffalo, and appears
in Letters, pp. 278-80.
2 M-] 'Roscoe' in the MS, a reference to Robert Roscoe.
Unaltered Love
Love is not love . .. never shaken] from Shakespeare, Sonnet 116, 11. 2-3, 5-6.
Letter XIII
Letter XIII] The original of this letter is now at SUNY at Buffalo, and a text appears in
Letters, pp. 286-8. It is postmarked 8 July 1822.
2 I have mistook my person all this while] an allusion to Richard Ill, I. ii. 252-4:
270
I do mistake my person all this while!

Upon my life, she finds (although I cannot)
Myself to be a marv'llous proper man.
3 Do you know, I saw a picture . .. Fortune in the Sea] Hazlitt visited Dalkeith Palace on
Saturday 6 July with Alexander Henderson (1791-1832), on whose remarkable career
see Jones, pp. 331-2. While at Dalkeith he bumped into Sarah Stoddart Hazlitt, who
recorded the contents of their conversation in her diary (Bonner, pp. 239-40). The
painting of Truth finding Fortune in the Sea is by Luca Giordano; so struck was Hazlitt by
it that the following Monday he returned to Dalkeith in order to view it again (Jones, p.
333). In a letter to Patmore postmarked 8 July Hazlitt wrote that 'I saw a picture of her
naked figure the other day at Dalkeith Palace before this blessed news came, and it drove
[me] mad' (Letters, p. 286). And on 17 July, Sarah Stoddart Hazlitt recorded a conversa-
tion she had that day with her former husband, in which she told him that 'I thought
the female figure in the picture at Dalkeith house much more to his taste: he fancied it
was like her' (i.e. Sarah Walker) (Bonner, p. 247).
Letter the Last

Letter the Last] from Edinburgh, postmarked 17 July 1822. In 1932, Howe reported the
original to be in the possession of the Marquess of Crewe (Howe, ix, p. 266).
2 To-mo"ow is the decisive day that makes me or mars me] The divorce was granted on 17 July.
Hazlitt is echoing Iago's encouragement to Roderigo:'It makes us, or mars us, think on
that' (Othello, V. i. 4).
3 whence alone my hope cometh~ from Psalms, 121:1:'1 will lift up mine eyes unto the hills,
from whence cometh my help.'
4 The hearing of your happiness] Patmore married Eliza Robertson in 1822.
5 the rocks of Meillerie] see Rousseau, Lettres de Deux Amants (3 vols., Amsterdam, 1763),
iii, pp. 191-204.
6 I shall kill her with kindness] an obvious allusion to Heywood's famous play, A Woman
Killed with Kindness, first performed 1603. The plot of the play contains echoes of
Hazlitt's situation.
7 J. H.] John Hunt, publisher of Uber Amoris.
PART III
Addressed to J.S.K---
1 Addressed to J. S. K-] James Sheridan Knowles.
2 Ycm remember the morning . .. appeared in view] Hazlitt and Knowles set out on a walking-
tour ofLoch Lomond on Tuesday 7 May 1822. They probably spent the night at Tarbet,
crossed the loch to Inversnaid, and as a result did not attempt to climb Ben Lomond.
They went on to the Trossachs and returned through Rob Roy's country and Aberfoyle
to Glasgow; see Jones, pp. 328-9.
3 Smollett's monument] erected by James Smollett, the novelist's cousin, whom Johnson
and Boswell visited on their way from the Highlands. The Latin inscription for the
monument was partly the work ofJohnson (Boswell's Life. v. pp. 366-7).
4 Logan's beautifol verses to the cuckoo] published originally in a volume entitled Poems on
Several Occasions. by Michael Bruce (1770). It appeared again in 1781, with a fewaltera-
271
tions, in Poems, by the Rev. Mr. Logan, one of the ministers of Leith. It was the first of the
poems which appeared under Logan's name in Anderson's British Poets, vol. 11 (Edin-
burgh, 1795), p. 1035.
5 to compare with J#rdsworth~] i.e. Wordsworth, To the Cuckoo ('0 blithe New-comer! I
have heard'). As it happens,Wordsworth knew Logan's Ode to the Cuckoo by the time he
composed his poem, and it is possible that he introduced Hazlitt to both works in 1803
(Wordsworth's poem was composed March-June 1802 but not published until 1807).
See, for more on this connection, my J#rdsworth~ Reading 180~1815 (Cambridge,
1995), pp. 135~.
6 the memory of what once has been . .. never more could be] from Wordsworth, 'Three years
she grew in sun and shower',ll. 41-2.
7 Sweet bird, thy bower is ever green . .. in thy year] from Logan, Ode to the Cuckoo,ll. 21-4.
8 the Trossacs beyond] 'It has been pointed out that the "blue ridges" which Hazlitt saw can
hardly have been the Trossachs' (Howe).
9 [taUam, [taUam~ from Virgil, Aeneid, iii,1. 523.
10 heaved her name pantingly forth] from King Lear, IV. iii. 2~.
11 How near am [to a happiness . .. Andfoll as long.~ from Middleton, Women Beware J#men,
III, i. ll. 1-8, 21-5.
12 Mr P-] Pattnore.
13 C-] Tomkins.
14 my little boy] Hazlitt's son was now twelve.
15 Quicquid agit ... decor] from Tibullus, III, viii,ll. 7-8.
16 See with what a waving air . .. fool of Love.~ from B. W. Procter, Mirandola, I, iii. The
passage was recalled by Sarah as being Hazlitt's favourite in her conversation with 'F, on
11 March 1823 (Bonner, p. 273), and was used in association with Sarah in Hazlitt's 'On
Living to One's Self', written at Winterslow, January 1821 (see vol. 6, p. 83).
17 Mrs F-] Mrs Follett, one of the other lodgers in Southampton Buildings (not Sarah's
mother, as the editors of the Letters suggest).
18 what conjurations, and what mighty magic [ won his daughter with] from Othello, I. iii. 92, 94.
19 Mr - ] Patmore.
20 Mr L-] Micaiah Walker, Sarah's father (1774-1845).
To the Same
the Vicar of J#ktjield, The Man of Feeling, and Nature and Art] Hazlitt's letter to James
Hessey, May 1822, asking that these three novels by Goldsmith, Mackenzie and Inch-
bald should be procured for him, 'prettily bound', is now at the John Rylands Library,
Manchester (Letters, p. 259).
2 Mrs M-] Martha Roscoe.
3 ugly all over with hypocrisy] The allusion is to Wycherley's The Plain Dealer, IV; i,ll. 25~,
though, it also appeared in The Taller, no. 38 for 7 July 1709: 'Mr Wycherly's Character
of a Coxcomb: He is ugly all over with the Affectation of the fine Gentleman' (The
Tatler, ed. Donald F. Bond (3 vols., Oxford, 1987), i, pp. 273-4).
4 P-] Patmore.
5 the conversation below stairs] not published in Liber Amoris, but included in the printer's
copy; see p. 264, above.
6 At once he took ... of the Scripture] from Gay, Verses, to be placed under the Picture of Sir
Richard Blackmore,ll. 13-14: 'Then took his Muse at once and dipt her / Full in the
middle of the Scripture'.
7 Mr C-] Tomkins.
272
8 drugged this posset] from Macbeth, II. ii. 6.

9 I lift the house the next day] Hazlitt returned to Scotland, by boat, on Wednesday 30 May
1822.
10 R-] William Ritchie, of The Scotsman. For more on Hazlitt's dealings with him, see
Jones (1964).
11 the kindness of-] Francis Jeffrey, who 'came down with a 100£ to give me time to
recover' (Letters, pp. 267-8).
12 bestow some of my tediousness upon you] a recollection of Much Ado About Nothing, III. v.
22-3.
13 The first night after I got home] i.e. on his return to Southampton Buildings after the
divorce proceedings were concluded, 20 or 21 July 1822.
14 of tears which sacred pity had engendered there] from As You Like It, II. vii. 123.
15 Mrs L-] Sarah's mother.
16 In the evening] i.e. that of Monday 29 July 1822 Gones, p. 334).
17 At Somers'Town] 'This illustrates how closely Hazlitt adhered to fact in Liber Amoris:
Sarah's paternal grandmother died in 1817, but her mother's mother, Sarah Plasted
(second married name), who died on 12 Feb. 1823, was buried in Old St Pancras
Churchyard, the burying-ground for Somers Town' Gones, p. 334, n. 48).
18 a house in King-street where I had once lived] Hazlitt was resident in Somers Town in or
about 1802, after moving out of Gt Russell Street. He refers again to those days in 'On
the Want of Money' (Howe, xvii, p.187).
To the Same (in conclusion)

1 the false Florimeij see Spenser, The Faerie Queene, III. viii. st.1 O.
2 the man in the Arabian Nights who had married agouij see 'The History of Sidi Nouman'.
3 Who had been beguiled ... every morrow?] from Leigh Hunt, The Story of Rimini, iii, 11.
184-91.
4 There was a precedent for it] a recollection of 1 Henry IV, II. iv. 33: 'I'll show thee a
[president], .
5 turned all to favour and to prettiness] from Hamlet, IV.v. 189.
6 going into the wastes of time] a recollection of Shakespeare, Sonnet 12, 1. 10: 'That thou
among the wastes of time must go'.
273
Jeremy Bentham
First published New Monthly Magazine, January 1824; 'The Spirits of the Age, No. I',
unsigned.
A prophet has no honour . .. country] a recollection ofChrist's words, reported at Matthew
13:57: 'A prophet is not without honour, save in his own country, and in his own
house:
2 in the plains of Chili ... Mexico] from 1776 onwards, Bentham wrote a great deal on the
nature of political institutions, and his speculations gained wider currency abroad than
in England - particularly in South American countries. In 1808 he thought seriously of
going to Mexico.
3 Westminster, where he lives] in Queen Square Place, now Queen Anne's Gate.
4 I know thee, and thy dog and thy bush.~ a recollection of The Tempest, II. ii. 141.
5 1M? believe that ... the EmperorAlexandercalled upon him] In 1814 the Emperor Alexander
I of Russia corresponded with Bentham on the subject of a Code of Law for the
Russian people, and their letters were published in Papers Relative to Codification (1817);
during the visit ofthe Allied sovereigns in 1814, he ca1led on Bentham and gave him a
gold snuff-box. Prior to his own visit to Russia in 1785, Bentham had come to regard
Catherine the Great as an example of enlightened despotism.
6 Mr Hobhouse is agreater man at the hustings] Hobhouse was defeated at Westminster at the
by-election in February 1819, on the death of Romilly, but was returned at the general
election in the following year.
7 That wqft a thought from Indus to the Pole] from Pope, Eloisa to Abelard, 1. 58.
8 Close Boroughs] i.e., 'pocket' boroughs, or constituencies controlled by an individual
landowner or limited number of owners.
9 lone island in the watery waste] from Pope, Essay on Man, i, 1.106: 'Some happier island in
the watry waste'.
10 his grand theme of UTIUTYj i.e., the doctrine that the greatest happiness ofthe greatest
number of people should be the main end of public action.
11 a stone in the wall .. .formerly lived] according to Hazlitt's son, the stone was placed there
by Hazlitt: 'In the spring of 1811 my father removed to London, and tenanted of Mr
Bentham the house in York street, Westminster, once honoured in the occupation of
Milton, a circumstance which is commemorated on a small tablet, in the yard at the
back of the house, placed there by my father in his veneration for the Poet and the
Patriot' (Uterary Remains, i, p.lix). The stone is visible in the drawing (by J. W. Archer)
reproduced as frontispiece to Howe, vol. 5. Howe reported that another, inferior sketch
of the house, in the possession of the Pennsylvania Historical Society of Philadelphia,
shows the tablet clearly to read: 'Sacred to Milton / Prince of Poets'.
12 Chreistomathic Schooij Bentham's Chrestomathia (1818) advocated the extension of the
274
system ofeducation pioneered by Joseph Lancaster, by means ofwhich monitors passed

on instruction to groups of children not direcdy under the supervision of the school-
master, to secondary schools.
13 the quivering lip, the restless eye) Jeffrey in the Edinburgh Review, 42 (Apri11825), pp. 254-
60 remarked that 'no two expressions that the language affords, could possibly have
presented any thing more entirely unlike the original: - it would have been just as
accurate to have represented him as a negro, with black face and woolly hair' (p. 256).
14 the.flies of a summer) from Burke, Reflections on the French Revolution:'Men would become
lime better than the flies of a summer' (Mitchell, p. 145).
15 foregone conclusion) from Othello, III. iii. 428.
16 Mr Bentham is not the first writer . .. political reasoning) The 'principle ofutility' occurs also
in the philosophy of Epicurus (341-270 Be), in the tradition of English and French
rationalism from Locke onwards, and in such writers as Shaftesbury, Hutcheson,Adam
Smith, Beccaria and Priesdey.
17 He has not allowedfor the wind) Hazlitt is probably recalling Scott's Ivanhoe (1820), where
Hubert is told, on missing the bull's-eye in an archery competition, 'You have not
allowed for the wind' (i, p. 272); later, 'he made the necessary allowance for a very light
air of wind, which had just arisen, and shot so successfully that his arrrow alighted in
the very centre of the target' (i, p. 273).
18 his petrific, leaden mace) from Paradise Lost, x,1. 294: 'Death with his mace petrific'.
19 bound volatile Hermes) from Paradise Lost, iii,ll. 602-3.
20 all appliances and means to boot) from 2 Henry IV, III. i. 29.
21 Posthaec meminisse juvabit) from Virgil, Aeneid, i,1. 203.
22 the Ordinary of Newgate) the Chaplain of Newgate Prison, whose duty it was to prepare
condemned prisoners for death.
23 a prelude on the organ) As Bentham's next-door neighbour, Hazlitt would have been well
aware that he enjoyed music in his leisure time.
24 No more than Montaigne of the motions ofhis cat.~ a reference to Montaigne, 'An Apology
for Raimond de Sebonde':'When I play with my cat, who knows whether puss is not
more diverted with me than I am with puss?We divert each other with monkey tricks'
(The Essays of Michael de Montaigne, tr. Charles Cotton (9th edn., 3 vols., London,
1811), ii, p. 61).
25 the whole Press-yard, withJack Ketch at its head) a sardonic reference to a courtyard in the
old Newgate Prison where prisoners were once believed to have been tortured; from
here, at a later period, those condemned to die were led out to be executed. Jack Ketch
was a brutal executioner of the late seventeenth century.
26 the Hulks) large boats that served, effectively, as prisons.
27 All men act ... madmen reason) Hazlitt recalls Bentham, An Introduction to the Principles of
Morals and Legislation (London, 1789), xiv, 28: 'Men calculate, some with less exact-
ness, indeed, some with more: but all men calculate. I would not say, that even a
madman does not calculate' (p. clxxxv).
28 Bedlam or St Lukes) Bedlam (the Royal Hospital ofBethlehem) and St Luke's (founded
1751) were mental institutions in London. In Hazlitt's time, Bedlam was near Finsbury
Circus and St Luke's in Old Street.
29 too knowing by haifJ an allusion to Sheridan, The Rivals, III, iv, I. 13: 'That's too civil by
half'.
30 the New Drop) the scaffold used at Newgate for hanging criminals, introduced 1783.
31 Panopticon) expounded by Bentham in his Panopticon, or The Inspection-House (1791).
32 Dip it in the ocean . .. it will stand~ Hazlitt refers to Sterne, A SentimentalJourney, 'The
275
Wig':'- But I fear, friend! said I, this buckle won't stand.-You may immerge it, replied
he, into the ocean, and it will stand' (Stout, p. 158).
33 Address to the higher and middle classes] a sardonic allusion not to Owen but to the second
of Coleridge's Lay Sermons (1817), 'addressed to the higher and middle classes'.
34 Hunter's Captivity among the North American Indians] a reference to John Dunn Hunter,
Memoirs oj a Captivity Among the Indians oj North America, from Childhood to the age oj
Nineteen (London, 1823).
35 Mr Owen and his parallellograms] an allusion to Owen's Report to the Committee for the
Reliefoj the Manufacturing Poor (March 1817), in which he advocated the improvement
ofliving and working conditions for the poor. These would include squares ofbuildings
sufficient to accommodate about 1,200 persons, within each ofwhich would be 'public
buildings, which divide them into parallelograms'.
36 His admirable little work On Usury ... forty years ago] Bentham's A Defence oj Usury was
written in 1787 but not published until 1816.
37 in nook monastic] from As You Like It, III. ii. 420-1.
38 men oj Ind) from The Tempest, II. ii. 58.
39 the late Mr Speaker Abbot] Charles Abbot (1757-1829) was Speaker of the House of
Commons, 1802-17, when he retired and became Lord Colchester. His mother was
the second wife ofBentham's father.
40 He was educated at Eton] not true; he was educated at Westtninster.
41 at the University] Bentham went up to Queen's College, Oxford, 1760, and graduated
MA six years later.
42 his Church-of-Englandism] a reference to Bentham's Church-of-Englandism and its Cat-
echism Examined (1817-18), a critique of the abuses permitted and propagated by the
Anglican establishment.
43 to be honest . .. is to be one man picked out oj ten thousand) from Hamlet, II. ii. 178-9.
44 He has a great contempt for out-of-door prospects] In 'The Utilitarian Conttoversy' (The
Atlas, 19 July 1829), Hazlitt noted that 'one ofthe school' ofUtilitarians was reproached
by Bentham for admiring the trees in Kensington Gardens; he thought it a 'waste of
time and piece of sentimentality' (Howe, xx, p. 259).
45 looked enough abroad into universality] from Bacon, Advancement ojLearning, I, iii, p. 6: 'the
corrupter sort ofmere politiques, that have not their thoughts established by learning in
the love and apprehension of duty, nor never look abroad into universality' (Wright, p.
23).
William Godwin
the world make a point ... never existed) According to Boswell, Goldsmith once com-
plained to Johnson, 'in ludicrous terms of distress, "Whenever I write any thing, the
publick make a point to know nothing about it'" (Boswell's Life, iii, p. 252).
2 Sedet, in eternumque sedebit ... Theseus] from Virgil, Aeneid, vi, 11.617-18.
3 a young man, a student at the Temple] If, as has been argued, the young man was Basil
Montagu (1770-1851), he might well have told Hazlitt this story himself.
4 the false Duessa in Spenser] Hazlitt refers to Spenser, The Faerie Queene, I. iv., in which
Duessa leads the Red Cross Knight into the House of Pride.
5 its hinder parts are ruinous, decayed, and old?] from Spenser, The Faerie Queene, I. iv. st. 5, 1. 8.
6 The pillar'd firmament was rottenness . .. stubble] from Milton, Comus, 11. 597-8.
7 Mat then, went ye forth for to see . .. wind?] from Matthew 11:7.
8 the new Gamalieij Gamaliel was a famous Jewish rabbi said to have been the friend and
mentor ofSt Paul before he converted to Christianity; see Acts 22:3.
276
9 Mr Southey! Inscriptions) Southey published eight inscriptions in his Poems (1797), most
ofthem with a pious radical leaning. For instance, Inscription II. For a Column at Newbury
celebrated John Hampden,
at whose glorious name

The heart of every honest Englishman
Beats high with conscious pride. (ll. 5-7)
10 Mr Coleridge! Religious Musings) the great poem ofColeridge's youth, largely composed
1794, but revised over the next few years, which described the French Revolution as if
it were a harbinger of the millennium. Coleridge, as Hazlitt knew, was implacably
opposed to Godwin's atheism.
11 like Cato, gave his little senate laws) from Pope, Epistle to Dr Arbuthnot, I. 209.
12 Oh! and is allforgot?) from A Midsummer Night! Dream, III. ii. 201.
13 by that sin fell the angels.~ from Henry VIII, III. ii. 441.
14 the law of laws, and sovereign of sovereigns) untraced, although the phrase 'sovereign of
sovereigns' appears in Byron's Manfred, II, iv, I. 23.
15 There was the rub that made philosophy of so short life.~ an allusion to Hamlet, III. i. 68.
16 trenchant blade) Mackerness cites Samuel Butler, Hudibras, I. i. 357; Howe refers to the
'trenchant sword' at Timon ofAthens, IV. iii. 116.
17 all is conscience and tender heart) from Chaucer, General Prologue to the Canterbury Tales, I.
150.
18 so ran the tenour of the bond] a recollection of The Merchant of Venice, IV. i. 235.
19 It was well said . .. to say welq from Henry VIII, III. ii. 152-3.
20 Hare-court) The pump in Hare Court, Temple, was a famous London landmark.
21 fallen first into afasting ... we all complain~ an inaccurate recollection of Hamlet, II. ii.
147-51.
22 lost the immortal part of ourselves . .. is beastly~ from Othello, II. iii. 263-4.
23 the guide, the stay and anchor of our purest thoughts . . . moral being) from Wordsworth,
TinternAbbey,ll.110-2.
24 created a Baronet by a Prince of the House of Brunswick) George IV made Scott a baronet on
30 March 1820.
25 when in Auvergne alone . .. rape and murder) from Scott, Quentin Dunvard (1823), chapter
1: 'In Auvergne alone, a report was made of more than three hundred of these inde-
pendent nobles, to whom incest, murder, and rapine, were the most ordinary and fa-
miliar actions' (pp.4-5).
26 Reason is the queen of the moral world . .. his own physical nature~ Hazlitt quotes himself,
from 'Illustrations ofVetus (concluded)', vol. 4, pp. 62-3 of the present edition.
27 the unreasonableness of the reason . .. so unreason our reason] Hazlitt is recalling the book of
knight-errantry read by Don Quixote in the opening chapter of Cervantes' novel: 'The
reason ofthe unreasonable usage my reason has met with, so unreasons my reason, that
I have reason to complain ofyour beauty' (Cervantes, i, pp. 3-4). Stanley Jones suggests
to me that the 'modern sciolist' foremost in Hazlitt's mind is Godwin.
28 .flying an eagle.flight,Jorth and right on] from Timon ofAthens, I. i. 49.
29 Thus far shalt thou come, and no farther~ from Job 38:11.
30 Captain Parry would be thought . . . North- ffist Passage] Hazlitt refers to Sir William
Edward Parry (1790-1855), who commanded expeditions to locate the north-west
passage in 1818,1821 and 1824.As he wrote, Hazlitt would have been aware of Parry's
accounts of the first two journeys, published 1821 and 1824.
31 championing it to the Outrance] from Macbeth, III. i. 71.
32 Caleb Williams and St Leon] novels by Godwin, published 1794 and 1799 respectively
277
33 bastards of his art] an allusion to Comus, I. 726: 'And live like Nature's bastards'.
34 Allen-a-Dale] 'northern minstrel' in Scott's Ivanhoe (chap. 17).
35 Fleetwood and Mandeville] novels by Godwin, published 1805 and 1817 respectively.
36 His Life of Chaucer] Godwin published his Life in 1803. It was long ago superseded by
more up-to-date scholarship.
37 his Remarks on judge Eyre's Charge to the jury] Godwin's Cursory Strictures on the Charge
Delivered by Lord Chief justice Eyre to the Grand jury, October 2, 1794 was published
anonymously, and was instrumental in the acquittals of the defendants in the 1794
Treason Trials.
38 a volume of Sermons, and of a Life of Chatham] Godwin, Sketches of History, in Six Sermons,
published anonymously in 1784; his History of the Life ofWilliam Pitt, Earl of Chatham
(1783) was his first publication (also anonymous).
39 the tragedies ofAntonio and Ferdinand] Godwin's Antonio, a five-act tragedy in verse, was
first produced at Drury Lane on 13 December 1800 (Larpent, 1306); Faulkner (not
Ferdinand), a five-act prose tragedy, also at Drury Lane, on 16 December 1807 (Larpent,
1530). Lamb wrote prologues to both.
40 a speech on General Warrants] When, in February 1763, the issuing ofgeneral warrants for
the arrest of those thought to be engaged in seditious activities was debated in the
House of Commons, Chatham declared that 'General Warrants are always wrong'. The
speech Hazlitt refers to here was made at the time of the Cider Tax Budget of 1763; it
is to be found in Henry Peter Brougham, 1st Baron Brougham and Vaux, Historical
Studies of Statesmen who flourished in the time of George III (2nd edn., 3 vols., London,
1839-43), i, pp. 41-2.
41 He lost this with the first blush and awkwardness ofpopularity] On the authority ofHazlitt's
annotated copy of the second London edition, SA (1886) gives another reading: 'He
lost this awkwardness with the first blush of popularity' (p. 41) .
42 owing to Mr Coleridge] Few records of Coleridge's lectures of 1807-8 survive - their
subject seems principally to have been Shakespeare and Milton (Foakes, i, pp. 27-139).
However, there were probably other influences on this shift in Godwin's tastes, includ-
ing Lamb's Spedmens of English Dramatic Poets (1808).
43 a History of the Commonwealth of England] Godwin published his four-volume history,
1824-8.
44 There is a very admirable likeness . .. our author's mind] this portrait is now in the National
Portrait Gallery, London.
45 He speaks of them with enthusiasm ... was of Love] This party is mentioned by Hazlitt
again in the Plain Speaker essay 'On the Conversation ofAuthors', vol. 8, p. 37. Kemble
and Siddons played in Godwin's Antonio, December 1799.
Mr Coleridge
By the time this essay was published Coleridge was used to Hazlitt's attacks, but they
still hurt. In some ways this was the most destructive, alluding even to Coleridge's
addiction to opium (see page 103). There is no record of Coleridge's response to this
essay, or even any indication of whether he read it, but several months after its first
publication, he wrote to Daniel Stuart, on 8 July 1825:
Jeffiay, by the most unprovoked and to me wholly unaccountable antipathy to

me, not content with abusing what 1 have published, has openly avowed his deter-
mination to 'cut up' (I use his own phrase) whatever 1 shall publish - & to my
knowledge hired Hazlitt before the publication ofmy Lay Sermons to review them,
278
on the ground of Hazlitt's notorious frantic hatred of me, who was Father, and
Brother to him in one, and of Southey who saved him from Transportation or the
Tread-mill ...
(Griggs, v, p. 475)
Coleridge refers to Hazlitt's review of The Statesman's Manual (1816), which appeared in
the Edinburgh Review for December 1816 (Howe, xvi, pp. 99-114).
J.te are so far advanced in the arts and sciences . .. doat on past achievements] In his review in
the London Magazine, 2 Gune 1825), pp. 182-9, George Darley takes issue with this
assertion at considerable length: 'If the author of the Spirit of the Age, however, seri-
ously believes what he says, I would recommend him to layout 2d. a week in the
Mechanic's Register, the Chemist, or some such publication, which cannot fail to con-
vince him of his error; or a few minutes' conversation with an intelligent artizan may
answer the same purpose' (p. 184).
2 and thank the bounteous Pan] from Comus,1. 175.
3 a mind reflecting ages past] from the laudatory poem on Shakespeare by 'I.M.S.', prefixed
to the Second Folio (1632), On Wc1rthy Master Shakespeare and his Poems, 1. See William
Shakespeare:The Complete Wc1rks, eds. Stanley Wells, Gary Taylor,John Jowett and William
Montgomery (Oxford, 1986).
4 dark rearward and abyss] from The Tempest, I. ii. 50.
5 That which was now a horse ... in water] from Antony and Cleopatra, IV. xiv. 9-11.
6 quick,forgetive, apprehensive] from 2 Henry IV, IV. iii. 99.
7 what in him is weak . .. raise and support] from Paradise Lost, i,ll. 22-3.
8 And by the force of blear illusion . .. confusion] from Macbeth, III. v. 28-9. The phrase 'blear
illusion' occurs in Comus,1. 155.
9 rich strond] from Faerie Queene, III. iv. st. 34,1. 2.
10 goes sounding on his way] as Howe suggests, a confused recollection of several lines from
Chaucer and Wordsworth. In the General Prologue to the Canterbury Tales, the Merchant is
described as 'Sownynge alwey th' encrees of his wynnyng' (I. 275), and of the Clerk
Chaucer writes: 'Sownynge in moral vertu was his speche' (I. 307). But Hazlitt is prob-
ably also echoing Wordsworth, The Excursion (1814), iii,1. 710: 'Went sounding on, a
dim and perilous way!' The line is alluded to by Coleridge at the end of Biographia
Uteraria, chapter 5.
11 his own nothings monstered] from Coriolanus, II. ii. 77.
12 letting contemplation have its jilij from John Dyer, Grongar Hill (1761),1. 26.
13 Sailing with supreme dominion . .. deep of air] from Thomas Gray, The Progress of Poesy,ll.
116-17.
14 He lisped in numbers,for the numbers came] from Pope, Epistle to Dr Arbuthnot, I. 128.
15 At sixteen he wrote his Ode on Chatterton] Coleridge's Monody on the Death of Chatterton
dates from 1790, when he was still at Christ's Hospital; the poem was later revised and
enlarged (EHC, i, pp. 13-15).
16 and at the University] Coleridge went up to Jesus College, Cambridge, 1791-4.
17 gained several prizesfor Greek ep,grams] In 1792 Coleridge was awarded the Browne Medal
for Greek verse at Cambridge for his Ode on the Slave- Trade.
18 At Christ's Hospital, where he was brought up] Coleridge was educated at Christ's Hospital,
September 1782-July 1790.
19 the music of thought and of humanity] There are two echoes here, as Jones (1995), p. 187
has suggested;Wordsworth's 'still, sad music of humanity' (Tintern Abbey, I. 92) is pre-
sumably in the background. Hazlitt is also recalling Biographia Uteraria, on Milton, 'still
listening to the music of his own thoughts' (Bate and Engell, i, p. 37).
20 burnt within them as he talked] Jones (1995), p. 187, notes that Hazlitt is echoing Luke
279
NOTES TO PAGE 101
24:32: 'And they said to one another, "Did not our heart burn within us, while he
talked with us by the way, and while he opened to us the Scriptu~es?'" .
21 Struggling in vain with ruthless destiny] from Wordsworth, The E:x:curslon (181~), VI, I. ~57.
22 Hartley's tribes if mind] in his Ode on the Poetical Character, Colhns refers to the shad wy
tribes of mind' 0·47).
23 etherial braid, thought-woven] from Collins, Ode to Evening, I. 7.
24 Dr Priestley's Materialism] a reference to Joseph Priestley, Disquisitions Relating to Matter
and Spirit (1777).
25 like Ariel in the cloven pine-tree] see The Tempest, I. ii. 277-9.
26 Bishop Berkeley'sfairy-world] a reference to George Berkeley (1685-1753), idealist
philosopher.
27 Malebranche] Nicolas Malebranche (1638-1715), De la Recherche de la Verite (1674).
28 Cudworth's Intellectual System .. . enormous] Ralph Cudworth (1617-88), True Intellectual
System if the Universe (1678).
29 Lord Brook's hieroglyphic theories] a reference to Robert Grevil1e, 2nd Baron Brooke (1608-
43), The Nature o/Truth, its Union and Unity with the Soul (1640), in which it is suggested
that the phenomenal world is merely a symbol or hieroglyph of the real world.
30 Bishop Butler's Sermons] Joseph Butler, Bishop of Bristol (1692-1752), Fifteen Sermons
preached at the Rolls Chapel (1726), defines his moral philosophy and was a favourite with
Coleridge.
31 the Duchess ifNewcastle'sfantasticfolios] Margaret Cavendish, Duchess ofNewcastle (1624-
74) published plays, essays and verses in large folio volumes.
32 Clarke and South and Tillotson] Samuel Clarke (1675-1729) was a metaphysician, whose
Being and Attributes of God comprised the Boyle Lectures, 1704-5; Robert South (1634-
1716) was domestic chaplain to Charles II; John Tillotson (1630-94), Archbishop of
Canterbury and renowned Anglican sermonist.
33 Leibnitz's Pre-established Harmony] Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz (1646-1716) assumed a
'pre-established harmony' to exist between matter and spirit; see his Monadology (1714).
34 and then hefell plump, ten thousandfathoms down (but his wings saved him harmless)] As Jones
(1996), p. 38 points out, Hazlitt is recalling Satan's journey to earth in Paradise Lost, ii,
ll.933-4:
Fluttering his pennons vain plumb down he drops

Ten thousand fathom deep ...
35 the hortus siccus of Dissent] from Burke, Reflections on the French Revolution: 'It would cer-
tainly be a valuable addition of nondescripts to the ample collection of known classes,
genera and species, which at present beautify the hortus siccus ofdissent' (Mitchell, p. 63).
36 John Huss ... old John Zisca] John Huss (1369-1415), a Bohemian theologian influ-
enced by John "Wycliffe, who sought to mitigate clerical abuses, and was burnt at the
stake for heresy;Jerome of Prague (d.1416), friend and colleague of Huss, also influ-
enced by Wycliffe, later recanted, but his confessions were disbelieved and he too was
burnt at the stake; Socinus was the Latinised name of two Italian theologians of the
sixteenth century, Fausto Paolo Sozzini (1539-1604) and Lelio Sozzini (1525-62);John
Zisca (d.1424), Czech soldier and religious leader.
37 Neal's History if the Puritans and Calamy's Non-Conformists' Memorial] Daniel Neal, His-
tory of the Puritans (1732-8, re-issued by Joshua Toulmin in 1797); Edmund Calamy,
Non-Conformists'Memorial (abridged 1775).
38 then Spinoza became his God] a reference to the writings of the Dutch philosopher
Benedictus de Spinoza (1632-77).
280
.39 And so by many winding nooks it strays . .. ocean.~ from The Two Gentlemen ~Verona, II. vii.
31-2.
40 When he saw nought but beauty . .. that murmured] from Coleridge, Remorse, IV, ii, II. 100-
2.
41 Duns Scotus and Thomas Aquinas . .. Swedenborg] Duns Scotus (c.1265-1308), Scottish
medieval metaphysician; Thomas Aquinas (1227-74), great medieval philosopher and
author of the Summa Theologica;Jacob Behmen (1575-1624), German mystical writer;
Emanuel Swedenborg (1688-1772), Swedish scientist and philosopher who founded
the Church of the New Jerusalem.
42 his Religious Musings] first composed 24 December 1794, revised in subsequent years
(EHC, i, pp. 108-25); the poem attempted to predict the millennium, close on the
heels of the French Revolution.
43 the glad prose ~JeremyTaylor] Coleridge thought highly ofJeremyTaylor (1613--67), the
author of Holy Living (1650) and Holy Dying (1651).
44 Bowles's Sonnets] William Lisle Bowles (1762-1850), Fourteen Sonnets (Bath, 1789), was
published in a second, revised and enlarged edition as Sonnets written chiifly on Picturesque
Spots during a Tour (Bath, 1789); numerous further editions followed. Coleridge was an
enthusiastic reader during his Cambridge years, as was Wordsworth (see WR, i, p. 18).
45 studied Couper's blank verse] Coleridge's Frost at Midnight is inspired pardy by Cowper's
The Task.
46 and betook himself to Thomson's Castle ~ Indolence] Thomson's poem was instrumental in
fostering the use ofthe Spenserian stanza in the eighteenth century; it is interesting that
when preoccupied with Coleridge's depression, Wordsworth chose to write about it
using the form. See his poem, 'Within our happy Casde there dwelt one' (1807), pub-
lished in 1815 as Stanzas written in my Pocket-Copy ~Thomson's 'Castle ~ Indolence'.
47 Charles the Second's days and ~ Queen Anne] Charles II reigned 1660-85; Queen Anne
1702-14.
48 theJohn Bulij Hazlitt refers to The History ~John Bull, a collection ofpamphlets by John
Arbuthnot (1667-1735), published 1712 (reissued 1727). By 'Mr Croker's'John Bull
Hazlitt means the Tory newspaper edited by Theodore Hook (1788-1841), which com-
menced publication on 17 December 1820; Croker was not its proprietor, but Hazlitt
believed him to have been responsible for the publication ofa LiberAmoris letter in John
Bull in June 1823 (see Jones, pp. 339-42).
49 the British Essayists and Novelists] an edition of the British Essayists was published in
forty-five volumes (1817); Anna Laetitia Barbauld edited the British Novelists (1810).
50 Marivaux] Pierre Carlet de Chamblain de Marivaux (1688-1763), French novelist (La
Vie de Marianne and Les Fausses Confidences).
51 Crebil/on] presumably Crebillon the elder (1674-1762), dramatist who wrote tragedies
on classical themes, such as Atree et Thyeste and Semiramis.
52 laughed with Rabelais in his easy chair] from Pope, The Dunciad, i, I. 22.
53 dwelt on Claude's classic scenes] Coleridge comments on Claude in his Table Talk (Woodring,
i, p. 226).
54 spoke with rapture ~ Raphaeij Coleridge saw priceless sketches by Raphael at Helmstedt,
3 July 1799. He comments on Raphael in his Table Talk (Woodring, i, pp. 168-71).
55 and compared the women at Rome . .. pictures] Coleridge was at Rome,January-May 1806.
56 or visited the Oratory ~ Pisa] Coleridge travelled to Pisa from Rome,June 1806.
57 the moral ~ the picture ~ the Triumph ofDeath] anonymous painting, sometimes attributed
to the fourteenth-century artist, Francesco Traini.
58 wandered into Germany . .. Forest] Coleridge visited Germany, 1798-9.
59 the cabalistic names ~Fichte and Schelling and Lessing] German intellectuaIs:Johann Gottlieb
Fichte (1762-1814), philosopher; Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph von Schelling (1775-1854),
281
philosopher of the Jena school; Gotthold Ephraim Lessing (1729-81), author of the
Laocoon (1766).
60 sangfor joy when the towers . .. and the oppressor felij a reference that would have meant
little to Hazlitt's readers; Coleridge's 1789 poem, Destruction of the Bastille, was not
published until 1834 (EHC, i, pp. 10-11). The Bastille prison was stormed by the Paris
mob on 14 July 1789, and later demolished.
61 and would havefloated his bark . .. to seekfor peace andfreedom] a reference to the pantisocracy
scheme, conceived by July 1794, by which Southey and Coleridge planned, with Robert
Lovell, to marry the Fricker sisters and emigrate to America, where they would estab-
lish a sort of commune on the banks of the Susquehanna. For useful discussion, see
Mark Storey, Robert Southey: A Life (Oxford, 1997), pp. 49-83.
62 In Philarmonia's undivided dale.~ an allusion to Coleridge, Monody on the Death ofChatterton
151, 'O'er peaceful Freedom's undivided dale'. 'Philarmonia' means 'love of order'.
63 Frailty, thy name is Genius.~ an allusion to Hamlet, I. ii. 146, 'Frailty, thy name is woman!'
64 It has ended in swallowing . .. in the Courier] Hazlitt refers to Coleridge's opium addiction
(widely known by 1825); to most of his contemporaries, Coleridge was best known as
a journalist. Hazlitt resented Coleridge's increasing conservatism, which he thought
had been fostered by his work for the Courier.
65 Legitimacy] i.e.,a beliefin the principle ofhereditary monarchy as the only right form of
rule.
66 his discursive reason] from Paradise Lost, v, 11. 487-8, 'and reason is her being, / Discursive,
or intuitive'. Milton's distinction was crucial to both Coleridge and Wordsworth in their
thinking about imagination; see, for instance, Wordsworth's Five-Book Prelude, v, 1. 94.
67 a poet-laureate or stamp-distributor] a swipe firstly at Southey, made Laureate in 1813
(succeeding Henry James Pye), and secondly at Wordsworth, Distributor of Stamps for
Westmoreland, 1813-42.
68 bourne from whence no traveller returns] from Hamlet, III. i. 78-9.
69 In the Christobel .. .friendship] Hazlitt refers to Coleridge, Christabel (1816),11.396-418.
He quotes the entire passage and comments on it in Lectures on the English Poets, 'Lecture
VIII. On the Living Poets' (see vol. 2, pp. 318-19).
70 The Translation of &hiller's Wtlllenstein] Coleridge was commissioned by Longman to
translate the play in 1799; it was published in two parts, 1800, as The Piccolomini, or the
First Part ofWallenstein, A Drama in Five Acts, and The Death ofWtlllenstein.
71 Sonnet to the author of the Robbers] Coleridge first read Alexander Fraser Tytler's transla-
tion ofSchiller's play in the early hours 00 November 1794, when he wrote to Southey:
'My God! Southey! Who is this Schiller? This Convulser ofthe Heart? Did he write his
Tragedy amid the yelling of Fiends?' (Griggs, i, p. 122). Hazlitt's text of Coleridge's To
the Author of 'The Robbers' derives either from the 1797 or 1803 edition of Coleridge's
poems.
72 His tragedy, entitled Remorse] 5-act tragedy produced at Drury Lane Theatre, 23 January
1813 (Larpent, 1753).
73 as if life's business were] an echo ofWordsworth's Resolution and Independence, 1. 37: 'As if
life's business were a summer mood'.
74 He cannot be constrained by mastery] from Chaucer, The Franklin's Tale, 1. 764: 'Love wol nat
been constreyned by maistrye'; adapted by Wordsworth at Excursion (1814), vi ,11. 17o--I.
75 He has the happiness to think . .. greatest author in it] J. C. Maxwell, 'Hazlitt and Fielding',
N&Q, 11 (1964), p. 25, notes the echo of Parson Adams's thoughts in Joseph Andrews,
III, v: 'And then he ran on as before, named all the Masters who are recorded in old
Books, and preferred himself to them all. Indeed if this good Man had an Enthusiasm,
282
NOTES TO PAGE 105
or what the Vulgar call a Blind-side, it was this: He thought a Schoolmaster the greatest
Character in the World, and himself the greatest of all Schoolmasters.' (p. 232). Lamb
echoes the same phrase in his account ofJohn Tipp in 'The South-Sea House'.
76 Pingo in eternitatem] Hazlitt is probably recalling Reynolds's third discourse, in which it
is said that the painter 'addresses his works to the people ofevery country and every age,
he calls upon posterity to be his spectators, and says with Zeuxis, in reternitatem pingo'
(Malone, i, p. 67).
77 taught with the little nautilus to saiij from Pope, Essay on Man, iii, 1. 177.
78 Youth at its prow, and Pleasure at its helm] from Gray, The Bard, 1. 74.
79 use means to ends.1 The Paris edition added a further paragraph to the essay, retained for
the second London edition; here is the Paris text:
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 ofthe age. The flame ofliberty, the light ofintellect 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 ofthese abroad, - by the last,
at home. No quarter was given (then or now) by the Government-critics, the au-
thorised 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 by all the engines of power, by nick-
names, by lies, by all the arts of malice, interest, and hypocrisy, without the possibil-
ity oftheir defending themselves from the 'pelting ofthe pitiless storm,'2 that poured
down upon them from the strong-holds of corruption and authority. The philoso-
phers, the dry abstract reasoners, submitted to this reverse pretty well, and armed
themselves with patience 'as with triple steel'3 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.5
They are safely enclosed there, but Mr Coleridge did not enter with them; pitching
his tent upon the barren waste without, and having no abiding city nor place of
refuge!
extinguished with the sword] a reference to the treason trials.

King Lear, III. iv. 29.
Paradise Lost, ii, 1. 569.
Paradise Lost, ii, ll. 112, 117, 'But all was false and hollow ... yet he pleased the ear'.
Collins, Persian Eclogues, ii, 11. 13-14.
283
Rev. Mr Irving
First published The New Monthly Magazine, February 1824;'The Spirits ofthe Age, No.
11', unsigned.
1 a burning and a shining light] fromJohn 5:35.
2 one oj the fixed] an allusion to Cowper, The Task, iii, ll. 158-9: 'Why some are fixt, / And
planetary some'.
3 nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice] from Othello, V. ii. 342-3.
4 The Fancy] in this context, pugilism qficionados; the term is defined by Pierce Egan as
referring to 'any person who is fond of a particular amusement, or closely attached to
some subject' (quoted Reid, p. 19).
5 tifter the lastfight . .. a Neat or a Spring set-to] Hazlitt refers to the fight between Bill Neat
(whose defeat ofHickman in 1822 Hazlitt describes in The Fight') and Tom Spring, 20
March 1823, Hinckley Down, near Andover, when the roads from Gloucester, Newbury,
Winchester, Bristol, Southampton, London, and other centres were choked with vehi-
cles coming to the spectacle. Upwards of30,000 spectators watched as Spring won after
eight rounds in thirty-seven minutes - in those days a disappointingly short bout. Spring's
real name was Thomas Winter (1795-1851), and, on Cribb's retirement, his supremacy
in the ring was undisputed.
6 Shaw the Life-guards' man] pugilist known also as The Cheesemonger', renowned for his
bravery at Waterloo, in which battle he was killed.
7 a cross-buttock to a cabinet minister] a 'cross-buttock' is a manoeuvre by which wrestlers
threw an adversary to the ground.
8 Crib or Molyneux] Tom Cribb (1781-1848) defeated Tom Molyneaux, an African- Ameri-
can ex-slave fighter, in two fights in 1810 and 1811.At the first, 10 December 1810, at
Copthorn, near East Grinstead, 20,000 spectators were present; Cribb won after thirty-
four rounds, and his victory was hailed as a national triumph. The second, classic bout
took place on 28 September 1811 (for Egan's account see Reid, pp. 25-6).
9 Exeter-Change] originally a trading house on the north side of the Strand, it was for
many years used as a menagerie: it was shut down in 1830 when the building was
demolished so that the road could be widened.
10 lies floating many a rood] from Paradise Lost, i, 1. 196.
11 bestrode the world like a Colossus?] from Julius Caesar,I. ii. 135-6.
12 The player's province they but vainly try ... voice, and eye] from Robert Lloyd, The Actor, ll.
67-8.
13 the Caledonian Chapeij Irving became minister at the Caledonian Asylum Chapel in
Hatton Garden inJuly 1822.
14 damnation round the land] from Pope, The Universal Prayer, 1. 27.
15 ear polite] Howe cites both Pope, Epistle to Burlington, 1. 150 (,Who never mentions Hell
to ears polite') and Cowper, Conversation, 1. 474: 'Be never named in ears esteemed
polite:
16 hath a smooth aspect . .. to make women] from Othello, I. iii. 397-8: 'He hath a person and
a smooth dispose / To be suspected - fram'd to make women false:
17 faultless monster] from John Sheffield, 1st Duke of Buckinghamshire, An Essay on
Poetry (1682):
There's no such thing in Nature, and you'l draw

A faultless Monster which the world ne're saw. (ll. 234-5)
284
18 consummation devoutly to be wished] from Hamlet, III. i. 62-3.

19 A lusty man to ben an Abbot able] from Chaucer, General Prologue to the Canterbury Tales, l.
167.
20 made a lunge at Mr Brougham, and glanced an eye at Mr Canning] Irving opposed the
foundation of a (secular) London University, and was a harsh critic of one of its main
advocates, Brougham. Irving's celebrity was greatly helped by a compliment paid to
him by Canning in the House of Commons.
21 like an eagle in a dove-cote . .. in Coriolll from Coriolanus, V. vi. 114-5.
22 PeterAretine] Pietro Aretino (1492-1557), Italian dramatist and anti-clerical satiric poet.
23 Peter the Hermit] Peter ofAmiens (1050-1115) led the ill-fated crusade of1096 into Asia
Minor, and afterwards became a monk.
24 God made the country, and man made the town] from Cowper, The Task, i, 1. 749.
25 Take a cubit from his stature . .. an impertinence] Jones (1996), p. 38 notes that this is an
echo of Matthew 6:27.
26 the 'saints'] evangelical party known also as the 'Clapham Sect' (because ofWilberforce's
house there, post 1797), closely associated with the abolitionist movement. They in-
cluded Wilberforce, Henry Thornton, Thomas Clarkson, Charles Grant, E. J. Eliot,
Zachary Macaulay and James Stephen.
27 hitting the house between wind and water] from Burke, Speech on American Taxation (1774),
on Charles Townshend: 'He hit the house just between wind and water' (Langford, p.
452).
28 Mr Fox, a Dissenting Minister] William Johnson Fox (1786-1864), Unitarian preacher at
the Chapel in South Place, Finsbury, which was built for him, and opened 1824. He
was a friend of Hazlitt's father.
29 the Duke if Sussex in miniature] Augustus Frederick, Duke of Sussex (1773-1843), sixth
son of George III.
30 Melancthon] Philipo Melancthon (1497-1560), German classical scholar and theologian.
31 Miraturque novos fructus, et non sua poma] misquotation of Virgil, Georgics, ii, 1. 82.
32 Sermons on Astronomy] Chalmers's Astronomical Discourses (weekday sermons delivered at
the Tron Church, Glasgow) were published in 1817, and in the same year he visited
London where his sermons generated extraordinary enthusiasm. Hazlitt heard him in
Glasgow in 1822.
33 Four Orations for the Oracles if God] Irving's For the Oracles if God, four Orations; for
Judgment to Come, an Argument in nine Parts was published in 1823; a third edition was
published in 1824.
34 Orator Henley] John Henley (1692-1756), a dissenting preacher who frequently at-
tacked Pope; he is mentioned in The Dunciad.
35 a monkey-preacher] Hazlitt may be thinking of Pope, The Dunciad, iii, II. 203-4:
Oh worthy thou of}Egypt's wise abodes,

A decent Priest, where monkeys were the Gods!
36 The description of Balfour if Burley in his cave] see Scott, Old Mortality, chap. 7.
37 by the coinage if his heat-oppressed brain] Hazlitt is recalling, firstly, Hamlet, III. iv. 137:
'This is the very coinage of your brain' and Macbeth, II. i. 38-9: 'a false creation, /
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain'.
38 There's magic in the web] from Othello, III. iv. 69.
39 Burford-bridge] Hazlitt refers to the Burford Bridge Inn, then the Fox and Hounds, in
the vale of Mickleham, between Leatherhead and Dorking. Hazlitt's stay was probably
in 1817; in November that year Keats stayed there, and composed the last part of Endymion.
40 By his so potent art] from The Tempest,v. i. 50.
285
41 he could bedim the noonday sun . .. roaring war] from The Tempest, V. i. 41-4.
42 now the planetary and now ifthefixedJ an allusion to Cowper, The Task,iii,ll. 158-9:'Why
some are fixt, / And planetary some'.
43 midst troops if spirits] probably an echo of Macbeth, V. iii. 25: 'troops of friends'.
44 in the very storm and whirlwind if his passion . .. give it smoothness] from Hamlet, III. ii. 5-
7.
45 to be admired needs but to be seen] Mackerness refers to Pope, Essay on Man, ii,I. 217, 'Vice
is a monster of so frightful mien, / As, to be hated, needs but to be seen'; Howe cites
Cowper, Expostulation,ll. 492-3: 'Religion if in heav'nly truths attir'd, / Needs only to
be seen to be admir'd'.
The Late Mr Horne Tooke

First published New Monthly Magazine, March 1824; 'The Spirits of the Age, No. III',
unsigned. Hazlitt's source for much ofthe information about Tooke given in the essay is
Stephens's Memoirs (1813). It has not hitherto been noted, I think, that a copy ofHazlitt's
New and Improved Grammar (1810) was in Tooke's library at the time of his death; it is
listed in the auction catalogue as 'Haylett (Will.) - New and Improved Grammar. 12mo.
Lond. 1810' (A Catalogue if the Uzluable Library, late the property ofjohn Horne Tooke, Esq.
ifWimbledon Common (London, 1813), published by King and Lochee, 38 King Street,
Covent Garden, the sale being held on 26 May 1813). The volume was purchased by
Wilbraham for £6.6.6.
afirst-rate grammarian] In the MS, Hazlitt originally wrote 'the first grammarian ofthis or
any other age', and then deleted it to the present reading.
2 Sir Allan Gardiner] Sir Alan Gardner, MP for Westtninster, 1796-1806. He defeated
Horne Tooke in the 1796 election.
3 So, on another occasion ... whether right or wrong] As always, the wording is Hazlitt's; his
source is Stephens, who gives the text ofTooke's election address of 3 June 1796: 'He
says, "that Mr Fox has constandy voted against the measures of the minister good and
bad." Need I draw the consequence? He acknowledges that his friend, the minister, has
proposed bad measures' (Stephens, ii, p. 190).
4 The King's Old Courtier, and an Old Courtier ifthe King's] a ballad in Percy's Reliques, 'The
Old and Young Courtier': 'Like an old courtier of the queen's, / And the queen's old
courtier' (refrain). See Thomas Percy, Reliques ifAncient English Poetry (3 vols., London,
1765), ii, pp. 318-22.
5 Lord if himself, uncumbered with a creed.~ a recollection of Dryden, To my Honour'd Kins-
man,john Driden, 1. 18: 'Lord of your self, uncumber'd with a Wife'.
6 Godwin's]'G-'s' in the copy-text.
7 Douglas] tragedy by John Home (1722-1808), which enjoyed great success at the time
of its appearance in 1756.
8 A prifessed orator] Coleridge.
9 the Sunday meetings at Wimbledon] Horne Tooke's house, now called Chester House, still
stands on the west side ofWimbledon Common. His Sunday parties were attended at
various dates by Thomas Paine, Godwin, Coleridge, Mackintosh, Porson, Sir Humphry
Davy, Erskine, Curran, Holcroft and Richard (,Conversation') Sharp. Howe suggests
that Hazlitt attended these conversaziones during the period 1805-8.
10 they must be moved altogether, if they are moved at alij Maxwell (1951) points out that this
phrasing derives from Wordsworth, Resolution and Independence, 1. 84.
11 sacred vehemence] from Comus,I. 794.
12 Lord CamelfordJ Thomas Pitt (1775-1804), 2nd Lord Camelford, adventurous naval com-
286
mander known for his quarrelsome nature, who died fighting a duel with a man he had
insulted. He nominated Tooke for the seat of Old Sarum.
13 the old assodate ifWilkes] In 1765 Horne Tooke had defended Wilkes in his Petition if an
Englishman but they fell out in 1770 (Stephens, i, pp. 176-7).
14 Each ifhis sentences ... his antagonists] Stephens gives an account ofTooke's speeches in the
House of Commons, with lengthy quotation (Stephens, ii, pp. 240-61). Tooke became
an MP on 16 February 1801 (aged 65), and retired at the general election of 1802.
15 the girl at the Magdalen] The Magdalen Hospital in Blackfriars Road (founded 1758) was
a home for reformed prostitutes. Hazlitt is recalling the following passage in Stephens:
'I feel myself, sir, exactly in the situation ofthe girl who applied for reeception into the
Magdalen. On being asked respecting the particulars of her misfortune, she answered,
she was as innocent as the child unborn: the reply was, "This is a place only for the
creatures of prostitution, you must go and qualify yourself before you can be admitted'"
(Stephens, ii, p. 257). The story is told in Hazlitt's Eloquence if the British Senate (1807),
pp.572-3.
16 native and endued unto that element] from Hamlet, IV. vii. 179-80.
17 The report ifhis trial before Lord Kenyon] Hazlitt is probably recalling the report in Stephens,
ii, pp. 100-9. The case took place on 30 April 1792.
18 Sir Frands Burdett] MP for Boroughbridge, opposed the war with France, Pitt's repres-
sive measures against English radicals, and Horne Tooke's exclusion from the House of
Commons.
19 others might have gone on ... Hounslow] John Cartwright (1740-1824) testified at the
Treason Trials that in 1792 Tooke had shown 'that his objects did not go to the same
lengths as those of Mr Paine and others', by use of a figure of speech comparing the
extremity of their radicalism with the distance they were willing to travel in a stage-
coach:' And, still pursuing his simile of the stage-coach, he said - When I find myself at
Hounslow I get out, those that want to go further may go to Windsor, or where they
like; but when I get to Hounslow (applying it to the House of Commons), there I get
out, no further will I go, by God' (The Trial ifJohn Horne Tooke,for High Treason (2 vols.,
London, 1795), i, p. 458). Coleridge comments on this in his Table Talk: 'Horne Tooke
said his friends might, if they pleased, go as far as Slough; he should go no farther than
Hounslow; but that was no reason why he should not keep them company as far as their
road was the same. The answer is: suppose you know a man is about to commit a
robbery at Slough though you do not mean to be his accomplice, have you a right to
walk arm in arm with him to Hounslow, and by giving him your countenance, prevent
his being taken up? The History of all the World tells us that immoral means will ever
intercept good ends' (Woodring, i, pp. 120-1).
20 the time ifJunius and Wilkes] Hazlitt is looking back to the 1760s and 17705.
21 the celebrated philosopher if Malmesbury] Thomas Hobbes (1588-1679), author of the Le-
viathan (1651), was born at Malmesbury.
22 fabellas aniles] from Horace, Satires, II, vi, 11. 77-8.
23 his controversy withJunius] Writing as John Horne, Tooke exchanged several letters with
Junius, July-August 1771, in the Public Advertiser (Cannon, pp. 254-82); they are re-
printed by Stephens, i, pp. 363-406.
24 Under him his genius is ... rebuked] from Macbeth, III. i. 54-5.
25 Sir William Draper, who is the very hero if defeat] Sir William Draper (1721-87) was a
favourite target ofJunius, thanks to his defence of the Marquis of Granby.
26 THE DIVERSIONS OF PuRLEY] Part I appeared in 1786; another edition containing Part II
was published by subscription, 1798-1805.
27 his Letter to Dunning] Tooke produced this work when he was in prison for libel during
1777-8; it was published in 1778, and contained Tooke's thoughts on the word 'that'.
287
Coleridge echoes Hazlitt in his Table Talk:'AJl that is worth any thing (and that is little)
in the Diversions of Pudey is contained in a short pamphlet-letter to Mr Dunning'
(Woodring, i, p. 118).
28 Mr Harris's Hermes] James Harris (1709-80), The Hermes, or a Philosophical Inquiry concern-
ing Universal Grammar (1751). It was severely criticised in Tooke's Diversions <if Purley.
29 bear a charmed life ... woman born] from Macbeth,V. viii. 12-13.
30 Our author tells us that he . .. thrown aside andforgotten] Hazlitt recalls the Advertisement
prior to chapter VI, 'Of the word that':
The substance of that Letter [to Dunning], and ofall that I have farther to commu-
nicate on the subject of Language, has been amongst the loose papers in my closet
now upwards of thirty years; and would probably have remained there some years
longer, and have been finally consigned with myself to oblivion, if I had not been
made the miserable victim of-Two Prepositions and a Conjunction.
(Diversions, i. 76)
31 with laborious foolery] untraced.

32 palpable to feeling as to sight] Howe notes that this is a composite quotation, recalling,
firstly, Othello, I. ii. 76, "Tis probable, and palpable to thinking', and Macbeth, II. i. 36-
7: 'sensible / To feeling as to sight'.
33 familiar as his garter] from Henry V, I. i. 47.
34 a mare's-nest] In the second edition of Diversions (which Hazlitt had evidently seen),
Tooke discusses Bruckner's Criticisms on the Diversions <if Purley, saying that the 'sub-
stance' of it 'was, with singular industry and a characteristical affectation, gossiped by
the present precious Secretary at War, in Payne the bookseller's shop; the cannibal com-
mencing with this modest observation, that - "I had found a mare's nest'" (Diversions, i,
pp.228-9).
35 the practice <ifbull-baiting ... humanity~ Windham spoke twice in defence ofbull-baiting,
on 18 April 1800, and 24 May 1802 (Amyot, i, pp. 331-56).
36 Thus the word,And ... two makefour] Tooke deals with 'and' in Diversions, i, pp. 219-21.
37 After enumerating sixteen different . .. did not live to finish] Hazlitt refers to Tooke, Diver-
sions, ii, p. 516:
We will leave offhere for the present. It is true that my evening is now fully come,
and the night fast approaching; yet, if we shall have a tolerably lengthened twilight,
we may still perhaps find time enough for a farther conversation on this subject ...
38 Mr Lindley Murray's Grammar] Lindley Murray (1745-1826) was an American who set-
tled in England in 1785. His English Grammar (1795), despite Hazlitt's reservations about
it, was for a long time accepted as a standard text-book; it had reached its 5th edition by
1824.
39 Mr Croker] 'Mr C***' in the copy-text. Croker's dependence on Murray is reiterated in
'A Half-Iength',AppendixV, pp. 259-62.
40 Mr Malthus] 'Mr M***' in the copy-text.
Sir Walter Scott

First published in the New Monthly Magazine, April 1824; 'The Spirits of the Age, No.
IV', unsigned. The concluding paragraph did not appear in the magazine text. For
288
Scott's admiration of Hazlitt as a writer, see Jones, p. 362. Scott comes in for another
mauling in 'On Envy', see vol. 8, p. 91.
1 lord of the ascendant] Hazlitt may be recalling Congreve, Love for Love, II, i, 11. 72-3.
2 the present ignorant time] from Macbeth, I. v. 57.
3 laudator temporis actl1 from Horace, Ars Poetica, 1. 173.
4 Vim Dieman's Land) Tasmania; the transportation of convicts there ended on 10 August
1853, fifty years after it was first colonised.
5 poetry 'ofno mark or likelihood'] an allusion to 1 Henry IV, III. ii. 45. When first published
in the New Monthly Magazine, a 'Note by the Editor' was appended to this passage:'The
writer ofthis 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 with-
out 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.'
6 the public read and admired the Lay ofthe Last Minstrel, Marmion, and so on] Nearly 30,000
copies of The Lay ofthe Last Minstrel had been sold by August 1810.
7 another-guess sort of thing] of another fashion or sort, of a different kind.
8 the Author offMIverley] Scott's usual by-line on the tide-page ofhis novels.
9 opera figurantes] supernumerary characters.
10 bone ofour bone, and.flesh ofour.flesh] As Jones (1996), p. 38 points out, this is an echo of
Genesis 2:23.
11 Jeanie Deans] Jeanie Deans in The Heart of Midlothian is the elder daughter of David
Deans and is instrumental in saving the life of her sister Effie, under sentence of death
for infanticide.
12 the beautiful Rebecca] in Ivanhoe, is the daughter of a Jewish money-lender, Isaac ofYork.
13 1# believe the late MrJohn Scott .. . as yet appeared.1John Scott (1783-1821), editor ofthe
London Magazine, died ftom a wound received in a duel with Lockhart's friend Jonathan
Christie. Shortly before his death he reviewed The Abbot in London Magazine, 2 (Octo-
ber 1820), pp. 427-37, in which he said that Scott's work is 'full of vivacity, devoid of
affectation, full ofmanly sentiment, and noble feeling, calculated to instil a fresh energy
and honour into a debilitated and corrupted generation' (p. 428).
14 skinned and filmed over] from Hamlet, III. iv. 147.
15 Agnes] Hazlitt refers to Scott's Agnes, or the Triumph of Principle (1822).
16 Mr1#stall's drawings] RichardWestall (1765-1836) illustrated Marmion (1809) and The
Lord of the Isles (1813).
17 a metre ballad-monger] from 1 Henry IV, III. i. 128.
18 Lord Byron's Heaven and Earth] Byron's unfinished drama (or 'mystery'} was first pub-
lished in the second number of The Liberal, based on the legend ofthe fallen angels who
loved the daughters of men (Genesis 6:2).
19 fancies and good-nights] from 2 Henry IV, III. ii. 318-19.
20 glances from heaven to earth,from earth to heaven] from A Midsummer Night's Dream,V. i. 13.
21 like Dorothea in Don Quixote . .. have exdted.~ Hazlitt is recalling Dorothea's first appear-
ance, Don Quixote, I. iv. 1:
golden locks fell down in such length and quantity, as not only covered her shoul-
ders, but also concealed every other part ofher body except her feet: and, instead of
a comb, she made use of her hands, which, if her feet looked like crystal in the
brook, appeared among her hair like the moulds ofdrifted snow. (Cervantes, ii, p. 3)
22 as Lord Peter got rid ... the Tale ofa Tub] in Swift, A Tale ofa Tub (1704), Section VI.
23 over-laboured lassitude] from Burke, Reflections on the French Revolution:'the killing languour
and over-laboured lassitude of those who have nothing to do' (Mitchell, p. 152).
289
24 Auld Reekie] the Old Town of Edinburgh.

25 the neighbourhood ofAbbot:S-Ford] The MS originally read 'same source', before being
deleted to the present reading. Scott had lived in Abbotsford since 1812.
26 In Edinburgh there is a little . .. Blackwood:S shops] Hazlitt's understatement is deliberate.
Archibald Constable (1774-1827) and William Blackwood (1776-1834) were for two
decades arch-rivals, the two principal Edinburgh publishers in the early nineteenth cen-
tury. Both produced periodicals as well as books; Blackwood:S Edinburgh Magazine was
issued as a rival to Constable's Edinburgh Review. Constable's most valuable properties,
besides the Review, were the Encyclopaedia Britannica and Scott's novels. Constable was
Hazlitt's publisher too, having been responsible for The Round Table (1817); see vol. 2.
27 the embryo fry, the little airy ofricketty children] an amusing adaptation of Hamlet, II. ii. 339.
28 his imitators make us sick~ In 'On Envy', Hazlitt remarks: 'Sir Andrew Wylie will sicken
people of the Author ofWaverley' (vol. 8, p. 96); this is a reference to John Galt's novel,
SirAndrew Wylie I?fthat Ilk (1822). Galt was a contributor to Blackwood:S, and that may be
a factor in Hazlitt's dislike of his work.
29 J# have, it is true,gipsies ... Cairn I?fDerncleugh] As MaryWedd points out to me, Hazlitt
refers to the gipsies in Guy Mannering, who lived in a setdement called Derncleugh, and
particularly to Meg Merrilies.
30 take shelter, like sea-mews] The MS originally read 'burrow, like others', before being
deleted to the present reading.
31 the Geese I?fMicklestane-Moor] Mucklestane Moor features in Scott's Black Dwaif(1816);
the prehistoric stones that topped it were called 'the Grey Geese ofMucklestane-Moor'.
32 comes like a satyr . . . like an orator.~ from Wentworth Dillon, Earl of Roscommon,
Horace:S Art I?f Poetry, 11. 281-2:
A Satyr that comes staring from the Woods,

Must not at first speak like an Orator ...
33 the 'Modern Athens 1 Edinburgh.

34 His last work] Scott's St Ronan:S J#ll was published in 1823.
35 a holy-water sprinkle dipped in dew] from The Faerie Queene, III. xii. st. 13, 1. 6.
36 more lively, audible, and foUI?f vent] from Coriolanus, IV. v. 222-3.
37 their habits as they lived] from Hamlet, III. iv. 135.
38 There is,first andforemost] Hazlitt mentions characters from the following novels: Waverley
(1814); Old Mortality (1816); The Heart I?fMidlothian (1818); Guy Mannering (1815); Rob
Roy (1818); The Antiquary (1815); The Black Dwaif(1816); The Legend I?fMontrose (1819);
Kenilworth (1821); The Abbot (1820); Quentin Durward (1823); The Fortunes I?fNigel (1822);
Peverill?f the Peak (1822); and Ivanhoe (1820).
39 give her hand to another . .. deep and dead sea] from Scott, Old Mortality, chap. 38.
40 her head to the east] from Guy Mannering, chapter 15: 'Na, na! Not that way, the feet to
the east'.
41 thick-coming] from Macbeth, V. iii. 38: 'thick-coming fancies'.
42 theirpersons and misfortunes] At this point in the MS, Hazlitt added the sentence:'Jacobitism,
seen a litde nearer, & fairly examined on both sides, is not quite the monster it was
imagined to be by the Whig partisans of the Hanover succession.' He then deleted it.
43 good old times] Hazlitt invokes the phrase whenever he discusses the tyranny of kings. In
his article in The Examiner, 6, 13,and 20 April 1817, 'Sketch ofthe History of the Good
Old Times', he writes: 'whoever after this sketch shall have the face to talk of"the good
old times," of mild paternal sway, and the blessings of Legitimacy, that is, of power
restrained only by its own interests, follies, vices, and passions, and therefore necessarily
sacrificing to them the rights, liberties, and happiness of nations, we shall pronounce to
290
be either a consummate hypocrite or "a fool indeed'" (Howe, xix, p. 196).

44 a consummation devoutly to be wished] from Hamlet, III. i. 62-3.
45 .flints and dungs] Hazlitt refers to a passage at the beginning of Ivanhoe, chap. 43.
46 And here we cannot but think it necessary . .. remainder <if the description] from Ivanhoe, chap.
23. Scott's source is Robert Henry, History <if England (6 vols., 1771-93).
47 And it is at this moment . .. in the wheel <ifupstart innovation~ Scott did not 'stop the press'
to include the reference to flints or dunghills, for the phrase occurs in the manuscript of
Ivanhoe. Hazlitt is probably making the point that Scott stops the story in order to make
a comment; on a literal level Scott seems to be commenting on the attraction that
violence and danger have for people of all epochs. Hazlitt interprets the passage in a
political light, not just because of the immediate context of the Peterloo Massacre, but
because those who refused to comply with masters' terms were known as 'flints' and
those who complied as 'dungs' or 'dunghills'. I am grateful to David Hewitt for the
information in this note.
48 calls backing his friends] from 1 Henry IV, II. iv. 150: 'Call you that backing of your
friends?'
49 sixty years since] the subtide of IMIverley was "Tis sixty years since'.
50 or object to Mr Peel~ Police Bilij Peel became Home Secretary in 1822; in a series of five
acts in 1823 he carried out most of the reforms to the criminal laws suggested by
Mackintosh's 1819 committee, and then proceeded to a comprehensive reorganization
of the criminal code. Presumably Hazlitt refers to this. The Metropolitan Police Act,
which set up the first disciplined police force for the London area, was not passed until
1829.
51 Hounslow Heath . .. the Newgate-Calendar] Until the middle of the nineteenth century,
Hounslow Heath was a notorious haunt ofhighwaymen; The Newgate Calendar, or Mal-
efactors' Bloody Register (1775) described sensational crimes in blood-curdling detail.
52 Oh! Wickliff, Luther, Hampden, Sidney, Somers] John Wycliffe (?132Q-84) and Martin
Luther (1483-1546) were eminent figures in the Protestant Reformation;John Hampden
(1594-1643) is notable for having opposed the ship money tax levied by Charles I;
Algernon Sidney (1622-83) was a republican political theorist executed for his involve-
ment with the Rye House Plot of 1683;John Lord Somers (1651-1716) was a member
of the Whig 'junto' which controlled English politics in the 1690s.
53 Gurth the swineherd, and <ifWamba theJester] characters in Ivanhoe.
54 Amy Robsarts] the daughter of Sir Hugh Robsart in Kenilworth.
55 no Red Reiver <ifHkstburn-Flat] William Graeme ofWestburnflat in The Black Dwarf
56 Claverhouse] Colonel John Grahame in Old Mortality.
57 Tristan the Hermit] Provost Marshal of the Royal Household in Quentin Durward.
58 Petit-Andre] one ofTristan the Hermit's minions.
59 if there were a writer] from here to the end of the essay represents an addition to the
magazine text. See also the suppressed passage in Hazlitt's review of Peveril <if the Peak
(Howe, xix, pp. 95-6).
60 born for the universe . .. meant for mankind] from Goldsmith, Retaliation, 11.31-2.
61 winked and shut his apprehension up] from Marston, Prologue to Antonio~ Revenge,1. 17.
62 Who would not grieve ... ifAtticus were he?] from Pope, Epistle to Dr Arbuthnot, 11. 213-14:
Who but must laugh, if such a man there be?

Why would not weep, ifAtticus were he!
291
Lord Byron
Hazlitt's comment at page 142 that Byron 'is at present in Cephalonia'indicates that the
essay was begun after August 1823. Hazlitt was halfway through it when he heard of
Byron's death, which occurred on 19 April; news of the death reached England on 14
May (Life, p. 335).
Born universal heir to all humanity] from John Fletcher, The Faithful Shepherdess (1679), I,
iv:
Thy manners are as gentle and as fair

As his, who brags himself, born only heir
To all Humanity ...
2 As if a man were author of himself . .. no other kin] from Coriolanus, V. iii. 36-7.
3 cloud-capt] from The Tempest, IV. i. 152. Presumably Hazlitt refers not just to Byron's
sense of his exalted station but to his melancholy.
4 golden mean] from Horace, Odes, II, x,1. 5.
5 prouder than when blue Iris bends] from Troilus and Cressida, I. iii. 379.
6 silly sooth . .. Like the old age] from Twelfth Night, II. iv. 46-8.
7 who in his politics is a liberaij still a new term at this date, and chiefly applied by opponents
to the advanced section of the Whig party.
8 denotes aforegone conclusion] from Othello, III. iii. 428.
9 in cell monastic] from As You Like It, III. ii. 420-1.
10 dipped in Tyrian dyes] from Dryden, The Secular Masque, 56: 'The Sprightly Green, has
drunk the Tyrian Dye'.
11 thoughts that breathe and words that burn] from Gray, The Progress of Poesy, I. 110.
12 He composes (as he himselfhas said) ... or on horseback] Hazlitt's source, as Ethel Colburn
Mayne suggested to Howe, was Byron's letter of 17 March 1823 to John Hunt: 'I
continue to compose for the same reason that I ride, or read, or bathe, or travel - it is a
habit' (Marchand, x, p. 123). As Howe observes, Hunt could have shown the letter to
Hazlitt.
13 poor men's cottages, but princes' palaces] from The Merchant of Venice, I. ii. 13-14.
14 reasons high of providence,fore-knowledge, will, and fate] from Paradise Lost, ii, 11. 558-9.
15 The names ofTasso, ofAriosto, of Dante, of Cincinnatus, of Caesar, of Scipio] Byron mentions
these authors in various works; see for instance Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, iv, 11. 505-6;
DonJuan, ii,1. 1643, ix,1. 51.
16 Till Contemplation has herfilij from John Dyer, Grongar Hill,1. 26.
17 this bank and shoal of time] from Macbeth, I. vii. 6.
18 Lord Byron's tragedies, Faliero, Sardanapalus, &c.] Hazlitt reviewed Byron's Sardanapalus
(1821) for the Edinburgh Review. However, the published text (Edinburgh Review, 36
(February 1822), pp. 413-52) was largely or completely by Jeffrey. In the essay on
Byron Hazlitt seems critical of it; see pp. 194, 138.
19 the Heaven and Earth ... is the best] Hazlitt reviewed Heaven and Earth, with Moore's
Loves of the Angels, in the Edinburgh Review for April 1823 (Howe xvi, pp. 411-15).
Byron's unfinished drama (or'mystery') was first published in the second number of The
Liberal.
20 Don Juan was my Moscow .. . seems Cain] from Don Juan, xi, 11. 441-2.
21 the Deluge, which he has so finely described] Peter Cochran suggests Byron, Heaven and
Earth, III, 11. 220-48, or 848-910.
292
22 His 'English Bards and Scotch Reviewersj Hazlitt's friendship with Jeffrey may have influ-
enced his judgement ofByron's early satire (1809), an attempt to exact revenge on the
Edinburgh Review for its withering review of Hours of Idleness (1807). Byron believed the
review to be by Jeffrey, though it was actually by Brougham.
23 it is his aversion] from Don Juan, iii, 11. 848-9:
A drowsy frowzy poem, call'd the 'Excursion,'

Writ in a manner which is my aversion.
24 born in agarret sixteen stories high] from English Bards and &otch Reviewers, 11. 478-82:
The Tolbooth felt defrauded of his charms,

IfJeffrey 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 ...
Once again, Hazlitt's defence ofJeffrey is no doubt a consequence of their friendship.

25 in a 'Letter to the Editor of my Grandmother's Review'] Byron's A Letter to the Editor of 'My
Grandmother's Review', addressed by one Wortley Clutterbuck of Litde Pidlington to
William Roberts (1767-1849), editor of the British Review, in response to criticisms of
DonJuan,appeared in the first number of The Liberal (1822) (see Nicholson,pp. 78-85).
It is an exaggeration to say that Roberts is fifty times addressed in the way Hazlitt
claims.
26 Long's] Long's Hotel was a fashionable and sumptuous rendezvous in New Bond Street,
London.
27 he claps Mr Bowles on the back . .. to present to a bentftce] In 1806 William Lisle Bowles
published an edition ofAlexander Pope's poetical works which contained remarks criti-
cal of the poet. Byron sprang to his defence in a pamphlet, Letter to John Murray Esq".
(1821) (Nicholson, pp. 120-60); Hazlitt wrote an article about it in the London Maga-
zine in 1821 (Howe, xix, pp. 62-84).
28 After the lightning and the hurricane . .. wash-hand basins] a general reference to Byron's
juxtapositions of the tremendous and the banal. Peter Cochran suggests to me that
foremost in Hazlitt's mind would be the hero's sea-sickness at Don Juan, ii. st.18-23
(though the stormfollows his nausea). A pail of housemaid's water is thrown over the
narrator by Juan in canto 1 (11. 191-2). Hobhouse objected to this, seeing a potty
reference, as Hazlitt sees a vomit reference.
29 Scrub in thefarce] the servant to Squire Sullen in Farquhar, The Beaux' Stratagem (1707).
Tragedies and farces were usually performed on the same bill, and leading actors who
specialised in the different forms were not expected to cross over.
30 very tolerable and not to be endured] from Much Ado About Nothing, III. iii. 36.
31 a chartered libertine] from Henry V, 1. i. 48.
32 He says he will write on, whether he is read or not] As Peter Cochran tells me, Hazlitt is
referring to Don Juan, xv, I. 475: 'I write the world, nor care if the world read'.
33 Like proud seas under him] from The Two Noble Kinsmen (quarto text, 1634), II, ii.: 'and
feele our fyry horses / Like proud Seas under us' (p. 19).
34 It has been called aTRISTRAM SHANDY in rhyme] Byron, as Peter Cochran points out
to me, is the source for this comment, in a letter to Douglas Kinnaird of 14 April 1823:
'You must not mind occasional rambling I mean it for a poeticalT[ristram] Shandy - or
Montaigne's Essays with a story for a hinge' (Marchand, x, p. 150).
35 It is a ludicrous . .. acknowledge the obligation?] Scott was gratified, as he told Murray on
293
17 December 1821: 'I accept with feelings ofgreat obligation the flattering proposal of
Lord Byron to prefix my name to the very grand and tremendous drama ofCain. I may
be partial to it, and you will allow I have cause; but I do not know that his Muse has
ever taken so lofty a flight amid her former soarings. He has certainly matched Milton
on his own ground' (The Letters of Sir Walter Scott, ed. H. J. C. Grierson (12 vols.,
London, 1932-7), vii, p. 37}.
36 Farthestfrom them is best] from Paradise Lost, i, I. 247.
37 None but itselfcould be its paralleq Julio's speech in [Lewis Theobald], Double Falshood; or,
The Distrest Lovers (3rd edn., London, 1767), III, i:
Is there a treachery, like this in Baseness,

Recorded any where? It is the deepest:
None but itself can be its Parallel ...
The first Vision ofJudgment was by Southey (1821); Byron's response, published under
the pseudonym 'Quevedo Redivivus',appeared in the first number of The Liberal (1822).
38 He has a seat in the House ofLords] Byron took his seat in the Lords on 13 March 1809.
39 the tenth transmitter of a foolish face] from Richard Savage, The Bastard (1728), I. 8: 'No
tenth ttansmitter ofa foolish face'.
40 He patronizes men of letters . .. the advice offriends] Hazlitt refers to Moore's warning to
Byron against his collaboration with Leigh Hunt on The Liberal. He probably knew
Moore's letter to Byron ofJanuary 1822:'1 heard some days ago that Leigh Hunt was on
his way to you with all his family; and the idea seems to be, that you and Shelley and he
are to conspire together in the Examiner. I cannot believe this - and deprecate such a
plan with all my might. Alone you may do any thing; but partnerships in fame, like those
in trade, make the strongest party answerable for the deficiencies or delinquencies ofthe
rest, and I ttemble even for you with such a bankrupt Company' (Dowden, ii, p. 502).
41 He is at present in Cephalonia, waiting the event.~ Byron arrived in Argostoli, Cephalonia,
3 August 1823, and remained until 29 December.
42 tears ofsensibility] untraced.
43 Nothing can cover his highJame . .. ofhis greatness] from Beaumont and Fletcher, The False
One, II, i, II. 153-5.
Mr Campbell and Mr Crabbe

Hazlitt first published his article on Crabbe in the London Magazine, May 1821, as
'Living Authors, No. V'. It was much revised and altered for the 1825 volume. In the
Paris edition of1825, Hazlitt added a footnote to the title:'The character ofMr Campbell
was contributed by a friend.' Hazlitt had reason to be anxious about the portrait of
Campbell, who edited the New Monthly Magazine, and was therefore one ofhis patrons;
but why the disclaimer should have appeared only in the Paris edition rather than either
of the London ones remains a mystery.
1 the Pleasures of Memory] Rogers's poem was first published in 1792; it had reached its
15th edition by 1806.
2 The author of the Pleasures ofHope] Campbell's poem first appeared in 1799.
3 he 'snatches agrace beyond the reach ofart'] from Pope, Essay on Critidsm, I. 155.
4 Yet sweeter than the lids . .. Cytherea's breath] from The Winter's Tale, IV. iv. 121-2.
5 two poems that have gone to the heart ofa nation] Hazlitt refers to The Battle ofHohenlinden
and Ye Mariners ofEngland, published (anonymously) with Lochiel in 1802, and included
in the 4th (1803) edition of The Pleasures ofHope.
294
6 And by the vision splendid . .. attended] from Wordsworth, Ode, ll. 73-4.
7 A loved bequest . .. morning brought by night] from Campbell, Gertrude ifWyoming, i, ll.
91-117.
8 A great outcry ... against poetic diction and affected conceits] Hazlitt refers to Wordsworth's
Preface to Lyrical Ballads and its Appendix on Poetic Diction.
9 scattered in stray-gifts o'er the earth] a recollection ofWordsworth, Stray Pleasures, ll. 27-8.
10 the :famous poet's page'] a recollection ofSpenser, To the most honourable and excellent Lo. the
Earle if Essex, ll. 1-2: 'Magnificke Lord, whose vertues excellent / Doe merit a most
famous Poets witt'.
11 jealous leer mal~n] from Paradise Lost, iv, 1. 503.
12 Like angels' visits,few and far between] from Campbell, The Pleasures if Hope, ii, 1. 378. In
his Lectures on the English Poets, Hazlitt had drawn attention to the fact that the line was
borrowed from Blair - not an original observation, but one which Campbell blamed on
him. For more on this see Stanley Jones, Three Notes on Howe's Edition of Hazlitt:
Paine, Porson, and Campbell', N&Q, 30 (1983), pp. 230-2.
13 we perceive a softness ... appearance,fall 0.DJ untraced.
14 Mr Campbell's SONGS] Campbell published a number ofshorter poems in the New Monthly
Magazine (which he edited), to which Hazlitt was also a contributor.
15 ruddy drops that visit the sad heart] from Julius Caesar, II. i. 289-90.
16 Mr Campbell's prose-criticisms on contemporary and other poets] Hazlitt refers to Campbell's
'Lectures on Poetry Re-written',published in the New Monthly Magazine from 1820 to
1830.
17 Audrey's question - 'Is poetry a true thing?1 from As You Like It, III. iii. 18.
18 the Reverend Author] Crabbe became a deacon at Park Street Chapel on 21 December
1781, and was ordained as a priest, 4 August 1782.
19 put a spirit of youth in every thing] from Shakespeare, Sonnet 98, 1. 3.
20 turn diseases to commodities] from 2 Henry IV; I. ii. 248.
21 Mr Crabbe's first poems] Crabbe published poems in Wheble's Lady's Magazine and
Robinson's Lady's Magazine, 1772, and Town and Country Magazine, 1773 and 1776.
Inebriety was published anonymously in 1775, The Candidate in 1780, and The Library in
1781. Hazlitt refers to The Village (1783), the first poem published under Crabbe's name,
which Johnson commended (Boswell's Life, iv, p. 175). In a letter to Reynolds of 4
March 1783,Johnson acclaims The Village as 'original, vigorous, and elegant' (Redford,
iv, p. 116). Crabbe's patron was Burke, by whom he was introduced to Reynolds, who
introduced him to Johnson.
22 an admirer ojTeniers or Hobbema] DavidTeniers (1610-94) and Myndert Hobberna (1638-
1709) were painters who depicted scenes in the Low Countries; Hobberna was famous
for his landscapes and Teniers for his 'genre' pictures.
23 He is the very thing itself] Maxwell (1951) notes that this is from King Lear, III. iv. 106.
24 He brings as a parallel instance . .. Villiers lies.~ In the Preface to his Tales, Crabbe cites
Pope's lines on the Duke of Buckingham (Epistle to Bathurst, 1. 299) as an example of
'nudity of description, and poetry without atmosphere' (Champneys, ii, p. 9).
25 the parodies which have been made upon them . .. as the originals] Graeme Stones suggests to
me that Hazlitt has only one specific reference in mind:'TheTheatre'by James Smith in
RejectedAddresses.There is a reference to Crabbe in Richard Mant's The Simpliciad (1808),
11.219-24.
26 the glory, and the dream] an echo ofWordsworth, Ode,1. 57: 'Where is it now, the glory
and the dream?'
27 He sets out with prifessing ... truth in its stead] Hazlitt has in mind the opening of The
Village.
295
28 the sad vidssitudes ofthings] from Richard Gifford, Contemplation. The poem is quoted by
Johnson (Boswell~ Life, v, pp. 117-18).
29 at one bound, high overleap all bound] from Paradise Lost, iv, I. 181.
30 He does not weave the web ... ill together] an allusion to All~ J¥ell That Ends J¥ell, IV. iii. 71-
2: 'The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together.'
31 agreen and yellow melancholy]. from Twelfth Night, II. iv. 113.
32 All this while he dedicates . .. noble patrons] Crabbe dedicated Poems (1807) to Henry
Richard Fox, Lord Holland; The Borough (1810) to the 5th Duke of Rutland; Tales
(1812) to Isabella, Duchess Dowager of Rutland; and Tales of the Hall (1819) to the
Duchess of Rutland.
33 the Rutland family.~ Crabbe resided at Belvoir Castle, August 1782-September 1784,
while chaplain to the 4th Duke of Rutland.
34 Thus by himself compelled to live each day ... grief, and }ear] from Crabbe, The Borough,
Letter XXII ('Peter Grimes'),ll. 171-204.
35 Mr Crabbe~ Tales] Crabbe's Tales appeared in 1812, his Tales of the Hall in 1819 and his
Posthumous Tales in 1834.
36 Some of the best are the Confidant . .. most profound] The Confidant is No. 16 of Tales
(1812); Edward Shore is No. 11 of Tales; by the Young Poet is probably meant The Patron,
No.5 of Tales, and the Painter may be Boys at School, Book III of Tales ofthe Hall (1819).
The tale of Phoebe Dawson is told in Part II of The Parish Register (1807), and the
'methodist parson' may be a character in Ruth (Book V of Tales ofthe Ham.
37 as a thorn in the side ofpoetry] from 2 Corinthians 12:7.
Sir James Mackintosh

As a political partisan] By 1825 Mackintosh was well known as a defender of liberal
principles in parliament. He vigorously opposed the repressive measure which followed
the peace, the Seditious Meetings Bill of 1817, the Six Acts, and the Alien Bill, renewed
in 1818,1820, and 1822. On 21 May 1823 he proposed nine resolutions to the House
for abolishing capital punishment.
2 the Memberfor Nairn] Mackintosh was elected MP for Nairn inJune 1813.
3 yet we confess we have seldom heard him ... pain for the event] Hazlitt heard Mackintosh
deliver his maiden speech in the Commons on 20 December 1813 (Jones, pp. 123-4);
it is recalled in detail in his essay 'On the Present State of Parliamentary Eloquence'
(Howe,xvii,pp. 7-8).Jones deduces also that Hazlitt heard Mackintosh speak on Genoa,
21 February 1815, and that in retrospect Hazlitt is conflating these two speeches; see
'Howe's Edition of Hazlitt's Works: Two Notes', N&Q, 17 (1970), pp. 174-5.
4 his maiden speech on the transfer of Genoa . .. 'a finical speech'] Mackintosh's maiden
speech, 20 December 1813, was not about Genoa, but related to the length of an
adjournment proposed by Castlereagh, due to the gravity of the affairs occupying the
House, in particular the landing of the Prince of Orange in Holland and the attendant
'subversion ofthe ancient Dutch Republic'. Colonel St Paul then charged Mackintosh
with having made a 'finical opposition'. The speech on Genoa was delivered on a sepa-
rate occasion,21 February 1815. See Stanley Jones, 'Howe's Edition of Hazlitt's Works:
Two Notes', N&Q, 17 (1970), pp. 174-5.
5 the Lectures on the Law of Nature and Nations] Mackintosh's Discourse on the Study of the
Law of Nature and Nations (1799) forms an introduction to the Lectures (delivered in
1799 and 1800) mentioned by Hazlitt. In the fourth edition of Spirit ofthe Age, William
296
Carew Hazlitt tells us: 'My great-uncle, Sir John Stoddart, attended these Lectures, and
I have notes of one or two of them in his handwriting - I believe, unpublished else-
where' (SA (1886), p. 171).
6 the whiffand wind ofhisfell doctrine] from Hamlet, II. ii. 473: 'the whiff and wind ofhis fell
sword'.
7 Laid waste the borders, and o'erthrew the bowers] from Dryden, The Hind and the Panther, i,
1. 158: 'Lay waste thy woods, desttoy thy blissful bow'r'.
8 carve them as a dish fit for the Gods, but hewed them as a carcase fit for hounds] from Julius
Caesar, II. i. 173-4.
9 Poor Godwin] In a letter to his friend Sharp (dated 9 December 1804) Mackintosh
admitted that he had been too harsh a critic of Godwin (Mackintosh, Memoirs, i, p.
134).
10 such fanciful chimeras as a golden mountain or a perfect man] a recollection ofThomson,
Autumn, 1. 1147: 'Full of pale Fancies, and Chimeras huge'.
11 peccant humours] from Bacon, The Advancement of Learning, I, iv, 12: 'some other rather
peccant humours than formed diseases' (Wright, p. 37).
12 The writings of . .. Grotius, Pu.ffendoif . .. Sully . .. Guicciardini, Thuanus] Hugo Grotius
(1583-1645), Dutch jurist and diplomat, wrote DeJure Belli et Pads and other political
and religious works; Samuel, Baron von Puffendorf (1632-94) was an authority on
international law; Maximilien de Bethune, Duc de Sully (1560--1641), was French
Ambassador at the court ofJames I; Francesco Guicciardini (1483-1540) wrote the
Storia d'Italia, the first great history of post-classical times; Jacques Auguste de Thou
(Thuanus) (1553-1617) was a Canon of Notre Dame, and wrote Historia sui Temporis
(1604-8).
13 He was like Dr Pangloss (not Voltairej, but Colemanj)] Hazlitt refers to the tutor in the play
The Heir at Law (1797), by George Colman the younger.
14 Of lamentation loud heard through the ru~fol air] from Paradise Lost, ii, ll. 579-80.
15 a personal interview which he had . .. with Mr Burke, at his house at Beaconsfield] A full
account of this visit is given in Mackintosh, Memoirs, i, pp. 90-8.
16 and soon tifter came out a critidsm ... diference] Mackintosh's review ofBurke's Letters on a
Regidde Peace (1796) appeared in the Monthly Review, 21 (November 1796), pp. 306-24,
(December 1796), pp. 430--51.
17 The Lincolnj-Inn Lectures] delivered by Mackintosh, February to June 1799; exttacts are
included in Mackintosh, Memoirs, i, pp. 100--7. Hazlitt's account is quoted pp. 110--11.
18 were lost over a wide and unhearing ocean] F. V. Bernard, 'Some Hazlitt Quotations and
their Sources', N&Q, 11 (1964), pp. 24-5, points out that this is from Burke, Speech on
Foxj India Bill (1783).
19 aJudgeship in India] Mackintosh was appointed recorder ofBombay in 1804 by Addington;
he served in India for over eleven years.
20 unbought grace of life] a phrase that occurs in the midst of Burke's rhapsody on Marie
Antoinette and lament for the age of chivalry in Riiflections on the Revolution in France:
'The unbought grace oflife, the cheap defence ofnations, the nurse ofmanly sentiment
and heroic enterprize is gone!' (Mitchell, p. 127).
21 And gladly would he learn, and gladly teach] from Chaucer, General Prologue to the Canter-
bury Tales, 1. 308.
22 One that was sent to him . .. ofHuman Action] Hazlitt's own first book, published anony-
mously in 1805, commended by Mackintosh's friend and fellow-lawyer,James Scarlett,
afterwards Lord Abinger, and perhaps sent to Mackintosh by him.
23 the dearth of intellectual intercourse . . . remote solitude] This is confirmed in biographical
accounts; while in India Mackintosh kept up with French and English literature, studied
297
Kant and Fichte, and even founded the Literary Society ofBombay, ofwhich he became
president.
24 but SirJames is one of those who can see nature through the spectacles of books] In his 'Essay of
Dramatic Poesy', Dryden says of Shakespeare, 'he needed not the spectacles ofbooks to
read Nature' (Ker, i, p. 80).
25 SirJames Mackintosh is understood to be a writer in the Edinburgh Review] As a contributor
himself, Hazlitt would have known this as a fact; Mackintosh's principal contributions
to the Edinburgh are included in WA. Copinger, Bibliographiana No.2: On the authorship
of the first five hundred numbers of the 'Edinburgh Review' (Manchester, 1895).
26 great pith and moment] from Hamlet, III. i. 85.
27 SirJames is at present said to be engaged ... house of Stuart] Mackintosh began work on a
history ofEngland from 1688 to the French Revolution in 1812, while on the home-
ward journey from India, but only a fragment was published, posthumously, as A History
of the Revolution in England in 1688 (1834).
Mr Wordsworth
1 lowliness is young ambition's ladder] from Julius Caesar, II. i. 22.
2 no figures nor no fantasies . .. brains of men] from Julius Caesar, II. i. 231-2.
3 skyey influences] from Measure for Measure, III. i. 9.
4 Nihil humani ... puto] from Terence, The Self- Tormentor, I, i, l. 77.
5 the cloud-capt towers . .. gorgeous palaces . .. like the baselessfabric of a vision, leave not a wreck
behind] from The Tempest, IV. i. 152-3, 155-6.
6 the judge's robe, the marshall's truncheon . .. great ones 'longs] from Measure for Measure, II. ii.
59,61.
7 jewels in the crisped hair] from Collins, The Manners. An Ode, l. 55.
8 a sense ofjoy ... To the bare trees and mountains bare . . .greenfield] from Wordsworth, Unes
written at a Small Distance from my House (1798), II. 6-8.
9 sad vicissitude offate] Howe and Mackerness cite Richard Gifford, Contemplation, which
uses the phrase, 'sad vicissitude ofthings'. The poem is quoted by Johnson, Boswell's Life,
v, pp. 117-18. Another possible source is Young, Night Thoughts, vi, II. 107-8:
From Earth's sad Contrast (now deplor'd) more fair.

What exquisite Vicissitude of Fate?
10 Beneath the hills, along theflowery vales . .. ruthless destiny] from Wordsworth, The Excursion
(1814), vi, II. 568-72.
11 the vain pomp and glory of the world] from Henry VIII, III. ii. 365.
12 He exemplifies . .. power of association] When he first met Wordsworth in 1798, Hazlitt
would have been aware that he and Coleridge were at that moment well versed in the
associationist philosophy of Hardey, which formed the basis of the philosophy behind
Wordsworth's projected epic poem, The Recluse. However, by comparison with the
complexity of the ideas to be found in its surviving fragments, and in The Prelude, the
account Hazlitt gives here is grossly simplistic, to the point of caricature.
13 To him the meanest flower that blows ... too deep for tears] the concluding lines from
Wordsworth, Ode.
14 The daisy looks up to him . .. being in his thoughts] Hazlitt refers, apparendy, to Wordsworth's
daisy poems ('In youth from rock to rock I went', 'With little here to do or see', 'Bright
Flower, whose home is every where!', 'Sweet Flower! belike one day to have'); To the
298
Cuckoo; The Green Unnet; The Thorn, and, perhaps, Alice Fell. The mention ofthe lichens
suggests a reminiscence of The Thorn, 1. 11.
15 Cole-Orton] country seat in Leicestershire, near Ashby-de-la-Zouch, belonging to
Wordsworth's patron, Sir George Howland Beaumont, Bart. (to whom Wordsworth
dedicated his Poems, 1815).
16 the lines on a Picture by Claude Lorraine] Hazlitt is almost certainly recalling (though
without accuracy) Wordsworth's Elegiac Stanzas, Suggested by a Picture of Peele Castle in a
Storm, Painted by Sir George Beaumont, 11. 13-16 (which does not, however, mention
Claude).
17 the exquisite poem, entitled Laodamia] composed 1814 and published in Poems (1815).
18 Calm contemplation and majestic pains] from Laodamia (1815 published text), 72: 'Calm
pleasures there abide - majestic pains'.
19 Fall bluntedfrom the indurated breast] from Goldsmith, The Traveller, 1. 232.
20 and fit audience found, though few] from Paradise Lost, vii, 1. 31. The phrase is quoted by
Wordsworth in his Prospectus to The Recluse, published in the Preface to The Excursion.
21 fell still-born from the press] from Pope, Epilogue to the Satires, ii, 1. 226: 'All, all but Truth,
drops dead-born from the Press'.
22 No one who has seen him at these moments . .. man of no mark or likelihood] from 1 Henry IV,
III. ii. 45. Hazlitt heard Wordsworth read on several occasions, most recendy from The
White Doe of Rylstone in April 1808.Wordsworth described the occasion to Coleridge in
a letter of 19 April:
In compliance with frequent entreaties I took the MSS to Lamb's to read it, or part
of it, one evening. There unluckily I found Hazlitt and his Beloved; of course,
though I had the Poem in my hand I declined, nay absolutely refused, to read it. But
as they were very earnest in entreating me, I at last consented to read one Book ...
(MY, i, p. 221)
23 Flushed with a purple grace . .. honest foce] from Dryden, Alexander's Feast, iii, 11. 51-2.
24 and he has been at the pains to modernise some of the Canterbury Tales] Hazlitt refers to
Wordsworth's renderings of Chaucer, which he had probably seen in manuscript in
1803. These included an adaptation of Chaucer's Troilus and Criseyde, of which only a
fragment now survives (composed c. December 1801, not published until 1841); The
Manaple's Tale (composed 2-3 December 1801); The Prioress's Tale (composed 4-5
December 1801, published in Wordsworth's Poems (1820)); and The Cuckoo and the
Nightingale (composed 7-9 December 1801).
25 He hates those interlocutions between Luaus and Caius] As Howe notes, no such interlocu-
tions occur in Shakespeare, although the comment is consistent with others made else-
where by Hazlitt (see, for instance, his Excursion review, vol. 2, p. 114). Wordsworth
apparendy read this essay first in the mid-1830s, in Field's Memoirs, and commented:
'This is monstrous! I extol Chaucer & others because the world at large knows little or
nothing of their merits. Modesty & deep feeling how superfluous a thing it is to praise
Shakespeare have kept me often & almost habitually silent upon that subject. Who
thinks it necessary to praise the Sun?' (Litde, 36).
26 Yt?t Mr WOrdsworth himselfwrote a tragedy when he was young] Hazlitt refers to The Borderers
(composed 1797-9, published 1842).
27 Action is momentary . .. obscure, and infinite.~ Hazlitt is recalling the following lines from
The Borderers:
299
Action is transitory, a step, a blow -

Motion of a muscle - this way or that -
'Tis done - and in the after vacancy
We wonder at ourselves like men betray'd.
Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark,
And has the nature of infinity. (1797-9 text, III, v, 11. 60-5)
In a note to The White Doe if Ryistone, to which these lines were added as a motto in
1837, Wordsworth writes: 'This, and the five lines that follow, were either read or re-
cited 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.' The occasion would be Hazlitt's stay in the Lakes in 1803.
28 Perhaps for want if light and shade ... brought forward] It was seen by Thomas Harris,
manager of Covent Garden, but rejected, according to Elizabeth Threlkeld, because of
'the metaphysical obscurity of one character' (EY, p. 197n).
29 Our critic has agreat dislike to Gray] This statement, which is untrue, is presumably based
on Wordsworth's unfair criticism of Gray's sonnet on the death of Richard West in the
Preface to Lyrical Ballads (Wordsworth, Prose UiJrks, i, pp. 132-4). It is clear, from his
continued reading of Gray, that Wordsworth loved his poetry and prose writings; see
HlR, i, pp. 70-1; ii, p. 97.
30 It is mortifying ... Pope and Dryden] Wordsworth first read this in the mid-1830s in Field's
Memoirs, and commented: 'Monstrous again - I have ten times the knowledge of Pope's
writings & ofDryden's also, that ever this writer had - to this day I believe I could repeat
with a little previous rummaging ofmy memory several 1000 lines ofPope - But if the
beautiful the pathetic & the sublime be what a Poet should chiefly aim at how absurd is
it to place these men among the first Poets of their Country - admirable are they in
treading their way but that way lies almost at the foot ofParnassus' (Little, 37).
31 Thus, in the beginning if ... literally conveys the whole] Wordsworth was not the first to
comment on the apparent tautology ofthese lines. In the Memoirs if the Life and Writings
if the late Dr SamuelJohnson (1785) the Rev. William Shaw remarked on the'extensive'
nature of the view, 'whether the poet tells us so or not', and Coleridge made the same
point in his 1811-12 lectures on Shakespeare and Milton (Foakes, i, p. 292). For more
on this see The Poems ifSamueljohnson, eds. David Nichol Smith and Edward 1. McAdam
(2nd edn., Oxford, 1941), p. 115.
32 Drawcansir] the stage braggart in George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, The Rehearsal
(1671).
33 He complains if the dry ... want ifpassion] It is not clear what Hazlitt's source for these
remarks might be; it may be that he is thinking of comments made in conversation.
There can be little doubt that among 'dry reasoners'Wordsworth would have placed
Godwin,Adam Smith, Bentham and Malthus; his most heartfelt comments on 'passion'
occur in the Note to The Thorn (for which see Butler and Green, pp. 350-1).
34 He condemns all French writers . .. in the lump] another inexactitude;Wordsworth lived in
France for several years during his early manhood, and would have read much literature
while there. Among his early publications is a translation of the Vicomte de Segur's
L'Education de l'Amour (WR, i, p. 123). It is true that he described Candide as 'the dull
product ofa scoffer's pen' (a statement which Hazlitt refutes in The Round Table, vol. 2,
p. 117), but Wordsworth was, for instance, an admirer ofRacine's Athalie, which 'he did
not wish to see ... acted, as it would never come up to the high imagination he had
formed in reading it' (Memoirs,Journal, and Co"espondence ifThomas Moore, ed. Rt. Hon.
Lord John Russell, MP (8 vols., London, 185~), iii, p. 159). Among more recent
300
writers, he owned at least two copies of St Pierre's Paul et Virginie, one in Italian, the
other in Spanish (see WR, i, pp. 114, 120-1).
35 He approves ifWalton :s Angler, Paley . .. Robinson Crusoe] Wordsworth was given a copy of
The Compleat Angler (6th edn., 1797) by Beaumont on 3 January 1808, though it seems
likely that Wordsworth had read the volume before that date (see WR, ii, pp. 234-5); in
1798 Wordsworth classed Paley with Godwin as 'impotent [?to] all their intended good
purposes; to which I wish I could add that they were equally impotent to all bad one[s]'
(Wordsworth, Prose U0rks, i, p. 103) (I am not aware that Paley was ever favoured by
Wordsworth). As for travel books, Wordsworth is known to have read Bartram,
Brydone, Clarke, Coxe, Gilpin, Hentzner, Heron, Newton, Warner and West, among
many (WR, i, pp. 9, 20, 29, 40, 64-6,73-4,107-8,143-4,146-7). His interest in Robinson
Crusoe was no doubt revived by his son's reading of the work, c. 1808 (WR, ii, p. 72).
36 BewicH woodcuts and Waterloo:S sylvan etchings] Thomas Bewick (1753-1828), famous
wood-engraver, known chiefly for his contributions to works on natural history, such as
the General History if Quadrupeds (1790) and the History if British Birds (1797, 1804).
Antoine Waterloo (c.1609-c.1676) was a native ofLille and an artist of some note.
37 ffi have known him enlarge . .. own claim to the title] Rembrandt (1606-69) is given high
praise in a letter from Wordsworth to Sir George Beaumont (8 April 1808).
38 he hates conchology ... ~nus if Medicis] Hazlitt draws on his lecture on the living poets
from Lectures on the English Poets, vol. 2, p. 316.
39 Where one Jor sense and oneJor rhyme . .. at one time] from Samuel Buder, Hudibras, II, i,
11.29-30.
40 take the good the Gods provide us] not from Plautus, as Howe suggests, but Dryden,
Alexander:S Feast, 1. 106.
41 the spoiled child ifJortune] see page 140.
42 he would have borne his honours meekly] from Macbeth, I. vii. 17.
43 But the sense oj injustice . .. narrows the views] Wordsworth was defensive about his bad
reviews, especially those by Jeffrey (see WR, ii, pp. 117-19). Hazlitt writes with the
benefit of experience; he too had been the butt of hostile notices.
44 the genial current if the soul is stopped] from Gray, Elegy, 1. 52.
Mr Malthus
1 it would take a thousand years at least . .. Population] untraced.
2 strut and fret an hour upon the stage] an allusion to Macbeth,V. v. 25.
3 the population cannot go on ... opposed to it] not quite Malthus's exact words, but Hazlitt
uses his terms.
4 Mr Malthus:S first octavo volume . .. Political Justice] The full tide of the 1798 edition was
An Essay on the Principle if Population, as it '!!focts the Future Improvement if Soaety. With
remarks on the speculations if Mr Godwin, M. Condorcet, and other writers.
5 like the toad ugly and venomous . .. in its head] from As You Like It, II. i. 13-14.
6 the mighty stream if tendency] from Wordsworth, The Excursion (1814), ix, 1. 88.
7 the Corinthian capitals if polished soaety] from Burke, R~ections on the French Revolution:
'Nobility is a graceful ornament to the civil order. It is the Corinthian capital of pol-
ished society' (Mitchell, pp. 187-8).
8 'For' (so argued the author if the Essay) ... principle if population!] Not Malthus's exact
words, though a reasonable summary of what he says about Godwin. Hazlitt seems to
be recalling Book III, chapter 2 ofthe 1803 edition, 'Of Systems ofEquality. Godwin',
where Malthus envisages a Godwinian society with no food:
301
No human institutions here existed, to the perverseness of which Mr Godwin as-

cribes the original sin ofthe worst men. No opposition had been produced by them
between publick and private good. No monopoly had been created ofthose advan-
tages 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 ofdistress, which degrade by the most imperious
circumstances, by laws inherent in the nature ofman, and absolutely independent of
all human regulations. (p. 373)
9 willing credulity The MS originally read 'it with success' before being deleted to the
present reading.
10 palmy state] from Hamlet, I. i. 113.
11 l1lrious Prospects ofMankind, Nature, and Providence] This work, by RobertWallace (1697-
1771) was published in 1761.
12 from a limited earth and a limitedfertility] Like most ofthe apparent quotations in this essay,
these words appear nowhere in this order in either the 1798 or 1803 editions ofMalthus;
Hazlitt cleverly uses Malthus's language to paraphrase his argument.
13 with all their imperfections on their heads] an echo of Hamlet, I. v. 79.
14 Aaording to Mr Malthus's octavo edition . .. without eating] Hazlitt refers to chapter 2 ofthe
first edition (which appeared in octavo - the second, of 1803, was a quarto).
15 back inta Epicurus's stye] from James Beattie, The Minstrel (1784), i, I. 357: 'Prom Pyrrho's
maze, and Epicurus's sty' .
16 for if you cast your eye ... in proportion] Hazlitt is recalling the following passage from
Malthus (1803), Book I, chapter 1:
Taking the whole earth instead of this island, emigration would of course be ex-
cluded; 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. (p. 8)
17 gospel is preached to the poor] an allusion to Luke 4:18.

18 the tables are not foll~ an allusion to Isaiah 28:8.
19 The period at which Mr Malthus came forward . .. thick and slab] the allusion is to Macbeth,
IV. i. 32. Howe refers to a passage in the Life of Napoleon, in which Hazlitt aligns
Malthus with Robert Bisset (1759-1805) and William Mitford (1744-1827), who wrote
volumes in which democracy and republicanism were savagely criticised; see Howe,
xiv, p. 212.
20 Mr Godwin has lately attempted . .. to the Essay] Hazlitt refers to Godwin, Of Population:
An Enquiry Concerning the Power of Increase in the Numbers of Mankind, written 1818,
published 1820; he thought that in writing the volume, Godwin stole as much as halfof
his own Reply to Malthus (Letters, p. 205).
21 a Rolandfor his Oliver] i.e., give as good as he got. Roland and Oliver were knights in
Charlemagne's court who repeatedly engaged in single combat.
22 a curious passage ofJudge Blackstone, on consanguinity] from Sir William Blackstone, Knt,
Commentaries on the Laws of England, ed. John Taylor Coleridge (16th edn., 4 vols.,
London, 1825), II, chap. 14, 'OfTicle by Descent', i, pp. 203-4.
302
23 Montesquieu's hypothesis of the depopulation of the world] Hazlitt refers to Montesquieu,

Lettres Persanes (1721) and L'Esprit des Lois (1748).
24 It has sometimes occu"ed to me ... Enquiry Concerning Population] Hazlitt quotes Godwin,
OfPopulation: An Enquiry concerning the Power of Increase in the Numbers of Mankind, being
an answer to Mr Malthus's Essay on that Subject (London, 1820), pp. 98-100.
25 broke a lance with Mr Ricardo] In 1815 Malthus published an Inquiry into the Nature and
Progress of Rent, but it was the Principles of Political Economy (1820) that provoked a series
of replies from his friend David Ricardo, whose Principles of Political Economy and Taxa-
tion (1817) contains a chapter entitled 'Mr Malthus's Opinions on Rent'.
26 darling in the public eye] from Othello, III. iv. 66, and Antony and Cleopatra, III. vi. 11.
27 as Mandeville formerly procured enemies by his attacks on Human Perfections and on Charity
Schools] see Mandeville's Fable of the Bees.
28 Plug Pulteney, the celebrated miser] Sir William Johnstone Pulteney (1721-1802), MP for
Shrewsbury.
29 that now it was to be hoped ... pocket-handkerchiifJ untraced.
Mr Gifford
The MS (which consists mostly ofa draft for the footnote on pages 186-7) contains an
interesting note to the printer, deleted almost immediately: 'M' H. would be glad of
End ofManuscript about Hobhouse & M' E Burdett'. This is presumably a reference to
the concluding part of the essay on 'Mr Brougham and Sir E Burdett', which does not,
however, refer to Hobhouse. That would indicate that this essay post-dates that one -
i.e. the present essay was composed after November 1823.
The essay on Gifford attracted considerable attention from reviewers for obvious
reasons; the Monthly Review observed that
Mr Hazlitt's portrait of Mr Gifford is the concentrated essence of hatred. The poor

Editor of the Quarterly Review comes out of his pages as from a Fleet-ditch....We
say not a word in justification of the tone and the spirit with which Mr Hazlitt was
assailed in the Journal alluded to. We will even admit it to have been coarse, sple-
netic, and satirical, far beyond the fair limits of the province and privilege of a
reviewer: yet it must be borne in mind, that the attack (unquestionably offensive)
was not an attack upon the obscurity ofMr Hazlitt's birth, nor upon the misfortunes
of his early life, nor upon his moral character. Mr Hazlitt, on the other hand, begins
his portrait ofMr Gifford by an allusion to the circumstances of his humble origin,
which is grossly indelicate; and much beneath the dignity of a man ofletters.
(Monthly Review, 107 (May 1825), pp. 1-15, pp. 3-4)
The Oxford Quarterly Magazine, 1 (June 1825), pp. 199-212, citing the essay on Gifford,
declared that 'It is really a thousand pities, that literature should be made the vehicle of
so much abuse and personal vituperation' (p. 204). In the Edinburgh Review, 42 (April
1825), pp. 254--60,Jeffrey noted that Hazlitt's hatred of Gifford was 'bitter and unspar-
ing; it runs over through above twenty pages, with hardly one pause or variety' (p. 258).
The essay drew on the same well of bitterness that fuels 'A Half-length', the portrait of
Croker that belongs to the same phase ofwork as The Spirit of the Age, but which did not
find a place in the volume (see Appendix V).
Mr Gifford was originally bred to some handicraft . .. nobleman'sfomily] Gifford indeed had
low beginnings. His father died <if drink when he was an infant, and his mother died a
year later. He was apprenticed to a cobbler in 1772.
303
2 self-taught man] The reviewer of The Spirit ofthe Age in the Oxford Quarterly Magazine, 1
(June 1825), pp. 199-212 pointed out, for 'the pure love oftruth and fair play', that this
is an inexactitude. Gifford attended the Ashburton free school, and was there long
enough to assist the master, Hugh Smerdon. He distinguished himself sufficiendy to
procure a bible clerkship at Exeter College, Oxford, where he graduated BA in 1782.
3 the Editor ofthe Quarterly Review] Gifford edited the Quarterly, 1809-24.
4 He is a critic of the last age . .. profound scholar] Gifford edited Massinger (1805),Jonson
(1816) and Ford (1827); his notes on Shirley were used by Dyce (1833), and his manu-
script notes on Shakespeare are in a copy in the British Library. He also published
translations ofJuvenal (1802) and Persius (1821).
5 the Red Book] The popular name for The Royal Kalendar: and Court and City Register,
which listed MPs, members of the aristocracy, and other notables; the equivalent of
today's Who! Who.
6 Destroy his fib or sophistry . .. dirty work again.~ from Pope, Epistle to Dr Arbuthnot, II. 91-
2.
7 chalk-stones] gall-stones
8 I am not Stephano, but a cramp] from The Tempest,v. i. 286-7.
9 He cannot go alone . . . and trammels] a none too charitable reference to the fact that
Gifford was permanendy injured by a blow to the chest in boyhood.
lOa lady goes on crutches ... Mr Gijford's manly satire] Hazlitt is recalling Gifford's lines on
Mary Robinson in The Baviad:
See Robinson forget her state, and move

On crutches tow'rds the grave, to 'Light 0' Love' ... (II. 27-8)
Robinson was paralysed from the waist down; Hazlitt is also mindful ofthe fact that she
was the Prince Regent's discarded mistress. (For more on her see my Romantic IMlmen
Poets: An Anthology (Oxford, 1997), pp. 177-83.)
11 He stands at the door ofMr Murray! shoplJohn Murray (1778-1843) purchased 50 Albemarle
Street in 1812, from where he published the Quarterly Review, as well as The Baviad and
Mceviad.
12 apassportfrom the Treasury] an allusion to the fact that the Quarterly was sponsored by the
government.
13 the Feast of the Poets] a reference to Leigh Hunt's poem (1814).
14 a man was confined in Newgate a short time btfore] a reference to Leigh Hunt's imprison-
ment, February 1813-February 1815, in Horsemonger Lane Gaol.
15 the paraphrase ofthe story ofDante] a reference to Hunt's The Story ofRimini (1816), based
on the affair of Paolo and Francesca, as recounted by Dante, Inferno, canto 5.
16 the Verses to Anna] In a note to line 193 of the Mceviad, Gifford transcribed three of his
other poems, ofwhich The Grave ofAnna is the third; it is quoted by Hazlitt, pp. 186-7.
17 a bud bit by an envious worm ... beauty to the sun] from Romeo andJuliet, 1. i. 151-3.
18 Mr Keats! ostensible crime . .. Examiner Newspaper] Keats's Poems (1817) were favourably
reviewed by Leigh Hunt in The Examiner, 1 June, 6 July, 13 July 1817. Keats received
less generous treatment from Croker in his article in the Quarterly, September 1818.
19 Out went the taper as she hurried in ... and be a bud again] from Keats, The Eve ofSt Agnes,
II. 199-243.
20 Sweetflowers! thatfrom your humble beds . .. to tell my name] This poem, entided 'To a Tuft
of Early Violets', and the following one, 'The Grave ofAnna', appear in a note to line
193 of Gifford's Mceviad (1811),pp. 95-9.
21 Ecce iterum Crispinus.~ from Juvenal, Satires, iv, 1.
22 ohe! jam satis est.~ from Horace, Satires, I, v,lI. 12-13.
304
23 My rack a grub - a butteifly upon a wheel?] from Pope, Epistle to Dr Arbuthnot, 11. 307-8:
Satire or Sense alas! can Sporus feel?

Who breaks a Butterfly upon a Wheel?
24 Mr Keats died when he was scarce twenty~ Keats was in fact in his twenty-sixth year when
he died, 23 February 1821.
25 Government Aristarchus] another allusion to the fact that the Quarterly was sponsored by
the government; Aristarchus was the editor of Homer.
26 Thus he informed the world that ... Mr Gifford's] Hazlitt refers to the anonymous review by
J. Matthews, Quarterly Review, 26 (October 1821), pp. 103-8. Hazlitt had already come
under fire in reviews of The RoundTable (Quarterly Review, 17 (April 1817),pp. 154-9, by
John Russell), Lectures on the English Poets (Quarterly Review, 19 Guly 1818), pp. 424-34,
by William Gifford and Eaton Stannard Barrett), and Characters ofShakespear's Plays (Quar-
terly Review, 18 {January 1818), pp. 458-66, by J. Russell, actually published 10 June
1818). These onslaughts led to his Letter to William Gifford, Esq. (1819); see vol. 5.
27 He charged this writer with imposing ... a.flowery style] Hazlitt refers specifically to the
charge in the review of Characters of Shakespear's Plays (Quarterly Review, 18 Ganuary
1818), pp. 458-66): 'Sometimes he breaks forth into a poetical strain, as at the mention
of Ophelia, "0, rose of May! 0, flower too soon faded!'" (p. 459).
28 It was amusing to see this person ... himself a Leibnitz ~ Hazlitt refers to Gifford's riposte in
a review of Political Essays (1819):
There is something beyond all farce or caricature in this angry buffoon's self-satisfied
assumption of a seat amongst these three great men, whom Religion, Genius, Phi-
losophy and Science raised almost above the nature ofmortals....We doubt whether
a Dutch sign-painter would make his own apotheosis equally ludicrous: even if he
were to depict himself recumbent at the table of the Gods, with trunk-hose, grasp-
ing a tobacco-pipe with one hand, and striving to purple his lips in nectar with the
other. (Quarterly Review, 22 Guly 1819), pp. 158-63, p. 162)
Gifford is replying to Hazlitt's Letter to William Gifford, which declares: 'I have some love
of fame, of the fame of a Pascal, a Leibnitz, or a Berkeley' (vol. 5 p.391).
29 Mr Croker is understood . .. attacks on Lady Morgan] Hazlitt refers to John Wilson Croker
(1780-1857), founder and contributor to the Quarterly; George Canning, a contributor
during his years out of office; Isaac D'Israeli (1766-1848), man of letters; and either
William Jacob (?1762-1851), who wrote on econornics and politics, or Edward Jacob
(d.1841) who reviewed Hazlitt's Political Essays in 1819. Sydney Owenson, Lady Morgan
(1777-1859), France was savagely reviewed by Croker; see my Romantic Women Poets:An
Anthology (Oxford, 1997), pp. xix, 462-6.
30 His address to Peter Pindar] Hazlitr refers to Gifford's Epistle to Peter Pindar (1800).
31 Drawcansir] the stage braggart in George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, The Rehearsal
(1671).
32 As a translator . .. of all others] Gifford's translation ofJuvenal was published in 1802.
33 As an editor of old authors] Gifford edited Massinger (1805) and Jonson (1816).
34 Mat he will make of Marlowe . .. guess] Gifford did not live to complete his edition of
Marlowe.
35 the fiery quality] from King Lear, II. iv. 92.
36 Spiritus predpitandus est] from Petronius Arbiter, Satin1!, 1. 118: 'praecipitandus est liber
spiritus'.
305
37 Thus,Jor instance, in attempting . .. costume if his subject] In the Introduction to his edition
of Massinger, Gifford wrote: 'A close and repeated perusal of Massinger's works has
convinced me that he was a Catholick. The Virgin-Martyr, The Renegado, The Maid if
Honour, exhibit innumerable proofS of it' (Gifford, i, p. ix). Gifford's reasoning on this
point is not supported by reliable evidence.
38 A writer might, with the same . .. Flora and Ceres in a poem on the Seasons.1 Hazlitt refers to
Thomson, Summer, II. 694 and 863.
39 Deckar, who is asserted by our critic . .. devotional scenes] Hazlitt is recalling Gifford's intro-
duction to his edition, where he comments:
The Virgin-Martyr is confidendy mentioned by the former editors as the earliest of

Massinger's works, probably because it was the first that appeared in print: but this
drama, which they have considerably under-rated, in consequence, perhaps, of the
dull ribaldry with which it is vitiated by Decker, evinces a style decidedly formed, a
hand accustomed to composition, and a mind stored with the richest acquisitions of
a long and successful study. (Gifford, i, p. xxi)
40 In like manner, he excuses Massinger ... Christian religion] Hazlitt is probably recalling
Gifford's headnote to The Unnatural Combat, where he remarks that 'the passion on
which the main part ofthe story hinges, is oftoo revolting a nature for public represen-
tation: we may admire in the closet what we should turn from on the stage' (Gifford, i.
124).
Mr Jeffrey
The Quarterly Review arose out if the Edinburgh ... contradiction to it] The Quarterly was
founded in 1808, by government ministers, with the express intention of countering
the Whiggish views ofthe Edinburgh Review. The first number ofthe Quarterly appeared
in February 1809. It is worth remembering, throughout this essay, that Hazlitt had been
writing for the Edinburgh since November 1814, and that he accounted Jeffrey a per-
sonal friend.
2 An article had appeared . .. if the Edinburgh] Hazlitt refers to Edinburgh Review, 13 (Octo-
ber 1808), pp. 215-34, which carriedJefttey's review ofDon Pedro Cevallos, Exposition
if the Practices and Machinations which led to the Usurpation if the Crown if Spain (1808),
which attacks the British government for its reluctance to support the Spaniards in their
resistance to the French. It concludes with a passage in which Jeffrey says that he should
extravagandy rejoice in any conceivable event which must reform the constitution of
England, - by reducing the overgrown influence of the Crown, - by curbing the
pretensions ofthe privileged orders, in so far as this can be effected without strength-
ening the Royal influence, - by raising up the power of real talents and worth, the
true nobility ofa country, - by exalting the mass ofthe community, and giving them,
under the guidance of that virtual aristocracy, to direct the councils of England,
according to the spirit, as well as the form of our invaluable constitution ... (p. 233)
3 to have their handsfull if truths] a saying attributed to Fontenelle in Hazlitt's Characteristics

(1823) (see Howe, ix, p. 205).
4 those who are not for them are against them] from Matthew 12:30.
5 ugly all over with hypocrisy] The quotation is from Wycherley's The Plain Dealer, IV, i, II.
25-6, which Hazlitt knew, though, as Howe points out, it also appeared in The Tatler,
306
no. 38 for 7 July 1709:'MrWycherly's Character ofa Coxcomb: He is ugly all over with
the Affectation of the fine Gendeman' (The Tatler, ed. Donald E Bond (3 vols., Oxford,
1987), i, pp. 273-4).
6 Sithence nofairy lights . .. in a niche / Obscure] from Sneyd Davies, To the Worthy, Humane,
Generous, Reverend and Noble, Mr Frederick Cornwallis, now Archbishop of Canterbury, 11.
38-42 (Dodsley, A Collection of Poems (6 vols., London, 1782), vi, pp. 153--6).
7 A man ofgenius who is a lord] an obvious reference to Byron.
8 Messrs Longman] The firm of Longman and Rees was associated with Constable in the
publication of the Edinburgh Review. They also published Wordsworth, but rejected By-
ron's English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. Murray was known as Byron's publisher, but did
not publish all his work.
9 The style of philosophical critidsm ... William Taylor, of Norwich] Taylor wrote for the
Monthly Review, 1793-9. However, Taylor is not known to have supplied it with a 'series
of articles', and it is in any case questionable how Hazlitt could have identified the
contents of the journal, which were published anonymously. David Chandler devotes
useful discussion to Taylor in 'The Foundation of "Philosophical Criticism": William
Taylor's Connection with the Monthly Review, 1792-93', Studies in Bibliography, 50 (1997),
pp.359-71.
10 Mr Moore's Magdalen Muse . .. silk-stockings] Moore (another contributor to the Edin-
burgh) was out offavour with the Quarterly on account ofsome ofhis prose works; LAlla
Rookh and The Loves of the Angels were not reviewed there. Bridewell was a prison for
vagrants formerly in Tothill Fields, and after 1826 in Victoria Street, Westminster.
11 Thus Sir Wtllter Scott is lauded to the skies ... Lord Byron is called to a grave moral reckoning
... in the Edinburgh Review] Intriguingly, Hazlitt is referring to Edinburgh Review, 36
(February 1822),pp.413-52, a review ofByron's Sardanapalus (1821). Hazlitt was origi-
nally detailed to write it, as he told Patmore on 30 March 1822 (Letters, p. 248). But,
having seen Hazlitt's text, Jeffrey asked him whether he would mind ifhe revised it; on
14 February Hazlitt told him to 'Do what you please with the article' Oones (1977),
p. 337). The published text was, I suspect, largely, if not completely, by Jeffrey. The
attack on Byron's morals on pages 447-50 is totally uncharacteristic of Hazlitt: 'Love,
patriotism, valour, devotion, constancy, ambition - all are to be laughed at, disbelieved
in, and despised! - and nothing is really good, so far as we can gather, but a succession
of dangers to stir the blood, and of banquets and intrigues to sooth it again!' (p. 449).
Jeffrey goes on to compare Byron unfavourably with Southey: 'With all his unrivalled
power of invention and judgment, of pathos and pleasantry, the tenor of his sentiments
is uniformly generous, indulgent, and good-humoured' (p. 451). Two years later, Hazlitt
comments unfavourably on this review as a way of distancing himself from it.
12 its treatment of the Lyrical Ballads] Hazlitt has in mind Jeffrey's review ofSouthey's Thalaba,
Edinburgh Review, 1 (October 1802), pp. 63-83, which began his campaign against
Lyrical Ballads and the 'Lake School'.Wordsworth regarded it as 'an attack upon me' (EY,
p.432).
13 the uniform and unqualified encouragement . .. advantage of it] Hazlitt has in mind the review
of his own Reply to Malthus in Edinburgh Review 16 (August 1810) 464-76, which he
regarded 'as a pretence for making a formal eulogy' on Malthus' work (Letters, 122).
Indeed, the review is defensive of Malthus. By contrast, Southey in the Quarterly ar-
gued, in Article IV for December 1812, that Malthus' thesis rests on a 'fundamental
sophism','as false in philosophy as pernicious in morals'.
307
14 reasons ... as plenty as blackberries] from 1 Henry IV, II. iv. 239: 'ifreasons were as plentiful
as blackberries'.
15 MrJeffiey is the Editor . . ..from its commencement] Jeffrey's own catalogue lists two hundred
contributions to the pages ofthe Review.
16 infinite agitation ofwit] from Bacon, The Advancement ofLearning, I, iv,S, where schoolmen
are criticised, who'did out of no great quantity of matter and infinite agitation of wit
spin out unto us those laborious webs of learning which are extant in their books'
(Wright, pp. 31-2).
17 like beads on sparkling wine] Hazlitt may be recalling Keats, Ode to a Nightingale, 1. 17:
'beaded bubbles winking at the brim'.
18 He argues welQ Maxwell (1951) suggests an emendation:'the whole context surely points
to augurs for argues'. However, 'argues' stands in the Paris and second London editions,
and Hazlitt uses it in the same way elsewhere.
19 ~ believe also that late events . .. priestcrqft and arbitrary power] It is not clear what Hazlitt
has in mind; Mackerness suggests that he is thinking of the invasion of Portugal by
France and Spain. To me it looks just as likely that Hazlitt is thinking of events closer to
home: the tide of opinion leading to the Roman Catholic Emancipation Act of 1829
and the Reform Act of1832.
20 spinning the thread of his verbosity ... staple of his argument] from Love's Lobours Lost, V. i.
16-17.
21 He has not been spoiled by fortune] another implicit comparison with Byron, 'the spoiled
child offortune' (see p. 140).
22 MrJeffiey in his person is slight . .. acuteness of tone] Hazlitt first met Jeffrey at his home in
Edinburgh in the last week ofMarch 1822, and confided to him his reasons for being in
Scodand in early June.
Mr Brougham - Sir Francis Burdett
Hazlitt's reference to 'the late Lord Erskine' (p. 200) indicates that the essay was written
after November 1823.
has no figures, nor no fantasies . .. those which ... brains of men] from Julius Caesar, II. i.
231-2.
2 tread the primrose path of dalliance] from Hamlet, I. iii. 50.
3 the iron rail-way] the latest technological innovation: the first commercial railway, be-
tween Stockton and Darlington, opened for business on 27 September 1825.
4 a Phillips . .. a Plunket ... a Curran] three noted Irish lawyers: Charles Phillips (?1787-
1859), leader of the Old Bailey Bar;William Conyngham Plunket (1764-1854), advo-
cate ofCatholic Emancipation; and John Philpot Curran (1750-1817), lawyer and states-
man.
5 the late Lord Erskine] Erskine died in November 1823.
6 like that of his writings] Howe suggests that Hazlitt refers to Erskine's Utopian political
romance,Armata (1817), but he might also have in mind The Unconditioned Freeness ofthe
Gospels in Three Essays (1778), A View of the Causes and Consequences ofthe Present War with
France (1797), or even Poetical Warks (1823).
7 that school ofpolitics and political economy] i.e., he was a disciple ofAdam Smith.
8 domestic treason,foreign levy] from Macbeth, III. ii. 25: 'Malice domestic, foreign levy'.
9 Mr Brougham is not a Scotchman literally, but by adoption] Brougham was born in Edin-
burgh, though the family home, Brougham Hall, is in Westtnorland. He was sent to
Edinburgh High School and distinguished himself in mathematics and physics at the
University before turning to law.
308
10 As much again to govern it] from Pope, Essay on Criticism (1711-43 text), 80--1:
There are whom Heav'n has blest with store ofWit,

Yet want as much again to manage it ...
11 Pour out all as plain ... old Montaigne] from Pope, The First Satire oj the Second Book oj
Horace, 11. 51-2.
12 Scared at the sound himselfhas made.1 from Collins, The Passions, 19-20.
13 the total grist, unsifted, husks and all] from Cowper, The Task, vi, 1. 108.
14 ffi do not wish to press this argumentfarther . .. on our heads] ever so slightly disingenuous,
as Hazlitt had already done his worst in the essay 'On the Scotch Character', first pub-
lished in The Liberal, January 1823 (Howe, xvii, pp.l 00--6).
15 make thorough-stitch work oj it] i.e., finish what he has begun.
16 rifaccimentos] reworkings.
17 the celebrated Carnot] Nicolas Leonard Sadi Carnot (1796-1832), French physicist, made
important contributions to the study of heat. He died of cholera in Paris, 24 August
1832.
18 no day without a line] from Pliny, Natural History, xxxv, 36,84, 'nulla dies sine linea' (of
Apelles).
19 His principles are mellowed and improved] Hazlitt would not have approved ofthe way that,
in time, Burdett's reformist principles mellowed to the point that he separated himself
from his radical friends and voted and worked with the Tories.
20 imbibed at Wimbledon Common] a reference to Burdett's friendship with Horne Tooke
and his circle, who met at Tooke's house in Wimbledon.
21 Major Cartwright] John Cartwright (1740--1824), founder of the Society for Constitu-
tional Information, was a witness at the treason trials of 1794; in 1819 he was himself
indicted for conspiracy. Burdett was the first chairman ofthe Hampden Club, organised
by Cartwright, in 1811.
22 Hunt half a day for aforgotten dream] from Wordsworth, Hart-Leap ffill,1. 128.
Lord Eldon and Mr Wilberforce

Hazlitt first published 'Lord Eldon' in the New Monthly Magazine,July 1824, as 'The
Spirits ofthe Age, No.V', unsigned. His reference to the debate of24 February 1824 (p.
207) indicates that the essay was written shortly after. Hazlitt also discusses Wilberforce
in his Plain Speaker essay, 'On the Spirit of Obligations', vol. 8, p. 75.
all tranquillity and smiles] from Cowper, The Task, iv, 1. 49: 'placemen, all tranquillity and
smiles'.
2 All is consaence and tender heart] from Chaucer, General Prologue to the Canterbury Tales, 1.
150.
3 If wretches hang that Ministers may dine] from Pope, The Rape of the Lock, iii, 1. 22: 'And
Wretches hang that Jury-men may Dine'.
4 An instance oj what we mean . .. newspaper report] On 24 February 1824, an inaccurate
report ofa speech on the second ofJohn Williams's motions on the subject ofthe Court
of Chancery led Eldon, as Lord Chancellor, to make some angry observations from the
bench. The incident created a sensation and led to a debate in Parliament. See Horace
Twiss, The Public and Private Lift ojLord Chancellor Eldon (3 vols., London, 1844), ii, pp.
490--502.
5 Resistless passion sways us ... likes or loaths] from The Merchant ojVenice, IV. i. 51-2.
6 lack lustre eye] from As You Like It, II. vii. 21.
309
7 as they were in Rabelais] see Pantagruel, III, chaps 39-40.

8 the Poet-LAureat's application to the Court <if Chancery . .. Wat Tyler] In the spring of 1817,
Southey's J.tat Tyler (written 1794) was published by his enemies. He sought an injunc-
tion against the publishers, but this was disallowed by the Court of Chancery. Hazlitt
wrote two essays on this incident for The Examiner (9 and 30 March 1817), reprinted
Political Essays (1819), see vol. 4, pp. 157-74.
9 He recollected the year 1794] a reference to the treason trials, when Eldon (then Sir John
Scott), as Attorney General, was largely responsible for Pitt's 'gagging acts' and pros-
ecuting the treason trials.
10 one entire and perfect chrysolite] from Othello, V. ii. 145.
11 Read his history in a Prince's eyes.~ from Gray, Elegy, I. 64: 'And read their hist'ry in a
nation's eyes'. Eldon was for years the favoured Lord Chancellor of George III, but
when the king was judged permanendy insane in 1810 his position seemed threatened.
At first, the Regency Act made clear that Eldon's power be restricted for one year, but
in the end the Prince retained his father's ministers, Eldon included. Eldon devoted
himself to the service of George IV as he had to that ofhis father.
12 the paper pellets <if the brain] As Howe notes, Hazlitt is recalling both Much Ado About
Nothing, II. iii. 24(}-2, 'Shall quips and sentences and these paper bullets of the brain
awe a man from the career ofhis humor?', and Massinger, A New Way to Pay Old Debts,
I, i, ll. 55-6: 'no man scap'd /Your paper-pelletts'.
13 the Chancellor has been found uniformly .. . advancement <iffreedom] no exaggeration; Eldon
opposed Catholic emancipation, the repeal ofthe Test and Corporation Acts, the com-
mutation of the tithe, measures of law reform, the abolition of imprisonment as a
punishment for debtors, and the abolition of the slave trade, as well as the reform of
parliament itself
14 so small a drop <if pity as a wren's eye] from Cymbeline, IV. ii. 304-5.
15 complaisance and good nature] Hazlitt omitted at this point a passage that, apparendy, he
felt was too strong for readers ofthe magazine text and the first edition. However, it was
replaced in the Paris edition, and appeared in the second London edition. The Paris
text, the more lethal, reads as follows: '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 oftheir sufferings nor their cries; he sees only the
gracious smile, the ready hand stretched out to thank him for his compliance with the
dictates ofrooted hate! He dooms a continent to slavery, [without a pang]- 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!'The words in square
brackets did not appear in the second London edition. It is likely that Hazlitt added this
passage as a defiant response to the harsh criticism of the essay on Eldon as it appeared
in the first edition, by Lockhart in Blackwood's (see next note).
16 As to abstract metaphysical calculations . .. warn others against him.~ In a particularly poison-
ous review, Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, 17 (March 1825), pp. 361-5 quoted this
passage and commented: 'We are in more than usual good humour this evening with
the whole world and all its inhabitants; and are determined not to use an uncivil word
to the most worthless individual.Yet surely we may, with perfect bonhommie, ask, is not
this a vile knave? The lies he here tells are ofno moment, but are you not disgusted with
his ape-like impudence? To bring the absurdity of the impudence of the Thing more
home to itself, suppose, for a moment, such a person as Mr Hazlitt were to be made
Lord Chancellor! Only think ofEldon's wig on Pygmalion! Was ever a poor case before
in such extremity?Yet, to hear the Creature speak, you would conclude that he feels his
infinite superiority over his Lordship. No notion has he ofthe difference between one
ofthe greatest ofmen and one of the meanest ofmonkeys. So have we seen one ofthat
310
tribe keep mowing and chattering at Christian people, through the bars of his cage,
aloft in Womell's (read Colburn's) menagerie, manifestly, with a few nuts and an orange
in his jaw, to keep him in antics odious alike to the visitors and his keeper' (pp. 362-3).
17 Mat lacks he then?]a recollection of King John, rv. i. 48.
18 consdence will not budge] from The Merchant tifVenice, II. ii. 20.
19 UVe unto you . .. speak well tif you.~ from Luke 6:26.
20 the images tif God ... old Fuller calls them] Hazlitt is recalling Thomas Fuller, The Holy
State and the Prtifane State (1642), 'The good Sea-Captain', Maxim 5: 'But our Captain
counts the image ofGod neverthelesse his image cut in ebony as ifdone in ivory, and in
the blackest Moores he sees the representation of the King of heaven' (ii, p. 129).
21 he must have a Prime-Minister drink his health . .. his country and tif Europe~ Hazlitt could
not forgive Wilberforce for his loyalty to Pitt; after 1817 Wilberforce supported the
corn laws and the repressive policy of the government in domestic affairs. Shortly be-
fore his death he said that he thought the first Reform Bill too radical.
22 lost him his seat for Yorkshire] Wilberforce was MP for Yorkshire, 1784-1812, when he
became MP for Bramber, Sussex, retiring from the Commons in 1825.
23 He preaches vital Christianity to untutored savages . .. dvilised states] Wilberforce's interest in
slavery was prompted by religion and humanitarianism; in spite of that, Wilberforce
backed repressive, conservative policies at home.
24 Out upon such half:faced fellowship~ from 1 Henry IV, 1. iii. 208.
25 He is coy in his approaches to power] The MS is less delicate: 'He is styled in obsequiousness.'
26 under the rose] underhand.
27 he expects a bright reversion in the skies] Maxwell (1951) notes the echo ofPope, Elegy to the
Memory tif an Unfortunate LAdy, 1. 9: 'Is there no bright reversion in the sky'.
28 But Mr Wilbeiforce is not a party-man] Though never bound by party ties, Wilberforce
remained loyal to Pitt's principles.
29 improgressive] corrected from 'inprogressive', which is the reading ofall lifetime editions.
Hazlitt meant 'improgressive', which he spells correctly on p. 144.The first usage listed
in the OED is by Coleridge, The Friend (3 vols., 1818), iii, p. 179: 'Improgressive ar-
rangement is not method'.
30 By every little breath that under heaven is blown] from The Faerie Queene, 1. vii. st. 32,1. 9.
31 Clarkson, the true Apostle tifhuman Redemption] Thomas Clarkson (1760-1846) had been
a fellow-student ofWilberforce at St John's College, Cambridge, and became the lead-
ing anti-slavery campaigner of the day. Hazlitt painted his portrait in 181!.
32 After all, the best as well as most . .. Grace and Nature] Byron relates this well-known story
as having been told to him by Sheridan himself: 'Latterly, when found drunk one night
in the kennel, and asked his name by the watchmen, he answered, "Wilberforce'" (The
UVrks tif LArd Byron: Letters and Journals, ed. Rowland E. Prothero (6 vols., London,
1898-1901), ii, p. 241).
Mr Southey
as weformerly remember to have seen him] Hazlitt arrived in the Lake District in June 1803
where he painted portraits ofWordsworth and Coleridge (now lost). Southey moved
into Greta Hall in September 1803, and was deeply impressed by Hazlitt's work; in a
letter of 14 December he told Richard Duppa:
Haslitt, whom you saw at Paris, has been here; a man of real genius. He has made a
very fine picture of Coleridge for Sir George Beaumont, which is said to be in
311
Titian's manner; he has also painted Wordsworth, but so dismally, though Wordsworth's
face is his idea of physiognomical perfection, that one of his friends, on seeing it,
exclaimed, 'At the gallows - deeply affected by his deserved fate - yet determined to
die like a man;' and if you saw the picture, you would admire the criticism.
(The Life and Correspondence of the late Robert Southey, ed. Charles Cuthbert Southey
(6 voIs., London, 1849-50), ii, p. 238)
2 where he must live or have no life at alij a recollection of Othello, IV. ii. 58.
3 whatever is, is right] from Pope, Essay on Man, i, I. 294.
4 He missed his way in Utopia, he hasfound it at Old Sarum] a reference firstly to the failure
of pantisocracy, and secondly to Southey's conservative faith, in later years, in the
unreformed English Parliamentary system (symbolised by Old Sarum, one ofthe most
notorious of the rotten boroughs).
5 His generous ardour no cold medium knows] from Pope, Homer's fliad, ix,I. 725: 'A gen'rous
Friendship no cold Medium knows'.
6 He is ever in extremes, and ever in the wrong.1 an allusion to Dryden, Absalom andAchitophel,
I. 547: 'Stiff in Opinions, always in the wrong'.
7 the words of truth and soberness] from Acts 26:25.
8 a Reformer is a worse character than a house-breaker] Hazlitt refers to Southey's review of
books and pamphlets about the poor, published in Quarterly Review 15 (April 1816)
187-235, p. 216:'Far different this from the principle of our political- or more properly
speaking, our pseudo-reformers, who, under pretence of restoring the constitution to
what it never at any time was, would, by their violent innovations, dislocate the parts,
loosen the foundations, and subvert the whole fabric!'
9 we relish Mr Southey more in the Reformer] an allusion to Othello, II. i. 16~: 'You may
relish him more in the soldier than in the scholar.' Southey took up the office ofLaure-
ate on 12 August 1813, after the death of Henry James Pye (1745-1813).
10 He is nothing, if notJantasticaij an allusion to Othello, II. i. 119: 'For I am nothing if not
critical'.
11 he is not legitimate] In the MS at this point Hazlitt continues: 'Fine word, legitimate! Now
Gods stand up for bastards!'These two sentences were subsequently deleted.
12 teres et rotundus] from Horace, Satires, II, vii, I. 86: 'teres atque rotundus'.
13 Does he not dedicate to his present Majesty . .. English hexameters?] cruelly ironic; Southey's
A Vision ofJudgment (1821), with its sycophantic dedication to George IV, was com-
posed in hexameters, which its author had imperfectly mastered.
14 to try conclusions] from Hamlet, III. iv. 195.
15 Look at Mr Southey's larger poems . .. Roderic] Hazlitt refers to The Curse of Kehama (1810);
Thalaba the Destroyer (1801); Madoc (1805); and Roderick, the Lost of the Goths (1814).
16 his own Glendoveer] The Glendoveers (or Grindouvers) are the Good Spirits in The Curse
of Kehama.
17 Or if a composer ofsacred Dramas . .. or even regretted) Hazlitt refers to Henry Hart Milman
(1791-1868), afterwards Dean ofSt Paul's, author of Samor (1818), The Fall ofJerusalem
(1820), and The Martyr ofAntioch (1822), and a contributor to the Quarterly Review, and
to William Gifford.
18 the author ofJoan ofArc] By Southey's own admission,joan ofArc is an epic poem 'written
in a republican spirit, such as may easily be accounted for in a youth whose notions of
liberty were taken from the Greek and Roman writers, and who was ignorant enough
of history and of human nature to believe, that a happier order of things had com-
menced with the independence of the United States, and would be accelerated by the
French Revolution' (Southey, Poetical Ui>rks (1837), i, p. xxix).
312
19 the malice of old friends] There are two possible sources: firstly, Thomson's The Tragedy of
Sophonisba (1730), II, iii, 22-4: 'Even thou thy self, / Who saw'st her with the malice of
a friend, / Even thou thy self admir'st her! Secondly,Young's Love ofFame, The Universal
Passion: Satire III. To the Right Honourable Mr Dodington, 1. 10: 'You read with all the
malice ofa friend.' The second ofthese is discussed by Stanley Jones, 'Hazlitt, Coleridge,
and Edward Young: Unidentified Quotations', N&Q 42 (1993), pp. 470-1.
20 the Wat Tyler and the Vision ofJudgment are the Alpha and Omega of his disjointed careelj a
cruel way of summing up Southey's life; u-&t Tyler (written 1794, published 1817) es-
poused the republican cause, whereas A Vision ofJudgment (1821) praises monarchy.
21 Farfrom the sun and summer gale.~ from Gray, The Progress of Poesy, 1. 83.
22 Because he is virtuous ... are there to be no more cakes and ale?] from Twelfth Night, II. iii.
114-16.
23 the Book of the Church] In 1824 Southey published his two-volume prose work, which
supported the Anglican Church in opposition to Catholics and Nonconformists. It
aroused much hostility and opposition, and confirmed Southey's reputation as a con-
servative.
24 A little leaven leaveneth the whole lump] from Galatians 5:9.
25 there hangs a vapourous drop profound] from Macbeth, III. v. 24.
26 Once a philanthropist and always a philanthropist] an allusion to Burke's comment, 'Once a
Jacobin, and always a Jacobin!' (attributed to him by Hazlitt in his essay 'On the Charac-
ter of Rousseau', as it appeared in The Examiner, 14 April 1816; see vol. 2).
27 to deluge Ireland with blood] This was a particularly tense time in Irish politics; during the
early nineteenth century there was vigorous agitation for Catholic emancipation and
repeal ofthe union, and against the payment oftithes to the established Church. Daniel
O'Connell was eminent as a national leader asserting the people's rights against what
was perceived to be an oppressive and unjust system; his election as MP for Clare in
1828 finally compelled Wellington and Peel to pass the Emancipation Act of 1829.
28 like the high leaves upon the holly-tree.~ from Southey, The Holly Tree, 11. 24, 30.
29 full of wise saws and modern . .. instances] from As You like It, II. vii. 156.
30 He also excels as an historian and prose-translator] Southey published his History of Brazil
between 1810 and 1819, and his History of the Peninsular War from 1822 to 1832. As
translator he produced versions of Palmerin ofEngland (1807) and the Chronicle ofthe Cid
(1808).
31 doubled down in dog-ears] untraced; the phrase 'doubled down' was frequently used of
dog-eared pages.
32 a parson in a tye-wig] from Johnson, life ofAddison: 'The remark of Mandeville, who,
when he had passed an evening in his company, declared that he was a parson in a tye-
wig, can detract little from his character' (Hill, ii, p. 123).
33 Andfollows so the ever-running year . .. labour to his grave] from Henry V, IV. i. 276-7.
313
Mr T. Moore - Mr Leigh Hunt

The portrait of Moore is omitted in the Paris edition, and that of Leigh Hunt follows
on from 'Elia'.
Or winglet of the fairy humming-bird . . . fluttering round] from Campbell, Gertrude of
Wyoming, ii, 11. 102-3.
2 No dainty flower or herb that grows on ground . .. to careless ease] from Spenser, The Faerie
Queene, II. vi. st.12-13.
3 wasteful and superfluous excess] from KingJohn, IV. ii. 16.
4 Eden, and Eblis, and cherub-smiles] not a direct quotation, though all these things are
featured in LAlla Rookh.
5 And spread its sweet leaves . .. beauty to the sun] from Romeo and Juliet, I. i. 152-3.
6 dying or ere they sicken~ from Macbeth, IV. iii. 173.
7 a perpetual feast if nectar'd sweets . .. where no crude surfeit re,gns] from Comus, 11. 478- 9.
8 on the rack if restless ecstacy] from Macbeth, III. ii. 21-2.
9 looks so fair and smells so sweet ... aches at it] from Othello, IV. ii. 68-9.
10 another morn risen on mid-noon] from Paradise Lost, v, 11. 310-11.
11 rifled charm] the MS has 'Siren-Grace'.
12 Pavilions if royalty] In the MS, Hazlitt originally wrote 'Pavilion at Brighton' before
changing it to the present reading. The Brighton Pavilion was begun in 1815, designed
by John Nash for the Prince Regent.
13 Immortality] the MS has 'the Temple of Fame'.
14 'tis not classical lore] untraced.
15 our English Anacreon] In 1800 Moore published a translation ofthe Greek love poet that
earned him the lasting soubriquet, 'Anacreon Moore'.
16 Now, upon Syria's land if roses . . .full if n,ghtingales] from LAlla Rookh, 'Paradise and the
Peri', 11.348-79.
17 Joy, joy forever! ... ifAmberabad] from LAlla Rookh, 'Paradise and the Peri', 11. 505-10.
18 May bestride the Gossamer . .. so l,ght is vanity.~ from Romeo andJuliet, II. vi. 18-20.
19 the diamond turrets if Shadukiam] from LAlla Rookh, 'Paradise and the Peri', I. 509.
20 Jire-:fly' fancies] untraced.
21 In vain Mokanna, 'midst the general fl,ght ... unshaken in the sky] from LAlla Rookh, 'The
Veiled Prophet of Khorassan', 11. 1538-41.
22 Whose coming seems . . . breaks in dreams] from LAlla Rookh, The Veiled Prophet of
Khorassan',II. 1548-9.
23 And every sword ...following him] from LAlla Rookh, 'TheVeiled Prophet ofKhorassan',
11. 1550-1.
24 the 'Twopenny Post-bag'] Moore's Twopenny Post-Bag By Thomas Brown, the Younger (1813)
was a verse satire against the Prince Regent and his ministers.
25 nests if spicery] from Richard Ill, IV. iv. 424.
26 In the manner ifAckermann's dresses for May] from Moore, Horace, Ode XI. Lib.II. Freely
translated by the Prince Regent, 11. 49-50:
All gende and juvenile, curly and gay,

In the manner of- Ackermann's Dresses for May!
Rudolph Ackermann (1764-1834) was a German bookseller and publisher who settled
in London; his Repository if Arts, Literature, Fashions, Manufactures &c (1809-28) was a
favourite periodical publication.
314
27 an Adonis iffifty] Leigh Hunt in The Examiner for 22 March 1812: 'This Adonis in
loveliness was a corpulent man offifty.'This was the statement that led to his imprison-
ment for libel.
28 In choosing songs the Regent named ... and sore afraid] from Moore, Extracts from the Diary
if a Politidan, II. 25-8.
29 The 'Fudge Family1 Moore's The Fudge Family in Paris (1818) is a series of twelve verse
epistles describing in a highly satirical manner the impressions ofan Irish family visiting
France. Hazlitt reviewed it in Yellow Dwarf, 25 April 1818 (Howe, vii, pp. 287-97), and
Moore sent him a signed copy of the third edition (1818) as a sort ofthank-you present
(now at the Wordsworth Library, Grasmere).
30 The 'divine Fanny Bias'] see The Fudge Family in Paris, Letter V, I. 49: 'Like divine
Bigottini and sweet Fanny Bias!' Fanny Bias is a ballet dancer.
31 the mountains a la Russe] from The Fudge Family in Paris, Letter VIII, I. 103: 'And
drive far away to the old Montagnes Russes'.
32 If he is no longerfamiliar with Royalty as with his garter] from Henry V, I. i. 47, as Maxwell
(1951) notes.
33 There was a little man ... let us try] from Moore, Little Man and Little Soul. A Ballad
(1813), II. 1-2.
34 his love if his country] Ireland; Moore desired a repeal ofthe Act ofUnion, but was not in
favour ofviolent change.
35 is shocked ... shake hands with a poet] Peter Cochran suggests to me that the reference is
to Wordsworth and Lord Lonsdale, citing Byron's cancelled authorial note to DonJuan,
Dedication, 46: 'Wordsworth's place may be in the customs - it is - I think in that or the
excise - besides another at Lord Lonsdale's table - where this poetical Charlatan &
political parasite picks up the crumbs with abandoned alacrity, the converted Jacobin
having long subsided into the clownish Sycophant - ofthe worst prejudices ofAristoc-
racy.'
36 Is Mr Moore bound to advise a Noble Poet . .. with his friend Leigh Hunt?] Jane Stabler tells
me that Hazlitt appears to be referring to Moore's letter to Byron ofJanuary 1822: 'I
heard some days ago that Leigh Hunt was on his way to you with all his family; and the
idea seems to be, that you and Shelley and he are to conspire together in the Examiner.
I cannot believe this - and deprecate such a plan with all my might. Alone you may do
any thing; but partnerships in fame, like those in trade, make the strongest party answer-
able for the deficiencies or delinquencies of the rest, and I tremble even for you with
such a bankrupt Company' (Dowden, ii, p. 502). 'Byron' and 'Leigh Hunt' appear as
'B-' and 'L. H-' in the copy-text.
37 the 'Spirit ofMonarchy 1 Hazlitt refers to his essay,'On the Spirit ofMonarchy' , published
in The Liberal for January 1823 (Howe, xix, pp. 255-67). Moore's Fables for the Holy
Alliance was published in 1823.
38 another struggling with the tide . .. in a common cause] Leigh Hunt.
39 To be admired, he needs but to be seen] Mackerness refers to Pope, Essay on Man, ii, 11.217-
18: 'Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, / As, to be hated, needs but to be seen';
Howe cites Cowper, Expostulation, II. 492-3: 'Religion if in heav'nly truths attir'd, /
Needs only to be seen to be adrnir'd'.
40 and his Story if Rimini would have been praised by Mr Blackwood] Hunt's poem in four
cantos (1816) was the primary target ofLockhart's first attack on 'The Cockney School
of Poetry: No.1', Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, 2 (October 1817), pp. 38-41. One of
Lockhart's main arguments against Hunt was his lowliness of class: 'We dare say Mr
Hunt has some fine dreams about the true nobility being the nobility of talent, and
flatters himself, that with those who acknowledge only that sort of rank, he himself
315
passes for being the peer ofByron. He is sadly mistaken. He is as completely Plebeian in
his mind as he is in his rank and station in society' (p. 41).
41 his Epistle to Lord Byron] included in Foliage; or, Poems, Original and Translated (1818). It
was first published in The Examiner for 28 April 1816.
42 and the Feast of the Poets has rnn through several editions] Hunt's Feast of the Poets appeared
in The Reflector, No.4, 1811, and had gone through two editions in book form, in 1814
and 1815.
Elia, and Geoffrey Crayon

The essay on Washington Irving is omitted in the Paris edition; it is not clear why, in
both the first and second editions, Hazlitt spells the name as he does. On 10 February
1825 Lamb wrote to Bernard Barton: The Spirit of the Age is by Hazlitt. The charac-
ters of Coleridge, &c. he had done better in former publications, the praise and the
abuse much stronger, &c. but the new ones are capitally done. Horne Tooke is a match-
less portrait. My advice is, to borrow it rather than read [?buy] it. I have it. He had laid
on too many colours on my likeness, but I have had so much injustice done me in my
own name, that I make a rule ofaccepting as much over-measure to Elia as Gendemen
think proper to bestow. Lay it on and spare not' (Lamb, Letters, ii, p. 716).
1 the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow] from Romeo andJuliet, III. v. 20.
2 native to the manner here] from Hamlet, I. iv. 14-15.
3 shujJle off this mortal coiij from Hamlet, III. i. 66.
4 The self-applauding bird . .. desiring to be seen] from Cowper, Trnth, II. 58-70.
5 New-born gauds . .. things past] from Troilus and Cressida, III. iii. 176-7.
6 Give to dust that is ... o'er-dusted] from Troilus and Cressida, III. iii. 178-9.
7 do not in broad rnmour lie ... set off to the world in the glistering foil ... live and breathe ...
all-seeing time] from Lyddas, II. 79-81.
8 vital signs that it will live] from Milton, The Reason of Church-Government, Book II: 'cer-
tain vital signes it had, was likely to live' (Milton, Prose fM1rks, i, p. 809).
9 the stranger on the grate,fluttering] Hazlitt probably has in mind the 1817 text ofColeridge's
Frost at Midnight, II. 23-5:
How oft, at school, with most believing mind,

Presageful, have I gaz'd upon the bars,
To watch that fluttering stranger!
10 finefretwork he makes of their double and single entries~ from Lamb, 'The South Sea House'
(the first, in the 1823 volume, of Elia): 'The moths, that were then battening upon its
obsolete ledgers and day-books, have rested from their depredations, but other light
generations have succeeded, making fine fretwork among their single and double en-
tries' (Elia (1823), p. 3).
11 With what afirm, yet subtle . .. Opinions on Whist.~ 'Mrs Battle's Opinions on Whist' was
the sixth essay in Elia's 1823 volume.
12 How notably he embalms a battered beau] Hazlitt refers to Elia's 'Modern Gallantry', from
the 1823 volume.
13 the chimes at midnight] from 2 Henry IV, III. ii. 214-15.
14 cheese and pippins] from The Merry Wives of Windsor, I. ii. 12.
15 With what a gusto Mr Lamb . .. the last two hundred years] Hazlitt refers to The Old
Benchers of the Inner Temple' from Elia's 1823 volume.
16 the avenues to the play-houses ... recollections] Several of the essays in the 1823 volume
316
were preoccupied with dramatic reminiscences: 'My First Play', 'On Some of the Old
Actors':On the Artificial Comedy ofthe Last Century' and 'On the Acting ofMunden' .
17 and Christ's-Hospital still ... description oj it.1 Hazlitt refers to 'Christ's Hospital Five-
and-Thirty Years Ago', the third of the essays in the 1823 volume.
18 and we believe he never heartily forgave a certain writer . .. out oj his hands] Hazlitt contrib-
uted three articles on Guy Fawkes to The Examiner in 1821. Lamb wrote a paper on the
same subject in the London Magazine for November 1823.
19 to have coined his heart for jests] from Julius Caesar, IV. iii. 72.
20 where he has been stuck into notice] Elia's essays made Lamb a celebrity, and the highest-
paid contributor to the London Magazine.
21 procured him dvic honours .. . with the Lord Mayor] On 10 November 1823 Lamb wrote to
Sarah Stoddart Hazlitt: 'I had the honour ofdining at the Mansion House on Thursday
last, by special card from the Lord Mayor, who never saw my face, nor I his; and all from
being a writer in a magazine!' (Lamb, Letters, ii, p. 674).
22 MrWaithman's perusaij RobertWaithman (1764-1833) was Lord Mayor of London in
1823.
23 Knicker-bocker, and New York stories] Hazlitt refers to The History of New York, By Diedrich
Knickerbocker (1809).
24 his Sketch-book and Bracebridge-Halij Irving's Sketch Book oj Geqr,ey Crayon, Gent. was
issued in seven parts in 1819 and 1820; Bracebridge Hall appeared in 1822.
25 To see the sun to bed . .. with glowing eyes] from Lamb,John Woodvil, II, II. 280-1. Howe
suggests that the person who quoted the lines was Hazlitt.
26 mind's eye] from Hamlet, I. ii. 185.
27 and issues from the press in Albemarle-street] i.e. from John Murray
28 This is one way oj complimenting our national and Tory prtjudices] Murray was associated
with Tory authors; however, as Mackerness points out, Irving refused to contribute to
the Quarterly Review.
29 the author ojVirginius] James Sheridan Knowles.
317
BOOKS REFERRED TO IN THE NOTES
TO VOLUME 7
This list does not repeat details qf items listed on the Abbreviations page or in the notes.
Burns, Robert, The Poems and Songs qf Robert Burns, ed. James Kinsley (3 vols.,
Oxford, 1968)
Byron, George Gordon, 6th Baron Byron, The Complete Poetical Works, eds.Jerome
J. McGann and Barry Weller (7 vols., Oxford, 1980-93)
Chaucer, Geoffrey, The Complete Works qf Geoffrey Chaucer, ed. F. N. Robinson
(2nd edn., Oxford, 1974)
Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, Sibylline Leaves (London, 1817)
- - , Remorse (London, 1813)
- - , Poetical Works, ed. E. H. Coleridge (2 vols., Oxford, 1912)
Congreve, William, The Complete Plays qf William Congreve, ed. Herbert Davis
(Chicago, 1967)
Cowper, William, The Poems qf William Couper, eds. John D. Baird and Charles
Ryskamp (3 vols., Oxford, 1980-95)
Dillon, Wentworth, Earl of Roscommon, Horace's Art qf Poetry (London, 1680)
Dryden, John, Poems, ed. James Kinsley (4 vols., Oxford, 1958)
Fielding, Henry,joseph Andrews, ed. Martin C. Battestin (Oxford, 1967)
Fuller, Thomas, Thomas Fuller's The Holy State and the Prqfane State, ed. Maxmilian
GraffWalten (2 vols., New York, 1938)
Gay, John, Dramatic Works, ed. John Fuller (2 vols., Oxford, 1983)
- - , The Poetical Works qfjohn Gay, ed. Thomas Park (London, 1806)
Gifford, William, The Baviad, and The Maeviad (8th edn., London, 1811)
Gray, Thomas, and William Collins, Poetical Works, ed. Roger Lonsdale (Oxford,
1977)
Horace, Satires, Epistles and Ars Poetica, tr. H. Rushton Fairclough (London, 1952)
- - , The Odes and Epodes, tr. C. E. Bennett (London, 1934)
Houck, James A., William Hazlitt: A Reference Guide (Boston, Mass., 1977)
Juvenal and Persius, tr. G. G. Ramsay (London, 1918)
Keats, John, The Poems qfjohn Keats, ed. Jack Stillinger (London, 1978)
Kenney, James, Love, Low, and Physic: A Farce, in Two Acts (Dublin, 1821)
Lloyd, Robert, The Poetical Works qfRobert Lloyd (2 vols., London, 1774)
Marston, John, Antonio's Revenge, ed. W. Reavley Gair (Manchester, 1978)
Massinger, Philip, The Plays and Poems qfPhilip Massinger, eds. Philip Edwards and
Colin Gibson (5 vols., Oxford, 1976)
318
WORKS OF WILLIAM HAZLlTT: VOLUME 7
Middleton, Thomas, Women Beware Women, ed.]. R. Mulryne (London, 1975)

Milton, John, The Poems of Milton, eds. John Carey and Alastair Fowler (Harlow,
1968)
Moore, Thomas, Lalla Rookh, an Oriental Romance (London, 1817)
- - , The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore (Paris, 1827)
- - , The Fudge Family in Paris, ed. Thomas Brown, the younger (2nd edn.,
London, 1818)
Petronius Arbiter, Petronii Saturae, ed. Francis Buecheler (Berlin, 1958)
Pliny, Natural History, vol. IX, books 33-5, tr. H. Rackham (London, 1952)
Pope, Alexander, Epistles to Several Persons (Moral Essays), ed. F. W. Bateson (2nd
edn., London and New Haven, 1961)
- - , Imitations ofHorace, ed. John Butt (2nd edn., London and New Haven, 1953)
- - , An Essay on Man, ed. Maynard Mack (London, 1950)
- - , Pastoral Poetry and An Essay on Criticism, eds. E. Audra and Aubrey Williams
(London and New Haven, 1961)
- - , The Rape of the Lock and Other Poems, ed. Geoffrey Tillotson (3rd edn.,
London, 1962)
- - , The Dunciad, ed. James Sutherland (3rd edn., London and New Haven,
1963)
- - , The Odyssey of Homer, ed. Maynard Mack (2 vols., London, 1967)
- - , The Iliad of Homer, ed. Maynard Mack (2 vols., London, 1967)
Prior, Matthew, The Literary Works of Matthew Prior, eds. H. Bunker Wright and
Monroe K. Spears (2nd edn., 2 vols., Oxford, 1971)
Scott, Sir Walter, Ivanhoe: A Romance (3 vols., Edinburgh, 1820)
- - , Quentin Dunvard (3 vols., Edinburgh, 1823)
Shakespeare, William, The Riverside Shakespeare: Second Edition, ed. G. Blakemore
Evans with the assistance of].]. M. Tobin (Boston and New York, 1997)
Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, The Dramatic Works of Richard Brinsley Sheridan, ed.
Cecil Price (2 vols., Oxford, 1973)
Spenser, Edmund, The Faerie Queene, ed. A. C. Hamilton (London and New York,
1977)
Swift, Jonathan, A Tale of a Tub, eds. A. C. Guthkelch and D. Nichol Smith (2nd
edn., Oxford, 1958)
Terence, Works, tr. John Sargeaunt (2 vols., London, 1953)
Tibullus, in Catullus, Tibullus, Pervigilium Veneris, tr. F. W. Cornish,]. P. Postgate,
and]. W. Mackail, rev. G. P. Goold (London, 1988)
Virgil, Eclogues, Georgics, Aeneid, tr. H. Rushton Fairclough (2 vols., London, 1986)
Wordsworth, William, Poems in Two Volumes, and Other Poems, 1800-1807, ed.
Jared Curtis (Ithaca, NY, 1985)
- - , The Borderers, ed. Robert Osborn (Ithaca, NY, 1982)
319
BOOKS REFERRED TO IN NOTES TO VOLUME 7
- - , Peter Bell, ed.JohnJordan (Ithaca, NY, 1985)

- - , Lyrical Ballads, and Other Poems, 1797-1800, eds. James Butler and Karen
Green (Ithaca, NY, 1992)
- - , Shorter Poems, 1807-1820, ed. Carl H. Ketcham (Ithaca, NY, 1989)
- - , The Excursion (London, 1814)
- - , The Five-Book Prelude, ed. Duncan Wu (Oxford, 1997)
Wycherley, William, The Plays if William Wycherley, ed. Arthur Friedman (Oxford,
1979)
Young, Edward, The Complete Works, Poetry and Prose, ifthe Rev. Edward Young (2
vols., London, 1754)
- - , Night Thoughts, ed. Stephen Comford (Cambridge, 1989)
320

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THE PICKERING MASTERS

THE SELECTED WRITINGS OF WILLIAM HAZLITT

THE SELECTED WRITINGS OF WILLIAM HAZLITT

Consulting Editors: David Bromwich

Copyright ©Taylor & Francis 1998

ISBN 13: 978-1-13876-326-5 (hbk) (vol-07)

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

List of abbreviations vii

THE SPIRIT OF THE AGE 75

APPENDIX I: 'Mr Canning' 237

Amyot Speeches in Parliament, of the Rt. Hon. William Windham, ed.

Griggs Collected Letters of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, ed. Earl Leslie

Little Barron Field's Memoirs if Wordsworth, ed. Geoffrey Little

Stephens Alexander Stephens, Memoirs of John Horne Tooke,

with his landlord's daughter, a pert, cunning, coming, good-for-nothing chit,

The reviewer is motivated largely by political prejudice; in the second paragraph he

'A tradesman's daughter' - a commonjlirt - a common lodging-house servant-

After several extracts interspersed by ribald corrunents, Jerdan concludes by

concerning him in a letter to Sir William Elford of November 1826:

My friend, Archdeacon Wrangham, who is a thorough-paced bibliomaniac - a

reference to Hazlitt's essay on Eldon, from which he quotes an extract before

Nonsense. A Fragment', which refers to 'Cockneys with teapots' (an obvious

Still, however, it must be confessed that Mr Hazlitt is a man of no ordinary

Ritchie's article is distinguished by its deeply personal nature; it draws throughout

1 See vol. 8, p. 119.

JEREMY BENTHAM (1748-1832) was the son ofJeremiah Bentham, a prosperous

ELIZABETH INCHBALD (1753-1821), novelist, dramatist, and actress, started her

MARTHA ROSCOE (NEE WALKER) (1798-1884), eldest daughter ofMicaiah Walker,

S. You know it is not in your power to take me so.

But I will come again, my love,

S. Mrs E- has called for the book, Sir.

so, and tum my heart to what shape you please!

H. Where have you been, my love!

H. What then broke off your intimacy?

H. You are angry with me?

H. I have then lost your friendship?

What is this world? What asken men to have,

Letters to the Same

So shalt thou find me ever at thy side

Written in a Blank Leaf of Endymion 1

Oh! if I thought it could be in a woman

Letter to C. P-, Esq.!

and carved on every tree

of thy inhabitants have no sympathy to impart. What is it to me that I look along

MY DEAR AND GOOD fRIEND,

Letter XII. 1 To C. P-.

Love is not love that alteration finds:

London, July 4th, 1822.

Letter the Last 1

Sweet bird, thy bower is ever green,

How near am I to a happiness,

Quicquid agit, quoquo vestigia vertit,

See with what a waving air she goes

I had no chance either of exculpating myself, or of probing the question to the

To the Same (in continuation)

At once he took his Muse and dipt her

To the Same (in Conclusion)

Who had been beguiled - she who was made

SPIRIT OF THE AGE:

H To know another well were to know one' 8 self,"

That waft a thought from Indus to the Pole _7

* Now Lord Colchester.

Sedet, in etemumque sedebit infelix Theseus. 2 /