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MEMOIRS, MISCELLANIES 
 AND LETTERS 
 
 OF THE LATE 
 
 LUCY AIKIN 
 
 IXCLUDES'G 
 
 THOSE ADDRESSED TO THE REV. DR. CHANNINQ FROM 1826 TO 1842. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 PHILIP HEMEEY LE BEETON 
 
 OF THE INNER TEMPLE. 
 
 LONDON: 
 LONGMAN, GEEEN, LONGMAN, ROBERTS; & GREEN, 
 
 18G4. 
 
-?.l\^OC,f 
 
 •Ai 
 
 1 % 6 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The following pages comprise unpublislied Essays 
 and Memoirs written by the late Miss Aikin, and 
 also some of her Letters : by far the larger part 
 of these are addressed to the late Eev. Dr. 
 Channing, with whom she corresponded for nearly 
 twenty years. It is beheved that, besides the value 
 which belongs to these letters from their leading- 
 topics, the literature and pohtics of a stirring 
 period interspersed with anecdotes of the writer's 
 distinguished contemporaries, a peculiar interest 
 wdll be found in many of them at the present 
 crisis in the history of the United States. 
 
 A Memoir of Miss Aikin is added. Her inmost 
 thoughts, convictions, and matured opiniohs on all 
 important subjects, are so completely disclosed in 
 her own writings in this volume as to render it 
 unnecessary to present more than a brief record 
 of the incidents of her life. 
 
 London: October 1864. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Memoir of Miss Aikin ix 
 
 Memoir of Miss Benger 1 
 
 Eecollections of Joanna Baillie 7 
 
 Old Times : a Dialogue 11 
 
 How Character is formed 21 
 
 On tlie Spirit of Aristocracy . . . . . .29 
 
 Example and Precept 39 
 
 Envy and Pity r 47 
 
 Sorrow and Anger 49 
 
 Doubt 51 
 
 Motives 54 
 
 Frankness . 56 
 
 Tempters 57 
 
 Popular Fallacies 58 
 
 Words upon Words , . . 61 
 
 LETTEES. 
 
 To Mrs. Aikin 81 
 
 „ Mrs. Barbauld 82 
 
 „ Dr. Aikin 85 
 
 „ Mrs. Barbauld 88 
 
 „ Mrs. Aikin 89 
 
 „ Dr. Aikin 93 
 
 „ Mr. Edmund Aikin 96 
 
 ,, Dr. and Mrs. Aikin 115 
 
 „ Mr. E. Aikin 117 
 
 „ Her Niece 119 
 
Vm CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 To Mrs. Taylor 124 
 
 „ Mr. Taylor 136 
 
 „ Mrs. Taylor 138 
 
 „ Mrs. MaUet -149 
 
 „ Mr. and Mrs. Mallet 150 
 
 „ Mr. Mallet 152 
 
 „ Mrs. Mallet 153 
 
 „ Mr. and Mrs. Mallet 157 
 
 „ Mr. MaUet 160 
 
 „ Mr. and Mrs. Mallet 167 
 
 „ Mr. MaUet 169 
 
 „ Mr. and Mrs. MaUet 173 
 
 „ Jerom Murch, Esq 175 
 
 „ The Rev. Dr. Channing 180 
 
MEMOIR, 
 
 Lucy Aikin was the daughter of John Aikin, M.D. 
 She was born at Warrington, where her parents then 
 resided, on November 6, 1781. Her mother was Martha, 
 daughter of Arthur Jennings, Esq., of Harlington, in 
 the county of Bedford, who was her husband's first 
 cousin. Miss Aikin's grandfather, the Eev. John Aikin, 
 D.D., had been first Classical and afterwards (as suc- 
 cessor to Dr. John Taylor, the learned author of the 
 'Hebrew Concordance') Divinity tutor in the Academy 
 established at Warrington in 1757. Through the marriages 
 of both her father and grandfather with members of 
 the Jennings family. Miss Aikin was descended from 
 Sir Francis Wingate, of Harlington, who married the 
 Lady Ann Annesley, daughter of the first Earl of 
 Anglesey. Perhaps no provincial town in the kingdonfi, 
 certainly none of its size, possessed so refined and cul- 
 tivated a society as Warrington, when it was the seat 
 of the Academy.* Miss Aikin, however, was too young 
 
 j * An interesting account of Warrington Academy and its worthies 
 Ihas been written by Dr. Kendrick of that town, and scattered notices 
 jof most of the alumni of that institution will be found in the 
 I* Monthly Repository.' 
 
X MEMOIR. 
 
 to benefit by it, as she was only three years old when 
 her father removed to Yarmouth, where he practised | 
 medicine for several years. She has written of herself : — 
 ' The earliest event which dwells in my recollection was 
 a journey. In those days it was indeed an event. I 
 had just completed my third year, when my father 
 decided on a removal from Warrington to Yarmouth, in 
 Norfolk. My grandmother, her maid, my little brother, 
 and myself, were packed in a post-chaise ; my father 
 accompanied us on horseback. It was Christmas week, 
 the snow deep on the ground ; the whole distance was 
 two hundred and forty miles across the country, and we, 
 were six days in accomplishing it. The last night we^ 
 arrived at my aunt's, Mrs. Barbauld's, house at Palgrave,] 
 where my grandmother remained behind ; she died in [ 
 a few days of the cold and fatigue of the journey.' 
 
 Miss Aikin has also left the following reminiscences of 
 her early days : ' As my father removed from Warrington 
 when I was only three years old, and although I still 
 retain some distinct recollections of it, and of personsj 
 whom I knew there, I am not able clearly to trace any. 
 part of my after character to impressions stamped on 
 my mind at this early period. One circumstance, how- 
 ever, rests strongly on my memory. My father's mother,', 
 who lived in the house with us, made some attempts^ 
 to teach me to read ; the extraordinary precocity of my,, 
 aunt and of my eldest brother had perhaps rendered- 
 her unreasonable in her expectations of progress ; she 
 called me " Little Dunce ; " the reproach sank deep, 
 and its effect was certainly unfavourable; it did not 
 rouse me to further exertion, for I had already done 
 
MEMOIR. XI 
 
 tny utmost, and it filled me with a sense of incurable 
 jdeficiency. How soon may the tender spirit of a child 
 |be broken, and its faculties permanently dulled by such 
 treatment ! 
 
 ' I was in little danger, however, from this source. My 
 Trandmother died on our journey from Lancashire, and 
 [ had small discouragement to encounter from other 
 quarters. If slow at my book, I was quick, almost to 
 I wonder, with my tongue ; it was the report, long after, 
 3f a lady who visited in our house at Warrington, that 
 by voice was always heard in it, and that my papa 
 jDever checked me, because he was so fond of me.' 
 
 Although Lucy Aikin may not have been as precocious 
 IS her aunt, Mrs. Barbauld, who could read with ease be- 
 fore she was twenty months old, it is certain that she did 
 not long deserve the reproach of being a 'little dunce.' 
 iHer father thus writes of her : ' Lucy has not been well 
 lately, and I should be sorry to have verified in her the 
 aying, "So wise, so young, do not live long." I must 
 nticipate her mother in telling one story of her sense, 
 ^^e were talking of Cadmus, and I was saying I was 
 ot certain whether he lived before or after the Trojan 
 ar ; when this chit of six years old decided the matter, 
 y observing that she had heard her brother Edmund 
 ead in Pope's " Homer " about a son of Cadmus fighting 
 Against the Trojans.' 
 
 The next event which left a lasting impression on her 
 bind was meeting her father's friend, John Howard, and 
 of this she began to write to a friend shortly before her 
 decease : ' Several months ago you asked me whether 
 I had not seen Mr. Howard, the patriarch of English 
 
Xll MEMOIR. 
 
 philanthropists ; I answered that I had, and that, eight years' f 
 child as I was, I retained the most distinct recollections | 
 of his person, his manners, and his interesting conversa- 
 tions with us children, to whom he was ever full of 
 kindness. Once recalled to recollections thus faithfully 
 cherished during the whole of a long life, it began to 
 dawn upon my perception that the world had not yet 
 learned all, or nearly all, that it ought and would be! 
 glad to know of that ever-memorable man ; that I myself P 
 must be now nearly, if not quite, the last survivor of 
 those who had beheld him with living eye, and that I 
 could still dictate at least, to those better able to hold 
 the pen, some few anecdotes which the true lovers of- 
 virtuous fame would not willingly let die.' ; 
 
 This intention was, however, never fulfilled. The' 
 letters of her father and aunt contain some mention of^ 
 the great philanthropist, and tend to explain the cause' 
 of the unfounded imputation cast upon that good mani* 
 of ill-treating his son, as no doubt any restraint placed* 
 upon him was occasioned by the unfortunate conditionf 
 of his mind, and also refute the statement that the^ 
 insanity of young Howard was the result of his earlyl^ 
 dissipation — it is clear that it was an hereditary disease, f* 
 Dr. Aikin thus wrote in 1783: 'Mr. Howard was with! 
 us last week, and it gave us great pleasure to see him in- 
 good health, and full of his usual activity; though it- 
 is evident that the thought of his son continually comes 
 across him and checks his flow of spirits. Mrs. Jennings 
 has written to show that there was a strain of insanity in^ 
 Mr. Howard's family.' 
 
 Mrs. Barbauld wrote in 1787 to Dr. Aikin, who was 
 
MEMOIR. Xui 
 
 I then engaged in writing a notice of Mr. Howard — ^I 
 . suppose you know that young Howard is quite disordered. 
 I The first time he showed any evident symptoms of mad- 
 j ness was at Mr. Whitbread's ; Miss Whitbread was making 
 tea, and he sat by his uncle Leeds. " Pray," says he, " is it 
 I possible to mix a quantity of arsenic sufficient to kill a 
 man in a dish of tea ? " "I suppose it may," replied Mr. 
 Leeds. Upon this he started up, threw his dish of tea upon 
 the floor, and said Miss W. had attempted to poison him.' 
 On another occasion Mrs. Barbauld wrote— ' My dear 
 brother, you must write the character of Mr. Howard: 
 that you are taking care of the fair fame of your friend, 
 and rescuing his memory from the scandalous imputation 
 thrown on it in the Magazine, I rejoice. I was thinking 
 to write to exhort you to do this when I heard that he 
 jhad left you his papers.' 
 
 , On reaching Yarmouth, Dr. Aikin at once entered on 
 the active discharge of his profession. His daughter thus 
 describes her early experience of her new residence : ' The 
 arrival of a new physician, already a writer of some 
 distinction, of polished and unaffected manners, and 
 endowed with powers and with tact which rendered his 
 conversation attractive and acceptable to all, was an event 
 of no small importance in the town of Yarmouth. His 
 speedy popularity was reflected upon all the members of 
 liis family, and upon none more strongly than on the little 
 rosy, laughing, chattering girl of three years old. I was 
 soon in danger of being totally spoiled with flattery; 
 nothing indeed could have saved me but the good sense, 
 |the firmness, the parental afiection well understood of my 
 excellent mother. She taught me what flattery was, and 
 JBtrongly warned me against being led away by it. 
 
xiv MEMOIR. 
 
 *Tlie lesson was doubly painful; it showed me that' 
 those who knew me best were aware that I was far from 
 deserving the praises lavished upon me by strangers, and 
 it gave me the impression that these most agreeable 
 strangers were guilty of the horrible offence of telling fibs. 
 I bore the shock pretty well, however, and was the better 
 for the warning. Still my little heart luould beat with 
 triumph when the Kev. Dr. Cooper* withstood, I know 
 not how long, the impatient summonses of three grown 
 ladies to the quadrille table with the answer, "I had 
 rather talk with this child." To confess the whole truth, 
 I have still a kind of tenderness for the first man that ever 
 flattered me. 
 
 ^One circumstance, wholly overlooked in its moral 
 bearings even by parents vigilant as mine, tended to pro- 
 duce in me a settled conviction of my own superiority to 
 those around me, which I feel to have been permanently 
 injurious. This was the constant attention paid to pre- 
 serving my speech free from the vulgar and ungrammatical 
 dialect of the place. My own language and pronunciation, 
 I was taught, were right; those of the children my com- 
 panions were, of course, very ivrong, and I indulged in a 
 truly Pharisaical spirit of self-satisfaction in the com-; 
 parison. Could it have been foreseen that I was finally tc 
 leave Norfolk at so early an age, it might have beer 
 better to pass over a few provincialisms, caught from play- 
 fellows or servants, than to call forth such sentiments 
 but after all, is not this the difiBculty which meets us a1 
 every turn in moral as well as intellectual training, tc 
 
 * The rector of Yarmouth, father of the eminent surgeon Sii 
 Astley Cooper, Bart. 
 
MEMOIR. XV 
 
 teach the young and ardent spirit, full of the love of 
 excellence, and sanguine in its hopes and anticipations of 
 its own proficiency, to look with due indulgence on the 
 defects of others ? To be " only of itself a judge severe " 
 is the last perfection of a pure and noble spirit. Candour, 
 the virtue of the wise, is little to be looked for in youth. 
 
 ' At the age of six, I was sent for one quarter to a day- 
 school, while my mother, my able and indefatigable in- 
 structress, was visiting her relations in London. Many 
 new, and some durable impressions were made upon me 
 here. I soon discovered that I was far beyond my school- 
 fellows of the same age. Lessons which occupied them 
 half the morning I would learn in a few minutes, and my 
 reading was incomparably better— a new ground of self- 
 conceit ! I likewise found myself indulged and flattered 
 exorbitantly by my governess ; but without then under- 
 standing her selfish views in this conduct, I had a kind of 
 instinctive distrust of her, mingled with a sense of con- 
 tempt, which effectually preserved me from her seductions. 
 One day I had, I know not how, so offended her, that she 
 inflicted on me a very slight box on the ear. " That did 
 not hurt," cried I. This was thought saucy, and brought 
 me a second box, which I had the wit to receive in silence. 
 My speech was not sauciness, however; but only an 
 ill-timed display of the stoical fortitude which I had been 
 taught to pride myself in practising on all occasions. 
 This experiment, by showing me that I was understood 
 neither by my governess nor by the other children, who 
 all laughed at me, caused me to wrap myself up more 
 closely in my shell of self-importance. 
 
 'A different lesson was stamped upon me thus. My 
 
XVI MEMOIE. 
 
 governess, with much whining, sighing, and casting up of 
 her eyes, made known to the young ladies that a poor 
 girl, her niece, who had sometimes been admitted to say 
 her lessons with them, had actually been seen, such was 
 the distress of her family, walking without shoes and 
 stockings ; and she invited them to make a small collec- 
 tion for her benefit. " I have no money," cried I, " except 
 my jpretty sixpence " (a newly-coined one.) " And I am 
 sure," my governess replied, with an odious twinkling of 
 her eye, " that you will have the greatest delight in giving 
 your pretty sixpence to poor Mary Wright." I stood 
 aghast, never having contemplated the bare possibility of 
 either spending or giving away a 'pretty sixpence, but 
 there was no help; I was compelled to produce the 
 precious piece, praised for my amiable alacrity, and sent 
 back to my place bursting with indignation. I felt myself 
 diddled, and from that day to this I have hated collectors 
 of subscriptions — those strainers of the qualities of mercy. 
 Let such as desire to awaken in children the virtue of 
 charity, consider a little how far the nature of the distress 
 is level to their comprehension, the object one likely to 
 awaken their sympathy, the sacrifice such as may reason- 
 ably be required of them, and, above all, let their own 
 motives be free from all suspicion; for even childhood 
 will suspect when its anger has been excited. Yoimg as 
 I was, I remember thinking that my governess should 
 have given shoes to her own niece herself, instead of 
 begging from us. Some time after I was taken to visit a , 
 poor family who were going to make their dinner on a 
 single turnip. How eagerly did I cast my little store, to 
 the last half penny, into the mother's lap ! But then I 
 saw the distress, and no one prompted my bounty. 
 
MEMOIR. XVU 
 
 *Tlie utmost vigilance will not always preserve an 
 innocent child from contact with those who are corrupted. 
 I met with one whose precocious wickedness still surprises 
 me — it did me no harm, however; I felt only disgust and 
 horror. She was fortunately detected in shameful false- 
 hoods, and our acquaintance dropped. One memorable 
 day, my brother George, several years older, seized and 
 devoured half of a tart destined for the supper of us two 
 little ones. Fired at the injury, I ran with the fragment 
 into the presence of papa and mamma, and denounced the 
 offender in most emphatic terms. " You should be willing 
 to give your brother part of your tart," said my mother. 
 "But he did not ask us," I replied— "he took it;" and I 
 still think that the distinction was just, and that his action 
 ought to have brought him, and not me, the reprimand. 
 But how many fold was I compensated when my father, 
 who had listened with great attention to my harangue, 
 exclaimed, " Why Lucy, you are quite eloquent ! " ! 
 never-to-be-forgotten praise ! Had I been a boy, it might 
 have made me an orator ; as it was, it incited me to exert 
 to the utmost, by tongue and by pen, all the power of 
 words I possessed or could ever acquire — I had learned 
 where my strength lay. 
 
 ' There are none among the impressions of my child- 
 hood which I recollect with such unmingled satisfaction 
 as the strong love of nature awakened in me with the first 
 dawnings of sensibility. In our long snowy journey out 
 of Lancashire, nothing so stimulated my imagination as 
 ! the long lines of blue hills which arose from time to time 
 in the distant horizon. My lot was cast among the plains, 
 and I never again beheld this appearance till I revisited 
 
 a 
 
XVlll MEMOIB. 
 
 Lancashire at the age of nineteen, and I then hailed it 
 with the rapture of a lost delight recovered. 
 
 *My first view of the ocean from Yarmouth jetty filled 
 my little bosom with sentiments too big for utterance, and 
 the sea was my never-failing source of wonder and delight 
 during all the years that I dwelt beside its murmurs. 
 The land indeed had few charms at this spot to attract the 
 eye or move the fancy — a flat, barren, sandy down, ex- 
 tending to the beech, was our daily walk ; but so much 
 the keener was my delight when we accompanied my 
 father in his professional drives through the shady lanes 
 of rural villages on the Suffolk side. He was an admirable 
 observer of nature — not a plant, not a bird, not a wild 
 animal, escaped him ; he knew them all, and taught his 
 children to know and love them too. 
 
 ' This interest was inexpressibly exalted by Mrs. Bar- 
 bauld's prose hymns, which were taught me, I know not 
 how soon. Her " Early Lessons " had prepared the way, 
 for in them too there dwells the spirit of poetry ; but the 
 hymns gave me the idea of something bright and glorious, 
 hung on high above my present reach, but not above my 
 aspirations. They gave me first the sentiment of sublimity, 
 and of the Author of all that is sublime. They taught 
 me piety.' 
 
 From this period we possess no other auto-biographical 
 notes, but what may be gathered from Miss Aikin's 
 letters. 
 
 Dr. Aikin resided in Yarmouth until 1792, and then 
 settled with his family in London, where he successfully 
 practised as a physician until his failing health compelled ■ 
 him to abandon his profession in the year 1797. He then 
 
MEMOIR. XIX 
 
 removed to Stoke Newington, and devoted the remainder 
 of his life to literature. Of the many elaborate, elegant, 
 and useful works which he published, none has had so 
 wide a circulation as the 'Evenings at Home,' written 
 by him in conjunction with his gifted sister, Anna Letitia 
 Barbauld. It still keeps its place in the juvenile library, 
 notwithstanding the profusion of books which have since 
 been written for the purpose of rendering knowledge 
 attractive to the young. Miss Aikin lived with her 
 parents at Stoke Newington till the death of her father, 
 in December 1822. He had carefully cultivated the talent 
 which she had early displayed, and her literary attain- 
 ments far exceeded those which at that period usually fell 
 to the lot of her sex. The best French and Italian 
 authors were familiar to her, and she read the Latin 
 classics with facility. Up to the last few weeks of her life 
 she retained her relish for the literature of which in her 
 earlier days she had been a diligent and delighted student. 
 Her father's studies were chiefly historical and bio- 
 graphical, and this naturally guided the course of his 
 daughter's reading. Her first efforts in writing were in 
 the way of translation. The English version of the 
 'Adventures of Eolando,' so long popular with the young, 
 was from her pen. She was an author from her seven- 
 teenth year ; many articles in reviews and magazines, and 
 in the * Annual Eegister,' were hers. In 1819 she pro- 
 duced her first historical work, ' Memoirs of the Court of 
 Queen Elizabeth.' The subject was happily chosen — a 
 female reign was fitly illustrated by a female pen. The 
 plan comprehended the private life of the queen, and the 
 domestic history of the period ; biographies and anecdotes 
 
XX MEMOIR. 
 
 of the principal families who formed her brilliant court, 
 and notices of the manner, opinions, and literature of the 
 age. The author had prepared herself for the work by 
 careful research into the ample materials which the 
 memoirs and letters of that time furnish ; they were skil- 
 fully condensed and combined, so as to afford an animated 
 picture of England in a reign which Englishmen have 
 always contemplated with pride. Two similar works on 
 the reign of James I. and Charles I. followed. Miss Aikin 
 published biographical memoirs of her father and of his 
 sister, Mrs. Barbauld. Both may be regarded as works of 
 filial piety ; for her aunt shared with her father in the 
 reverence and affection with which she regarded the union 
 of virtue and talent. The cast of her own mind fitted 
 her better for sympathising with the strong practical sense, 
 the liberal view^s, and the literary diligence of her father, 
 than with the sensibility and poetical elegance of her 
 aunt. Her own principal poetical works, 'Epistles on 
 Women,' is a specimen of that moral and didactic poetry 
 of which Pope had given the model — terse and compact 
 in language, and smooth in versification, but not aiming 
 at the higher qualities of imagination or invention. The 
 smaller poetical pieces, some of which appeared in the 
 * Athenaeum ' edited by her father, are marked by elegance [ 
 and fancy. She addressed a consolatory poem to Mont- i 
 gomery, who had been deeply wounded by the ridicule 
 thrown upon his ' Wanderer of Switzerland.' The death ( 
 of the Eev. Gilbert Wakefield called forth a poetical 
 tribute from her pen, in which justice is rendered to his 
 uncompromising integrity and public spirit. His daughter 
 was her most intimate friend, and afterwards became the 
 
MEMOIB. XXI 
 
 wife of her brother, the ' Charles ' of Mrs. Barbauld's 
 'Early Lessons.' Miss Aikin had also, in 1814, published 
 a work of fiction, ^Lorimer; a Tale,' the incidents of 
 which have been appropriated, without acknowledgement, 
 by a popular modern writer of novels. 
 
 Her life at Stoke Newington was passed in great quiet- 
 ness. In addition to tending her invalid father, her chief 
 occupation was in writing and study ; of literary society 
 at this period she had little. The regularity of her life 
 was occasionally diversified by visits to friends at Norwich 
 and elsewhere. At this city she had the great advantage 
 of an intimate acquaintance with the family of Mr. and 
 Mrs. John Taylor, both of them accomplished and con- 
 genial. To the latter are addressed some letters, which 
 will be found in this collection. \\'ith their children, 
 distinguished in various ways, she continued on intimate 
 terms. Seldom have so many of one family attained dis- 
 tinction : Mr. John Taylor, the eldest son, was the 
 eminent mining engineer and geologist; Eichard and 
 Arthur both distinguished antiquaries ; Edward, the 
 Grresham Professor of Music, was a scientific musician — 
 his lectures were very able and interesting, and remarkable 
 for the beauty of their style. Mrs. Austin's admirable 
 translation of Ranke's * History of the Popes,' and her 
 original works, are well known and appreciated. For 
 Mr. William Taylor of Norwich, no relation, however, of 
 Mr. John Taylor, she had a great admiration. A dis- 
 criminating notice of him will be found in a letter to 
 Mr. Murch of Bath. William Taylor's very original work 
 j on ' English Synonyms ' deserves to be more widely known 
 i than it is. Subsequent writers on the same subject have 
 
XXll MEMOIR. 
 
 largely made use of its contents, and generally without 
 any acknowledgement of their obligations. 
 
 Of the visit Miss Aikin paid to Edinburgh in the winter 
 of 1812, she makes mention in a letter — ^ The appearance 
 and situation of the town fully equalled all my expecta- 
 tions ; but with respect to literary conversation, I cer- 
 tainly was a little disappointed. The fashion of making 
 large parties is now so prevalent there, that I scarcely 
 ever saw a small one, and what " feast of reason " or " flow 
 of soul" can be enjoyed where a hundred people are 
 standing huddled together in a large room, where Italian 
 trills are faintly heard above the general buzz ? It is true 
 that when this crowd is at leng-th arranged round four or 
 five supper tables, if you are fortunate in your neighbours, 
 you have the prospect of a very pleasant hour, and fortu- 
 nate I often was. The dinner parties that I attended were 
 seldom brilliant; at table each one talks to his next 
 neighbour, and it rarely happened that I had ever seen 
 mine before. A total stranger, as I was, cannot expect to 
 taste the pleasures of society, of which intimacy and con- 
 fidence form so important a part, in their full perfection 
 — the Scotch character, too, which is grave and cautious, 
 is unfavourable to the pleasures of slight acquaintance. 
 But on the whole the people please me ; they are kind, 
 hospitable, ingenious and well informed, and I have gained 
 from my expedition a store of instruction and amusement 
 which was well worth the pains of the journey. Of their 
 eminent men in science and letters (all of whom I saw 
 except Scott and Dugald Stewart) Playfair delighted me by 
 far the most. His simplicity, his benignant courtesy, his. 
 deference for others, his modesty, his extensive knowledge. 
 
MEMOIE. XXlll 
 
 and the genius and sensibility he is always unconsciously 
 betraying, are quite enchanting and surprisingly piguan^s. 
 Dr. Brown is my second favourite : after getting over 
 the unfavourable impression of his pert manner and 
 habitual smile, I was pleased with his great acuteness, 
 his imagination, and his goodness of heart ; nature meant 
 him for a grave character, and if he would subdue his 
 unfortunate ambition to appear a wit, he would be much 
 more pleasing. But Jeffrey ! — after having won from him 
 a handsome letter of apology, of course I did not object 
 to being introduced to him ; and it would indeed have 
 been a pity not to have seen the most amusing man, one 
 of the few amusing men, of Edinburgh. He has vivacity, 
 fluency, rapidity of manner — rare qualities in a Scotchman. 
 He gesticulates like a Frenchman, and dashes in conver- 
 sation like an Irishman — hit or miss. He coins new 
 words, applies old ones grotesquely, disdains nothing for 
 the sake of effect, and altogether gives the idea of a very 
 clever fellow^ rather than of a first-rate wit or a great 
 genius. I saw Mrs. Hamilton often by her own fire-side, 
 which she was unable to quit ; she was very kind to me, 
 and I had great pleasure in her conversation ; her good 
 sense, her cheerfulness, her knowledge of the world, and 
 her great kindness of heart, make her a delightful com- 
 panion. Her prejudices indeed are strong, but that did 
 not signify to me, who never sought to conquer them. 
 Of other ladies, such as were naturally Scotch, for the 
 most part pleased me better than those who were affectedly 
 English. An old Scotch gentlewoman, with her native 
 j dignity, her acute observation of life and manners, and 
 j her cordial hospitality, is a fine creature, by whom I am 
 
XXIV MEMOIE. 
 
 at once interested and instructed ; but from a fine Edin- 
 burgh Miss, drawling out in a hoarse whisper a jargon 
 neither Scotch nor English — affecting ease without an 
 idea of elegance, and dressing her coarse features in 
 assumed languishment, to attract the attention of any 
 man who can offer her an establishment — Grood Lord 
 deliver us ! You will not imagine that all the young 
 ladies I met with were the odious creatures I have 
 described ; there were certainly some who possessed, like 
 Miss Edgeworth's Belinda, "delicacy of mind and dignity 
 of manners ; '' but the female fortune-hunters, who form a 
 large body there, deserve all I have said and much more.' 
 Miss Aikin resided at Stoke jS'ewington until her father's 
 decease in 1822. His increasing infirmities required her 
 constant care, and during this period she had but few 
 opportunities of enjoying the literary society which at a ; 
 later date fell to her share. She thus describes her every- 
 day life in a letter to her friend Mr. Holland of Knutsford 
 — ' Our little home is now in all its glory ; the garden is 
 full of flowers and fruit as it can hold. Arthur (her 
 brother) is with us at present, and he and my mother 
 almost live in it. Shall I give you an account of our 
 different manners of spending the day ? Whoever is down 
 first in the morning, turns into the garden and rambles 
 about till I summon to breakfast. As soon as that is 
 over, my father sits down to biography in his study; my 
 mother and Arthur begin their operations in the garden, '- 
 where she often stays, gathering fruit and vegetables, 
 cutting off dead flowers, &c., most of the morning ; he, ' 
 after a while, retii'es to his room upstairs, to write for the 
 " Encyclopaedia." I step to the butcher's to order dinner. 
 
MEMOIR. XXV 
 
 after which I shut myself up in my little closet, where I 
 stay till dinner time ; after dinner my father and mother 
 play backgammon, Arthur and I walk in the garden for 
 some time, and then return to our studies, while my 
 father and mother nap or read ; after tea we walk or sit 
 down to our business till candle-light, when we meet with 
 books, and work in the study ; after supper we play whist 
 for some time, I read Virgil to my father, and at eleven 
 we march off to bed.' 
 
 Mrs. Aikin shortly after her husband's death removed 
 with her daughter to Hampstead, and died there in 1830. 
 During her residence here in 1827, Miss Aikin made a 
 visit to Cambridge, of which she gave the following account 
 to her correspondent, Mr. Holland : — ^ I am very little 
 addicted to journies myself; but lately an irresistible 
 temptation was thrown in my way, and I indulged myself 
 in the pleasantest thing possible — a jaunt to Cambridge, 
 which I had never seen, planned by Mr. Whishaw and 
 Professor Smyth, and in which our very agreeable neigh- 
 bours, Mr. and Mrs. Mallet (he is a son of Mallet du Pan, 
 and Secretary to the Audit Board, and she a charming- 
 woman) partook. Mr. Whishaw took her and me down in 
 his carriage, and a very amiable young Komilly on the 
 box ; Mr. Mallet went down by coach. We left on the 
 Thursday and returned on the Sunday. The professor gave 
 us two grand dinners, and assembled several of the bright- 
 est stars of the university to meet us ; among the rest the 
 Bishop of Lincoln, certainly one of the most admirable 
 persons I have seen — mild, polished, perfectly unassuming ; 
 ! but firm and consistent in liberal views and principles, 
 ! and acute and full of talent. We had also Mr. Sedgwick, 
 
 b 
 
XXVI MEMOIR. 
 
 Woodwardian Professor, and the great mathematician 
 WTiewelL These two are intimate friends, and a good , 
 deal alike in their cast of mind and manners ; that is to | 
 say, they are very clever and able men of that kind of j( 
 which Mr. Brougham is the great exemplar — men of I 
 wonderful energy and activity of mind, profound in one or 'i 
 two branches of knowledge, and ignorant of none, whose 
 conversation teems with allusions drawn from the most h 
 various and distant sources, illustrating bright and original ^ 
 ideas of their own— men to whom it is a delight, but not t 
 a relaxation, to listen — whose thoughts flow almost too 
 rapidly for language to overtake them — whose ideas come 
 crowding and jostling like a throng in a narrow gate. In 
 Mr. Brougham, the experience of the world and the habit 
 of applying his eloquence to practical points in law and 
 politics, on which it is his business to talk down to very 
 ordinary capacities, has moderated the exuberance which 
 reigns unchecked in the discourse of these academics ; but i 
 if any force of circumstances could have tied him down to 
 a college life, he would have been such as one of these. 
 It pleased me to observe how completely in these instances i 
 the spirit of the nineteenth century has mastered the e 
 spirit of monkery and the middle ages in which ouri. 
 universities were founded; but the forms are still kept 
 up, more than the forms in some things.' 
 
 Miss Aikin's only literary publication during her resi- 1 
 dence in Hampstead was the * Memoirs of Addison,' which r 
 appeared in 1 843 ; she continued to reside in the same 
 village until the following year, when after a short sojourn 
 in London, in the house of her nephew Mr, C. A. Aikin,^ 
 she became an inmate of the family of Mr. P. H. Le Breton' 
 
MEMOIR. XXVll 
 
 and his wife, her niece, the daughter of her brother 
 Charles — for the first six years at Wimbledon, and during 
 the last twelve years of her life at Hampstead. To this 
 place she was ever much attached, and her return to it 
 gave her much pleasure — many dear relatives and friends 
 lived there. The vicinity of Hampstead to the metropolis 
 afforded at the same time the opportunity of intercourse 
 with a more varied society. She enjoyed with keen relish, 
 and thoroughly appreciated, the company of literary men, 
 and of the eminent politicians and lawyers, with whom she 
 delighted to discuss questions of interest. With almost 
 every distinguished writer of this period she was acquainted, 
 and of many of them notices will be found in her corres- 
 pondence. 
 
 One who knew her well* has truly said of her — 'that 
 I she possessed in a remarkable degree the art of conversa- 
 I tion, an art which seems in some danger of being lost in 
 the crowds which fashion brings together. It was not, 
 however, an art cultivated for display. Whether in inter- 
 course with a single friend in a small circle, or an assem- 
 blage of persons of intellectual attainments equal to her 
 own, there was the same flow of anecdote, quotation and 
 allusion, furnished by a most retentive memory, and 
 enlivened by wit and humour.' 
 
 For nearly twenty years Miss Aikin kept up a corres- 
 pondence with the Eev. Dr. Channing, of Boston in the 
 United States on all the interesting topics of the times. 
 To the last she retained her memory and her faculties. 
 
 After a few days' illness, from an attack of influenza, 
 she died on the 29th of January 1864, in the 83rd year 
 of her age. Her grave in the old churchyard of Hampstead 
 
 * The Kev. John Kenrick, of York, 
 
XXVm 3IEM0III. 
 
 is next to that of her beloved and honoured friend, Joanna 
 Baillie, with whom during a large portion of life she had 
 been in constant intercourse. In her loss one of the links 
 of the chain which binds us to the last century is broken. 
 For solid acquirements, brilliant talent, sound judgement, 
 and high and noble principles, it will be difficult to find 
 one more worthy to be held in remembrance. 
 
MISCELLANIES 
 
 BY THE LATE 
 
 LUCY AIKIN. 
 
 MEMOIE OF MISS BENGER. 
 
 Elizabeth Ogilvy Benger, whose life affords an inter- 
 iesting example of female genius struggling into day 
 ! through obstacles which might well have daunted even 
 the bolder energies of manly enterprise, was born in 
 the city of Wells, in February 1778. She was an only 
 child — a circumstance which her affectionate heart always 
 led her to regard as a misfortune. Her father, somewhat 
 late in life, was impelled by an adventurous disposition to 
 give up commerce and enter the navy, and ultimately 
 became a purser. In consequence of this change, he 
 removed his family to Chatham when his daughter was 
 four years of age ; and, with the exception of about two 
 ears' residence at Portsmouth, Chatham or Rochester 
 as her abode till the year 1797. An ardour for know- 
 edge, a passion for literary distinction, disclosed itself 
 ith the first dawnings of reason, and never left her. Her 
 bonnections were not literary ; and her sex, no less than 
 fier situation, debarred her from the most effective means 
 )f mental cultivation. She has been heard to relate, that 
 
I MEMOIR OP MISS BENGEB. 
 
 in the tormenting want of books which she suffered dur- 
 ing her childhood, it was one of her resources to plant 
 herself at the window of the only bookseller's shop in the 
 place, to read the open pages of the new publications 
 there displayed, and to return again, day after day, to 
 examine whether, by good fortune, a leaf of any of them 
 might have been turned over. But the bent of her mind 
 was so decided, that a judicious friend prevailed upon her 
 mother at length to indulge it ; and at twelve years of 
 age she received instruction in the Latin language. At 
 thirteen she wrote a poem of considerable length, called 
 * The Female Geniad,' in which, imperfect as it necessarily \ 
 was, strong traces of literary genius were discerned. With 
 the sanction of her father it appeared in print, dedicated I' 
 to Lady de Crespigny, to whom she was introduced by 
 her uncle, Sir David Ogilvy, and from whom she after- \ 
 wards received many kind and flattering attentions. 
 
 Her father contemplated her literary progress with 
 delight and with pride ; and on his appointment to the 
 lucrative situation of purser on board Admiral Lord(! 
 Keith's own ship, it was his first care to direct that not 
 expense should be spared in procuring instruction for his^ 
 daughter in every branch of knowledge which it might be tJ 
 her wish to acquire; but the death of this indulgent, 
 parent in the East Indies, within a year afterwards. _ 
 blighted the fair prospect now opening upon her. Cares 
 and difficultitjs succeeded; the widow and the orphan, 
 destitute of effectual protection in the prosecution of 
 their just claims, became the victims of fraud and rapa- 
 city, and a very slender provision was all that could bet 
 secured from the wreck of their hopes and fortunes. Infi 
 the course of the following year, 1797, they removed to 
 the neighbourhood of Devizes, where, together with thef 
 society of affectionate friends and kind relations, Miss 
 Benger also enjoyed free access to a well-stored library.' 
 
MEMOIR OF MISS BENGER. 3 
 
 But that intense longing for the society of the eminent 
 and the excellent, which always distinguished her, could 
 only be gratified, as she was sensible, in London; and 
 thither, about the beginning of 1800, her mother was 
 induced to remove. Here, partly through the favour of 
 Lady de Crespigny, partly by means of her early intimates, 
 Miss Jane and Miss Anna Maria Porter, but principally 
 through the zealous friendship of Miss Sarah Wesley, who 
 had already discovered her in her retirement, she almost 
 immediately found herself ushered into society where her 
 merit was fully appreciated and warmly fostered. The 
 late Dr. George Grregory, well known in the literary 
 world, and his admirable wife, a lady equally distinguished 
 by talents and virtues, were soon amongst the firmest and 
 most affectionate of her friends. By them she was grati- 
 fied with an introduction to Mrs. Elizabeth Hamilton, of 
 whom she afterwards gave so interesting a memoir ; to 
 the author of ' Pleasures of Hope ; ' to Mrs. Barbauld, and 
 to the late Dr. Aikin, with the different members of whose 
 family, but especially with her who now inscribes, with 
 an aching heart, this slender record of her genius and 
 virtues, she contracted an affectionate intimacy, never 
 interrupted through a period of more than twenty years, 
 and only severed at length by the stroke which all things 
 mortal must obey. Another, and a most valuable con- 
 i nection, which she afterwards formed, was with the family 
 of E. Smirke, Esq. R. A., in whose accomplished daughter 
 she found an assiduous and faithful friend, whose ofiices 
 of love followed her without remission to the last. Mrs. 
 Inchbald, Mrs. Joanna Baillie, the excellent Mrs. Weddell, 
 and many other names distinguished in literature or in 
 (I society, might be added to the list of those who delighted 
 j in her conversation and took an interest in her happiness. 
 fj Her circle of acquaintance extended with her fame and 
 j with the knowledge of her excellent qualities ; and she 
 
 b2 
 
4 MEMOIR OF MISS BENGER. 
 
 was often enabled tx) assemble as guests at her bumble tea- 
 table, names whose celebrity would have insured attention 
 in the proudest saloons of the metropolis. 
 
 Early in her literary career. Miss Benger had been in- 
 duced to fix her hopes of fame on the drama, for which i 
 her genius appeared in many respects well adapted ; but 
 after ample experience of the anxieties, delays, and 
 disappointments which in this age sicken the heart of li 
 almost every candidate for celebrity in this department, : 
 she tried her powers in other attempts, and produced, first, 
 her poem on the 'Abolition of the Slave Trade,' and 
 afterwards two novels, published anonymously. Many 
 passages in the poem are replete with sentiment and 
 imagination, and there are lines of great harmony and 
 beauty; but a suggested subject is unfavourable to inspi- 
 ration, and the piece would have borne condensation with 
 advantage. Of the novels, ' Marian,' the first and the best, 
 did not obtain the attention' which it deserved, and which 
 the name of the author would probably have secured it. 
 The style is eloquent and striking; the characters have 
 often the air of well-drawn portraits ; the situations are 
 sometimes highly interesting, and with many passages of 
 pathos, there are several of genuine humour ; the princi- 
 pal failure is in the plot, which, in itself improbable, is 
 neither naturally nor perspicuously unfolded. The same 
 general character applies to ' Valsinore, or the Heart and 
 the Fancy ; ' but of this piece the story is equally faulty '■ 
 and the interest less highly wrought. No judicious per- - 
 son, however, could peruse either work without perceiving ; 
 that the artist was superior to the work ; that the excel- 
 lences were such as genius only could reach, the defi- 
 ciencies what a more accurate and comprehensive know- 
 ledge of the laws of composition, or a more patient 
 application of the labour of correcti n, might without 
 difficulty have supplied. No one, in fact, was more sen- 
 
 ii 
 
MEMOIR OF MISS BENGER. O 
 
 sible than herself that she had not yet attained the power 
 of doing justice in the execution to the first conceptions 
 of her fancy ; and finding herself in many respects unfa- 
 vourably circumstanced for acquiring that mastery in 
 literary skill, she prudently turned her attention from 
 fictitious narrative to biography and criticism — rising in 
 her later works to the department of history. Between 
 the years 1814 and 1825, she gave to the world, in rapid 
 succession, ' Remarks on Madame de Stael's Germany ; ' 
 'Memoir of Mrs. Hamilton ; ' 'Memoirs of JohnTobin' 
 (author of the ' Honeymoon ') ; ' Notices of Klopstock and 
 his Friends,' prefixed to a translation of their ' Letters ' from 
 the Grerman ; and the ' Life of Anne Boleyn,' and * Me- 
 moirs of Mary Queen of Scots, and of the Queen of 
 Bohemia.' Most of these works obtained deserved popu- 
 larity ; and she would probably have added to her reputa- 
 tion by her projected ' Memoirs of Henry IV. of France,' 
 had life and health been lent her for their completion. 
 
 But to those who knew her and enjoyed her friendship, 
 her writings, pleasing and beautiful as they are, were the 
 smallest part of her merit and her attraction. Endowed 
 with the warmest and most grateful of human hearts, she 
 united to the utmost delicacy and nobleness of sentiment, 
 active benevolence, which knew no limit but the furthest 
 extent of her ability, and a boundless enthusiasm for the 
 good and fair, wherever she discovered them. Her lively 
 imagination, and the flow of eloquence which it inspired, 
 aided by one of the most melodious of voices, lent an in- 
 expressible charm to her conversation ; which was height- 
 ened by an intuitive discernment of character, rare in 
 itself, and still more so in combination with such fertility 
 of fancy and ardency of feeling. As a companion, whether 
 ! for the graver or the gayer hour, she had indeed few 
 1 equals ; and her constant forgetfulness of self, and unfailing 
 j sympathy for others, rendered her the general friend, and 
 
6 MEMOIR OF MISS BENGER. 
 
 favourite, and confidante, of persons of botli sexes, all f 
 classes, and all ages. ]Many would have concurred in |i| 
 judgment with Madame de Stael, when she pronounced - 
 Miss Benger the most interesting woman she had seen 
 during her visit to England. 
 
 With so much to admire and love she had everything j 
 to esteem. Of envy and jealousy there was not a trace I 
 in her composition; her probity, veracity, and honour, 
 derived, as she gratefully acknowledged, from the early 
 precepts of an assiduous and most respectable mother, 
 were perfect. Though not less free from pride than from 
 vanity, her sense of independence was such, that no one 
 could fix upon her the slightest obligation capable of 
 lowering her in any eyes ; and her generous propensity to 
 seek those most who needed her offices of friendship, 
 rendered her, in the intercourses of society, much often er' 
 the obligor than the party obliged. No one was more 
 scrupulously just to the characters and performances of 
 others, no one more candid, no one more deserving of 
 every kind of reliance. 
 
 It is gratifying to reflect to how many hearts her un- 
 assisted merit found its way. Few persons have been 
 more widely or deeply deplored in their sphere of ac- 
 quaintance; but even those who knew and loved herj 
 best, could not but confess that their regrets were purely 
 selfish. To her the pains of sensibility seemed to be dealt 
 in even fuller measure than its joys ; her childhood and 
 early youth were consumed in a solitude of mind, and 
 under a sense of the contrariety between her genius and* 
 her fate, which had rendered them sad and full of bitter- 
 ness ; her maturer years were tried by cares, privations., 
 and disappointments, and not seldom by unfeeling s^ghts^ 
 or thankless neglect. The irritability of her constitution; 
 aggravated by inquietude of mind, had rendered her lift, 
 one lono^ disease. Old as^e, which she neither wished noi 
 
MEMOIR OF MISS BENGER. 7 
 
 expected to attain, might have found her solitary and ill. 
 provided — now she has taken ' the wings of the dove, to 
 flee away and be at rest.' 
 
 A short but painful illness terminated her career on 
 January 9, 1827. 
 
 EECOLLECTIONS OF JOANNA BAILLIE. 
 
 It has been my privilege to have had more or less of 
 personal acquaintance with almost every literary woman 
 of celebrity who adorned English society from the latter 
 years of the last century nearly to the present time, and 
 there was scarcely one of the number in whose society I 
 did not find much to interest me ; but of all these, ex- 
 cepting of course Mrs. Barbauld from the comparison, 
 Joanna Baillie made by far the deepest impression upon 
 me. Her genius was surpassing, her character the most 
 endearing and exalted. 
 
 I was a young girl when I first met her at Mrs. Bar- 
 bauld's, to whom she had become known through her 
 residence at Hampstead, her attendance on Mr. B.'s 
 ministry, and her connection with the Denman family. 
 Her genius had shrouded itself under so thick a veil of 
 silent reserve, that its existence seems scarcely to have 
 been even suspected beyond the domestic circle, when the 
 ' Plays on the Passions ' burst on the world. The dedi- 
 cation to Dr. Baillie gave a hint in what quarter the 
 author was to be sought ; but the person chiefly suspected 
 was the accomplished widow of his uncle John Hunter. 
 Of Joanna no one dreamt on the occasion. She and her 
 sister — I well remember the scene — arrived on a morning 
 call at Mrs. Barbauld's ; my aunt immediately introduced 
 the topic of the anonymous tragedies, and gave utterance 
 
8 EECOLLECTIONS OF JOANNA BAILLIE. 
 
 to her admiration with that generous delight in the mani- | 
 Testation of kindred genius, which distinguished her. But 
 not even the sudden delight of such praise, so given, could 
 seduce our Scottish damsel into self-betrayal. The faithful 
 sister rushed forward, as we afterwards recollected, to bear il 
 the brunt, while the unsuspected author lay snug in the P 
 asylum of her taciturnity. Eepression of all emotions, I' 
 even the gentlest, and those most honourable to human i 
 nature, seems to have been indeed the constant lesson of ' 
 her Presbyterian home. Her sister once told me that 
 their father was an OKcellent parent : when she had once 3 
 been bitten by a dog thought to be mad, he had sucked 
 the wound, at the hazard, as was supposed, of his own life 
 — but that he had never given her a kiss. Joanna spoke ^ 
 to me once of her yearning to be caressed when a child. 
 She would sometimes venture, she said, to clasp her little 
 arms aV)Out her mother's knees, who would seem to chide [ 
 her — ' but I know she liked it.' Be that as it may, the i 
 first thing which drew upon Joanna the admiring notice i 
 of Hampstead society, was the devoted assiduity of her \ 
 attention to her mother, then blind as well as aged, whom "- 
 she attended day and night. But this task of duty came 
 at length to its natural termination, and the secret of her f- 
 authorship having been permitted to transpire, she was no 
 longer pri\ileged to sit in the shade, shuffling off upon i, 
 others her own fair share in the expenses of conversation. 
 Latterly, her discourse flowed freely, and it had too much 
 of her own nature in it not to be ever welcome and de- 
 lightful ; but of all the writers, I might -almost say the 
 readers, I have ever known, she spoke the least of books. 
 In fact she never loved them ; it was not from them, but 
 from real life, and from the aspects of rural nature, that • 
 her imagination drew the materials in which it worked, 
 and it had been the penance of her youth to be drawn 
 away from these to her studies. ' I could not read well,' she 
 
BECOLLECTIONS OF JOA^'NA BAILLIE. V 
 
 once said to me, ' till nine years old ! ' '0 Joanna,' cried 
 her sister, ' not till eleven ! ' 'I made my father melan- 
 choly breakfasts,' she continued, ' for I used to say my 
 lesson to him then, and I always cried over it. And yet 
 they used to say, *' this girl is not stupid neither ; she is 
 handy at her needle, and understands common matters 
 well enough." I rambled over the heaths and plashed in 
 the brook most of the day.' 
 
 At school, by her sister's report, she was the ringleader 
 in all pranks and frolics, and used to entertain her com- 
 panions with an endless string of stories of her own in- 
 vention. She was also addicted to clambering on the roof 
 of the house, to act over her scenes alone and in secret. 
 At the time of her birth, and during all her girlhood, her 
 father, who afterwards became Divinity Professor in the 
 University of Griasgow, was the minister of a rural parish 
 in the neighbourhood, and his children ran about with 
 those of his humble parishioners, barefoot like the rest. 
 It was even a sacrifice to her to give up the practice. In 
 summer she would confess her longing to pad in the 
 grass, free from the incumbrance of hose and shoes ; and I 
 have known her throw away some eloquence in vain 
 endeavours to prevail upon prejudiced English parents to 
 allow their children to partake in so healthful an indul- 
 gence. 
 
 She had, in fact, a full share of the national predilections 
 for which the Scotch are remarkable. But her large 
 benevolence of nature purified this sentiment in her from 
 the spirit of boasting and the gross unfairness which are 
 its usual concomitants. It appeared practicable in her to 
 love Scotch things and persons more, without loving the 
 English less. Yet in many respects she never Anglicised 
 in the least degree. Whether she and her sister actually 
 took pains to keep up their native dialect, I know not, but 
 it is certain that on their revisiting Glasgow twenty or 
 
10 RECOLLECTIONS OF JOANNA BAILLIE. 
 
 thirty years after they had first quitted it, their friends i 
 were surprised to find them speaking with a broader 
 accent than themselves, by whom the English pronun- 
 ciation had long been anxiously cultivated as a genteel 
 accomplishment. If, however, any stranger, on the I] 
 strength of these her primitive notions and Scottish pro- 
 vincialisms, had expected to detect in her the slightest 
 deficiency in good manners or social refinement, he would 
 speedily have found his error. Joanna Baillie was an 
 innate gentlewoman, and over the meekness of her dispo- [ 
 sition and the simplicity of her demeanour, there presided 
 a genuine dignity, capable of repelling arrogance, and 
 striking unworthiness with ' blank awe.' Her reserve had 
 much of caution, but nothing of cowardice ; she had per- 
 fect self-possession, and courage sufficient to say and do 
 whatever in her high moral sense she judged right, re- 
 gardless of any one's opinion. But such was her indul- 
 gence, and the truly Christian humility of her spirit, that 
 practically she was only too tolerant of impertinence and ; 
 intrusions. She was the only person I have ever known, 
 towards whom fifty years of close acquaintance, while they 
 continually deepened my affection, wore away nothing of 
 my reverence. 
 
 So little was she fitted or disposed for intellectual dis- 
 play, that it was seldom that her genius shone out with 
 its full lustre in conversation ; but I have seen her power- 
 ful eye kindle with all a poet's fire, while her language 
 rose for a few moments to the full height of some ' great 
 argument.' Her deep knowledge of the human heart, also,|j! 
 would at times break loose from the habitual cautiousness, 
 and I have then thouo-ht that if she were not the most 
 candid and benevolent, she would be one of the most 
 formidable of observers. Nothing escaped her, and there, 
 was much humour in her quiet touches. The acuteness, 
 and originality of her mind displayed itself most in her 
 
RECOLLECTIONS OF JOANNA BAILLIE. 11 
 
 off-hand remarks. Now and then, when I have been on 
 my way to relate to her something new, which I thought 
 might amuse or interest her, I have said to myself, ' What 
 will be her comment ? No — that I cannot anticipate, but 
 I am sure that it will be the best thing said on the 
 occasion.' And such it never failed to prove. 
 
 No one would ever have taken her for a married woman. 
 An innocent and maiden grace still hovered over her to 
 the end of her old age. It was one of her peculiar charms, 
 and often brought to my mind the line addressed to the 
 vowed Isabella in ' Measure for Measure ' — ' I hold you for 
 a thing enskied and saintly.' If there were ever human 
 creature ^pure in the last recesses of the soul,' it was 
 surely this meek, this pious, this noble-minded and nobly 
 gifted woman, who, after attaining her ninetieth year, 
 carried with her to the grave the love, the reverence, the 
 regrets, of all who had ever enjoyed the privilege of her 
 society. 
 
 OLD TIMES. 
 
 A DIAXOGTJE. 
 
 MRS. HAEFORD. SOPHIA. 
 
 Sophia. I have often read and heard, grandmamma, 
 that elderly people always give the preference to past 
 days over the present, but I think I have observed the 
 contrary in you. ' These are glorious times,' you some- 
 times say; *they are continually improving something.' 
 One might suppose that every age made improvements ; 
 but perhaps there may have been more, or greater ones, 
 within yom- memory than in former periods, or is it only, 
 my dear grandmamma, that you are more inclined than 
 
12 OLD TIMES. A DIALOGUE. 
 
 other people to be pleased with the present, whatever it |i 
 may be ? 
 
 Mrs. Harford. I should be very willing, my dear, to t 
 accept the compliment of your last supposition if I 
 honestly could. To be particularly disposed to be pleased \ 
 with the present, would be no small merit at the age of [ 
 eighty ; but there have, as I think, been unusually rapid ■• 
 advances made in most things since the accession of 
 George III., which is about the time that my distinct 
 recollections begin. I take the pleasure which I suppose 
 almost all people do in looking back to the days of my : 
 youth, but if I were to give you an account of the kind of j 
 life I then had, I am pretty sure you would not think it 
 one to be envied. : 
 
 S. I wish you would give me such an account, madam, j 
 I should Hke very much to be able to make comparisons i- 
 between these times and those. 
 
 Mrs. H. To do that fairly you must take as much as :. 
 possible the same class and place and condition. My 
 recollectioDs are chiefly of London ; my father being, as 
 you may have heard, in a great wholesale and retail 
 business in one of the best streets of the city. He was t 
 the younger son of a country gentleman, poor, but of good 
 family, and having an education better than common L 
 stood high in his class. Being a weakly infant, unable to p 
 bear the closeness of London, I was therefore sent out to | 
 nurse with an elder sister at IsHngton, then a rural village ; . 
 for in those days, till a man in trade became wealthy and: 
 took a younger partner, he always lived at his shop; hei 
 had usually apprentices living in his house, and his wife,! 
 who, besides attending to domestic affairs, assisted him' 
 behind the counter or in the counting-house, was much 
 too important a person in the family to be spared to go 
 into the country with every child whose health might 
 happen to require it. Thus we early lost the caresses oft 
 
OLD TIMES. A DIALOGUE. 13 
 
 a mother. Nor was there any very extraordinary attention 
 paid to us by our nurse ; she treated us, however, pretty 
 much like her own children, and like them we scrambled 
 through. Domestic instruction was out of the question 
 with parents so fully occupied ; governesses were then 
 imknown, except, perhaps, in some families of very high 
 rank. And after quitting our nurse, my sister and I were 
 quickly sent off to a London boarding school. 
 
 S. And what were you taught there ? 
 
 Mrs. H. Our worthy governess chiefly professed, in her 
 own words, ' to bring up young women in the fear of Grod, 
 and in neatness ; ' but some few other branches of know- 
 ledge were also taught, or at least attempted. We had a 
 French teacher, with whom we read a little of Gril Bias — 
 an odd school-book for girls, but it supplied us with a 
 considerable number of familiar phrases, which we patched 
 together as well as we could to make up the school jargon 
 which we were compelled to use under the name of 
 French. We read a little English, learned a little arith- 
 metic, and to write. Some were taught the Italian hand, 
 a long narrow delicate character, slowly traced with a 
 crowquill, and appropriated to women ; others the round 
 hand which succeeded it, and which, I will take the liberty 
 to remark, was at least more legible than the running 
 scribble of modern young ladies. That we were all made 
 expert with our needles you may be sure, for at that time 
 plain work was a woman's chief employment, and fine 
 works were her principal amusement. 
 
 >S^. But you learned music and drawing without doubt ? 
 
 Mrs. H. They were not so much as thought of for us. 
 I think there were in my time about four or five of the 
 richest and most fashionable of our young ladies who took 
 a few lessons on the spinet, and about as many more who 
 learned a very little drawing, in very bad taste ; but the 
 parents of the rest of us would have thought it not only 
 
14 OLD TIMES. A DIALOGUE. 
 
 extravagance, but presumption, to give such showy and 
 expensive accomplishments to girls destined for good j 
 housewives. We all learned to dance, however, both [ 
 minuets and country dances, and I well remember that \ 
 before our grand annual exhibition at the master's ball, 1, 
 such of us as nature had not favoured with the high fore- 
 head, then esteemed a beauty, were obliged to submit to [ 
 the application of a strip of pitch plaister round the edges a 
 of the hair, by means of which it was torn up by the roots. \ 
 
 S. Ah, how barbarous ! 
 
 Mrs. H. We had other penances to undergo, unknown f 
 to the damsels of these happier days. There were back- 
 boards, iron collars, stocks for the feet, and a frightful 
 kind of neck swing, in which we were suspended every 
 morning whilst one of the teachers was lacing our stays ; \ 
 all which contrivances were intended and imagined to i 
 improve the figure and tbe air. Nothing was thought so 
 awkward and vulgar as anything approaching to a stoop. 
 ' Hold up your head I hold up your head, miss ! ' was the ,. 
 constant cry. I wonder any of us kept our health : we had jr 
 very little exercise of any kind, were tightlaced in very ; 
 stiff stays, not sufficiently warmed in winter, and both, 
 coarsely and sparely fed. The only advantage we enjoyed 
 above modern young ladies — but this is perhaps an im-j 
 portant one — was in not having our faculties overstrained; 
 by too many lessons in too great a variety of pursuits, f 
 I was released from my school at about fom'teen, and glad ( 
 enough, I assure you. By this time my father had become . 
 a man of considerable property. He had quitted the,; 
 house of business for Bloomsbury Square, then accounted! 
 a very genteel situation, and set up his carriage. He had 3 
 purchased a small estate about forty miles from London,'- 
 and we divided the year between town and country, but, 
 I do not think you would much have reli&hed our way of; 
 life in either. 
 
OLD TIMES. A DIALOGUE. 15 
 
 aS'. Pray describe it to me. 
 
 Mrs. H. In the first place, the journey from one to the 
 other was not performed quite with modern ease and 
 rapidity. Although we travelled with post horses, we 
 generally found it necessary to sleep on the road ; — we 
 always did so, at least, when we went to keep our Christmas 
 in the country. Finchley Common, which lay in our way, 
 was a tract over which nobody then ventured to travel in 
 the dusk ; and even at noonday the appearance of a 
 horseman-traveller caused us some palpitations. The by- 
 roads were formidably bad, and even the great north road 
 was crossed in four or five places by streams, over which 
 there were no bridges, and which, in times of flood, it was 
 somewhat dangerous to pass. In one place we had to pass 
 close imder a gibbet on which the body of a murderer was 
 hung in chains. When at length we were arrived, the 
 Christmas logs hardly sufficed tolerably to warm the windy 
 old mansion with its rattling casements and floors scantily 
 carpeted. Neighbours we had very few, and the annual 
 dinner or tea visits which we paid were formal and dull. 
 We had but a small assortment of books of any kind, and 
 no new ones. 
 
 S. How did you contrive to fill up your time ? 
 
 Mrs. H. Oh, there was no great difficulty in that. 
 Besides, our own sewing included a vast deal of laborious 
 flourishing upon cambric, gauze, and catgut ; we had all 
 the shirts to make for my father and the boys ; we had 
 all the pastry and sweets to make, besides a good deal of 
 exercise in potting, pickling, preserving, and wine-making. 
 At washing times we were required to assist in hang- 
 ing out the linen, folding, clear-starching, and ironing ; 
 we 
 
 8. My dear grandmamma, is it possible that young 
 ladies were put to all this drudgery ? You might as well 
 have been cooks or laundry-maids. 
 
16 OLD TIMES. A DIALOGUE. 
 
 Mrs. H. We did not think so, I assure you. As these 
 acts were then regarded as an essential part of female 
 education, and as all our neighbours spent their time in 
 the same occupations, we never regarded these things as 
 hardships. Still it was a life of little variety, or what in 
 modern phrase is called excitement. I confess I should 
 have liked at least to make the tour of the county, but 
 excursions of this kind were not much the fashion. We 
 did, however, sometimes pay visits to relations at a distance, " 
 which we enjoyed with a zest only known, I believe, to ' 
 those whose pleasures come but seldom; and a county 
 assembly was an event to be reckoned upon for weeks and 
 talked over for months. The chief alloy of our social 
 enjoyments was the stiff and really barbarous ceremonial 
 which then accompanied all the common actions of life. 
 From the retired life that they led, and the awe and sub- 
 jection in which they were kept by their elders, damsels 
 had then a degree of bashfulness, or awkwardness if you 
 please, of which it is my private opinion that the accom- 
 plished young ladies of these days cannot even form an \ 
 idea. Imagine, then, what it was, in the midst of a 
 formal dinner, after calling for beer and receiving it from 
 the servant in a cup or glass, by the bye, which had pre- 
 viously served half the company 
 
 S. Ah, filthy ! 
 
 Mrs. H. It was so. After this, I say, think what it was f 
 to go round the company, crying out with an audible 
 voice, ' Mrs. A., your health ; Dr. B., your good health,' 
 and so on — each person as you proceeded laying down his 
 knife and fork to be ready to acknowledge the compliment ! 
 
 S. Dreadful indeed ! 
 
 Mrs. H. I have often sat almost choking with thirst, - 
 but quite unable to summon courage for the operation of 
 drinking. I remember once seeing an awkward girl sur- ■ 
 prised by the approach of a health as she was in the act of 
 
OLD TIMES. A DIALOGUE. 17 
 
 picking the leg bone of a fowl with her teeth — another 
 o-raceful practice of that day — who suddenly dropped both 
 her hands and sat quite still with the bone across her 
 mouth. 
 
 S. Ha ! ha ! like a death's head with cross bones in the 
 border to a bill of mortality ! 
 
 Mrs. H. It was even worse when we came to the wine 
 after dinner or supper ; it was then not sufficient to drink 
 healths : a young lady would often be required, in spite of 
 blushes and entreaties, to give as a toast either the name 
 of a single gentleman or a sentiment. 
 
 S. How tormenting I but what kind of sentiments ? 
 
 Mrs. H. Perhaps some such flat affair as this : ' May 
 the single be married, and the married happy.' But I 
 ramble — these old recollections carry me away. I was 
 going to describe to you our town life. We were here 
 exempted from a part of uur household business, and a 
 few more diversions fell in our way — such as a good play, 
 or now and then a concert, or a visit to Eanelagh or 
 Vauxhall. But the ordinary style of visiting was dull 
 enougli. Morning calls were not much the fashion, but 
 after what would now be called a very early dinner, the 
 custom was to drive to the house of some acquaintance 
 and sit perhaps half an hour, then to another, and another, 
 contriving to reach by tea-time some lady whose visiting- 
 day it was. With her you perhaps found some half-dozen 
 people assembled, and either a pool or a rubber was made 
 up, or the visit was spent sitting in a formal circle, where, 
 as Cowper says, — 
 
 'Yes, ma'am,' and 'No, ma'am,' uttered softly, show 
 Every five minutes how the minutes go. 
 
 Well-bred ease was then rare indeed; in fact it was 
 jscarcely known except in very high life ; the middle classes 
 imight be said to be mere beginners in the arts of social 
 entertainment. G-reat improvements have since been 
 
 c 
 
18 OLD TIMES. A DIALOGUE. 
 
 made in this way. At this time the fashion of frequenting i 
 watering-places, which has both good and evil in it, was \ 
 but just introduced. Few frequented them except upon 
 the plea at least of health. We went one season to Bath, 
 for my father's gout. It was very shortly after the pub- ^ 
 lication of ' Anstey's Bath Gruide,' and you have only to t 
 treat yourself with the perusal of that witty and enter- j, 
 taining piece to gain a very good notion of the manners / 
 and customs of the place at that time. [ 
 
 S, I have read it, and it seemed to me like an account l 
 of some foreign country — everything is since so changed. ; 
 The fashions of dress appear to have been signally barba- 
 rous in taste. 
 
 Mrs. H. The powdered and frizzled wigs worn by young 
 ladies were bad enough, certainly. In other points I know 
 not that the present times have any great advantage. As 
 far as I can compare things, it seems to me that dress was 
 rather more costly, in proportion to other expenses, then 
 than at present, owing no doubt to the impfovement of 
 our manufactures by the invention of the steam-engine' 
 and machinery. But we had much fewer changes of 
 apparel. The choice of a best gown was really onlyi 
 second in importance to the choice of a husband ; it was,, 
 not every year that we bought a new one. 
 
 S, \Miat, not one new dress in a year ! 
 
 Mrs. H. Not a best dress. Young women in our statioi^ 
 of life would buy one year a rich silk gown and petticoat, 
 called a suit of clothes, which would cost five pounds oi 
 more, and the next year they would content themselve^ 
 mth a slighter one, less trimmed and without a petticoal^ 
 of the same, which was called a night-gown. 
 
 S. What a very ugly name for a dress I 
 
 Mrs. H. Yes, that name, and still more the custom; 
 which I remember amongst ladies of fashion, of receivin^^ 
 their company in an apartment adorned in other respect^ 
 
OLD TIMES. A DIALOGUE. 19 
 
 like a drawing-room, but bearing the name of a dressing- 
 room, and set out with a showy toilet, at which the lady 
 sometimes appeared actually under the hands of the hair- 
 dresser, were certainly relics of the gross manners and 
 slatternly customs of the French court, first brought here 
 under Charles II. But every age and country has some 
 practices which, to the rest of the world, appear indecorums. 
 We, for instance, never thought of shaking hands with any 
 gentleman; and the modern custom of lounging upon 
 sofas would have shocked us much in my young time. 
 We had then no sofas. 
 
 S. No ! How did you exist without them ? 
 
 Mrs. H. When people were really ill, they went into 
 their own chambers and lay down on the bed. When 
 they were well, they took the trouble to sit upright on 
 their chairs. You know I am even yet no friend to 
 lolloping, as I call it. 
 
 S. 1 know, dear grandmamma, that you never practise 
 it. You have no habits of self-indulgence. 
 
 Mrs, H, I was brought up in none, and in that respect 
 I do think that former days had the advantage of these. 
 We had much fewer wants, and I have still about me so 
 much of the old school as to think it better in all respects 
 for mind, body, and outward estate, not to wish for 
 luxuries and superfluities than even to possess them. How 
 much better, then, is it than to wish for them and to be 
 unable to procure them — the case of thousands at present ! 
 We had neither hearth-rugs nor foot-stools, nor lounging 
 chairs, nor foot-warmers for carriages, and when we 
 entertained a few friends at dinner, it was without silver 
 forks, or napkins, or finger-glasses, or French dishes, or 
 ices. But I cannot think that we were to be pitied on 
 jthis account. These are all of them things which no one 
 ^but a spoiled child would wish for, except for the sake oi 
 making as genteel an appearance as his neighbours. I do 
 
 C 2 
 
20 OLD TIMES. A DIALOGUE. 
 
 confess, however, that it is very difficult to draw the line 
 between real comforts, or agreeable luxuries, and mere 
 superfluities, and I feel some gratitude to be due to the 
 inventors of Eumford stoves, gas lights, and umbrellas. 
 
 S. Is it possible that you had no umbrellas ? 
 
 Mrs. H. I never possessed one till I married ; and it 
 was many years after that before they got into their pre- 
 sent universal use. 
 
 S. How did you manage to protect yourselves from the 
 rain? 
 
 Mrs. H. We had good cloth cloaks, with hoods to them, 
 for very bad weather. When we were caught in a sudden 
 shower with our best bonnets on — coming out of church, 
 for example — I am afraid we were so shocking as to cover 
 them as well as we could with our pocket-handkerchiefs. 
 Nay, I have seen the skirt of the gown turned over the 
 head for this purpose. But I do humbly confess the - 
 superiority of the umbrella to all these contrivances. 
 
 S. You said just now that you never shook hands with 
 gentlemen. 
 
 Mrs. H. Never ; it would have been thought a strange 
 masculine familiarity. 
 
 *S'. But when you were very glad to see some old friend,) 
 how did you receive him ? 
 
 Mrs, H, In that case, the gentleman would take 
 salute. 
 
 S. And was that less of a favour than shaking hands ?^ 
 
 Mrs, H. The lady at least was passive in that case ; but 
 now you see girls actually offering their hands to young 
 men. I believe, too, it is held that the ladies are alway4 
 to speak to gentlemen first at meeting. And now I ana; 
 tired of telling my old stories, and you, I think, must ber 
 tired of hearing them. 
 
 S. No, indeed ; they interest me very much. But I wiU 
 not encroach upon your kindness. You will now allo-w 
 
OLD TIMES. A DIALOGUE. 2l 
 
 me to give you this soft hassock of my own work to rest 
 your feet upon. 
 
 Mrs. H. Well, my dear, I will not refuse to touch 
 modern luxury with the tip of my toe, though I should 
 be very sorry to steep myself in it up to the lips. 
 
 HOW CHARACTER IS FORMED. 
 
 A DIALOGUE. 
 
 But oars alone can ne'er prevail 
 
 To reach that distant coast; 
 The breath of heaven will swell the sail, 
 
 Or all our toil is lost. 
 
 Two old schoolfellows, between whom more than twenty 
 years of friendship, cemented by the marriage of one 
 to the sister of the other, had established the most con- 
 fidential intimacy, had taken advantage of a public holiday, 
 to enjoy the rare indulgence, to men closely occupied in 
 the active business of life, of a long tete-a-tete walk. Their 
 conversation, after glancing upon a variety of topics, some 
 general, others personal, settled at length upon a theme 
 of universal interest, and the following dialogue ensued. 
 
 A, After all, what is it, do you say, which forms the 
 character ? 
 
 B, What formed yours ? 
 
 A. I really cannot say. I never thought about the 
 matter. 
 
 jB. Will you let me examine you, and cross-examine 
 you too, if I see occasion, since it is my vocation ? 
 ! A, Examine as much as you please, and I will answer 
 ito the best of my knowledge and belief. 
 i B, Temper is a very important feature of character ; 
 
22 HOW CHAEACTER IS FORMED. A DIALOaUE. 
 
 can you remember your own ever to have been materially 
 
 f 
 
 different from wbat it is, and if so, what changed it ? 
 
 A. I was excessively passionate when a child, and once != 
 in my fury I aimed an unlucky blow at my younger 
 brother, which laid him senseless at my feet. For a few f. 
 moments I thought myself his murderer ; the agony of my |i 
 terror and remorse I shall never forget. My father con- 1 
 firmed the impression by placing me in solitary confine- | 
 ment for several days. It did me much good. I am still |; 
 far too irascible, but never since, on any provocation, ? 
 have I lost all command of myself. t 
 
 B. That is to say, that your own painful experience of :t 
 consequences, combined with wholesome discipline, taught j 
 you to control your temper, but without changing it. :. 
 
 A. Exactly so. But I never bore malice in my child- 
 hood, nor do I now ; and I am not envious. 
 
 B. No ; I can answer for you on both these points. And i! 
 you were attached to your parents, fond of your brothers 
 and sisters, and willing to give up your o^vn inclinations,: 
 to theirs. 
 
 A. I loved them all dearly, and was usually pretty: 
 ready to make sacrifices to those who were not less willing: 
 to make them to me. 
 
 B. Here we have the influence of sympathy; but did- 
 it act equally on all the family ? 
 
 A. Why, no. There certainly was an exception. If 
 one may speak the truth of him now he is dead and gone,: 
 it must be owned that Dick was always a selfish dog, and^ 
 cunning too. He was the only one amongst us who would 
 tell lies for the sake of gaining little advantages to him- 
 self. My parents always made truth-telHng the first points 
 with their children ; but they could never get a straight-c 
 forward answer from him if he thought that an equivoca-t 
 tion or a falsehood would serve his purpose better. 
 
 B. To what do you ascribe this moral obliquity of his ?i 
 
HOW CHARACTER IS FORMED. A DIALOGUE. 23 
 
 A. 'All wickedness is weakness,' it has been said, 
 and whether that be absolutely true or not, I have con- 
 stantly imputed the fatal errors of this unfortunate brother 
 of mine solely to the feebleness of his mental constitution. 
 No moral ideas made a deep or clear impression upon 
 him. Present pain, and present pleasure, were the only 
 things which much affected him ; even bitter and often 
 repeated experience could not teach him to weigh the 
 consequences of his actions. I know not what stress you 
 will lay upon the observation, but it is a fact that he was 
 like neither of his parents, nor any one of their children ; 
 but bore the strongest resemblance, both in person and 
 manners, to a brother of my mother's, whose character 
 and whose career in life were not less unthinking and 
 unfortunate than his own. 
 
 B, I attach great importance to these resemblances ; in 
 the same family at least, I have constantly observed that 
 physical and moral likeness go together, and that these 
 inherent qualities, or tendencies, often, as in the case of 
 your brother, render nugatory the most judicious measures 
 of the wisest parents, and even withstand the force of 
 circumstances and the rough discipline of the world. 
 Pray, how did you acquire that ready and skilful use of 
 the pencil which I have admired in you ever since we 
 were first acquainted ? 
 
 A, Oh, by imitation, no doubt. My father had the talent 
 in a high degree, and was sketching at every leisure 
 moment. 
 
 B. And you all inherited or acquired it from him ? 
 A, Not all. William and Sophia had no aptitude 
 
 whatever for drawing ; my father tried in vain to teach 
 them. On the other hand, Sophia alone amongst us had an 
 ear for music, and William, as you know, evinced from 
 childhood a genius for the mathematics, which was cer- 
 tainly no part of his inheritance, but which seemed to be 
 a gift of nature. 
 
24 now CHARACTER IS FORMED. A DIALOGUE. 
 
 B. Who, or what, inspired you with the ardent attach- 
 ment to civil liberty, which at school caused you many a 
 black eye and bloody nose, and which has not seldom stood 
 in the way of your advancement since ? 
 
 A. I imbibed the sentiment, almost before I can re- 
 member, from my father, who cherished it as the very 
 breath of life. In his early days he had endured both 
 obloquy and loss in the good old cause, as he used fondly 
 to call it ; and I should have felt myself unworthy to bear \ 
 his name had I abandoned his principles. I now begin 
 to perceive that it must have been his general influence 
 over me which had the greatest share in the formation of 
 my character, or at all events of my opinions, sentiments, 
 and acquirements. 
 
 B. Your habits ? 
 
 A. His, all his, and my mother's ; which were indeed 
 moulded upon his. Everything in our house went as if 
 by clockwork. My parents were never on any occasion to 
 be waited for, and never one moment idle ; and the like 
 punctuality and diligence were required of us children. 
 It was not that we had no play — that would have rendered 
 our home and its ways irksome to us ; on the contrary, we 
 had rather a large allowance ; but the rule was, work 
 when you work, and play when you play ; no lounging ! 
 To this training I owe more than I can reckon. 
 
 B, You may well say so, if it be to this that you are 
 indebted for the best business habits I have seen in any 
 man. But again I ask, did this admirable training pro- 
 duce similar efifects on you all ? 
 
 A. Yes, I think so, more or less. Poor Dick, indeed, 
 could not be made either punctual or industrious. In 
 spite of daily objurgations he would never make his" 
 appearance in the morning till breakfast was half over ; * 
 he was always behindhand with his task, and had to be 
 roused from a recumbent posture, either on the sofa or 
 
HOW CHAKACTER IS FORMED. A DIALOGUE. 25 
 
 the lawn, half a dozen times in the day. Sophia, too, was 
 somewhat indolently disposed; but I think that in her 
 this infirmity was connected with deeper sensibility, and a 
 more poetical imagination, than the rest of us were blessed 
 wdth. 
 
 B. You call these blessings ? 
 
 A, Surely I do. They give to life its aroma. Since I 
 have enjoyed the happiness of a union with one whose 
 pre-eminence in these gifts you know so well, I have learnt 
 to value them aright ; and I have even discovered that 
 more of both existed in the depths of my own nature than 
 I had ever before been aware of. Among the influences 
 which have contributed to form my tastes, and in good 
 measure my character, I should be ungrateful indeed to 
 forget those of a wife not less the object of my admiration 
 than my tenderness. I know not when the education of 
 a man may be said to be finished, but assuredly mine was 
 in many respects still in its rudiments when I first formed 
 my attachment to your sister. 
 
 B. She has had an apt scholar, at any rate. But let us 
 now, in an orderly manner, sum up the results of your 
 testimony. Temper, probably innate and constitutional, 
 controlled by experience, reflection, and discipline, but 
 never changed. The selfish principle successfully com- 
 bated among a family of children, and domestic affections 
 instilled by the silent force of sympathy. The principle 
 of veracity firmly established among them by parental 
 influence and example ; but these means failing with one 
 child, probably from feebleness of intellectual constitution, 
 of which the race had exhibited a previous example. 
 Political sentiments taken up early, and steadily perse- 
 vered in from filial deference, and regarded as a point of 
 honour. Habits formed by the same influence acting 
 through the established rules of a happy and well-ordered 
 home. Tastes and talents inherited or acquired from a 
 
26 HOW CHAEACTER IS FORMED. A DIALOGUE. 
 
 parent by some of tlie children, not by all ; and a decided 
 genius for mathematical science in one child, not traceable 
 to any known source. New qualities brought out, and 
 the formation of character completed, by the influence of 
 a beloved object. 
 
 A. And what are your deductions from these facts ? 
 
 B. In the first place I perceive nothing exceptional in 
 your case. These are the agents by which all human 
 characters are formed, though the proportions in which 
 they exert their influence on individuals, and the nature 
 of that influence, vary exceedingly, according to circum- 
 stances, according to the native vigour of the mind, and 
 according to certain peculiarities of disposition which we 
 are unable to account for. Some resist the action of other 
 minds, and even the force of external circumstances, from 
 strength of character, or of will — of which Napoleon was 
 a striking example ; others are incapable, from weakness 
 or levity, of any permanent impression. 
 
 A. You are far, then, from holding that we come into the 
 world, as some have said, sheets of blank paper, on which 
 our instructors may trace what characters they please. 
 
 B, I hold it in one sense — that is, I believe that our 
 ideas are all acquired, not innate ; but as to the capacity 
 of receiving and retaining impressions, these blank sheets 
 differ as much as whity-brown from the finest woven post, 
 or that which bears ink the best from mere blotting-paper, 
 on which you can write nothing legibly or distinctly. 
 
 A. It has been the theory of some writers, that every- 
 thing is decided by first impressions ; or that it is on the 
 associations formed by apparently trifling and unnoticed 
 circumstances during the first two or three years of life, 
 that the whole future character depends. 
 
 B. I have no faith in those occult causes ; at most I 
 would only admit their possible agency in the absence of ' 
 all more obvious and probable explanations of the phe- - 
 
HOW CHARACTER IS FORMED. A DIALOGUE. 27 
 
 nomena. As I said before, I attach great importance to 
 the tendencies or qualities of race. You may indeed call 
 this an occult cause, which no doubt it is, in the same 
 sense as all the laws of nature are occult in respect of man ; 
 but no one can doubt the existence of such tendencies, 
 who looks at mankind in the large way, whether with the 
 eyes of the traveller, the historian, or the ethnologist. 
 
 A. In what part of our constitution do you hold that 
 these tendencies are most prevalent ? 
 
 B. It is hard to say. The likeness of an individual, 
 whether of a family or of a people, among themselves, 
 and their unlikeness to others, manifests itself both in the 
 great outlines of character, in disposition, temperament, 
 and capacity, and in particulars often so minute that it 
 would appear ridiculous to mention them. It is the same 
 in the bodily frame, in the mien and carriage, and in 
 httle ways and oddities. You may trace family resem- 
 blance as often in the shape of the finger nails or the 
 growth of the hair, as in the voice, the outline of the 
 features, or the mould of the form. What are called 
 tricks in children, often spring from this deep root, and it 
 is, therefore, that their correction is often obliged to be 
 given up as hopeless. ' Why,' I once heard an anatomist 
 exclaim to an anxious governess, ' do you take so much 
 pains to make that girl hold up her head? It is all in 
 vain. Look at her mother — mother crab and daughter 
 crab.' 
 
 A. Dangerous doctrine ! According to this, education 
 has no influence ; and to correct anything we see amiss in 
 children is a vain attempt. 
 
 B. Not so neither. Though everything is not in our 
 power, much is. There are means by which bodily tricks 
 may be overcome. Under the care of the drill-sergeant 
 every recruit learns to hold up his head, at least during 
 exercise; and the most left-handed by nature never 
 
28 HOW CHARACTER IS FORMED. A DIALOGUE. 
 
 persist in carrying the musket wrong. The force of 
 discipline, and the principle of imitation, exert a steady 
 counteracting power over all idiosyncrasies, physical or 
 moral. We have also acknowledged the influence of 
 sympathy, of precept, and of habit. Yet it is very clear 
 that, on the whole, the formation of character has not been 
 subjected to the will and pleasure of man. No one can 
 say, ' I will make my son a distinguished man — a great 
 poet, a great painter, or mathematician,' nor can he say 
 positively, although I hold his power to be greater in the 
 moral part, 'I will make him upright and benevolent.' 
 On the other hand, no father, however wicked or unnatural, 
 could find out a certain method of rendering his boy either 
 stupid or profligate. It must always be with the prudent 
 reservation of that adept who professed that he could 
 make a child immortal, provided he were a fit subject for 
 the experiment. 
 
 Here the conversation of our two friends w£is interrupted 
 by the hasty approach of a gentleman of their acquaint- 
 ance, who, descrying them from his window, came out 
 in haste to meet them, and insisted on taking them in 
 to partake of his abundant and hospitable luncheon — a 
 refreshment which they found very seasonable after so- 
 much grave discourse. 
 
ON THE SPIRIT OF AEISXOCRACY. A DIALOGUE. 29 
 
 ON THE SPIRIT OF ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 A DIALOGUE. 
 
 ALBERT. SOPHIA. 
 
 Albert. 1 fear I have disturbed some learned debate. 
 I heard the voices of Frank and Harry loud and earnest 
 as I approached, but on my appearance they are gone. 
 
 Sophia. And time they were. They would waste the 
 whole day in talking, if I did not now and then hold up 
 my watch to them. But this morning they got upon 
 rather an interesting subject, as I thought, and I should 
 be glad, my dear uncle, to hear your opinion upon it. 
 Frank says there is more of the spirit of aristocracy in 
 England than in any other country of Europe. This 
 Harry denies, but what say you ? 
 
 A. In the first place I do not pretend, whatever these 
 academic youths may do, to possess sufficient knowledge 
 of every country in Europe to give a proper answer to the 
 question ; but perhaps the assertion may, or it may not 
 be true, according to the sense which you attach to terms. 
 
 S. How so ? 
 
 A. That this is not the country in which there is 
 the broadest line of demarcation between patrician and 
 plebeian, noble and roturier, is evident from our possessing 
 no native words to express exactly this distinction. We 
 have, indeed, lords and commoners, but as the younger 
 children of peers have always been included in the latter 
 class, the nobility have never with us, as in France or 
 Germany, formed a race, or caste, who could insult the 
 rest of the nation by the boast of better blood than theirs. 
 Id one sense, therefore, the assertion is plainly incorrect. 
 
 S. This was Harry's argument. How could it be true. 
 
30 ON THE SPIRIT OF ARISTOCRACY. A DIALOGUE. 
 
 he said, tliat aristocracy was so prevalent here, when even f 
 the aristocratic part of our constitution was so popularly ' 
 formed — when so many born plebeians sat and voted 
 among the lords spiritual and temporal ? He added, with ^ 
 respect to the nobility here and in the old monarchies of ' 
 the continent, that it was there a towering palm, shooting 
 up its stately trunk clear from the surrounding imderwood, f 
 and bearing its whole canopy of leaves and blossoms aloft I 
 in air ; whilst here, its branches, like those of the banyan, ^ 
 bend ever downwards, and root themselves again in the \ 
 common earth. I 
 
 A. Pretty enough; and as much or as little to the 
 purpose as similes commonly are. But in spite of this, 
 if it is meant to assert that this is the country in which 
 people are most uniformly deferential in their manners 
 towards those whom they regard as their superiors, and ,1 
 contemptuous to their inferiors, I am afraid it may be [ 
 true. We are certainly very great respecters of persons, 
 
 S, What can be the reason of it ? 
 
 A. Several reasons, or rather several causes, may be 
 assigned. In the first place, although we have never, 
 correctly speaking, had patrician families, or a privileged 
 order like the French noblesse, the distinction of ranks 
 has always been very strongly marked among us. You 
 may have read that in old times there was a difference 
 made in gentlemen's houses between those who sat above 
 and those who sat below the salt ; and in every baronial 
 hall there were distinct tables for guests of different 
 degrees, who were thus in presence without ever being in 
 company with one another. There were also sumptuary 
 laws by which the use of rich furs, velvet, gold lace, and 
 other expensive materials and fashions of dress, and even 
 of some luxuries of the table, was restricted to persons of 
 a certain rank or fortune. Down to the overthrow of 
 monarchy at the death of Charles I., the ceremonial of the 
 
ON THE SPiraX OF ARISTOCRACY. A DIALOGUE. 31 
 
 English court had been almost oriental in its servility, and 
 was viewed with surprise by foreign ambassadors. No 
 one presumed to speak to Queen Elizabeth, but on his 
 knees, and in her days a private gentleman or a knight 
 was expected to stand ' cap in hand ' even to a peer. Now, 
 although these appendages of barbarism and the feudal 
 system have long been swept away, I think you will 
 perceive that it may well require ages to wear out the 
 marks left by them on the manners and customs of a 
 people. Down to the present day does not an insignificant 
 young gentlewoman like yourself expect her shoemaker 
 or her milliner to stand in her awful presence while re- 
 ceiving her orders ? 
 
 ^S'. Why, that is what those kind of people do of course ; 
 one never tells them to do it, or thinks about it. 
 
 A, Precisely, because there is so much in England of 
 the spirit of aristocracy. In America, or in the France 
 of the present day, you would find that such observances 
 are by no means matters of course. There, a common 
 workman would make no scruple of seating himself beside 
 you. 
 
 S. How horrid ! 
 
 A. Yes, * how horrid ! ' With English young ladies 
 that silly exclamation, too, is quite of course. You cannot 
 bear the notion of your inferiors forgetting their distance 
 towards yoii, and yet if you were to call upon a duchess, 
 and she should motion you to a stool at the lower end of 
 the room, you would scarcely be able to find terms strong 
 enough to express your indignation at the arrogance of 
 her behaviour. Is there not a greater distance between 
 you, the daughter of a private gentleman of small fortune, 
 and a duchess, than between you and a respectable 
 milliner r 
 
 S. I do not well know what to say to that. In fortune 
 there is, no doubt, and in what one may call consequence. 
 
32 ON THE SPIRIT OF ARISTOCKACr. A DIALOGUE. 
 
 but in another way there seems not to be. It is said, I 
 believe, that a gentleman or a gentlewoman is company « 
 for anybody ; now I — that is to say, papa is a gentleman, P 
 and he sometimes visits noblemen, but a milliner is not a i 
 gentlewoman. 
 
 A. Speak out at once, child, without affectation, the |t 
 thing that is in your head, which is this : that when your S 
 great neighbours at the castle invite what are called the i 
 county families once in the season, you go there with your 
 sister and are received by the duchess as a person of her 
 society ; whilst the milliner is never received by you or i 
 your sister on that footing. 
 
 S. That was what I meant, my dear uncle, but I did 
 not know exactly how to express it. 
 
 A. Your claim, then, to a kind of social equality with a 
 duchess is that of a gentlewoman born ? 
 
 S. Yes. 
 
 A. But what if the milliner should turn out to be better i 
 gentlewoman of the two ? With respect to the one you 
 employ, I happen to know this to be the case. She is the 
 granddaughter of a lord, a poor one indeed, but still a c 
 lord. 
 
 S. Is it possible ? Il 
 
 A, Stranger things are very possible in this world of l 
 mutability. Her mother married ill, in every sense of the p 
 term, was cast off by her noble father and family, and i 
 sank into indigence. She herself married a man of very 
 respectable character, an artist, but he was carried off at 
 an early age and left her with the charge of a young 
 family whom she creditably maintains by the profits of % 
 her business. Yet this lady you keep standing at your "^ 
 audience ! 
 
 S. Oh ! but indeed, my dear uncle, I had no idea that 
 she was sucli a real gentlewoman. I will always make her 
 sit down in future. 
 
ON THE SPIRIT OF ARISTOCRACY. A DIALOaUE. 33 
 
 A, So far, well. But the disciples of Pythagoras ab- 
 stained from crushing even a worm, for fear of dispossess- 
 ing some kindred soul, and I would conjure you by your 
 own gentility to forbear to keep standing any milliner or 
 dressmaker you may in future employ, lest you should 
 again be guilty of the horror of failing in respect to the 
 granddaughter of a lord. It is very difficult to know the 
 negative in these cases. 
 
 8, You are laughing at me. 
 
 A, Oh ! by no means. I only suggest the motive most 
 likely to be effectual in persuading you to treat what you 
 call ' those kind of people ' like fellow-creatures. But to 
 return to her grace who is so good as to treat you like a 
 fellow-creature. You ascribe this condescension of hers 
 to your gentle birth, but to what, pray, do you ascribe the 
 very marked distinction with which she receives the mis- 
 tress of Million Hall, as people call it ? I dare say you 
 know, for such facts are not easily suffered to fall into 
 oblivion, that she was originally chambermaid at an inn ; 
 and to say the truth, she looks it still, with all her blaze 
 of diamonds, and that the enormously rich banker, her 
 husband, began life as a porter in a warehouse. And yet 
 it is more than surmised that this couple are courted by 
 the noble duchess with the hope that their son and heir 
 may be tempted to choose a wife amongst the six lady- 
 daughters who grace her side. 
 
 B. Oh no ! I cannot believe it. 
 
 A. I can, without any difficulty. 
 
 B. At least you would surely regard it as a very base 
 sacrifice of dignity to wealth, if any one of those ladies 
 could consent to marry the son of such parents. And 
 were not the old strict rules you have been mentioning of 
 this use at least, that they prevented such mesalliances, 
 as the French call them ? 
 
 A. But they did not prevent them. As long as great 
 
34 ON THE SPIRIT OF ARISTOCRACY. A DIALOGUE. 
 
 fortunes have been raised by trade in this country — that 
 is, for centuries past — our nobility have consented to take i: 
 their share in the profit by means of those alliances which 
 shock you so much, and against which, indeed, their own 
 pride revolted even whilst they were driven into them by : 
 avarice or necessity. Low birth, therefore, is not of itself • 
 sufficient to exclude the rich from the intimate society ■ 
 of the first nobles of the land. But neither does it always f; 
 exclude those who are poor. 
 
 S. No ! that seems very strange. What kind of persons 
 at once poor and ignoble do the great associate with ? 
 
 A. Mr. Burke has ventured to observe that kings are 
 fond of low company, and the same may be said of many 
 of their nobles. First, there is the whole class called led- : 
 captains, or toad-eaters, the meanest of the mean, whom, t 
 nevertheless, the proudest of the proud habitually admit to 
 their tables and make a part of their familiar society. 
 Above these, the professors of various dexterities, arts, and 
 sciences, take stations determined by the tastes and fancies 
 of the noble owners of those great caravanseras called 
 family seats. In some great mansions, actors, singers, and 
 musicians find a welcome ; in others, religious enthusiasts ; 
 in some, boxers, jockeys, and cockfighters ; artists in others ; i 
 and in a few, men of science or sound learning. The 
 greater part of these persons are obscurely born and havei^ 
 no other revenue than their wits, y^t as a class they mayi 
 certainly pride themselves on a far greater share of the^ 
 notice and society of the nobility than your rural gentry, ^ 
 with their formal annual visit to the great man of thei 
 neighbourhood, who merely tolerates their incursion in 
 consideration of his office of lord-lieutenant of the county, 
 or in hopes of influencing their votes at an election. 
 
 S. But I am certain that many of those whom you 
 mention as so famiHar with the great, are persons whom 
 you, uncle, would not like to associate with, and whom I 
 suppose, therefore, that you consider as your inferiors. 
 
ON THE SPIRIT OF AHISTOCRACT. A DIALOGUE. 35 
 
 A, To be sure, I should not choose to open my humble 
 
 doors to boxers and cockfighters, to led-captains and 
 
 toad-eaters, or even to professors of the unknown tongue. 
 
 I do look down upon all these guests of great houses, and 
 
 I many others. 
 
 I 8, But what is it, after all, on which a person's place in 
 j society does depend? The more I think about it the 
 I more I am puzzled. 
 
 I A, That I can easily believe. To be puzzled is usually 
 
 I the iirst effect of beginning to think in earnest upon a 
 
 i subject, and those who are impatient of this feeling will 
 
 I never come to understand any properly. In the first place, 
 
 however, what do you mean by the expression ' place in 
 
 society ? ' A herald would tell you that a man's place in 
 
 society is that assigned him in the rules of precedence, by 
 
 which he marshals a procession ; and in fact it is by these 
 
 rules that people accounted well-bred arrange, at a ball or 
 
 a dinner-table, such of their guests as happen to be thus 
 
 entitled to any place at all. A knowledge of them may 
 
 be attained without difficulty by the meanest capacity. 
 
 /S. Yes, that I know ; but they determine only rank, 
 and it seems to me that what is called consequence is a 
 different thing, and depends upon I know not what. 
 
 A, You are right. It is only on a few formal occasions 
 that these rules will now apply ; the progress of civilisation 
 has nearly superseded them. In modern society it is 
 perpetually seen and felt that the last in rank may be the 
 first in consequence. For many purposes wealth is power, 
 knowledge is power, popular eloquence is power, genius 
 is power, virtue is power, and from power result influence, 
 consequence, eminence. But these are sources of distinc- 
 'tion quite out of the cognisance of the Herald's College. 
 ' 8. I have sometimes heard it said that a person's place 
 I in society is wherever he chooses to put himself, and I 
 I begin to think there may be something in it» 
 I d2 
 
36 ON THE SPIRIT OF AEISTOCEACY. A DIALOGUE, 
 
 A. True ! Amongst my powers I forgot assumption,!] 
 which well deserves to be reckoned for one. Youd 
 may have seen young ladies lead the dance by that title i 
 only. 
 
 ^S'. Yes, by mere rudeness and pushing. And I have'; 
 observed at our county assemblies that the best bred, and 
 sometimes, too, the best born young ladies, would stand, 
 back till they were invited to come forward, whilst the^ 
 vulgar and ill-behaved struggled boldly for the best plaxjes, 
 and often gained them. 
 
 A. So it will always be, more or less, in the graver 
 competitions of life ; and there are circumstances in the ] 
 present state of society and manners among ourselves^ 
 which peculiarly favour the bold. Men and women, too, ' 
 live in more, and consequently more various, society thanr 
 they used to do. Continental travelling, the resort tow 
 watering-places, great routs of parties, and those asso-t 
 ciations which it has been the fashion to form for such a: 
 variety of religious, political, benevolent, scientific, literary,- 
 and miscellaneous objects, all tend to enlarge the circle of. 
 every one's acquaintance and to mingle different ranksc 
 and classes. Amid this ' various bustle of resort,' there is: 
 little leisure critically to examine claims of merit or titles^ 
 of precedence. A new acquaintance is commonly rated: 
 partly according to the direct pleasure or advantage, of^ 
 whatever kind, to be derived from his society, partly!: 
 according to the value which seems to be set upon him.- 
 by others, and partly, no doubt, according to that which: 
 he appears to set upon himself. This is so well understood j 
 that the cold and haughty air, affected by many towards 
 strangers, is often to be regarded rather as an artifice, 
 designed to convey an exaggerated impression of the^ 
 consequence of him who uses it, than an evidence of what 
 is properly called the spirit of aristocracy. 
 
 S. Is it not true that the real born nobleman or gentle- 
 
ON THE SPIRIT OF AKISTOCRACY. A DIALOGUE. 37 
 
 man is distinguished from the new or the counterfeit by 
 the unpretending simplicity and universal courtesy of his 
 behaviour ? 
 
 A. That is an idea which has been much inculcated by 
 some of our best novel-writers. It is plausible, and pro- 
 bably founded in part on observation. At least it is likely 
 that insolence should be the ordinary badge of an upstart. 
 But pride and ill-nature have often run, too, in the highest 
 blood ; kings themselves are not always exempt from the 
 taint. A vulgar mind is very compatible with a noble 
 race; and, generally speaking, it is only by a resolute 
 determination on the part of the many to resist the arro- 
 gant assumptions of the few, that the fierce spirit of here- 
 ditary aristocracy has ever been, or ever can be, kept in 
 order. But to reply to your question, on what it is that a 
 person's place in society depends. The grounds of social 
 distinction amongst us are three : rank, hereditary or 
 official, including the political power annexed to it; — 
 wealth ; — and personal endowments, achievements, or ac- 
 quirements of every kind. It is obvious that he would be 
 the first man in society who should unite in himself all 
 these kinds of eminence in the highest degree ; since he 
 would claim the homage of all, everywhere. But nature 
 and fortune have seldom agreed in lavishing their favours 
 on the same object; and distinction in one kind, without 
 signal deficiency in other respects, is as much as usually 
 falls to the lot of man. Hence it happens — and every 
 sort of pride ought to stand rebuked by the reflection — 
 that scarcely any one is the head of every company which 
 he enters. In one circle he will be estimated by what he 
 has, and in another by what he wants ; not to mention that 
 every one, excepting the first in every line, is liable to be 
 mortified by meeting a superior in his own department. 
 
 >S'. Still, a nobleman is noble, a rich man rich, and a 
 man of genius a man of genius in every company. 
 
38 ON THE SPIRIT OF ARISTOCRACY. A DIALOGUE. 
 
 A. No doubt; but eminence is literally notliiiig but 
 overtopping, and therefore must always be relative. 
 Besides tbis, men do not long pay even outward respect 
 to qualities from which they derive no kind of benefit. 
 You may remember that Lord Halifax in his advice to 
 his daughters, which is full of observation and knowledge 
 of the world, tells them that 'the old housekeeper shall 
 make a better figure in the family ' than the lady, if from 
 pride and indolence she neglects to take her proper part in 
 the government and business of it. A nobleman, though 
 of high and ancient Hneage, if, either from poverty or 
 avarice, he fails to make returns to the hospitalities he 
 receives, will find more of contempt than honour from his ^ 
 acquaintance ; a man even of acknowledged genius, if care- 
 less and uncouth in the common intercourses of life, will 
 be valued only by those conversant with his own art or 
 science ; and the merely rich man will have to encounter 
 the scorn of ' inferiors not dependent ' as often as he pre- 
 sumes upon his single talent. I recollect a person of this 
 kind, who once taking an overbearing tone in argument 
 with an acquaintance beneath him in fortune but above 
 him in sense and powers of reasoning, the other suddenly 
 interrupted him with ' Pray, sir, have you made your will ? ' ^ 
 ' Yes,' he said, ' I have, but what makes you ask ? ' 
 ^ Have you left me a legacy ? ' ^ No, indeed.' ' Then I 
 see no reason why I should submit my opinion to yours.' 
 On the whole it must be owned that pride and surliness 
 are features much too prominent in our national character; 
 and we shall then, and then only, truly deserve the 
 character of a civilised people, when, our eyes being 
 properly open to the ofi'ensiveness of these qualities, a 
 wholesome dread of the general indignation shall restrain 
 all, whatever may be their rank or pretensions, from the 
 airs of contempt and insult by which so many in every 
 company now endeavour to Eissert their own importance 
 and superiority. 
 
EXAMPLE AND PRECEPT. A DIALOGUE. 39 
 
 EXAMPLE AND PEECEPT. 
 
 A DIALOGUE. 
 
 Henry. Since, then, example, as every one knows, is of 
 more force than precept 
 
 Albert Stop, if you please, or you will reduce me to 
 nonentity ; for so far am I from knowing this, that I am 
 firmly convinced of the contrary. 
 
 H. Come, come, this is carrying your love of paradox a 
 little too far. You well know this, at least, that ancient 
 and modern philosophers, moralists and divines, are all 
 against you ; there is absolutely not a dissenting voice in 
 the matter. 
 
 A. No ! What says Jeremy Taylor ? ' Against a rule 
 no example is a competent warrant, and if the example be 
 according to the rule, it is not the example but the rule 
 that is the measure of our action.' But I care not what 
 or who is against me, provided truth and reason be for 
 me ; and I should not despair of even convincing you that 
 in this case they are so, provided your prejudices would 
 allow you to give me a fair hearing. 
 
 H, Yes, to be sure, I must always be prejudiced, be- 
 cause I am apt to think with the rest of mankind. But 
 if you choose to try, you shall find that I can give you a 
 fair hearing nevertheless. 
 
 A. Very well, I take you at your word. In what cases, 
 or for what purposes, do you hold that example is of more 
 force than precept ? 
 
 H, In that which was the subject of our discourse, in 
 education, in the moral training of children ; and on this 
 head I speak from experience. 
 
 A, Indeed ! and you forget what happened no longer 
 ago than yesterday ? 
 
40 EXA.MPLE AND PEECEPT. A DIALOGUE. 
 
 H, To what do you refer ? 
 
 A. We had promised, you know, to take your little p 
 daughter with us on our water party. When the rain a 
 came on and our project was given up, the child cried jfj 
 with the disappointment. ' Fie, fie ! Mary,' you exclaimed ll 
 with an air of triumph, ' you do not see me cry because I ll 
 cannot go on the water.' 'No, papa,' replied the poor 
 child, very sensibly as I thought, * but you are a great man, 
 and I am only a poor little girl of six years old.' You \ 
 were silenced by the retort, as well you might be, and so \ 
 fell the power of example to the ground. A simple pre- j: 
 cept against giving way to fretfulness or disappointment, « 
 backed by arguments suited to the child's comprehension, 
 might have had some effect — at least it would not have 
 exposed you to an inglorious defeat. 
 
 H. Well, I confess that to propose an example open to 
 this kind of objection, is injudicious; mine was an ill- 
 chosen one. 
 
 A. Very true. But although the example were ever so 
 fit for the occasion, the person to whom you should mo- 
 destly propose yourself as a pattern, might still turn round 
 upon you, and ask in the spirit of Maria's taunt to 
 Malvolio, 'Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, 
 that there shall be no more cakes and ale ? ' That is, why \ 
 should your conduct serve as a rule to me ? ^ 
 
 H. From my own children, at least, I trust I should [ 
 never have that question to apprehend. \ 
 
 A. I would not be too certain of that. There is a 
 strange propensity in human nature to fly at anything 
 which pretends to set itself up on high, and tear it down it 
 if possible. I could mention a case in point. The thing 
 happened to a lady of my acquaintance, who assuredly \ 
 does not carry the virtue of humility to any excess. ' How (< 
 awkward you are ! ' I heard her say to her little girl. ' I i 
 do not hold my head down ; / do not turn in my toes as I ^ 
 
EXAMPLE AND PRECEPT. A DIALOGUE. 41 
 
 walk ; I do not lean my elbows on the table.' ' I beg 
 
 i your pardon, mamma,' said the child, who is really a well- 
 
 ! behaved little creature, * but are you not rather fond of 
 
 I praising yourself ? ' To which no answer was given. On 
 
 this plan, too, there is sometimes the opposite question to 
 
 be asked, Why am I not to follow your example ? which 
 
 puzzled you not a little when Master Harry made bold to 
 
 put it to you the other day. It was when we surprised 
 
 him in the dining-room with a bumper at his lips. ' You 
 
 drink wine, papa, and why should not I ? ' Between these 
 
 opposite dilemmas it would not be wonderful if children 
 
 should come at last to the conclusion, that papa's example 
 
 is a rule, or is not a rule, just as he pleases to make it — in 
 
 short, no rule at all. 
 
 H, With such perverse ingenuity as you are kind enough 
 to lend them, they would equally find flaws in any rule or 
 precept which might be given them for their guidance, 
 since there is none without an exception. 
 
 A, May be so. But then, at least, their objections, or 
 their cavils, might be brought to the test of fair reasoning, 
 without your finding yourself embarrassed with the argu- 
 mentum ad hominem, 
 
 H, Now, at last, I understand the matter! This 
 quarrel of yours against example is but another form 
 of your old jealousy of the interference of authority in 
 matters where you would have reason sole and sovereign 
 judge. 
 
 A, I own it ; I hold it an unworthy thing as well as a 
 dangerous, to impose upon a child the habit of relying on 
 precedents, and bowing to examples, instead of encourag- 
 ing him to enquire into the nature of things and the ten- 
 dencies and results of actions, and thus to form himself 
 on the immutable principles of reason and of duty. Can 
 anything be more to the reproach of the ordinary training 
 of youth than the large fact, which no one can question. 
 
42 EXAMPLE AND PRECEPT. A DIALOGUE. 
 
 that through life the great mass of mankind are constantly \ 
 governed by a precedent rather than a rule, a rule rather ^ 
 than a reason ? Is there, indeed, one man in ten — in a \ 
 hundred — who will take his stand boldly and independ- \ 
 ently upon the truth, the sense, the right of a thing, so 
 long as he can catch hold of any broken reed of an exam- 
 ple, an analogy, a prejudice, a fancy, an idle superstition, \ 
 to lean upon ? Is there 
 
 ff, Grently, gently ! now you have mounted your hobby, 
 and as usual he is running away with you, carrying you 
 quite out of the course. Be pleased to recollect, that [ 
 reason is not the only principle by which it is designed ) 
 that we should be actuated. We have also imaginations, ^ 
 passions, sympathies, affections, associations, by all of 
 which our opinions and our conduct must and will be j 
 influenced, more or less. What wise parent or teacher \ 
 would not, therefore, be anxious to gain over these mighty 
 powers to the side of virtue ? and how can he do this so 
 effectually as by the aid of well-selected examples ? You 
 would scarcely, I suppose, banish from the school-room all 
 our biographers with Plutarch at their head. 
 
 A. By no means. On the contrary, I set a higher 
 value upon them, because it is principles that they teach. 
 The very remoteness of the circumstances, especially in 
 the ancient lives, from all that a youth sees around him, { 
 and hence their inapplicability in the way of direct pre- 
 cedent, is in my mind a great recommendation. You will \ 
 allow it to be by no feeble effort of generalisation, that a > 
 boy deduces, from his inward approbation of the refusal 
 of Aristides to sanction a profitable scheme which was not 
 just, a rule for his own guidance in his transactions with 
 his schoolfellows ? 
 
 H. Your distinction is too fine for me. Is it to living [ 
 examples only that you object? 
 
 A, 1 liave pointed out, as I think, very serious incon- 
 
EXAMPLE A]\D PKECEPT. A DIALOGUE. 43 
 
 veniences attending the practice of setting any person, but 
 especially one's self, before a child as an example. I am 
 sensible, however, that both children and older people often 
 derive great benefit from examples, whether in books or 
 in life, which they find out and apply for themselves, 
 because in this case the mind acts freely, and not under 
 dictation, and the principle or sentiment is adopted, rather 
 than the action itself imitated or repeated. In whatever 
 belongs to physical education, in the manual arts and 
 bodily exercises, example or the principle of imitation is 
 indeed all in all. Such things can scarcely be taught 
 otherwise than by shoiuing hoiv, but let us beware of sub- 
 jecting to its authority those provinces in which reason 
 and conscience ought of right to bear sway. Here, unless 
 you establish principles, you do nothing ; for one example 
 or authority may always be neutralised by another, 
 
 H, Yet it is constantly held forth as one of the most 
 imperative duties of every man to set a good example in 
 his station ; and it is even maintained that a worthy man 
 ought to abstain from many practices not evil in them- 
 selves, nor dangerous to his own virtue, rather than give 
 an example which may be hurtful to others. 
 
 A. Yes, this is language, or this is a cant which passes 
 current in very many places, as I very well know ; and it 
 is likely it should, because it assists grave and weak 
 persons, filling stations which render them more or less 
 conspicuous, to flatter themselves into a very undue 
 opinion of the importance of all that they say or do. But 
 of this I am clear, that the man or woman who sets up for 
 being ^ to all an example,' is sure enough of becoming ' to 
 no one a pattern.' For the rest, practices are of three 
 kinds — good, bad, and indifferent ; and a man should have 
 much more cogent motives for following the first, and 
 avoiding the second, than the supposed effects of his ex- 
 ample on his neighbours ; and how his indulging in 
 
44 EXAMPLE AND PRECEPT. A DIALOGUE. 
 
 practices which are indififerent can endanger the virtue 
 of any one, I am unable to conjecture. 
 
 H. Card -playing, for instance, and frequenting the 
 theatre, are pastimes which you may reckon indifferent, 
 but should you say that a clergyman was setting up a good 
 example by openly indulging in them ? 
 
 A. You begin the question by describing them as in- 
 different. I should say that if a clergyman, or any other 
 man, finds himself the better or the worse for them, to him 
 they are not indifferent. But if it were maintained to be 
 the duty of every grave character to abstain totally, for 
 example's sake, from amusements innocent and salutary in 
 moderation, because there may be dissipated persons who 
 will indulge in them to excess, I should venture to reply, 
 that such self-denial is totally thrown away. It is not by 
 grave examples that people of this kind regulate their 
 proceedings. 
 
 H, But there are positive examples as well as negative 
 ones, and you can scarcely deny the efficacy of these. Is 
 it not, for instance, quite certain and notorious that in a 
 village where the squire and his family are constant in 
 attendance at church, their example will bring the farmers 
 and labourers thither with unfailing punctuality, but that, 
 as soon as these leaders of the people happen to be 
 succeeded by others who are negligent and indifferent on 
 this great point, the clergyman may officiate to bare 
 walls ? 
 
 A, I like that instance — it shows so clearly the shallow- 
 ness and servility of such a motive of action. The ex- 
 ample of the family, or rather the hope of their favour, is 
 sufficient, it seems, to bring all the parish to church, but 
 with so little sense of the purpose for which they go, that 
 on the cause ceasing, the eff'ect ceases also. Thus, between 
 the great people who go to set an example, and the Httle 
 ones who go to follow one, there might be a full congre- 
 
EXAMPLE AND PEECEPT. A DIALOGUE. 45 
 
 gation without a single person present who should attend 
 for the love of Grod, or the good of his own soul ! But I 
 take this to be a tale of other times ; our present genera- 
 tion of rustics is surely not left in such Egyptian darkness 
 by those whose duty it is to bear to them the light of reli- 
 gion. In morals, the imitative principle will go thus far — it 
 will teach men to ' dwell in decencies,' but for anything 
 higher, or anything deeper, anj^thing that shall render a 
 man worthy to be made himself an example, never let it 
 be trusted. Imitators in virtue, as in letters or in arts, 
 must of course be content to take their place below their 
 models ; but this is not all : in many cases it is not even an 
 inferior degree in the same class that they will attain. 
 Change the motive or the rule, and you change the very 
 nature of actions or of qualities. What, in characters of 
 principle and reflection, was patriotism, philanthropy, or 
 piety, is subject to become in their copyists ostentation, 
 cant, hypocrisy. Deeds belong to the first class, words to 
 the second. Even the same act assumes different aspects 
 according to the actor. That very insignificant person — I 
 forget his name — who killed himself to resemble Cato, 
 earned nothing for his pains but the sarcastic remark, 
 that he might well have borne to yield to Caesar, although 
 Cato could not. And let me ask whether you have not 
 experienced a profound disgust when some atrocious 
 malefactor, assuming the person of the holiest martyr, has 
 presumed to announce from the scaffold his solemn for- 
 giveness of all his enemies, intending very particularly, by 
 that designation, the judge, jury, prosecutor, and witnesses, 
 who have all in their several offices contributed to bring 
 him to his deserved punishment ? 
 
 H, I confess that this has often struck me as a shocking 
 presumption, and indeed as a profanation. 
 
 A. Examples, like similes, may serve to give ani- 
 mation and interest to discourse ; they may, likewise, be 
 
46 EXAMPLE AND PRECEPT. A DIALOGUE. 
 
 employed to illustrate or explain a maxim or a principle, 
 and, happily chosen, they may kindle emulation ; but then 
 they ought not to be set before young people for the 
 nonce, and in short 
 
 H. In short, you are jealous of them. But if good 
 examples do so little service, I hope you will go on to 
 prove that bad ones do as little injury. 
 
 A, That does not follow. I believe indeed that their i\ 
 direct effect may have been overrated, and that in many \ 
 cases where young people are said to have been corrupted \ 
 by them, the contagion might be questioned, and the i 
 mischief imputed rather to general causes acting upon i 
 numbers at once. Le feu des jeunes gens prend sans i 
 allumer. But their efficacy in overcoming shame, and 
 putting scruples to flight, cannot be doubted ; and as the 
 same persons who set bad examples usually maintain bad g 
 principles also, I should dread the influence of evil p 
 company fully as much as you could do. I will also freely 
 grant you that precept has no force whatever when it is i 
 contradicted by the life of him who utters it, as we i| 
 naturally give credit to a man's deeds before his words. So 
 that ill example set by persons in any kind of authority 
 involves this great inconvenience, that it deprives them of li 
 the power of inculcating good principles with any authority 
 or to any purpose. (1 
 
 H. I am glad you allow as much as this. !j 
 
 A, I can very well afford to do it, and yet stand firmly 
 to my original position, that the practice of setting 
 examples before young people for their imitation, is not 
 so efficacious in forming them to the higher virtues as ^ 
 nourishing their minds with noble precepts, supported by 
 just reasoning and temperate appeals to the affections. 
 
 H. Well, I am not convinced as yet, but I admit that 1^ 
 it is a matter worth thinking about. 
 
ENVY AND PITT. 47 
 
 ENVY AND PITY. 
 
 ' It is better to be envied than pitied.' 
 
 Those who adopt this maxim mean no more, it is to be 
 hoped, than that the causes of envy, prosperity, or 
 superiority over others in the gifts of nature or fortune, 
 are better than the causes of pity, misfortune or some kind 
 of inferiority. 
 
 Understood in the obvious import of the words, few 
 sentiments could be more false or more shocking. What ! 
 better to be the object of the most malignant than of the 
 gentlest of affections, of a sentiment which degrades 
 rather than one which adorns humanity ? It will not bear 
 a thought ! As mercy is ' twice blessed,' so is envy twice 
 cursed, in its subject and in its object, and he who is 
 willing to stand within its danger, thinking that his 
 power, his wealth, or his genius, place him above all ap- 
 prehension of its effects on his fortunes or his reputation, 
 either perceives not, or regards not, its inevitable mischief 
 to his temper and his moral feelings. In speculating on 
 the causes of that hardening of the heart observed in all 
 times as one of the most frequent attendants on great 
 prosperity, the foremost place should doubtless be assigned 
 to the consciousness of being envied. 
 
 ' He loves not to behold my prosperity,' says the rich 
 man to himself, as he notes the scowl on the brow of his 
 poorer neighbour. ' Nay, so far from that, the very sight 
 of my mansion, my park, my equipage, is odious to him. 
 I never did him the smallest injury, yet it would delight 
 him to hear that calamity, ruin even, had overtaken me ; 
 then can I be expected to feel for him, to be touched by 
 his sorrows, to aid him in his objects ? You all of you 
 grudge me my success; you watch every occasion to 
 
48 ENYY AND PITT. 
 
 detract from my merits and commendations ; you would 
 gladly pull me down, even if it did not raise yourselves.' 
 So murmurs the victorious candidate for ttie honours of i 
 his profession, on reading the eyes of the associates and 
 former equals over whose heads he has just raised himself. 
 * I despise and I defy your malice, but henceforth be 
 strangers to my bosom, and as much as possible to my | 
 sight ! ' Ask you the cause of that frown which disfigures 
 the brow of innocent beauty ? The wearer has just been 
 made to feel that 
 
 The nymph must lose her female friend 
 If more admired than she. 
 
 And thus it happens that, more sinned against than sinning, 
 the favourites, whether of nature or of fortune, are found i' 
 so often soured in temper, void of sympathy, little sensible" 
 to the pleadings of pity, and reduced to please themselves 
 in nothing but in efforts still to augment that wealth, that 
 dignity, or that celebrity, which has already robbed them 
 of the best and dearest of life's blessings. 
 
 But thousands are susceptible of pity for one who is 
 altogether free from the passion of envy; thus he whofi 
 finds himself, without or even not without fault of his own, 
 in circumstances to call forth compassion and appeal for 
 relief, enjoys, very frequently, the satisfaction of viewing 
 his fellow-creatures on the fairest side; pleased withp 
 themselves for the exercise of their benevolence, and com-! 
 placent, therefore, towards him who has called it forth. So' 
 far, then, from agreeing in the popular sentiment, we might 
 almost be tempted to say that a pitied adversity is better 
 than an envied prosperity. It is by no means unfrequent 
 to hear a sufferer exclaim that it was almost worth while 
 to have encountered this loss — endured that sickness — ^ 
 sustained that misfortune, for the sake of experiencing sof 
 much sympathy and kindness; but when has any one,' 
 on coming into possession of a great estate, or attaining 
 
 
ENVY AND PITY. 49 
 
 any conspicuous success, expressed the sentiment, that the 
 affectionate congratulations of his friends and associates 
 had been the most gratifying circumstance of his good 
 fortune ? The spirit of man thirsts for sympathy, even as 
 the hart panteth after the water-brooks. No station, no 
 circumstances, neither the victory car nor the diadem of 
 empire, can justly be called happy which exclude this boon 
 of heaven and summon envy in its place ; none miserable 
 which calls it forth in a plenteous and unfailing stream. 
 Lord Bacon in his essay on Envy observes, that ' There is 
 some good yet in public envy, whereas in private there is 
 none ; for public envy is as an ostracism, that eclipseth 
 men when they grow too great; and therefore it is a 
 bridle also to keep great ones within bounds.' Politically 
 speaking, the distinction is perhaps just, but moral ends 
 may be served by the former no less than the latter. He 
 who desires to be as little as possible the object of private 
 envy, will equally be kept, or keep himself within bounds. 
 If wealthy he will be generous without ostentation, and 
 above all sympathising; if powerful he will exercise 
 authority not as often, but as seldom, as his duty will 
 permit. If singularly favoured by any of nature's gifts, 
 he will bear his faculties meekly, and cheerfully take 
 delight in bringing forward the just claims of others. By 
 these, if any, acts, while he will preserve his own heart 
 from injury, he may sometimes dilute the venom of this 
 snake in the bosom where it harbours. 
 
 SORROW AND ANGER. 
 
 There are many persons who never can be sorry without 
 (|being disposed to grow angry. In every calamity, they are 
 ,jcertain there must have been blame somewhere, and right 
 
 or wrong, they must seize upon a scapegoat. 
 
 E 
 
50 SORROW AND ANGER. 
 
 A friend has failed in business ; they are full of concern [ 
 for him and his helpless family— but what? It could 
 scarcely have happened from pure misfortune— some one | 
 has been much in fault — want of caution on his own part 
 
 an unfeeling creditor — a speculating partner — and amid 
 
 the storm of indignation aimed at the hypothetical author 
 of the mischief, the sigh of pity for those who suffer by it 
 ceases to be audible. 
 
 Is intelligence received of a friend's decease? 'Ah, 
 poor fellow! I am very sorry — so valuable a life — so 
 great a loss ! But to think of his putting himself under 
 the care of such a quack ! But for that he might have 
 been alive and well. I hope the fellow will be indicted 
 for manslaughter.' Sometimes the blame falls on the 
 dead person himself. ' He was so exceedingly imprudent, 
 walking out in the worst weather without a great coat — 
 and why did he not take advice sooner ? There he was, 
 going about just as usual, when everybody who looked at 
 him saw that he ought to have been in his bed. Eeally if 
 a man will throw away his life, one scarcely knows how 
 to pity him.' Accordingly, he is not pitied. 
 
 Why is this ? It will scarcely be pretended that the 
 passion of anger is less disturbing to the soul than that 
 gentler emotion of pity, which has always in it some 
 mixture of sweetness. There is indeed somewhat of 
 relief in a change, though it be but from one painfuU 
 feeling to another ; but in this instance the cause seems 
 to lie deeper. A tacit reference to self enters, more or 
 less, into all our sympathetic emotions. It is matter of i 
 the most familiar remark, that no misfortunes affect us so 3 
 much as those which are likely one day to fall to our own 
 lot; and in our anxiety to remove this apprehension fromi 
 ourselves, we are ever ready to catch hold of some casual) 
 or accessory circumstance to which to impute the calamity.- 
 ' My friend,' we say, ' was indeed ruined, but it was by 
 
SOEEOW AND ANGER. 51 
 
 negligence, by imprudent trust. I, who am neither im- 
 prudent nor negligent, have no such catastrophe to fear. 
 He died, but it was through the ignorance of his physician ; 
 I employ one who is skilful.' A little distrust, however, 
 is apt still to intrude upon these consolatory explanations. 
 We fear it may be only a flattering unction that we are 
 laying to our souls, and we endeavour, by our very vehe- 
 mence, to impose silence on our secret doubts how far it 
 may be well directed. 
 
 As, in these cases pity is exchanged for blame, there are 
 others in which, anger being out of the question, it yields 
 to terror. In visitations, or apprehended visitations of a 
 formidable epidemic, all may have observed how little is 
 given to pity for those who have already fallen victims, 
 how much to selfish apprehension. 
 
 It is the important duty of candour, of fortitude, and of 
 wisdom, to curb the transports of that weak impatience of 
 the pains of sympathy, and that still weaker dread of 
 similat disaster to ourselves, which in every great or un- 
 foreseen calamity, cries out for a victim, as if to appease 
 some angry deity. 
 
 DOUBT. 
 
 He well has studied who has learned to doubt.' 
 A hard saying, and one little flattering to the pride of 
 learning ! Is that to be regarded as a valuable and de- 
 sirable result of study, which leaves behind it nothing but 
 uncertainty and the confession of ignorance ? Or is there 
 possibly in this learned doubt something deeper, some- 
 thing more positive even than at first appears ? 
 
 Several considerations render this probable. The deri- 
 jvation of the word ' dubietas ' from ' duo ' may authorise us, 
 Iperhaps, to distinguish between doubt in its strict and 
 
52 DOUBT. 
 
 proper acceptation and mere uncertainty; it seems to 
 express, not total bewilderment, but rather hesitation 
 between two ; and in many cases, he who has become 
 aware that the matter under consideration admits of an al- 
 ternative, or may be reduced to one, already knows much. 
 
 Childhood, amid all its ignorance, is unacquainted with 
 doubt. Its simple questions, relating for the most part to 
 outward and familiar facts within the competence of any 
 grown up person, usually receive a ready and decisive 
 answer. Should it even happen, as happen it sometimes 
 will, that the question of an intelligent child has plunged 
 unawares into one of those gulfs, too deep for the plummet 
 of thought, which lie hidden beside every path of human 
 speculation, many expedients are at hand to cover the 
 defeat of parental or preceptorial infallibility. Some- 
 times a dogmatical assertion will be hazarded where 
 nothing can be known to contradict it. At others, a 
 rebuke for meddling with what does not concern us, will 
 do the business. Best of all, is the discreet reply, ' You 
 are too young at present to understand the subject,' which 
 serves at once to save the credit of the questioned, and to 
 flatter the novice with the expectation that a time will 
 come when all his puzzles shall be solved. 
 
 Through these artifices, and others of a similar kind, ) 
 not seldom practised upon * children of a larger gTOwth,' j 
 we all of us begin by being beguiled in a greater or less 
 degree, into the belief that much more certainty is attain- 
 able on every subject than, excepting in the exact sciences, 
 has been in reality accorded to the inquiries of mankind, j 
 
 'To know how little can be known,' and how much 
 admits of doubt, is the attribute, not of ignorance, not of ^ 
 simplicity, but of sagacity, of experience, and of free in- 
 quiry. To confess it, is often one of the most costly eflforts 
 of a courageous integrity ; for there is no vulgar or disin- . 
 genuous mind which is not immediately afifected with 
 
DOUBT. 53 
 
 suspicion and anger on any appearance of hesitation, 
 uncertainty or scruple, of which it is either unable to 
 comprehend the grounds, or unwilling to accept the 
 practical consequences. From these causes it has arisen, 
 that in common speech, something sinister attaches to the 
 very words doubt and doubtful. 
 
 It might contribute a little to mitigate this prejudice in 
 spirits of a better order, with whom it is often merely the 
 offspring of a vague kind of dread, to draw a clearer dis- 
 tinction than is often done between the intrinsic import- 
 ance of a truth, and the importance of our knowing or 
 having an opinion upon it. 
 
 To remain long in doubt between two different plans 
 of life, or two opposite courses of public or private con- 
 duct, is justly to be regarded as the mark of a weak and 
 indolent character, or a cloudy understanding. To halt 
 between two opinions on a question involving the moral 
 character of another, and the conduct which we ought to 
 hold respecting him — one in which doubt takes on the 
 form of suspicion or jealousy — would be intolerable to any 
 one in whom the whole moral and sensitive nature had 
 not become paralysed. There is no man of feeling or of 
 honour, who would not in a similar case exclaim with 
 Othello, 
 
 Think' st thou I'd make a life of jealousy ? 
 * ****** 
 No, to be once in doubt, 
 Is once to be r.esolved. 
 I'U see before I doubt, when I doubt, prove. 
 
 But, to have come to the conclusion, on any point of 
 history, or on any speculative subject, that it must always 
 remain involved in doubt, whether for want of conclusive 
 j evidence in one case, or from the inherent obscurity of 
 I the subject in the other, ought never to be made a theme 
 i of reproach against any man, nor yet to become a source 
 I of disquiet to a firm and rational mind, since no important 
 
54 DOUBT. 
 
 consequences can by possibility be dependent on questions 
 thus inscrutable. 
 
 Let us reassure ourselves in our own insignificance. 
 Nothing renders it necessary that we feeble mortals 
 should strain ourselves with stretching upwards eagerly 
 and vainly, as the drowning catch at straws, after truths 
 hung high above our reach. The nature of deity, the 
 plans of providence, ' fix'd fate, free will, fore-knowledge 
 absolute ' — great and eternal as must be the verities 
 involved in these questions — are yet nothing to us, nothing 
 to our duties, nothing to our happiness. 
 
 Now, much as it may humble an aspiring mind to find 
 itself compelled to accept of doubts and difficulties as the 
 sole result of its investigations into subjects the vastness 
 of which has tempted only to confound its efforts, ought 
 this effect to be lamented ? It, ' feelingly persuades us 
 what we are,' how weak, how open to error, and from 
 what various sources. It inculcates tolerance, the sole 
 effective pacifier of social discords; it schools us into 
 candour, the virtue of the experienced and the wise, and 
 it bows the spirit to that genuine, heartfelt humility, 
 which the dogmatist, of whatever sect or party, in vain 
 lays claim to. Let us then accept it as a thoughtful and 
 a precious saying, that ' he well has studied who has learnt 
 to doubt.' 
 
 MOTR'ES. 
 
 Nothing more rare than to hear the true motives assigned 
 by any person for any action of his life ! Even those who 
 scruple falsehood in any other form, indulge without 
 remorse or mthout reflection in the habit of assigning 
 plausible reasons in the place of true ones. The boundless 
 curiosity of mankind concerning the actions and the 
 affairs of their neighbours, must bear the chief blame of 
 
MOTIVES. 55 
 
 this pernicious and demoralising practice, 'Ask me no 
 questions and I'll tell you no lies,' is a frequent saying, 
 and one wMch habitual questioners would do well to take 
 to heart. 
 
 For example, I am idly and impertinently curious to 
 know wherefore it is that you propose to change your 
 place of abode. You dislike, or perhaps judge it inexpe- 
 dient to confess that it is a measure of necessary retrench- 
 ment ; and therefore in the common phrase you put it 
 upon health, the desire to be within nearer reach of 
 friends, or convenient distance from town. 
 
 You are apprehensive lest your daughter should form 
 an attachment which you disapprove, and you therefore 
 drop the acquaintance of a particular family ; being in- 
 discreetly urged for your reasons, you assign any but the 
 true one. 
 
 An intended journey of pleasure is given up, because 
 the family party could not agree among themselves whe- 
 ther to steam up the Rhine, or to make their way through 
 Paris to Greneva. If they have the good sense to keep 
 their domestic squabbles within doors, they will assure 
 inquirers that the unsettled state of the weather, or that 
 of the political aspect of the continent, deterred them from 
 making the excursion. Such cases might perplex a sturdy 
 moralist. It is at least certain that so long as impertinent 
 questioning is not regarded as what it is, a social mis- 
 demeanour of the gravest kind, and uniformly repelled 
 with uncompromising sternness, so long will this mean 
 and degrading kind of falsehood prevail, all but univer- 
 sally. A practical inference of some importance is, that 
 in judging a man by the motives which he publicly assigns 
 for his conduct, we are pretty sure to be mistaken. Far 
 more cogent ones may be presumed to lurk behind, and 
 few people act on grounds so frivolous as they pretend 
 to do. 
 
56 FRANKNESS. 
 
 FRANKNESS. 
 
 This quality is usually reckoned among the good ones, yet 
 I confess that few characters attract me less, I might 
 almost say repel me more, than one of which it is held 
 forth as the leading feature. Frankness means freeness, 
 and a free and voluntary declaration of abhorrence of my 
 principles or disapprobation of my conduct may amount 
 to so grave an outrage that self-respect admonishes me to 
 shrink back from the man who may seem capable of such 
 an aggression. Even where extremes like these are 
 scarcely to be apprehended, I find nothing inviting either 
 in the rudeness which disregards giving pain, the maHg- 
 nity which finds a pleasure in it, or the obtuseness which 
 gives pain without perceiving it. 
 
 But this is not all ; and I have a deeper quarrel with 
 the frank for their impenetrable reserve. There is no 
 paradox in this, though it may at first wear the appear- 
 ance of one. The rugged nature which is without sym- 
 pathy for others, is little disposed on any occasion to claim 
 theirs for itself; and where the feelings do not prompt to 
 an opening of the heart, the ' wisdom for a man's self ' is 
 always at hand to suggest the safer policy of keeping all 
 close within. 
 
 Further, should you venture with the frank man, at the 
 slightest attempt to make an entrance into the penetration 
 of his affairs, or hazard the gentlest criticism on his con- 
 duct or behaviour, no man so prompt to take high offence, 
 to tell you that his concerns are none of yours, or that 
 your opinions have no weight with him. 
 
 Such is the general case where the frankness is genuine, 
 but it is not seldom assumed, and then serves as a cloak 
 to qualities and designs more dangerous and still more 
 odious. 
 
FRANKNESS. 5 7 
 
 Shakspeare has sketched the character with his own 
 
 inimitable touch — 
 
 He can't flatter, he ! 
 An honest man and plain, he must speak truth, 
 An' they will take it so ; if not, he's plain. 
 These kind of knaves I know, that in this plainness. 
 Harbour more craft, and more corrupter ends, 
 Than twenty silly ducking observants, 
 That stretch their duties nicely. 
 
 TEMPTERS. 
 
 Imogen forgives her husband for the ordeal to which he 
 had exposed her, as a woman all tenderness forgives 
 where she loves. But the reader or the audience cannot 
 forgive him, nor ought they. It is true that the poet has 
 laboured with his master-hand to palliate the abominable 
 wager by all the circumstances of temptation or provoca- 
 tion with which it was possible to surround it ; but yet to 
 expose a wife, deliberately and designedly to expose her 
 to a trial of such a nature, must in any imaginable case 
 be reprobated as an offence inexpiable. Similar wagers 
 have been known in real life, and even in our own country, 
 but they are so rare as well as revolting as scarcely to admit 
 of being alluded to, except as the strongest illustration of 
 a principle daily and hourly forgotten or overlooked. 
 
 Which of us is guiltless of the crime of exposing others 
 to that temptation into which everyone prays that he 
 may not himself be led ? What master, what tutor, what 
 parent even, watches himself on this point as he ought ? 
 How much of the vices and crimes of men owe their origin 
 to this neglect ? 
 
 You, fair and delicate lady, who carelessly throw into 
 an open drawer the copper money which it disgusts you 
 to touch, and which is too heavy for your flimsy pocket, 
 do you reflect that by this practice you are training up 
 
58 TEMPTEES. ' 
 
 your dapper page for the house'of correction ? drawing on 
 your under-housemaid tkrougli habits of petty pilfering to 
 bolder thefts ending in loss of character and utter ruin ? 
 
 You, sir or madam, who scatter your letters on the 
 library table, or toss them into the elegant card-basket, 
 know you not, that by thus tempting the natural curiosity 
 of youth you are overthrowing in your children the sense 
 of inviolable honour ? 
 
 You, well meaning but mistaken mother or governess, 
 who in the hope of making yourself mistress of the inmost 
 thoughts of a child, urge it with questions which cannot 
 be truly answered without an effort of courage to which 
 its feeble spirit is unequal — learn that you are thus sow- 
 ing in that tender bosom ineradicable seeds of artifice and 
 falsehood. 
 
 By the wisdom of our laws, the receiver of stolen goods 
 is held more guilty than the thief, because he is in most 
 cases the tempter. He tempts because it is his wicked 
 trade ; but how many are there who give occasion to the 
 commission of similar crimes, and incur like, and perhaps 
 equal guilt for want of thought, for the sake of some 
 trifling indulgence to their own convenience or indolence ; 
 or for want of that universal sympathy which deserves to 
 be cherished among the most precious dowers of humanity, 
 since it is through this alone that it is given us to feel 
 and understand what things utterly insignificant to our- 
 selves may be irresistible temptations to our weEiker or 
 less fortunate fellow-creatures ! 
 
 POPULAR FALLACIES. 
 
 Bentham gave to the world a list of fallacies well worth 
 the attention of the pob'tician ; and Charles Lamb one of 
 ^ popular fallacies ' which amused all his readers : and the 
 
POPULAR FALLACIES. 59 
 
 catalogue might readily be enlarged. For example, 
 'Silence gives consent.' To a proposal of marriage 
 perhaps : to an assertion, a narrative, or a proposition, 
 decidedly No ! To conceive that it does is the cherished 
 fallacy of those members of privileged orders enabled by 
 sufferance to lay down the law in mixed society ; of the 
 rich, the great, the celebrated, the dogmatical, the quarrel- 
 some, and those who have the good fortune to be always 
 on the strongest side. That silence dissents would be a 
 safer rule. 
 
 A man of consequence, perhaps a noble lord, in the 
 narrative with which he has favoured the company of a 
 late transaction has taken to himself credit which I may 
 well know not to be his due — what then ? Shall I disturb 
 the company and possibly make myself a dangerous enemy 
 by interposing to set right a matter which is probably 
 seen in its true light by others besides myself, and which 
 is of no personal importance to any of us ? 
 
 Shall I disconcert your dealer in hyperbole by exclaiming 
 in the midst of his story, ^ Not half so large ! not nearly 
 so often ! not a tenth of the number ! ' No, indeed, let 
 those believe him who know no better. I hold my peace ; 
 
 Preserve me from the thing I dread and hate, 
 A duel in the form of a debate ; 
 
 therefore, although I differ toto coelo from the political or 
 the religious system of that furious partisan and loud 
 declaimer, far be it from me to breathe one syllable of 
 contradiction. How, indeed, should I even make myself 
 audible ? 
 
 It was remarked concerning a late very eminent Scottish 
 writer, that he was fully sensible of the advantages of the 
 laudatory system. If so, he was by no means alone in the 
 perception ; it is shared by all true worldlings, and not- 
 withstanding the imputation of censoriousness so largely 
 brought against mankind by divines and moralists, it 
 
60 POPULAE FALLACIES. 
 
 cannot be doubted tliat in general society far more is heard 
 of unmerited eulogy than of groundless condemnation. 
 But where do we find the lover of equal-handed justice 
 bold or rash enough to strip from the miserable daw the 
 borrowed plumage in which it has suited the interests or 
 coincided with the prejudices of another to dress him out? 
 Ignorance beyond all reach of instruction, prepossession 
 which scarcely a miracle could convert, are left to take 
 their own way by the tacit consent of reasonable people ; 
 and whoever shall encounter in society a projector, a 
 visionary, a man of one idea, a missionary of parallelograms, 
 or a mesmerist, will do well to leave, and usually does 
 leave, as free a course to him, as to an over-driven ox. 
 From these premises it might be a fair, however starthng 
 inference, that the uncontro verted duties of the best society, 
 those to which its silence is universally held by the utterers 
 to give consent, — represent errors rather than truths, vio- 
 lence than candour, prejudice than reason, enthusiasm 
 than wisdom, and cowardice, servility, or self-interest rather 
 than the free judgments of enlightened and independent 
 spirits. But what if some ' sturdy moralist ' should arise, 
 and say that it is a duty to protest much oftener than we 
 do, and even at the risk of giving offence and incurring 
 detriment. That bigotry or selfishness should not be 
 permitted to *bolt their arguments,' while philosophy and 
 independence find ' no tongue to check their pride.' In 
 that supposable case let such a moralist, or such a philan- 
 thropist, take courage in the assurance that the hazard 
 would be less, and the charm, both of ^'ictory and its reward, 
 far greater than the timid or the indolent suffer themselves 
 to imagine. Such of the hearers as may be already dis- 
 sentients in their hearts will gladly echo the contradic- 
 tion or refutation which one man has at length been found 
 coiuageous enough to utter; others will become his 
 converts; even those who are not gained over to his 
 
POPULAR FALLACIES. 61 
 
 sentiments will inwardly respect his spirit. By such 
 checks, the bullies, the dictators, and the sycophants who 
 infest society, will be taught to stand in awe of that 
 genuine public opinion which disdains to shroud itself in 
 such an ignominious and little less than fraudulent silence, 
 as is made to pass for unhesitating assent. 
 
 WOKDS UPON WORDS. 
 
 ' What is it you read, my lord ? ' ' Words, words, words ! ' 
 replies Hamlet, as who should say air, breath, sound, and 
 emptiness. This always offended me. From my youth 
 upwards, I have been a lover of words, a chooser of words, 
 in a slender and superficial manner, a student of words, 
 and instead of acquiescing in such disparagement, reducing 
 them almost to * airy nothing,' I proclaim myself ready 
 to maintain against all comers that words are things ; nay, 
 and things of pith and moment, life and passion. Have 
 we not the right word, the very word, the word of advice, 
 the word in season, the word of comfort, the warning word, 
 the cruel word, and the kind one ? And what are these but 
 things ? How they fasten themselves on our memory, 
 with a grasp never to be shaken off while life endures ! 
 How our associations cling and swarm, and cluster round 
 them ! How our hearts beat at the sound with recollected 
 joy, grief, pity, hope, indignation, or gratitude ! Things ! 
 Nay, I am more inclined to call them persons, in such vivid 
 individuality of feature do they rise before 'the eye of 
 mind.' Have they not also — at least the more distin- 
 guished of their race — their pedigrees, their biographies, 
 their private, sometimes their scandalous, histories and 
 anecdotes ? Are there not among them ranks and degrees, 
 nobles and commoners, decent people and rabble, natives 
 and ahens, legitimates and illegitimates, pure breeds and 
 mongrels ? 
 
62 WORDS UPON WORDS. 
 
 A full and true history of words, including only those of 
 our own country, might be made as long, perhaps, too, as 
 full of instruction and entertainment, as a history of 
 England itself. But what Hercules in literature would 
 prove equal to the task ? The labour of a life would be 
 lost in it, considering the multitude of collateral branches 
 which it would shoot out, this way and that, upward and 
 downward, into depths, into darkness, out of sight, and 
 beyond all computation of distance. 
 
 Hearken to the pregnant hint thrown out as he passes, 
 by the philosophical historian of the ' Decline and Fall.' 
 After observing that ' so sensible were the Eomans of the 
 imperfection of valour without skill and practice, that in 
 their language the name of an army was borrowed from 
 the word which signifies exercise,' (exercitus ah exerci- 
 tando) ; he adds in a note, ' There is room for a very 
 interesting work, which should lay open the connection 
 between the languages and manners of nations.' No doubt, 
 for the field remains as open at the present day as fourscore 
 years ago, when this suggestion was first offered. A 
 curious exemplification of its truth might be drawn from 
 the word itself, which gave occasion to the remark. In 
 none of the modern tongues, formed by the conquering 
 barbarians out of the corruption of the Latin, is this 
 connection between exercise and an assemblage of warriors 
 preserved. The rude boors whose undisciplined bravery 
 had triumphed over the effeminacy of degenerate Rome, 
 were content to call their fighting multitudes armies, 
 whether from the instruments of defence and attack 
 which they carried, or from the vigorous limbs which 
 wielded them. The men-at-arms and their followers, who 
 afterwards composed the feudal levies, formed a host, and 
 the French chivalry, with their brilliant courage, would 
 have escaped the disastrous defeat of Poictiers had they 
 been formed, by due practice in the discipline of war, into 
 an exercitus. 
 
WORDS UPON WORDS. 63 
 
 How suggestive, again, is the Latin word virtus. De- 
 rived from vir, it would best be rendered manliness, and 
 among the martial barbarians of Rome, its meaning was 
 limited at first to courage in war; but expanding by 
 degrees under the mellowing influences of advancing 
 civilisation, and the schools of Grreek philosophy, we hail 
 it at length in the moral writings of Cicero, as the repre- 
 sentative of every quality dear and venerable to mankind, 
 or approved by the immortal gods. Transplanted into 
 the languages of Christian Europe, it has retained its 
 comprehensiveness, while its meaning has undergone 
 modifications and improvements, derived from the doctrines 
 of religion. That, in modern Italian, virtu should have 
 been employed to signify taste in the objects of fine art, 
 must be accounted an inexplicable caprice of language; 
 for it can scarcely be conceived, that under the most cor- 
 rupting and degrading influences, technical skill could 
 have become confounded in any minds with moral excel- 
 lence. 
 
 Yet it is by an equally mysterious process that the 
 Italian valore and our own word valour, from valeo, to be 
 well, has come to stand for that high species of courage, 
 which makes the closest approach to heroism. In the Italian, 
 indeed, it extends to worth and excellence of every kind — 
 to be * donna valorosa,' a woman of worth, is the highest 
 praise which can be bestowed on a noble-minded lady ; 
 and those who occupy the first rank in science or in art, are 
 said to be persons ' di gran valore.' From the same root 
 we have value, and the impurely formed word valuable. 
 
 Words bearing a moral or intellectual signification are 
 those whose transformations in their passage from age to 
 age, or language to language, are the most suggestive. 
 Of these, the word bigot offers a pregnant example. 
 Camden, to whom English archaeology owes a deep debt 
 of gratitude for his protection of her infancy, derives the 
 
64 WOKDS FPON WORDS. 
 
 term from hy and God, and speaks of it as a kind of cant 
 word, invented to stigmatise certain pretenders to devo- 
 tion, who affected to have the sacred name perpetually on 
 their lips. For the correctness of this etymology no one 
 would now contend, but the explanation sufficiently 
 attests the imputation of insincerity which we at this 
 time attach to the word. In French dictionaries higot 
 and cagot^ which is said to be only a variation of the 
 term, are interpreted by * faux devot, hypocrite,' and the 
 name is twice or thrice applied by Moliere to Tartuffe 
 himself, ' Bigot,' says Dr. Johnson, ' is a man unreason- 
 ably attached to a certain party, prejudiced in favour of 
 certain opinions, a blind zealot ; ' and his authorities, 
 Watts and Garth, support his definition. Under higotinj, 
 however, he quotes this sentence from a letter of Pope's : 
 'Our silence makes our adversaries think we persist in 
 those bigotries which all good and sensible men despise.' 
 Here the poet writing to his friend Mr. Blount, as catholic 
 to catholic, evidently employs the word in its French 
 signification of superstitious observances, cagotHes. In 
 popular use we strongly attach to the term that accessory 
 idea of malignity against those of differing opinions which 
 is inseparable in all but the most genial natures from 
 ardent zeal — at least for exclusive systems — but contrary 
 to the French, from whom we received it, and in con- 
 formity perhaps with our national character, we include 
 in it the notion of sincerity. So completely, indeed, has 
 this become a part of the idea, that the expression, ' a 
 sincere bigot,' has been treated by high authority as a 
 tautology. How far truth will justify us in thus investing 
 with a robe of honour a character so mischievous, odious, 
 and despicable, is a question well worth consideration, but 
 not pertaining to the present argument. It suffices here 
 to hint at the highly authorised conjunction of Pharisee 
 and hypoci^ite. 
 
WORDS UPON WORDS. 65 
 
 The word periwig, whence wig, is a ludicrous corruption 
 of the name of the twisted shell, a periwinkle. In ' Hall's 
 Satires,' the word is written periwinke, and seems to have 
 meant a ringlet. Thus, in the accounts delivered of the 
 articles purchased for the court revels in the first year of 
 Edward VI,, there are charged * five coyffs of Venys gold 
 with perukes of here.' From all authorities it may be 
 inferred that wigs were invented rather to decorate the 
 persons of the young and the gay, than to conceal the 
 ravages of time on the heads of their elders ; they also 
 appear to have been at first confined to female use. 
 Queen Elizabeth, and other ladies after her example, 
 delighted to adorn themselves in turn with ' seven or eight 
 dressings of other women's hair,' while so ' prime a gallant ' 
 of her court as Sir Christopher Hatton, judged it proper, 
 on assuming the dignified character of Lord High Chan- 
 cellor, to cover his graceful brows with a sober velvet 
 cap ^like unto your honour's,' as Eobert Cecil wrote to 
 his venerable father. 
 
 In our original penury of words denoting mental powers 
 or qualities, talent was welcomed by our best writers as a 
 useful acquisition. The earliest authority quoted for it in 
 Johnson's Dictionary is Lord Clarendon. Probably he 
 borrowed it from the French, yet his occasional employ- 
 ment of it as synonymous with disposition or inclination, 
 is more conformable to the Italian, in which un strano 
 talento is a strange fancy for any object, and to have mal 
 talento towards a person is to bear him ill will. Thus his 
 lordship observes that * the nation generally was without 
 any ill talent to the church ' &c., but this sense has not 
 prevailed. As the word was undoubtedly formed in allu- 
 sion to the scripture parable of the talents put to use or 
 buried in a napkin, it ought apparently to mean no more 
 than a gift, or endowment; but this interpretation has 
 not sufficed our ingenious neighbours. The French 
 
 F 
 
66 WOEDS UPON WOEDS. 
 
 synonjmists, far more metaphysical and less etymological 
 than our own, have exhausted themselves in nice distinc- 
 tions between talent and genius, and examples formed to 
 exhibit the nature of each. Mackintosh, who, although a 
 great constructor of rhetorical periods, and an eminent 
 artist of conversation, was neither a student of the antiqui- 
 ties of the English tongue, nor possessed of the genuine 
 love of words essential to their successful investigation, 
 has treated the subject in a similar spirit. The specimens 
 of his verbal remarks which his biographer has appended 
 to the most delightful of literary journals, are rather 
 elaborate statements of mental facts, than contributions to 
 grammatical or .philological science. Thus, he quotes 
 with approval from a French authority, an explanation of 
 talent as *the union of invention and execution;' but 
 afterwards gives it as his own account of talents in the 
 plural, that 'they are the power of executing well a 
 conception either original or adopted,' and that 'they may 
 be possessed in a degree very disproportioned to general 
 power, as habit may strengthen a mind from one sort of 
 exertion far above its general vigour, — a proposition 
 which, correct as it may be, contributes nothing to the 
 illustration of the word. This objection applies, it will 
 be found, more or less to all verbal remarks destitute of 
 a root firmly fixed in the deep soil of etymology. 
 
 On the subject of talent, it may be worth wliile to 
 observe, that the lower regions of our literature are still 
 infested with the mock word talented, a verbal without a 
 verb, said to have sprung forth half a century ago, with 
 many other portents of like nature but opposite fortune, 
 from the teeming brain of a 'Wild Irish Girl.' Twenty 
 years have elapsed since Coleridge thus delivered himself 
 respecting it : 'I regret to see that vile and barbarous 
 vocable talented stealing out of the newspapers into the 
 leading reviews and most respectable pubHcations of the 
 
WOEDS UPON WOKDS. 67 
 
 day. Why not shillinged, farthinged, ten-penced, &c. 
 The formation of a participle passive from a noun is a 
 licence that notliing but a very peculiar felicity can 
 excuse. If mere convenience is to justify such attempts 
 upon the idiom, you cannot stop till the language becomes 
 in the proper sense of the word, corrupt.'* Let the perpe- 
 trators of such enormities as industrial, educational, and 
 illuminational lay to heart this warning! But, alas, 
 what care utilitarians for the purity or the grace of our 
 noble tongue? Talky, talky, would serve their turn 
 better than Cicero's Latin, or the French of Voltaire. 
 
 It is with a kind of simple wonder, sufficiently amusing 
 from such a quarter, that Mackintosh makes the remarkthat 
 ' in Minshew's " Dictionary of Nine Languages," printed 
 in 1627, there are no such words as genius or talent. Wit 
 is the only word for mental power ; and it is rendered in 
 French by esprit, and m German by verstand, which is 
 understanding.' No doubt; in the age of Minshew it 
 could not be otherwise. The earliest authority given by 
 Johnson for genius, in this sense, is Addison, and so far 
 was it from being established in his day, that in the ' Tatler ' 
 itself, the word is written after the Italian, genio. 
 
 Anthony a Wood, a supreme authority in the vulgar 
 tongue, in his ^ Athense,' published in 1689, often celebrates 
 in his heroes, ' a poetical geny,'' It should appear that 
 our adoption either from the French or the Italians of 
 this signification of genius^ must have been connected, 
 either as cause or effect, with the new restriction of the 
 word wit to its present peculiar meaning. This meaning 
 is indeed one which it had long borne — as Falstaff says: 
 ' I am both witty myself and the cause that other men are 
 witty,' but in this application it falls far short of being the 
 equivalent of esprit. The limitation was evidently not 
 fully drawn in 1647, when Cowley's Poems first appeared, 
 
 * Table Talk, ii. 63. 
 f2 
 
68 WORDS UPON WOEDS. 
 
 for although in some passages of his ' Ode on Wit,' he may 
 seem to understand the word exactly in the modern sense, 
 the concluding lines are decisive of the contrary : 
 
 If any ask me then 
 What thing right wit and height of genius is, 
 I'll only show your lines and say, 'tis this ; 
 
 implying that the two terms stood for one and the same 
 thing. The notion evidently corresponds with that so ill- 
 explained by Pope in the lines — 
 
 True wit is nature, to advantage drest ; 
 
 What oft was thought, but ne'er so weU exprest. 
 
 where, though it is difi&cult to conceive what is meant by 
 Nature, the thing described is clearly the opposite of that 
 true wit of which a new and striking thought fonns the 
 essence, and indeed no other than what was styled jine 
 writing. In the inimitable papers of Addison ' On true 
 and false Wit,' we first find this quality, according to our 
 present idea of it, so delineated as to preclude all miscon- 
 ception, and illustrated by a profusion of the thing itself 
 in its most genuine form. Thus then, it is to Addison we 
 owe both ivit and genius — apt appropriation ! But in 
 those idiomatic phrases which are the most enduring part 
 of language, the old sense survives, and we still possess in 
 full vigour ' mother wit,' and ' the wit of man ; ' we are 
 still ' at our wits end,' and sometimes ' out of our wits.' 
 We have also the proverb, ^ an ounce of mother-wit is 
 worth a pound of clergy,' the last word bearing here the 
 sense of learning ^ as in ' benefit of clergy,' a phrase which, 
 already obsolete in law, may in time it is to be hoped 
 become as unintelligible to common readers as the arro- 
 gant claims out of which it arose. Such was the scanti- 
 ness of our vocabulary, that our elder writers sometimes 
 employ the word wit to designate the senses as well as the 
 understanding : ' In our last conflict,' says Beatrice, 
 referring to the ' merry war ' between herself and Benedick, 
 
WORDS UPON WORDS. 69 
 
 * four of liis five wits went halting off, and now is the 
 whole man governed with one; so that if he have wit 
 enough to keep himself warm, let him bear it for a 
 difference between himself and his horse.' We have also 
 in Lear ' Bless thy five wits,' It was indeed high time to 
 seek some expedient for increasing our fund of verbal 
 wealth in this direction. 
 
 Philologists, since the great discovery in grammar made 
 by Home Tooke, are unanimously agreed that every word 
 was originally significative and had a sensible idea for its 
 root. For this reason it was that the eminent scholar 
 Grilbert Wakefield, who was employed on the great work 
 of a Grreek and English dictionary, at the too early termi- 
 nation of his honourable course, maintained that a good 
 word could have no more than two meanings — a literal 
 and a metaphorical one. Still more rigid on this point 
 was the learned, humorous, and eccentric Dr. Greddes. 
 The most impetuous of disputants, though one of the most 
 kind-hearted of men, he would do battle on a question of 
 etymology as if life and death had hung on the issue ; 
 while such was his resolute and systematic opposition to 
 all metaphorical uses of words, that he would declare 
 against employing understanding in any other sense than 
 standing under. He had other notions on words not less 
 peculiar. Thus, in his version of the Old Testament, 
 magnanimously setting at nought, where system was 
 concerned, all such minor considerations as the influence 
 of custom or the power of association, he was resolute in 
 the substitution of the more graphic term Skipover for 
 that of Passover. 
 
 But vain are efforts such as these to reduce ^ custom of 
 speech to congruity of speech.' 'It is not,' observes 
 Hobbes, ' the universal current of divines and philosophers 
 that giveth words their authority, but the generality of 
 them who acknowledge that they understand them.' Even 
 
70 WORDS UPON WOEDS. 
 
 the unanimous agreement of grammarians and critics, a 
 race proverbial for their differences, would fail to achieve 
 this more than heroic labour. Etymology itself is far 
 from numbering amongst the certain sciences. 
 
 The farther research is carried, into whatever language, 
 the more unfathomable become those gulfs of antiquity 
 into which its origins are seen to open. The roots both 
 of the Grreek and the German have been traced to the 
 Sanscrit — Sanscrit, of which it cannot even be conjectured 
 how many ages have revolved since it was a living tongue. 
 And had the Sanscrit no parent? Who can answer? 
 What we know certainly in this matter is, that for centuries 
 upon centuries, words have been suffering so much of 
 transformation, disguise and corruption, by accident, error 
 and caprice, learned and unlearned, — by the licences of 
 poets, the figures of orators, the affectations of pedants 
 and coxcombs, the blunders of travellers, and the innova- 
 tions of colonists — that in numberless instances their 
 radical idea is lost beyond hope of retrieval, and all that 
 can be done is to make use of them like technical terms, 
 standing for some single definite notion to be learned by 
 practice alone. 
 
 The most skilful of etymologists must be baffled by at 
 least one class of words, and that no small one ; consisting 
 of such as have been adopted from an accidental associa- 
 tion, and thus depend for their interpretation not on 
 philological skill but on the knowledge of some particular 
 fact or circumstance. Of these, several curious examples 
 occur. Among the splendid donations showered by our 
 eighth Henry on Wolsey during his lease of favour, was a 
 stately mansion which had come into his possession by the 
 attainder of the obnoxious Empson. It stood a little 
 beyond the boundary wall of London, with gardens 
 stretching down to the river, adorned with a beautiful 
 spring on which a chapel stood, dedicated to St. Bridget. 
 The Emperor Charles V. held his court within its spacious 
 
WORDS UPON WORDS. 71 
 
 walls during his visit to England, and in it the divorce 
 suit between Henry and Katherine came to a solemn 
 hearing. On the fall of Wolsey it reverted to the crown. 
 Young King Edward, on certain representations made to 
 him of the necessity of the case, liberally granted it to the 
 corporation of London for the purposes of a house of cor- 
 rection, and hence our generic term — a Bridewell. 
 
 By another odd misappropriation of a name, a group of 
 buildings near Charing Cross, in which the king's hawks 
 with their attendants were anciently lodged, and which 
 was therefore called the Mews, being converted, on the 
 decline of falconry, into a receptacle for the royal carriages 
 and horses, not only retained its old appellation, but has 
 communicated it to all the ranges of coach-houses and 
 stabling in London. Our language possessing no equiva- 
 lent to the French term remises, convenience seized on 
 this, and made it her own. A Eepository for horses has 
 surely somewhat of grotesque in the sound. 
 
 In the time of James I. a personage made his appearance 
 in London, announcing himself as the bearer of a com- 
 mission from the Grrand Signior, and decorated with the 
 title of a Chiause, which in those days of ignorance was 
 imagined to signify an officer of exalted rank. After prey- 
 ing for a time on the hospitality and generosity of the 
 credulous, the impostor vanished, but he is said to have 
 bequeathed to us, orthography being then of small account, 
 in outlandish words especially, the familiar verb to chouse, 
 Ben Jonson thus refers to this person in the ' Alchemist.' 
 
 What do you think of me, 
 
 That I am a Chiause ? 
 Face. What's that? 
 Dapper. The Turk was here, 
 
 As one would say, ' Do you think I am a Turk ? ' 
 Face. Come, noble doctor, pray thee let's prevail ; 
 
 This is the gentleman, and he's no Chiause. 
 
 One that will thank you richly, and he is no Chiause. 
 
 Such allusive expressions are the cross of translators. 
 
72 WOKDS UPON WOEDS. 
 
 Priestley, in one of his chemical papers had observed in 
 reference to some fact concerning the gases, that ' the ex- 
 periment of the Black Hole ' had proved it. He went 
 soon after to Paris, when his French translator, himself a 
 man of science, thus eagerly accosted him : ' Pray Doctor, 
 what is that Black Hole of yours ? I rendered it of course 
 le trou Thoir, but of the meaning I have not the most distant 
 conception.' It is not quite impossible that in the present 
 generation, there may be even English readers unac- 
 quainted with the tragical history of the Black Hole of 
 Calcutta, since all things fade sooner or later from memory, 
 if not from record. 
 
 In the language of Portugal marmala means a quince. 
 It is, therefore, absurd to give the name of mamnalade to 
 sweetmeat made from oranges or apples, not from quinces. 
 This corruption, however, preserves the memory of the 
 fact that it was from the Portuguese, early culivators of 
 the sugar cane, both in their Oriental and Occidental set- 
 tlements, that we first learned the art of confectionery. 
 Thus a nearly contemporary describer of the court of 
 Queen EHzabeth says of the ladies who attended on her : 
 ' There is in manner none of them but when they be at 
 home can help to supply the ordinary want of the kitchen 
 with a number of delicate dishes of their own devising, 
 wherein the Portingale is their chief counsellor.' * 
 
 Sometimes, by the derivation of a word, our thoughts 
 are transported, as at the waving of a wand, from the 
 most familiar objects of modern life down among the 
 depths of primitive barbarism. The ancient Britons 
 transmitted to us our baskets, called bascanda by their 
 Eoman conquerors ; and from the British crowed, the elbow, 
 came out jostling crowds, as well as an obsolete kind of 
 fiddle called a crowd. From the Anglo-Saxon verb 
 stellan, to put or place, probably comes the stUl-rooTii of 
 * Bohan's character of Queen Elizabeth. 
 
WOKDS UPON WORDS. 73 
 
 our great houses. If it be to the verb sellan of the same 
 language, to give or supply, that we owe our salt-sellars 
 the orthography ought to preserve the meniory of so 
 venerable an origin. 
 
 A very slight attention to the meaning of words would 
 preserve us from making infusions — of roses, of sage, or 
 other herbs ; and, still more absurd, of beef into teas, but 
 such kitchen errors are little worth noting. Far more 
 offensive is the absurd polysyllabic affectation by which all 
 sorts, kinds, and classes, have hecome descriptions of things. 
 This barbarism, which it would be amusing to attempt 
 to translate into any civilised language, smacks strongly of 
 man-millinery, and was probably invented by one of those 
 persuasive orators who declaim to the ladies from behind 
 their counters on muslins, silks and ribbons. Let it return 
 to the shop whence it came. 
 
 Polite euphemism, the source of so many moral as 
 well as philological misnomers, has introduced the practice 
 of employing the word limited in the sense of small or 
 scanty. Its chief use was to stand as a screen before two 
 things of which no honest man ought to be ashamed — 
 poverty, and school-keeping. Limited incomes — as if 
 even the most enormous ones were unlimited — and limited 
 numbers of pupils were mincingly prattled of. While 
 this contemptible fashion was still a novelty, a man of 
 learning, wit and spirit, was thus condescendingly ad- 
 dressed on his introduction to a commercial Croesus of 
 
 mean mind and silken phrase, ' I believe, Mr. , you 
 
 have a seminary for young gentlemen ? ' 'I keep a boy's 
 school, sir.' ' A limited number, I presume.' ' No, all's 
 fish that comes to my net.' 
 
 By imperceptible degrees, to consider, has nearly lost 
 in current speech the sense which it bore when we ' con- 
 sidered our ways and applied our hearts unto wisdom.' 
 We now consider that song to have been well sung; 
 
74 WORDS UPON WORDS. 
 
 consider red hair a misfortune ; consider a goose a fine 
 bird (omitting for expedition's sake the as, by which this 
 verb was once followed). Thus have we degraded to the 
 mere office of opining or believing, one of the highest 
 and gravest words in our language ; respectable too in all 
 its derivatives and affinities, such as considerate, consider- 
 able, and consideration ; excepting only in the memorable 
 phrase ^ for a con-sider-ation.' It is also a word for which 
 we have no substitute. 
 
 Till very lately it was the exclusive office of grand 
 juries to ignore ; but whether the present extension of 
 that often very convenient privilege to all classes of Her 
 Majesty's subjects be not a somewhat laudable innovation, 
 may be fit to be considered. 
 
 The present generation will probably hear with surprise 
 that there may be still living witnesses and partakers of 
 that universal roar with which the House of Commons 
 greeted the first utterance within its walls of the strange 
 word starvation^ proceeding from the lips of no less con- 
 spicuous a personage than Mr. Henry Dundas. Partly 
 the grotesque sound of this barbarous hybrid, partly the 
 whimsical notion of a new word for hunger and famine 
 imported from Scotland, so tickled the fancies of honour- 
 able members, that the laughter threatened to become 
 inextinguishable as that which shook Olympus at sight of 
 Vulcan in the office of Hebe. Even now, after a deni- 
 zation of half a century, an English classic would assuredly 
 exclude the mongrel with disdain from any work destined 
 to outlast the date of a Blue-Book, or the report of a 
 charitable institution. 
 
 A similar occasion of mirth arose in the Lower House, 
 when some statement of numbers made by a member 
 having been disputed, he exclaimed, ^ I am certain I am 
 correct, for I noted down the figures at the time with my 
 keelovine,'' A general stare as well as titter ensued. 
 
WORDS UPON WORDS. 75 
 
 Members from the North of England did indeed recognise 
 at once their familiar term for a black lead pencil, but 
 the word not being, it should seem, Scotch, it was con- 
 demned without mercy as a provincialism and vulgarism. 
 By some curious enquirer it will here perhaps be asked 
 what may be the ground, or the plea, for this recognised 
 privilege granted to the popular idioms of the northern, 
 above those of the southern banks of the Tweed ? Our 
 Caledonian neighbours would not hesitate to answer, that 
 before the union, Scotland had a distinct tongue of her 
 own, which is not to be confounded with mere dialects of 
 the English ; also, that Dr. Jamieson, within the present 
 century, published in two goodly quarto volumes, a 
 ' Dictionary of the Scottish language.' To this plea, it is 
 obvious to reply on the English part that, allowing the 
 ancient speech of Scotland for a different language from 
 our own, it must be a manifest corruption to mingle them. 
 But that Dr. Jamieson's work has no claim whatever to 
 its lofty title, is evident on the very face of it, from the 
 care which he takes to assign every word exclusively 
 Scotch, to its native county. It is, in fact — what is a 
 great desideratum with ourselves — a collection of pro- 
 vincial dialects, and nothing more. The written language 
 of Scotland, that of her early literature, her court and her 
 aristocracy, has long since merged in that of Great Britain ; 
 and the vulgar idioms of Ayrshire or Lothian have 
 assuredly no inherent right to a toleration, in books or in 
 conversation, refused to those of Lancashire or Devon. 
 But the privilege accorded to Scotland in this respect 
 stands on higher ground. It has been won for her by the 
 excellence — not indeed of her graver prose writers, nor 
 yet of her more polished versifiers, from Drummond to 
 Thomson and Beattie, all of whom came as near to the 
 English tongue as they were able — but by her truly 
 national poets, and her novelist of world-wide fame. 
 
/b WORDS UPON WORDS. 
 
 Possessed from early times of a national music, the 
 country was rich in ancient ballads and in popular songs, 
 which embodied in the racy idioms of a mother- toDgue 
 the traditions of the past, and the fresher inspirations of 
 passion, of fancy, and of humour. In this rustic dialect, 
 imperfectly spelled out, there was found, or fancied, a 
 character of mingled simplicity, tenderness and archness, 
 which happily corresponded with the pastoral style, so 
 long the delight, or pretended delight, of the whole of 
 lettered and polished Europe. By favour of this adapta- 
 tion it was that Allan Kamsay's partial translation, imi- 
 tation, or depravation rather, of the most graceful and 
 refined of the Italian Favole Roschareccie — the ' Aminta' of 
 Tasso — became popular in England, and even his songs 
 found admirers ; an uncouth dialect veiling in some degree 
 their intolerable vulgarity and grossness. 
 
 Percy's ' Reliques,' the most popular of poetical collec- 
 tions, and one which effected a signal revolution in literary 
 taste, owed the larger and more interesting portion of its 
 ditties to the bards of the ' North countrie', on which ever 
 side of the border. The repulsiveness of consulting a 
 glossary was surmounted for their sake; and thus the 
 Northumbrian English, and the lowland Scotch, idioms 
 which most nearly approached each other, while their 
 respective speakers continued hereditary foes, became 
 alike familiar to the numerous admirers and the swarm of 
 affected imitators of the ancient ballad. 
 
 Burns next arose — a poet always, but twice a poet 
 when he trusted himself with his native Doric, which 
 found favour for his sake, even in Attic ears. The 
 'Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border' followed; then 
 *The Lay of the Last Minstrel,' and the rest of that 
 brilliant group of metrical romances struck off with such 
 dazzling rapidity on the same glowing anvil — finally the 
 * Waverley novels.' 
 
WORDS UPON WORDS. 77 
 
 During the Scott mania to which the English public 
 was wrought up by these powerful and repeated efforts, 
 which survived for many years the last and mightiest 
 ' master of the spell,' it was not perceived that we were 
 negligently losing sight of the ancient land-marks of the 
 neighbour tongues; nay, that we were suffering our 
 very bulwarks and fortresses to become Scottish colonies 
 and dependencies, through a process of settlement and 
 occupation not unlike that by which we have seen Texas 
 and other portions of Mexico transmuted into a territory 
 of the United States. Our own people were turning 
 Scotch without knowing it. We began to allow the 
 macaronic of the Edinburgh Eeview for actual English ! 
 Instead of acting on behalf of another it was for his behoof. 
 Staircases, or pairs of stairs, were totally disused and we 
 were left to ascend by a stair as fully more convenient. 
 Friends looked over the window, and joined each other on 
 the street. Forgetful of our honest old idiom ' this here ' 
 and ' that there ' we ceased to perceive any clear difference, 
 however the confusion might perplex us, between this and 
 that, these and those. Inroads and incursions, eruptions 
 and invasions, were all metamorphosed into raids and 
 forays, and transplanted by writers, too, of no inconsider- 
 able pretensions, into historical narratives of distant times 
 and other countries. A species of anachronism and ab- 
 surdity scarcely less gross than that committed by Cowper 
 in his translation of Homer, where he repeatedly men- 
 tions tapestry by the name of arras ! In fine, our very 
 instinct of shall and will, should and would, began to 
 waver, and we were left to get out of this sad scrape not as 
 well as we could, but as we best might. At length there 
 are encouraging tokens of the decline of this insidious 
 epidemic. No recent cases have been observed, and we 
 might now be beginning to congratulate ourselves on a 
 happy return to vernacular soundness, but for the alarm- 
 
78 WORDS UPON WORDS. 
 
 ing visitations of another and a far worse contagion — not a 
 brogue, not a dialect; a contraband importation from 
 some province, respectable though obscure, from innocent 
 cottages, or simple rustic farms, where genuine Anglo- 
 Saxon lingers still — but a pestilence drawn forth, reeking 
 and flagrant, from the metropolitan dens of all abomina- 
 tion and corruption, moral and physical, and philological. 
 It is, in short, slang, which has dared to intrude itself 
 into common speech, and the literature of the million. 
 Slang, a term imknown as yet to dictionary or glossary, 
 but which a very high authority has taken the laudable 
 precaution to interpret to the ignorant and the innocent. 
 It is derived, he informs us, from the verb to sling, and 
 designates the idiom of those whose career is likely to 
 terminate in suspension. WTiat more is to be said ! 
 
 In the selection of words for the purposes of elegant 
 literature, as in the details of every art which appeals to 
 the imagination or the lieart through the sense of the 
 beautiful, association is very nearly all in all. Let a word 
 of the purest origin and most irreproachable connections, 
 once have been compelled to stoop to low company, or 
 base offices, and it loses caste once and for ever. Its 
 sentence of perpetual exile from elegant society is like 
 that of the favourite yellow starch from the court of King 
 James, after it had adorned the person of Mrs. Turner, 
 its inventress, at her final public appearance — on the 
 scaffold. 
 
 The excellent old critic Puttenham, in his 'Art of 
 Poetry,' shows a fine sense of the seemly and ' decent ' in 
 this matter. He severely censures one translator of Virgil 
 for saying ' that .^neas was fain to trudge out of Troy, 
 which term better became to be spoken of a beggar, or 
 of a rogue, or of a lackey ; ' and he blames another, who 
 had called that hero * by fate a fugitive,'* and enquired 
 ' WTiat moved Juno to tug so great a captain ? ' a word. 
 
WORDS UPON WORDS. 79 
 
 ^the most indecent word in this case that could have 
 been devised, since it is derived from the cart, and signi- 
 fies the draught or pull of the horses.' He reprobates the 
 expression, ' sl prince's ^6^^,' ' because pelf means properly 
 the scraps or shreds of tailors or of skinners.' 
 
 Robert Southey who, if equalled, was certainly unex- 
 celled among his contemporaries as a master of a pure, 
 correct, and graceful English prose, instances, in one of 
 his excellent letters to William Taylor of Norwich, the 
 verb to spar as a word ruined for all better purposes by 
 its application to pugilistic contests. On the other hand, 
 we may be certain that neither his critical nor his moral 
 taste would have sanctioned such a compliance with the 
 slang of sporting men as could allow public meetings of 
 any greater dignity than a walking match or a steeple 
 chase, to come off, 
 
 A living language may be viewed as a running com- 
 mentary on the history of the manners and the pursuits of 
 every passing age, and we are sometimes startled to learn 
 how recent are several of those words which now seem as 
 familiar and necessary to us as our daily bread. What 
 Englishman almost would believe — at least until according 
 to the genius of his nation, as Voltaire said, he had laid 
 and lost a good wager on the point — that the words selfish 
 and selfishness are not to be found in Shakspeare, and 
 were indeed totally unknown to all his contemporaries ? 
 Yet such is the unquestionable fact. Bishop Hacket, in 
 his Life of Archbishop Williams, mentions selfish as a 
 Puritanical term ; and in a political letter, bearing the 
 earlier date of 1640, the words selfish and drill, in the 
 sense of exercising soldiers, are ridiculed as newly-invented 
 cant words of the Scotch covenanters. From this 
 parentage it is probable that the first of these which now 
 gives a name to the very cardinal principle on which 
 systems of ethics and metaphysics have been made to 
 
80 WORDS UPON WORDS. 
 
 turn, was originally notMng more than an abbreviation 
 of self-seeking, a well-known term in the religious phrase- 
 ology of the godly of that period, and perhaps not yet 
 disused. 
 
 Drill was probably of continental origin, and likely to 
 have been imported by Lesley and his fellow warriors 
 when they returned from fighting the battles of the Pro- 
 testant hero Grustavus Adolphus, to set their countrymen 
 in array against King Charles and his ^Anglicane episco- 
 pacy.' 
 
 Those lazy ages, lost in sleep and ease, 
 
 Such whose supine felicity but makes 
 
 In story charms, in epochas mistakes ; 
 
 O'er whom Time gently shakes his wings of down. 
 
 Till with his silent sickle they are mown, 
 
 are the golden days of pedantry and affectation, in style and 
 in diction. Every man is then at leisure to study not 
 only, and not so much what' he should say, as after what 
 form and figure he shall say it. The satire of Shak- 
 speare indefatigably reproduced in so many shapes and 
 characters, is sufficient proof of this corruption of taste in 
 the ' piping times ' of Elizabeth and the first James. By 
 the political storms of the ensuing reign these and all 
 other shining fripperies were swept to dust and oblivion. 
 The pure and simple English of the public papers and 
 parliamentary speeches of the days of King Charles, elo- 
 quent and pathetic in its earnestness alone, is still a noble 
 and interesting study for the statesman and the orator. 
 In the court of his successor, language, like manners and 
 public principle, reached their lowest point of declension. 
 
LETTERS. 
 
 To Mrs. Aihin, 
 
 Stoke Newington: Nov. 1805. 
 We do grumble a little, my dear"^ mother, I assure you, 
 at being so long without you ; but knowing how very much 
 you are wanted where you are, we think it would be 
 wrong to press yom* return sooner than the day you 
 mention, against which time I will take care to have all 
 preparations made. Well ! what do you all say to this 
 glorious dear-bought victory ? Twenty ships for a hero ! 
 At this rate I think our enemies would be beggared first. 
 But never was there a more affecting mixture of feelings. 
 Even the hardhearted underwriters assembled at Lloyds to 
 hear the news, could not stand it; when the death of 
 Nelson was proclaimed, they one and all burst into tears. 
 It is thought that the Londoners will put on mourning 
 without any public orders. The illumination of the public 
 offices last night was splendid, but many private streets 
 were not lighted up at all, so much did sorrow prevail 
 over triumph. No windows, it is said, were broken, and 
 some of the mob cried out, * ^\^lat, light up because Nelson 
 is killed ! ' N obody can, or ought to pity him, however, 
 for what hero ever died a death more glorious ? They 
 say that he saw fifteen ships strike before he fell. 
 
 My father has been attending Peggy Woods for two or 
 
 G 
 
82 LETTEES. 
 
 three days past, and I do not know whether he is quite 
 glad to have her well again ; he said she looked so very 
 pretty in her night-cap. Just now a man called to enquire 
 if we wanted any pork, saying that he was a person who 
 had lived with Mr. Belsham. I felt the force of the 
 recommendation (Mr. B. always paid great attention to 
 the fatting of his pigs, I know), and finding that it was 
 the size you like, I desired him to bring some to-morrow, 
 when, if I think it nice, I shall get a leg to salt. I 
 thought I should have laughed when I went to speak to 
 the man, but I behaved very prettily. I forgot to tell 
 you that we made a very brilHant figure at the illumination. 
 Thanks to Fanny's love for the tars, we were lighted up 
 sooner than most of our neighbours. The book-meeting 
 was put off on account of the illumination. 
 
 I can't think of anything else to say, except that 
 Edmund has made a most beautiful drawing of Mr. Hope's 
 statue gallery, which has delighted him much. I have 
 written four new lines and planned a great many more. 
 The Greography is all printed but the index, which my 
 father has made and pasted, with my help. I have weighed 
 out all the bullace and sugar for preserving, with my own 
 hands. Adieu, my dear mother. My father joins in love 
 &c. with your very affectionate daughter, 
 
 L. A. 
 
 To Mrs. Barbauld. 
 
 Edinburgh: Nov. 1811. 
 My dear Aunt — It will, I know, give you pleasure to 
 hear immediately from myself of all that I am doing and 
 enjoying in this new and animating scene. You will 
 believe that I find much to gratify both the eye and the 
 mind in the grand situation and picturesque views of this 
 great city — in its ancient remains and its modern improve- 
 
TO MRS. BARBAULD. 83 
 
 ments. I have climbed the Calton and the Castle Hills ; 
 I have wondered at the tower-like houses of the old town, 
 admired the spacious streets and noble squares of the new ; 
 moralised in the gloomy apartments where the exiled 
 Bourbons found refuge in the deserted palace of the 
 Stuarts; and shuddered on exploring the dark narrow 
 staircase whence the murderers of Eizzio rushed upon 
 their victim. 
 
 As to the society from which I have expected, and still 
 expect, so much, I have not yet quite got into the spirit 
 of it. I cannot expect strangers to give up their mental 
 treasures at sight. The ceremonies of introduction, the 
 questions of routine, how I came, when I came, and how 
 I like Edinburgh, with many more, must iirst be patiently 
 submitted to. At present, I only seem to have the figures 
 of a magic lantern flitting before my eyes, but the number 
 and the variety afford perpetual amusement. Take the 
 visitors of one morning as a specimen. At breakfast 
 arrives, just imported from the Highlands, a minister of 
 the kirk, of a stern visage and stiff address, who begs a 
 blessing on the meal unasked, and on some mention being 
 made of the Duke of Queensbury, solaces himself greatly 
 with the conviction that he is now roasting. He takes his 
 leave, and enter a fine flourishing colonel; his son has 
 obtained from the Emperor of Eussia the appointment of 
 physician to some new baths in Circassia, and he is just 
 giving us an interesting account of his journey from Mos- 
 cow of 1,800 miles, when he is interrupted by two elegant 
 daughters of Lord Woodhouselee. They give place to a 
 plain Scotch advocate, who gives us a ludicrous account 
 of his distress at a London lodging-house, where nobody 
 could make barley-broth and he was forced to attempt it 
 himself, with indifferent success. Two excellent Miss 
 Hills, who devote themselves to the care of a brother's 
 children, and a London-bred lady, with three dirty dogs, 
 
 G 2 
 
84 LETTERS. 
 
 I 
 
 finish the exhibition for that day. My account of these 
 characters has been broken in upon by Lord Buchan, a 
 more complete character than any of them. He desires 
 me to say something very handsome for him to you. 
 Moreover, he has got it into his head that you wrote some 
 verses on Dryburgh Abbey, sitting on the ruins, which he 
 begs to see if they exist; and moreover, again, he has 
 made me promise, and I hope you will not be displeased, 
 to transcribe your lines on the King, for him to send to the 
 Princess Mary. He retains a lively recollection of ' that 
 pretty little winch,' as he calls her, and a still more 
 lively wish to see you again in Scotland. I have seen a 
 good deal of Mrs. Grrant,* and she both amuses and wearies 
 me ; she talks a vast deal in a low drawling voice, inter- 
 spersing abundance of parentheses and digressions ; but 
 her narratives and remarks display fancy and feeling, and 
 have an interesting air of originality — in short, she is 
 exactly like her letters. With Dr. Brown, Dugald 
 Stewart's successor, I had one evening some pleasant 
 conversation ; he is clever and lively, but has an unfor- 
 tunate flippancy of manner, and laughs w^henever he 
 speaks. Dr. Thomson, the chemical, who inquired kindly 
 for Arthur and Charles, pleases me best of all the men I 
 have seen, and his wife, a daughter of Professor Miller, 
 appears to me a most agreeable woman. 
 
 Mrs. Hamilton has been so poorly since my arrival that 
 I have seen her but once, but her sister and their visitor, 
 Miss McLean, spent an evening here and made it a very 
 pleasant one. The Highland minister told us that the 
 clan McLeod are offended with Miss Baillie's representation 
 of their ancestor, and that theiv poet has written a long- 
 Erse ballad giving a quite different account of the 
 matter. He was himself well acquainted vdih the tra- 
 ditions about it, and had once been nearly cast away on 
 
 ^ Mrs. Grant of Laggau. 
 
TO MRS. BARBAULD. 85 
 
 the lady^s rock. The feeling of clanship is still strong, 
 and so much of old manners remain, that I hear of 
 a laird now living who is quite as savage and much less 
 generous than Eoderic Dhu. 
 
 Pray tell my father that I will write to him very soon — 
 as soon, that is, as I have matter for another letter. 
 Your grateful and affectionate 
 
 L. AlKTN. 
 
 To Dr. Aikin, 
 
 Edinburgh: Dec. 18, 1811. 
 
 And pray have you the conscience to expect that I should 
 remember certain old-fashioned people in the village of 
 Stoke Newington, amidst all the honourable and right 
 honourable society to which I have had the honour of being 
 admitted ? Though you would not think magnificently of 
 my last large sheet, I think you must of this, considering the 
 grandeur of the subject. At Lady Apreece's we had a very 
 agreeable and elegant party — a pretty olio of red coats and 
 blue coats — a charming mixture of people of fashion and 
 people of literature. The widow of Professor Dalzell, and 
 Dr. Brown, were those who pleased me best that night. But 
 what were the splendours of that evening to the glories of 
 last Saturday at Mrs. Clavering's I Mr. C. is the elder 
 
 brother of the noted general C , his wife is a sister of 
 
 Mr. Adair the envoy, and both are very highly connected. 
 "We calculated on our return that there were more ladies 
 above than below the rank of baronets' daughters, and the 
 gentlemen were m ostly of title or high family. I thought 
 their manners very elegant, and saw much graceful danc- 
 ing, in which, from conscious inferiority, I declined taking 
 a part. 'Tell me what you think of that gentleman's 
 physiognomy,' whispered Mrs. Fletcher, ^ and I will tell 
 you a story of him.' He was beyond my ken, so I lost 
 
86 LETTERS. 
 
 the opportunity of displaying my skill in that certain 
 
 science, but I got the story. Mr. C , second son of a 
 
 gentleman of large estate, is an advocate, and a man ad- 
 mitted in the first circles. Some years ago he went to 
 call one day on Sir Charles Douglas ; he was shown into 
 Sir Charles's dressing-room, and when Sir Charles came to 
 
 him he found Mr. C examining his pocket-book, which 
 
 he had left on the table. ' What are you doing ? ' cried 
 
 Douglas. ' I am searching for billets-doux/ returned C . 
 
 They were both gay young fellows and very intimate, so 
 the thing passed very well as a joke till the evening, when 
 Douglas, applying to his pocket-book for some bank-notes, 
 found that they had all vanished, to the value of 251. 
 He did not know the numbers, but they were of the Bank 
 of England, which are little in circulation here ; his in- 
 quisitive friend, he learned, had passed two of that 
 description that very day. Sir Charles did not scruple to 
 
 report that C had picked his pocket. C finding 
 
 himself shunned by his brother advocates, at last learned 
 the cause. He hurried to London and challenged Doug- 
 las. Next day a statement appeared in the papers signed 
 by the seconds — very 'honourable men' — stating that 
 both parties had behaved with perfect honour, and had 
 
 parted without fighting I C is received again in 
 
 society, and the story of the pocket-book remains as it was. 
 Such are the great ! and therefore I was not displeased to 
 find myself last night in a humbler set, at the house of Mr. 
 Fergusson, an advocate ; where I had some pleasant chat 
 with a son of Professor Miller, also a lawyer, and a very 
 shrewd and intelligent, as well as worthy man, but so 
 gTave and abstracted that one can seldom get much out 
 of him. To-night I am to drink tea and play chess with 
 Mrs. Hamilton, and sup at Mrs. Grant's, where I am to 
 meet Jeffrey for the first time. I am now quite habituated 
 to the hours we keep, and never indulge myself in taking 
 
TO DR. AIKIN. 87 
 
 breakfast in bed. At half-past eight Mr. Fletcher causes 
 a wakening peal to be rung, which rouses me, and I am 
 often the first in the breakfast-room. Grrace, however, is 
 a pretty good riser, and one morning, by way of brag, I 
 gave her a Latin lesson before anybody else made their 
 
 appearance. You may believe that this same G 
 
 makes a charming pupil. I fain would teach her ' all I 
 know,' and therefore gave her the other day a practical 
 lesson in the art of custard-making, in which Mrs. 
 Fletcher had been lamenting the ignorance of her cook. 
 I never feel the value of the knowledge that you and my 
 dear mother have been at such pains to instil into me so 
 much as when I am among strangers, and iind myself 
 capable of improving them in something useful or orna- 
 mental. Then, when I meet with any commendations, and 
 people say, * How did you learn it ? ' what a proud delight 
 have I in answering — my father taught me this, my 
 mother that — one of my brothers informed me of such a 
 thing — in short, not only the foundation-stone, but every 
 other in the fabric of my mind and manners w^as laid by 
 an honoured and a loving hand — no mercenary touched 
 it! 
 
 As to the weather in this part of the world, I will not 
 pretend to give you my opinion ; but that of the natives, 
 which I have carefully collected from various authorities, 
 male and female, is as follows : — That it is much warmer 
 here than in London in the months of November and 
 December — that there is on the whole much less frost and 
 cold here than in London (some ^sturdy moralist,' who 
 keeps a thermometer, told me it was at 4° one day last 
 winter) — that there are never any fogs here (I don't know 
 what it was that hindered me from seeing half way across 
 the street this morning — prejudice, I suppose) — that spring 
 is rather late, owing to the east winds, but that summer 
 is delightful from a refreshing coolness unknown in 
 
88 LETTERS. 
 
 England ; finally, that the climate is on the whole very dry, 
 and that the Isle of Bute enjoys an air much milder and 
 more favourable to invalids than Madeira. I thankfully 
 acknowledge that they have thick walls and excellent fires 
 here, so that one is warm enough within doors, and that a 
 sedan-chair prevents all risk of cold in coming out at 
 night, yet I find everybody but myself complaining of 
 disorders of the lungs, or of being at least, ' very much 
 coldecV 
 
 Farewell, my dear father. Ever beUeve me. 
 
 Your grateful and affectionate 
 
 L. A. 
 
 To Mrs. Barbauld. 
 
 Edinburgh: Dee. 25, 1811. 
 
 My dear Aunt — For fear of making the frank too 
 heavy, I must not take a whole sheet ; but T may here 
 inform you that your correspondent with a long title is 
 the husband of the lady said to be the author of ' Self- 
 Control ; ' but she d^es not yet avow the work. 
 
 Lord Buchan has written some verses on your bonnet, 
 worthy of a person of quality ; I will send them by the 
 next opportunity ; in the meantime, I hope you can take 
 patience. This Christmas-day is so unlike an English one 
 I scarcely know it. Shops are open, carts rattling along, 
 the usual street cries are heard — in short, it is just like 
 any other day. The only relics of old observances I have 
 witnessed are luaits playing in the night, and boys dressed 
 up, and called guisards, who sing carols from door to door. 
 
 I am all impatience for your new poem : what will you 
 call it ? Is not Miss Baillie's ' Beacon ' a perfect gem, 
 and do you not admire Orra ? .... In the midst of so 
 much dissipation, expect from me neither ode nor vision ; 
 when I am snugly seated at Newington again we shall see. 
 
TO MRS. BARBAULD. 89 
 
 ■and that will soon be, I hope. This racketing begins to 
 tire me exceedingly, and I have now seen all the sights 
 that I most care for. I wish I could bring you back 
 Grrace in my hand ; she is a charming creature, full of 
 ardour and enthusiasm, and more unspoiled, more uncon- 
 scious of her rare endowments, than any young person of 
 talent I ever saw. We read Latin together and discuss 
 fifty topics in a day. I am teaching all the young people 
 chess. Mrs. Hamilton and I have had some stout battles 
 and come off even. Her health is very indifferent, and 
 she never goes out, but she invites me to come to her 
 whenever I have a spare hour, and I find her most agree- 
 able by her own fireside. Dr. Parr says he intends to 
 come and pass a year here, and spend a thousand pounds ; 
 but some people doubt whether he is in earnest. I have not 
 been so fortunate as to see Mr. Stewart, but I have several 
 times met with his daughter, who is very pleasing and 
 more cultivated, 1 think, than any lady I have seen here. 
 The Edinburgh ladies are by no means literary in general. 
 My paper is at an end, and I must hasten to subscribe 
 myself. 
 
 Your obliged and affectionate niece, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 To Mrs. Aikin. 
 
 Edinburgh : Jan. 27, 1812. 
 My dear Mother — I believe I have been rather longer 
 than usual in thanking you for your kind long letter ; the 
 reason was, that I hoped every day to be able to tell you 
 that I had heard of a travelling companion, and fixed the 
 day for my departure. I have not yet, however, heard of 
 a party that entirely pleases me, but I am making diligent 
 enquiries, and hope soon to succeed, for I can have no 
 pleasure in dissipating here, while I think that you may be 
 
90 LETTERS. 
 
 dull for want of me at home. Do not imagine, however, 
 that I make any kind of sacrifice in returning. I have 
 really had enough of that insipid thing called gaiety. I 
 am tired of seeing faces that I never saw before, nor wish 
 to see again. I am eager to get into the midst of the dear 
 circle at home, and make you all alive with the history of 
 what I have heard and seen. Since I wi'ote last, I have 
 been at two assemblies, besides dinner-parties, suppers, 
 and musical-parties. I did not think at all of dancing at 
 the assemblies, because few ladies do who are turned five- 
 and -twenty, their amusement is promenading up and down 
 the card-room, holding by the arm of a chaperon or a 
 gentleman, and making remarks on the company. Ac- 
 cordingly, I had refused to dance with Mr. Simpson, but 
 at last the music was so inspiring, and he so pressing, 
 and I knew, too, that he danced so much better than he 
 talked, that I consented; but, to my dismay, we had 
 scarcely joined the set, when the country-dance was 
 changed to reels ; however, I do not think they are danced 
 better here than in England, so I took courage, and thought 
 I might pass in the crowd. The second assembly was 
 that annually given in honour of the Queen's birthday ; it 
 was really a splendid sight. Lady Buchan presided, 
 sitting on a chair of state, supported by Lady Caithness on 
 one hand, and the Hon. Miss Elphinston on the other. 
 We found seats near her, and saw everybody come up to 
 pay their respects to her ladyship. The assembly-room 
 is a very splendid one, and holds 1,200 people — it was 
 almost full. As everybody is admitted who will pay five 
 shillings, you may imagine that the company is not very 
 select ; but though there are many vulgar people, there 
 are none of a worse description, and the spectacle alto- 
 gether is both gay and amusing. The crowd is too great 
 to allow of many dances, but I went down one with a 
 young Englishman, who danced with so much execution. 
 
TO MRS. AIKIN. 91 
 
 forcing me to do the same, that I told him we should 
 certainly be taken for Scotch folks. 
 
 I conceive that your imagination may have figured me 
 in various situations, but I think it will scarcely have repre- 
 sented me seated at supper between two bishops, and chat- 
 ting gaily with one of them ; yet this was my lot at a large 
 party at Mr. Alison's. They were the Bishops of Meath and 
 Edinburgh — the former is really a very entertaining 
 pleasant man out of the pulpit, whence he has given us two 
 polemical discom'ses of fifty-five minutes each. . . . What 
 was better, we had delightful Play fair, and lively Brown, 
 who is very acute and original, and improves much upon 
 
 acquaintance. JNIrs. F had a warm debate with him 
 
 on the merit of Miss Baillie's new volume, which she 
 thought he undervalued. Do you think it equal to her 
 former ones ? Talking of tragedies reminds me of one on 
 an Icelandic story, by Sir Gr. Mackenzie, which came out 
 on Wednesday last at this theatre. Scott and jNIackenzie 
 wrote prologue and epilogue ; Dugald Stewart, Playfair, 
 Alison and Jeffrey, all appeared in the same box, applaud- 
 ing with might and main, and the pit was crammed with 
 friends of the author — notwithstanding all which, the 
 poor tragedy was laughed to death. We were none of us 
 there, but, by all accounts, it must have been an infinitely 
 amusing performance. Sir Greorge is so vain, that nobody 
 pities him, but people are sorry for his wife, who is 
 much liked- By way of contrast to these splendours, I 
 one day took a walk down to Leith, a place as distinct 
 from Edinburgh as if they were fifty miles asunder. The 
 old part of the town is very shabby and very Scotchy, but 
 there are many handsome new houses, and a superb coffee- 
 room and assembly-room is building ; there are also new 
 docks on a pretty large scale, on which they are now at 
 work. The view up and down the Firth from the pier- 
 head is truly magnificent ; it reminded me of Liverpool, 
 
92 LETTERS. 
 
 and I snuffed the sea gale, mingled with the odour of pitch 
 and tar, with great delight — to me these ^ savours mari- 
 time' are * redolent of joy and youth.' I missed the 
 bustle, the shouts, the quick motions, and the general air 
 of animation which accompany an English sea-port ; the 
 Scotch are certainly a slow and phlegmatic and silent 
 people compared with the English. I am aware, however, 
 that business is far from being brisk at Leith just now. 
 One Grottenburgh vessel was unloading a cargo of flax, 
 and that was all that we saw going forward ; the docks 
 were full enough, but chiefly of Grreenlandmen and 
 
 coasting vessels You can scarcely imagine my 
 
 longing for familiar faces. I have met with much civiHty 
 here, and some real kindness ; and this dear family I shall 
 love as long as I live ; but as for the other figures that 
 flit in such rapid succession before me, they take no hold 
 upon my fancy or my heart — they are a gallery of 
 portraits, nothing more, and I have had enough of them. 
 jNIrs. F. tells me that they say I am very reserved — of 
 course some will think it pride, and others timidity. I 
 believe it is not so much of either, as of a feeling of being 
 out of my element, and a dread of being thought obtru- 
 sive. I find that I want ease for the great world. I 
 believe, also, that I am too indifferent to the good opinion 
 of strangers. I have been a close observer, however, of 
 what was passing before me, and my knowledge of life 
 and manners has been not a little increased. 
 
 My dear mother, farewell. This family beg their kind 
 regards. 
 
 Believe me ever, at home or in absence. 
 
 Your dutiful and affectionate 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
TO DR. AIKIN. 93 
 
 To Br. Aikin. 
 
 Allerton : August 28, 1814. 
 
 I liad begun to think that you had all forgotten and 
 cast me off, my dear father, and for several days past I 
 had been deliberating whether to write and scold, or to 
 remain sulky and silent — sulkiness, or rather laziness, 
 carried it. I will now condescend to tell you a few of the 
 agreeable circumstances of the last week or two, and none 
 but agreeable ones have I to mention. 
 
 This day fortnight Mr. Smyth* arrived, and, with his gay 
 good humour, rendered Allerton itself more gay and more 
 animated. We had terrible battles of wits, however, all 
 the time he was with us, for the professor was rash enough, 
 the very first evening, to give utterance to two of his fusty 
 college notions, which brought all us ladies out in array 
 against him. The first was that no woman is fit to govern 
 a kingdom ; the second, that the true art of tea-making 
 is a mystery too deep for female comprehension. I charged 
 him boldly on the first of these heretical propositions, all 
 the females following me, and Mr. Eoscoe gallantly cheer- 
 ing us on, and a glorious victory we gained. As for the 
 second, the professor contrived to brew his own essence 
 of hyson in a little separate tea-pot to the end of his visit, 
 and the last thing he said to me was, that he hoped when- 
 ever I happened to go to Cambridge, I would pay him a 
 visit, when he would make me such a cup of tea as I never 
 drank before. I believe I expressed rather a slighting 
 opinion of ' Lara ' in my last ; but one day the professor 
 and I turned out of the room Robert (who has written a 
 wickedly witty parody on the said poem) and all the other 
 scoffers, and I read it aloud to Mm my very best ; on which 
 he fell into such raptures with several passages, that I was 
 
 * The late Professor Smyth, of Cambridge. 
 
94 LETTEKS. 
 
 also moved to change my opinion, and to discover that it 
 is by no means unworthy the fame of the author. 
 
 On Tuesday last, to everybody's sorrow, the professor 
 took his departure, and, false man, without having written 
 the sonnet on me that he promised. The same morning, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Eoscoe and Jane went to look at the Moss, 
 and James's new cottage, and William was obliged to go 
 on business into Wales ; so only Mary- Anne, Eobert, 
 Tom, Henry and I were left ; but I cannot say we found 
 ourselves very disconsolate. In the mornings we went 
 mushroom gathering, visited the fruit garden, played with 
 tlie puppies, and took the elegant diversion here called 
 shaddling, i.e. see-sawing on a plank. At night we told 
 ghost stories, and the rest of our time was occupied in the 
 grand enterprise of contriving a farce something on the 
 plan of ' Les Facheux,' to be performed by us in honour 
 of the return of the heads of the family. The time was 
 short, for everybody was to be back on Friday night, but 
 we worked hard, and last night, Saturday, we performed 
 with vast applause ; the audience consisting of Mr. and 
 ]Mrs. R., Jane, William, James, and three cousins. As 
 our company was not strong in females, I was obliged to 
 imdertake two principal parts ; one a Quaker preacher, 
 (copied from the old lady who held forth to me), the 
 other, a certain Penelope Pry, who produced much laughter. 
 Eobert had an ignoble fancy to appear in petticoats, and 
 was very droll as a waiting-maid. I have not seen much 
 of Liverpool or its inhabitants since I wrote, for we live 
 here in a little world of om* o^vn. The only grand event 
 that has occurred was the flowerincr of a nio-ht-blowinij: 
 
 o o o 
 
 Gerius (perhaps I spell it wrong), in the hothouse. 
 Nearly the whole family sat up till twelve to see it, 
 and, after watching its very perceptible motions for some 
 time, we had the satisfaction to behold the golden calyx 
 of many divisions expanded into a beautiful fringe, sur- 
 
TO DK. AIKIN. 95 
 
 rounding a snowy flower of magnificent size and delicious 
 fragrance. A short-lived beauty, however; though cut 
 and carried into a dark room, it was withered by morn- 
 ing ! . . . The same morning I had been doing duty work 
 
 by calling on the 's. Exceedingly good hospitable 
 
 folks they are — too hospitable, indeed. How to get off 
 spending two or three days with them, and not affront 
 
 Mrs. I know not. ' Our house is very dirty/ said 
 
 the good lady (I was glad there was nobody with me to 
 laugh), 'for we have been prevented painting this year, by 
 
 Mr. 's having the gout ; but if you will take us as we 
 
 are, we shall be very happy,' &c. I thanked, and pro- 
 mised nothing. . . . This day were brought hither, from 
 on board a wine-ship from Bourdeaux, a French sheep, 
 and a beautiful little kid from the Pyrenees — the latter, 
 which is black with two white stripes down its face, has 
 excited great alarm among the sheep, who run from it as 
 from a dog the moment it looks at them or begins to cut 
 capers near them. Mr. Eoscoe, as a planter of trees and 
 shrubs, is not much delighted with this addition to his live 
 stock, and regards with more complacency a great fat- 
 tailed Turkish sheep, whose cumbrous appendage scarcely 
 allows it to run at all. I wish you could see his collection 
 of American plants, which is considerable and curious, 
 and, ! that you could behold the rock at the Botanic 
 Garden, with all its treasures. Mr. T. brought Mr. Eoscoe 
 the other day, from the curator of the Botanic Grarden at 
 Montpelier, a catalogue of the plants contained in it. 
 That institution, it appears, continues to flourish greatly, 
 and the curator hopes to establish exchanges of plants and 
 seeds between it and the Liverpool one. A goodly thing- 
 is peace ! There is a charming little gentian in flower 
 on the common here, of which we long to send you some 
 roots. 
 
 I think you will allow that I must now conclude. Adieu, 
 
96 LETTEES. 
 
 my dear father and mother ! I hope you do not want me 
 very much ; I am so well and happy here. Love to all. 
 Your dutiful and affectionate 
 
 L. A. 
 
 To Mr, E, Aikin. 
 
 Stoke Newington: Dec. 1814. 
 
 Dear Edmund — I was tempted to write you two letters 
 for one, meaning to send the last by Eobert Eoscoe, but 
 he being gone sooner than I expected, I thought you 
 would rather pay for it than lose it, and thus our letters 
 crossed. I will not wait till I hear again to answer yours. 
 ... So much for bulletin ; now to other matters. We 
 all liked your account of yourself very much ; in visiting- 
 matters you seem to be doing everything that is right and 
 ever3H:hing that is pleasant, and I have no doubt of your 
 finding business go on briskly, especially since this happy 
 news of peace with America, which cannot but give a fresh 
 spirit of enterprise to the Liverpool merchants. ... I 
 wonder with which of our friends you ate your Christmas 
 dinner ; I guess you were not left to eat it alone at your 
 lodgings. With us the day was very flat, I missed you 
 sadly. . . . We had a little party in honour of Bessy, last 
 Thursday, which went off very well ; for Arthur Taylor, in 
 consequence of a hint from me, came all armed for panto- 
 mime, bringing in his pocket a regal crowm, a cap and 
 feather, a wand and a burnt cork, and we got up several 
 scenes with vast applause. To-day everybody is dining 
 at my aunt Barbauld's, except me, who am kept at home 
 by a foolish panting — snow in the air, I fancy. A few 
 days since I had the pleasure of a letter from Heniy,* 
 dated Naples, November 24. He expresses the utmost 
 satisfaction with his situation in every respect. After 
 speaking with delight of various other objects of cm'iosity, 
 
 * Sir Henrv Holland, Bart. M.D. 
 
TO ME. E. AIKIN. 97 
 
 he mentions tlieir abode at Eome, ' where,' he says, ' amid 
 the grandeur of ancient and modern times we found a 
 source of additional interest in the society which was 
 around us. To explain the variety of this interest, it may 
 be enough to mention the names of Pope Pius VII., of the 
 King and Queen of Spain, of the Queen of Etruria, Lucien 
 Bonaparte and his family, Louis Bonaparte, Cardinal 
 Fesch, Canova, and many others of minor repute. I talked 
 with the Queen of Spain about her health, with Lucien 
 Bonaparte about poetry and statues, with his daughter 
 about England, with Cardinal Fesch about clerical celibacy, 
 with Canova about the progress and future attainment of 
 his art ; in short, each moment that was not occupied with 
 the Coliseum, Pantheon, St. Peters, or Vatican, was taken 
 up with the novelties of this strangely compounded 
 society. Something I witnessed of what remains of the 
 richness of catholic worship at Eome — it might inspire 
 with a certain degree of veneration a more temperate 
 man than Eustace. The Pope is venerable and pleasing, 
 a,nd I preserve with all due regard a rosary with which he 
 presented me. I confess myself disappointed with ancient 
 Rome. I compared it with Athens ; there is no comparison : 
 nature and art have severally done ten times as much 
 for the latter spot, nor has the lapse of ages changed this 
 proportion.' .... 
 
 * Naples is perfection in its natural scenery ; its popu- 
 lation is but a sorry compound of misery, bad institutions, 
 and bad morals.' . . . Well ! now I think I have talked 
 about most of the other things I had to say, and may with 
 a tolerable grace begin to talk to you about my own 
 affairs. I am glad you like the notion of my Queen 
 Elizabeth project. I know not how I shall succeed in the 
 execution, but the preparation is delightful to me. I 
 mean to call it ' a view of the court of Queen Elizabeth,' 
 or some such thing, and intend to collect all the notices 
 
 H 
 
98 LETTERS. 
 
 I can of the manners of the age, the state of literature, 
 arts, &c., which I shall interweave, as well as I am able, 
 with the biographies of the Queen and the other eminent 
 characters of her time, binding all together with as slender 
 a thread of political history as will serve to keep other 
 matters in their places. Of books I shall certainly want 
 a great number, but the Eed Cross Street library will 
 furnish a good many — Mr. Eoscoe has kindly promised 
 me several of his — from other friends I can borrow some, 
 and when all these are exhausted, perhaps I may contract 
 with a bookseller to supply me. I shall want your 
 assistance in my account of matters of art. That reign 
 forms, I believe, an era in architecture — it was the period : 
 of the introduction of Greek and Eoman models and of ■ 
 the utter depravation of the Gothic. Was it not then, too, 
 that the residences of our nobility began to be transformed [ 
 from castles into mansions ? 
 
 The post is just going, and I have but just room for all 
 our kind loves to you. I miss you perpetually. 
 
 Your affectionate sister, 
 
 L. A. 
 
 To Mr. E. Aihln. 
 
 Stoke Newington : May 9, 1815. ' 
 
 |i 
 
 Dear Edmund — I hope you will allow that everybody loves \ 
 ten times better to receive what you call a gossiping letter [ 
 than to write one — judge, then, by the size of paper I have j- 
 taken to fill, how welcome are your epistles to me ! . . . . \ 
 
 Well ! the beginning of last week I was, as I told you, r 
 
 in town. An evening party on Monday at the X 's, . 
 
 rather too grave and presbyterian ; but to make amends we - 
 had an alderman, a person excellent in his way, thinner \ 
 indeed than alderman beseems (but his wife atones for i 
 that), and he had a red face, hair powdered snow-white, and e 
 
TO MR. E. AIKIN. 99 
 
 one of those long foolish noses that look as if they thrust 
 themselves into everything. Then, ye gods ! he is musical ; 
 
 summoned Miss N to the instrument by touching a 
 
 few call-notes, and would fain have sung with her, but 
 
 wicked H had left her duets behind, and would not 
 
 patronise his proposal of taking huo-thirds of a glee for 
 three voices, so, to my unspeakable mortification, he had 
 no opportunity of exhibiting. . . . Have I got thus far in 
 my letter and said nothing of last Friday I It is a great 
 proof of my methodical and chronological habits of writing 
 that I did not jump to this period of ony history in the 
 first paragraph. Know, that on Thursday Igist arrived an 
 invitation from the Carrs to my father and my aunt to 
 dine with them the next day, to meet Walter Scott — 
 apologies at the same time that their table would not 
 admit us all. Well ! nothing could persuade my father to 
 go, so my aunt said she would take me instead, and I had 
 not the grace to say no. A charming day we had. I did 
 not indeed see much of the great lion, for we were fourteen 
 at dinner, of whom about half were constantly talking, 
 and neither at table nor after was I very near him ; but 
 he was delighted to see my aunt, and paid her great atten- 
 tion, which I was very glad of. He told her that the 
 'Tramp, tramp,' 'Splash, splash,' of Taylor's 'Lenora' 
 which she had carried into Scotland to Dugald Stewart 
 many years ago, was what made him a poet. I heard 
 him tell a story or two with a dry kind of humour, for 
 which he is distinguished; and though he speaks very 
 broad Scotch, is a heavy-looking man, and has little the 
 air of a gentleman, I was much pleased with him — he is 
 lively, spirited, and quite above all affectation. He had 
 mth him his daughter, a girl of fifteen, the most naive 
 child of nature I ever saw; her little Scotch phrases 
 charmed us all, and her Scotch songs still more. Her 
 father is a liappy minstrel to have such a lassie to sing 
 
 H 2 
 
100 LETTERS. 
 
 old ballads to him, whicti she often does by the hour to- 
 gether, for he is not satisfied with a verse or two, but 
 chooses to have Jit the first, second, and third. He made her 
 sing us a ditty about a border reiver who was to be 
 hanged for stealing the bishop's mare, and who dies with 
 the injunction to his comrades. 
 
 If e'er ye find tlie bishop's cloak. 
 
 Ye'll mak it shorter by the hood. 
 
 She also sung us a lullaby in Graelic — very striking 
 novelties both, in a polished London party. Nobody could 
 help calling this charming girl pretty, though all allowed 
 her features were not good, and we thought her not unlike 
 her father's own sweet Ellen. I had the good fortune to 
 be placed at dinner between Mr. Whishaw and Sotheby, I 
 better known by Wieland's Oberon than by his own Saul. ^ 
 He is a lively, pleasant, elderly man; his manners of the 
 old school of gallantry, which we women must ever like. 
 A lady next him asked him if he did not think we could see 
 by Mr. Scott's countenance, if Waverley were mentioned, 
 whether he was the author ? ' I don't know,' said Mr. 
 
 S , ' we will try.' So he called out from the bottom of 
 
 the table to the top, ' Mr. Scott, I have heard there is a 
 new novel coming out by the author of Waverley, have you 
 heard of it ? ' 'I have,' said the minstrel, ' and I believe ^ 
 it.' He answered very steadily, and everybody cried out ' 
 directly, ' 0, 1 am glad of it ! ' ' Yes,' said Mr. \Miishaw, ^ I 
 am a great admirer of those novels ; ' and we began to ^ 
 discuss which was the best of the two, but Scott kept out i 
 of this debate, and had not the assurance to say any hand- 
 some things of the works, though lie is not the author — 
 no ! for he denies them. 
 
 Mr. Whishaw was lamenting that his friend Dumont is- 
 returning to Greneva ; ' but he has the maladie du pays, 
 like all Swiss. Talleyi'and says that to a Genevois,^ 
 Geneva is la cinqmer)ie ])aviie du ivmide, and Dumont^ 
 
TO MR. E. AIKIN. 101 
 
 ' has a prospect of being Secretary of State, with a salary of 
 
 ! 50^. per annum. And they do not give cabinet dinners 
 
 j there, but gouters,^ ' Of what ? ' ' Peach tart, I suppose.' 
 
 I He asked me what was become of that Eoscoe who was 
 
 I under Smyth at Cambridge some years ago ? ' A pretty 
 
 j romantic young man, and the gods had made him poetical. 
 
 There were verses to a lily by moonlight.' * 0,' said I, 
 
 ^ he is a steady banker now.' ' A steady banker ? ' * Yes ; 
 
 there is something of the old character left, certainly, but 
 
 I he is more a man of the world than he was then.' ' 0, of 
 
 I course ; a banker is of the earth, earthly.'' I greatly doubt 
 
 i whether the lion of the day uttered any roarings equal to 
 
 these. But the latter part of the evening, our laughing 
 
 philosopher fell in love with the little Scotch lassie, and 
 
 only ^ roared like any sucking dove.' .... 
 
 I positively must chatter no longer, I am so busy to day. 
 
 Your affectionate, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 To Mr. E. Aikin. 
 
 Stoke Newington : July 1815. 
 
 I had been longing to hear from you, my dear Edmund, 
 for a great while, but guessed how it was that you deferred 
 writing. At last, by some mistake at home about the 
 time of my return, your letter was sent to Brighton just 
 after I left it ; no matter, it reached me safe at last, and 
 I thank you very much for all its contents, particularly the 
 letter to Warwick, of which the PS. is certainly very curious. 
 
 "Well, but Brighton ! — you will expect to hear about it. 
 I, for my part, care very little if I never hear of it more ; it 
 is a most stupid disagreeable place, but has the advantage 
 of making home quite a paradise in comparison. I saw 
 
 no person whatever that I knew except Mrs. and her 
 
 family ; Mr. was only once there from Saturday night 
 
 to Monday morning, so that we were forced to put up with 
 
102 LETTERS. 
 
 petticoat parties— things which in the long run rather 
 weary me. Nothing, however, could be more friendly 
 
 than Mrs. 's attentions to me, and I greatly enjoyed 
 
 both my rides and my bathing, for which I am also some- 
 what the better. The situation of Brighton is certainly 
 far from beautiful, — a shingly shore without sands and 
 without rock, except a bald low chalk cliff on one side — a 
 sea without ships and land without trees ; but it must be 
 confessed that it assembles all imaginable conveniences for 
 summer visitants, lodgings of every kind and price, horses, 
 chaises, gigs, sociables, donkeys, and donkey-carts to hire ; 
 excellent shops, libraries, news rooms, &c. The bathing, 
 however, is not in general very good ; they do not often 
 push the machines far enough out to treat you with deep 
 water, and you, or rather lue ladies, have only the alter- 
 native of wading in over sharp shingles, and then sitting 
 down to be knocked over and partially wetted by a wave, 
 or to be carried, as I saw a gawky girl, between two bath- 
 ing women, head downwards, heels kicking the air, red 
 dirty legs belonging to ditto completely exposed, and the 
 patient shrieking and crying like a pig taken to the 
 slaughter — a mode which had rather too much the appear- 
 ance of a penal ducking to suit my fancy. Well, but no 
 matter for this now ; I am at home and found everybody 
 
 well ; my aunt K mending. Grlad they were to see me 
 
 again, for you maj^ believe that without Arthur and us 
 two, the house would seem dull enough to my father and 
 
 mother. I was also glad not to miss more of ]Mr. W 's 
 
 company, for you know he is a. great favourite of mine. 
 . . . To our great joy in came Mr. \Miishaw, and know- 
 ing that Mr. W wished to see him, we sent for him. 
 
 Some time after, my aunt Barbauld dropped in, and a 
 most agreeable chat we have had. Mr. AVhishaw read to 
 us an agreeable letter from Miss Edgeworth, about his 
 life of Mungo Park, with a postscript by Mr. E , who is 
 
TO ME. E. AIKIN. 103 
 
 very ill and seemingly beginning to doat, about the possi- 
 bility of exploring Africa in balloons, which he says he 
 knows the art of guiding — in perfectly calm air. . . . 
 
 Mr. W says that the Duchess of Cumberland, when she 
 
 comes over, will probably gain great influence with the 
 Regent, being a very clever intriguing woman, and that 
 the old queen will probably be soon out of her way, as she 
 is not likely to live — a hint this for buying mourning ! 
 
 Grood-bye, don't let it be nearly so long before you 
 write again. My father and mother send their kind love. 
 Your ever affectionate sister, 
 
 L. A. 
 
 To Mr, E. Aihin. 
 
 Stoke Newington : Nov. 1815. 
 
 My dear Edmund — I am glad of this opportunity to 
 thank you for your letter by H. K., and to tell you how 
 glad we all are that you have got this new job. It seems 
 to have been by an odd sort of chance at last, though 
 Mr. Roscoe always hoped to be able to procure it for you 
 without difficulty. You must now have your hands quite 
 full of business — all the better, though it removes and 
 lessens the chance of your return hither. We have not 
 yet seen Mr. Roscoe, who is extremely engaged, but he 
 has promised us a visit at the end of the week. Judge 
 how impatient I am to see him ; I shall be able to give 
 him a tolerable account of Elizabeth, with whom I con- 
 verse regularly several hours in the day. I am now pretty 
 near the end of Edward's time, and I feel myself more 
 and more interested in my subject. 
 
 Benger has been spending part of two days with us. 
 She is pretty well for one who will never let herself alone, 
 and full of curious anecdote as usual. 
 
 Charles Wesley, a while ago, took a queer very fat old 
 
104 LETTERS. 
 
 Mrs. S to see the Queen go to the drawing-room. In 
 
 the ante-chamber, in which they waited, were no seats, 
 and the fat lady, becoming tired of standing, at last spread 
 her handkerchief on the floor, and seated herself in a 
 picturesque manner upon it. Charles, being a great 
 blunderer, and somewhat wicked besides, gave the alarm 
 several times that the Queen was coming, and as often 
 
 poor Mrs. S made incredible efforts to get up and see 
 
 her. At last, he had cried wolf so often that she did not 
 heed him, and when the Queen came indeed, she was not 
 able with the help of all his tugging, to rise from the 
 ground till Her Majesty was past; and one end of her 
 hoop was all that blessed the eyes of this loyal and pains- 
 taking subject. To complete the misfortune, she was kept 
 waiting for her carriage, owing to Charles's stupidity, till 
 her dinner was spoiled, and the friends she had invited to 
 eat it were quite out of patience ; and to mend all, this 
 rare composition of wit and goose tells the whole story as 
 a good joke, mimicking her to admiration ! 
 
 Pray read when you can meet with it, a tragedy called 
 ^ Fazio,' by a very clever young Mr. Milman, whom I once 
 saw at AUerton. The language is the best imitation of 
 our old dramatists that I have seen ; it is brilliant with 
 poetry, and contains fine scenes and situations, though the 
 plot is shocking and improbable. ... If I mistake not, 
 
 this is a rising star, destined to blaze far and wide 
 
 Talking of choice people, to be sure, I ought to tell you 
 that we have had a call from Mr. Eogers, who was very 
 agreeable and entertaining with his accounts of Italy. 
 WTiat a beau king Murat is ! The morning Mr. Eogers 
 was presented to him, he was standing in the middle of a 
 large room, displaying his fine figure in a Spanish cloak, 
 hat and feather, yellow boots, pink pantaloons, and a 
 gTeen waistcoat ! In the evening he appears in a simpler 
 costume, but still wearing roses on his shoes, a white 
 
TO MR. E. AIKIN. 105 
 
 plume in his hat, and his hair prodigiously curled and 
 frizzed, with a long love-lock hanging down on each side. 
 He does not dress above five times a day. Then, no king- 
 in Europe, probably, cuts such high capers in the dance — 
 but for other qualifications for reigning, I hear nothing of 
 them. Naples is beautiful, says Mr. Eogers, and the 
 court very gay and pretty ; but after all, Florence is the 
 place one longs to live in. No city of its size has half so 
 many fine domes and towers; then the beautiful Arno 
 meets your eye at every turn, and beyond it the finest 
 woods and distant mountains. His descriptions quite set 
 me longing ; such gales of myrtle, such groves of orange 
 trees, stuck as full of fruit, he says, as the trees you see 
 sometimes painted by a child ! 
 
 To-day being Sunday, William Taylor dines with my 
 aunt, and I suppose will call here. As my letter cannot 
 go till to-morrow, I will leave it open, in hopes of some 
 sayings of his. He was very agreeable the short time he 
 stayed ; with his usual calculating spirit, he said that if it 
 was necessary to have a war with France, better now than 
 three years hence, when two or three more conscriptions 
 would have grown up. It was to be wished that such a 
 balance could be re-established as would allow the ten- 
 years peaces in Europe which there had been formerly — 
 we could not well bear longer ones, for man was essen- 
 tially a fighting animal, and a twenty years' peace would 
 turn any republic into a monarchy. He is visiting 
 Dr. Southey, who is thriving greatly, and about to marry 
 again, and, to our great regret, he cannot promise us a 
 day. We have likewise had a call from Mr. J. Taylor. 
 Grreat joy to see him again in London, looking tolerably, 
 and able to walk from Islington hither. We are all quite 
 well here, and all send love to you. 
 
 Your affectionate sister, 
 
 L. A. 
 
106 LETTERS. 
 
 To Mr. E. Aikin. 
 
 Stoke Newington : June 1817. 
 
 Dear Edmund — Here come your cravats, which have 
 been delayed a little, but I hope not inconveniently to 
 you, for some of the other contents of the parcel. 
 
 Arthur's business is going on most prosperously. . . . 
 
 Only two candidates are left, one a Mr. H , who is 
 
 brother to a person pretty high in the Board of Works, and 
 supported, therefore, by some government interest ; but in 
 this Society* it seems government can do little, and on 
 the whole the man is one whom Arthur can have no 
 cause to fear. 
 
 The absence of members from London makes the canvass 
 tedious, but Arthur meets, from most whom he sees, with 
 a reception flattering both to himself and all of us. One 
 said, ' Are you the son, sir, of the celebrated Dr. A. ? — 
 then you shall have my vote, for I am sure you must be 
 qualified for the station.' Several others asked the same 
 question; the Scotchmen invariably knew the literary 
 character of the family, and were proud to support him. 
 One man, a sword cutler, to whom he had no introduction, 
 gave his vote to him as Mrs. Barbauld's nephew, and 
 begged to introduce him to his family. ' Is he one of the 
 authors of the " Chemical Dictionary " ? ' cried a working 
 chemist, * then I am sure he shall have my vote, and all 
 my interest, for I have learnt more from it than any book 
 I ever read ! ' Dr. Parsons, the civilian, was so much 
 struck and pleased with him in a conversation of a few 
 minutes, that he not only gave the promise of his own 
 vote, but ran and fetched him votes in all Doctors' 
 Commons and the Heralds' Office. Three votes have 
 been given him by old comrades of the third regiment of 
 
 * The Society of Arts. 
 
TO MB. E. AIKIN. 107 
 
 volunteers. One man whom Dr. Laird was canvassing for 
 him said, ' To tell you the truth, sir, I mean to go with 
 the gentleman who will get it; I don't choose my vote 
 should be thrown away.' He has since voluntarily 
 promised to Arthur. Another bird of good omen is 
 Wilks, printer to the society, whose interest it is to make 
 friends with the future secretary. 
 
 I have seen the Exhibition, but as everybody said, there 
 was nothing worth looking at but the sculpture. Canova's 
 Hebe and Terpsichore are a splendid pair of statues. I 
 admired most the Muse, for her goddess-like air and noble- 
 ness of expression; but I believe the critics in form 
 give the palm to the Hebe. A monument for two children 
 by Chantrey, which represents them sleeping in each 
 other's arms, is nature itself ; and so touchingly beautiful, 
 that it won all hearts even from the beau ideal of Canova. 
 
 I was not satisfied with Shoe's portrait of Mr. Eoscoe ; 
 the expression is vulgar — the likeness, however, is striking. 
 There was a large picture by Fuseli, of Perseus with the 
 ororgon's head, which hovered, as usual, between the 
 terrible and the grotesque, but on the whole was very 
 striking. Your friend Dawe had a very well-painted 
 portrait of Princess Charlotte, which I suppose will do 
 him good. But why do I talk so much of what I do not 
 understand ? 
 
 I have been reading a book on — what do you think ? I 
 would give you twenty guesses — a book by a lady, of 
 which I said at first, with all the superciliousness of pro- 
 found ignorance, ' I shall not read it, I am sure.' But, 
 happening to peep between two of its unopened leaves, I 
 cast my eyes on so wise and well-written an expose of 
 the inconveniences of this same ignorance in which I 
 gloried, that I found myself shamed into opening the 
 leaves, studying it from end to end with great attention, 
 and confessing that I found it well worth the pains — in 
 
108 LETTERS. 
 
 short, I have been perusing Mrs. Marcet's ' Conversations 
 on Political Economy.' 
 
 I never was so busy in my life as at this present 
 ^vriting ; for I perceive there is not an hour to be lost if 
 I would have my book out in good time. I am, however, 
 quite well, and pleased with my task, so let nobody pity me 
 for meaning to stay at home and work hard all summer. 
 
 I have no time for more at present. 
 
 Believe me ever yours, 
 
 L. Aiiax. 
 
 To Mr. E. Aihin, 
 
 Stoke Newington : 1817. 
 
 Dear Edmund — My conscience tells me that I ought 
 before now to have told you how much we were all grati- 
 fied to hear that you had borne your journey so well, and 
 were resuming your occupations with spirit. I am par- 
 ticularly glad of the opportunity of writing offered me by 
 William Koscoe, having several things to say to you. . . . 
 Mr. Whishaw and Mr. Smyth made us a call according 
 to promise, but only of half-an-hour, alas ! They were 
 both glad and surprised at Arthur's success, not thinking, 
 they said, that anybody on that side could get anything. 
 Mr. Smyth wants to say something in his lectures about 
 ' us ladies ' I find ; and I believe I shall have given him 
 a clue to most of what he wants. 
 
 Miss Eogers and her two brothers dined one day with 
 my Aunt Barbauld. My father dined there, and my 
 mother and I went to tea, and nothing could be more 
 agreeable. Mr. Eogers laid himself out to he entertaining^ 
 and gave us some very interesting anecdotes of Lord 
 Erskine's rise in his profession, given him by himself. 
 The first cause that he had was Captain Bayley's, in the 
 matter of Grreenwich hospital; it was decided by the 
 
TO ME. E. AIKIN. 109 
 
 twelve judges; his astonishing eloquence and energy, 
 joined to the right on his side, gained it; and he went 
 home that night with sixty-seven retaining fees in his 
 pocket. Yes, talent may be buried in obscurity for a 
 while, but it breaks out at last ; think of that, and keep 
 a good heart. 
 
 I must give you an anecdote of lionising which I have 
 just heard. Mrs. Opie, who is still in London, was hold- 
 ing one of her usual Sunday morning levees, when up 
 comes her footman, much ruffled, to tell her that a man 
 in a smock frock was below, who wanted to speak to her 
 — would take no denial— could not be got away. Down 
 she goes to investigate the matter. The rustic advances, 
 nothing abashed : ' I am James Hogg, the Ettrick shep- 
 herd.' The poet is had up to the drawing-room, smock 
 frock and all, and introduced to everybody. Presently he 
 pulls out a paper — some verses which he had written that 
 morning, and would read, if agreeable. With a horrible 
 Scotch accent, and charity boy twang, he got througli 
 some staves, nobody understanding a line. ' Mr. Hogg,' 
 says Mrs. Opie, ' I think, if you will excuse me, I could do 
 more justice to your verses than yourself; ' so takes them 
 from him, and with her charming delivery, causes them to 
 be voted very pretty. On inquiring, it is found that the 
 shepherd is on a visit to Lady Cork, the great patroness 
 of lions (see the ' Twopenny Post Bag ') ; is exhibited ; and 
 has doubtless, since his arrival, merited this illustrious 
 protection, by exchanging, for an habiliment so sweetly 
 rustic, the new green coat, pink waistcoat, and fustian 
 small clothes, in which such a worthy would naturally 
 make a debut in the great city ! As for ' Lalla Eookh,' it 
 is pretty and very pretty ; tender, melodious, and adorned ; 
 but, my aunt Barbauld says, 'tis my flower dish, sweet and 
 gay, and tastefully arranged, but the flowers do not grow 
 there : they are picked up with pains here and there. 
 
110 LETTEKS. 
 
 He has thrown an infinite quantity of oriental aUusion 
 into his verse, but the reader sympathises in some degree 
 in the labour of the writer — there is no general interest, 
 no entrainement — abundance of sentimental beauty, how- 
 ever as well as descriptive, some very manly lines on 
 liberty, &.C., in the prose some charming banter of reviewers 
 — on the whole, I hope you will read it. My father has 
 finished the wiiting of his ' Annual Eegister,' and is begin- 
 ning his enlargement of ' England Delineated.' I cannot 
 persuade him that he works too hard ; though we are all 
 sure that it is true. 
 
 Grood-bye, good-bye ; I miss you very much, and so do 
 we all. Never forget that there are those who love and 
 are anxious for you. 
 
 Your dearly affectionate, 
 
 L. A. 
 
 To Mr. E. Aikin, 
 
 Stoke XewiDgton: June 1817. 
 
 Dear Edmund — I, that have a much tenderer conscience 
 as a correspondent than some folks, have been reproaching 
 myself ever since Tuesday se'nnight with not writing to 
 you. For to be sure, thinks I to myself, he would be glad 
 to hear of the annual prize distribution of the Society of 
 Arts, and of Mr. Secretary's gi-and speech on the occasion, 
 and all the grand things said to him thereon. But then se- 
 veral things made me busy, and I waited for a parcel which 
 is to go, but now I am resolved to wait no longer 
 
 Now for the meeting. It was held in that grand Free- 
 masons' Hall which holds 1700, and was as full as it would 
 hold, and fuller, for all the passages were crowded, and 
 some hundreds could not even get into them. His E. H. 
 the President made a little exordium ; then came Mr. Se- 
 cretary's' speech or report. I was almost close to him, and 
 
TO MPw E. AIKIN. Ill 
 
 should have been fluttered, but that T saw he was not so 
 in the least, and knew that he must do himself honour. 
 He raised that fine voice of his, from the first syllable, to 
 such a pitch that it was distinctly heard to the farthest 
 corner of the hall ; and this without injuring at all its 
 natural music or just modulation. After his general 
 remarks, he gave a particular report of what had been 
 done by the first committee ; then came the candidates in 
 that branch, to whom the Duke delivered their premiums 
 with a little amiable compliment to each. Next came the 
 report of the second committee, and so on. Nothing could 
 be better than this arrangement, which was his own, and 
 afforded respite to him, and variety to the hearers ; and 
 nothing surely more interesting than to see so many happy- 
 looking beings coming to receive the public recompense 
 of their talents. Some were artists, some mechanics, some 
 girls, some boys ; many of them had countenances of great 
 talent. The whole lasted near three hours. The conclu- 
 sion of Arthur's speech was followed by a thunder of 
 applause, ^nd when all was done, I had the proud pleasure 
 of walking down the hall leaning on his arm, and listening 
 with greedy ears to the compliments and congratulations 
 of the most distinguished members. 
 
 The next night was a general meeting of tlie society, 
 H.K.H. the president in the chair; when so many fine 
 things were said, that the poor secretary was obliged to 
 make his escape ; but was soon called in again, to hear 
 the unanimous resolution which had passed for the printing 
 of the speech; an honour never paid by this society to 
 speech before, aud to be requested by the president to 
 comply with the general wish, by permitting it to be 
 done. He meant to have refused, but the Duke said 
 'pray' so prettily, that it was out of the question; par- 
 ticularly as he ended with — ' In short, sir, I need only 
 say that it was the work of an Aikin.' So printed it is 
 
112 LETTERS. 
 
 to be, and you will receive a copy in a few days ; and I 
 might have saved you postage by delaying my letter till 
 then, but whether you would have thought it well saved I 
 do not know. I wish you had seen with what a beautiful 
 serenity and simplicity he went through the whole — 
 nothing about him like any of the littlenesses of an ordinary 
 mortal. You might have heard a pin fall during the 
 speech, so much was everybody impressed with his manner, 
 so much for the apotheosis of Arthur. I have only to 
 add, that he is going to give a large party next week, at 
 which I am to preside. 
 
 I shall be very glad of your note on mixed Grothic; 
 more especially if it should be the means of stimulating you 
 to write some separate work on the progress of domestic 
 and public architecture in England — a subject on which 
 I cannot but think that a very elegant and popular book 
 might be written, and written by you. All that I wish 
 for you, as for Arthur, is the opportunity of showing what 
 is in you. In part your buildings speak for you, but the 
 opportunity of executing your designs does not always 
 occur, and I think a work on a professional subject would 
 be in every way a useful exertion of your talents. When 
 habit shall in some degree have familiarised you to the 
 effort of composition, I am convinced that 3^ou will find, 
 as I do, pleasure and solace in the occupation. I am 
 writing very hard — hope to have done in three or lour 
 months — printing will take as much longer, and I posi- 
 tively will not go to press till the last page is written — so 
 you perceive that I shall be out, barring accidents, in 
 spring. I shall stay at home all the summer, in spite of 
 kind invitations, both from Harlington, and from tlie 
 Haygarths, who have also most cordially invited my father 
 and mother. Till my work is done I could not enjoy a 
 holida}^. . . . My father and mother join in kind love to you. 
 
 Ever your affectionate, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
TO MR. E. AIKIN. 113 
 
 To Mr. E^ Aikin, 
 
 Stoke Newington : March 1818. 
 Dear Edmund — At length I can say here is my book 
 — our book rather, since the appendix is yours. * Odds 
 tremors ! ' as Bob Acres would say, it is a nervous thing to 
 face the critics of these days ! I am not yet quite merce- 
 nary enough altogether to prefer solid pudding to empty 
 praise, but solid pudding may reasonably enough surely 
 be preferred to dry beating ; therefore I may be excused 
 for saying that, at present, the money is my most agreeable 
 
 matter of anticipation. Yet the K 's, who have had 
 
 the work in sheets, assure me that they find it very enter- 
 taining, and if other people should be of the same mind, 
 who knows but I may meet with some favour in the 
 world ? My publishers are very civil, assure me they 
 have no doubt whatever of my success, and already try to 
 embark me in some new scheme ; but they have as yet hit 
 on nothing which entirely pleases me. They want me to 
 write for young people, a thing to which I have no great 
 stomach. Of the two, I believe I had rather amuse men 
 and women than instruct children. 
 
 The little pamphlet which I enclose with this, is a poem, 
 attributed, as I believe truly, to Lord Byron ; though not 
 at all in his old style, it is, I think, a good deal in his old 
 spirit. It exhibits the same bad and miserable mind 
 through an effort at pleasantry. The piece, however, 
 seemed to me both original and amusing, and having 
 bought it, I thought I might as well make you a present 
 of it. The 'antique gentleman of rhyme' is Sotheby, 
 against whom his lordship is known to have a particular 
 spleen. . . . My father's ' Description of England ' (being 
 the ' Delineation ' enlarged) is in the press, and he gets lOOl. 
 for it, which we think pretty good. The book trade is at 
 
 I 
 
114 LETTERS. 
 
 present in great activity. Within the last year a striking 
 change has taken place; then, publishers would hardly 
 treat for anything which was brought them ; now they run 
 about urging all their authors to be diligent. Golden 
 days for us. 
 
 I like as little as you the cold and timid style of Dr. 
 
 B 's biogi'aphical articles. I guess you would discern 
 
 ' Du Hamel ' to be the work of a far other pen. I have 
 sometimes grieved that Arthur's style should be wasted, as 
 I thought, on scientific subjects, but I now perceive how 
 much it tells even upon them. His glowing mind warms 
 and enlightens all that it touches. It is curious to observe 
 the native eloquence of Humboldt struggling with the 
 encumbrance of all the sciences. Did ever mortal man 
 study so many ologies, or travel with so many ometers ! 
 Yet there are magnificent passages of description in this 
 last volume of his personal narrative. We have just been 
 reading Bradbury with great entertainment; those tens 
 of thousands of buffaloes are quite sublime, and the whole 
 account of his navigation on that great river is new and 
 very striking in its details. After my long abode among 
 the statesmen and courtiers of Elizabeth, I feel indescrib- 
 able refreshment in breathing the pure air of untamed 
 nature in her Atlantic solitudes, and I am eager to culti- 
 vate an acquaintance with plain honest brute creatures. 
 
 Does the ' Asiatic Journal ' ever fall in your way ? It 
 ought by all means to be taken in at the Athenseura,* now 
 that the trade to India is so great an object to the town 
 of Liverpool. It abounds with entertaining and interest- 
 ing orientalisms of every kind ; my father gleans from it 
 rich pickings for the 'Annual Eegister,' and I eagerly 
 explore it for hints of a hundred curious kinds of know- 
 ledge entirely new to me. The completion of my long 
 task seems to have 
 
 * The Athenaeum at Lirerpool. 
 
TO MK. E. AIKIN. 115 
 
 Let fly 
 A ciptive bird into the boundless sky. 
 
 I flutter my free wings with delight, alight now upon this 
 tree, now upon that ; drink of every clear spring ; taste 
 of every tempting fruit, and enjoy a renovated youth and 
 spring-time of existence. Charming! could it but last. 
 . . . Mind you write to me soon again, and do not fail to 
 tell me anything pretty that you may chance to hear of a 
 certain book; I assure you I am not a jot wiser than 
 other authors, or less fond of sugar-plums. The opinion, 
 however, about which I am most anxious, is that of Mr. 
 Koscoe, which I shall doubtless hear from himself. I can 
 scarcely forgive myself for not dedicating to him, but 
 even Mr. WTiishaw said it must not be. Such are these 
 times ! My father and mother are both uncommonly well 
 and send their love. Adieu. 
 
 Your ever affectionate 
 
 L. A. 
 
 To Br. and Mrs, Aikin. 
 
 Lambridge: July 5, 1818. 
 
 My dear Father and Mother — Possibly you may begin 
 to wish for some further tidings of your runaway. All 
 that I have to give are good and pleasant, and since the 
 receipt of my mother's most welcome letter, being freed 
 from the anxiety which had before pressed upon me, I 
 have enjoyed myself doubly. By the unwearied kindness 
 of my friends and the convenience of a carriage at com- 
 mand, I have seen to great advantage the environs of this 
 beautiful city,* in which every day has disclosed to me 
 new charms. Yesterday we took a drive to Kelston, and 
 though I was somewhat mortified to find that not a vestige 
 remained of the mansion in which Queen Elizabeth was 
 
 * Bath. 
 I 2 
 
116 LETTEES. 
 
 entertained by Sir John Harrington, her ^ saucy godson/ 
 the rural beauties of the situation, and a certain air of 
 antiquity thrown over the whole peaceful village, highly 
 gratified me. One very agreeable evening we passed at 
 Mr. Conybeare's, with whom I soon got into high chat on 
 architecture, antiquities, history, &c., whence he digressed 
 to mineralogy and to Arthur. I was delighted with his 
 conversation ; to a large share of knowledge on a great 
 variety of subjects, and much taste, he adds a vein of 
 original humour, which, united to the utmost good nature, 
 renders him completely agreeable. He, and his beautiful 
 and very pleasing wife, have since returned the visit and 
 confirmed my favourable opinion of them both. . . . You 
 may believe that I have not neglected to renew my ac- 
 quaintance with my old friend, Mrs. B, After mutual calls, 
 she invited me to a thing mightily in my line — a concert. 
 I was gratified, however, with some of the music, and glad 
 to find that her eldest girl is regarded as a kind of musical 
 prodigy, to the delight of father and mother. In a corner 
 of the room sat a little thin old lady, mufiled up in a black 
 dress, without a bit of white to be seen, with a high smart 
 headdress, well rouged cheeks, long nose, and very lively 
 black eyes, whose picturesque appearance almost instantly 
 attracted my notice. ' Let me introduce you,' cried Mrs. B. 
 ' to Mrs. Piozzi.' ' By all means,' exclaimed I, for a 
 hundred associations made me- long to talk with the rival 
 of ' Bozzy ; ' and I went and sat by her. Her vivacity has not 
 forsaken her, and I have been at once gratified and tan- 
 talised on our return from Bath this morning, to find her j 
 card left for me. I hope to find her at home when I return 
 the visit. She is now seventy-nine, and seems as if she 
 might enjoy life a long time yet. . . I do not know how I 
 can be home before Friday. My friends are most cordially 
 kind, and take every possible means of showing that my 
 company is very welcome to them. Of conversation we 
 
TO DR. AND MRS. AIKIN. 117 
 
 have never had any want. The doctor* will talk politics 
 ■with me, but we don't quarrel, partly because I let him 
 have it pretty much his own way ; but he perfectly under- 
 stands my lamentations that the metropolis should have 
 disgraced itself by the choice of so many opposition mem- 
 bers. There is come to Bath a wild Irish apostle, himself 
 a convert from popery, who has been the means of 40,000 
 of his countrymen learning to read, and of a great number 
 forsaking their old superstition. He has called a meeting 
 to tell his story and beg contributions, and Dr. Percival 
 tells Miss H. and me that we must go and hear him, which 
 I long to do, for the man, Thaddy ConoUy by name, is so 
 grotesque a creature, that even Dr. P. cannot mention 
 him without laughing. I suppose he is a very fit instru- 
 ment for his work, however, and I wish him all success. 
 I saw yesterday the S.'s, a good specimen of Bath, for the 
 father is literary and scientific, the mother furiously gay, 
 and the daughter violently methodistical. With kind love 
 to all, believe me, my dearest parents. 
 
 Ever your dutiful and affectionate 
 
 L.A. 
 
 To Mr. E. Aikin, 
 
 Adelphi:May 1, 1819. 
 
 Dear Edmund — Thank you for your second letter, which 
 has done something towards removing our anxiety respect- 
 ing you, though we shall still want to hear that your 
 strength is returned. I wish I had you to nurse — but what 
 signifies wishing ? . . . . 
 
 The dinner at the Hollands' f was no bad thing in its way 
 neither ; one is sure to meet men there from all countries 
 which they trade to, nearly all the civilised world. We had 
 
 * Dr. Haygarth. f Mr. Swinton Holland, of the house of Barings. 
 
118 LETTERS. 
 
 the priest and the surgeon who are going out to Buona- 
 parte; the former a reverent and innocent-looking old 
 abbe, who has not in the least the appearance of a man to 
 plot the escape of the prisoner ; I understood his Italian 
 tolerably well, his French less, his English least of all. 
 The surgeon is a little sharp-looking Corsican, who has 
 quitted a good situation at Florence for this banishment 
 — surely from some hope of seeing his master one day 
 reinstated. He spoke Italian with a harsh accent, very 
 rapidly, and in a tone which rendered it almost utterly 
 unintelligible to me. I was actually surprised into 
 speaking a whole sentence of Italian to the abbe, greatly 
 to my own astonishment, and little, I fear, to his edifica- 
 tion. When the party was nearly all assembled, in strode 
 the longest, leanest, brownest, most ungainly mortal I ever 
 set eyes on. He had scarcely knocked his head against 
 the lamp in the middle of the room, when I had decided 
 upon him ; ' an American,' whispered I to Mrs. H. It 
 was even so, a senator from Carolina ; I had him for my 
 neighbour at dinner ; the ' grim feature ' was disposed to 
 talk, and certainly wanted neither sense nor knowledge. 
 There were some stories told of borough jobbing which 
 made this republican bless himself, but he longed to 
 witness the humours of an English election, and anxiously 
 inquired if there was any chance of a vacancy in any 
 popular place. I had on my other side at dinner a much 
 more prepossessing person, Mr. Haldimand, Mrs. Marcet's 
 brother, who is not a little proud apparently of such a 
 sister. I suppose he is one of the ablest and most en- 
 lightened mercantile men in London, and learnedly talked 
 he of usury laws and so forth ; observing that ladies now 
 studied political economy, on the whole I found him 
 polished, clever, and entertaining. We had another great 
 merchant with a Dutch name, which I dare not spell, who 
 was a kind of dandy and picture-fancier ; we had also Dr. 
 
TO MR. E. AIKIN. 119 
 
 Holland, but he was so seized upon by the Italians that 
 one had nothing of him. 
 
 This morning my mother and I go with Arthur to this 
 Arctic panorama, from drawings by Lieutenant Beechy, 
 which all the world sees and admires as something quite 
 new and striking. 
 
 It is high time for me to stop scribbling and get ready 
 to go out. 
 
 Ever your affectionate 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 To her Niece, 
 
 Hampstead : June 15. 
 
 Dear Susan — I, like you, must make out a letter without 
 great events ; but what, though ! I hope we have either 
 of us brains enough to spin one poor sheet out of ! Ob- 
 serve, however, that I have much the least assistance from 
 circumstances of the two ; I have no change of scene, no 
 new acquaintances, and though I have lounging plenty, it 
 is not, as I wish it were, ' by the resounding main,' but 
 only among the herbs and flowers of my own garden. I 
 am concerned to inform the younger members of the 
 family, that my great brag of fruit is reduced to two 
 peaches, one cherry, and three plums, with a small sprink- 
 ling of apples, and a few gooseberries and currants. The 
 grapes, indeed, promise great things as to quantity, but 
 let me see them ripen. What is worst of all, my two 
 greengage trees, as they ought to have been, turn out 
 paltry Qgg plums, and I am enraged. But my flower-beds 
 begin to look quite Newingtonian. 
 
 Last Thursday, went to Mrs. Mallet's ; nobody there but 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. B and Mrs. Mulso, and we sat in a 
 
 long straight line down one side of the drawing-room with 
 our hands before us. I was next to the enchanting Mr. 
 
120 LETTERS. 
 
 B , who discoursed on commercial distress. He was 
 
 mightily puzzled with the coffee cups being handed about 
 empty ; and never found out the coffee-pot or the waiter, 
 and would have gone without till now, had I not humanely 
 assumed the office of Hebe. This being the only incident 
 of the evening, I judged it highly worth recording. If 
 they catch me there again — that's all ! 
 
 I am cumbered with many things at present ; between 
 idle visits and idle books I have no leisure for my business. 
 We have had the first volume of the ' Betrothed Lovers,' — 
 that Italian novel you know. It is very interesting, both 
 as a story and a picture of manners ; and the sentiments 
 are very sound and rational. It has had prodigious 
 success in Italy, which is good as a sign of the liberality 
 of sentiment now diffused there, and good also because 
 it is highly important that they should have books which 
 may serve to rouse the Italian women from their darling 
 * far niente.' Mrs. Marcet says there is no medium with 
 them at present, between being professors of anatomy and 
 not knowing how to read. Being ignorant, they are idle ; 
 being idle, they fall into intrigue, profligacy, and gaming. 
 A thousand pities, for with tolerable instruction the 
 Italian genius shows itself the brightest in Europe. At 
 the school of mutual instruction at Florence, Mrs. Marcet 
 was requested to examine the boys ; and their quickness, 
 and accuracy, and variety of useful knowledge, perfectly 
 astonished her. By the way, I exceedingly longed for you 
 when we had a delightful morning visit from Mrs. and 
 Miss Marcet; I know no woman comparable to Mrs. 
 Marcet in the charm of her society, and I assure you that 
 her daughter is exceedingly agreeable also — affected ! no 
 such thing indeed. She joined in conversation with an 
 ease, a sweetness, a modest grace which delighted me. 
 Forgetfulness of self is the greatest charm in manner ; but 
 to young people this charm scarcely ever belongs. Their 
 
TO HER NIECE. 121 
 
 inexperience makes every appearance in society a kind of 
 experiment to them, and they usually watch its success 
 with too visible an anxiety. To this anxiety faults appa- 
 rently the most opposite may equally be traced ; bashful- 
 ness, invincible taciturnity, forward chatter, and the whole 
 tribe of aflfectations have all their root in egotism. Their 
 common cure is to be sought in the cultivation of that 
 amiable spirit of social sympathy, which lends itself with 
 ease to the tastes and pursuits of others, which, forgetful 
 of self, seeks to give pleasiure to all around, and secures 
 approbation by evincing good will. From early youth 
 this was the distinguishing charm of your most lovely 
 mother, whom everyone loved at sight and half adored on 
 thorough knowledge. By this charm she silenced detrac- 
 tion and made envy relent; her learning, and even her 
 beauty, were forgiven by rivals, and old and young, men 
 and women, pressed around to claim her as a friend. 
 
 Dear love to Kate, and tell her if she will write to me, 
 I will write to her. Your father says he will write soon. 
 Ever, dear girl, your affectionate aunt, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 To her Niece. 
 
 Hampstead: Nov. 17. 
 Dear Sue — I said I would not write to you till I had 
 dined with the king and queen at Guildhall, which might 
 excuse me from correspondence with you for a longer time 
 than your visit even is likely to endure ; but at the heavy- 
 risk of being accounted a person lost to all sense of the 
 obligation of vows, here I am putting pen to paper for a 
 little chat with you. To be sure it is a great pity that I 
 have been robbed of an occasion on which it would have 
 been so ' easy to be eloquent,' as that grand display of 
 festivity and loyalty; a still greater pity it is, that the 
 
122 LETTEES. 
 
 splendid sleeves of net and satin which Anna had con- 
 structed for me are still unworn, and likely to be, and that 
 my old Mansion House plume has been cleaned to no 
 purpose : but what is the use of fretting ? The day before, 
 I think I had a greater trial of patience — I had Mrs. and 
 Miss Hoare, Mr. Crabbe, Mrs. Mallet and your father to 
 tea, and also Mr. Whishaw, who happened to have volun- 
 teered for the same evening, and somehow or other I had 
 got so deaf that I could not speak to anybody ; for whether 
 you may happen to have thought of it or no, certain it is 
 that there is no talking when one is deaf, which I take to 
 be the great objection to it. There I sat, a stupid dummy, 
 wishing myself in bed all the time. This deafness lasted 
 the whole week. On the Saturday I was engaged to dine at 
 Mr. Justice Parke's * — could not put it off — set out feeling 
 as if I was going to execution, but stopping at James 
 Street by the way, I got syringed, and went off in high 
 glee, hearing as well as ever. . . . 
 
 The grand news of Hampstead is, that INIr. Webster is 
 giving us a course of geological lectures ; to-day we have 
 the second. Said your uncle to me in the summer, ' Don't 
 you thick you could get Webster a class here ? ' I said, 
 'I will try;' and having so said, I vas obliged, contrary 
 to my habits, if not to my nature, to become an active, 
 canvassing body in the parish — wrote letters, called on 
 people, got the Lord Chief Justice for patron — and behold 
 a class of about forty, with which I apprehend he is well 
 content, and with his first lecture everybody has seemed 
 pleased ; and there was all the science and intellect of the 
 place (at least I am afraid so). In the introductory lec- 
 ture we have had both the Huttonian and Wernerian 
 theories, and fire and water have been fighting in my 
 brain ever since. To-day we are to proceed from theories 
 to facts, things which please me better. Wlien I read 
 * Lord "Wensleydale. 
 
' TO HER NIECE. 123 
 
 theories, by which I mean such hypotheses as, even if 
 true, could never be adequately proved, I think I hear 
 people telling their dreams. They have, however, their 
 use ; ingenious men, by the zeal for supporting or opposing 
 them, are urged to search into facts, and thus much real 
 knowledge is brought to light. 
 
 I have been reading a very deep and very able book, 
 with which I should certainly have endeavoured to task 
 your intellect had you been with me. This is a history of 
 ethical philosophy in England, written by Sir. J. Mackin- 
 tosh for a new edition of the ' Encyclopaedia Britannica.' 
 He begins with a slight view of the system of Plato and 
 other ancients, and of the schoolmen, of whom I believe 
 he is the only living person who knows anything. He 
 shows a wonderful comprehension of his subject in all its 
 branches and bearings. The style somewhat disappointed 
 me; his friends say it was written hastily, but there are 
 luminous and original remarks which give great value and 
 interest to the work. I^found it never dry, though some- 
 times difificult ; and I should like few things better than 
 some time to go over it again with you It is peculiarly 
 desirable for women to exercise themselves in works of 
 reasoning ; without this discipline, prejudice, and senti- 
 ment, and fancy, take such possession of them, that logic 
 is turned quite out of doors, and then the men go and say 
 the sex have no heads, which makes one mad. Talking 
 of she-heads. Miss Edgeworth has come to town, bringing 
 us a new novel, which I hope to see excellent, were it only 
 to prove she can stand alone. Mrs. Joanna BailHe once got 
 out of her that ' Rackrent ' and ' Ennui ' were all her own. 
 ' Very well, Maria,' said she, ' that is enough, I don't want 
 to hear any more.' To be sure it is the lion's share. 
 Yesterday I dined with the S. Hoares, and enjoyed it 
 much ; there was no great party, but all was very kind 
 and friendly, and we talked of the days of our youth. Mr. 
 
124 LETTERS. 
 
 Crabbe came in the evening, and we made him tell us of 
 Johnson, whom he had met with Burke at the house of 
 Eeynolds; then we spoke of modern poets — Bums, and 
 Montgomery, and I had the good luck to please the 
 amiable old man by alluding to a poem of his which he 
 said no one had ever mentioned to him before. ' I thought,' 
 he said, ^ when I wrote it, that there was something in it, 
 but as nobody took notice of it, I supposed I was mis- 
 taken,' I told him I had known my father read it 
 repeatedly and commend it highly. It is called ' Eeflec- 
 tions ; ' I will sometime show it you, I think it excellent. 
 It begins to be a monstrous long time that you have 
 been away, and some murmurs are heard amongst us from 
 time to time ; however, I am persuaded you are turning 
 your time to good account, both for pleasure and that kind 
 of improvement which only the intercourse of varied society 
 can afford; therefore I shall take patience myself and 
 recommend it to others. Let me hear from you soon, and 
 believe me ever. 
 
 My dear girl, your affectionate aunt, 
 
 L. AiKiN. 
 
 To Mrs. Taylor. 
 
 ". Stoke Newington : Jan. 27, 1803. 
 When you were in town, my dear Mrs. Taylor, you 
 were so kind as to express a wish of hearing from me 
 sometimes, and Eliza's return to Norwich affords me so 
 good an opportunity of writing that T shall no longer 
 refuse myself that pleasure ; yes, pleasure I may indeed 
 call it, for next to seeing and hearing from a dear friend 
 there is nothing to me so gratifying as to write to one ; 
 and I much wonder that among those who have leisure 
 for this employment, a taste for it is not more common. 
 But ^ out of sight out of mind,' is so much the way of 
 the world, that I believe we must content ourselves, in 
 
TO MRS. TAYLOR. 125 
 
 many cases, with a rather mortifying solution of this 
 difficulty. . . . 
 
 I am full of plans and projects for the ensuing spring, 
 when it arrives ; sometimes I dream of another visit to the 
 Welsh mountains — then my fancy rambles to the Highlands 
 of Scotland — but one of the most agreeable of my antici- 
 pations, and that which is most likely to be realised, in 
 another journey to dear old Norwich; which I need not 
 assure you that I shall enjoy as much as the last, and 
 more I cannot say. Yes, my dear Mrs. Taylor, the 
 longer I live the more am I convinced that connections 
 formed in early childhood are the strongest, the most 
 durable, and the most delightful of all. The image of the 
 friend of infancy is associated with a thousand endearing 
 recollections of those days of careless, but unclouded 
 happiness, that pass so swiftly, never to return. The 
 friend of riper youth is ever connected in our memory 
 with some of those cares, those passions, those severe pains 
 and lively pleasures that give to this period a more ex- 
 quisite flavour of bitter and of sweet than to the pre- 
 ceding, or perhaps any subsequent portion of life. When 
 I feel my mind agitated by the too vivid ideas of scenes 
 that have passed more recently, I think of Norfolk, and 
 the careless days spent there among my early friends, 
 and all is calm again ; of what other place can I think 
 with unmingled pleasure, with perfect satisfaction ? But 
 what has enticed my pen into this long strain of senti- 
 mental reflection ; I fear you will not much thank me for 
 anything so sombre, . . . There is a singular work lately 
 published, of which I should much like to hear your 
 opinion, Mary Hayes's ' Female Biography.' She is a great 
 disciple of Mrs. Godwin, you know, and a zealous stickler 
 for the equal rights and equal talents of our sex with the 
 other ; but, alas, though I would not so much as whisper 
 this to the pretended lords of the creation — 
 
126 LETTERS. 
 
 Her arguments directly tend 
 Against the cause she would defend. 
 
 At the same time that she attempts to make us despise 
 *the frivolous rivalry of beauty and fashion,' she holds 
 forth such tremendous examples of the excesses of more 
 energetic characters, that one is much inclined to imitate 
 those quiet good folks who bless Grod they are no geniuses. 
 However, a general biography is something like a great 
 London rout, everybody is there, good, bad, and in- 
 different, visitable and not visitable, so that a squeamish 
 lady scarcely knows whom she may venture to speak to. 
 Alas, alas ! though Miss Hayes has wisely addressed herself 
 to the ladies alone, I am afraid the gentlemen will get a 
 peep at her book and repeat with tenfold energy that 
 women have no business with anything but nursing 
 children and mending stockings. I do not think her 
 book is written quite in an edifying manner neither— the 
 morals are too French for my taste. 
 
 But what are we to think of Madme. de Stael's new 
 novel, that all Paris, all Greneva, and all London is read- 
 ing? I hear Rousseau is revived in her, with all his 
 ' virtue in words and vice in actions,' and all his dangerous 
 eloquence. I have not read the book yet, but we voted 
 it into a lady's book society here, and had afterwards 
 some doubts whether it ought to be circulated. My 
 mother wickedly proposed that all works written by ladies 
 should be carefully examined by a committee before they 
 are admitted into the society. And now that I have 
 mentioned our society, which is a great hobby horse with 
 my aunt Barbauld and me, I must beg your congratula- 
 tions on our spirit in setting up an institution into which 
 not a single man is admitted, even to keep the accoimts. 
 I must indeed whisper in your ear that it is no very easy 
 matter to get the ladies to suspend their dissertations on 
 new plays and new fashions to discuss the merits of books, 
 
TO MRS. TATLOE. 127 
 
 and that sometimes it is rather difficult for the president, 
 treasurer, and secretary, calling all at once to order, to 
 obtain a hearing. But our meetings are not the less 
 amusing for this. 
 
 We had the pleasure of seeing our good friend Mr. 
 Whishaw, the only person almost who has had the charity 
 to come and see us this dismal weather, very lately ; he 
 speaks of Norwich, and of my best friends there, with an 
 enthusiasm that delights me. I ha,ve commissioned Eliza 
 to remember me to all who enquire after me, and to send 
 me word how everybody does ; nevertheless I hope to hear 
 from you when you have leisure to write, and that a very 
 good account of dear Mr. Taylor will make a part of your 
 very welcome despatches. To him, with yourself and all 
 your family, our fireside circle joins in cordial remem- 
 brance with 
 
 Your very affectionate 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 To Mrs. Taylor. 
 
 Stoke Newington: March 23, 1805. 
 
 How is it possible, my dear Mrs. Taylor, that I can 
 have been so negligent and stupid as to have suffered 
 more than two months to elapse since the receipt of a 
 letter from you without having answered it ? Indeed I 
 know not how to give a better account of the matter than 
 by saying that I have had much to do, and little to say. 
 At one time my hours have been engrossed by company 
 in the house ; at another my fingers have been engaged 
 in employments which ojffered little food to the mind; 
 lastly and chiefly, I have been loth to write till spring 
 arrived to give Si fillip to my spirits. 
 
 I have now the pleasure and satisfaction to tell you that 
 I have passed, on the whole, a very tolerable winter, that 
 
128 LETTERS. 
 
 I am gradually reviving with the year, and that when 
 your Norfolk north-easterns have ceased to blow, I shall 
 be ready to attend your first summons to come and make 
 you idle a little. But may we not hope to see you in 
 town for a few weeks first ? Eichard tells me that he has 
 been humbly petitioning for a little of your company, and 
 surely you cannot find in your heart to give him a denial. 
 
 What an utter pause, cessation and nonplus is the 
 present ! How miserably dull for us bookworms to hear ' 
 of nothing new from day to day ! I am much afraid that 
 we shall actually be compelled to go back to the ancients ^ 
 of last year — if any of their immortal works may hitherto^ 
 have escaped the rapacious hands of grocers, trunkmakers, 
 and renovators of paper. I wish this rebellion had 
 fortunately taken place before the two last volumes of 
 Fleetwood were committed to the press, for certainly, ^ 
 with a little more leisure, a man of Grodwin's talents could 
 not possibly have produced so bungling, lame, and im- 
 potent a catastrophe. WTiat a pity it is that he should 
 have been converted by the outcries of bigots from eloquent ' 
 absurdity to ponderous common sense I But we have . 
 nothing piquant now-a-days. i 
 
 My poor work does not proceed with very great [ 
 rapidity. I have, however, got about a hundred lines of . 
 the third epistle; and after visiting Troy, Sparta, and 
 Athens, am just going to arrive at Eome at the very 
 moment when the Sabine women separate the threatening . 
 armies. On the whole, I consider the Eoman dames as ^ 
 the queens of their sex, but there are a few ugly facts { 
 against them which I do not well know what to do with. 
 At one time they had a disagreeable habit of poisoning 
 their husbands; but I don't think much of that, for no 
 doubt the men gave them provocation. What think you 
 of a heroine who has lately sprung up at Newington 
 Grreen ? She was a cook maid, and having long been on 
 
TO MES. TAYLOR. 129 
 
 bad terms with the footman, resolved to give their disputes 
 an effectual settling. For this purpose, whilst the man 
 was waiting at table, she concealed herself behind a door 
 with a carving knife in her hand, and on the man's 
 passing by, started out and plunged the weapon in his 
 body. His life was at first thought to be in danger, and 
 our heroine was sent to Newgate; but on his getting 
 better she was released, because, forsooth, her mistress 
 thinks it would be a pity to send her to Botany Bay ! I 
 hope you have seen Scott's ' Lay of the last Minstrel ; ' I 
 have read no other poem of last year that deserves to be 
 compared with it. There is something in the wild and 
 lawless manners of the old Scotch Borderers uncommonly 
 striking. I know nothing that more irresistibly seizes the 
 imagination than the adventures of valiant marauders. 
 WTio can refuse an ear to the tales of Eobin Hood, or the 
 history of the Buccaneers ? 
 
 The Barbaulds are going next week to lodgings in 
 town, which they have taken for a few weeks, in order to 
 see everything and everybody with little trouble. They 
 wish me to go and share in their gaiety ; but I feel by no 
 means equal to racketing at present, and my father shows 
 little inclination to entrust me to the prudence of my 
 aunt, who is at least forty years younger than I am. Is 
 it not a most fortunate symptom of old age to have lost 
 one's curiosity and to prefer, as I do, comfort to pleasure ? 
 Well, I think it pretty well to enjoy all the homebred 
 satisfactions that fall to my lot. Home, to me, becomes 
 every day more delightful, and its revered inhabitants 
 more dear and more necessary to my happiness. Oh ! 
 how could I ever bear to be separated from those who 
 unite in themselves all the strongest titles to my gratitude 
 and affection ! . . . . 
 
 I have a taste, I do assure you, for the epistles of such 
 
 K 
 
130 LETTEES. 
 
 girls as Susan,* and therefore I beg you will tell her, witi i 
 my kindest love, that I hope she will assume the office ^ 
 of secretary to her mother, and give me the pleasure of? 
 a long letter very. soon. As for you, my dear Mrs. T., i 
 I know too well your numerous and important occupations I 
 to expect more than the favour of a letter now and then ; ^ 
 that highly-prized indulgence I hope you will never deny j 
 me. . . . My mother desires me to return you her thanks i 
 for some game which you were so kind as to send us. 
 Our fireside begs its best remembrances to yours. 
 Believe me, my dear Mrs. Taylor, 
 
 Most warmly yours, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 G-ood Mr. Eoscoe has been laid up with the gout, but is ^ 
 now recovered. Do you not long to see that admirable [ 
 being again ? f 
 
 To Mrs, Taylor, | 
 
 Stoke Ne-vrington : Oct. 1805. | 
 A letter of congratulation from Lucy ; how formal ! ' 
 Will you say so, my dear Mrs. T. ? No ; you will give me ^ 
 credit for feeling what I express, and you will be sensible ^ 
 of the pleasure I take in expressing what I feel. I am f 
 glad the deed is done, for till that was the case I knowf 
 your maternal anxiety would be at work ; now all suspense 
 is over, and has yielded the place, I hope, to pure and '' 
 entire satisfaction. My father and mother beg to express f 
 to you and Mr. T. their warm sympathy on this occasion"^ 
 of happiness. I beg you will remember me to John in ' 
 the kindest manner. ... I trust he will not fail, on" 
 reaching this part of the world, to set apart a day for'^ 
 Newington— we all long to give him a hearty shake of the ' 
 
 hand I am obliged to Susan for a very charming letter, '' 
 
 pray tell her so, and that it -shall be answered, in course, ' 
 * Afterwards Mrs. Reeve. 
 
TO MRS. TAYLOB. 131 
 
 Do you ask what I have been about since I came home ? 
 I have been re-writing the beginning of Epistle the first, 
 with some additions, and after various other alterations 
 and corrections, I have begun to lengthen my web. 
 Twenty or thirty new lines have conducted me from the 
 vigour to the * Decline and Fall ' of the Eoman State, 
 from the ruins of which I am just about to make my 
 escape, and seek an asylum among the pathless forests and 
 impenetrable marshes of ancient Grermany. In Latin, I 
 am reading ' Cicero's Ofl&ces,' whence I gather that the 
 improvements in moral philosophy, since his time, have 
 been few or none ; for a purer or more rational system 
 than his, or one better adapted to the actual condition of 
 man, and the practical regulation of life, can scarcely be 
 imagined. In Italian, I am re-reading with increased de- 
 light ' Jerusalem Delivered,' which appears to me certainly 
 the most sweet and interesting, though not the most sub- 
 lime, of epic poems. I much question whether Boileau had 
 ever read it when he spoke so contemptuously of *Le 
 clinquant de Tasse.' If he had, I would give little for his 
 taste. I have just discovered in myself some aptness for 
 the study of Natural Philosophy, and thinking that my 
 profound ignorance of its various branches might some time 
 bring me to shame, and likewise that I might glean a 
 few new similes and metaphors from this kind of knowledge, 
 I have resolved to apply to it in good earnest, and make it 
 my principal study for the winter. But within the last 
 few days everything has given way to ' Practical Education,' 
 which my mother and I have been studying with great 
 dihgence for the benefit of Greorge's little boy, who was 
 brought to us last Tuesday. My aunt Barbauld laughs 
 at us excessively ; she says, ' I know that everybody reads 
 works on education as pleasant books, but this is the first 
 time that ever I heard of anybody's sitting gravely down 
 to study them for use.' But we don't mind the laughers, 
 
 K 2 
 
132 LETTERS. 
 
 and can see no reason why a child may not as well be 
 brought up after 'Practical Education' as a pudding 
 made after the ' Experienced English Housekeeper.' In 
 the meantime the boy is gone to school as a day-boarder, ii 
 so it is only at his hours of recreation that these fine 
 recipes can be tried ; all the rest will be managed in the 
 usual way, as in most culinary operations a good deal is 
 left to that golden rule, the rule of thumb. My time will, 
 it is true, be a good deal encroached upon by the care of 
 this young nestling, but you know the feelings of my 
 auntship, and will believe that I do not grudge it. You 
 have seen, I imagine, my father's memoir of poor Dr. 
 Currie, and perhaps, likewise, a small token of my respect 
 for his memory in the last magazine. I beHeve you have 
 heard me speak of this most exalted being, and express 
 my gratitude for the distinguished kindness with which he 
 had treated me. You will believe that his death, which 
 I learnt from a most affecting letter written by his son to 
 my father, and which in my father's absence I opened, 
 affected me deeply. A few days since, our feehngs were 
 again awakened by a visit from this son — a son worthy of 
 his father — who speaks of him with equal grief and pride, 
 considers his little brothers with a kind of paternal aflfec- : 
 tion, and appears to be prompted in every word and action 
 by the hovering spirit of his father. He showed us a few 
 trembling lines, traced by his dying hand, in which he 
 says that he shall consider his fame as safe in the hands 
 of my father ; mentions him and his ' dear friend Eoscoe 
 with the strongest affection, implores a blessing on them" 
 and all theirs, and expresses the hope of a meeting in ' the ; 
 regions beyond the grave.' I think you and I have spoken^ 
 together of the sensation caused by the handwriting of a 
 dead friend, but I never felt it in its full force before. 
 Such a man, such a friend — I shall never forget him ! But 
 what am I doing ? this is a letter of congratulation, and I: 
 
i TO MRS. TAYLOR. 133 
 
 ! 
 
 i have filled it up with sorrow. To ' rejoice with those that 
 
 ; do rejoice, and weep with those that weep ' are two duties 
 
 I which sometimes fall upon one so nearly at the same time, 
 
 that it is difficult to keep them distinct, they blend like 
 
 I day and night producing a kind of twilight of the spirits, 
 
 j calm, sober, sweet, best fitted to tender thought and va- 
 
 ! rious musing and philosophic moralizing, on the strange 
 
 : medley which makes up the sum of human life ... I 
 
 I forgot to tell you, among my other employments, that, as 
 
 I literary characters must now and then descend from their 
 
 ! altitudes, I have been several days hard at work upon 
 
 parlour curtains, which are at length hung up, to the great 
 
 glory and satisfaction of my mother and me. You can't 
 
 think how smart we look. I am quite stout and hearty 
 
 in spite of this premature winter. May every blessing 
 
 wait on you and yours is the warm wish of your 
 
 Lucy. 
 
 To Mrs, Taylor, 
 
 Stoke Newington: July 1806. 
 
 ... I have of late been quite stout, and resolving to 
 enjoy the full privileges of a person in health, I went, on 
 New Year's day, to visit my friend Mrs Carr, whom I 
 accompanied to some London parties. The most piquant 
 of these was a dinner at Hoppner's, where were, besides 
 Hoppner himself, who has more wit than almost any man. 
 Memory Eogers, and Anacreon Moore, otherwise ' Little,' 
 who is an Irishman, and told us some Irish stories with 
 infinite humour. In the afternoon came the Opies ; pre- 
 sently Mrs. Opie and Moore sat down to the instriunent. 
 I Mrs. Opie was not in voice, but Anacreon ! upon my word 
 I he gave me new ideas of the power of harmony. He sung 
 us some of his own sweet little songs, set to his own music, 
 and rendered doubly touching by a voice the most sweet, 
 
134 LETTERS. 
 
 an utterance the most articulate, and expression the most ' 
 deep and varied, that I ever witnessed. No wonder this ' 
 little man is a pet with duchesses ! What can be better 
 fitted for a plaything of the great than a ruddy joyous ( 
 laughing young Irishman, poor but not humble, a wit, j 
 poet, and musician, who is willing to devote his charming ' 
 talents to their entertainment for the sake of being ad- 
 mitted to their tables, and honoured with their fami- 
 liarity ? 
 
 As I was determined to ' exert my energies,' I readily 
 accompanied my friends on board Mr. W. Carr's ship, 
 whence we saw Nelson's body carried in procession up the ' 
 river. The ships with their lowered fla-gs, the dark boats 
 of the river fencibles, the magnificent barges of His Ma- ^ 
 jesty and the city companies, and above all, the mournful ^ 
 notes of distant music, and the deep sound of the single 
 minute-gun, the smoke of which floated heavily along the ■ 
 surface of the river, conspired to form a solemn, sober, and ' 
 appropriate pomp, which I found awfully aflfecting. It f 
 did but increase my eagerness to witness the closing scene e 
 of this great pageant exhibited the next day at St. Paul's. 
 Richard, who was our active and attentive squire, wiU ' 
 probably have given you an account of our adventures on 
 this occasion, and the order of procession you would \ 
 see in the papers ; but perhaps you might not particularly ^ 
 attend to a circumstance which struck me most forcibly — 
 the union of all ranks, from the heir-apparent to the 
 common sailor, in doing honour to the departed hero. In ^ 
 fact, the royal band of brothers, with their stately figures, 
 splendid uniforms, and sober majestic deportment, roused, 
 even in me, a transient emotion of loyalty ; but when the ^ 
 noble Highlanders and other regiments marched in who van- 
 quished Buonaparte's Invincibles in Egypt, and, reversing 
 their arms, stood hiding their faces with eveiy mark of 
 heartfelt sorrow, and especially when the victorious captains 
 
TO MKS. TAYLOR. 135 
 
 of Trafalgar showed their weather-beaten and undaunted 
 fronts, following the bier in silent mournful state, and 
 when, at length, the gallant tars appeared bearing in their 
 hands the tattered and blood-stained colours of the ^ Vic- 
 tory ' — and I saw one of the poor fellows wiping his eyes 
 by stealth on the end of the flag he was holding up — I 
 cannot express to you all the proud, heroic, patriot feelings 
 that took possession of my heart, and made tears a privi- 
 lege and luxury. No, on that day an Englishman could 
 not despair of his country ! And now, after this taste of 
 th« gaieties and glories of the great city, I am returned to 
 my snug little home, which is at present, however, less 
 snug than usual. The Estlins of Bristol are on a visit to 
 the Barbaulds and we meet almost daily. . . . Miss 
 Edgeworth's ' Leonora ' is full of wit, observation, and good 
 sense : if it falls in your way it will entertain you much. 
 I will write to Sally * at my first leisure interval, but 
 when that will arrive, I cannot guess. Melancholy indeed 
 is the face of public affairs ; sometimes it infects me with 
 gloom ; but so much more to us is our own fireside than 
 all the world besides, that whilst we see happy faces there, 
 we are half inclined to say, ' Let the world wag ! ' When 
 I wish to cloak indifference in philosophy, I think how 
 good comes out of evil, and evil out of good, and on the 
 whole how impossible it is to tell which is which. Pray 
 remember me most kindly to the little circle respecting 
 whom I can never be indifferent, including therein Mrs. 
 Enfield, from whom my mother has just had a very affec- 
 tionate letter, and Eliza. We were all quite well here ; 
 my aunt Barbauld hears as quick as ever. Eichard tells 
 me that we are to see his father soon, at which I rejoice 
 not a little, for after all, what pen can convey a tenth 
 part of what one, that is 7, wish to say to my friends ? 
 For instance, I have now written almost a pamphlet, and 
 * Wss Sarah Taylor, afterwards Mrs. John Austin. 
 
136 LETTERS. 
 
 yet I feel as if I had but just got into chat with you. I 
 have scarce left room to say, my best of friends. Adieu. 
 
 To Mr, Taylor, 
 
 Broad St. Buildings : August 1806. 
 
 Here I come at last, my dear sir, to have a little chat 
 upon paper with you, and wipe off the long reproach of 
 faithless vows and promises unperformed. My party — 
 aye ! after all your promises, to steal off just that very 
 afternoon, I sha'n't forget that yet awhile, I promise you — 
 and such a party ! If it was not mentioned in the ' Mom- 
 i ng Post,' it must have been by some strange negligence in 
 their quid-nuncs. Vexed I was, to be sure, that Mr. Taylor 
 did not grace and enliven my circle with his attic wit, his 
 store of anecdote, &c. It was very well I did not do like 
 
 Mr. when he gave a grand ball the other night. 
 
 After supper, the good gentleman's heart being warmed, 
 he rose to make a speech to his ' dear five hundred friends,' 
 in which he told them he had invited several members of 
 parliament and other people of consequence, but that 
 unluckily the best and genteelest part of his acquaintance 
 had all sent excuses. 
 
 I wrote Mrs. Taylor a very full and true account of all 
 our wedding proceedings, of which, I suppose, she will 
 communicate to you — as much as is proper. If you wish 
 to know what we are engaged in at this present writing, 
 let me have the honour to tell you that we are sitting up 
 for company. Do you not think that we are much to be 
 envied ? This house is so changed, you certainly never 
 would know it for the same; and the bride looks so 
 blooming and pretty, it would do you good to take a 
 salute of her. Suppose you come to town on purpose ! 
 Immediately on their return, the happy pair was greeted 
 with a most elegant epistle from ' Your humble servants. 
 
TO MPx. TAYLOR. 137 
 
 the marrow bones, cleavers, and drummers of the parish 
 of St. Botolph,' whom, as the alternative was *pay or 
 play,' or rather as they must be paid at any rate, there 
 was no doubt about bribing to silence. 
 
 Saint Andrew's brave bells did so loud and so clear ring, 
 You'd have given five pounds to have been out of their hearing. 
 
 I think their house should be called Pic-nic Hall, for it 
 is almost furnished by the contributions of friends. Talk- 
 ing on gay and pleasant subjects, pray have you seen a 
 very facetious little book called ' The Miseries of Human 
 Life/ in a series of dialogues between Messrs. Sensitive 
 and Testy? It is really a most amusing performance, 
 and shows a world of observation, for there is scarcely any 
 class of minor calamities and daily rubs, which has not 
 found a place, except, indeed, such as are peculiar to our 
 unfortunate sex ; for the ' Supplementary Sighs ' of Mrs. 
 Testy are miserably defective. 
 
 My father and mother were not particularly delighted 
 
 with their expedition to Gr 's, as far as the beauties of 
 
 natui'e were concerned. My father heard there an anec- 
 dote which will give you an idea of the extreme barbarity 
 of the fen country. A Cambridge physician being sent 
 for to a patient in that part, and finding the road scarcely 
 passable, though it was the middle of summer, enquired 
 of his conductor, a simple country lad, what the people 
 could possibly do for medical assistance in winter ? * 0, 
 sir,' repHed the gawky, 'in winter they die a natural 
 death ! ' My father has got something from his fen ex- 
 pedition however, namely, a descriptive letter for the 
 Athenaeum, for which Dr. Falkener has also sent a disser- 
 tation on the Elysian fields. There is a man at Acle, 
 whose name I forget, who has written to say that if my 
 father will accept of his service for the Athenaeum, his 
 mind will be found ' a perpetual source of poetic and 
 prosaic strength ; ' he confesses, however, that there is a 
 
138 LETTERS. 
 
 kind of confusion in his head, but hopes my father will 
 be so good as to *put him in order.' 0, the Norfolk 
 geniuses ! Poor Dr. Parr ! do you hear that aU his flat- 
 tering epistles to Lord Chedworth are printed, and that it 
 appears in the course of the correspondence, that the 
 pompous inscription on a silver tureen which he begged 
 from his lordship, in which he is called ' doctissimus,' and 
 I know not what, was composed by no other than the 
 reverend doctor himself ? As Dr. Parr was not subpoenaed, 
 but volunteered his evidence, I think this revenge on the 
 part of the executors is very fair, but it will chafe the 
 lion. 
 
 I hope you are in no very great hurry to get Susan 
 home again ; there are those who have a plot to stop her 
 in her way, I can assure you. 
 
 If my letter is full of blots and blunders, allow, I pray 
 you, for a man who is putting up pictures in the room : he 
 and Anne alternately perplex me — one by knocking nails, 
 the other by asking my advice. Here come visitors — 
 adieu, my dear sir. 
 
 Believe me, ever yours, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 To Mrs, Taylor, 
 
 Stoke Newington: April 1814, 
 My dear Friend — In your present deprivation of Sarah's 
 company, I shall be particularly glad if my pen may 
 help to amuse one of your leisure half hours ; to you it is 
 always easy and always a pleasure to me to write, and at 
 a time like this can topics be wanting ? ... In the fat€ of 
 Europe, what food for meditation ! The first, the most 
 welcome, thought that strikes me is, that for sovereigns 
 as for private persons, for nations as for individuals, it is 
 good to have been afl9.icted. Could anything less than 
 
TO MRS. TAYLOR. 139 
 
 the severe lessons they have received have taught so much 
 political wisdom to the French people, such a magna- 
 nimous clemency to the allied sovereigns ? How great and 
 important a step must opinion have been silently making 
 when a constitution as free as that which five-and-twenty 
 years ago half the powers of Europe armed to prevent the 
 French from forcing upon their late king, is offered 
 to the acceptance of his brother under the sanction of 
 the mightiest despot of Europe and Asia, and with the 
 acquiescence of all the potentates who took part in the 
 former quarrel: when the great principle that foreign 
 nations should take no part in regulating the internal 
 government of a country seems admitted by all, and when 
 no partition of the territories of a long hated and feared, 
 now vanquished and prostrate nation, is even hinted at by 
 any of the victors ! 
 
 The overthrow of the tyrant and his works, with all its 
 details, as the release of prisoners, the restoration of their 
 rights to the wronged, &c. sounds like the adventure of 
 some peer of Charlemagne, or knight of fairy-land, when, 
 having vanquished the giant in fight, he snatches the rusty 
 keys from his side, enters the castle and unlocks all its 
 dismal dungeons : one ceremony only has been omitted, the 
 decapitation of said giant, and that unpicturesque omis- 
 sion alone will spoil the subject for future epic poets. For 
 the philosopher and moralist it spoils nothing; that the bold 
 bad man who has filled Europe with blood and slaughter 
 should be permitted, and should endure to live, degraded 
 and pensioned, is the finest and most impressive satire on 
 the false greatness of a conqueror that history has ever 
 read to ages. I should have grieved if the villain had 
 extorted from us one phrase of admiration by a death 
 generously voluntary like that of Otho. But enough on 
 a subject on which you will have thought so much better 
 than I can do. I will end by giving you an anecdote 
 
140 LETTEES. 
 
 which will please you and which I believe authentic. Some 
 years ago, the Emperor Alexander had the curiosity to ask 
 an Englishman for the explanation of the terms Whig and 
 Tory, and having received it, ' I believe,' said he, ' I am 
 the only Whig in my dominions.' How welcome in every 
 view is the idea of peace ! among other benefits I think it 
 will tend to the advancement of solid learning. WTien that 
 intense interest which the events of the war have inspired in 
 public affairs is at an end, the active minds of men must 
 seek for exercise in science, and in those more solid 
 branches of literature which appear to me at present in a 
 rather neglected state ; novels and novel-like poems will 
 not then engross the whole conversation of reading people ; 
 deeper studies may recover a vogue which they seem to 
 me to have lost, I shall, for my part, hail the day when 
 the state of public feeling shall prompt me to lay aside 
 my idle trade of tale-weaving, for the completion of that 
 historic design which I desire to regard as the basis of my 
 highest literary hopes. At present, however, I am en- 
 deavouring to form to my satisfaction that long-suspended 
 history of the heart, of which I have spoken to you so 
 often. The vision that at present flits before my eyes 
 clothed in the fairest colours, my favourite castle in the 
 ail-, exhibits to me the good city of Paris, and myself sur- 
 veying its numberless objects of interest and curiosity, but 
 when, or how, or whether ever this charming dream is to 
 be realised, I know not; I only mention it as the object 
 towards which the eyes of my mind are directed, should 
 a favourable opportunity and eUgible companions offer. 
 I have made up my mind to believe that the profits of 
 my little tale cannot more satisfactorily be expended, but 
 in this case the will and the pecuniary means go but for 
 little in fm*nishing the vjay .... There is at present a 
 good opening for a new candidate for public favour in this 
 branch. * Patronage,' with all its merit, has not satisfied 
 
TO MRS. TAYLOR. 141 
 
 the expectations of the public, because tliey were raised 
 to an extravagant pitch ; the same may be said of ' The 
 Wanderer,' that is, that it has disappointed high expecta- 
 tions, but certainly with more fault of the author, for it 
 seems to me, at least in most points, a very indifferent 
 work. Mrs. Inchbald, alas ! suffers her enchanting pen 
 to lie idle, and all our other writers are far inferior. Sarah 
 is so full of engagements that we have only had a call 
 from her as yet, but she promises us a longer visit soon ; 
 she looks remarkably well. My father and mother join 
 in every affectionate wish to you and yours. BeHeve me, 
 my best friend. 
 
 Gratefully and affectionately yours, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 To Mrs, Taylor. 
 
 /^ Stoke Newington: August 1816. 
 
 My dearest Friend — I have been longing to converse 
 with you by the only mode at present in our power, and 
 nothing but an extraordinary press of interesting occupa- 
 tion could have held me silent to this time. 
 
 What delightful satisfaction have I had in recurring to 
 those sacred hours which we were permitted to pass 
 together ! Who can express the cheerfulness, the vigour, 
 the sense of inward refreshment, procured by such expan- 
 sions of the heart and mind ? To meet a kindred soul, 
 whose intuitive sympathy gives the power of clothing in 
 words thoughts which must otherwise have bloomed 
 and died in long and joyless succession within the dark 
 recesses of the bosom, is a boon more bright than all the 
 fabled gifts of fairy benefactors, and one in which there 
 seems to be as much of spell and talisman. What is the 
 charm, my friend, by which you thread the whole labyrinth 
 of my bosom, and find access to cells of which I myself 
 
142 LETTERS. 
 
 must have forgotten the existence ? How is it that every 
 conversation with you seems an event in my life, and to 
 be treasured among its dearest and most sacred recol- 
 lections ? . . . Since we parted, everything has prospered 
 with me. First, my mother's arm is much better ; she is 
 now able to work at her needle, and in her garden as 
 before, and I have the satisfaction of believing that my 
 perseverance in rubbing the limb night and morning has 
 principally contributed to this great amendment. 
 
 Now that she is able to pursue her usual occupation, I 
 am completely restored to mine, and Elizabeth goes on 
 with increasing facility and satisfaction. Your opinion 
 on the advantages of this mode of writing history, is pecu- 
 liarly gratifying to me. It appears to me that a historian 
 who undertakes to narrate the events of centuries must 
 necessarily neglect the illustration of their Hterature, their 
 biography, the manners, and domestic morals ; but are not 
 these, to the great body of readers, at once the most in- 
 structive, and the most amusiDg branches of the knowledge 
 of past ages ? On the other hand, the mere antiquarian 
 presents all the minuter parts of this knowledge in a detail 
 which is often dry and disgusting ; he is frequently desti- 
 tute of all powers of writing, and almost always void of 
 that philosophical spirit which combines, which generalises, 
 and infers. Yet the writer of essays on the progress of 
 civilisation, on manners, &c. is still worse ; he is generally 
 a Scotch or French metaphysician, who sets out with a 
 system ; if the former, he gives you facts so exaggerated, 
 so embellished, or so distorted, that you would give the 
 world to get clear out of your head all the error that he 
 has put into it. All these things I see and feel, and of 
 course I promise myself that my work shall be of a kind 
 free from all the objections of all the others; yet thus it 
 will not be, or if it is, it will have faults of its own as 
 great, perhaps, as theirs. In short, perfection and man ! To 
 
TO MES. TAYLOR. 143 
 
 do our best, and estimate our efforts with humility, is all 
 that remains, and both shall be my study. In the midst 
 of these labours for a public which, perhaps, will neither 
 thank nor reward me, I am devoting two or three hours 
 of each day to a private object in which I anticipate no 
 disappointment. We have got with us Greorge's daughter, 
 a girl of thirteen, to whose education we thought it right 
 to lend a hand. A delightful disposition we all knew that 
 L. possessed, and a little face that it was pleasure to look 
 upon, but we were not prepared to find in her, combined 
 with extreme diligence and perfect docility, a quickness of 
 apprehension very uncommon, an awakened and enquiring 
 mind, and acquisitions which showed that of moderate ad- 
 vantages the best had been made. All these discoveries 
 have endeared her to us extremely ; she is indeed the 
 darling of my father and mother, and to me, at once pupil, 
 plaything, and companion. It is impossible for me to 
 grudge the hours which I devote to her, and which are 
 taken, for the most part, from frivolous books and more 
 frivolous visits. The more there is for head and heart in 
 life, the happier we are. . , . We also expect the Carrs, 
 with whom I spent a delightful day last Monday. Mr. 
 Whishaw was there in his highest spirits. Oh, that you could 
 have heard his history of Lady Cork's inviting, as a lion^ a 
 black agent sent hither by the Emperor of Hayti to engage 
 schoolmasters ! How the poor man's head was gradually 
 so turned by this extraordinary honour, that at length he 
 thought it necessary to be at home himself in his lodging 
 of one room and two closets — how he petitioned his 
 sovereign to send royal presents to the ladies who had 
 been so kind to him — and how the sweetmeats which came 
 in consequence, and which he had announced, were stopped 
 for the duties, and sold ' by inch of candle at the long 
 room of the custom house.' An excellent satire he made 
 it on the ridiculous passion of some fashionable women for 
 
144 LETTERS. 
 
 having people of every possible kind of notoriety at their 
 routs, utterly regardless of the mischief which their selfish | 
 and foolish patronage produces. Mr. WTiishaw is just set 
 off for Holland and Flanders, whence he will doubtless 
 return 'full of matter.' Kindest regards from all this 
 house to the whole of your dear family. Does Mr. Taylor ^ 
 mean to cheat us of his London visit ? I hope not. 
 Ever my best friend. 
 
 Most affectionately yours, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 To Mrs, Taylor. 
 
 [ 
 
 Stoke Newington : Nov. 29, 1818. S 
 
 For once, my beloved friend, it is better to be at a dis- 
 tance from you than near ; convalescent as, I thank Grod, '. 
 we learn you to be, you must not yet be tempted to talk ; 
 and your chamber door would be closed against me " 
 in person, whilst my letter will be admitted without f 
 scruple, for I hear that you read much, and happy I am j 
 that you find yourself able, knowing how greatly it de- '^ 
 lights you. To catch new hints for the reflections which 
 your mind furnishes in such inexhaustible abundance is, 
 you have often told me, the thing which you seek after 
 with the greatest earnestness; but how difficult is it to 
 fiunish novelty to you! I wonder whether you ever 
 happened to read the thing I was looking at last night, 
 ' Ben Jonson's Discoveries ; ' remarks, or reflections, they 
 might have been called. They leave me with a high 
 opinion of the moral principles, no less than the mental 
 power, of the learned old poet ; and there is no difficulty 
 in understanding how such a man, though intemperate in . 
 his habits, and probably somewhat coarse in his manners, ^ 
 should have been the chosen companion, nay, the ^ guide, 
 philosopher, and friend,' of the virtuous and elegant -minded 
 
TO MRS. TAYLOR. 145 
 
 Falkland, as well as others of the most distinguished men 
 of that age of giants, with which I am now beginning to 
 form an intimacy. Will you go with me some evening, 
 incog,, to the clnb at the Mitre ? Ealeigh founded it, and 
 we have for members^ among others, Selden, Cotton, Ben 
 Jonson, Beaumont and Fletcher, and that pleasant fellow, 
 who is so full of his jokes, Will Shakspeare. Donne, too, 
 is one of us ; of whom Jonson says, that his poems will 
 perish for want of being understood, and, he might l^ave 
 added, for want of being poetry; yet they are full of 
 matter, and he lashes, with a learned hand, the vices and 
 follies of the age. And all these men were the subjects, 
 and some of them the adulators, of that paltry king and 
 pedant James ! I wish I had a better centre figure for 
 my picture. It must be like Barry's picture of the other 
 world — in front, a number of separate groups of great- 
 souled men in Elysium ; in a corner, pride, licentiousness, 
 and all the vices of courts, with the leg of a garter-knight 
 in Tartarus. Thus, my friend, my busy mind 
 
 Lives in former times and places, 
 Holds communion with the dead ; 
 
 but not, you will well believe me, to the exclusion of 
 living worth and hving friendship ; no, nor to the exclusions 
 of the glorious scene of honourable and benevolent 
 exertion in every line, and of continual advancement in 
 every science and every elegant or useful art, which is 
 happily opened to the eyes of this generation. Surely the 
 spirit of Howard beholds our Bennet, our Buxton, our 
 excellent Mrs. Fry, and smiles. Even government seems 
 awakened to the importance of the subject; and our prison 
 management will not, I trust, be much longer a source of 
 vice and wretchedness, and a national opprobrium. I 
 begin, too, to have some idea that the exertions of the 
 missionaries in various remote corners of the earth, will at 
 last produce some good ; they are growing wiser by the 
 
 L 
 
146 LETTEES. 
 
 warning of past failures, and I cannot think that so much 
 good intention and disinterested exertion will or can be 
 thrown away. 
 
 Arthur's situation gives him opportunities of hearing of 
 all the improvements in science and the arts ; and I re- 
 joice to learn how many laudable and interesting objects 
 he has the power and the constant will to promote. The 
 Marchioness of Hastings, who is every way worthy to be 
 the honoured friend of my excellent friend Mrs. Fletcher, 
 lately applied to Arthur to find some workman able to 
 spin a quantity of exquisitely fine wool, brought to her 
 from India, which no common artificer would undertake. 
 He succeeded, and the Marchioness in return has conceived 
 a lively interest in his objects, and will procure for the 
 Society specimens, quite new to Europe, of the vegetable 
 products of India. Dr. Leech is indefatigable in extend- 
 ing and perfecting and placing in scientific arrangement 
 the zoological collection of the British Museum; in his 
 hands, this national repository will soon become as noble 
 a school for the naturalist as it now is for the draughts- 
 man and sculptor. 
 
 Campbell is lecturing at the Liverpool Institution on 
 Poetry, in a manner, E. writes to me, entirely worthy 
 of the subject, and of his reputation. This gratifies me 
 much. I am still a little jealous for my first love, though 
 I myself have ceased to court her : and I have sometimes 
 feared that science, with her rich train of utilities, would 
 usurp upon the due honours of the dowerless house. 
 You will be glad to hear that Montgomery expects soon [ 
 to put to press a new volume of poems, after a four years' 
 interval. I know not the subjects, but am inclined to 
 hope something good. 
 
 Have I not now given you too much ? I fear I may ; and ' 
 must I close without expressing how dear, how very dear, the 
 Hfe and health of my earliest, most revered, and most beloved 
 
TO MRS. TAYLOR. 147 
 
 friend must ever be to this heart, grateful as it is for all 
 her love and all her kindness, and how agonising has 
 been my late anxiety on her account ? With my father 
 and mother's most affectionate regards to yourself and to 
 dear Mr. Taylor, I rest 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 To Mrs, Taylor. 
 
 Stoke Newington: Sept. 1819. 
 My dear Friend — May I congratulate you on parting 
 with so dear a daughter, so sweet a companion and friend ? 
 Yes, for it is to the man of her heart, who deserves her 
 by his talents, his virtues, his love, and his constancy. 
 Fair and happy are their prospects ; may they long live 
 to enjoy their felicity, and you, my dear friend, to partake 
 in it. I will beg of you to tell the bride, with my kind 
 love, that I long to congratulate her in person, and that I 
 hope we shall contrive, in spite of all the obstacles of 
 wicked London, to meet now and then in a rational 
 manner. Of your good and busy sons we do not see so 
 much as, I believe, all parties could wish, but Mr. Whishaw 
 was so good as to bring Kichard to us one day last week, 
 and we all thought liim looking remarkably well — as if 
 he was just come from enjoying a great deal of pleasure 
 with all whom he loves at Norwich. ... I am proceeding 
 in my task, but slowly and anxiously. Success has made 
 me timid ; like Horace's soldier, I am fearful of risking 
 anything audacious now I have something to lose : and it 
 is so difficult to treat that reign of James without mani- 
 festing what the church and king party will be apt to call 
 a factious spirit. Yet truth must and shall by me be told. 
 I have lately had the good fortune to form an acquaint- 
 ance with Mr. Butler, the mouth-piece of the English 
 
 L 2 
 
148 LETTERS. 
 
 Catholics, who, after thirty or forty years of unceasing' 
 efforts to obtain for his church the restoration of civil 
 rights, approaches, I trust, to the accomplishment of his 
 wishes. Perhaps you have seen some of his curious and 
 laborious works. I have derived considerable instruction 
 from his ' Memoirs of English Catholics since the Eeforma- 
 tion,' and still more from some books which he has lent 
 nie. I believe few Protestants have any adequate idea 
 of the degree of persecution which they underwent 
 during James's reign, and which I shall not fail to state 
 very fully. 
 
 You have read, I hope, that excellent work of Lord 
 John Eussell's. How soitTicZ it is ! What excellent feeling, 
 what judgment, what deep thinking! How honourable 
 to a lord of seven-and-twenty ! 
 
 I have been wishing you in London very often lately ; 
 we have had the society of the woman to whom I should 
 most of all desire to introduce you — dear and excellent 
 Mrs. Fletcher, of Edinburgh. She brought with her her 
 younger son, and two younger daughters — all fair branches 
 of so fair a stock. . . . My father was perfectly astonished 
 and delighted at the quantity of laughter which she and I 
 contrived to keep up between us. I think you would 
 come to a better opinion of girls, if you were to see some 
 that I could show you. ... On the whole, and from 
 various causes, I cannot help thinking that we English- 
 women have risen more in the scale of things within the 
 last twenty years, than within the preceding two hundred ; 
 and what is become of the men's jealousy of female ac- 
 quirements ? I see nothing left of it — to their praise, be 
 it spoken ; and it is, I believe, not fifty years since Dr. 
 Grregory left as a legacy to his daughters the injunction 
 to conceal their wit, and even their good sense, because it 
 would disgust the sex they were born to please ! 
 
 My aunt Barbauld, though complaining a little occa- 
 
TO MRS. TAYLOR. 149 
 
 sionally, has contrived to make many visits and enjoy, I 
 think, a great deal of pleasure this summer. My dear 
 father and mother continue, on the whole, in very good 
 health. They unite in kindest remembrances and sincere 
 good wishes to you all. Pray give my kindest love to 
 dear Susan. I should be very thankful for a letter from 
 her, to tell me how you all find yourselves. I know too 
 well what writing costs you. 
 
 Ever, my best friend. 
 Your most affectionate 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 To Mrs, Mallet 
 
 Hampstead : Sept. 1827. 
 My dear Mrs. Mallet — I am glad to snatch this oppor- 
 tunity of sending you a short greeting, for it seems already 
 a dreary length of time since you left us, and yet your 
 absence is to last much longer. I should have sent you a 
 message, at least, by Mr. Mallet, if I had seen him when 
 he called ; but I was in bed with one of my good-for- 
 nothing headaches : however, I have been quite well since, 
 and if it was the tax I was to pay for my excursion to 
 Mymms, I ought not to complain, for it was full of a 
 variety of entertainment and enjoyment : the Cambridge 
 excursion itself was scarcely more successful. Lord 
 Salisbury was obliging enough to show us himself the 
 mementoes of Queen Elizabeth remaining at Hatfield, 
 and exceedingly curious and interesting I found them : 
 there is her cradle, her pedigree from Adam, the tower 
 in which her sister kept her prisoner, with the spike upon 
 it, intended, they say, for her head; there is the oak 
 under which she was informed of her own accession. Her 
 portrait, presented by herself to Burleigh, is also there, with 
 Burleigh's own, that of his son Eobert, and several others 
 
150 LETTERS. 
 
 of great historic interest, especially a Charles and a 
 Strafford, both Vandyke's. The house itself is wonder- 
 fully magnificent. It is well observed, I think by Price, 
 that the sky line in the mansions of that time is pecu- 
 liarly rich and picturesque, from the turrets, domes, and 
 open battlements, and of this Hatfield is a fine example ; 
 at a distance you think you see a town, such is the variety 
 of outline. 
 
 We dined at G-orhambury, which is not, alas, the old 
 mansion of the Bacons ; but it is full of their portraits, 
 with copies of which, and many others. Lady Yerulam 
 has illustrated my Elizabeth. The Heygates themselves 
 occupy a very noble house of the same age, so that every- 
 thing contributed to assist my associations. Sir T. More 
 had a seat in Mymms parish, and they point out his pew 
 in the church. 
 
 I hope to hear that your visit is passing as pleasantly 
 as mine. I already learn that Henry is well, which is a 
 
 most essential condition of your enjoyment I am 
 
 just going to dine at the Baillies, with the Sothebys and a 
 few more, and expect a pleasant party. Mrs. Grreaves and 
 I shall adjourn for an hour to the committee at Mr. Eeid's 
 — we are to vote in two new members without Mr. Mallet's 
 sanction. Of books, I think we shall not order many, but 
 I shall propose Montgomery's new poems. 
 
 INIy mother desires her kindest regards to Mr. M. and 
 yourself, and pray believe me. 
 
 Very truly yours, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 To Mr, and Mrs. Mallet. 
 
 Hampstead: Sept. 25, 1831. 
 Many thanks, my dear friends, for your kind joint 
 letter. It is delightful to receive such letters, and much 
 
TO MB. AND MES. MALLET. 151 
 
 more delightful to think that the occasion for any letters 
 will soon cease. 
 
 Hampstead has been the abomination of desolation to 
 me in your absence. I have likened myself to the old 
 watercress woman in the 'Deserted Village.' Possibly 
 I may have felt it the more because I was tantalized with 
 the hope of a little excursion myself. Arthur was to have 
 taken me to explore the beauties of Tunbridge ; but, most 
 unfortunately, he was seized with a very severe bilious 
 attack, which disabled him during the only week it was 
 possible for him to go — but he is quite recovered, and that 
 is the great thing. 
 
 Some pleasure, however, I have had, which I wished 
 you could have shared. Mr. and Mrs. Kenrick have been 
 spending a week at Hampstead, which has given occasion 
 to two or three pleasant enough little parties in our own 
 little set. 
 
 I always very much enjoy Mr. Kenrick's company.* 
 He has — what has he not to make his conversation inter- 
 esting? — learning, with taste and judgment to teach 
 it when to show and when to conceal itself; wit, of a 
 high order ; a most amiable disposition, and a sober zeal 
 for every great interest of mankind. Last Sunday he 
 preached here, and the excellent Eajah came to hear him, 
 taking first a breakfast at Mr. Gr. K.'s, to which they were 
 so good as to invite me. The Eajah loses nothing by a 
 second view — quite the contrary. We drew from him a 
 very interesting account of the lawsuit he had to main- 
 tain against his relations, who wanted to deprive him of 
 his inheritance on account of his change of religion. 
 
 ' Many,' he said, ' would have given way to them, but I, 
 no ! I withstood them, and I succeeded.' The particu- 
 lars are too long to write, you shall have them when we 
 meet. He was brought up as a Pundit, and this enabled 
 
 * The Eev. John Kenrick, of YorL 
 
152 LETTERS. 
 
 him to take a valid ground of defence. The best is, that 
 he has promised me a second visit, and I shall take care 
 to remind him of it when you return, Xo one can stand 
 better than he does the severe test of talking of oneself. 
 He does it with a dignified simplicity which marks the 
 real man of merit, having certainly the further advantage 
 of being a born and bred gentleman. 
 
 This last phi'ase reminds me to tell you that I have had 
 the honour of a call from Lord Eliot, who brought the 
 additional papers he had promised, and was accompanied 
 by a very pleasing lady, his sister. I was pleased with 
 his conversation, and thought him intelligent, but I cer- 
 tainly sympathise more with his patriot ancestor than he 
 does 
 
 I have to brag that I am writing very diligently, partly 
 to preserve myself from ennui, I even begin to build 
 castles, and to say, ' At this rate — next spring.' But then 
 Experience thrusts forth her ugly, wrinkled visage, and 
 says, ^ Yes, but you must not expect to go on at this rate.' 
 We shall see, however. I am much better in health. 
 
 My dear friends, adieu ; happy words till we meet ! 
 Believe me sincerely and affectionately yours, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 To Mr, Mallet 
 
 Jan. 1835. 
 Dear Sir — I hoped to have called on you and Mrs. Mallet 
 to-day, but I do not find myself equal to it. I want to talk 
 with you of the excellent man who is gone. From my 
 childhood I have been in the habit of seeing him from 
 time to time, when he used to call on my father, whom he 
 valued both for his own sake and for the sake of my 
 grandfather at Warrington. Xo one who knew him could 
 help loving him, but what author of our day has been 
 
TO ME. MALLET. 153 
 
 SO miicli maligned. For the honour of the Whig ministry 
 one may wish they had conferred some mark of es- 
 teem on such a man as Mr. Malthus ; but what could it 
 have added to him? He possessed a competence, and 
 there was so much of the true philosopher about him 
 that I should have grieved to see him a clerical sinecurist, 
 instead of the useful and respected head of a college. 
 
 I hope the duty of setting his character as a man and an 
 author before the public will fall into very good hands. 
 In his case this is more than usually important. I did 
 not like the tone of j^esterday's notice of him in the 
 ' Morning Chronicle.' Who is there that would be likely 
 to do him justice ? Some friend should take it up, with 
 all his regret and his affection full upon him. 
 
 Believe me, very truly yours, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 To Mrs, Mallet 
 
 Hampstead : Oct. 6, 1836. 
 No, my dear friend; at least, my lazy aversion to 
 letter-writing has not gained such a head as to prevent my 
 returning your kind greeting, and telling you how much 
 I want you home again. Hampstead is almost a desert : 
 the Eales away — Mrs. Grreaves away — the Misses Baillie 
 not expected till to-morrow. 
 
 Last week the weather was dismally wet and stormy 
 with us ; no going out, and I was three whole days with- 
 out seeing a face but those of my servants and the car- 
 penter; but for the amusement of having a book-case moved 
 out of my dressing-room, and a new carpet put down in 
 \ it, I know not how I should have survived the dullness of 
 my solitude. You remember Miss Edge worth makes 
 Lord Glenthorn put off shooting himself from ennui till he 
 had seen his new pig-stye built, and I am decidedly of 
 
154 LETTERS. ' 
 
 . ! 
 
 opinion that nobody perpetrates such a deed with a car- j 
 penter in the house. Yesterday the heavens began to 
 smile, and to-day I had my gardener — better still than 
 the carpenter — and also took a walk : ^ II faut du mouve- 
 
 mentj' as Mr. Whishaw says Mr. Whishaw has not j 
 
 been near me yet. I wonder whether he has been out ! 
 of town again, or whether he or his coachman thinks the 
 weather not settled enough to venture to Hampstead. 
 
 ******** j 
 
 I used to receive daily a morning visit from a lady well, 
 or, perhaps I ought rather to say, much known in London 
 circles. She was a prodigious gossip, and always boasted 
 of having the earliest information of everybody's move- 
 ments; and sometimes I found her chit-chat amusing j 
 enough. But then she was so little select in her topics, ( 
 that she would as readily give you an account of the ( 
 squabbles of cabmen in the street, in their own vulgar 
 slang, as of a horticultural breakfast, a new opera, or the 
 fete of a duchess. She was a mighty politician, too ; but 
 she seemed to me absolutely O'Connell mad, and I could , 
 not help suspecting that she was a papist at heart, and I 
 she really gave her tongue such liberties in speaking of I 
 the Conservatives, that I was ashamed even to listen to her. I 
 At last my patience and tolerance were quite exhausted, j 
 and I fairly desired her to come no more to my house. ' 
 Though a daily visitor was something of a resource to me, 
 I hitherto find myself all the happier for being rid of a 
 person of so very unedifying a character and conversation, * 
 and I think it very unlikely at present that Maciame 
 ' Morning Chronicle ' and I should make up our quarrel. I 
 content myself at present with a weekly visit from Miss 
 ' Examiner,^ a better-bred person. You will think all this 
 mighty flimsy ; but I have nothing better to offer you at 
 present, during so dead a time, so I hope you will accept 
 
TO MRS. MALLET. 155 
 
 it for my sake With best regards to Mr. Mallet 
 
 and the boys, pray believe me, 
 
 Ever truly yours, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 To Mrs, Mallet 
 
 Hampstead: Oct. 5, 1838. 
 
 My dear Mrs. Mallet — Many thanks for your kind letter, 
 I have been wishing to hear of you, and was glad to have 
 so good an account upon the whole, though I much com- 
 miserated your early rising and wsiter-swilling, may one 
 say ? I have no idea how any human stomach can ever 
 contain the six glasses. I am sure you, at least, deserve a 
 cure of all ills. . . Book-committee to-morrow night, when 
 we shall miss Mr. Mallet, the more as Mr. K. is absent also. 
 I know of nothing to propose, but if we can find nothing 
 now, we may save our money till another time ; better 
 than buying, as we did last time, an account of a fellow- 
 prisoner of Pellico, a Frenchman, whose name I forget, 
 whose narrative is translated by Prandi, with many omis- 
 sions, he says, of the sentimental passages, and attempts 
 to bring it to sobriety and simplicity. It was little worth 
 the labour, being in its present state duller than if it had 
 been written by the heaviest Dutchman, and not a whit 
 the less like a romance for that. 
 
 I have just been reading, in the way of business, Scott's 
 ' Life of Dryden.' One anecdote of him and his book- 
 seller pleased me. Jacob Tonson, his publisher, being him- 
 self a staunch Whig, wanted to persuade Dryden to dedicate 
 his ' Virgil ' to King William, which he foresaw would be 
 difi&cult, after all the wiitings and actings of the poet in 
 the former reigns. To prepare the way, he ordered the 
 engraver employed to touch up the old prints of Ogilvy's 
 ' Virgil ' for the new translation, to aggravate the nose of 
 pious ^neas into a manifest resemblance of the eagle's 
 
156 LETTERS. 
 
 beak of his majesty. This was done, with ludicrous effect ; 
 but, after all, the poet would not dedicate, but left 
 the nose plante la, without any apology. This biography 
 does not appear to me one of Scott's better performances. 
 It is slovenly in style, very low in moral sentiment and 
 estimate, deeply tinged with party spirit, and by no means 
 exquisite in literary taste and critical remark. No man 
 does justice to the public who presumes to offer it a post- 
 haste biography and criticism of such a poet as Dryden. 
 
 I have had a letter from Dr. Channing, in which, among 
 other agreeable matters, he gives me a pleasing account of a 
 visit which he made while in England to Mr. Wilberforce. 
 ' I could not but respect him,' he says, ' though I saw not 
 a sign of intellectual force. He asked me about the Unit- 
 arians of Boston, not suspecting me of the heresy ; and when 
 I told him that I was one, though some of his family did 
 not receive the communication with the kindness which 
 hospitality required, the good old man went on to talk with 
 undiminished complacency. On my leaving him, he took 
 me into his study, gave me to understand that he thought 
 more of a man's spirit or temper than his opinions, and 
 chose to write m}'- name and his own on a pamphlet, which 
 he presented to me as a memorial of our interview.' 
 
 Vexatious ! I was bent upon finishing this letter yes- 
 terday, that it might be certain to reach you during Mr. 
 Whishaw's stay, but one interruption succeeded another 
 the whole day, and I have been obliged to keep it for 
 another day's post. I still hope, however, that it may be 
 in time. . . Your gardener has brought me both wall-fruit 
 and pears, for which I am much obliged to you. Charles 
 and I feasted upon them. I must now conclude in haste, 
 with my best remembrances to Mr. Mallet, ^Ir. WTiishaw, 
 and your olive-branches. 
 
 Believe me, ever truly yours, 
 
 L. AiKix. 
 
TO MR. AND MRS. MALLET. 157 
 
 To Mr, and Mrs, Mallet. 
 
 Hampstead: August 10, 1839. 
 
 A Eowland for your Oliver, my dear friends ! You sent 
 me a very agreeable account of your view of York Minster 
 and Harrowgate, and I can now retaliate with my im- 
 pressions of Windsor Castle. Last Tuesday, K. and I ac- 
 companied my brother Arthur thither by railroad, and I am 
 proud to say that I bore the journey very well, and was well 
 pleased with the mode of conveyance for that short dis- 
 tance ; for a hundred miles I think I should find it dull, 
 and wish for the old high road, with its variety of vehicles, 
 and the amusement of passing through towns and villages. 
 How few ideas of a country would a foreigner gain by 
 being whisked through it on a railroad, always on a low 
 level, and often passing between high banks ! 
 
 That castle is a glorious mass, extremely picturesque, both 
 by its forms and its position. It requires a resolute sup- 
 pression of one's feelings respecting architectural antiqui- 
 ties to relish its modern restorations on a nearer view ; and 
 I confess that the only part which gave^me much sentiment 
 was the chapel, in which some relics of former ages are 
 left still untouched. The two plain slabs in a retired side 
 chapel, lying almost side by side, and bearing the simple 
 names of Henry VI. and Edward IV., say much to the 
 mind, and so do the banners and ancient scutcheons of 
 the knights. I took a full survey of these objects, whilst my 
 more vigorous companions were climbing the round tower, 
 for its panoramic view. In the state-rooms are a few, though 
 not very many, objects of interest, besides the old pictures, 
 which we had not time thoroughly to examine. Some 
 Gobelin tapestry struck me a good deal ; it is in excellent 
 preservation, as well as beautifully executed, and the air 
 of the figures most amusingly French. How impossible 
 
158 LETTEKS. 
 
 it is to mistake any production of the age and country of 
 Louis XIV. ! The same misapprehension everywhere of 
 the grand for the great. But if such a style can ever be 
 in place, it is in court-saloons and ball-rooms, as here. 
 We much enjoyed a row down the river, ^vith the castle 
 towering on one hand, Eton College ' crowning the watery 
 glade ' on the other ; and it is only on the spot, by the 
 way, that one feels the graphic propriety of that ex- 
 pression. 
 
 I quite agree with you, Mr. Mallet, as to the poorness 
 of the towns on the north road. I doubt not their great 
 inferiority to those of the continent ; but I am a little dis- 
 appointed that you did not distinguish Newark, with the 
 noble Trent winding through it, and its old ragged castle. 
 Perhaps, indeed, I am biassed by historical associations. 
 No town was the scene of so many interesting events during 
 the war of Charles and the Parliament. It was held out 
 long and stoutly for the king ; he was long there ; it was 
 there, also, that the Scotch sold him. I apprehend that since I 
 the centralisation produced by the increased facilities of ' 
 travelling, our provincial towns have been more and more 
 outstripped by London. Formerly, the neighbom-ing 
 noblemen's and gentlemen's families were often content 
 to occupy during the winter, a good house in York, 
 Chester, \Yorcester, or Exeter — now, they all come to 
 London. The commercial class, too, are more inclined to 
 shun than to seek municipal honours and offices. No 
 rich manufacturer now builds a handsome mansion in a 
 town, in hopes of keeping his mayoralty in it ; he builds 
 a villa, washes his hands of the corporation, and cares not 
 for the embellishment of a place in which he holds only 
 a factory or a counting-house. 
 
 Mr. Whishaw and Mr. Smyth drank tea with me last 
 week. Mr. Smyth brought one of Mr. Hallam's volumes, 
 in order to read to me a most eloquent and excellent 
 
TO MR. AND MRS. MALLET. 159 
 
 paragraph on the tragedy of ^ Lear,' which I highly enjoyed. 
 In the midst of our chat, who should come in but Mr. 
 Duckworth. The moment he saw how snug we looked, 
 ' I must go,' said he, ' and put up my horse,' which he did, 
 making a most welcome accession to the party, and I in- 
 dulged them all with bits of Dr. Channing's letters. Mr. 
 Whishaw's carriage was ordered early, because Mr. Smyth 
 was to set out for Cambridge soon in the morning, and 
 he hurried our old friend away sooner than he was quite 
 willing to go. I was glad to find he had enjoyed his 
 evening. 
 
 Mr. Duckworth came to tell me that he had at length 
 procured for me the Tonson papers. I am now in the 
 midst of them, and, although the letters of Addison are 
 few and of no great consequence of themselves, they are 
 very valuable to a biographer, as throwing light on the 
 beginning of his literary career — little known before ; 
 what is still better to me, they confirm a favourite opinion 
 of mine on the formation of style, so I hail them as a 
 treasure 
 
 And pray, my dear Mrs. Mallet, how many tumblers 
 have you reached in your crescendo progress ? You cer- 
 tainly deserve a speedy and complete recovery, and I trust 
 will find it. I hope, too, you will be able to take a good 
 survey of the lions of Yorkshire. Mrs. Grreaves and the 
 Misses Baillie are quite well. No Hampstead news that 
 I know of — who am the last to hear anj^ 
 
 Tonson says I must gossip no longer. 
 Ever, my dear friends. 
 
 Cordially and affectionately yours, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
160 LETTERS. 
 
 To Mr, Mallet 
 
 Hampstead : Sept. 1843. 
 
 Indeed, my dear sir, I agree with jNIrs. IMallet that your 
 grand spectacle of our gallant Queen on her own element, 
 attended by her noble fleet, was an incident well worthy of 
 being related. Nothing abated my pleasure in your 
 description of it, except a little twinge of envy, which 
 seized me involuntarily and unawares. Much would I 
 have given for such an inspiring sight. Her reception by 
 that fine old French gentleman was like a chapter out 
 of ^Amadis de Gaul,' and perhaps ought to have stood 
 alone for this year : yet, in their way, the burger festivals 
 of Bruges and Grhent were also excellent, and carried the 
 mind back to the days of the old counts of Flanders, 
 England's faithful and valuable allies. The whole excur- 
 sion was charming, especially for us who are old enough 
 to recollect the bitter feelings of the long war which pre- 
 ceded this long blessed peace. 
 
 It is strange that people should so studiously run away 
 from their own ripe peaches and nectarines, and leave it 
 to their neighbours to tell them how good they are ! This 
 very day, after dinner, I shall treat Charles with some of 
 yours. This brilliant weather is delightful to him, and 
 does him good. For me, the nights especially are rather 
 too sultry, and I long for a few sea-breezes. I believe, 
 however, I shall not leave home this season, unless some 
 special temptation should arise. Hampstead is in a state 
 * of solemn silence and of dread repose ; ' but my Sunday 
 parties have been animated by a few forlorn males from 
 London, forsaken of their 'womankind,' and glad to be 
 noticed. I had a very delightful note from the Professor, 
 lately, who does appear to be in a delightful state of health 
 and spirits. Long may it continue! .... In fact, I 
 
TO MR. MALLET. l6l 
 
 have plucked up my spirits pretty well. The solemn 
 * Eclectic ' is very civil to me, and so have some other 
 oracles been. At present I am in a state of beatitude. 
 Having no book to write, and no society ephemerals to 
 read, I converse all day long with such people as Shak- 
 speare and Bacon. Also, I am reperusing with increased 
 admiration Gruizot's ' Lectures on Civilisation in France ' 
 — Europe indeed, he says, but he generally means France, 
 and scarcely ever refers to England, either as confirmation 
 or exception to his views. In his system we are indeed 
 divisos orbe. But he is surely a remarkable writer ; clear, 
 sagacious, original, and admirable for fairness and im- 
 partiality. We have only Hallam to place beside him. 
 Young people,, after Smyth, might read Guizot, but I 
 doubt if any academical class could thoroughly enter into 
 his observations, they are so perfectly mature ones. How 
 many things are there that we never begin to understand 
 till we are nearly past making any use of them ! A dismal 
 thought, therefore I will put an end to my prose when I 
 have begged you to remember me very kindly to Mrs. 
 Mallet and your sons, and believe me, 
 
 Ever very truly yours, 
 
 L. AlKIN, 
 
 To Mr, Mallet 
 
 Albion Street : Nov. 4, 1845. 
 
 Thank you, my dear friend, for your kind note. I am 
 reluctantly obliged to admit the force of your excuses for 
 not making your personal appearance in Albion Street at 
 this season, and I therefore fear it may be some time 
 before we meet. 
 
 The inscription pleases me very much ; I confess I was 
 not prepared for such very good taste in that quarter. 
 The only word that any one could scruple is ' Truth ' — 
 
162 LETTERS. 
 
 every sect claims it for its own champions, and refuses it, 
 of course, to all others ; but no one certainly was more 
 devoted to what he thought the cause of truth than 
 Channing, and those who raise the monument believe 
 that he attained it. 
 
 I am sorry that Thiers should be a more popular writer 
 in America than our friend ; but this was to be expected, 
 from the anti-anglican spirit which they now indulge. 
 I hear from Dr. Holland that Thiers is delightful in 
 society. This doctor, by the way, is just returned from a 
 tour of eight weeks, in which he crossed and recrossed the 
 Atlantic, and travelled three thousand miles on the Western 
 Continent. (Sydney Smith said, the doctor might well 
 travel fast, he never encumbered himself with more 
 luggage than five grains of calomel and a pair of black 
 silk stockings.) He attests the perfect accuracy of Dickens's 
 description of the dressing accommodations on board 
 American steamers. 
 
 Do you happen to know of such a person as a pastoral 
 poet? If you do, I will give you a subject for him. A 
 lady related the tale to me with much praise of the sim- 
 plicity of the parties. A young gentleman danced one even- 
 ing at Almack's with a young lady of seventeen, who was 
 so very pretty that he * simply ' told her he should like to 
 marry her. ' But,' said the simple nymph, ' have you got 
 enough to maintain me ? ' ' Yes, if twenty-five thousand 
 a-year is enough.' * Ask my papa.' Papa, it should 
 appear, thought it was ; for thus ]\Ir. Alexander Hope of 
 Deepdene did achieve a "vsife. * I think,' said Master 
 Duckworth, ' the young lady knew a good deal for seven- 
 teen.' One might say something similar of the state in its 
 teens, for which, pretty innocent, Mr. Ticknor pleads so 
 earnestly with the professor. It knows nothing as yet, 
 poor dear, of dollars, or bonds, or annexations ! . . . I rather 
 congratulate myself on not being in Church Row during 
 
TO MR. MALLET. 163 
 
 the delightful excitement of the murder * and the inquest, 
 which appear to have had so many charms for the million. 
 One comfort is, that the murdered appears to have been 
 anything but a loss to society. But I think the event 
 will give me a kind of dislike to Belsize Lane, which I used 
 to think the pleasantest as well as shortest way from us to 
 you. 
 
 Yours ever very truly, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 To Mr, Mallet 
 
 "Wimbledon : July 4. 
 My dear Friend — Your last note made me quite melan- 
 choly, by your account of the very little enjoyment you 
 are able to derive from your pretty garden. I cannot but 
 hope that with the advance of summer your rheumatism 
 will become less of an obstacle to your movements. Just 
 now, indeed, we are all made prisoners by the rain, and I 
 have had feeling admonitions that sitting out of doors is a 
 piece of youthiness in which I ought not to take upon me 
 to indulge ; but the sight and scent of flowers is still a 
 gratification, in which you, I trust, share also. 
 
 You ask me about the ^ Annual Keview.' It was pub- 
 lished yearly, in a thick octavo, in double columns, and the 
 entire publications of the year were noticed, each under 
 its own class, with short prefaces summing up what had 
 been done in each department. The work had a great 
 sale in the colonies, and there was always a hurry to get 
 it out for the spring fleet to India. 
 
 I may venture to say that the editor's maxim of ' fair 
 
 play and no favour ' was most honourably carried out. 
 
 There were many and able contributors, each in his own 
 
 j department. Mrs. Barbauld reluctantly took part of the 
 
 * The murder of Delarue. 
 
 m 2 
 
164 LETTERS. 
 
 poetry and polite literature in one or two of the earliest 
 volumes, and gave that critique on the ' Lay,' which the 
 author said he had approved and admired the most. My 
 father, who hated reviewing, could only be prevailed upon 
 to do * Hayley's Cowper.' I had the heartfelt pleasure of 
 singling out for praise small pieces of Montgomery's in 
 the ' Poetical Eegister ; ' and from the ' Poems of a Minor,' 
 gibbeted in the ' Edinburgh,' I predicted that Byron 
 would prove a poet. 
 
 But the chief writers in literature of a general kind 
 were Southey and William Taylor. Some of the best 
 writing of each is there. Southey did best in travels, 
 where his knowledge was extensive, and his dogmatism 
 had little scope. Taylor's great knowledge, his extreme 
 acuteness, tending sometimes to paradox, his singularities 
 in language — for which he could always render a reason 
 — and his occasional eloquence, raise his articles above all 
 the rest in interest and entertainment. Jeffrey justly 
 observed, ' If Taylor's reviews were collected, we should 
 all hide our diminished heads.' He anticipated in many 
 points the greatest writers on political economy. If you 
 see the last and preceding number of the * Grentleman's 
 Magazine,' you will find an article on Southey's * Life ' in 
 the first of them, and some pretty sharp comments of 
 mine in the second, exposing the vileness of his conduct 
 to Mrs. Barbauld. It is impossible now to doubt that all 
 the scurrilities of the ' Quarterly ' respecting her were his. 
 I am persuaded that he hated most literary women ; and ■ 
 latterly, all dissenters. Eespecting the ' Annual Review,' I 
 may add, that my brother found the oflSce of whipper-in 
 to an ill-disciplined literary pack so intolerably harass- 
 ing that he resigned it ; and under an incompetent suc- 
 cessor the work ceased to answer, and after one or two 
 years was dropped. . . . 
 
 I dined with Lady Coltman the day before she left 
 
TO MR. MALLET. 165 
 
 town ; and in my way down Piccadilly, just missed being 
 a witness of the audacious assault upon the Queen. Little 
 did I imagine what had drawn the crowd together. Surely 
 they will not let off the ruffian on pretext of insanity ! 
 
 I hope Mrs. Mallet would remember to tell you that I 
 gave you the copy of Mrs. Barbauld's letter, having the 
 original. Among her letters to Miss Edgeworth is one 
 containing some excellent criticisms on Mr. E 's prac- 
 tical education. Amongst other remarks, she takes notice 
 that casual circumstances will often give a bent to the 
 mind of a boy quite in opposition to that which his parent 
 might have designed to impress upon it. In illustration, 
 she mentions that a friend of hers was sure that her son 
 received an indelible impression in favour of the law from 
 seeing their neighbour, a barrister, return every evening 
 carrying a great bag, which the child thought was filled 
 with guineas. I know the person she alludes to ; he is 
 now a rich, and ultra-sharp attorney. . . . 
 
 I must really put an end to this long scribble. 
 
 Ever truly yours, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 To Mr. Mallet ^ 
 
 Wimbledon : Jan. 8. 
 
 My dear Friend — Thanks to Macaulay, if it were only 
 for rousing our dear Professor * to the effort of writing 
 such a gratifying and excellent note as you have sent me. 
 To be reminded of those times, and of my own labours 
 upon them, is like returning to some previous state of 
 existence — so completely am I now separated from all 
 such studies and discussions. 
 
 I think still with those who regard it rather as an article 
 than a history; very clever, very dashing, with all its 
 
 * Professor Smyth, of Cambridge. 
 
166 LETTERS. 
 
 detail, but not very deep or very philosopliical. Thus he 
 says, in his off-hand way, that the great struggle of 
 Charles's time was the change from a feudal monarchy to 
 a modern limited monarchy. This sentence has but very 
 little truth in it ; the quarrel turned on no such matter. 
 The long parliament in their bill of rights asked for no 
 new privileges, only for better security to the old ones ; it 
 attacked no feudal rights of the crown. The truth was 
 condensed by Lord J. Eussell in one sentence of his Httle 
 tract on the Constitution: the Tudors had tyrannised 
 through the parliament ; the Stuarts sought to tyrannise 
 without a parliament. Why did James II. fail in an en- 
 terprise which had succeeded with Mary ? For this very 
 reason : the parliament abetted her return to Rome ; for 
 his its consent was never asked. 
 
 He has failed to explain why James was not warranted | 
 in his attacks on the establishment by his authority as 
 head of the church. The statutes on religion passed in 
 the beginning of Elizabeth's reign should have been | 
 recited, by which that authority was restricted. On the 
 dispensing power he is very unsatisfactory. I conceive, 
 that the illegality of those monopolies which Elizabeth 
 and her successor were co7)ipelled by the parliament to 
 cancel, consisted in their 'non obstante' clause. It never 
 could be laivful for the sovereign to dispense with laws. 
 Certain I am, that it was not even among the irregular 
 things which the Tudors were tolerated in doing by pro- 
 clamation. 
 
 I am much taken by Lord Melbourne's saying ; it well 
 characterises these dashing reviewers ; and so does a certain 
 coarseness of style, very striking in Macaulay when he 
 deals with characters. He hlaclcgitards Jeffreys and James 
 as if they were live authors. I am not a sufficient judge 
 of his fairness, or unfairness, between whigs and tories ; but 
 the character I like best, as a portrait, is Halifax, the 
 
TO MR. MALLET. 167 
 
 head of the Trimmers. On the whole, I much admire the 
 book, and think its politics sound and seasonable. In our 
 horror of the revolutions of the continent, we must not 
 forget all that we owe to our own. 
 
 Most of this I had written some days ago ; when the 
 severity of the cold brought on my asthma, and nearly 
 disabled me. Now I am becoming accHmated, and even 
 enjoyed a walk yesterday in the sunshine. 
 
 Last evening I received the pretty wedding cards, and 
 I rejoice sincerely with you all. I hope Mrs. Mallet en- 
 joyed the day. You would enjoy it for her, snug in your 
 hybernaculum. Neither you nor I shall be off to dig up 
 gold in California ; multitudes will though ; and I suppose 
 they will be fighting for the treasure by-and-bye. It is 
 like nothing but a fairy tale at present — Manchester does 
 not take it in that sense, however. Think of the wild 
 Indians all so gay in printed calicoes and gaudy shawls ! 
 I hope some clever fellow will put it all in a novel for us. 
 What strange scenes ! . . . . 
 
 Kind love to Mrs. Mallet and your two sons at home ; 
 
 cordial congratulations to H when you write. 
 
 Ever truly yours, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 To Mr, and Mrs, Mallett, 
 
 Wimbledon : Sept. 12, 1850. 
 
 Dear Friends — By this time I trust you are again quietly 
 settled in your own house, and all your bustles well over, 
 
 I am sure I need not tell you how great a mortification 
 it was to me to find you quitting Hampstead just as I 
 arrived there. I had a glimpse of you, however, and that 
 was worth something. The change was of advantage to 
 me; I have been a better walker ever since, and if it 
 were not for this obstinate east wind, I should enjoy 
 
1 68 LETTERS. 
 
 myself very much in this bright sunshine. My brother 
 dined with me two Sundays in Hampstead, and we had great 
 enjoyment in retracing our old paths, notwithstanding the 
 recollections which met us at every turn of those who 
 once trod them with us — now lost to us in this world for 
 ever. At our age, such spectral appearances start up at 
 every turn, and we learn to accept of them as a condition 
 of our being — indeed we should feel life a blank without 
 them. It is in the past chiefly that we live. 
 
 It was a great pleasure to me to see the Misses Baillie 
 on the whole so well. Agnes seems to me quite herself 
 still ; her sister's memory certainly fails a good deal, but 
 the heart is warm as ever, and there are still flashes of a 
 bright mind. 
 
 Here I converse with the dead almost entirely. The 
 fifth volume of Southey has been occupying me. The 
 effect of the work is on the whole melancholy, notwith- 
 standing his perpetual assertions of the buoyancy of his 
 disposition — his gaiety even, which no one could possibly 
 divine from the tone of his writings. With very consider- 
 able talents, and unwearying diligence, it was yet his 
 destiny to miss almost every mark he aimed at. But a 
 small proportion of his numerous works succeeded even 
 moderately, and the world refused to honour his bold 
 draughts upon it as a great historian, and a poet, ' if not 
 first, in the very first line.' 
 
 I can remember when his friends said, ' No doubt he is 
 arrogant, but he will mend of that, he will find his level.' 
 There was the mistake — his was an incurable case; 
 neither the mellowing hand of time, nor the rude shocks 
 of disappointment, could in the least degree moderate his 
 self-opinion. Posterity was to do him justice — his fame 
 was to be immortal. It was a kind of monomania, and 
 was the true source of his bigotry, religious and political, 
 and of that virulence of abuse and invective by which he 
 
TO MR. A^'D MRS. MALLET. 169 
 
 disgusted his own party almost as much as he provoked 
 the opposite. He could not conceive that any treatment 
 could be too harsh, any terms of contempt and hatred too 
 strong, for those who resisted such manifest truths as were 
 taught in the writings of the infallible Eobert Southey. 
 To differ from him was to reject a prophet. I do not 
 think this publication will raise him in pubHc esteem, 
 
 good man as he was in all his private relations 
 
 Your gardener supplied me abundantly with fruit and 
 vegetables while I remained at Hampstead, for which I 
 thank your kind though tfulness. Adieu, my dear friends, 
 let me hear speedy and good accounts of you both. 
 
 Yours ever truly, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 To Mr, Mallet, 
 
 Wimbledon : Feb. 16, 1851. 
 
 Dear Friend — It begins to be very long since we had any 
 communication, and I am anxious to hear how you and 
 Mrs. M. bear the winter which has come upon us at 
 last 
 
 We have nothing here but causes for thankfulness — all 
 well, and the young ones thriving and learning. The 
 pet of the house — a fine boy of fifteen months — is not 
 spoiled as yet, though such a consummation is assuredly 
 to be looked for in due time; meanwhile he is a great 
 amusement to me, and I foolishly think him something 
 more than common. But why foolishly? What would 
 life be worth, if we had none left of these kindly illusions ? 
 
 Talking of illusions, I actually made the effort of going 
 to view that gigantic fairy illusion, as it seems, the Crystal 
 Palace. It is indeed a wonder, and one of which no de- 
 scription, no representation, gives the slightest idea. 
 The form, indeed, is quite simple, so are the materials 
 
170 LETTERS. j 
 
 and all tlie details, the whole impression depends on the 
 size, which is quite inconceivable. It is not a sublime 
 work, nor is it awful, nor yet strikingly beautiful. You 
 have no associations with it to render it impressive or 
 affecting — but wonderful it is in a supreme degree. And , 
 if you looked round you at the spectators, every face wore 
 the same expression of gaping wonderment — ' young i 
 astonishment ' — like so many boys and girls watching a j 
 conjuror. I would not have missed the sight on any j 
 account — at our age what a treat is a new sensation ! 
 Whether the effect will be equally striking when it is 
 filled I doubt. The space will be in some degree cut up. 
 
 As if I were resolved to go as far as possible out of my 
 calm routine, T have plunged with Major Edwards into 
 his ' Punjab Adventures.' He is a little boastful, but tells | 
 his tale none the worse for that ; and a very curious and | 
 interesting tale it is, and makes me acquainted, as I never ♦ 
 was before, with those Indian races, Hindu and Mahometan, 
 whom our soldiers and politicals have to deal with. Cruel | 
 and treacherous they are, like all barbarians and all sub- ) 
 jects of despotic sway; but there is good ground for hope I 
 that a just and firm government, such as that to which ' 
 British India is now, I hope, subjected, will very much 
 correct these vices of Sikhs and Aflfghans. It is at least a I 
 fine experiment on a grand scale, and one in which I have j 
 long taken a deep interest. In fact, I would rather turn I 
 my thoughts anywhere than to the continent of Europe, 
 where despotism triumphs as the sole antagonist able to 
 put down anarchy. I often think of Home Tooke, and 
 suspect that after a time even he will long to try purgatory 
 again. In France I have lost all interest. Who can tell - 
 what a Frenchman wants or wishes ? 
 
 There is some hope that we may improve in point of 
 society here. . . . New fnends it is too late for me to 
 think of; all I want, are a few conversable acquaintances. 
 
TO MR. MALLET. 171 
 
 By tlie way, is it not a feature of the age that this word 
 acquaintances is nearly obsolete? All are friends now 
 after once meeting. Everybody lives so much in a crowd, 
 that it is quite too great a trouble to make distinctions. 
 What will it be when all Europe pours in upon us ? 
 Amongst other distinctions, I suspect that of meum and 
 tuum will often be slipping out of memory. 
 
 You will like to hear that I am quite well, and abso- 
 lutely enjoying the bright frost. My brother is well also. 
 . . . My dear friends of five-and-twenty years, adieu. 
 
 Ever truly yours, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 To Mr. Mallett 
 
 "Wimbledon: June 9, 1851. 
 
 Dear Friend — In all your remarks on the world's fair I 
 entirely concur, and I rejoice that you and Mrs. Mallet 
 should have had a glimpse of it, though little more. I 
 have made it only one visit, and that not a very long one, 
 and the difficulties to me are so great, that I fear I shall 
 scarcely accomplish another. 
 
 My visit to London was so short, that to my great 
 regret I could not accomplish a drive to Hampstead. All 
 I did accomplish, besides the Grreat Exhibition, was to 
 show my face at Mr. and Mrs. Yates's archaeological party 
 at Highgate. A very pleasant garden lounge it was, for 
 we had fine weather, and I met half the people I know. 
 An intended archaeological lecture in Polish-English, by 
 Count Pulski, was very judiciously cushioned. Poor 
 children are always made to swallow 'instructive and 
 amusing ' at one mouthful, like bread and cheese, but I 
 am shocked to observe, that the longer we live, and the 
 cunninger we grow, the less we believe in medicated 
 pleasures. 
 
172 LETTERS. 
 
 Mr. Y 's place is called Lauderdale House, and was 
 
 built by the atrocious minister of Charles II. for Scotland. 
 It is a low white building, of no outside show, but there 
 is a gallery 90 feet long, and several other large rooms, 
 and a charming old garden in terraces down the slope of 'f 
 the hill, with fine evergreens, and especially the largest \ 
 bays I ever saw, which were in full blossom. Mr. Y. has 
 added a palm-house, being a great botanist, and having '■ 
 devoted his chief attention to this class. He is a man of ^ 
 immense acquisition in various lines, and the house is filled f 
 with his books and multifarious collections, which I had 
 not time to inspect. His wife is the best of all his acqui- 
 sitions, with her intelligence and unaffected good humour* J 
 I longed to be domesticated with them for a month. ^ 
 
 As you say, it is in vain to invite attention at present 
 to anything unconnected with the Crystal Palace, but 
 there will come a time, I trust, when * arts and industry ' 
 have had their day, and the claims of our dear friend * to 
 monumental honours will be admitted. I am even told 
 that the abbey would not be so difficult as I imagined. It 
 was suggested that the Queen and Prince Albert, if applied 
 to, would be likely to patronise the design. May these 
 hopes be realised ! I have been re-perusing many of her 
 tragedies with renewed admiration. The high so it^ shines 
 through them all, and they are full of poetry ; fine touches 
 of character, too, though the moral refinement is some- 
 times over-wrought. Would she had omitted all her 
 comedies from her volume, and all the prose tragedies ! 
 .... I forget London and all its shows and splendours 
 when I enter our pretty garden. We are now in a blaze 
 of rhododendrons and azaleas, with China roses and other 
 flowers coming on, and my rock, I assure you, is becoming 
 a positive lion, ]\Irs. Marryatt has given a solemn sen- 
 tence that it is the best arranged rock of her acquaintance 
 * Mrs. Joanna Baillie. 
 
TO MR. MALLET. 173 
 
 I only say that it is quite covered with plants, and very 
 gay at present with flowers of all hues. 
 
 In a garden, a small one especially, it is certainly some- 
 thing very different from nature that we look for ; and I am 
 satisfied that the perfect artificialness of these little rocks 
 is one of their great charms. Another recommendation 
 with me, is the number of rather rare plants which you thus 
 collect immediately under your eye — the greatest of all is 
 the quantity of fid-fad occupation which the care of it 
 supplies. Alas ! I have no better employment for the 
 hours which it wearies to spend in the equally idle occu- 
 pation of reading without an object. An Arabian barren- 
 ness in the book-mart. I am looking through the letters 
 of Walpole to Mason, but they are by no means his best : 
 a great deal of political croaking from both correspond- 
 ents ; a scarcity of anecdote, and an abundance of profes- 
 sion, which their twelve years' quarrel shows to have been 
 very hollow. I am at the end of my paper. My dear 
 friends adieu. 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 To Mr, and Mrs, Mallet 
 
 Wimbledon : June 26. 
 How is it, my good friends, that we have not had a 
 single word together since my pleasant glimpse of you at 
 Hampstead ? Is it, alas ! with you as with me, that the 
 days of these latter years glide on so little marked with 
 new impressions, that they are gone before we are conscious 
 they have arrived ? ' Unfelt, uncounted.' Yet if, as I 
 suppose, Somerset House is now given up, this must make 
 an epoch to you, and a man at entire leisure might make 
 the effort of telling a friend how he likes it. I know for 
 myself, that after I determined to write no more books, I 
 felt lost for a while without a daily task — now I feel that 
 it would be insupportably irksome to me to resume it. 
 
174 LETTERS. 
 
 So much, however, of old habits remains, that it is a real 
 gratification to me, or rather the satisfying of a want, to 
 give a daily lesson of some kind to a little niece or two ; 
 and as the eldest is now a creature with whom one may 
 read some parts of Locke with the con\dction that it is i 
 understood and relished, you may believe that the interest • 
 of this occupation increases daily. On the whole, I feel 
 more and more that it was good for me to take up my 
 abode in a house full of children. They keep constantly 
 awake those sensibilities without which elder life would 
 be mere vegetation. 
 
 True it is that these are times in wliich the history of 
 Europe might seem enough to keep all our thoughts and 
 feelings alive, even without domestic interests. With me, 
 however, this is not the case. I seem to be looking out 
 upon chaos ; and whether cold or hot, or moist or dry, 
 gains a momentary advantage, is really a matter which I 
 cannot bring myself to take to heart. My prevalent 
 notion is, that the French have a new military despotism 
 to pass through before long, during which they will again 
 be the scourge of the earth, unless this dread visitation be 
 averted by a prolonged state of anarchy and civil war 
 among themselves, ending in a fresh restoration of the 
 elder branch of the Bourbons. Of the destinies in store 
 for G-ermany and Italy, who can venture to form even the 
 slightest conjecture ! 
 
 Pray tell me whether you know a French book published 
 as long since as 1809, Barente's 'History of French 
 Literature in the Eighteenth Centiu-y,' and what is your 
 estimate of it. A friend has lent it to me, and I am 
 reading it with great admiration, and esteem of its wise, 
 virtuous, and impartial spirit, as well as of the acuteness 
 and finesse, combined with what appears to me the con- 
 stant soundness and judiciousness of the remarks, whether 
 moral or critical. He observes, that any one who should 
 
TO MR. AND MRS. MALLET. 175 
 
 undertake the history of vanity in France, would soon 
 discover a great part of the causes which produced its 
 revolution. I conceive that if this excellent author be still 
 living, he may find in recent events more and more con- 
 firmation of this pregnant remark. 
 
 My dear brother regularly visits us on Sundays, and 
 the sight of him in such excellent health and peaceful 
 comfort as he continues to enjoy, is one of my chief 
 blessings. . . . Pray let me hear of the dear professor, 
 and when you write assure him of my kindest regards. 
 I know not whether he is still in a state to be gratified by 
 a note. I would write if I thought he was. Adieu, my 
 dear friends ; remember me to your sons. 
 
 Ever truly yours, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 To Jerome Murch, Esq., of Bath. 
 
 Hampstead: Dee. 20, 1841. 
 
 Dear Sir — You ask me for some recollections of Mr. 
 William Taylor in the freshness and vigour of his powers, 
 and the melancholy plea with which you urge your re- 
 quest, that there are very few now left competent to speak 
 on the subject, insures my compliance. I feel it a duty 
 not to withhold the little it is in my power to contribute 
 towards the posthumous reputation of a man of merit and 
 of genius, to whom, while he lived, the reading public was 
 so much a niggard of its applause. 
 
 Of his youth I can only speak traditionally, but I know 
 that high hopes were conceived of him by those who 
 knew him in his boyhood, and especially by her whom I 
 have heard him name with gratitude * the mother of his 
 mind ' — Mrs. Barbauld. His talent for poetry was early 
 discovered by her. It was deeply regretted by some of 
 his friends that his father did not educate him for the law. 
 
176 LETTERS. I 
 
 He possessed, indeed, that union of perseverance and^ 
 method in study, with subtlety of discrimination, of inex- ! 
 haustible fertility in the invention of arguments on all 
 topics, with eminent skill and facility in the statement of 
 them, which could scarcely have failed of appreciation at i 
 the bar. At the same time, that strong stamp of indi- ' 
 viduality which rendered him' so much an object of curi- 
 osity and interest to those who enjoyed his society, must^ 
 soon have lost its sharpness under the friction of London 
 life and professional collision. 
 
 During his meridian, which might be loosely reckoned [ 
 to comprise about ten years of the last century and fifteen ' 
 or twenty of the present, Norwich contained within its 
 walls a lettered and accomplished circle, fully capable both c 
 of appreciating and of being stimulated by his genius, and 
 he was constantly attended by a band of admiring disciples. 
 His conversation was inexpressibly attractive, by its rich- ^ 
 ness, Variety, and originality. So copious were the 
 materials which his wide range of general knowledge, and 
 his stores of many-languaged literature, offered to the I 
 choice of his busy constructive fancy, that not the most 
 familiar associate could anticipate on any topic his ready 
 information, his novel inference, his strange hypothesis, his f 
 ingenious illustration, his ironical suggestion, or his playful 
 banter. The peculiarity of his diction, always interspersed 1^ 
 with words of his own coinage, added to the zest of his 
 sayings by its admirable aptness and significance. 
 
 With these rare endowments, he was no engrossing or } 
 overbearing talker, but a true converser. He was without 
 vanity, and his manners, deficient in ease, were yet free I 
 from affectation. ' That unnaturalness,' said an excellent 
 judge of men, after closely observing him, Ms natural to f 
 him.' His imperturbable calmness of temper, his perfect ^ 
 candour, and an urbanity which never deserted him, con- 
 ciliated general esteem, and certainly were his protection * 
 
TO MR. MURCH. 177 
 
 from much of acrimonious dispute and social persecution. 
 But for this, attached as he was by philosophy to the 
 broadest principles of civil and religious liberty, and by 
 habit to the unbounded range of discussion indulged in a 
 Grerman university, he could not with impunity have so 
 constantly exerted that privilege of free utterance of 
 opinion, which bigots, seizing for themselves, deny to 
 others. Often, indeed, it was matter of great doubt how 
 far he could be serious in the bold speculations which he 
 would advance as admitted principles, and the startling 
 paradoxes he uttered with the air of truisms. In any case, 
 there was such an absence of all idea of offence in his 
 demeanour, that it was scarcely possible to meet him with 
 angry invective or rude contradiction. 
 
 He had other qualities which conspired to the same 
 effect. In hospitality, generosity, and warmth of friend- 
 ship, in probity and honour — the moral part of the gentle- 
 man — he had no superior; and the filial devotion with 
 which he made himself eyes to an excellent mother de- 
 prived of sight, claimed for him the love and reverence of 
 every feeling heart. 
 
 In reference to Mr. Taylor's mintage of words, it is right 
 to observe that it was not arbitrary or capricious ; they were 
 always learnedly and analogically formed ; a few of them 
 have crept into use, and more might perhaps be adopted 
 with advantage. Of his profound knowledge, indeed, of 
 the English tongue, and fine tact in the employment of 
 words, he has raised an enduring monument in his 
 ' Synonymy,' a work which cannot be too diligently perused 
 by the student in the art of English composition. 
 
 To what extent he was indebted for his literary stores, 
 and for the cast of his thoughts and style, to Grerman 
 models, it is not for one unacquainted with that language 
 to determine; but whatever may have been his obliga- 
 tions, they were assuredly not unrequited. When his 
 
 N 
 
178 LETTERS. 
 
 acquaintance with this literature began, there was prob- 
 ably no English translation of any Grerman author which 
 had not been made through the medium of the French, 
 and he is very likely to have been the first Englishman 
 of letters to read Groethe, Wieland, Lessing, and Biirger in 
 the originals. He hastened to spread the fame of his new 
 favourites ; and from this time, translations, or imitations, 
 more or less close, from the German, formed the bulk of 
 his writings in verse ; although he has left us specimens [ 
 enow to prove that the fame of an original poet of great 
 vigour of thought and vividness of style was completely 
 within his powers of attainment. ] 
 
 How far Mr. Taylor was instrumental in kindling that [ 
 violent but transient passion for the lighter literature of 1] 
 Grermany which raged among us about forty years ago, it l 
 is difficult to determine. Kone of the dramas which then fc 
 became so celebrated or notorious were introduced to the ^ 
 English public by him; but some years earlier, he had I 
 begun to enrich the pages of the ' Monthly Magazine ' ( 
 with some of the most valuable materials afterwards in- j 
 eluded in his survey of Grerman literature. He had like- p 
 wise published in a separate volume, ' Nathan the Wise,' L 
 and that exquisitely graceful and interesting drama, ' Iphi- 
 genia in Tauris,' which he has rendered into blank verse 
 of the most finished beauty. 
 
 A remarkable anecdote belongs to his incomparable ver- 
 sion of Biirger's * Lenora,' which I heard from the lips of Sir 
 Walter Scott himself, as he was relating it to Mrs. Bar- 
 bauld. After reminding her that, long before the ballad j- 
 was printed, she had carried it with her to Edinburgh 
 and read it to Mr. Dugald Stewart , * he,' said Scott, 
 'repeated all he could remember of it to me, and this, 
 madam, was what made me a poet. I had several times 
 attempted the more regular kinds of poetry without suc- 
 cess ; but here was something that I thought I could do.' 
 A translation capable of lighting up such a flame cer- 
 
TO MR. MURCH. 179 
 
 tainly deserves all the praise of an original ; indeed no 
 one could guess it to have been any other, so racy and 
 idiomatic is the old English in which he has clothed it. 
 
 For very many years, Mr. Taylor was both a frequent 
 magazine correspondent and a diligent reviewer. For 
 this last office he possessed in large measure the leading 
 qualifications of extensive knowledge and critical acumen, 
 always sheathed by him in the courtesy of the gentleman, 
 mingled with those striking peculiarities which never 
 failed to betray his authorship to the discerning reader. 
 His articles are thus admirably characterised by Sir James 
 Mackintosh in one of his published letters, written from 
 Bombay : — * I can still trace William Taylor by his Ar- 
 menian dress, gliding through the crowd in Annual Ee- 
 views. Monthly Magazines, Athenaeums, &c., rousing the 
 stupid public by paradox, or correcting it by useful and 
 seasonable truth. It is true that he does not speak the 
 Armenian, or any other language but the Taylorian ; but 
 I am so fond of his vigour and originality, that, for his sake, 
 I have studied and learnt his language. As the Hebrew 
 is studied for one book, so is the Taylorian by me for one 
 author. ... I doubt whether he has many readers who so 
 much understand, relish, and tolerate him.' 
 
 It does not occur to me that I have anything further to 
 write to you ; for though many more particulars of the life, 
 writings, and opinions of my own friend, and my father's 
 friend, together with not a few of his remarkable sayings, 
 live freshly in my memory, they might prove neither in- 
 teresting, nor even intelligent to a new generation and an 
 altered world. 
 
 No person has ever come within the sphere of my 
 observation, of whom I should so emphatically say. 
 
 We ne'er sliall look upon his like again. 
 
 Believe me, dear Sir, 
 
 Yours very sincerely, 
 
 Lucy Aikin. 
 
 N 2 
 
LETTERS 
 
 TO 
 
 THE EEV. DE. CHANGING. 
 
 No. 1. 
 
 Hampstead: July 9, 1826. 
 
 I FEAB, Sir, I must have appeared negligent and ungrateful 
 in not sooner returning you my thanks for a copy of your 
 excellent remarks on the character and writings of Milton ; '. 
 but since I received them, which is about a fortnicrht, this f 
 is my first opportunity of writing. Accept my most cordial I 
 acknowledgements of the justice and honour you have t 
 done to that great and injured character— that true servant ^ 
 of Grod, that sublime teacher of the noblest truths to 
 man. 
 
 From my earliest youth I have been an assiduous and 
 reverential student of his poetical works, that inestimable 
 storehouse of instruction and delight, that fount of inspi- i 
 ration ; lately I have reperused them with a more direct f 
 reference to the circumstances of the times, and the ( 
 character and situation of the author, and I am thus ^ 
 enabled to give my deliberate testimony to the soundness, ^ 
 and at the same time the novelty and originality of your t 
 observations. In a short fragment of observations on f 
 Milton, which I found among Mrs. Barbauld's papers, was P 
 an expression of surprise that his ardent attachment to t 
 liberty so seldom breaks forth in his verse, but your re- ^^ 
 mark that it was principally the freedom of the mind to 
 which he paid homage, well explains this circumstance. 
 He deeply felt that 'who loves that mast first be wise and 
 
LETTERS TO THE REY. DR. CHANNING. 181 
 
 good,' and to make men so, he accounted the first and 
 most important service to be rendered them. What you 
 say of the futility of looking back to the Primitive Church 
 for authority, is excellent, and so far as I know entirely 
 new; the notion of a progressive Christianity is very 
 strikingly expressed, I remember in that pamphlet of 
 Mr. Wakefield's on public worship, which I think was 
 considerably misconceived by my aunt, and therefore 
 misrepresented in her answer. It is manifest that 
 Christianity can only be permanent for the future, has 
 only been so through past ages, by silently adapting itself 
 to the manners and sentiments of different times and 
 countries; even the Church of Eome is far from being 
 now what it was in the tenth century. I was surprised 
 on first looking into the puritanical writers, particularly 
 Prynne, to find how much he relied on the authority of 
 the fathers, and even of some of the early popes ; and I 
 enquired how and when it was that those writers had lost 
 their authority with modern English theologians, even 
 those of high church principles; an intelligent friend 
 answered me, ' ever since Middleton gave them an in- 
 curable wound.' On this subject Milton did not advance 
 beyond his age. You have certainly not given Johnson 
 more reprehension than he richly deserved for his outrages 
 against one so inestimably his superior. My dear father 
 made many efforts to counteract the effects of his preju- 
 dice and bigotry in this and many other instances ; he was 
 once engaged in the oflBce of re-editing Johnson's Poets 
 with corrections and additions, and I always regretted 
 that the failure of a bookseller interrupted this design ; he 
 published Milton, however, with some spirited remarks on 
 his former editor. In this country where Tory and high 
 church principles are still lamentably prevalent, it is im- 
 possible to estimate the mischief, as I should call it, which 
 Johnson has effected, by lending the sanction of his 
 
182 LETTERS 
 
 authority to popular prejudices. I know no other f 
 example of powers so vigorous, self-devoted to the ) 
 drudgery of forging chains and riveting fetters on the 
 human mind. 
 
 The great questions on liberty and necessity, matter and 
 spirit, have evidently much employed your thoughts, and 
 I cannot but wish that they may employ your pen ; the 
 first especially, is a theme of vital interest, and one on 
 which there is the strangest contrariety between the results 
 of our reasoning, and in some degree of our experience — 
 for we witness the apparently irresistible sway of external 
 motives in many instances — and a certain internal con- 
 viction which ought perhaps to be of still higher authority 
 with us. I recollect that when I had the pleasure of [ 
 seeing you at Newington, we spoke of the neglect into ( 
 which metaphysical science had fallen among us, and 
 certainly very little appears to be written on these sub- 
 jects ; nevertheless they must always, I conceive, occupy 
 a portion of the meditations of every inquiring mind, and 
 I believe it will always be in the power of an original and 
 able writer on them to attract considerable attention. The 
 general progress of light and knowledge, too, reflects in 
 various ways upon these pursuits, and makes it right that 
 the standard works should at least be from time to time 
 reexamined ; it appears to me that Locke himself requires 
 modernising in several parts of his subject. Your glimpses 
 of the advancement of the human mind are wonderfully 
 cheering and animating, and who shall presume even in 
 thought to set limits to its high career in a land where 
 you already possess that prime boon which the learned 
 and enlightened Selden vainly sighed for, * freedom in 
 everything ? ' Here it may still be the work of ages to 
 liberate the mind from bondage, for that great engine of 
 civil and intellectual tyranny, a state religion, stands, and is 
 Likely to stand ; but with you liberty is its birthright. It 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHINNING. 183 
 
 ougM to be a cause of thanksgiving to every lover of man 
 and his best interest to think that there is in the world such 
 a temple of freedom erected — May Grod prosper it ! 
 Believe me, Sir, with high esteem. 
 
 Very sincerely yours, 
 
 Lucy Aikin. 
 
 No. 2. 
 
 Hampstead : May 1, 1827. 
 I have many acknowledgements to return you, Sir, for 
 a letter so truly acceptable to me, in various respects as 
 that with which you have favoured me. Since its date I 
 have also received from you a dedication sermon, which I 
 have read and reread with increasing admiration and 
 satisfaction. Of all the products of my aunt Barbauld's 
 fine genius, wliich you have commemorated in a manner 
 most gratifying to my feelings, there is none which during 
 my whole life I have prized so highly as her ' Hymns for 
 Children,' by which, with the most delightful allurements 
 of style, the infant mind is insensibly led to look up 
 through all which it beholds, whether of animated or in- 
 animate, physical or moral nature, to the infinitely wise 
 and beneficent cause of all. To a spirit early and deeply 
 imbued with this general religion particular systems have 
 something of low and narrow, from which it recoils with 
 a sense of disappointment or disgust, ready to ask, like 
 Lucan's Cato at the Temple of Jupiter Ammon, whether 
 the universal deity, 
 
 Steriles ne elegit arenas, 
 Ut caneret paucis, mersitque hoc pulvere verum ? 
 
 But such spirits your views of Unitarianism are well calcu- 
 lated to conciliate, by showing it in strong and lovely con- 
 trast to those systems which you well describe as ' shut up 
 in a few texts,' and insulated alike from all which nature 
 
184 LETTERS 
 
 teaches of a God and from all the lights which the culti- 
 vated intellect is now deriving from reason and philosophy. 
 
 Your remarks on the influence of Trinitarianism in 
 ^shutting the mind against improving views from the i 
 universe,' open up a long train of interesting reflections, 
 which I should be glad to see you pursue much further. 
 It has often grieved me to observe how extensively this 
 popular system of theology operates to degrade and distort 
 men's moral sentiments and their views of human life. 
 Certainly the deity of that system is not good, he is jealous 
 of that love of happiness which he has himself implanted 
 in the human bosom instinctively, and hence endless 
 contrarieties between the language of its followers and 
 their feelings — between their system and their intimate 
 convictions. Men are supposed to be called upon, not in 
 time of persecution alone, but universally, to choose between 
 this world and another, to renounce the enjoyments of the 
 present life, and to count sorrows and privations as the 
 only wholesome food of souls. But this is hard doctrine, 
 and its most obvious effect is to prompt a very offensive s 
 species of canting which prevails at present in this country i 
 to such a degree as to afflict and perplex all who are t 
 inclined to hope well of the progress of human improve- \ 
 ment. To him who regards the Deity as truly one, and ji 
 unchangeable through all ages, there is no such contrariety 
 — this world, the present life, are parts of Grod's space » 
 and Grod's time ; His goodness is here and will be every- 
 where for ever; and he has not written one thing on 
 man's heart, and another in a book of laws for his 
 guidance. 
 
 Pray go on to give us more of the products of your 
 acute, enlightened, and pious mind, and your most elo- 
 quent and masterly pen. Bear in mind that you are i 
 writing for England as much as for America. The fifth i 
 edition of your discourse on the ordination of Mr. Sparks, 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 185 
 
 printed at Liverpool, a Liverpool edition of your ' Duties 
 of Children ;' and a Bristol one of your ' Discourse on the 
 Evidences,' all lie before me. Your remarks on Milton, 
 and this last discourse, have also been reprinted, and so 
 will everything be that you write ; but if you would give 
 us a volume, it would draw more attention and produce 
 more effect than many tracts, because it would be noticed 
 in reviews, circulated in book societies, and displayed on 
 library shelves. Oh ! that you would give us a system of 
 morals according to your own views, this would be a 
 treasure to the present and following generations. In 
 your noble country, where all faiths stand on equal ground, 
 you write both without the fears and without the exasper- 
 ation of a sect struggling to erect itself beneath the frown 
 of an imperious establishment, a circumstance which gives 
 you a superiority here more felt than expressed. I find 
 in it an additional reason for joining you in the wish that 
 the intellectual intercourse of our two countries should be 
 continually extended, and that the utmost cordiality of 
 feeling should exist between the friends of light and 
 knowledge in both. I rejoice to hear of all your advances, 
 and inquire eagerly after all your literary novelties, and so 
 do many of my friends, and now that our administration 
 has happily ceased to be Tory, it will be less than it has 
 been a fashion to undervalue your efforts. My New York 
 correspondent is not Miss Sedgwick, but her very intel- 
 ligent brother Mr. H. D. Sedgwick, but I imagine that 
 writing to either is ^vriting to both. Nothing will give me 
 more gratification than to hear from you as often as your 
 important avocations will admit. The state of America is a 
 peculiarly interesting subject to many of my friends, and 
 one on which it is difficult here to gain authentic infor- 
 mation ; we want to hear towards what form of religious 
 sentiment your people most incline, and whether the 
 absence of an establishment leaves in fact any considerable 
 
186 LETTERS 
 
 number destitute of religious worship — in short, how this 
 great experiment turns out. 
 
 Believe me yours, with great esteem, 
 
 Lucy Aikin. 
 
 No. 3. 
 
 Hampstead: May 28, 1828. 
 
 Dear Sir — A few days since I had the pleasure of re- 
 ceiving your valued and interesting letter by Mr. Sparks. 
 I had long been your debtor for that which accompanied 
 your admirable remarks on Napoleon, and I am now 
 impatient to avail myself of the recovered power of 
 writing, to assure you that I am not ungrateful. I say 
 the recovered power, because I have been struggling for 
 many months with a state of weak and precarious health, 
 which by compelling me to remain in a recumbent pos- 
 ture, made the act of writing exceedingly troublesome and 
 fatiguing. Though still much of an invalid, I am now 
 considerably better, and my medical brother gives me at 
 length assurance that I am proceeding, though slowly, 
 towards complete recovery. This I had so little expected, 
 that I have found some difticulty in returning to the 
 interests of a life which I was fully prepared to quit — its 
 cares and duties, clogged with a long arrear of neglected 
 business, seemed to summon me almost rudely back from 
 a state of languor which was not without its charms. In 
 such a state, I have often repeated the line, 'Eesigned to 
 die, or resolute to live,' and thought the former much the 
 easier part of the alternative; it must now be my en- 
 deavour to brace my mind for the latter. I have a great 
 task before me to fulfil, and I pray G-od I may so fulfil it 
 as to prove my gratitude to him for life and all its bless- 
 ings. 
 
 You will not wonder after this to hear that King 
 
TO THE EEV. DR. CHANNING. 187 
 
 Charles has been at a complete stand ; yet I am not with- 
 out doubts that the future work may have been gaining 
 by an interval in which I have found opportunity for some 
 general reading in history, and much meditation. Every- 
 thing imprints more and more deeply on my mind the 
 importance of the great historic virtue which I thank you 
 for exhorting me to — that of impartiality. Certainly, 
 instead of doing a service to the great cause of liberty by 
 veiling the errors of its champions, we do it in fact the 
 greatest injury, especially where we have failures to relate ; 
 for if the fault was not in the men, it seems a just con- 
 clusion that it must have been in the cause. On the other 
 hand, by representing its opponents as worse men than 
 they really were, we lighten arbitrary power itself of the 
 reproaches justly its due, to discharge them on the vices 
 accidentally adhering to its supporters. But certain prin- 
 ciples have a tendency to produce certain effects, good or 
 bad, on the minds and manners of their advocates ; and the 
 chief utility of introducing biographical details largely 
 into works of history is, that these tendencies may be 
 impressed and illustrated by examples ; that both the rule 
 and the exceptions to it may be fully understood, and 
 thence just inferences may be drawn regarding principles 
 themselves — and how can these just inferences, so im- 
 portant to virtue and happiness, be drawn from any but 
 true premises ? 
 
 You have done the world, I think, a great service, by 
 your view of the character of Buonaparte, which appears to 
 me a model of just and wise appreciation, and which has 
 attracted with us much attention and applause. I lately 
 recommended it to the perusal of an old lord, whose 
 manly and rational mind seemed to me likely now to 
 approve it, though in his youth he had visited your land in 
 the capacity of aide-de-camp to Clinton ; clearly he enter- 
 tained no prejudice against the nation of the writer. I 
 
188 LETTEES 
 
 believe — I fear, that as long is there is man, so long there 
 will be war upon the earth ; and in war, as in all human 
 things, good is mingled with evil, and sometimes we seem 
 to see that providence has effected great and beneficial 
 changes by its means, which no other means within our 
 knowledge could have produced; but this is no reason 
 why a conqueror should not be shown as what he truly is 
 — a scourge of the earth. Your view of the character of 
 this surprising man delighted me the more, because I 
 found in it a very remarkable correspondence with the 
 sentiments which my dear father was accustomed to ex- 
 press ; he, like you, regarded him as in most respects a 
 man of vulgar mind — a mere soldier of fortune, and he 
 expressed the same indignation against those who, calling 
 themselves friends of freedom, yet ranked among his 
 partisans. With respect of the style of your piece, I am 
 almost afraid to express to you the extent of my admira- 
 tion — but with what pleasure did I hear a literary friend, 
 a few days since, decidedly pronouncing Dr. Channing the 
 most eloquent living writer of the English language ! 
 
 I am very much enlightened by what you say of religious 
 sentiment amongst you. Certainly the sovereign will be 
 everywhere flattered and worshipped ; and in these matters 
 the sovereign people is not likely to be wiser than other 
 sovereigns. My father used to say of the popular systems, 
 that they hid high for mankind, and I believe mankind 
 must become a good deal wiser before Unitarianism will 
 be able to outbid them in the minds of the multitude ; 
 but certainly there is a progi-ess in both countries ; here it 
 has lately been marked by the abolition of our test laws, 
 and you go on founding Unitarian churches. The cele- 
 brated political economist Malthus, a clergyman, but a 
 liberal — for he was brought up under my liberal grand- 
 father at Warrington, and has always acted with our 
 Whigs — slid into his pocket the other day my copy of 
 
TO THE KEV. DR. CHANNING. 189 
 
 your dedication sermon, saying, *It is a system which 
 every good mind must wish to be true, but I think there 
 are considerable difficulties from some of the texts.' I 
 have not yet had the opportunity of enquiring whether 
 you have removed his difficulties. 
 
 I thank you much for your introduction of Mr. Sparks. 
 I have yet seen him only for half an hour, and that was 
 chiefly occupied by my questions and his answers respect- 
 ing his objects of pursuit here. He has been illtreated at 
 our State-paper office, through the illiberality or exclusive 
 caution of Mr. Peel, and was hopeless of being allowed to 
 take copies of papers which were at first promised him ; 
 but I think means may yet be found, and I have set a 
 friend to work, but without the knowledge of Mr. Sparks. 
 Next week I hope he will meet at my tea-table the 
 professor of modern history from Cambridge, Mi*. Smyth, 
 a very liberal and enlightened person, who will be happy, 
 I know, in the opportunity of giving and receiving infor- 
 mation ; and two other literary friends, who will probably 
 be able to assist his objects both here and at Paris. 
 
 I feel that I have written you an enormous letter, yet I 
 think you will hear of me again before long. During my 
 illness I have just been able to amuse myself with pre- 
 paring a little lesson book for children, most of which I 
 had by me in pieces, written for my brother's young ones. 
 Learning from Mr. Sparks that you have a little son, I 
 shall venture to send you a copy, and with it a book for 
 young people, which we have lately printed from a MS. 
 of my father's. 
 
 Believe me, dear sir. 
 
 Yours, with true esteem, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
190 LETTERS 
 
 No. 4. 
 
 Hampstead: June 12, 1828. 
 
 Dear Sir- I have now the pleasure of requesting your 
 acceptance of my father's little book and my own, which I 
 hope may be not unwelcome to the younger members of 
 your family. How deeply do I feel myself indebted to you 
 for your introduction of Mr. Sparks. He is indeed a 
 mine of information respecting everything which it is 
 most interesting to learn of your great country ; and I am 
 proud to tell you that he did us the favour to communicate 
 his knowledge and his sentiments with great freedom. 
 His very looks bespeak goodness, and the more I conversed 
 with him the more I was struck with the candour of his 
 mind, as well as the strength of his judgment. I had 
 the pleasure of introducing him to several literary friends, 
 and all speak of him in terms of esteem and admiration. 
 
 He promises to visit us again on his return from the 
 continent, and I hope by that time he will find all the 
 obstacles surmounted which have been opposed to his 
 consulting our state papers. It is plain that historians of 
 the war of independence are much more likely to arise on 
 your side of the water than on ours ; and those who are 
 anxious that more than just blame should not be called 
 on the measures of our government, can do nothing so 
 effectual as to promote the throwing open of all our docu- 
 ments to an American, inclined to relate the facts with 
 candour, and an endeavour at least at impartiality. Mr. 
 Sparks assured me that the effect of all that he had been 
 permitted to inspect at the Home OflSce had been to soften 
 his feelings towards the British Government ; and cer- 
 tainly this modification of judgment is the natural result 
 of hearing both sides. I think you would rejoice to hear 
 of the abolition of our sacramental test. It is the more 
 
TO THE BEY. DE. CHANNING. 191 
 
 ' satisfactory because the measure was carried in direct 
 ! contradiction to the wishes of the king, by the sole force 
 I of public opinion declaring itself through the House of 
 j Commons with an energy which ministers found it vain to 
 oppose. Alas ! that the Catholic question should not also 
 have been gained ! All thinking people must dread the 
 effects' of renewed disappointment on the minds of so for- 
 midable a body as the Irish Catholics. In granting to 
 them the civil rights of other subjects, I confess I see 
 neither difficulty nor danger, neither probably do most of 
 the opponents of the measure ; but they say, concede that, 
 and they will next demand the establishment of their own 
 hierarchy on the ruins of the Protestant Church of Ire- 
 land, on the plea that the established church ought to be 
 that of the majority — a plea not easy to be refuted. In 
 your country you have at least no dilemma like this to 
 apprehend. I think I have never answered a question in 
 one of your letters respecting the credit of Lingard's his- 
 tory. I have examined carefully the narrative of those 
 reigns which I have studied, and I do not hesitate to affirm 
 that with all its apparent candour, it abounds in artful 
 misrepresentations ; but can or dare a Catholic priest be an 
 honest historian of events involving the interests or the 
 reputation of his church ? I greatly doubt it. 
 
 Believe me, dear sir, yours with much esteem, 
 
 Lucy Amm. 
 
 JSTo. 5. 
 
 Hampstead: Aug. 12, 1828. 
 
 Dear Sir, — I hope you will have received before this 
 reaches you my long delayed little book and a letter ac- 
 companying it ; Mr. Sparks put me in the way of sending 
 it through his London bookseller, addressed to his care, by 
 which direction you may hear of it should it not have 
 
192 LETTERS 
 
 reached you ; a poor return at best it is for the two admi- 
 rable pieces with which you have last favoured me. Of 
 the sermon I may truly say, that it was by far the noblest 
 view of the Christian religion ever offered to my mind, 
 and the most persuasive ; it derives a novelty and originality 
 from its sublimity, its purity and its simplicity; it is 
 worthy of the most philosophic minds, the most enlight- { 
 ened ages, and I regard it as the best illustration of the I 
 idea of a progressive Christianity thrown out, as I re- 
 member, but not sufficiently unfolded, by that virtuous J 
 and accomplished, though not always judicious man and ^ 
 writer, Gilbert Wakefield. It is fitted to do incalculable 
 good, and I am certain that in this country it will now J 
 find ' audience fit,' and by no means ' few.' The friends i 
 to whom I have communicated it are all ardent in their 
 expressions of delight, and the forthcoming English edition 
 is impatiently expected. Your further remarks on Napo- 
 leon are worthy of the same mind and pen ; I subscribe 
 to them with all my mind and heart, and regard them as j 
 no less enlightening on political than your other piece on '' 
 religious topics. This too has been greatly admired with 
 us, and read by those for whom ethical writings in general 
 have no attraction. I have sincerely to thank you for the 
 acquaintance of Mr. and Mrs. Norton; their society 
 afforded me great pleasure and I only regretted that their 
 stay in London was not further prolonged. Mr. Norton 
 was so kind as to send me his ' Remarks on true and false 
 Religion,' which convinced me how well-founded was your 
 commendation of him as a deep and powerful thinker ; 
 his sensibility and amiable enthusiasm it was easy to dis- 
 cover from his manners and conversation, nor could the ' 
 intelligence and animation of Mrs. Norton fail of attracting 
 regard and interest. You put me on a great topic when 
 you ask my sentiments of our religious reformation. A 
 much better answer to your question than I am able to 
 
TO THE EEV. DR. CHANNING. 193 
 
 suggest you will find in Hallam's ' Constitutional History 
 of England,' published last year, which I entreat you to 
 read, as the most informing work on this and many other 
 important passages of our national story which has yet 
 appeared. The author is probably known to you already 
 as the able historian of the Middle Ages, of the English 
 part of which work his new one may be regarded in some 
 measure as a continuation. This writer, it may interest 
 you to know, was educated in the bosom of toryism and 
 high churchism, being the son of a very courtly canon of 
 Windsor, and brought up at Oxford. By the efforts of his 
 own vigorous and independent mind he has liberalised his 
 politics and come to a judgment of our Anglican church 
 and churchmen which galls them sorely, as you may see by 
 Southey's furious abuse of him in the ' Quarterly Review.* 
 He knows the dignified clergy thoroughly, and out of 
 that knowledge contemns them, as servile, beyond any 
 other class of Englishmen. From him they cannot pardon 
 it. Et tu Brute ! You will find that he ascribes the 
 ready acquiescence of the nation in Henry's reform in 
 great part to the wide though secret diffusion of the doc- 
 trines of Wickliffe, respecting which you may see some 
 curious facts in Turner's ' English History,' which I think 
 confirm Hallam. But I confess I think that great weight 
 must also be given to the consideration that the memory 
 of the civil wars was still so recent and so bitter that 
 Englishmen were then willing to yield to almost anything 
 for a quiet life. It is also true, that the personal charac- 
 ter of Henry, by all its qualities good and bad, was formed 
 to assert a strong ascendency over the minds of his 
 people, by whom he was at once more admired, esteemed 
 ! and dreaded than any other English king. It must fur- 
 I ther be considered, that he innovated nothing in rites and 
 i doctrines, he hated and persecuted the Protestants ; and 
 so long as he did so, it is probable that the Catholics 
 
 
 
194 LETTEBS 
 
 continued to flatter themselves that sooner or later he 
 would return within the allegiance of the holy father. 
 The ground of quarrel also was favourable to him; it 
 was thought hard that he should be refused his divorce ; it 
 was visible that the Pope only refused it for fear of ofifend- 
 ing the Emperor, and the great body of English nobles 
 had signed a threatening letter to Clement respecting it. 
 Lastly, Henry was supported by parliament in all his 
 measures, and I have quoted in my Elizabeth the argu- 
 ment urged by the attorney-general to More, founded on 
 the omnipotence of that body : * You allow that parlia- 
 ment may make kings, why not a head of the Church ? ' 
 Still there ought to have been more martyrs among the , 
 clergy for their own credit ; but the Romish Church had j. 
 been so long triumphant, that we cannot be surprised to 
 find it unprovided of the virtues militant. It behaved 
 better afterwards ; all Mary's bishops with one exception 
 refused to crown her successor, and submitted patiently 
 to deprivation. The Protestants had taught them to 
 prefer conscience to interest. But I believe that under 
 Elizabeth, all the laity would gradually have conformed 
 to protestantism, but for that master-stroke of Rome, the 
 institution of the order of Jesuits. They were a miUtia 
 levied purposely to fight the battles of the Pope, and were 
 certainly, in their way, a band of heroes. It is curious to L 
 see the efforts to revive them to meet the present dangers 
 of the Church in France and elsewhere. My poor King 
 Charles scarcely goes on, so very much am I impeded by 
 ill health ; but my mind still clings to the subject, and I 
 live in hopes of being yet enabled to complete it. Have 
 you seen the very able and accurate French work of 
 Gruizot on the 'EngHsh Revolution,' in which he in- 
 cludes the reign of Charles I. ? I think it is the best 
 history of the reign we yet possess. I have detected no 
 errors and no important omissions, except with respect 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 195 
 
 to the religious sects, of which he evidently knows but 
 little. 
 
 Believe me, dear sir, 
 
 With sincere esteem and regard. 
 
 Very truly yours, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 No. 6. 
 
 Hampstead: Dec. 26, 1828. 
 Dear Sir — My paper bespeaks your patience for a long 
 epistle ; but I have two kind letters to acknowledge, and 
 I perceive that the more we write to each other, the more 
 we may write ; for new topics of enquiry and discussion 
 are constantly springing up between us, which is delight- 
 ful. I have to talk to you of our old Puritans, of the 
 present state of opinion and of morals amongst us, and of 
 your own works ; all which requires a large sheet. Your 
 remark that fanaticism injures the moral character more 
 than is usually supposed, has my full concurrence ; and 
 all I have learned of our old Puritans and their descend- 
 ants confirms it. A\'ith fanatics, religion is rather a 
 substitute for morality than a support to it ; and I have 
 seldom studied the character of a thorough-paced enthusiast 
 without finding reason to believe that it contained a dash 
 of knavery. Our old Puritans made their religion more 
 directly instrumental to the purposes of worldly ambition 
 than almost any other fanatics ; the prediction that the 
 saints should ^ inherit the earth,' was constantly in their 
 mouths ; they declared that its accomplishment was close 
 at hand, and they never hesitated to claim the character 
 of saintship for themselves. I have been so fortunate as 
 to procure a large collection of thanksgiving sermons 
 preached before the Long Parliament, which will enable 
 me to convict many of these holy men out of their own 
 
 o 2 
 
196 LETTERS 
 
 mouths. One example of the spirit they were of, I will 
 give you. After a string of furious invectives and denun- 
 ciations against the royalists and prelatists, the preacher 
 turns round with a — ' but it will be said that Christians 
 are commanded to forgive and love their enemies ; certainly 
 their own enemies, but not the enemies of God, as those 
 ungracious persons are ! ' As for their descendants, the 
 Calvinistic dissenters, they had the misfortune of living in 
 one of those middle states between direct persecution and 
 perfect religious liberty, which sours the temper by con- 
 tinual petty vexations, without affording scope for great 
 efforts or great sacrifices — which drives men to find a 
 perverse pleasure in hating and being hated, and to seek 
 indemnification for the contempt of the world in a double 
 portion of spiritual pride and self-importance. ' We can 
 prove ourselves saints,' ' being Christ's little flock every- 
 where spoken against,' is the plea put into the mouth of this 
 set by Green, a poet, who was born and bred among them. 
 I have as much presbyterian blood in my veins as any of 
 your New Englanders, and from the elders of our family 
 I have picked up volumes of traditionary lore concerning 
 the old dissenters of Bedford, who built a meeting-house 
 for John Bunyan, and their brethren of Northampton and 
 Leicester — still strongholds of Calvinism. From the 
 whole, I conclude that they were usually lordly husbands, 
 harsh parents, merciless censors of their neighbours ; 
 systematically hostile to all the amenities of life, but not 
 less fond of money, or more scrupulous in the me^ns of 
 acquiring it, than the worldlings whom they reprobated. 
 Long before my time, however, my kindred the Jennings, 
 the Belshams, my excellent grandfather Aikin, and his 
 friend and tutor Doddridge, had begun to break forth out 
 of the chains and darkness of Calvinism, and their manners 
 softened with their system. My youth was spent among 
 the disciples or fellow-labourers of Price or Priestley, tlie 
 
TO THE KEY. DE. CHANGING. 197 
 
 descendants of Dr. John Taylor, the Arian, or in the 
 society of that most amiable of men, Dr. Enfield. Amongst 
 these there was no rigorism. Dancing, cards, the theatre, 
 were all held lawful in moderation : in manners the free 
 dissenters, as they were called, came much nearer the 
 Church than to their own stricter brethren, yet in doctrine 
 no sect departed so far from the Establishment. At the 
 period of the French revolution, and especially after the 
 Birmingham riots, this sect distinguished itself by the 
 vehemence of its democratical spirit, and becoming in a 
 manner a faction, as well as a sect, political as well as 
 religious animosity became arrayed against it, and I now 
 remember with disgust, not without compunction, the 
 violent contempt and hatred in which, in common with 
 almost all the young, and not a few of the more mature of 
 that set, I conceived it meritorious to indulge towards the 
 Church and the aristocrats. 
 
 The doctrines called evangelical make all the noise 
 now, both within the Church and without. Yet I fancy 
 that their success is at its furthest, and I should not 
 wonder to hear of a party professedly latitudinarian, and 
 really unitarian, beginning to show itself within the Church. 
 Oxford partakes very little in the evangelism of Cambridge. 
 Of these evangelicals too, one encouraging symptom is to 
 be observed — they have gradually and almost imperceptibly 
 quitted Calvinism for Arminianism ; therefore they feel 
 less confident of being amongst the elect, and take more 
 pains to work out their own salvation, not only by religious 
 observances, but by deeds of beneficence and mercy. 
 With much of the Puritanical rigor, in such points as the 
 observance of the Sabbath, and the avoidance of public 
 amusements, they are certainly a better set — indefatigable 
 superintendents of schools, munificent patrons of Bible 
 societies and missions, and incessant visitants of the sick 
 and poor. Of course there must be many self-intereste 
 
1 98 LETTERS 
 
 hypocrites among them, and not a few sour and censorious 
 
 fanatics ; and to a system so exchisive as theirs, some bigotry 
 
 must adhere : but I think that many of them are so exem- 
 
 plarily good, and so sincerely pious, and act from so profound 
 
 a sense of duty, that they must at length win from God the 
 
 grace to think more worthily of His intentions towards the 
 
 human race than they seem to do at present. I think, 
 
 however, that their moral influence on the whole, and 
 
 particularly amongst the lower class, is in many points 
 
 unfavourable. They make religion exceedingly repulsive 
 
 to the young and the cheerful, by setting themselves 
 
 against all the sports and diversions of the common 
 
 people, and surfeiting them with preaching, praying, and 
 
 tutoring ; they bewilder, and sometimes entirely overthrow, 
 
 weak and timid minds by their mysterious and terrific 
 
 doctrines, and they do much towards confounding moral 
 
 right and wrong by the language which they hold on the 
 
 efficacy of sudden conversions and death-bed repentance. 
 
 The assurances of eternal bUss which they hold out to the 
 
 most atrocious malefactors are often a just subject of 
 
 scandal. On the whole their system has much of the 
 
 debasing, and as it were vulgarising effect, which you 
 
 justly ascribe to such views of religion — and is perhaps 
 
 one of the great causes of that apparent want of moral 
 
 progress which you remark amongst us. Other causes are 
 
 cheap poison in the shape of gin ; over population, which 
 
 makes it hard to thousands to gain a livelihood by honest 
 
 labour, and the improvident habits produced by our poor 
 
 laws, and by the excess, or in many cases the injudicious 
 
 application, of public and private charity. Our long 
 
 wars, and the crushing weight of taxation which they have 
 
 drawn upon us, are perhaps the remote source of most of 
 
 these great evils. 
 
 Our state is a very strange one — unexampled activity 
 in every kind of pursuit — excessive activity, I should be 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 199 
 
 inclined to say — unexampled diffusion of knowledge, but 
 bad institutions of many kinds, tending to crush the 
 many, to exalt the few ; abuse and corruption in every 
 department ; vast luxury and corresponding rapacity, and 
 a great fund of stupid and illiberal prejudice, diffused 
 through all classes. We are in the main a Tory people, 
 and what you may well think strange, the greatest Whigs 
 and reformers amongst us actually hail a Tory ministry 
 like the present, because no other kind of ministry has 
 ever strength or permanence to effect anything, being 
 unwelcome both to the king and the people ; and at a time 
 when so much light and knowledge prevails, even Tories 
 are influenced by public opinion, and often indeed, by the 
 necessity of the case, to favour soTne reforms (like Mr. Peel's 
 of the criminal law) which in their hands become effective. 
 If the Catholic claims be granted, it will be a concession 
 which only a Tory minister could extort from our king, or 
 carry against the clergy. The agitation of these claims, 
 by the way, produces some of the strangest anomalies of 
 our situation. Here are our highest churchmen abusing 
 without mercy the Catholics, whom Horsley formerly with 
 greater reason declared to be ' nearer and dearer ' to them 
 than any Protestant sectaries ; and here are we liberals 
 almost driven into a league, offensive and defensive, with 
 old popery, whom we have been bred to scorn and hate 
 from our cradle. And now to my last topic. Nothing 
 can be more sincere than the admiration I have expressed 
 of your works, and none have I more admired than your 
 last. Your views of the relation in wliich the Deity stands 
 to man, and of the light in which He is to be regarded by 
 rational beings, seems to me developments of my own 
 thoughts, and the spirit of the whole discourse elevates, 
 consoles, and delights me. 
 
 God bless you, my dear and valued friend. 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
200 LETTERS 
 
 No. 7. 
 
 Hampstead: June 12, 1829. 
 
 Dear Sir — Your friends Mr. and Mrs. Ware visited us 
 last night, and I hasten to thank you most cordially for 
 the acquaintance of these excellent people. If my letter, 
 which is lost with the little books, had reached you safely, 
 it would have told you how welcome were your other 
 friends, the Nortons and Mr. Sparks ; but they have returned 
 to you, and have brought, I trust, no ill report of their 
 reception. I know not exactly why it is, but your people 
 always feel to me more like kindred than strangers ; we 
 are acquainted as soon as we meet. Simplicity of manners 
 •with elevation of mind and a cultivated intellect, form a 
 union admirable anywhere, but less rare, I apprehend, in 
 your state of society than in ours ; amid the bustling crowd 
 of luxurious London it is a refreshment to the spirit to 
 meet with it. Continue by all means to send us these 
 noble specimens — it must tend to break down prejudices 
 and to strengthen the bands which ought to unite together 
 the true friends of man in every clime. It is indeed time 
 to throw aside the fetters of nationality already amongst 
 us, the best men have the lead of it, and the blessed in- 
 fluence of peace which now renders an Englishman or an 
 American free of the whole civilized world, emancipates 
 the mind with the person and teaches it to scorn all 
 littleness. 
 
 I have but a shabby account to give of Zwingle. I 
 certainly verified nothing and do at present regard that 
 biography as a very rhetorical prize essay, and worthy of 
 little confidence. My translation was made in early days, 
 long before I became a searcher into history, and, truth to 
 say, I undertook the task merely that I might have the 
 satisfaction of earning a journey to Scotland by my own 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNIKG. 201 
 
 labour, instead of going at my father's expense. Zwingle 
 however was an excellent man, and I was pleased to find 
 that the best of English reformers and martyrs, Latimer, 
 Ridley, &c. were followers of his pure and simple doctrine. 
 Many thanks for your Fenelon. I thought there was a little 
 inconsistency between the agreement with some of his 
 leading tenets,- which you begin with professing, and the 
 very important disagreements which you go on to explain ; 
 but your sketch of the Catholic bishop is beautiful, and 
 calculated to do much good ; and, in a very different way, 
 I regard your remarks on self-immolation as highly valu- 
 able. I remember making- several reflections en the 
 mischievous absurdity of that notion after reading a 
 French selection from eminent Catholic divines for the 
 use of young persons. The doctrine of original sin is the 
 root of that and various other highly noxious errors in the 
 popular systems of ethics ; and though the selfish system 
 has never satisfied either my reason or my heart, I think 
 we owe great obligation to Paley and others who have set 
 it up against its opposite. The Calvinists, by the way, 
 stated the opposition between God and what they called 
 self, as strongly as the Catholics. I found in some con- 
 temporary writers the cant term of self-seeking mentioned 
 as a new coinage of the Scotch covenanters, and looking 
 then into the matter, I was inclined to think that the word 
 selfish was scarcely of earlier origin, at least in its present 
 acceptation. What a dreadful idea that our Creator has 
 planted within our bosoms a domestic foe, from whom we 
 can never fly, and whose malice never sleeps a moment, 
 an evil principle solely occupied in working our perdition ! 
 When will the most enlightened nations of the world take 
 courage to banish from the midst of them superstitions far 
 more baneful than the wildest dreams of savage ignorance ? 
 Did you ever read a life of Fenelon by Charles Butler, the 
 Catholic ? It is a curious work, and I had some curious 
 
202 LETTERS 
 
 conversation with him respecting it. He plainly regards 
 Fenelon's submission to the condemnation of his work, 
 which papists and courtiers united to call sublime, as 
 something like a politic manoeuvre. The whole story is 
 an example, equally melancholy, and instructive, of the 
 sullying influence of temporal and spiritual despotism 
 upon characters made for sincerity and magnanimity. 
 But this further moral it perhaps did not suit the purposes 
 of your tract to deduce from the history of one of the best 
 men of his class. 
 
 Believe me with the highest regard, 
 
 Most sincerely yours, 
 
 Lucy Aikin. 
 
 No. 8. 
 
 Hampstead: Oct. 8, 1829. 
 Dear Sir — 1 too, either from temper or habit, am a great 
 procrastinator, and therefore I sit down to reply to your 
 most welcome letter immediately, whilst the impression is 
 quite fresh : I shall not be ' gravelled for lack of matter.' 
 Hallam, I was certain, would both interest and inform 
 you, and I wish you could put your historic difficulties to 
 the author himself, as I did some of mine a few months 
 ago, at a party where we were glad to discuss instead of 
 dining. Such a torrent of knowledge he poured upon 
 me ! He talks faster than any other mortal who talks 
 wisely and who has lost his teeth, and hard task it is to 
 follow him. But as to some of your difficulties respecting 
 our Tories, and no-popery high-churchmen, I almost think 
 I can give you some solutions myself. Toryism and high 
 churchism are so closely and naturally connected that it 
 is scarcely possible, in general, to estimate the separate in- 
 fluence of each ; and in all our troubled times from the 
 long parliament to the revolution, it is plain that religious 
 
TO THE REY. DR. CHANNING. 203 
 
 and political principles were bobh busy in the fray, but 
 the shares belonging to each have been very differently 
 stated by writers : thus, Fox maintains that James II. was 
 deposed chiefly for his tyranny, and Hallam holds that it 
 was chiefly for his popery, and I know not which is likely 
 to be nearest the truth. However, it is certain that the 
 smoke of Smithfield fires and the fume of Fawkes's gun- 
 powder have to this day an unsavoury odour in the nostrils 
 of the people. The clergy, as a portion of the people, 
 partake of the same sense of things ; moreover, the penal 
 laws were a formidable obstacle to apostasy from the State 
 religion. Laud himself, though in ritual, and in some 
 points of doctrine, he wished to return as near as possible 
 to Eome, felt that he could not conform entirely ' till 
 Eome were other than she is,' and said *No,' as you 
 remember, to the cardinal's hat. His master also seems 
 to have been well aware at least that it could never stand 
 safe upon the head of an Archbishop of Canterbury ; more- 
 over, he himself hated popery like his father, on account 
 of its assuming power to depose kings, and he would not 
 have resigned his supremacy. Now it has been a constant 
 maxim of Eome to concede nothing to schismatics; all 
 schemes of compromise between it and the English Church 
 have constantly failed, and diiferences are sure to gain 
 importance in the eyes of those who by experience have 
 found them to be irreconcilable. Hence the determined 
 alienation of some of our highest churchmen from a church 
 which they would have met, perhaps, more than half way. 
 James II. strove to establish one exclusive church on the 
 ruins of another. In this extreme case the bishops must 
 give up one of three things, honour and conscience, their 
 mitres, or their favourite principle of passive obedience, 
 and it is not wonderful if they judged the last the smallest 
 sacrifice. In Dryden's ' Hind and Panther,' you may see, 
 too, that Catholics, especially those who were converts or 
 
204 LETTERS 
 
 conformists to the king's religion, used at this crisis 
 language sufficiently provoking and contemptuous to the 
 Anglicans. With what intolerable point and justice too, 
 he tells them 
 
 But, half to take on trust, and half to try, 
 It is not faith, but bungling bigotry. 
 
 After the revolution, and down to Greorge III. with the 
 exception for high church Anne, things were in a different 
 position. The court was by necessity Whig. The bishops, 
 or those who desired to be so, were therefore, by like 
 necessity, Whigs also, and the fight against popery and 
 arbitrary power, which always went together, was carried 
 on by low churchmen and latitudinarians with Stillingfleet 
 and Tillotson at their head ; the country squires and 
 country parsons meanwhile remaining in the enjoyment 
 of their high churchism, toryism and Jacobitism. During 
 the last reign, Jacobitism becoming extinct, high prin- 
 ciples resumed their place at Court, and did their utmost 
 to resist the spread of all freedom at home and abroad. 
 Dissenters and democrats underwent much abuse and 
 some persecution, and Horsley then spoke of the French 
 emigrant priests as much * nearer and dearer ' than the 
 sectaries at home. Since that, however, the scene has 
 changed again. Popery in Ireland is the religion of the 
 mob, it has acquired a deep taint of radicalism, and its 
 claims being patronised by our liberals, were opposed by 
 the Tories of both islands till all statesmen saw that con- 
 cession was unavoidable. The clergy, as a body, had 
 interests of their o^\ti at stake, and stood out longer. ' Give 
 the Catholics this,' they cried, ' and you give them strength 
 both in parliament and without. They will resist the 
 payment of tithes, they will overthrow the Protestant 
 church in Ireland, and then Heaven knows what they, with 
 the dissenters to help them, may attempt against tithes 
 and church in England.' They struggled hard, and cer- 
 
TO THE REV. DE. CHANNING. 205 
 
 tainly scrupled no means to work upon the prejudices of 
 the vulgar, high and low. But the spirit of the times, 
 joined to the necessity of the case, proved too strong for 
 the spirit of the Church ; it has sustained a signal defeat 
 and humiliation, and I hope good will come of it. 
 
 My health is still very indifferent, in particular I am 
 much troubled with severe headaches, which so continually 
 interrupt my studies, that I have the mortification to see 
 my King Charles making very little and often no progress. 
 With occupation it is comparatively easy to keep up the 
 spirits under almost any circumstances, but compulsory 
 idleness I sometimes find it a hard task to bear with 
 cheerfulness. However, I do my best, and with time and 
 patience I still hope that my health will be restored, and 
 my work finished. One advantage this delay brings me, 
 it gives time for friends to take means for procuring for 
 me family papers and other valuable documents, which 
 one chance or other is continually bringing forth to day- 
 light. In consequence of a base attack by Disraeli on 
 that patriot martyr. Sir John Eliot, his descendant Lord 
 Eliot has rummaged out a correspondence between him 
 and Hampden, and promises to put it into my hands. Pray 
 procure, if you can, another interesting family relic lately 
 published, Lady Fanshaw's Memoirs. She was a royalist, 
 and I feel proud of the women on both sides when I place 
 her account on the same shelf as Mrs. Hutchinson's. There 
 is much less of literary skill on the part of Lady Fanshaw, 
 but her artless tale is full of interest and amusement. 
 
 Passing from old times to new times, I have two pieces 
 of intelligence for you, that German metaphysics (in the 
 train of which German theology may follow) have got into 
 Cambridge, where youths are puzzling their brains with 
 Kantianism ; and that it is whispered — monstrum horren- 
 dum ! — that Unitarianism is infecting some of the most 
 enlightened of the clergy of Oxford. What will the world 
 
206 LETTERS 
 
 come to ? Some of these clergy, and those of Cambridge, 
 also addict themselves to the modern science of geology 
 and other branches of natural history — this connects them 
 with the Greological, Linnean, and other similar societies 
 in London ; at their meetings they come in contact with 
 the men of enlightened and independent minds, and thus 
 they rub off professional stiffness and prejudice, and learn 
 to assert something of the birth -right freedom of the mind. 
 
 I had a glimpse and no more of the Wares on their 
 return from their northern tour. Mr. Ware was looking 
 better in the face, and there was less of languor in his air, 
 but there seems to be still great room for amendment in 
 his state. He ought to recover with such a wife to niu-se 
 him. They did well to hasten to a more genial climate ; 
 ours has this season been unusually trying to all invalids. 
 I am afraid that Canada keeps up in your country a 
 somewhat bitter feeling against England which here is not 
 reciprocated ; for when we want to hate our neighbours, 
 the French are far more handy than you. 
 
 You may wonder that I should talk of my inability to 
 write a volume; but a letter may be written lounging, 
 and requires no apparatus of folios and quartos. 
 Pray believe me. 
 
 Very cordially yours, 
 
 LUCT AlKIN. 
 
 No. 9. 
 
 Hampstead: June 1, 1830. 
 
 Dear Sir — Many thanks for your welcome letter, which 
 I was well able to decipher : I was the more glad to re- 
 ceive it as I wanted such an excuse for writing to you, 
 having, as you will find, abundant topics. My first shall 
 be one concerning yom'self. That article in the ' Edinburgh 
 Eeview,' I am charged to convey to you the regrets and 
 indignation of a large group of your unknown friends and 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANGING. ^07 
 
 admirers, who are hurt at it much less from any fear that 
 it should either disturb your mind or injure your literary 
 reputation, than from an apprehension that your country 
 should regard it as a mark of national enmity, the more 
 startling as appearing in a journal usually the organ of 
 liberal principles. It is, in fact, the ebullition of one 
 malignant temper, and it is easy to show you the sources 
 of his hostility. The writer is William Hazlitt, a vehe- 
 ment admirer of Napoleon, of whom he has written a Life, 
 in a very different spirit from your remarks. He has also 
 written on the English poets with an acute sense of their 
 blemishes, and a very blunt perception of their beauties, 
 another sin of yours ; further he is at enmity with your # 
 commender South ey; lastly he was brought up at the feet 
 of Priestley and Belsham, and probably retains of their 
 system materialism and necessity, and little more. The 
 matter was discussed amongst us at a literary dinner, and 
 there wanted not those well disposed to make you amende 
 honorable ; but no one could suggest a fitting vehicle — 
 if the attack had but come from the Quarterly, the Edin- 
 burgh would have gladly received an appeal, but as it is, 
 I believe it must be overlooked. I must tell you, how- 
 ever, that Mr. Hallam was one of the most indignant, and 
 that he charged me to convey to you his wish to be 
 regarded amongst your warm admirers, and his pleasure 
 at learning that you had given some approbation to his 
 labours. You would scarcely understand the reviewer's 
 accusation against you as a trimmer, but seemingly he 
 supposes that those who rank with the Priestleyans in 
 theology ought to maintain the same doctrines in meta- 
 physics, though it would be hard to show any necessary 
 or natural connection between them. But what an ob- 
 stacle is it to the progress of truth, that a man must take 
 or leave all the opinions of some party, or leader ; on 
 pain of being accounted a time-server ! It is one of the 
 
208 LETTERS 
 
 privileges of a mere spectator, like myself, to be free to 
 accept or reject as conviction prompts, and accordingly I 
 find myself often discarding old prepossessions, and strik- 
 ing out to myself new lights. 
 
 Now the time may have been that I did frown on meta- 
 physics, and ' as at present advised,' I am a Lockist and 
 Necessarian, and yet T am beginning to wish well to the 
 progress of intellectual philosophy, and I will tell you 
 why. This age and the men of it are ' of the earth, 
 earthy,' and I wish to see some upward movement. 
 There is a pseudo science called political economy which 
 dries up the hearts and imaginations of most who meddle 
 with it — there is Bentham's system called the Utilitarian, 
 which has a similar effect, there is Paley's system of 
 morals, long the text book at Cambridge and just intro- 
 duced as such, I am told, in the Scotch universities, which 
 is another grovelling thing ; and to all these, a lofty phi- 
 losophy would act, I believe, as a counterpoise of great 
 value. Metaphysical inquiries may, on many points, show 
 only * how little can be known ; ' but when conducted in a 
 proper spirit, I have seen them work much good on the 
 mind and character : yet, as you say, they do not always 
 make men the better reasoners on religion, or set them 
 above vulgar cries or vulgar prejudices. Benson, now 
 master of the Temple, one of the most distinguished 
 preachers and theologians in London — a Cambridge man 
 - -once favoured me witli a luminous and beautiful lecture 
 or harangue on Kantism, jet that man has renounced ac- 
 quaintance, after a very long and dear friendship, with 
 venerable Mr. Turner of Newcastle, one of the best of 
 human beings, on account of his Unitarianism, and has 
 publicly preached that this faith was contrary to morals ! 
 Yet my Oxford news is true ; not of any of their logical 
 or metaphysical writers, that I know of, but of some of 
 their geologists and other natural philosophers, who. 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 209 
 
 turning the force of their minds to those branches of 
 science in which they may speculate unshackled, whisper 
 in corners to other men engaged in similar pursuits their 
 contempt for the Articles they have signed. My brother 
 Arthur hears such talk from Oxonian members of the 
 Geological Society, when they attend its meetings. 
 
 I have heard the two works you mention spoken of with 
 high praise by a few good judges, but I have not yet seen 
 them ; the author, I am told, is a Mr. Bailey, of Sheffield, 
 but this is all I can learn. You cannot conceive how 
 much the lettered aristocracy of London society disdains 
 to know anything of provincial genius or merit, at least 
 in any but the most popular branches of literature. 
 Montgomery, a Sheffield poet, being also an Evangelical, 
 is tolerably well known in London, and may, in some 
 companies, be slightly mentioned without committing the 
 speaker. But a Sheffield metaphysician ! bold were the 
 London diner-out who would dare not to be ignorant of 
 him. You once observed to me that everywhere the 
 sovereign is worshipped ; with us, that sovereign is an idol 
 called GrentiLity, and costly are the offerings laid upon the 
 altar. Dare to make conversation in the most accom- 
 plished society something of an exercise of the mind, and 
 not a mere dissipation, and you instantly become that 
 thing of horror, a Bore* 
 
 No. 10. 
 
 Hampstead: June 7, 1830. 
 
 Dear Sir — By the kindness of Mr. Ware, I have it at 
 length in my power to send copies of the two little books 
 so long since destined for your daughter ; and though I 
 have written to you at large so lately, I cannot resist the 
 temptation of adding a letter. I hope it cannot be very 
 * The rest of the letter is missing. 
 P 
 
210 LETTERS 
 
 troublesome to you to read what it is so agreeable to me \ 
 to write. 
 
 Your friend Mr. Groodhue spent an hour with me one 
 morning, and I was much pleased with his mild andu 
 amiable manners, and the information which he gave me & 
 respecting many of your institutions and societies. I^ 
 wished for more of his company, and invited him for the ] 
 next evening, when I expected Mrs. Joanna Baillie, Pro 
 fessor Smyth, and another valued friend, Mr. Whishaw, ? 
 a gentleman who has written little, but whose literary 
 opinions are heard in the most enlightened circles with a 
 deference approaching that formerly paid to Dr. Johnson. 
 Mr. Goodhue was unfortunately engaged, but he sent me 
 Mr. Kichmond, and the result was, one of the most ani- 
 mated and amusing conversaziones, chiefly between him 
 and the two gentlemen I have named — for we ladies were 
 well content to be listeners — at which it has ever been my 
 good fortune to be present. 
 
 A more fluent talker than Mr. Eichmond I think I 
 never heard, and I doubted at first how he might suit my 
 two old gentlemen — both of them great eulogists of good 
 listeners — but he is very clever, and there was something 
 so piquant in his remarks on what he had seen here, suchii 
 a simplicity in his questions, and when he spoke of his 
 own country, such abundant knowledge, so ably and 
 clearly expressed, that they were content for once to take 
 such a share of talk as they could get by hard struggling. 
 I think the professor of modern history got matter for a 
 new lecture on American law and politics ; and he and Mr.j 
 Kichmond took pains to contrive another meeting. But 
 to me the most curious part was Mr. Eichmond 's wonder 
 at having got into such high company as two or three 
 baronets, a Scotch countess, and some lord ; and his difiiculty 
 to imagine, and ours to explain to him, how our difiference 
 of ranks ivoj'ks in society. He evidently supposed a much 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 211 
 
 wider separation of classes than actually takes place. I be- 
 lieve the structure of society with us may best be expressed 
 by what an eminent naturalist has said of organised nature 
 — it is not a chain of being, it more resembles a net, 
 each mesh holds to several others on different sides. Our 
 complicated state of society, in recompense of great evils, 
 has at least this advantage, that it brings the rich man or 
 the noble into relation with a multitude of individuals, 
 with whom he finds it necessary to his objects to associate 
 on terms of social equality, notwithstanding great disparity 
 of birth or fortune. Those very societies of which we 
 agree in condemning the epidemic prevalence, are useful 
 in our country by their levelling effect. In a bible society 
 or a missionary meeting, the zealous labourers, and still 
 more the effective speakers, find themselves enabled to 
 give the law to wealth and title. Scientific and literary 
 institutions concur to the same results, and so does the 
 cultivation in the higher ranks of letters and of arts. There 
 is no fact, no talent, no acquirement, either useful or 
 ornamental, no celebrity of any kind, but what serves its 
 possessor as a ticket of admission to the company of some 
 of his superiors. I imagine that in no country there can 
 be less of undiscovered or unrewarded merit than in ours. 
 Do you begin to suspect the insidious aim of these re- 
 marks ? Your * Means and Ends of a National Literature' 
 lies before me, and I am pleading for some exception as 
 respects England to the general truth of your observa- 
 tion, that in Europe ' it is for his blood, his rank, or some 
 artificial distinction, and not for the attributes of humanity, 
 that man holds himself in respect.' Perhaps, however, 
 my position, that men in this country value themselves, 
 j and are valued by others, very much according to their 
 ■ talents, tastes, acquirements, and their power and will to 
 I serve a sect or party, may not be irreconcilable with your 
 position that they do not respect themselves sufficiently 
 
 P 2 
 
212 LETTERS 
 
 for the attributes — the commoQ attributes — of humanity. 
 Here in the lower, that is the more numerous class, it is 
 too near the truth that ' man's life is cheap as beast's.' 
 Your estimate of our literature I think very just. I am 
 not, however, without hope that in labouring as you say 
 for ourselves, which the difficulties of our present situation 
 render imperative upon us, some geheral truths may be 
 elicited which may be capable of extended application, at 
 least in the other old countries of Europe, which continue 
 to look to us for examples of many kinds — to you they 
 will be less available. 
 
 The oldest minister of the Scotch Church, Mr. Somer- 
 ville, author of a valuable history of the reign of Queen 
 Anne, died very lately at above ninety, but possessed of 
 all his faculties. The venerable man uttered his ' nunc - 
 dimittis ' on having witnessed Catholic emancipation ; but 
 one more triumph was in store for him in the perusal of 
 your works — he said he rejoiced in them exceedingly; 
 they formed an era in the progress of religion. This trait 
 I have from his accomplished daughter-in-law, also a 
 great admirer of yours. She is an eminent proficient in 
 mathematical science, and now engaged in translating the 
 works of La Place, and her countrywoman Joanna Baillie 
 is no more modest, gentle, and full of all goodness. 
 Rogers the poet having seen some of your pieces, told me 
 he was going to the booksellers in search of all the rest. 
 Merely as ' means of moral influence ' you may prize 
 these testimonies. 
 
 It was with great concern I heard from the Wares that 
 vou had sustained a severe attack of illness, thousrh I 
 learned at the same time of your recovery. Pray take 
 care of yourself for many sakes besides your own, you 
 have yet much to do for the world ; and pray take it into 
 consideration whether you ought not to winter in a milder i 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 213 
 
 climate — such as ours ; how very much we would make 
 of you if we had you here I 
 
 Believe me ever 
 Yours with the truest regard, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 No. 11. 
 
 Hampstead: Dec. 14, 1830. 
 I had been quite impatient, my dear sir, to hear from 
 you, and I am almost equally impatient to answer your 
 letter, which had a long passage, and is but two days 
 arrived. I have volumes to say to you ; but first of the 
 last, for fear I should forget it. I was afraid W. Burns 
 would prove a second Sheffield metaphysician, having 
 never heard of him ; but at length my friend, the Eev. 
 Greorge Kenrick, suppUes full and satisfactory information. 
 Twenty years since, when a Griasgow student, he often saw 
 Mr. Burns at Professor Woodrow's. He was a very plain 
 man, who had received the Scotch share of education, and 
 no more, and whose style in writing was much more 
 refined than in conversation. He had been a carpenter, 
 but then lived without profession on a small fortune, 
 devoted to reading and speculation. At that time he 
 stopped short of Unitarianism, but adhered to the liberal 
 party in the Scotch Church, and shared the odium attached 
 to it in those evil days. He displayed a powerful and 
 original mind, and was of high moral worth. Mr. K. 
 thinks him to be not far short of sixty, and knows him for 
 the author of the pieces you mention. Several corrobo- 
 rating circumstances persuade Mr. K, and myself that 
 liberal principles are now rapidly advancing in Scotland. 
 Mrs. Joanna Baillie says the reason there are so few Uni- 
 tarians there out of the church is, that there are so many 
 in it. Their ministers sign a confession at ordination. 
 
214 LETTERS 
 
 but having no liturgy, they are afterwards free to avoid all 
 utterance of doctrine, if they please, or to teach their own. 
 What an age have we fallen upon! Since the French 
 revolution we have had the Belgian, the Polish insurrec- 
 tion, and here we are in an English revolution ! I can 
 scarcely give you an idea of our state — we do not half 
 understand it oui'selves, but I am sure you will be anxious 
 to hear as much as I can tell you. The panic occasioned 
 by the postponement of the royal visit to the city was at 
 first indescribable ; everybody said ^ what must this danger 
 be which frightens Wellington ? ' This soon subsided ; it 
 was admitted by all but a few of the highest tories, that 
 no case had been made out — that the Duke had either 
 given in to a false alarm, or had wilfully raised one for 
 political purposes. This and his foolish declaration 
 against reform, turned him out. We have now a ministry 
 pledged to reform and retrenchment — to non-interference 
 with foreign States. It comprises so much virtue and 
 talent, that if sufficiently strong and sufficiently lasting, it 
 would seem likely to secure to us important blessings. 
 But in the meantime we seem on the brink of that com- 
 plication of all horrors, a servile war. You have heard, 
 no doubt, of our burnings, machine breakings, and mobs 
 attacking houses, stage-coaches, and passengers, for plun- 
 der. This, you may think, is no more than we have 
 suffered before from the proceedings of Luddites and other 
 collections of discontented workmen. But here is the 
 difference — those were risino-s of the manufacturers of 
 
 o 
 
 some one branch alone, confined to certain districts or 
 towns, and comparatively easy to suppress. But this is a 
 movement of the peasantry — the whole agricultural class 
 almost throughout the country, and the means of quelling 
 it are not obvious. The last thing in English history like 
 it, was the Norfolk insurrection, under Kett, in the reign 
 of Edward VI., occasioned by the general inclosure of 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 215 
 
 commons. Happily, our mobs have not collected by 
 thousands, nor have they yet found a leader. The tories, 
 with their heads full of the French revolution, have spread 
 the idea that the conflagrations were the work of political 
 agitators of a rank much above the peasants, whom they 
 moved. But this appears an ungrounded notion. All 
 the persons yet apprehended as ringleaders, are loose and 
 reckless characters from the dregs of the people; and 
 herein, I conceive, lies the safety of the upper classes. 
 Over-population is said, and I believe truly, to be the 
 main cause of the distress which has produced these 
 risings; but others have concurred, such as the laying 
 small farms into large ones, rack-renting, the absenteeism 
 of landlords, and various abuses in the administration of 
 the poor laws. There is a strong feeling also amongst the 
 people against tithes, and against clerical magistrates. In 
 general, the gentlemen have acted in these matters with a 
 mixture of courage and humanity which does them honour. 
 Very able judges have been sent down to try the delin- 
 quents in custody ; the wages have been raised in most 
 places, and I trust that at the price of some pecuniary sacri- 
 fices, and some correction of abuses, we may see tranquillity 
 restored. In the meantime, both London and these 
 villages swarm with beggars ; some of them so sturdy and 
 importunate, that there is but a shade between them and 
 banditti. The ministry are in a situation of extreme 
 difficulty and awful responsibility. They are pledged to 
 some measure of parliamentary reform, for which this is 
 certainly a very awkward season. 
 
 I am reading Jefferson's ' Correspondence ' with deep 
 interest. I wept bitter tears at the recital of British 
 cruelties during the war. I had no idea how horribly we 
 treated you — pray forgive and forget ; Jefferson did 
 neither, but I dare not blame him. He speaks of ' the 
 half-reformation in religion and government,' with which 
 
216 LETTERS 
 
 England has sat down contented, without thinking it ne- 
 cessary to cure her remaining prejudices. 
 
 Say not that France is outstripping us in philosophy, 
 unless you have read the ' History of Moral Philosophy in 
 Britain/ lately written by Sir James Mackintosh. It is 
 a work of immense erudition, full of acute and original 
 remark, and showing a prodigious comprehension of the 
 subject; yet it is said to have been hastily written, and 
 the style is not highly excellent. I am impatient for you 
 to see it. Being written in a supplement to a new 
 edition of the ' Encyclopaedia Britannica,' it could not be 
 bought in a separate form ; the author only having a few 
 copies for his friends, one of which was lent me. I tried 
 to get possession of one for you but failed. He was 
 happily called by Mr. Whishaw ' an artist of conversation,' 
 
 Brougham is our new Lord Chancellor — the Edinburgh 
 reviewer — the radical-whig — the apostle of universal edu- 
 cation and popular literature, whom we are astonished and 
 delighted to behold in that highest dignity of a subject ! 
 This is the man, the only man, whose powers I contem- 
 plate with ivonder. In society he has the artless gaiety 
 of a good-humoured child. Never leading the conversa- 
 tion, never canvassing for audience (in truth he has no 
 need), he catches the ball as it flies with a careless and 
 unrivalled skill. His little narratives are inimitable, the 
 touch-and-go of his remarks leaves a trail of light behind 
 it. On the tritest subjects he is new without paradox 
 and without efifort, simply, as it seems, because nature has 
 interdicted him from commonplace. With that tremendous 
 power of sarcasm which he has so often put forth in public, 
 he is the sweetest-tempered man in private Hfe, the 
 kindliest in its relations, the most attracting to his friends 
 — in short, as amiable as he is great. His first great 
 speech in the house of peers on his plan for distributing 
 cheap justice to the people, afforded a curious exhibition 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 217 
 
 of the manners of that house. I have the account from 
 Mr. Whishaw, who accompanied the Chancellor. ' None 
 of the cheers, none of the applauses of the House of 
 Commons — no interest in so great and useful a subject. 
 On the impassive ice the lightnings played.' And when 
 he had concluded, no one rising, no one thanking him — 
 'they sat in their curule chairs mute and motionless 
 (however wide of them in other respects) as the Koman 
 senate in the presence of Brennus.' No matter, England 
 hears him. It is the news of to-day that the Prussians are 
 rising, and Austria dreading disturbances in Italy. We 
 shall be free — all Europe will. I cast away alarms and 
 apprehensions as unworthy things, and surrender myself 
 to the spirit of the age. Eeligious changes in this country 
 become probable. It cannot, I think, be questioned that 
 the Evangelical clergy have become odious to the common 
 people by their meddling spirit, their hostility to all 
 amusements and the gloom with which they invest the 
 offices of religion. To recover influence the clergy must 
 relax a good deal, if they do not a season of puritanism 
 may again be followed by an age of utter profligacy. A 
 well-informed friend just returned from Paris tells me, 
 what others confirm, that with respect to religion the 
 French mind is a ' tabula rasa.* ' They do not write against 
 Christianity,' I remarked to one who knew Paris : ' No, 
 they think that settled ; they do not write against Jupiter.' 
 The churches are quite deserted, even in the south of 
 France. I am delighted at your amusing yourself with 
 Walpole. All classes were very coarse then, they had not 
 yet thrown off the pollution of the Court of Charles II. 
 I^ady M. W. Montague's letters tell the same tale — the 
 whig Horace Walpole was aristocracy personified. 
 
 I hope you will again gratify me with a letter before it 
 is very long — your letters give me much to think upon. 
 « Ever most truly yours, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
218 LETTERS 
 
 No. 12. 
 
 Hampstead : May 1, 1831. 
 
 Very happy was I, my dear friend, to hear from you 
 again. There was no getting any tidings about you — I 
 could not even learn for certain where you were, and I 
 was anxious to learn how the change of climate had 
 answered to you and Mrs. Channing in point of health. 
 Boston is quite an easy distance to think of in comparison 
 of that little out-of-the-world island which I never heard 
 of before, and could scarcely hunt out upon the map. 
 And Emily Taylor had not written me a word about you, 
 for which I will scold her; but I will not be jealous of 
 her, because I love her dearly — a purer or more amiable 
 mind I do not know; she loves a joke, too, and we are 
 very merry whenever we meet. 
 
 I have not been travelling for health, but keeping the 
 house for it, which is worse. It is nearly three months 
 since I have seen London, and I have been almost entirely 
 disabled from writing, but I am again recovering. Great 
 public events have occurred since I wrote last; on the 
 whole, I think our position improved. The peasant risings 
 are completely quelled; the reform bill absorbs all 
 political feeling. It is a noble measure, and one which, 
 when carried, will deserve to be revered as a new magna 
 charta. It will render parliament, indeed, the organ of the 
 people, and put, I beHeve, an effectual check upon the 
 corrupt and oppressive influence of the aristocracy. You 
 express a natural apprehension that our aristocracy should 
 not discern the signs of the times sufficiently to lead the 
 people the way that they must and will go. Certainly 
 many are even now blindly striving to resist what is 
 inevitable ; but the terrible examples of France have not 
 been lost on the privileged orders in general, and many 
 
TO THE RET. DR. CHANNING. 219 
 
 individuals have shown themselves actuated by a sense of 
 justice and of true patriotism, which is of the best augury 
 for the country. But the conduct of the king is our 
 grand piece of good fortune, and a most unexpected one. 
 A patriot king ! Once in a millennium such a phoenix is 
 seen on earth. Alfred was our last. A levity in the 
 manners of his majesty had caused him to be suspected 
 of an unsound head, but he has under this a plain good 
 sense, and what is better still, a real love of seeing his 
 people happy, which in this instance has led him admi- 
 rably right. His appeal to the people on this great 
 question has utterly disarmed radicalism. The mob are 
 ever king- worshippers, in all monarchical countries, and 
 ours may be led anywhere to the tune of ' our national 
 anthem.' Hunt and O'Connell hide their diminished 
 heads ; against a king and a sailor-king, too, they are less 
 than nothing. On the higher classes also, his influence is 
 very considerable, and I feel almost confident that the 
 measure will be triumphantly carried in the new parlia- 
 ment. I agree with you that the want of harmony between 
 ancient institutions and modern light, is the general cause 
 of commotion both in this country and throughout Europe, 
 and that the only general remedy is to be sought in a 
 comprehensive reform of institutions ; but the particular, 
 or immediately exciting causes, are various ; and to these 
 the attention of eye-witnesses is most directed, as being 
 those over which events, or what are unphilosophically 
 called accidents, have power. Thus, I should say the 
 general progress of society must bring us parliamentary 
 reform during this geceration ; but the accident of a George 
 or a William on the throne, a good or bad harvest, a 
 prosperous or depressed state of trade, whig or tory 
 ministry, may make all the difference of our obtaining it 
 safely and peaceably, or through revolution and civil war. 
 But it is in the main the cause of the many against that 
 
220 LETTERS 
 
 of the few. I have convinced myself of this, and am become 
 in consequence an ardent reformer. I boast of this as a 
 self-conquest. Women are natural aristocrats, depend 
 upon it ; and many a reproach have I sustained from my 
 father for what he called my ' Odi profanum vulgus.' The 
 rude manners, trenchant tone, and barbarous slang of the 
 ordinary radicals, as well as the selfish ends and gross 
 knavery which many of them strive to conceal under 
 professions of zeal for all the best interests of mankind, 
 are so inexpressibly disgusting to me, that in some moods 
 I have wished to be divided from them far as pole from 
 pole. On the other hand, the captivating manners of the 
 aristocracy, the splendour which surrounds them, the taste 
 for heraldry and pedigree which I have picked up in the 
 course of my studies, and the flattering attentions which 
 my writings have sometimes procured me from them, are 
 strong bribes on the side of ancient pri\ilege ; but, as I said 
 before, I have fought and conquered ; and I confess that 
 ' the greatest good of the greatest number ' is what alone 
 is entitled to consideration, however unpoetical the phrase 
 and the pedantic sect of which it is the watchword. 
 
 Of the integrity of the chancellor, all distrust should 
 cease. He has resisted more temptations than any public 
 man in the country. An intense love of glory he certainly 
 has, but it is for glory of the true sort. He is magnani- 
 mous and philanthropic; and these two last words I 
 cannot write without being reminded to beg you to read 
 the life of Dr. Currie by his son. I knew the man — he was 
 my father's friend — and the impression of the benefit and 
 delight I received at an early age from his society, and 
 under his roof, will be one of the very last I can ever 
 lose. I think him to have been one of the best and 
 noblest of mankind, and the wisest I ever conversed with. 
 And with these great qualities there was an elegance and 
 tenderness of mind, a spirit of poetry, and a shade of 
 
TO THE EEV. DB. CHANNING. 221 
 
 constitutional melancholy investing the whole, which 
 rendered him interesting beyond expression. Many of 
 his letters are given in this work, and they are the man 
 himself. The memoir has the very rare merit from a 
 filial hand, of being perfectly free from exaggeration — 
 the simple truth. There are many matters in the book 
 which will interest yon. Currie was a wide as well as a 
 deep thinker — few subjects of human speculation escaped 
 him. 
 
 And now let me tell you how I have been attempting 
 to fill up one of those languid pauses of existence in which 
 one has little to do but to wait for the return of health 
 and strength in patience, deceiving the long, and in my 
 case lonely hours, as best one may. I have been reading 
 metaphysics. And this was your doing: the mention 
 which you make, I forget in which piece of yours, of the 
 theory of Berkeley, excited my curiosity, and I have been 
 reading him with great admiration of his ingenuity and 
 his beautiful style, and wonder that so much is to be 
 said for what seems at first view so chimerical. I have 
 since been reading Priestley's ^ Disquisition on Matter and 
 Spirit,' and his correspondence with Price. And what is 
 the result? why, that I am perplexed and confounded 
 — utterly unable to take a side or form an opinion on 
 subjects, which seem to me, indeed, placed beyond the 
 scope of human knowledge — yet pleased and proud that 
 the human mind should dare to entertain such thoughts 
 — to soar to such heights, and sound such depths. Oh ! 
 the mind of man must be formed for progress, eternal 
 progress, else why these thoughts beyond the measure of 
 his frame ? If the strengthening of this conviction were 
 the sole result of pursuits like these, they were well and 
 amply recompensed, but I have found in them other uses. 
 They give me a more intimate sense of the all-pervading 
 presence and agency of the one cause. I did not before. 
 
222 LETTERS 
 
 if I may so speak, feel how very near it is — how closely 
 it encompasses us on all sides. Second causes extend no 
 way at all ; they can account for nothing, effect nothing. 
 I always saw that there was something amiss with Hume's 
 famous argument against miracles, but I did not well 
 know what, now I do ; and now I feel the full force of 
 your sentence that it is ' essentially atheistical.' That 
 imposing term, the laws of nature, may easily lead to 
 great misconception. The correspondence of Price and 
 Priestley is further interesting, as a very beautiful exld- 
 bition of two characters of great but different endow- 
 ments. Both have great acuteness, both great extent and 
 variety of knowledge to bring, in illustration of their 
 topic; but the caution of Price, fertile in objections, is 
 remarkably contrasted with the precipitation of Priestley, 
 with whom 'once to doubt,' was 'once to be resolved.' 
 Priestley was the more original thinker, the greater genius, 
 but he could not feel difficulties ; neither indeed on his 
 own favourite topics could Price, whose political theories 
 warped even his calculations. I have a vivid memory of 
 Priestley, the friend of my father, the dearer and more 
 intimate friend of my aunt, Mrs. Earbauld. In his man- 
 ners he had all the calmness and simplicity of a true 
 philosopher; he was cheerful, even playful, and I still see 
 the benignant smile with which he greeted us little ones. 
 It pleased me to find you referring to him v*^hen you 
 mention Berkeley. I know you have disapproved him on 
 some points, you differ on many ; but you are brothers in 
 the assertion of intellectual freedom, and the earnest search 
 after, and unhesitating avowal of truth ! ! the noble, 
 the glorious beings whom it has been my privilege to see 
 and know ! What would life be without the commerce of 
 superior minds ? what earth without the ' salt of the earth ? ' 
 And let us rely upon it that times like these will bring 
 forth men equal to them. France is decidedly taking a 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 223 
 
 higher moral station ; and those gallant Poles, they will 
 redeem their country. Here, too, I see much to rejoice 
 in. Grreat borough owners, the Duke of Norfolk at their 
 head, coming forward with alacrity to make the sacrifice 
 of them to their country. Lord Grrey, whose canvassing of 
 Northumberland in former days was called Coriolanus 
 acted to the life — the author of the great bill. Lord 
 J. Eussell doing honour to his patriot line, and to the 
 tuition of excellent Play fair, whom I once saw him, in an 
 Edinburgh party, pulling along by the skirt of his coat, 
 to be introduced to a lady of quality. (A little puny man 
 is this Lord John, with a very small voice ; sound sense 
 his leading characteristic, and his style of expression 
 simple, energetic, and rigidly concise.) In middle life 
 there seems to be a good deal of real patriotism. Even 
 members of close corporations have sided with the public, 
 and what is more, so have some of the clergy. It is 
 observable that there is now scarcely a whisper raised of 
 the church in danger — when its peril was less, the cry of 
 wolf was ten times louder. The lawyers for the most part 
 take the reforming side. I scan not their motives. Both 
 universities patronise darkness — but I blush most for the 
 poets. A good while ago I saw Wordsworth in anxious 
 museful mood, talking rather to himself than the com- 
 pany, as is his manner, against general education, and 
 then bursting out, ' I don't see the use of all those prayers 
 they make the children say after their fugleman. Either 
 it will give them a profane aversion to the whole thing, 
 or make them hypocrites,' in which I mutually agreed. 
 Now I hear he says that if the bill passes he shall fly his 
 country. But whither, alas ? Eevolution may pursue him 
 to Spain or Kussia. And so ends my voluminous budget. 
 Believe me ever, very truly yours, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
224 LETTEES 
 
 No. 13. 
 
 Hainpstead : June 28, 1831. 
 
 It is SO agreeable a thing to me, my dear distant friend, to 
 communicate to you my impressions of passing events, with 
 the assurance, too, that I am doing what is acceptable to 
 you, that I have felt impatient to amass materials for a 
 second letter. But from my parlour sofa, to which I have 
 been very much confined, I could only send you what my 
 neighbours brought to me ; within the last two or three 
 months alone I have been enabled to go a little into 
 society myself, and I now offer you my gleanings. 
 
 Parliamentary reform is secure— -the tories may give 
 some trouble by their factious opposition, but that is all 
 they can do. The people have shown themselves much 
 more zealous and united in the cause, than public men on 
 either side of the question were prepared to find them. 
 The question therefore now is — what next ? According 
 to your prediction, we seem destined to proceed in the 
 career of reformation until all our institutions shall have 
 undergone a transformation. The friends of the Church 
 dread that its turn will come next, and there are many 
 tokens of it. A stinging ' Letter to the Archbishop of 
 York ' has appeared, and the demand for it has been such 
 as the printer could not keep pace with. The author 
 declaims somewhat idly, on the contrast between modern 
 and primitive bishops — then inveighs with greater force 
 against the alliance of Church and State, and its corrupt- 
 ing effects on the clergy ; exposes their views broadly, and 
 indignantly exclaims that a moral and religious people 
 can no longer away with such unfaithful shepherds ; and 
 in the end boldly announces the fall of the Irish esta- 
 blishment within one year, and the EngHsh within ten 
 years. 
 
' TO THE EEV. DE. CHANNING. 225 
 
 Mr. Beverley, the author, whom I know a little, is a 
 very elegant classic, a good writer, and a gentleman ; but 
 wild and eccentric to the brink of insanity. After many 
 vagaries, he has just turned Methodist preacher. His 
 pamphlet contains nothing like a reasonable plan for the 
 settlement of religious affairs, but it is deeply imbued 
 with the spirit of the evangelical sect. It is professedly, 
 at least, in love and reverence to religion that he would 
 divorce the Church from the State, and place it on the 
 common level of sects ; and the extraordinary popularity 
 of his piece seems to show that the large and zealous 
 party to which he belongs are beginning to perceive how . 
 much the forms and the discipline of a church constructed 
 on the model of the Eomish — that is, on the taste of the 
 middle ages — are at variance with the spirit of the present 
 day, and hostile to their plans of empire over the minds 
 of the people at large. I conceive that enthusiasm will 
 always strive to burst through the fetters of articles and 
 liturgies. I hear just now that the unpopularity of tithes 
 is the chief cause of the currency of this piece. Another 
 new and startling feature begins to appear. Hitherto 
 both the Methodists and the Church Evangelicals have 
 been distinguished by their indifference to civil liberty, 
 and their attachment to ' the powers that be ; ' lately they 
 seem to have entered into coalition with the radicals — at 
 least;, the lower class of Methodists, consisting chiefly of 
 I journeymen mechanics, and other labourers in towns, are 
 I engaged in the stril^es for wages which have been so 
 I frequent and formidable, and which their masters regard 
 as the worst sign of radicalism. 
 
 The Marquis of Londonderry, a great coal owner in the 
 j North, went lately and demanded a conference with the 
 ; leader of the Newcastle turn-outs. He was referred to a 
 I person who proved to be a Methodist preacher, and who 
 i absolutely insisted upon the Marquis joining him in prayer 
 
 I ^ 
 
 i 
 
226 LETTERS 
 
 (an exercise to which his lordship is little addicted), before 
 he would proceed to business. 
 
 I own I am not quite pleased with the prospect of a 
 second reign of the saints, for their rigor and intolerance 
 go beyond the high church themselves ; but there would 
 be hope, I, think, if the Establishment were overthrown, 
 or considerably shaken, that a liberal party in religion 
 might rise in some strength. I believe it is already pretty 
 numerous, but shy of showing itself. 
 
 In the intervals of politics we talk of the Christian 
 Brahmin, Eam-Mohun-Roy. All accounts agree in repre- 
 senting him as a person of extraordinary merit. With 
 very great intelligence and ability, he unites a modesty and 
 simplicity which win all hearts. He has a very great 
 command of the language, and seems perfectly well versed 
 in the political state of Europe, and an ardent well-wisher 
 to the cause of freedom and improvement everywhere. 
 To his faith he has been more tlian a martyr. On his 
 conversion to Christianity his mother cursed him, and his 
 wife (or wives) and children all forsook him. He had 
 grievous oppressions to endure from the Church party on 
 turning Unitarian. This was at Calcutta ; here it is de- 
 termined to court him. Two bishops have noticed him, 
 and the East India Company show him all civilities. But 
 his heart is with his brethren in opinion, with whom chiefly 
 he spends his time. I hear of him this remarkable saying, 
 That the three countries in Europe which appear even less 
 prepared than Asia for a liberal system of religion, are 
 Spain, Portugal, and England. 
 
 You will read, I think with interest, and in part 
 with great satisfaction, Grodwin's new volume, entitled 
 ' Thoughts on Man.' Probably, it will prove the last fruit 
 of his mind, for he is now rather nearer eighty than 
 seventy, and I believe declining. With all his extrava- 
 gances of opinion, some of which in the early part of his 
 
TO THE EEV. DB. CHANNING. 227 
 
 career did considerable mischief and threatened more, I 
 have always entertained a respect for some parts of his 
 character, as well as a high admiration of his powers ; 
 and felt sincere pity for the long misfortunes in which 
 partly his own errors, but still more the proscription of 
 society, have involved him. I believe he justly describes 
 himself in his new work as ^ one who early said to truth, 
 go on, whithersoever thou leadest I am prepared to 
 follow.' And is not this of itself a noble character of a 
 man? It was remarkable in him that the reasoning 
 powers seemed to have been developed long before the 
 sensitive part of his nature. Thus his system was origin- 
 ally constructed with a total disregard of the passions, the 
 affections, and almost the instincts of mankind. But it 
 was beautiful to observe him, in his own experience of the 
 tender est ties of life, gradually expanding his groundwork 
 to give admission to private and partial affections, and at 
 length doing, as it were, public penance for the slanders 
 which he had uttered against them in his days of igno- 
 rance. Those noble and rare virtues amongst the founders 
 and champions of systems — candour and ingenuousness, 
 have always attended him. And they have produced to 
 him good fruit. They have enabled him, after discarding 
 one error after another, to work out for himself principles 
 which, in the midst of degrading embarrassments, and 
 even of domestic dishonour, have preserved to himself 
 respect, philanthropy, and cheering views of'the character 
 and destination of man. This volume is a repository of 
 thoughts on many subjects, often I think original, often 
 just, as well as striking, and frequently expressed with 
 great eloquence. He everywhere shows himself 'lenior 
 jet melior.' Do not almost all men grow better as they 
 grow older ? I was pleased to find poet Crabbe maintain- 
 ling that they do, which from the tone of his writings I 
 jdid not expect. Have you ever met with any writings of 
 
 Q2 
 
228 LETTERS 
 
 Paul Louis Courier ? If not, you will know all about him, 
 from the very able notice of him and his works which 
 appeared some time ago in the ' Edinburgh Eeview.' I 
 have just been reading a selection of his political pam- 
 phlets, and with extraordinary admiration. His style is like 
 that of Pascal, but still more lively and striking. A sharp 
 thorn he must have been in the sides of the restored 
 Bourbons, with their priest and emigrant faction — and it 
 was this, probably, which caused his assassination. I had 
 no knowledge till I read his pieces, how the system of the 
 restoration had worked — but the oppression was terrible, 
 especially in the provinces remote from the control of the 
 public opinion of Paris. The maires and prefets, them- 
 selves slaves of the court, the ministers, or the Jesuits, 
 were so many despots over the peasantry and middle 
 class, and carried on a frightful persecution against the 
 means and the principles of the revolution. I see here 
 abundant explanation and vindication of the revolution 
 of last July, and I judge the men who planned and 
 achieved it to have been true benefactors to their country. 
 Courier strongly asserts what you likewise hold, the vast 
 improvement of the national character since 1789. Pos- 
 sessed of personal liberty, and a share in the soil of his 
 country, the peasant has became industrious almost to 
 excess, frugal, and, generally speaking, moral — he has the ( 
 virtues of a labourer in exchange for the vices of a laquais, 
 or the abjectness of a serf. It is from intimate views of 
 private life in various ages and countries that the moral 
 of political history is alone to be derived — and without this 
 what is the value of long tales of wars and conquests, and 
 one king deposing and succeeding another, and republics 
 changed into monarchies, and monarchies into republics ? 
 This principle has been always in my view in writing my 
 ' King Charles,' and will impart, I think, its chief merit 
 to my book ; that is, should health and vigour be lent 
 
TO THE REV. DE. CHANNING. 229 
 
 me for its completion. I have hope of it now, but I have 
 been sorely tried by repeated disappointments on this 
 head, and sometimes I have reached the very verge of 
 despondency, and I have wished for the termination of a 
 suffering and useless existence — my spirit beat itself 
 against the bars of its cage. Then again I have called to 
 my aid all I* could summon of philosophy and religion, 
 and I have soothed my soul by prayer. 
 
 I should like to know what you take to be the origin of 
 the almost universal belief amongst mankind of a future 
 state — was there, think you, a revelation to our first pro- 
 genitors, of which all nations preserved some tradition ? 
 Or did it result from the reasonings of man upon the 
 moral differences between individuals of the human race, 
 not always accompanied here by corresponding rewards 
 and punishments? Or was the wish for reunion with 
 departed friends father to that belief? Or is it (with 
 Locke's pardon) an innate idea, an instinct? I think 
 there is something mysterious — something, if I may so 
 express myself, sui generis, in so strong and general a 
 persuasion contrary to all appearances, and unsupported 
 by any real analogies. I should like to believe it a reve- 
 lation, but there are difficulties. 
 
 I must not conclude without telling you some news of 
 yourself. A friend of mine, just returned from Greneva, 
 met there M. Vincent, Protestant minister at Nismes, a 
 liberal and worthy man, who deplored the ignorance and 
 narrowness of his ilock, still buried in the gloom of 
 Calvinism. He had set up a journal, in which by ming- 
 ling theology with literary criticism and general topics, 
 he was gently insinuating into them more enlightened 
 notions. My friend asked if he knew your writings, and 
 finding he did not, she gave him several of them. In the 
 first number of his journal, after his return, appeared as 
 the leading article a translation of your sermon on the 
 
230 LETTERS 
 
 resemblance of man to his Maker. Thus the good seed id 
 sown — you may water it if you think proper. I hear from 
 further evidence, that in several parts of France a simple 
 form of Protestant worship, with liberal doctrine, would 
 be highly acceptable to the people. 
 
 Have you heard of our absurd sect of Millenarians ? 
 Some say the end of the world is to be in tlie year I860, 
 others only give us to 1836, and one gentleman has actu- 
 ally turned his property into an annuity for six years. 
 
 Pray let me hear particularly of your health. 
 
 Yours, with the truest esteem, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 No. 14. 
 
 Hampstead: Sept. 6, 1831. 
 Dear Sir — I cannot longer refrain from acknowledging 
 your last welcome letter, although I suppose you must 
 have received one of mine soon after you wrote. There is 
 always topic enough, since the interests of all mankind are 
 ours. Just now my feelings are more cosmopolite than 
 usual ; I take a personal concern in a third quarter of the 
 globe, since I have seen the excellent Ram-Mohun-Roy. 
 I rejoice in the hope that you will see him some time, as 
 he speaks of visiting your country, and to know you would 
 be one of his first objects. He is indeed a glorious being, 
 — a true sage, as it appears, with the genuine humility of 
 the character and with more fervour, more sensibility, a 
 more engaging tenderness of heart than any class of 
 character can justly claim. He came to my house, at the 
 suggestion of Dr. Boott, who accompanied him, partly for 
 the purpose of meeting Mrs. Joanna Baillie, and discussing 
 with her the Arian tenets of her book. He mentions the 
 Sanscrit as the mother language of the Grreek, and said 
 that the expressions of the New Testament most perplexing 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNINa. 231 
 
 to an European, were familiar to an Oriental acquainted 
 with this language and its derivations, and that to such a 
 person the texts which are thought to support the doctrine 
 for the pre-existence, bear quite another sense. She was a 
 little alarmed at the erudition of her antagonist, and slip- 
 ped out at last by telling him that his interpretations were 
 too subtle for an unlearned person like herself. We then 
 got him upon subjects more interesting to me — Hindoo 
 laws, especially those affecting women. He spoke of 
 polygamy as a crime, said it was punishable by their law, 
 except for certain causes, by a great fine ; but the Mus- 
 sulmans did not enforce the fine, and their example had 
 corrupted Hindoos ; they were cruel to women, the Hindoos 
 were forbidden all cruelty. Speaking of the abolition of 
 widow-burning by Lord W. Bentinck, he fervently ex- 
 claimed, ^ May Grod load him with blessings ! ' His 
 feeling for women in general, still more than the admira- 
 tion he expressed of the mental accomplishments of 
 EngHsh ladies, won our hearts. He mentioned his own 
 mother, and in terms which convinced us of the falsehood 
 of the shocking tale that she burned herself for his apos- 
 tasy. It is his business here to ask two boons for his 
 countrymen — trial by jury, and freedom for British cap- 
 italists to colonise amongst them. Should he fail in 
 obtaining these, he speaks of ending his days in America. 
 The dominion we hold over India is perhaps the most 
 striking circumstance of greatness belonging to our little 
 island. Your acknowledgment of England for the first 
 country in the world very much delighted me. Yes, with 
 all its evils, all its errors, it is a land to be proud of. I 
 have always felt with you on the calamitousness of any 
 violent change amongst us. As long as I can remember, 
 and through the times when French example had most 
 influence, all the best friends of liberty and their country, 
 at least, its wisest friends, have constantly held that our 
 
232 LETTERS 
 
 evils were not nearly great enough to risk a revolution for \ 
 their removal ; and now, when so many peaceable and 
 gradual reforms are taking place, the point is so very clear 
 that none can wish for troubled waters but those who 
 would fish in them. You think we shall escape this danger 
 through the moderation of the higher classes. We have 
 a farther and perhaps a stronger security in the curious 
 manner in which all our different ranks, classes, sects, and 
 parties, are dove-tailed into each other, or, if you please, 
 matted together, which precludes the possibility of such a 
 clear separation of one from another, as took place between 
 the privileged and the unprivileged orders in France. It 
 is an inestimable advantage that we have nothing answer- 
 ing to noblesse; that with us the younger sons of the 
 highest peers sink back into the ranks, undistinguished 
 except by the vague boast of blood or family, which now 
 stands for little or nothing ; whilst on the other hand, the 
 lowest birth is no obstacle to the attainment of the full 
 honours and privileges of the peerage. Voltaire somewhere 
 remarks, 'In England, if the king makes his banker a 
 peer, everybody, even the highest noble, gives him his title. 
 With us, though Bernard is a real marquis, more than 
 hundreds who are so named, who would not laugh to think 
 of calling him marquis ? ' Thus our aristocracy is in a 
 perpetual state of flux, and no one can say in any struggle 
 who would or would not join its standard. The tory 
 party, again, is far from coinciding with any possible de- 
 scription of the aristocracy ; it excludes the Dukes of Sussex, 
 Norfolk, Bedford, &c., and includes the greater part of the 
 London aldermen and most provincial corporations. Even 
 the clergy are not all serviles, for some of them depend on 
 whig patrons. Neither are all tories boroughmongers, 
 nor all boroughmongers tories. The High Church indeed 
 are nearly all Tories, and Unitarians almost unanimously 
 reformers, but the Church Evangelicals, and all other sects 
 
j TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 233 
 
 ! of dissenters, are divided. Our debates are, I believe, ably 
 i reported, but I wonder not that they disappoint you. The 
 I house will not listen with patience to general principles, 
 I they are supposed to be taken for granted, and the ability 
 I of the debaters is often shown most in a kind of apropos 
 I of time and person, in hints and allusions, skilful thrusts 
 I and dexterous wards, which none but the initiated can 
 j appreciate. Of late the anti-reformers talk merely to 
 I consume time, and now and then to damage the ministers 
 * in public opinion. Yes, we have many evils which lie 
 quite out of the reach of parliamentary reform, and the 
 extreme inequality of conditions is the one which must 
 weigh the most heavily of all upon the humane and think- 
 ing mind. Probably it is an inseparable concomitant of 
 commerce, manufactures, and a high state of luxurious 
 refinement. Bad institutions and some combinations of 
 political circumstances, however, haveextremely aggravated 
 the evil, and no doubt opposite influences may mitigate 
 it, as I trust we may in time experience. I can trace much 
 of the progress of pauperism to two particular sources, one 
 of which has been but little noticed, and the other scarcely 
 at all in public. The first was the anxiety of Mr. Pitt to 
 keep the lower classes in good humour during the war 
 against French principles, which led him to give to the 
 system of legal relief its present pernicious extent, and 
 to lay the foundation of the fatal practice of ekeing out 
 wages by parish alms, which the landholders improvidently 
 concurred in, from the selfish and short-sighted notion 
 that wages once raised could not be lowered again, but 
 that alms might be withheld when temporary causes of 
 distress should cease. The other cause is connected with 
 the spread and the converting spirit of the evangelicals. 
 Ever since Hannah More published her ' Cselebs,' it has been 
 held by a large party the indispensable duty of ladies — 
 girls even, to spend much of their time in visiting the 
 
234 LETTERS 
 
 dwellings of the poor, inquiring into and ministering to \ 
 their spiritual and temporal wants. Apparently, great p 
 good would result from these charitable oJ0&ces to all 
 parties, but you well know our national propensity to run ^ 
 everything to a fashion — a rage, and the result has been p 
 a great and pernicious excess. A positive demand for 
 misery was created by the incessant eagerness manifested 
 to relieve it. In many places the poor, those amongst ^ 
 them especially who have known how to put on a little ^ 
 saintliness, have been actually pampered and rendered -, 
 like the indoor menials of the wealthy, lazy luxurious ^ 
 discontented lying and worthless. Men have been en- 
 couraged in squandering their wages in drink and dissipa- 
 tion, by the assurance that the good ladies would not suffer f. 
 their families to want ; women have slackened their efforts 
 to provide decent clothing for their children — improvidence [ 
 has become characteristic of both. These evils, however, 
 begin to be felt pretty widely, and I expect ' the fashion 
 of benevolence ' is beginning to abate. You complain 
 that our restlessness does not carry us to the West Indian 
 Islands. Two things are against it, the length of voyage, jj 
 and the shrinking abhorrence we all feel from the sight of i 
 slavery, but that senator would deserve praise who should 
 defy them both in the cause of humanity. I have known i; 
 these isles resorted to by consumptive invalids, and in one !l 
 case within my knowledge, with complete success. I 
 sincerely congratulate you on the benefit which Mrs. 
 Channing has derived from her residence in the tropics, 
 and grieve that it has not done more for yourself. Would 
 that you would both exchange your inclement skies for 
 our milder ones, before another fearful winter sets in. You 
 should pass the colder months in our Montpelier — Bon- 
 church, in the Isle of Wight — where a friend of mine, given 
 over in Lancashire, has been marvellously surmounting 
 her disease ; the better seasons we would enjoy your society 
 
TO THE REV. DE. CHANNING. 235 
 
 here. Pray think of it ; health is even more than country, 
 and is not this, too, your country ? 
 
 We have little or nothing doing in literature ; politics 
 absorb us wholly. The state of the continent is an object 
 of just anxiety. I dread beyond everything the demon of 
 military glory, which in all ages has possessed the French 
 nation ; and, combined with their treachery and love of 
 intrigue, has always rendered them bad and dangerous 
 neighbours. I do my best not to regard them as natural 
 enemies, but it is difficult. They hate us, and with some 
 cause too. I want to hear that your pen is again at work ; 
 we cannot afford to be deprived of its labours. You may 
 still do much more for us, much as you have done already. 
 As for me, I proceed in my task very, very slowly, want 
 of health and its concomitant want of energy, the cause. 
 Just now, however, I am in spirits, I have medical per- 
 mission to make a little quiet week's tour, under the 
 watchful care of a kind brother, and we are going to view 
 our English vintage, the Kentish hop-picking, also to see 
 pretty Tunbridge and make a pilgrimage to Penshurst of 
 the Sidneys, or perhaps to Hever Castle, the birthplace of 
 Anne Boleyn. Do you not a little envy us the historic 
 recollections of an old country ? I was present at the 
 splendid spectacle of the opening of New London Bridge. 
 It was covered half way over with a grand canopy, formed 
 of the flags of all nations, under which dined His Majesty 
 and about two thousand of his loving subjects. The river 
 was thronged with gilded barges, and boats covered with 
 streamers and crowded with gaily-dressed people; the 
 shores were all alive with the multitude. In the midst of 
 the gay show I looked down the stream upon the old 
 deserted, half-demolished bridge, silent remembrancer of 
 seven centuries. I thought of it fortified with a lofty gate 
 at either end, and encumbered with a row of houses on 
 each side. I beheld it the scene of tournaments : I saw its 
 
236 LETTERS 
 
 barrier closed against the rebel Wyatt, and wished myself 
 a poet for its sake. 
 
 Pray believe me yours, with most sincere regard, 
 
 L. AlKIN. [ 
 
 No. 15. \ 
 
 Hampstead: Oct. 23, 1831. 
 
 My dear Friend — Your two welcome letters have reached | 
 me, both on the same day; of their various contents and | 
 of the Farrers I shall speak by-and-bye, but the urgent 
 thing is to enter upon the discussion of Priestley to which ' 
 you invite me. I have long wished to get you there. I 
 have just been talking him over with my brother Arthur, 
 who was his pupil at Hackney, and had both the opportu- 
 nity of knowing, and the mind for appreciating him. He 
 says that certainly in one sense Priestley was self-satisfied. 
 He had emancipated himself from the yoke of Calvinism, 
 which was little made for his sunny temper ; and with 
 such immovable, such entire conviction, he had settled it ( 
 with himself that all things must at all times be working | 
 for the best, because ordained and guided by the wisest I 
 and best of beings ; that neither any misfortunes of his '• 
 own, nor any disappointments to those causes which he 
 espoused, were able to make deep or lasting impressions 
 on his spirits. He was an optimist both by disposition 
 and system, but from Epicurean tranquillity no one could 
 be further. He was the most active of men, he could not 
 have lived inactive, and to the propagation of this, his 
 great principle, there was nothing he was not ready to 
 sacrifice. My aunt has said of him, with as much truth as 
 brilliancy, that ' he followed truth as a man who hawks 
 follows his sport — at full speed, straiglitforward, looking 
 only upward, and regardless into what difl&culties the chase 
 may lead him.' This sanguine spirit prompted him to 
 adopt the maxim, that no effort is lost ; he firmly believed 
 
TO THE KEY. DR. CHANNING. 237 
 
 that all discussion must end in the advancement of truth, 
 and here he could never perceive any mischief or danger 
 in the fullest exposure of any doctrine which he believed. 
 He was constitutionally incapable of doubt ; what he held, 
 he held implicitly for the time ; but Arthur says he was 
 not tenacious upon anything which did not affect his great 
 principle of optimism — that is, of necessity. It may be 
 considered that his system of the origin of ideas was de- 
 rived from Locke and enlarged upon by Hartley, who also 
 maintained necessity, and both these were revered names 
 to follow. His system of materialism was more original, 
 and more obnoxious, but his own faith in a future state 
 being fixed on gospel promises, was quite unshaken by it ; 
 and he expected, I say not how wisely, to enhance the 
 value of Christianity, and compel, as it were, the deist to 
 accept of it, by proving that there was no hope of immor- 
 tality without it. All these doctrines, too, were in a 
 manner sanctified to him by the often ingenious, often 
 powerful use which he made of them in his attacks upon 
 what he regarded as the most mischievous corruptions of 
 Christianity. If he had promulgated these opinions from 
 vain glory, no doubt it would have destroyed his moral 
 greatness ; but as by the concurring judgments, I believe 
 of all who had the best means of knowing, his motives 
 were purely reverence to Grod and good-will to men, I 
 cannot agree that anything but imprudence ought to be 
 imputed to him by those who may most distrust their truth 
 and tendency. His private life was radiant with goodness. 
 He was excellent in every relation, exemplary as a pastor, 
 particularly for the unwearied pains he took with the 
 young, for whom he composed catechisms and delivered 
 lectures. His Birmingham flock has never lost the cha- 
 racter of devout zeal which he impressed upon it. His 
 disinterested love of truth manifested itself in his scien- 
 tific pursuits. The moment he made a discovery he 
 
238 LETTERS 
 
 threw it before the public ; not waiting to form a perfect 
 system which would have redounded to his o^vn glory, but 
 eager to set other minds on the track of investigation, and 
 provided truth were discovered, careless by whom. In ^ 
 charity and forgiveness of injuries he was a perfect f 
 Christian. ^So kind was his temper,' said my father, P 
 ' that he would not have hurt his bitterest enemy.' Think, 
 too, of his zeal for civil liberty, and the obloquy and dan- 
 ger which he braved for it, and make allowances for the 
 situation of a reformer rendered more positive by often 
 dishonest opposition. No, he had a sanguineness of 
 temper incompatible with true judgment, and perhaps 
 with deep feelings, but I cannot deny him moral great- 
 ness; he would certainly have laid down his life for his 
 faith, and for mankind. 
 
 The doctrine of necessity has, no doubt, its dangers for 
 inactive and self-indulgent tempers ; and though I know 
 not how to resist by reasoning the arguments which very 
 long since rendered me an earnest advocate for it, I begin 
 to feel against it. In affliction I have found that it rather 
 rebuked murmuring than afforded positive comfort. 
 I know not how any one contrives to hold it and the 
 scriptures together; moral responsibility is surely impHed 
 in their promises and threatenings ; but, in fact, some of 
 the necessarian Christians dilute and explain them away 
 till they come to very little. WTiat I can least afford to 
 part with is the idea of being approved or disapproved by 
 a heavenly as by an earthly parent or superior ; of living 
 ' as ever in a great taskmaster's eye.' It has sometimes 
 overwhelmed my heart with a sense of desolation un- 
 utterably oppressive, to think, that by no efforts, no 
 sacrifices, no performance of arduous duties with cheerful 
 patience, it would be possible, if necessity were true, to 
 gain the moral approbation of the Deity, without which 
 I could not think of God as of a father. Creator, I could 
 
TO THE REV. DE. CHANNINa. 239 
 
 call Him, and benefactor, but not' father, that dearest and 
 tenderest of names. Your views on these subjects are so 
 much more congenial to my feelings, that they have, I 
 believe, very nearly become my own without my being 
 aware of it. I am very much pleased with your account 
 of the origin of a belief in futurity ; it accords with my 
 previous ideas. We cannot well believe in God without 
 expecting that He will sometimes come, as it were, to an 
 explanation with us on all the things which so perplex us 
 here. In appealing to an inward light thus far I think 
 we are justified — it is rather dangerous ground, however ; 
 enthusiasm and superstition are very apt to take advantage 
 of that inlet, as in the interesting case of Mrs. F. Of the 
 Quakers, whom it was formerly my lot to know many 
 rather intimately, I have always observed, that owing, I 
 believe, to their want of professional instructors in religion 
 and morals, either as preachers or writers, they are much 
 more ignorant of first principles on these subjects than 
 the members of other communities. Whenever they begin 
 to enquire for themselves, their unpractised understandings 
 soon get bewildered, and if they quit their own society, it 
 is usually for Methodism, Moravianism, or some other 
 system where reason has least to do. A vagueness of 
 thought, with a turn for mystery, almost always adheres 
 to them, and it is very well if, in the midst of so much 
 confusion, they form or retain very clear notions of moral 
 right or wrong. 
 
 The Dr. King you enquire about Mrs. Joanna Baillie 
 knows ; she says he is very upright and very benevolent, 
 but not a man of sense. His plan, I believe, has been 
 given up, though at first it seemed to work well. Miss 
 Mitford I never saw, but I think her ^Village' a very 
 pleasing picture, and quite true to nature. She lives in 
 a cottage with an old father whom she dotes upon. I 
 hear she is very happy in her seclusion, and her friends 
 
240 LETTERS I 
 
 speak of her with much affection ; in London circles she! 
 rarely appears. 1 
 
 I was disappointed of the little Kentish journey II 
 mentioned in my last by the sudden illness of my 
 brother; but when he recovered I found myself better 
 too; and ^King Charles' is proceeding, though not thej 
 better for our political crisis, which so fills my mind that 
 I fear its giving some tinge, or some vices to my repre- 
 sentation of the events of a former period of revolution. 
 
 No public event ever oppressed me like this rejection 
 of the bill, with grief and fear. Delay, for it is but 
 delayed, must evidently increase all its dangers. It gives 
 opportunity for the intrigues of violent and designing 
 men on both sides. The tories are frightened now at j 
 what they have done. Many of them would never have r 
 given that vote but with the expectation of overawing I 
 the King and making ministers resign ; they looked upon r 
 it as little more than a trial of strength between Grrey i 
 and Wellington ; they now know how the people look upon 
 it, and how staunch the King is. The bishops are re- 
 garded as persons insane ; they can never more appear on il 
 the scene. We feel ourselves standing on a volcano, e 
 With all this I love my country far too well to despair of \ 
 her. I believe that the moderate party is strong enough I: 
 to hold in check the two extremes, provided it eocerts t 
 itself strenuously and skilfully for that purpose. 
 
 You have touched upon what must be the most grievous 
 of all topics to an American who loves his country — • 
 slavery. We who praise republics, hang our heads when : 
 it is mentioned. There is nothing by which Americans 
 are so apt to give an ill- impression of themselves here, as 
 by unguarded expressions on this subject. The only time 
 I saw Bishop Hobart, he said to me, in defence of creating 
 new slave states, that ^ a man must be allowed to make 
 the best of his property.' There was a general shudder. 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 241 
 
 I turned away, and addressed him no more, and tlie 
 hospitable master of the house never gave him a second 
 invitation. Another American sometimes gave us un- 
 pleasant feelings simply by speaking of planters as his 
 friends or acquaintances ; we regard them as persons not 
 to be mentioned without a necessity. I conceive that the 
 greatest political difficulties and dangers which menace 
 you are from this somxe : the crime will bring its own 
 punishment. 
 
 It delights me to hear that you are writing again. 
 Never can you put pen to paper without doing much 
 good, and giving great delight. In a general survey of 
 the state of the world facts will be of use to you as the 
 grounds of reasoning ; and I will take care to store up for 
 you any I think useful. Mr. Whishaw is just returned 
 from France, and I will keep my letter open till after 
 to-morrow, in hopes of something worth writing. — No, he 
 has nothing to tell me except that he found Paris so un- 
 pleasant from tumults that he left it in three days. But 
 I have been questioning another friend, who has passed 
 there the last year and half, on the state of religion. He 
 says that, generally speaking, there is no religion at Paris. 
 The Eomish religion is considered obsolete, and very few 
 but women attend the churches. The priests are from a 
 low class, with a very small stipend from the state, which 
 he believes their hearers never add to. He knows of no 
 spread of Protestantism; some old congregations of re- 
 formed there are with Grenevan ministers, who are by 
 much the most eloquent preachers he ever heard. One 
 congregation of English unitarians, chiefly supported by 
 Americans. These you doubtless know of, also that they 
 have engaged an additional minister to preach in French. 
 I hear from others that at Dijon a Catholic congregation 
 went over in a body to the reformed ; that similar con- 
 versions have taken place at Lyons. The provinces are 
 
 R 
 
242 LETTERS 
 
 less irreligious tlian Paris. You have probably heard that 
 the Grenevan unitarians have been at length provoked to 
 enter into controversy with the calvinists, who were 
 carrying all before them. 
 
 I have been dining with two clergymen, who to my 
 astonishment began a discussion upon the exclusion of 
 bishops from the House of Lords, which they both thought 
 impending. One said it would be a good thing, which ; 
 the other did not quite deny, but thought this was not the i 
 tir)ie to strip the Church of honours. One of these was a 
 reformer, the other certainly a tory ; but being both, I 
 believe, sincerely religious and honest men, they were 
 equally ashamed of the conduct of the bishops, and 
 sensible that temptation ought to be removed from them ^ 
 by the prohibition of translations and other means. There j 
 is extreme bitterness all over the country against the 
 clergy. A gentleman who had been canvassing Liverpool 
 for your friend Thorneley, was repeatedly told by metho- 
 dists and calvinistic dissenters, 'We are willing to vote 
 for a unitarian, because he will be reasonable about the 
 Church.' A fearful sign for the establishment when foes 
 leaofue ao-ainst her ! In the midst of this ferment the „ 
 lower classes exhibit a growing depravity which gives true 
 patriots many a heartache. None would wish to live in 
 an age of transition such as we have fallen upon, none 
 at least but the young and ardent, or those whose faith in 
 the high destinies of man is firm as yours. I brace my 
 mind as I can. In the storm there is sublimity, high 
 thoughts are stirred, and even a woman may be called 
 upon for the exercise of high virtues. 
 
 Farewell, my dear and honoured friend, 
 
 Lucy Aikin. 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 243 
 
 "* No. 16. 
 
 Hampstead: Dec. 8, 1831. 
 
 I feel as if I were in some danger of becoming impor- 
 tunate to you by the frequency of my letters ; but, to con- 
 verse with my ' guide, philosopher, and friend,' has now 
 become with me, not a mere indulgence, but a want, and 
 I trust in your patience. It is advisedly that I have 
 called you my guide. I daily discover more and more 
 how much I have come under the influence of your mind, 
 and what great things it has done, and I trust is still doing, 
 for mine. Let me gratify the feelings of a thankful heart 
 by entering into a few particulars on this subject. I was 
 never duly sensible, till your writings made me so, of the 
 transcendent beauty and sublimity of Christian morals ; 
 nor did I submit my heart and temper to their chastening 
 and meliorating influences. In particular, the spirit of 
 unbounded benevolence which they breathe was, I own 
 it, a stranger to my bosom ; far indeed was I from look- 
 ing upon all men as my brethren. Many things prevented 
 it. A life, for the most part, of domestic seclusion ; 
 studious pursuits, and something of the pride and fastidi- 
 ousness they are apt to bring; and more than all, the 
 atmosphere of a sect and a party, which it was my fate to 
 breathe from childhood, narrowed my affections within 
 strait limits. Under the notion of a generous zeal for 
 freedom, truth, and virtue, I cherished a set of prejudices 
 and antipathies which placed beyond the pale of my 
 charity not the few, but the many, the mass of my com- 
 patriots. I shudder now to think how good a hater I was 
 in the days of my youth. Time and reflection, a wider 
 range of acquaintance, and a calmer state of the public 
 mind, mitigated by degrees my bigotry ; but I really knew 
 
 1 R 2 
 
244 LETTEES 
 
 not what it was to open my heart to the human race until 
 I had drunk deeply into the spirit of your writings. 
 
 Neither was my intercourse with my Creator such as to 
 satisfy fully the wants of the soul. I had doubts and 
 scruples, as I have before intimated, respecting prayer, 
 which weighed heavily on my spirit. In times of the 
 most racking anxiety, the bitterest grief, I offered, I dared 
 to offer, nothing but the folded arms of resignation — sub- 
 mission rather. So often had I heard, and from the lips 
 of some whom I greatly respected, the axiom, as it was 
 represented, that no evil could exist in the creation of a 
 perfectly benevolent being, if he were also omnipotent, that 
 my rehance on Providence was dreadfully shaken by a 
 vague notion of a nature of things by which deity itself 
 was limited. How you have dispossessed me of this 
 wretched idea I do not well know — but it is gone ; I feel, j 
 I feel that He can and will bless me, even by means of 
 what seem at present evil and suffering. You have shown 
 me clearly a Father in heaven, and for nothing earthly | 
 would I exchange the heavenly peace which this convic- ' 
 tion brings. It is surely the highest reason to believe that 
 our finite spirits can never think too well or hope too 
 much of His infinity, provided only we fail not in our parts. 
 
 From the time that I first became your reader, I had a 
 kind of anticipation that you would work considerable 
 effects upon me ; but it has been by slow degrees, and 
 laborious processes, and hard struggles with deep-rooted 
 prepossessions, that I have fitted my mind to give recep- 
 tion to so many of your views; and, but for the deep 
 interest in them which your letters assisted to maintain, 
 my resolution would have failed me ere the task was 
 thus far accomplished. You have wished to interest in 
 religion minds by which it was apt to be coldly regarded. 
 With respect to mine, you have all that you desire ; for 
 the present I am little interested in any other subject; or 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 245 
 
 at least, I view all others as connected with this, and sub- 
 ordinate to it. May God reward you ! You have given 
 rae a new being. 
 
 All the principles that can support or elevate the soul 
 are greatly needed with us now, to meet the tempests 
 gathering thick and dark around us. Pestilence advances, 
 revolution threatens. With respect to the first, I feel 
 only the dread of surviving those I love. A medical brother 
 pledged to go wherever called, is a great anxiety ; but I 
 will not dwell on possible evils. The poor in some Euro- 
 pean countries through which this scourge has passed, 
 were possessed with the notion that it was purposely dif- 
 fused by the higher classes to thin the numbers of the 
 lower. I doubt not there was talk which showed at least 
 profound indifference in the rich and great to this result, 
 and unless people set a strong guard on their tongues, the 
 same suspicions may arise here. It is felt that we have 
 many spare hands. I have heard a good man say, that a 
 decimation of London, if the lots fell well, would be no 
 bad thing. But luckily there can be no security that the 
 lots would so fall, if once the infection gained ground ; 
 and therefore we are cleansing the dwellings of the poor, 
 and wrapping their persons in flannel ; but is there not 
 something frightful in this worthlessness of the lives of 
 one class to another ? What wonder that kings have 
 made no spare of the blood of their subjects? I perceive 
 more and more clearly what you first pointed out to me — 
 the darkening effects of the spirit of aristocracy on the 
 mind, its hardening influence on the heart. Distinct 
 classes can never feel for each other as members of one 
 body ; and, in the want of this sympathy, all anti-social 
 vices, oppression, arrogance, cruelty in the rich, envy, 
 fraud, rapacity, and brutal insolence in the poor, take 
 root and flourish. I am convinced that the deep dread 
 with which the working classes begin here to inspire their 
 
246 LETTERS 
 
 betters is extremely wholesome; even such disgraceful 
 excesses as those of Bristol have their use as warnings. 
 Yet it is curious, though sad, to see how men drive away- 
 unwelcome thoughts, and hug again their old delu- 
 sions. One day a threatened radical meeting in the 
 suburbs puts all the magistrates and gentry on the alert ; 
 the police are arrayed, special constables sworn in, the 
 rabble dispersed, the popular orators disappointed of 
 audience for that time ; and the next day you shall hear 
 the aristocracy round their dinner-table confessing that 
 some reform must take place, but assuring themselves and 
 each other that a little will satisfy all the well disposed, 
 and concluding that, 'if the people will not be satisfied 
 with moderate reform (that is, something less than the 
 bill) they must be bayonetted.' I give you the very words 
 used to me last week by a mild, amiable, indolent young 
 man of fortune, and one who thinks gTeat scorn to be 
 called a tory. I begin to fear that if, I mean ivhen, a 
 struggle comes, that dovetailing of the classes into one 
 another, in which I once confided, will be apt to give way. 
 Yet there are noble examples of rich men, and even lords, 
 who feel for the multitude. The Catholic peers have almost 
 all sided with the people — by virtue, I suppose, of their want 
 of attachment to the Church. It would shock you to be 
 initiated into the abominations springing out of Church 
 patronage. ' What will you do with your nephew ? ' said 
 a friend of mine to a great coal-owner. ' Oh, if he turns 
 out clever we shall make him a collier : if otherwise, we 
 must put him into the Church.' When there is a family- 
 living, commonly the most stupid of the boys, very often 
 the most profligate, is made to take orders. In other pro- 
 fessions success depends in some degree on merit. For 
 the sake of electioneering interests, there is really no man 
 whom a patron will scruple to entrust with cure of souls 
 — provided only a bishop can be induced to ordain him — 
 
TO THE REY. DR. CHANNING. 247 
 
 and there is always some bishop of notorious facility. I 
 think there must, ere long, be considerable concessions to 
 public opinion, with respect to patronage as well as tithes ; 
 and these being reformed, doctrine will next come in 
 question, 1 imagine. The substitution of popular election 
 for patronage, and the abolition of pluralities, would in- 
 fallibly procure us a more diligent, more moral, more in- 
 dependent clergy, and one better instructed in theology, 
 and consequently more scrupulous of teaching what they 
 could not themselves believe. After all, these are animat- 
 ing times to live in ; they offer hopes well worth all the 
 fears they bring. A friend just arrived from Italy brings 
 me some curious particulars of the state of things. The Pope 
 has nearly lost all temporal authority out of Eome. Bologna 
 has refused, in the most respectful manner, either to 
 admit his troops, or to pay him any tribute. What is 
 strange, the Eoman censorship, though extremely jealous 
 of religious heresies, takes no cognisance of political ones. 
 You might almost publish there Paine's ' Eights of Man.' 
 In Tuscany, on the contrary, you may print what you 
 please on religion, but in politics you are much restricted. 
 A tragedy on the subject of the Sicilian Vespers had been 
 repeatedly performed at Florence with immense applause. 
 The French ambassador applied to have it prohibited on 
 account of the reflections it contained on the French 
 nation. ' You need not stir,' said the Austrian ambassador 
 to him ; * the letter is indeed directed to you, but its con- 
 tents are for me.' The representation was not forbidden, 
 but it was long before the author could obtain license to print 
 it. At last he did, on coudition that it should not be in a 
 separate form, but stuck in a thick octavo of his other 
 works. He contrived to take off a few separate copies, 
 however, and gave my friend one, which I have just read. 
 It certainly breathes a strong spirit of resistance to foreign 
 domination ; and also utters very intelligibly that earnest 
 
248 LETTERS 
 
 desire for the union of all Italy under one Grovernment 
 which now possesses her best patriots. Many of them, my 
 informant says, would not object, on certain terms, to see a 
 the whole country under the dominion of Austria, which | 
 has the sense to govern Lombardy with a good deal of 
 mildness and liberality. They hate the French. 
 
 The more I see of Eammohun Roy, the more I admire 
 and even venerate him. Dr. Wallich of Calcutta, himself 
 an admirable person, tells me that he stands quite alone 
 amongst his countrymen, with neither equal nor second in 
 talent, in integrity, and in enlargement of mind. He has 
 provoked the bitterest enmity of the Hindoo priests by his 
 attacks upon their gainful idolatries : but Dr. W. says that, 
 should he return safe and well, supported by the distin- 
 guished favour of the company, and successful in his 
 patriotic objects, a shock would be given to the whole 
 Hindoo system, which would go near to overthrow it. 
 He gave us this trait of the good rajah. In conversation 
 at the house of a Scotch gentleman at Calcutta, the ques- 
 tion happened to arise, if two persons were drowning of 
 whom you could save only one, and one were your country- 
 man, would you not save him in preference ? * Certainly 
 I should,' said the Scotchman. The rajah reprobated the 
 idea of making a choice between the lives of any two 
 fellow-creatures, at such a moment — he would save the 
 nearest. ' No,' he added, after a pause ; ' there is a case 
 in which I should make a choice. If one were a woman, 
 I should rescue her.' And this from a man brought up 
 amidst widow-burning and the exposure of female infants ! 
 I have seen a good deal of the Farrars ; Mrs. F. and I are 
 sworn friends, and I have made her tell me a vast deal 
 about you and yours ; I can now fancy your happy fire- 
 side. She says your boy and girl are perfect specimens in 
 their kind. I shall be anxious to hear how the winter 
 agrees with you and Mrs. Channing. With us the weather 
 
TO THE KEY. DE. CHANNING. 249 
 
 is now almost oppressively warm, to the alarm of those 
 who are dreading cholera. Nobody knows yet what our 
 ministers are going to do about reform ; but they have 
 declared they will not fail again. 
 
 Ever yours, with the truest esteem, ' 
 
 i L. AlKIN. 
 
 I 
 
 I No. 17. 
 
 i 
 
 I Hampstead: Feb. 22, 1832. 
 
 ' My dear Friend, — I have many, many thanks to return 
 
 ' you for those two excellent letters I have had from you 
 since I last wrote. Nothing so much interests and de- 
 lights me as the spirit in which you write of us and our 
 concerns. Call yourself ' a foreigner,' if you must^ — it is a 
 cold name, and one which we never give to Americans ; 
 
 j but yours is a filial heart to old England still, and beats 
 
 I true to her in all her trials and adversities. 
 
 If you have received two letters which I have written to 
 you since the date of your last, you will have seen that I 
 am still far from despairing of my country. I see dangers, 
 indeed, many and of opposite kinds, and many more there 
 must be which are invisible to me ; I see the interests of 
 various parties, sects, and classes in society roused into 
 fierce opposition ; I see all, the high as well as the low, 
 exposed to peril, suffering under real evils and privations, 
 and too generally disposed, by a short-sighted selfishness, 
 to advance unreasonable claims, and to shift as much as 
 possible of the burden from themselves to others ; I see 
 prejudice, ignorance, obstinacy at work, and in all classes 
 too, to perpetuate bad feelings, urge on unprofitable courses, 
 and resist wise and salutary reforms ; I see, and with 
 deep sorrow, much depravity in the lower classes, much 
 too in the highest, and in the middle ones a sordid, 
 grovelling selfishness, less scandalous, but scarcely less 
 
250 LETTERS 
 
 pernicious. But I see, on the other hand, much true ^ 
 patriotism, and in high places too ; much philanthropy, fl 
 much enlightenment, active zeal, and in some bosoms ^ 
 fortitude and devotedness, equal to any trials we can an- |^ 
 ticipate. There is also amongst all who have anything [ 
 to lose a calculating coolness, a deliberate appreciation of f- 
 present good, which is likely to range them almost uni- f- 
 versally on the side of peace and order. The long discus- \. 
 sion of reform has certainly had its advantages. You may f 
 observe that the highest tories are now brought to admit ^ 
 that some there ought to be and must be. I firmly believe, ' 
 that with more or less of modification the bill will now ' 
 be carried ; and with a popular House of Commons, what- 
 ever partial changes of ministers shall occur, and several 
 are talked of, it is certain that many other salutary ^ 
 measures, now in preparation, will be brought in, and - 
 carried too. 
 
 The political unions seem to me to have lost ground ' 
 since the affair of Bristol, and I do not in the least appre- j 
 hend that they will be enabled to dictate to ministers or ' 
 to Parliament, or materially to disturb the public peace. 
 We have certainly in London no class of people capable 
 of such deeds as the barricades of Paris. Our middling - 
 orders are men of peace, never drafted off by conscriptions ; ' 
 and as for our mob, they are profligate indeed, but seldom | 
 atrocious. I suspect you have been horror-struck, like ' 
 some persons here, by the statements and descriptions of 
 Gribbon Wakefield, but it is not on the word of an atrocious 
 malefactor, seeking to rise again into something like 
 credit, and also to sell a book, that frightful stories ought ' 
 to be implicitly believed. I think, in short, that the ' 
 general apprehension of a revolution will save us from 
 the reality, and that better, not worse, times are approach- 
 ing. 
 
 But what must I say to the heavy charge you bring 
 
TO THE REV. DR CHANNING. 251 
 
 ' against all the rich, the powerful, the improved, for the 
 I mass of vice, ignorance, and misery which they have suf- 
 I fered to accumulate about the poor of this country ? I 
 I have pondered the matter over and over, for I cannot 
 , lightly dismiss from my mind such an accusation from 
 ! such a quarter ; and this is the best answer my lights 
 i enable me to frame. In England — I dismiss for the 
 j present unhappy Ireland — apathy towards suffering fellow- 
 j creatures is not a common fault. You have truly said, 
 I that benevolence is one of our fashions. Political causes, 
 I misgovernment, and bad legislation have had by far the 
 I greatest share in producing evils for which benevolence, 
 often misdirected, has found no effectual remedies. 
 
 It would require a pamphlet to expose all the particu- 
 lars in which the administration of Mr Pitt and the states- 
 men of his school tended to the increase of the curse of 
 pauperism. During the war the enhanced price of pro- 
 visions ought to have been met by a corresponding advance 
 in the wages of agricultural labour ; but this the gentle- 
 men, from mistaken views of their own interest, opposed. 
 Mr. Pitt legalised the payment of wages in part out of the 
 poor rate. In the southern and some midland counties, 
 where this practice was adopted, continually increasing 
 misery and degradation have ensued, and of late a 
 desperate spirit of revenge, which is likely however to 
 compel the adoption of effective remedies for the 
 evil, some of which are already coming into operation. 
 The fluctuations of commerce and manufactures; the 
 transition from war to peace ; the weight of taxation ; the 
 I invasion of England by swarms of miserable Irish, who 
 I underbid our own working men in the already glutted 
 'labour market; the great extension of machinery; the 
 I general inclosure of commons, and the system of large 
 j farms, are some of the many causes which have fatally 
 conspired to the same end ; and you perceive that such of 
 
252 LETTERS 
 
 these as admit of counteraction are rather in the province 
 of politicians and statesmen than of private individuals. 
 That our legislation has not been idle in the cause, a j 
 slight survey of the objects of the greater part of the bills 
 brought in every session would convince you. AATien the 
 great reform is effected, you will see the result. Mean- 
 time I regard all that is, and all that can be done for the 
 poor, as palliative merely, and sometimes not that. The 
 pauper is robbed of half his virtues as surely as the slave. 
 He loses self-respect, the most irreparable of all losses ; 
 and neither the alleviation of his physical wants, nor even 
 the acquirement of knowledge when the means are not 
 earned by his own honest labour, but conferred upon him 
 as the alms of his superiors, have any tendency to raise 
 him in the moral scale. Neither does religious or moral 
 instruction, so conveyed, work its proper effect. It is re- 
 ceived as a tax upon the dole which is expected to follow. 
 The cant of religion has been widely diffused amongst our 
 poor by these means, but of the spirit and power of god- 
 liness little indeed. 
 
 I am convinced that an effective missionary must begin 
 with ' Silver and gold have I none.' He should be a poor 
 man among the poor to reach their hearts and consciences. 
 They have an incurable distrust of those who are called 
 their betters in these matters — having indeed often seen 
 religion perverted into an engine of state, or an auxiliary 
 of the police. More good, I believe, is to be done in this 
 country at present by striving to diffuse pure and elevated 
 and liberal views on religion and virtue amongst the 
 higher and middling classes, through whom they may 
 gravitate to the lower, than by attempting at once to con- 
 front degradation in its deepest caverns ; though I would 
 by no means discourage the glorious few who feel in 
 themselves a mission for these heroic efforts of philan- 
 thropy. But the greater part of our would-be teachers of 
 
TO THE RET. DR. CHANNING. 253 
 
 the poor stand themselves in great need of becoming 
 learners, especially of humility and meekness. There are 
 of course many, very many of a better stamp ; and I do 
 look with a good deal of hope on the efforts now making 
 for the establishment of Temperance Societies. But alas! 
 how are we to cope with the evils of an already redundant 
 and daily increasing population ? And Ireland, Ireland I 
 
 I have laid out of my account another dire calamity 
 with which we seem doomed to contend — the cholera. 
 Eeached us it has, beyond question, and a few days will 
 decide whether it be an infection from some single source 
 capable of being by due care extinguished, or whether 
 it comes as an epidemic menacing myriads. In the 
 most favourable case much distress will arise, nay it has 
 already arisen, from the interruption of trade, by which 
 thousands more must be thrown out of bread. But should 
 it assume the character of a real pestilence, who can even 
 imagine the confusion, the misery ? Methinks I see the 
 * grim features ' of Milton's own Death exulting that his 
 ' famine shall be filled,' and of the million and half of 
 human creatures congregated in and near our vast metro- 
 polis ! A remedy it may indeed prove for our over-popu- 
 lation — but what a remedy ! 
 
 To contemplate such horrors with perfect composure, is 
 a height of philosophy I by no means aspire to reach ; but 
 I trust I shall not be numbered with the panic-stricken. 
 Hitherto, I have ever found that strength is given accord- 
 ing to the call for it, to those who are not wanting to 
 themselves. In the lives of those dear to me I am most 
 vulnerable, but I bow to the Divine decrees ; and I have 
 been quite enough familiarised with affliction to know 
 what precious medicine it contains. For myself, I have 
 never at any period within my memory viewed death as a 
 subject of dread ; on the contrary, I have usually beheld it 
 as an object of aspiration, and with a kind of solemn joy. 
 
254 LETTERS 
 
 I believe that at any moment of my life I should have 
 welcomed a call to die nobly. To expose myself to infec- 
 tion when duty or affection bade I have never hesitated 
 yet, and I trust I shall not now. 
 
 It rejoices me to have been able successfully to vindicate 
 to you the character and motives of Priestley. Too true it 
 is, that we cannot spare even one from our list of worthies. 
 I long for a fuller development of your delightful idea of 
 our personal interest in the high qualities of others. It 
 is quite a new thought to me, and opens to the most in- 
 spiring views. Even in this state of being, the effects of 
 a high principle, a grand discovery, a sublime poem, a 
 noble action, extend quite out of sight and calculation. 
 In other states they may reach to the whole race of man — 
 I see nothing against it. Oh ! who would bear the sight 
 and sense of human misery — that has indeed a soul to 
 comprehend and feel it — without the cordial of high hopes 
 and noble aspirations ! My thoughts are ever returning 
 thither, to the invisible world, and thanks to you, they 
 never return thence without bringing in their train deep 
 peace. 
 
 At length I am able to send you Mackintosh's ' Essay,' 
 and I must give you the long tale which hangs by it. I 
 long since begged Mr. Wliishaw to beg one for you of the 
 author, which he promised; but accident prevented his 
 doing so till Sir James had, as he believed, not one left ; 
 but he was not quite certain, for he had been moving, and 
 his books were in confusion. To add to the chance of 
 sending one by the Farrars I then applied to Eees, my 
 bookseller, who said with alacrity, *I will write to the 
 Edinburgh publisher, and if there is one left. Dr. Channing 
 shall have it.' He was as good as his word, and has sent 
 one, which I see he hopes will be received in the nature of 
 a peace-offering, from ' self and partners proprietors of the 
 Edinburgh Keview.' For the man has grace, for a book- 
 
I 
 
 TO" THE KEY. DR. CHANNING. 255 
 
 seller, and besides he wants to stop my mouth about the 
 
 ! odious article. 
 
 ! But in the meantime, the report of your admiration of 
 
 j his history so exceedingly gratified Sir James Mackintosh 
 that he renewed his search, found a copy, and gave it to 
 
 1 Mr. Whishaw to bring to me. It would have been most 
 ungacious to refuse it, I have therefore accepted it for you ; 
 meaning very honestly to keep it myself ; which will be 
 
 j great luck for me, since it is not to be bought separately. 
 I should have been mortified beyond expression if I had 
 failed to procure one for you ; and I hope it will not disap- 
 point you, but I expect it will pose your young readers 
 more than once. 
 
 Have you seen the spirited sketch of the history of the 
 Italian republics by Sismondi, in Lardner's Cyclopaedia ? 
 T think it very good indeed ; in a high republican strain, 
 like all his works ; and the English very good for a for- 
 eigner (not being an American). The author is now on a 
 visit to Sir James Mackintosh, his brother-in-law, and I 
 am to have the pleasure of meeting him at a neighbour's 
 in a few days, should I be well enough ; but that is a 
 great doubt, for I am a very poor creature, and seldom 
 able to indulge myself with going into parties. The win- 
 ter, however, has been remarkably mild with us ; I hope 
 it may have been so with you likewise, and that you have 
 been able to retain the precious power of occupying your- 
 self for the public. 
 
 I have written you an enormous letter, and I fear a dull 
 one ; I doubt that you will think too that I look coldly upon 
 plans for the benefit of the most numerous classes. But 
 it is not so ; I only think that the political ferment must 
 subside a little before anything effectual can be done. 
 Our ministers seem to be dealing vigorously with the ills 
 of Ireland ; peace and comfort there would remove many 
 of our grievances. I will yet cling to the hoping side. 
 
256 LETTEES 
 
 We are very loth to send you back the Farrars. They 
 have pleased universally. Since Mr. Farrar has improved 
 in health he has shown us that his talents are of no com- i 
 mon order, and nothing can be more unassuming than his 
 manners. Without any tincture of his favourite sciences, > 
 I always found that it was easy to engage him in conver- r 
 sation in which he appeared to take interest. 
 
 I will now at length release you. \ 
 
 Ever your sincere friend, ( 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 ] 
 
 No. 18. I 
 
 Hampstead: April 7, 1832. 
 My excellent Friend, — Yours of Feb. 23 has just reached 
 me. To find that the expression of my feelings respecting ( 
 the effects of your wiitings had so gratified you, was 
 delightful to me. But how is it that you can so underrate 
 their power, that you can for a moment doubt the great, f 
 the inestimable good you are working on many minds in 
 many lands ? I must write to you a little more on this 
 subject, and tell you what I think your greatest triumph, 
 or at least that which most interests me, and it will lead \ 
 me to a great topic hitherto untouched between us. The I 
 impression you have produced on the minds of women is 
 one for which I bless Grod from the bottom of my heart. I 
 need not tell you how precious your teaching is in the eyes 5 
 of Joanna Baillie, and I have long since, I think, told you 
 that admirable Mrs. Somerville was your zealous disciple 
 (but make the Farrars tell you more of her). I have 
 now to mention that you have another in Mrs. Marcet. 
 This lady has published, but anonymously, so that her 
 fame has been less than her merit and success — Conver- 
 sations on Chemistry, on Political Economy, on Natural 
 History, and on Botany — all elementary works of great 
 
TO THE EEV. DR. CHANNING. 257 
 
 solidity as well as elegance. She was the daughter of a 
 wealthy Swiss merchant settled in London : her life has 
 been almost equally divided between England and the con- 
 tinent ; and her excellent qualities and rare powers of con- 
 versation give her great influence both here and in Greneva, 
 which she now calls her home. She has a charming 
 daughter married to Edward Eomilly, ^ Of virtuous father, 
 virtuous son,' and from her I lately learnt that her sister, 
 Madame Eugene De la Kive of Greneva, was engaged in 
 translating some pieces of yours for the ' Bibliotheque 
 Universelle,' a meritorious periodical published there. 
 The best and most sensible women of my acquaintance 
 are, with very few exceptions, converts to your views. 
 Now, considering that proneness of women to the religious 
 affections, which is so capable of being either exaggerated 
 into fanaticism or depraved into bigotry, I regard it as 
 a circumstance of immense public importance that such 
 ennobling, touching, and at the same time sober-minded 
 views should be so respectably patronised amongst us. 
 Whilst you take thought for the human race, I concern 
 myself chiefly with my own sex, and oh ! that I could 
 raise a prevailing voice against the manners, the maxims, 
 the habits by which I see it fettered and debased ! If I 
 could engage you to plead in this great cause I should 
 esteem it half won. But I am ignorant how far the same 
 evils and defects are common to us and our Transatlantic 
 sisters, and I want much to discuss this subject with you. 
 We modestly esteem ourselves the first of womankind 
 for knowledge, for accomplishments, for purity of manners, 
 and for all the domestic virtues. I am not sure that we 
 are mistaken in supposing that the union of these recom- 
 mendations is more frequent in England than elsewhere ; 
 but even granting us the whole, there is much, much to 
 be added and to be corrected. Amid all that is put into 
 the head, the soul, and very often the reason, starves. 
 
 s 
 
258 LETTERS 
 
 Women are seldom taught to think. A prodigious 
 majority never acquire the power of reasoning themselves 
 or comprehending the force of arguments advanced by- 
 others. Hence their prejudices are quite invincible, their 
 narrowness and bigotry almost inconceivable, and amidst 
 a crowd of elegant acquirements, their thoughts are fri- 
 volous and their sentiments grovelling. Exceedingly few 
 have any patriotism, any sympathy with public virtue. 
 Private feelings, private interests engross them. They 
 are even more insensible than you charge our public men 
 with being of ^the greatness of the times in which we 
 live.' Kammohun Eoy has been justly scandalised at the 
 want of zeal for the reform bill amongst the ladies, and I 
 sometimes pensively ask myself whether the country could 
 now supply many noble Lady Crokes to exhort a husband 
 to follow his conscience in public matters, regardless of 
 the worldly interests of herself and their children. Luxury 
 makes great havoc with the lofty virtues, even in manly . 
 minds, and woman it quite unnerves, for the most part. | 
 You look with some jealousy on the principle of patriotism \ 
 as hostile to universal philanthropy ; but I am sure you I 
 will agree with me that it is better to love our country | 
 even partially and exclusively than to love nothing 
 beyond our own firesides ; and when public good and 
 private interest interfere, to feel no generous impulse to 
 sacrifice the less to the greater. I wish that more women 
 were nurtured in, at least, the Latin classics, because 
 from them they might imbibe this elevating sentiment, 
 without which they can never deserve the fmendshi'p, 
 whatever thay may obtain of the love, of noble-minded 
 men. If you will turn to one of Mrs. Barbauld's * Cha- 
 racters,' beginning — ' Such were the dames of old heroic 
 days ' (it was written, by the way, for the mother of Mr. 
 Benjamin Vaughan, a grand-looking old lady, whose 
 figure I still can recal), you will fully understand what 
 
TO THE KEY. BR. CHANNING. 259 
 
 kind of spirit I long to inspire into my sex. Almost all 
 my life this desire has been one of my strongest feelings. 
 When a little girl I used to battle with boys about the 
 Eights of Woman. Many years ago, I published ' Epis- 
 tles on Women,' all to the same effect ; and though I now 
 think I dare say as ill as anybody of the poetry of that 
 work, it contains many sentiments which I still cherish, 
 and would give much to be enabled to disseminate. You 
 may understand by this more distinctly what I meant by 
 saying that the higher and middle classes required to be 
 better taught themselves before they took in hand the 
 instruction of the poor ; and a great reason why I doubt of 
 the good which women do in their visitations of cottages 
 is, that I regard them for the most part as themselves the 
 slaves of so many stupid and debasing prejudices. The 
 theology of most of them is that of the thirty-nine articles, 
 which you estimate as it deserves ; and original sin and 
 the atonement are the favourite themes of their lectures 
 to the poor, even to children. Nay, our orthodox curate 
 told me himself the other day that he had interfered to 
 prevent the lady-managers of the infant school from giving 
 the babies interpretations of prophecies, concerning the 
 twelve tribes of Israel, to learn by heart ! So undiscrimi- 
 nating is their reverence for all that refers to the contents 
 of any part of the Bible ! You know well, too, how the 
 precepts of Christianity have been pressed into the service 
 of a base submission to all established power. 
 
 I am interested in your anticipations concerning France. 
 It is much to require me to wish her to surpass my own 
 country ; but I may truly say that in any real, that is, 
 moral improvement of hers, I shall ever most cordially 
 rejoice. This I hope I should do from a pure love of 
 excellence, wherever it may manifest itself ; but merely as 
 a patriot I must wish that our next neighbours, with 
 whom so many amongst us are inclined to cultivate the 
 
 S 2 
 
260 LETTERS 
 
 closest intimacy — from whom we derive many fashions, 
 practices and opinions — from whom we receive (with hor- 
 ror I speak it) instructresses for so many of our innocent 
 girls — should become more respectable and less a source of 
 moral mischief to us. I own I still think extremely ill of 
 their national character in every possible sense — they are 
 regardless of the true, the sincere, the genuine, the natu- 
 ral ; their vanity is odious to me, and their want of all 
 decency, disgusting. I am far more interested in the 
 Italians. Debased and corrupt as they are, there are noble 
 features in their national character ; if free and united, I 
 believe that they would again rise to glory of every kind ; 
 and their literatul-e far more delights me than that of 
 France — they have poetry, and a very noble spirit breathes 
 in the works of Alfieri and some of their living writers. 
 There are men of great merit amongst their exiles ; if they 
 have left many equals or successors behind them, the 
 country must and will emancipate itself before very long. 
 But, my dear friend, is it our duty to be always fixing 
 our eyes on the destinies of nations, on the state and cha- 
 racter of mankind at large ? May we not often permit 
 ourselves to dismiss from our care evils beyond our cure ? 
 Or may we not lull the pain which these general -sdews are 
 apt to inflict with some considerations like the following ? 
 This world with all its ills, man with all his crimes and 
 miseries, are yet such as their wise and beneficent Maker 
 designed that they should be, foresaw that they would be. 
 That good preponderates, we cannot doubt. All rational 
 creatures, it is probable, find their life a boon even here — 
 if not, how easily can futurity compensate transitory suffer- 
 ings? Without falling into the Epicurean sentiment 
 which you declare against, there surely is a sense in which 
 we may say, ' whatever is, is right.' We ought not surely 
 to refuse ourselves to the advances of that sweet peace 
 ^ which virtue bosoms ever,' because of sin and suffering 
 of which we are not the cause. 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 261 
 
 Believe it, we shall some time know how and why all 
 these things are. In the meanwhile let the sensitive and 
 ingenuous mind combat this anxiety as its * last infirmity,' 
 remembering that His eyes and His love are upon all, the 
 evil as well as the good, the destitute and wretched as well 
 as the happy. Pardon me, pardon me, have I dared to 
 exhort you ? But no, I believe that it is the unworthy 
 body which is in fault, when you are overpowered by 
 human ills or unsatisfied with the amount of good which 
 Providence has enabled you to perform. I know well 
 how mighty that amount has been. 
 
 May you still be strengthened to go on adding to it 
 many years! Our cholera turns out comparatively a 
 trifle — what our reform will turn out is still in dread sus- 
 pense. I feel entirely with you respecting the position of 
 the lords. Should we, like France, be compelled, as you 
 say, to separate ourselves from the old, there may be 
 compensations for the inevitable evil of the parting, for 
 posterity, scarcely for us ; and yet the intense excitement 
 would be worth having. 
 
 Ever most cordially yours, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 No. 19. 
 
 Hampstead : July 15, 1832. 
 
 My dear Friend — I yesterday received yours of June 7, 
 which gave me variety of pleasure and pain : the hope of 
 seeing you — the fear that continued ill-health might be 
 the cause — sympathy in your sentiments towards a vene- 
 rable parent, for such sentiments were my own whilst their 
 dear object remained — all contended together; but being 
 somewhat of an optimist, I settled it at length that either 
 I should have the f jreat delight of seeing you, or else the 
 satisfaction of hoping that you were in better health at 
 
262 LETTERS 
 
 home. Ah ! that health, what a blessing to those who 
 recover it after long wanting it ' I speak here experi- 
 mentally. For the last few weeks I have regained a state 
 of ease and vigour which makes my whole waking time 
 one song of thankfulness. And opportunely has this great 
 change come I I had been so despairing of ability to 
 complete my work, that I had fixed to print it a fi-agment, 
 stopping at the beginning of the war — a bitter disappoint- 
 ment in many ways ; when almost suddenly I rallied, found 
 myself able to work ; and now hope to bring out my Charles 
 complete next winter. This makes me very busy, and I 
 borrow from my sleep time to write to you. By the way, 
 I have a long unsent letter to you in my paper case. I 
 wrote it on the passing of our great bill, when we had just 
 recovered from imminent dread of a civil war ; but at that 
 crisis we were so whirled about by the feelings of the 
 moment, that I felt I might give you impressions to-day 
 which I should find all erroneous to-morrow, and therefore 
 I kept silence. I will now say that we feel the more 
 happy and triumphant in the victory, because the people 
 gained it for themselves, and by means so peaceable and 
 orderly as showed them fit and worthy to obtain it ; and 
 because there is great reason to expect that excellent men 
 will be elected to the coming parliament. Nothing has 
 ever given me such good hopes for my coimtry as the 
 conduct of the people at large on this occasion ; good 
 judges think they already perceive that the labouring 
 classes are raised in their own esteem, and are becoming 
 more estimable in consequence. The taste for other kinds 
 of reading, besides political, seems rapidly to increase. The 
 ' Penny Magazine,' set up by the Useful Knowledge Society, 
 sells 120,000 copies; and this is only one of a multitude 
 of cheap and wholesome productions which are eagerly 
 bought up. To look back now upon the political state of 
 the country, the state of knowledge, and the state of opin- 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 263 
 
 ions within our own memory, and then to look forward is 
 absolutely dizzying. Happy they who have been spared 
 to behold so bright a dawn : the day I think is yet to 
 come. It will next be seen what we can make of a church 
 reform. The Irish resistance to tithes must lead, I believe, 
 to vast consequences, here as much as there. A conscien- 
 tious scruple of paying one's money is pretty certain to 
 prove both obstinate and infectious. 
 
 I feel quite enlightened by what you say respecting the 
 mode of acting beneficially on the poor. My own opinions, 
 I must own, were not the result of any personal knowledge 
 of the subject, and perhaps I was secretly swayed by a 
 wish to believe exertions useless to which I was myself 
 indisposed. It now strikes me that a person visiting the 
 poor with such knowledge of their situation and such sym- 
 pathy for them as the poems of Wordsworth display, could 
 not but work much good — but, alas ! to acquire such ac- 
 quaintance with them is a business, a calling, and we 
 cannot all devote ourselves like your admirable but 
 enthusiastic friend. I will think more, however, on the 
 subject; I have long felt an uncomfortable consciousness 
 of deficiency in this great branch of duty. 
 
 Poor Mackintosh ! You will, ere this, have learned that 
 he is beyond the reach of your acknowledgments. He 
 lies in the churchyard which I see from my windows. I 
 thought there was a kind of appropriateness in the long 
 train of em'pty coroneted carriages, with hat-band-wearing 
 menials which followed him to his long home, and then 
 drove back at speed without even waiting for the perform- 
 ance of the funeral rites. 
 
 I am not sufficiently acquainted with Hartley to give 
 an opinion on his system, but it appeared to me in general 
 that Mackintosh was fond of attempting to reconcile 
 theories really incompatible with each other. And is it 
 not rather too much of a subtilty to say that although 
 
264 LETTEES 
 
 general utility is the test of right actions it can never be an 
 impelling motive ? It is true that we cannot stop on all 
 occasions to calculate the greatest good of the greatest 
 number before we act, even if we possessed the necessary- 
 data ; but surely we proceed upon a general idea of ten- 
 dency to good in our actions ; and is not the dignity of i 
 man more consulted by allowing reason that share in our i 
 determinations than by supposing them to be governed by 
 a kind of moral instinct or appetite ? But the more I 
 think upon it the more I am struck with the complexity 9 
 of human nature, and the multifariousness of the influ- 
 ences to which every individual is exposed ; and the conse- 
 quent extreme difficulty, if not impracticability, of finding 
 out what is primitive in him. In one sense we may regard 
 his utmost refinement as a part of his nature. We can 
 none of us remember ourselves unsophisticated, if the in- 
 fluences and suggestions of other minds be sophistications. 
 We have never been left to the developments of our own 
 powers, which is the reason that we know not by intuition 
 whether or not we have any instincts unless those of 
 suction and deglutition. I am disposed to question the 
 soundness of all very simple theories of man, and that of 
 association particularly, to which I also feel a repugnance 
 in my heart. Oh ! if you do but come to England what 
 prodigiously long conversations we shall have ! — our topics 
 will be quite inexhaustible. In writing to you I am 
 always overwhelmed by the abundance of matter. I want 
 you to know multitudes of English people who would be 
 interesting to you in various ways, and yet I feel that ex- 
 treme caution would be necessary to preserve you from 
 being overwhelmed by crowds, which is the mischief and 
 the misery to which a name subjects all here. 
 
 I find my historic task increase in interest as I proceed. 
 The times are very favourable ; they will allow me all the 
 liberty of speaking I desire ; and I have been fortunate in 
 
TO THE EEV. DB. CHANNING. 265 
 
 [ procuring unpublished documents. A volume of the 
 ! correspondence of Sir. J. Eliot, the patriot-martyr, lies on 
 I my table. Hampden was his chief friend, and Eliot was 
 i worthy of all his affection. You can imagine nothing 
 . more firm, more philosophical, more truly pious, than his 
 ! letters from prison. When at Christmas he was removed 
 to a cell without fire, he writes to his friend : * I hope you 
 will believe that change of place makes none in my mind.' 
 The cold was his death. A confession of guilt and a hum- 
 ble petition to the king would at any time have purchased 
 his release ; but this price he would not pay. Let me love 
 the land which bore such heroes ! ' Another family history 
 lies before me, a folio manuscript. It is little or nothing 
 to my pui'pose, but the writer was delighted to take a 
 pretext for bringing it to me. He is such a personage as 
 I suppose your country does not produce — a man who 
 lives upon his pedigree. My friend is poor, for the entail 
 was cut off and the title came to him without an acre : 
 his father killed himself, his wife has eloped — though still 
 young, sickness has made his once fine person a miserable 
 wreck ; he has no career, and not even an heir male, but 
 he knows that for seven hundred years a certain castle 
 descended from father to son in his family ; he can trace 
 his ancestry to Saxon times ; he has compiled their history 
 with infinite labour ; he knows that one committed a 
 murder, that another was tried for treason ; all this is a 
 kind of conscious worth to him, and he is happy. Let 
 me, however, give him his due. The polish of his manners 
 has a kind of fascination, and it is impossible not to con- 
 fess that pride of birth has made him at least a perfect 
 gentleman. What is your opinion of this principle, or sen- 
 timent ? Some regard it as useful to balance the pride of 
 purse ; others look upon it merely as an arrogant assump- 
 tion the more in society. I am inclined to look on it with 
 some complacency as favourable to the graces, which cer- 
 
266 
 
 LETTEES 
 
 tainly purse -pride is not; but I see that it often tends to 
 political servility. A poor man of birth becomes almost -■ 
 unavoidably a hanger on of the court or the minister, and 
 in one way or other subsists at the cost of the people. A 
 rich man of birth sometimes places his dignity in defying ; 
 present power and protecting the weak. In our late I; 
 struggle the Howards, the Stanleys, the Russells, and the b 
 Spencers have deserved very well of their country. But 
 here you will say that I confound the political effects of 
 nobility with pride of blood, which is a different thing. 
 Certainly reason cannot respect a man the more because 
 his ancestors possessed certain manors for a succession of 
 ages, and were sheriffs and county members in their turns. 
 It is seldom that anything moral is connected with this 
 kind of boast. Jesus set Himself against the claims of 
 those who said ' We have Abraham for our father.' And 
 yet temporal goods at least are represented to have been 
 promised to the Jews on that very score. This strikes me 
 as an eminent instance of what I should call His philoso- 
 phical spirit. His sense of divine justice, or His enlarged 
 philanthropy. It is somewhat in the same spirit with, 
 what you remarked of His instituting no priesthood. 
 
 I wish you would tell me whether there is any channel 
 by which one could now and then send you a book which i 
 was likely to interest you, and which you might otherwise , 
 miss. I longed to convey to you a 'Life of Wiclif ' by! 
 Le Bas. You would find in it much curious and inter- > 
 esting matter. There is the very noble and striking cha-: 
 racter of the reformer himself, with many instructive traits 
 of his times — full confirmation of what I once assiomed to 
 
 o 
 
 you as the cause of the small resistance made to our re- 
 formation, namely the wide diffusion of Wiclif s principles ; 
 and there is curious proof how much an exceeding High 
 Church-man of the present day, such as is Le Bas, falls 
 short of the old reformer in simplifying religion. Aft-er 
 
TO THE REY. DR. CHANNING. 267 
 
 great struggles he brings out the frightful fact that Wiclif 
 i would fain have abolished bishops and established a kind 
 I of presby terian discipline. This volume makes the first 
 of a set to be called the ' Theological Library,' in which the 
 ablest pens of the High Church party are engaged. Le 
 Bas is noted as a bitter reviewer of polemics ; he is cer- 
 tainly an able writer, and affluent in knowledge. 
 
 My paper reminds me to release you. How eager I 
 shall be for the next notice of your determination. Pray 
 make health your first object. 
 
 Ever most truly yours, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 No. 20. 
 
 Hampstead : Oct. 15, 1832. 
 I will follow your example, by answering your letter 
 immediately — always the time when one is most disposed 
 to answer. I liked everything in it but the report of your 
 susceptibility to cold so early in the season. Here we 
 have one of the finest autumns ever known. I wish I 
 could bag up for you the west wind which is waving his 
 balmy wings at my open window. I still live in hopes 
 that we shall some time or other lure you hither, and then 
 you will know whether I was right or not in promising or 
 threatening that you should be a lion. That you would 
 soon be weary of performing that part I can readily be- 
 lieve, but I am sure that we have minds over which you 
 must rejoice to feel the benignant influence which you 
 have exerted. You desire me not to use my recovered 
 energies too freely. There is no danger. Eager as I am 
 for the completion of my long task, I am not permitted to 
 sit too closely at it, for I am now surrounded by a close 
 circle of friends and neighbours who tempt me daily into 
 delicious idleness — if I may call that social intercourse 
 
268 LETTERS 
 
 idleness in which neither head nor heart is unoccupied. It., 
 will be three or four months yet before I shall have made 
 an end of King Charles ; but I begin to ask myself, what 
 next ? With my habits of literary labour, vacation will 
 soon become tedious, and I must look out for another 
 task. Pray assist me. I am resolved against proceeding 
 further with English sovereigns — Charles II. is no theme 
 for me ; it would make me contemn my species. If I 
 could discover how my pen could do most good, to that 
 object it should without hesitation be devoted. Profit I 
 have no need of, and of reputation I have all I want. My;; 
 mind is often burdened with the consciousness of doing . 
 little good, and an ignorance in what way to attempt 
 doing more. If I am capable of benefiting any class, it 1 
 must be one considerably removed from the lowest, of ^ 
 whom, whatever you may think of the confession, I have j 
 never seen enough to know at all how to address them. > 
 One comfort is, that there is still plenty of ignorance and 
 noxious error to be pointed out in all classes. But the , 
 office of censor morum is not one which I covet ; for who i 
 and what am I ? I can imagine, but I know not whether ( 
 I could execute, something in the way of essays, or letters, 
 moral, literary, and miscellaneous, which might be made 
 to serve good ends. But this is quite in the air. 
 
 Know that a great new light has arisen among English [ 
 women. In the words of Lord Brougham, ' There is a deaf 
 girl at Norwich doing more good than any man in the i 
 country.' You may have seen the name and some of the i 
 productions of Harriet Martineau in the ' Monthly Reposi- i 
 tory,' but what she is gaining glory by are ' Illustrations of 
 Political Economy,' in a series of tales published periodi- 
 cally, of which nine or ten have appeared. It is impossible 
 not to wonder at the skill with which, in the happiest of 
 these pieces, for they are unequal, she has exemplified some 
 of the deepest principles of her science, so as to make them ■ 
 
TO THE REV. DE. CHANNING. 269 
 
 'plain to very ordinary capacities, and demonstrated their 
 I practical influence on the well-being, moral and physical, 
 ; of the working classes first, and ultimately on the whole 
 i community. And with all this, she has given to her 
 narratives a grace, an animation, and often a powerful 
 pathos, rare even in works of pure amusement. Last year 
 she called on me several times, and I was struck with 
 marks of such an energy and resolution in her as, I 
 I thought, must command success in some line or other, 
 though it did not then appear in what. She has a vast 
 store of knowledge on many deep and difficult subjects ; 
 a wonderful store for a person scarcely thirty, and her 
 observation of common things must have been extraor- 
 dinarily correct as well as rapid. I believe you may 
 dismiss your fears of too wide an extension of suffrage 
 under the reform bill. The total number of ten-pound 
 I householders turns out less than almost anyone expected, 
 I and the ' degraded class ' are almost all lodgers, and the 
 condition of a previous paying up of rates annexed to the 
 privilege of voting has so much further reduced them, 
 that in many places the constituencies are manifestly still 
 too small to be out of reach of bribery. It is impossible 
 quite to suppress anxiety for the general result of the 
 coming elections, but all the friends of rational liberty I 
 talk with are full of happy auguries. It is quite true, as 
 you say, that the tories have made, and are still maJdng, 
 themselves both odious and contemptible; but I do not 
 think the public peace is threatened, because it seems 
 pretty certain that they will be left in a decided minority 
 in both houses, so that the people can afford to forgive 
 them. John Bull is not of a vindictive temper, especially 
 when a plentiful harvest has put him in good heart and 
 good humour. You think quite as well of our bishops as 
 they deserve. The venerable Bishop of Norwich, of whom 
 Sydney Smith happily said, * he should touch for bigotry 
 
270 LETTERS 
 
 and absurdity,' stands very much alone amongst them ; ' 
 however, I do not wish them hurt in the least, nor fright 
 ened further than is necessary to urge them to quit their ^ 
 political station. The separation of Church and State is, in 
 my opinion, by much the most important victory which 
 the people have still to achieve. 'WTien our bishops shall 
 be in the state of your bishops, certainly my animosity i 
 against them will extend 'not a frown further,' but till 
 that happens, all fair means of lessening them in the eyes f 
 of the people must be allowed. It is even marvellous to f 
 see how much the church is daily losing ground. It has 
 no longer the reverence of the lower classes in general, 
 and by the middling classes it begins to be regarded with 
 the same feelings as the lay tories so generally excite. 
 Its best friends come forward with plans of moderate 
 reform. So long as Dissenters are compelled to pay 
 towards the support of a church which they regard as 
 corrupt in discipline and doctrine, and the preachers of 
 which still thunder against the sin of schism and labour j 
 to bring sectaries into the hatred and contempt of their > 
 hearers — so long the state religion must, and will, and 
 ought to be the object of hostility and attack to all lovers 
 of equal justice and of the best interests of man. Such, 
 at least, is my sense of things. I think you can scarcely 
 imagine the tone taken by High Church people of the upper 
 classes on these matters. A lady who belongs to the first 
 circles, taking for granted that one must be orthodox, ex- 
 pressed to me lately her horror at worthy and learned old 
 Baron Mazeres, who ' towards the end of his life not only 
 became an unitarian, but endeavoured to propagate those 
 doctrines.' As if a man ought to think his own opinions 
 dangerous or pernicious to others ! 
 
 Your cholera precautions are indeed admirable, and I 
 trust they will prove effectual. Here the disease continues 
 making considerable ravages, but we begin to gTow used to 
 
TO THE EEV. DR. CHANNING. 271 
 
 it. It does sometimes, however, attack Very sober and re- 
 spectable people. I have personally known some victims of 
 this class. Soon after it appeared in London, great alarm 
 was excited by the death of a lady of quality, till it was 
 charitably whispered that the temperate need not be the 
 more apprehensive on account of this event. It is suspected 
 that the Irish in St. Griles's and such places have perished in 
 considerable numbers, but they disguise the cases from 
 their violent prejudice against early burials without the 
 accompaniment of a drunken wake. How are we to 
 civilise these wretched people ? Not by dragooning them, 
 say you, and I agree ; but this negative is more clear than 
 anything positive respecting them. I wonder whether 
 you have seen a small book published by Eammohun Eoy 
 containing translations of several of the Hindoo Veds ? I 
 have found a good deal of interest in this view of theology 
 and metaphysics of a nation so remote in every respect 
 from us and our ways of thinking. The great point which 
 the true friend of his country and his race has had in view 
 in his various controversies with his own countrymen, has 
 been to show that, although some idolatrous rites are 
 sanctioned by their sacred books, yet it has always been 
 the doctrine of the most authentic of these, that the 
 highest future happiness was only attainable by a pure 
 and austere hfe, and the worship of the invisible, uni- 
 versal Spirit — that idolatry was for the gross and ignorant, 
 rites and observances for them only. Thus he shows that 
 eternal felicity — that is, absorption into the supreme spirit, 
 is promised to women who after the death of their hus- 
 bands lead devout and holy lives ; and only a poor lease 
 of thirty-five millions of years of happiness with their 
 husbands to such as burn with them, after the expiration 
 of which their souls are to transmigrate into different 
 animals. This you will say is mighty puerile, but it is at 
 least meeting his antagonists on their own ground. After- 
 
272 LETTERS 
 
 wards he details the many cruelties and oppressions to ii 
 which females in his country are subjected by the injustice >^ 
 and barbarity of the stronger sex, and pleads for pity 
 towards them with such powerful, heartfelt eloquence as |: 
 no woman, I think, can peruse without tears and fervent I 
 invocations of blessings on his head. The Eajah is now 
 at Paris, where I doubt if he will find much gratification, 
 as he is not well versed in the French language ; he will 
 return to us, however, soon after the meeting of parliament. 
 I dread the efi'ects of another English winter on his con- 
 stitution ; and yet it almost seems as if a life hke his must 
 be under the peculiar guardianship of Providence. 
 
 What a charming poet is your Bryant ! I am just read- 
 ing Mr. living's collection of his poems. Do you know the 
 author ? I am curious about him. 
 
 I am not acquainted with anybody in your country who 
 would take charge of a book for me ; but anything that 
 should reach either Kobert Kinder, or Dr. Boott, or Mr. 
 P. Vaughan, would be forwarded to me. 
 
 A brimful sheet, as usual I In writing to you, my ex- 
 cellent friend, I never want matter. May health and 
 every good attend you. 
 
 Yours ever truly, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 No. 21. 
 
 Hampstead: Nov. 19, 1832. 
 Oh, my dear friend, I was told yesterday that you had 
 been very, very ill, and though it was added that you were 
 now better, I have been able to think of little else since. 
 WTiat would I give to know how you are at this now 
 that I am writing. This distance which separates us has 
 something truly fearful in such circumstances. Would 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNINa. 273 
 
 you had postponed all other considerations, however 
 
 'urgent, however affecting, to the one great object, your 
 
 ; own health ! Would you had sought our milder skies 
 
 I early in the autumn ! I fear that, unless you should have 
 
 I embarked ere this, it must not be thought of till spring ; 
 
 I but surely you will then transport yourself hither, and 
 
 thus escape one of the trying seasons of your cUmate, 
 
 which I take the early months to be. I have lately seen 
 
 I two or three very striking instances of the wonderfully 
 
 restorative effects of our southern coasts in pulmonary 
 
 cases. At this time I have a friend at Hastings reported 
 
 quite well both by himself and others, who was absolutely 
 
 given over last spring in London, and whom for some 
 
 time in the summer, which he spent at Hampstead, I 
 
 never saw within my doors without fearing it was for the 
 
 last time. Another friend has been so fortified by two win- 
 
 I ters spent in the south, after the case seemed desperate, 
 
 [ as now to be enabled to return to her native cold and wet 
 
 Lancashire, where she has medical permission to winter. 
 
 Well ! I would not tease you with more of this ; no doubt 
 
 you have around you both the skilful and the kindest of 
 
 the kind. My great inducement for writing was the hope 
 
 that a little of this mute kind of chit-chat, which calls for 
 
 no exercise of the voice in answer, might somewhat cheer 
 
 your sick-room ; at least you will accept it with kindness, 
 
 as the only thing in which I can show my deep interest in 
 
 the benefactor to whom I owe what is above all price — the 
 
 sentiments which do most towards rendering us worthy of 
 
 the future. Never, my friend, are you forgotten when 
 
 my soul seeks communion with our common Father, and 
 
 when I strive most earnestly to overcome some evil pro- 
 
 ' pensity, or to make some generous sacrifice, the thought 
 
 I of you gives me strength not my own. 
 
 I I have written to you so lately, and so largely, that 
 
 I some of my usual topics are nearly exhausted ; still we 
 
 i T 
 
274 LETTERS 
 
 have a little of novelty. In the beginning of November ; 
 term begins, and all the lawyers come to town. With their i 
 arrival commence my London dinner visits ; for my most ^ 
 intimate friendships happen to be amongst this set, and I j 
 have already made one excursion to town, from which I ? 
 gleaned a good deal. You know, of course, by reputation, j 
 our new Lord Chief Justice, Denman — ^the zealous defender » 
 of poor Queen Caroline, who in his excitation called our ? 
 last king Nero, and our present one ' a base calumniator.' I 
 He wants caution, and is not the deepest of our lawyers ; [i 
 but his promotion is hailed by all congenial spirits as a li 
 triumphant example of the highest professional dignities c 
 attained by a man who never showed any other fear than i 
 that of being thought capable of sacrificing the most ? 
 minute portion of truth, the nicest punctilio of honour, \ 
 to any worldly interest. Glorious days in which such i 
 conduct finds such acceptance ! On his taking leave of 3 
 Lincoln's Inn in consequence of his promotion, a speech was i. 
 made to him by his old friend the Vice-Chancellor, com- t 
 plimenting him on the love of liberty he had ever mani- [ 
 fested in a strain which drew tears down the furrowed |» 
 cheeks of the old benchers — practised worldlings as they i 
 must be. This glorious man — by the way, his person is ^ 
 made for dignity — was Mrs. Barbauld's pupil at four i 
 years old. I think it must have been chiefly for him that i 
 her ' Hymns in Prose ' were written ; and he cherishes her 
 memory most religiously. In a great public entertainment p 
 where I met him last year, he came up to me and said Jj 
 with a look of delight, ' I dreamed of Mrs. Barbauld only 1 
 last night ! ' He has a love and a taste for poetry and I 
 elegant literature worthy of her scholar, and I doubt not S 
 that she sowed the seed. In the move which Denman's 
 appointment has made, another staunch friend of the 
 people has become Solicitor-Greneral. It is of great im- 
 portance thus to recommend the laws to the many by the 
 character of those who administer them. 
 
TO THE REV. DE. CHANNING. 275 
 
 I think I told you Hallam had become a conservative and 
 
 I alarmist ; but he seems to me to have recovered his spirits 
 
 ■ since last spring, and to be relapsing into a liberal. He 
 
 j confesses to me that he is reading hard for a purpose, but 
 
 will not yet say what. We again evoked together over 
 
 I the decline of literature, and modestly concluded that it 
 
 I was our duty to write as much and as well as we could. 
 
 I We canvassed much the good and evil of the new Penny 
 
 ': Magazines and Cyclopedias, which are selling by hundreds 
 
 I of thousands ; and all we could decide was, that condemn- 
 
 i ing the superficial and desultory spirit which these and 
 
 I other periodicals and abridgements were fitted to difi'use, 
 
 it was still impossible not to rejoice that food so innocent 
 
 was found for the popular mind, and was welcome to it. 
 
 An indirect benefit we also acknowledged from this new 
 
 literature; its having to a great extent superseded the 
 
 religious tracts of the Evangelicals, which their busy zeal 
 
 threatened to render the exclusive study of the working 
 
 classes. Perhaps it is in this last respect that the Useful 
 
 Knowledge Society has proved most beneficial; and no 
 
 doubt it was a leading, though unavowed object of the 
 
 founders thus to put fanaticism's nose out of joint (if you 
 
 will allow such a grotesque expression). 
 
 Are we, or are we not, at war with our old friends the 
 Dutch ? This seems to be a question which nobody knows 
 very well how to answer. For my part, I have such an 
 opinion of the natural pugnacity of the human species, 
 that I dread exceedingly these beginnings of strife ; but 
 poverty, the peace-preserver, still keeps watch over every 
 European potentate, and I trust will withhold the means 
 of mischief. There can be no doubt of the pacific dispo- 
 sitions of our present ministry ; but they are unhappily 
 committed in some degree by the acts of their predecessors, 
 and there is also some danger that the obstinate King of 
 Holland, by presuming too much on our forbearance, may 
 
 T 2 
 
276 LETTERS 
 
 render it a point of what is called national honour to 
 forbear no longer. These are anxious considerations. No 
 one can pretend to calculate the confusion and mischief 
 which the expense of one campaign might cause to us in 
 our present situation. But let us not be ' over curious to, 
 shape the fashion of uncertain evil.' j 
 
 These November fogs have brought me down a little from [ 
 my high boast of health, and interrupted somewhat myj; 
 historic diligence. I suspect that the weakness in my chest | 
 will oblige me to keep the house in all ungenial winds this , 
 winter. But no matter, my fireside is cheery. My dear new 
 neighbours, the Le Bretons, are an inestimable acquisition. 
 Here I paused to welcome Harriet Martineau, with all 
 her blushing honours thick upon her. The Chancellor 
 has sent for her expressly to "svrite tales illustrative of 
 pauperism, and has supplied her for the purpose with an 
 immense mass of documents accessible only to official 
 persons. I believe she will do much good ; her motives 
 and principles are pure and high, and success, as I pre- i; 
 dieted, has improved, not spoiled her. Indeed, she has ,. 
 very extraordinary talent and merit, and a noble inde- 
 pendence of mind. I will stop here ; may this little 
 pledge of friendship find you in a state at least of tolerable 
 ease. I shall enquire of you from every probable source 
 of intelligence. [ 
 
 May heaven preserve my precious friend. i 
 
 L. AlKlN. 
 
 No. 22. 
 
 Hampstead: Feb. 10, 1833. 
 
 Many, many thanks to you, my dear friend, for your 
 
 two welcome letters, and the excellent news they contain ! 
 
 It is, indeed, delightful to find you speaking so cheerily, 
 
 both of the past, the present, and the future, and the most 
 
TO THE KEY. DK. CHANNING. 277 
 
 delightful of all is, that you still think of England. To 
 level some at least of the mountains which, as you say, 
 still rise between us, will be no hard task. First, the 
 barbarous and odious practice of whipping is obsolete in 
 nearly all our schools, except the public ones of ancient 
 foundation, such as Eton, Westminster, &c., to which many 
 other considerations would restrain you from sending your 
 son. In that attached to the London University, to which 
 my nephew goes, 230 boys are kept in order without any 
 corporal punishment ; in short, we would ensure your lad 
 a whole skin. Then, as to your sweet girl, there would 
 really be no more danger than everywhere arises from the 
 little acquaintance which parents in general can have with . 
 the individucd characters of the younger generation who 
 are their children's contemporaries. You might easily be 
 directed to families the most likely to afford fit asso- 
 ciates for her. I cannot persuade myself that the very 
 small difference of temperature between a snug situation 
 in the immediate neighbourhood of London, and the 
 southern coast, would be of moment to you — compared to 
 the difference between the last and New England, it is 
 nothing. Even in this village, placed as it is on a hill, 
 very sheltered nooks may be found, and the air is emi- 
 nently salubrious, and oh, if we could get you all here, 
 how much we could do — I am confident we could — towards 
 placing you in the midst of a small select circle where you 
 would be appreciated, and your children would form con- 
 nections such as you could not but approve ! Several 
 circumstances render society here peculiarly easy and 
 pleasant ; in many respects the place unites the advan- 
 tages and escapes the evils both of London and the pro- 
 vincial towns. It is near enough to allow its inhabitants 
 to partake in the society, the amusements and the accom- 
 modations of the capital as freely as even the dissipated 
 could desire ; whilst it affords pure air, lovely scenery. 
 
278 LETTERS 
 
 and retired and beautiful walks ; and because everyone is 
 supposed to have a London set of friends, neighbours do 
 not think it necessary, as in the provinces, to force their 
 acquaintance upon you ; of local society you may have ' 
 much, little, or none, as you please ; and with a little, i 
 which is very good, you may associate on the easiest terms ; 
 then the summer brings an influx of Londoners who are 
 often genteel and agreeable people, and pleasingly vary 
 the scene. Such is Hampstead ; ask Mrs. P^'arrar if I ex- 
 aggerate. The subject threatens to run away with me; 
 but here I leave it, for I have much to answer. 
 
 I like and can subscribe to your praise of Scott as a 
 writer. Sir James Mackintosh was no doubt brought up a 
 Calvinist ; but I have seen a letter of his written from India , 
 to his old friend Kobert Hall, then lately recovered from an | 
 attack of insanity, in which he warns him against dwell- j 
 ing on gloomy systems of religion as no one could have i 
 done who was a Calvinist ; or, I should think, who beHeved I 
 salvation dependent on any 'particular creed. Eead in i 
 the last number of the ' Edinburgh Eeview,' the article on j 
 Lord Mahon's history. I believe you will think the writer i 
 of it much improved since he reviewed Milton, and gave ' 
 so dashing a sketch of the Puritans. This writer is 
 Macaulay, confessedly the first young speaker in the 
 House of Commons. As reviewer, as orator, as politician, 
 he, if anyone, promises to be the successor or rival of 
 Brougham. I have never seen him, but I hear of him as 
 presumptuous, at least this luas his character at the outset. 
 He grapples boldly and ably with O'Connell in the House. 
 
 On the brink of civil war yourselves, you might well 
 be excused for thinking little of Europe and her concerns ; 
 but we here give you credit for too much wisdom by far 
 to proceed to that dread extremity, and I trust that h\ 
 this time you are coming to some amicable compromise ; 
 if so, you may be willing to hear something of the pro- 
 
TO THE KEY. DR. CHANNING. 279 
 
 gress of our revolution. Yes, revolution ; it is no less, of 
 this it is impossible not to be more and more sensible 
 every day. The Eeform Bill now shows itself fully in the 
 character of means to an end — and what end ? Of this 
 different parties would give different accounts; that is, 
 some require more, some would be content with fewer 
 concessions of the few to the many ; but all agree that 
 numerous and important ones must and will be made. 
 Ireland, miserable Ireland I a prey to so many evils, 
 stained with so many crimes, and almost reduced to anar- 
 chy, what shall we do for her ? To return into the right 
 way after wide deviations, is as arduous a task in the 
 government of nations as in the conduct of individuals ; 
 in fact, almost all the puzzling questions in public, as in 
 private morals, arise from having set out wrong. The 
 Protestant Church of Ireland is probably the most mon- 
 strous anomaly, the most barefaced wrong, in all ecclesias- 
 tical history ; but it cannot be overthrown without some 
 consideration for the vested rights enjoyed under it, and 
 the same may be said respecting other interests there. 
 Then, although the people are enduring many evils and 
 -oppressions, they must not be suffered to fill the land with 
 robbery and murder ; and the political agitators, though 
 their views may be patriotic, and though by their efforts 
 some wrongs have been and others will be redressed, must 
 not be suffered to go on goading a ferocious people to 
 fury, and an absurd people to folly and ruin. The Union 
 must be preserved for Ireland's own sake. It is impossible 
 to dwell upon these considerations, without alternately 
 blaming, pitying, and dreading all parties. But how 
 wonderful and admirable is the complication of good with 
 evil in the whole system of things ! How unexpectedly 
 do the results of things come out ! To the Irish papists, 
 the objects of their bitterest, their most inveterate hatred, 
 have the descendants of the English Puritans been 
 
280 LETTERS 
 
 indebted for their establishment of their civil rights. 
 To the crying iniquity of the Church of Ireland, English ] 
 Dissenters are likely eventually to owe emancipation from 
 the exclusive claims of the Church of England. I view 
 with intense interest the progress of the Church reform in 
 which we are engaged. Take my word for it, it will go i 
 far, and end in the acknowledgment of broad principles. 
 Protestant exclusiveness, when cited to the bar of reason, 
 has nothing, absolutely nothing, to say, and this is a rea- 
 soning age. Thousands are coming to a clear perception 
 how completely the interests of the Church and the interests 
 of religion are different, nay, opposite things. Nor do I 
 fear that, according to the distinction of Hume, fano.ticisra 
 should here gain what superstition is likely to lose. The 
 schoolmaster is fast emancipating the people from both, 
 and without producing irreligion. 
 
 Eternal honour to Brougham for his Useful and Enter- 
 taining Knowledge, and his ' Penny Magazine ' ! They have 
 done very much towards beating Evangelical tracts, and the 
 good boy books of the High Church tories, out of the field. 
 The whole tendency of these publications, as far as I know 
 them, is to instil that sober morality, that pure and simple 
 piety with which, as you would say, narrow and debasing 
 views of Grod and of religion cannot coexist. And do you 
 think you have done nothing towards this great work ? You 
 should see a little work published by Mr. Tagart, a London 
 Unitarian minister, the 'Life of Captain Heywood,' to 
 learn in what esteem your writings were held by a noble- 
 minded, beneficent, upright naval officer. There is a 
 chord in all such hearts which responds to your teaching. 
 I hear of your writings, see your name mentioned on all 
 sides ; even our clergy mention it with deep respect. Oh ! 
 come to us ; breathe our air, which may preserve you in 
 vigour, not alone for your own sake, or that of yom' family, 
 but for England's and mankind's ! 
 
I TO THE KEY. DR. CHANNING. 281 
 
 t 
 
 Mr. Vaughan's ship, with your precious volume, for 
 which I return you my best thanks by anticipation, is not 
 yet arrived ; but he says he expects it daily. I have had 
 a glimpse, however, of the English reprint of the book ; a 
 glimpse only, for it was lent to Mr. Le Breton and to me, 
 and in our mingled politeness and impatience, we have 
 been sending it to each other, and then snatching it back, 
 so that neither of us has yet had much good of it. He 
 has been an active circulator of your works, and no one 
 more delights in them. You must know each other some 
 time. I lament over the unpoetical destiny of the poet 
 Bryant; his admirers should have endeavoured to have 
 procured for him some humble independence ; but it will 
 be long, I suspect, before you pension men of letters. We 
 do little in this way. As to poor Spurzheim, I hear, for I 
 never saw him, that he was much liked in society, and 
 our anatomists much admired his mode of dissecting, or 
 rather unravelling, the texture of the brain ; but his system 
 made few disciples amongst men of real science ; and 
 though I believe he individually was thought tolerably 
 ingenious in it, a shade of empiricism was cast over him, 
 which prevented his ever taking rank here; and his 
 pecuniary encouragement was small. I think the spirit of 
 philanthropy is almost a national characteristic of the 
 frank and honest Grermans ; their writings, as far as I can 
 judge of them from translations and critiques, very gene- 
 rally breathe it ; and in the midst of their credulity and 
 mysticism there is a deep and original vein of thinking 
 which I should delight to explore if I possessed their 
 language. 
 
 There is no hurry for a new scheme to succeed ' King 
 Charles ' with me. Never was I so tasked ; matter grows 
 upon my hands ; to condense it sufficiently is an immense 
 difficulty. The book will certainly disappoint you when 
 finished, in this respect if in no other : I have been 
 
282 LETTERS I 
 
 obliged, in order to keep within compass and preserve ' 
 the character of court memoirs, to say little or nothing of i 
 the Pm-itans after the beginning of the war. When the king i 
 quits his capital so do I, and thenceforth he and his courtiers { 
 make my sole theme. I have still full three months' work j 
 to do, but I am pretty well, and work with pleasure. 
 
 WTiat I wrote you of Miss Martineaa and of the Rajah's i 
 book, I cannot now remember ; but I have full confidence | 
 in your discretion, and shall be but too happy if anything | 
 I write you is capable of being made useful. Miss 
 Martineau has been engaged by the Chancellor to write, 
 from materials in the possession of government, a series 
 of tales illustrative of the working of the poor laws. She 
 says the documents are rich in pathetic interest. I believe 
 she is doing much good. Joanna Baillie has written some 
 very affectionate lines on Scott, which she will send you. 
 I know not why she should have taken this opportunity 
 to strike at Byron. No need of crying down one poet in 
 order to cry up another ; nor will all the just censures of 
 Byron's morality sink him in his poetical capacity, in 
 which he will still be judged to soar far above the height 
 of Scott ; whom my father used to call the chief only of 
 ballad poets. His stories in verse are now almost forgotten 
 in his prose narratives, but I think undeservedly. It is 
 true indeed that it is only in his novels that he displays 
 that power of humorous delineation of character which 
 was one of his greatest gifts. 
 
 Farewell, my valued friend ! May health attend you, 
 but may you seek it here ! 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 No. 23. 
 
 Adelphi : June 13. 1833. 
 
 My dear Friend — Congratulate me ! Yesterday I cor- 
 rected the last sheet of 'King Charles.' My long and 
 
TO THE EEV. DR. CHANNING. 283 
 
 arduous task is ended ; my time is now my own, and the 
 first use I make of it is, as it ought to be, to return you 
 my thanks for your excellent volume, so long unacknow- 
 ledged, and to resume the thread of our correspondence. 
 You would take for granted that some of your discourses 
 would be less to my mind than others, and so it is ; but 
 how can I sufficiently thank you for the profit and delight 
 of those which give an echo to my deepest convictions, 
 my loftiest feelings, those which work out for me pro- 
 blems of the highest interest, on which my mind has often 
 tasked itself in vain ! The two sermons on self-denial, and 
 that on the immortality of man, are to me inestimable ; nor 
 is there one in the volume in which I do not find much to 
 admire, to agree with, and to profit by. I think I per- 
 ceive in this volume, as compared with your former 
 writings, traces of recent and profound study in the science 
 of metaphysics. I have been exceedingly struck by the 
 newness as well as the cogency of some of your reasonings, 
 particularly those in page 238. As usual, I feel how long- 
 it must be before I can make myself entire mistress of 
 the bearings of writings which contain so much food for 
 thought, which seem to me new at every fresh perusal ; 
 and one of the pleasures of my leisure will be to go 
 through them again, pencil in hand, marking my favourite 
 passages. You are full of maxims ; I have often wished to 
 collect them by themselves as hints for meditation. 
 
 As soon as my book is out, which will be, I suppose, in 
 a week, I shall consign to Mr. Vaughan's care a copy for 
 you. It is of no use telling you all my fears and mis- 
 givings about it; you will judge for yourself, and freely 
 communicate to me your remarks. The times are un- 
 doubtedly favourable for uttering the facts which I have 
 been most anxious to put in a clear light ; and it is not 
 nearly so much the fear of any criticism, as the sense of 
 having after all done very imperfect justice to my subject 
 
284 LETTERS 
 
 — partly from the necessity of omitting a great number 
 of matters which would have swelled the book incon- 
 veniently — that now troubles me. I am going to dissipate I 
 for a week in London, and that holiday I expect to enjoy ; 
 but domestic solitude and the habit of labour will soon be 
 impelling me to seek a fresh pursuit, and my great care 
 at present is to choose well and choose speedily. I cer- 
 tainly shall not go on to give the world a nearer view of 
 the abominable court of Charles II., and this is all that I 
 am certain of as yet. In other respects * the world is all 
 before me.' I suppose that by the time this reaches you, 
 Mr. Eoscoe's Life will be on your table. I am just be- 
 ginning to devour it ; to you it cannot have all the same 
 sources of interest it has to me, but I shall be much dis- 
 appointed if you do not find it one of the most delightful 
 of biographies and collections of letters. Perhaps you 
 will find in it a proof of what I have failed to persuade 
 you of, that in this country the spirit of aristocracy opposes 
 no obstacle to the progress of real talent. Mr. Eoscoe was 
 a splendid example of rising from the ranks. I think 
 I have never mentioned to you James Montgomery the 
 poet ; but you probably know some at least of his poems, 
 which would interest you from the fancy and the feeling 
 which animate them, and from their deeply devotional 
 spirit. He is a great master too, as I think, in the art of 
 versification. I wish I could detail to you the particulars 
 of his early life as he beautifully related them in letters 
 to my father, whom he had not then seen. It is enough, 
 however, to tell you here, that he was the son of a 
 Moravian missionary, brought up in one of their semi- 
 naries, and that he had never seen an EngHsh verse, 
 excepting their hjrmns, till he was about fourteen ; when 
 one of the masters walking in the fields with a few of his 
 pupils, made them seat themselves on the grass, and drew 
 from his pocket Blair's ' Grave,' which he read them. ' I 
 
TO THE KEY. DR. CHANNING. 285 
 
 seemed,' said Montgomery, ' to have found a language for 
 sentiments born with me, but born dumb.' And from 
 this time he became a writer of poetry. He quitted the 
 Moravians for the Wesleyan Methodists ; has suffered at 
 times from religious melancholy, only less, I believe, than 
 Cowper; but of late years his mind seems to be tran- 
 quillised, in part perhaps by the active exertions in which 
 he has engaged in behalf of missions, Bible societies, and 
 other religious objects. He retired from his business of a 
 printer some years ago, on a competence, and, what seems 
 to me very remarkable, has erected himself into a critic. 
 He has given lectures on poetry at the Eoyal Institution, 
 which were much admired, and lately he sent me a copy 
 of a publication of which they form the larger and better 
 part. I wish you could see it; there are portions, es- 
 pecially some remarks on the themes of poetry, and on its 
 uses, which I know you would be pleased with. I am far 
 from saying that I do not feel in the work the defective 
 education of the writer in classical learning, and the pre- 
 judices rooted in his mind by the systematic fanaticism of 
 the sect which brought him up ; but still it is the work of 
 an original and very interesting character, and the purity 
 and tenderness of his mind and heart everywhere shine 
 through. This fragment of a letter has travelled with me 
 to London, and I can now tell you of some of my amuse- 
 ments. I dined yesterday in the company of Mr. Malthus 
 and Miss Martineau, who are great friends and allies. 
 Perhaps you may, and perhaps you may not, have taken 
 the trouble to read the pro. and con. articles respecting 
 Miss M. in the ' Quarterly ' and ' Edinburgh ' Eeviews, of 
 which the first is full of malice, and the second, I think, 
 very empty of sound critical matter. She pursues her 
 course steadily, and I hear much praise of her new tale 
 on the Poor Laws, which I have not yet read ; I fear, 
 however, that it is the character of her mind to adopt 
 
286 LETTERS 
 
 extreme opinions on most subjects, and without much 
 examination. She has now had a full season of London 
 lionising, and it is no small praise to say that, as far as 
 we can judge, it has done her nothing but good. She 
 loves her neighbours the better for their good opinion of 
 her, and I believe thinks the more humbly of herself for 
 what she has seen of other persons of talent and merit. 
 
 My bookseller tells me that the editor of the ' Edin- 
 burgh Keview ' proposes now to give an article on my six 
 volumes of Memoirs together. This annoys me not a 
 little, and I will beg it off if I can. I have prospered 
 pretty well under the silence of the critics, and it pleased 
 me to have no thanks to give them. Also, I suspect I 
 should fall into the hands of the same dull and tasteless 
 critic, or rather gossip, who reviewed Miss Martineau ; in 
 whose prolix articles I have often stuck fast, and from 
 whose remarks I should expect little benefit. It is like- 
 wise to be considered, that if praised in the ' Edinburgh,' 
 I should certainly be abused in the ^ Quarterly.' 
 
 Do you mark the course which our absurd conservatives 
 are taking ? Nothing could be more fortunate for ministers 
 or more dangerous to themselves than the vote which they 
 carried in the House of Lords. I hear the Duke of 
 Wellington is so violent that he would gladly push the 
 difference btween the two Houses even to civil war. "\Miat 
 madness ! Does he not perceive it would be the peers 
 on one side and the nation on the other ? And as for the 
 bishops — No ; words cannot do justice to their infatuation. 
 Have you made this reflection on our triple legislature — 
 that the king can free himself from an intractable House 
 of Commons by a dissolution, that a House of Commons can 
 compel a king to change his counsels by refusing the 
 supplies, but that neither king nor commons, nor both 
 united, possess any regular or obvious means of controlling 
 the lords, consequently, that if they oppose the general 
 
TO THE EEY. DR. CHANNING. 287 
 
 will with obstinacy, they expose themselves to imminent 
 danger of seeing their privileges curtailed or perhaps 
 abolished. The bishops' votes especially hang by a thread. 
 How I long to know whether you are proposing to cross 
 the sea to us ! I cannot help thinking it would answer to 
 you in every way. It is really a new world since you 
 saw England. The progress in many ways has been of 
 unexampled rapidity. You would find London embellished 
 beyond expression. I ramble amongst the new buildings 
 with unceasing admiration, striving in vain to recal the 
 old state of some of the best known streets. We may now 
 boast in the British Museum of a collection to which the 
 world has nothing comparable, and the suite of rooms 
 lately added is worthy of its destination. What adds a 
 moral interest to this assemblage of the treasures of nature 
 and art is the splendid testimony it affords to the public 
 spirit of Englishmen. The gifts of individuals to their 
 country preserved here are almost of inestimable value, 
 even in a commercial view. In France, on the contrary, 
 their museums have been entirely furnished by the 
 purchases or the plunder of the government. Not even 
 ostentation there moves private persons to make presents 
 to the public. There is another pleasing circumstance. 
 A few years since, access to the Museum was so difiicult 
 that it was scarcely visited by twenty persons in a day ; 
 now, in compliance with the spirit of the age, it is thrown 
 open to all, and Brougham's 'Penny Magazine' has so 
 familiarised all readers with the collection, that you see 
 the rooms thronged by thousands, many from the humblest 
 walks of life. I observed common soldiers and * smirched 
 artisans,' all quiet, orderly, attentive, and apparently 
 surveying the objects with intelligent curiosity. Depend 
 upon it there never was a time in which true civilisation 
 was making such strides amongst us. You said very 
 justly some time ago, that we were only in the beginning 
 
288 LETTERS I 
 
 of a revolution; the spirit of reform has gone forth, con-r 
 quering and to conquer, every day it extends its way into ; 
 new provinces ; but it is, it will continue to be, a peaceful; 
 sway, a bloodless conquest. The strongholds of abuse j 
 yield, one after another, upon summons. Wellingtons 
 himself will not be able to bring his * order ' into conflict j 
 with the majesty of the people. I never looked with so j 
 much complacency on the state of my country. I believe j 
 her destined to a progress in all that constitutes truei 
 glory, which we of this age can but dimly figure to our- 
 selves in the blue distance. The bulk of our people are 
 at length well cured of the long and obstinate delusion 
 respecting the wisdom of our ancestors, which so power- 
 fully served the purposes of the interested opposers of ^ 
 improvement. Novelties are now tried upon their merits ; 
 perhaps even there is some partiality in their favour. 
 Pray, pray, come and judge of us with your own eyes ! 
 Believe me, ever yours most truly, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 No. 24. j 
 
 Hampstead: Oct. 23, 1833. 
 
 My dear Friend — Just as I had embarked in one of my 
 pamphlet -letters to you, comes yours of August 30th; and 
 it makes me begin afresh, that I may first notice its contents. 
 I am glad you have been reading the life of Eoscoe, and 
 feeling so much with me respecting it ; — hovj much you 
 may learn if you please from the forthcoming number of 
 the ' Edinburgh Review,' where I obtained leave to be the 
 critic. But this pray keep quite to yourself; I never 
 before wrote an article for any review but the ' Annual,' 
 and should be very sorry to be known in this, as it might 
 cause me to be suspected of what I never wrote. 
 
 You ask if I received a letter from you last spring or 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 289 
 
 [Summer. I not only received one of May 30th, but wrote 
 ian answer, which I think you ought to have received 
 Ibefore the one to which your last is a reply ; I sent it as 
 ■usual through Dr. Boott, and fear it may have been lost, 
 perhaps delayed only. No, on recollection, I believe that 
 letter of mine accompanied my book, which I hope you 
 have by this time. Since that I have had your line by 
 Dr. Tuckerman. I was in Kent when he called here, and 
 therefore only saw him last week, but I am exceedingly 
 struck and delighted with him, and impatient to hear him 
 speak more of his noble exertions and designs. On 
 Thursday next I hope he and Mr. Phillips will meet over 
 my breakfast table my friend Mr. Le Breton and dear 
 Joanna Baillie. You will be with us in spirit, for many 
 associations will bring you to the minds of all of us. 
 When I have the privilege to be present at a meeting like 
 [this, of the gifted and the excellent from the far ends of 
 |the earth, it seems to me a foretaste of the happiness 
 eserved for the world of spirits. Alas for one who gave 
 e this feeling beyond all others — the admirable Eam- 
 ohun Eoy! He has been frustrated of one of his 
 herished hopes, that of seeing you face to face, either in 
 his or the other hemisphere — but you were no strangers 
 each other. Scarcely any description can do justice to 
 is admirable qualities, and the charms of his society, 
 is extended knowledge, his comprehension of mind, his 
 niversal philanthropy, his tender humanity, his genuine 
 [dignity mixed with perfect courtesy, and the most touch- 
 ing humility. His memory I shall cherish with affection- 
 tte reverence on many accounts, but the character in 
 rhich I best love to contemplate him is that of the friend 
 |and champion of woman. It is impossible to forget his 
 righteous zeal against polygamy, his warm approval of the 
 freedom allowed to women in Europe, his joy and pious 
 gratitude for the abolition of suttee. Considering the 
 
 u 
 
290 LETTERS 
 
 prejudices of birth and education with which he had % w, 
 contend, his constant advocacy of the rights and interests, 
 of the weaker sex seems to me the very strongest proo'; 
 of his moral and intellectual greatness. ^ 
 
 You are very kind in what you say of your expectations 
 from my late work and my future exertions in literature 
 and this encourages me to talk to you a little of myself anc 
 my affairs. I am very well satisfied with what is said of mj 
 ^ Charles.' All whose opinions I have heard seem to thint 
 I have been diligent and impartial, and they praise mj 
 style for its clearness and simplicity, my remarks for just- 
 ness, and particularly for their moral tone. This is th( 
 kind of commendation which I most desired, and if 1 
 could find out in what walk of literature I should be most 
 likely to earn more of it, that walk would be my choice 
 But I am still quite undetermined on this head. In fact 
 I have had as yet little leisure for reflecting upon it, as 1 
 can show. Early in August, having printed my seconc 
 edition, and seen my niece married, I set out for Sand- 
 gate, a very agreeable watering-place near Dover, where 
 I should have enjoyed my leisure much had I found mj 
 strength equal to the fatigue of the little journey, and ol 
 the walking and riding necessary to explore the country^ 
 But I came back ill, and had scarcely done nursing my-,, 
 self when I was called upon to assist my poor niece in 
 nursing her young bridegroom, who was three weeks con- 
 fined in my house with a fever. I had the satisfaction, 
 however, of sending him home well recovered, and next, 
 week I am myself proceeding for London, to take up my 
 abode for three months with my brother Charles and his 
 family. I go prepared to see and hear all I can, and 
 thence to judge how I may best and most acceptably 
 employ my pen. I sometimes think that a volume of 
 essays might be useful addressed to my o-svn sex, and 
 chiefly intended to point out the particular vocation of 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 291 
 
 i women in these times of change and improvement. I am 
 'I of opinion that few of them have yet raised their minds 
 ■ to the ' height of this great argument,' and that there is 
 ' no small danger of their becoming despicable in the eyes 
 I of high-souled men by an anti-popular spirit, and a 
 I determined preference of trifles and triflers to everything 
 i truly great and elevated. I am far from wishing to play 
 'j the censor, or to lay down the law ; a few suggestions 
 'I modestly thrown out, and temperately discussed, would 
 ] suffice for what I mean. Bulwer Lytton in his ' England 
 'I and the English,' a book which is making some noise 
 ' here, falls violently upon the Englishwomen for their spirit 
 \ of aristocracy, which, indeed, he considers as the prevailing 
 - spirit of the whole people ; and I know you have the same 
 I idea. I want to go to the bottom of this matter, to con- 
 (i sider what is strictly speaking a spirit of aristocracy — its 
 ■i causes, effects, remedies. One thing is plain, that in any 
 country where, as in the old monarchies of our continent, 
 noble birth should be the only passport to power, distinc- 
 tion, and command, the spirit of aristocracy could never 
 be that of the nation, but only of the privileged class 
 which profits by it. If, therefore, it pervades all classes in 
 England, it must be because no one is excluded by birth 
 from the hope of becoming in some mode or other a 
 member of that large and loosely defined upper class 
 which is supposed to comprehend all the meritorious and 
 all the fortunate. Aristocracy in old France, in Venice, 
 and in England, at the present day, are three things so 
 distinct, that they ought not to bear the same name. 
 Bulwer reproaches us ladies at our horror at associating 
 "with tradesmen, a horror which causes all young men who 
 ]can possibly find the means to crowd into the professions, 
 Iwhich are greatly overstocked. To this, perhaps, the 
 jladies might be content to answer, that tradesmen, shop- 
 jkeepers that is, are equally excluded from fashionable 
 
 I D 2 
 
 I 
 
:^92 LETTERS 
 
 clubs and other resorts of gentlemen, that in truth their 
 education and manners seldom entitle them to admission 
 into either refined or literary society, and that individuals 
 who deserve to be made exceptions to the rule usually - 
 are so. If ladies were equally guiltless of his otherp 
 charges against them, that of flattering the follies and 
 vices of the high-born and wealthy young men — it would 
 be well. But the disgraceful practice of fortune-hunting,^ 
 much more prevalent now among women than it ever was^' 
 amongst men, renders this kind of vicious assentation very 
 frequent, especially in the highest circles, and it deserves! 
 to be severely rebuked. There is great encouragement J 
 at present for all attempts at raising the moral tonei 
 amongst us. It fills me with joy and gratitude to con 
 template the many reforms now proceeding with a refer-f' 
 ence to this end. The abomination of slavery put away 
 from our people ; poor factory children taken under the 
 protection of humane laws; Church abuses effectually 
 checked, and tithe compounded for; the criminal law 
 amended ; the poor laws revised ; election bribery severely- 
 repressed, and the boundless corruption and jobbing of 
 close corporations cut up by the roots. Carry all these 
 great measures from their causes into their evident and 
 unavoidable results, and say if ever there was in the 
 history of mankind a revolution so morally great and 
 glorious! But I need not boast — you generously rejoice 
 and triumph with us, and I on my part sincerely hope- 
 that your country will not long suffer us to put her to 
 shame with the word slavery. All fears for the working 
 of emancipation in the colonies seem to have died away. 
 I value commercial greatness as little on the whole as you 
 can do, but yet I do rejoice in the present prosperity of 
 our manufactories, because the full employment of the 
 poor in most parts of the country will signally facilitate 
 the meditated retrenchments of the relief granted at 
 present by parishes to those who ought to live on the 
 
TO THE EEY. DK. CHANNING. 293 
 
 I 
 
 ' wages of their labour. To dispauperise the working 
 
 ; classes must be the first step towards raising them from 
 
 ! their degradation. After that there will be a fair field 
 
 ' for the efforts of Dr. Tuckerman and his missionaries ; 
 
 at present they would have to struggle against a system 
 
 of premiums for improvidence and self-indulgence, such 
 
 as no other nation ever had the absurdity to institute. 
 
 Miss Martineau is doing good service in crying it 
 
 down. 
 
 It rejoices me to find you so full of cheering hopes 
 respecting your own health and capacity for further 
 usefulness. In these cases we can very often when or 
 because we feel strongly the wish and the hope, and I 
 reckon upon seeing the two heaps of materials converted 
 within a reasonable time into so many volumes. You 
 have great influence here, and I cannot help wishing that 
 you would take some occasion to explain to us the advan- 
 tages of the perfect equality in which all religious sects 
 are placed amongst you. With us, people are just begin- 
 ning to perceive the injustice of assessing dissenters to 
 the Church rates ; this once admitted, long consequences 
 may be deduced. I think our universities cannot long 
 continue to require from laymen subscription to the 
 Church articles, since the sacramental test is in all cases 
 abolished, and even Jews are now admissible to every 
 civil office. Mrs. Jameson's book I have not seen, and 
 scarcely heard of. ' Silvio Pellico ' has been much read and 
 praised, but I have not yet found time to read it. I think 
 you would be interested in the life of that great preacher 
 Eobert Hall. There is something affecting in the evident 
 struggle which his powerful mind and benevolent heart 
 maintained for many years against the horrors and ab- 
 surdities of the Calvinistic faith in which he had been 
 educated, and into which he finally almost relapsed. He 
 was also an illustrious example of the mind rising superior 
 to dreadful bodily sufferings. 
 
294 LETTERS 
 
 An intelligent friend of mine, lately from Paris, said to 
 me of the Parisians, ^ They are the most irreligious people 
 of the world, but yet they have five or six new religions 
 which they have invented.' She also said, ' Morals are so 
 very bad there, that I think they can grow no worse, or 
 rather, that they are beginning to mend.' She mentioned i 
 as a particular source of corruption the manner in which |I 
 young girls of the higher class are married. A father p 
 says to his daughter, ' You are to be married to-morrow.' 
 He names the gentleman, and it is one whom she has 
 never seen. Yet she always submits without resistance or 
 repugnance, regarding matrimony like presentation at 
 court, simply as the customary and indispensable prelimi- 
 nary to coming out in the world, and being somebody. 
 Young girls are never seen in company except at balls. 
 The conversation in mixed society is unfit for them to 
 listen to. Single women have there no existence, A 
 great proportion of the marriages are brought about by 
 paid brokers. Can you picture to yourself any state of . 
 things so utterly degrading to woman ? It is remarkable \ 
 that the French have no writers of any note at present, 
 except in the sciences. 
 
 I have kept my letter open till I could tell you of the 
 visit of your two friends. It was to me a most agreeable 
 one. I was much pleased with the intelligence of Mr. 
 Phillips, and the excellent information which he gave us 
 in answer to our many questions respecting your country. 
 Much of our conversation related to the state of religion 
 and the arrangements for the conduct of religious worship 
 amongst you, and I told them both that Americans could 
 do nothing so useful to us as to publish these particulars 
 in refutation of the prevailing notion here, that religion 
 could not be supported without an establishment. Dr. 
 Tuckerman is immersed in the study of our poor laws ; 
 very few of us, I suspect, know so much about them. I 
 
'to tee rev. dr. channing. 295 
 
 am struck with his eloquence, and should like much to 
 witness its efifects on his poor hearers. Such self-devotion 
 must command admiration and reverence from the most 
 depraved. I held up to him your letter in triumph. 
 ' Let me look at his hand,' he cried, and he took it and 
 kissed it repeatedly. What a perfect friendship is yours ! 
 Long may you live to enjoy it! Nay, death will not 
 end it ! 
 
 Ever yours with true regard, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 No. 25. 
 
 Hampstead: Feb. 2, 1834. 
 My dear Friend — On my return yesterday to my own 
 house, after a sojourn of three months at my brother 
 Charles's in London, I found your kind letter just arrived 
 to welcome me, and I will not resist the impulse to make 
 an immediate return to it. You gratify me much by 
 what you say of my book ; I perceive, however, that you 
 think I a little want indulgence to Charles. This makes 
 me regret that I forbore to sum up his character. I 
 shrunk from the task as a difficult, and in some sense a 
 dano^erous one: for I should have made for him such 
 allowances on account of education, and the influences 
 generally to which his situation exposed him, that the 
 almost unavoidable inference would have been, that all 
 kings must be, more or less, the enemies of liberty, of 
 public virtue, of the happiness and progress of mankind. 
 I have come as near this inference as I well could, by 
 showing that Charles was absolutely suckled in falsehood 
 and dissimulation, and that as prince he thought himself 
 as much above the laws of social morality as those of the 
 land; but I believe I ought somewhere to have distinctly' 
 stated, that in his most unprincipled acts he was probably 
 
296 LETTERS I 
 
 i 
 
 never self-condemned except in the case of Strafford. I 
 plead guilty to complicity. I knew that this French word 
 was scarcely naturalised, but it had been used ; I had a 
 vague idea that my father thought well of it ; and knowing 
 no English word of the same meaning, I ventured. May, 
 one not now and then do these things with good effect?! 
 I am not conscious of any other offences in this way, but 
 it is likely enough that I may unconsciously have picked 
 up odd words from my old authorities. Certainly, in the 
 course of my labours, collateral subjects of remark did 
 now and then occur to me ; but I fear I have let them 
 slip away. I do, however, feel some temptation to venture 
 into the essay line, when, perhaps, thoughts might recur | 
 on the morals of history. At present, however, I am I 
 absolutely like poor Burns, ' Unfitted with an aim.' One 
 friend suggests to me Memoirs of Caroline, queen of 
 Greorge II. ; another would have me go on to Cromwell ; 
 another would send me back to Edward III., as a subject 
 out of harm's way, involving neither theology nor poHtics. 
 ' The literary class,' said the very sensible advocate of the 
 last scheme, ' are almost all for Church and State, and 
 your last subject is one which they do not like. They 
 would not have much enquiry into King Charles.' This 
 remark might lead me wide into a dissertation upon our 
 present state of political and religious feeling ; but before 
 I enter such a field, I think it prudent to answer some 
 passages of your letter. 
 
 I wonder not at your deep feehngs on the subject of 
 slavery. It is worthy of you so to feel, and to devote your 
 powerful pen and all the energies you can command to 
 that great theme. I am quite incompetent to pronounce 
 any opinion of my own on the state of our islands, but 
 that excellent old abolitionist WilHam Smith seems to 
 me highly satisfied with the working of the new system 
 hitherto, and Dr. Lushington also. It has been said that 
 
TO THE EEV. DR. CHANNING. 297 
 
 the planters begin to judge it conducive to their own 
 interests — a grand security for their exertions to make it 
 answer. It seems that the protection of the black popu- 
 lation will be secm-ed so far as law can secure it, by 
 depending on a reformed magistracy which, in other 
 respects, is likely to be welcome to the planters. But I 
 know not the particulars. 
 
 Excellent Eammohun Eoy : I wish I could obtain more 
 particulars of him to offer to you ; but like all remarkable 
 foreigners in this, and I suppose in other countries, he 
 was beset by the enthusiastic, the ignorant, the imperti- 
 nent, and often the malignant ; in his case political and 
 theological passions conspired, and he was misrepresented 
 on all hands. That good man Dr. Carpenter has published 
 an account of him, and I know of no better. It is now 
 known that the title of Eajah, which some suspected him 
 of unwarrantably assuming, was conferred on him regularly 
 by the Grreat Mogul, or King of Delhi as he is now called, 
 in the gharacter of his ambassador. He was able in 
 negotiation, and obtained for his master the large sums 
 which he claimed of our government. In his demeanour 
 there was all the dignity and gracefulness of high caste 
 tempered with not only courtesy and benignity, but with 
 a kind of humility only to be accounted for, as Dr. Boott 
 acutely observed, by recollecting that he belonged to a 
 conquered people, and had been compelled in India to 
 submit to social inferiority. It was impossible, however, 
 to charge him with servility. He sometimes evaded 
 indiscreet questions, but the information which he gave 
 voluntarily was so precise and satisfactory that it was 
 impossible to question its perfect truth. His knowledge 
 of languages was prodigious, and when he spoke of the 
 light cast by an acquaintance with oriental literature and 
 manners on the sense of scripture, or when he explained 
 the laws and customs of his country, with the modifica- 
 
298 LETTERS 
 
 tions which they had sustained from its Mussulman ^ 
 conquerors, you perceived that he was able to draw from 
 all that he had learned and seen the inferences of a clear 
 sagacious mind. But perhaps his greatest charm was the ? 
 atmosphere of moral purity in which he seemed to breathe 
 To women this was peculiarly striking ; he paid them a t 
 homage reverential as that of chivalry, without its exag- 
 geration. Absolutely new to their society as he must 
 have been, an innate sense of propriety revealed to him 
 always the right thing to say and do. Persecution, 
 calumny, injustice, public and private, only strengthened 
 him to endure in a good cause, without either saddening 
 or embittering his spirit. Benignity was the leading ] 
 characteristic of his countenance and his expressions, his 
 love of liberty was fervent, and nothing which concerned p 
 the welfare of his brethren of mankind was indifferent to 
 him. May we indeed meet that pure and noble spirit V 
 where only such are admitted ! 
 
 Of Godwin's domestic habits I know nothing ; but it is 
 unfortunately true that he has often been reduced to 
 solicit pecuniary aid. The late Earl Dudley gave him a 
 thousand pounds. The mercy of Lord G-rey has rescued him 
 from this humiliation, by conferring on him the office of a 
 keeper of records, with 300Z. per annum. It was his mis- 
 fortune or folly to adopt, with the other debasing views of 
 the French school, their contempt of chastity in women, 
 and he took for his second wife a person of bad reputation : 
 a connection which has tended, in various ways, to disgrace 
 and embarrass him. 
 
 Bentham I did not know, and I have never heard any- 
 thing respecting his religious opinions. There is no hint 
 of atheism in his theological works, nearly all of which I 
 have read ; these are full of logical and critical acuteness. 
 His dissection of the ' Church Catechism ' in his ' Church 
 of Englandism ' would amuse you, as well as his sarcasms 
 
j TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 299 
 
 ! on ' My Lords the Bishops,' whose ' very footmen are 
 ! clothed in purple.' Mr. Whishaw, I think, characterised 
 I him very happily when he called him ' a schoolman born 
 I some ages too late.' He lived latterly in a narrow circle 
 of worshippers, reading nothing and writing incessantly ; 
 I and probably did not sympathise extensively enough with 
 other men to understand human nature profoundly. 
 Consequently he was rather fitted to supply legislators 
 i with principles and suggestions, than to legislate himself. 
 Brougham has very handsomely acknowledged his obliga- 
 tions to him for the idea of many of his reforms, par- 
 ticularly, I think, his legal ones. Eomilly, a man of great 
 piety, lived in strict friendship with him. Neale seems 
 to be a slight and rather paltry person, very little qualified 
 to measure the mind of Bentham, and probably only knew 
 him in extreme old age. On such authority it would be 
 unwarrantable to impute to an innocent and certainly a 
 benevolent and public-spirited man, one of the ablest 
 thinkers and the most skilful logician of his age, the 
 brutish absurdity of atheism — a word, as you well know, 
 used by ignorant or prejudiced people often without any 
 definite meaning. The masterly lectures on jurisprudence 
 published by my friend Mr. Austin, a very zealous pro- 
 mulgator of the utilitarian system founded by Bentham, 
 are firmly based on theism, though they make no refer- 
 ence to Christianity, with which, however, their subject 
 had no concern. I have just been assured, on what I 
 think pretty good authority, that neither is Grodwin an 
 atheist. 
 
 During my stay in London, it was my great object to 
 learn what our world is doing and thinking — and this is 
 what I make out. Literature is low indeed — swamped, as 
 our phrase is, by the tract makers, with the Useful Know- 
 ledge Society at their head. Bulwer has protested with 
 good reason against the prevalent practice of anonymous 
 
300 LETTERS 
 
 writing. We shall at this rate soon have no such character 
 as an author amongst us ; the public will account it as 
 idle to enquire who wrote an essay, or even a book, as 
 who set up the types — and one artificer will become as 
 much a mere labourer for wages as the other. But that 
 this state of things cannot well become permanent in a : 
 civilised country, it would almost break one's heart. In the i 
 meantime, the nullity of literature leaves all the thinkers \ 
 and all the talkers at leisure for a few great practical f 
 subjects, which must become the business of Parliament in 
 the coming session. These are. Church reform, poor-law 
 reform, and general education. On the first some things 
 are decided as far as ministers are concerned. They ,: 
 will bring forward a commutation of tithe, and probably t 
 some new regulations against pluralities and non-resi 
 dence. They will propose to grant the dissenters redress \ 
 of their grievances in respect of marriages, burials, and 
 birth registries, and may, perhaps, be willing to exempt 
 them from Church-rates. But here is the danger ! Tlie 
 orthodox, that is, the Calvinistic dissenters, or Inde- 
 pendents and Baptists, emboldened by their great and t 
 growing numbers, and by what they view as the spirit of i 
 the times, have plainly declared that they regard the 
 whole connection of a favoured sect with the State as an 
 abuse and an injustice ; and that they will never be satis- 
 fied till it is totally dissolved. This decision, made in 
 defiance of the prudential remonstrances of the calmer 
 and better informed Unitarians, is beginning, as it seems, ^ 
 to produce a strong reaction in favour of the Church ; to 
 which, with a small exception for Catholics, and another 
 for Unitarians, the whole of the two Houses of Parliament 
 and of the nation, down almost to the shop-keepers and 
 mechanics, is at least nominally attached; and which 
 carries with it also most of the agricultural class, and a 
 good portion of every class. There is danger, therefore. 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 301 
 
 to the most moderate claims of the dissenters, should the 
 ministers desert their cause ; to the ministers themselves, 
 should they remain steady to it ; and I dread from the 
 whole affair a fierce renewal of religious dissensions, and 
 of a persecuting spirit directed against all sectaries and 
 free enquirers. It would be most unfortunate should a 
 measure of general education be proposed and carried into 
 effect during such an access of High Churchism, as its 
 character would of course be narrow and exclusive, and 
 the effect would be to fix on the children of dissenters a 
 universal stigma. It is also certain that nothing would 
 strengthen so much the hands of the tories as a rally for 
 the Church. Nor would the poor-law question be unin- 
 fluenced by such a crisis. To promote a spirit of inde- 
 pendence amongst the labouring classes would not be the 
 aim of triumphant squires and parsons. I am obliged to 
 state all this very crudely, but verbum sapienti. You 
 will see on the whole that our state is an anxious one. I 
 could wish that the Irish Church question were first to be 
 dealt with. It was Catholic emancipation which repealed 
 the English Test and Corporation Acts. You will not 
 wonder that, with my historic experience, I dread beyond 
 everything the mingling of ecclesiastical disputes with 
 questions of civil government, especially as our people 
 are much less advanced in religion than in politics. Fear 
 nothing for Dr. Tuckerman. He interests us the more for 
 his bursts of sensibility. ' He has enthusiasm,' said Mr. 
 Le Breton happily, ' but no fanaticism.' We all love him, 
 and his suggestions are heard with respect by persons who 
 have both the will and the power to carry them into effect 
 to some extent. He could not have visited us at a better 
 time : the state of the poor has become such, that all agree 
 something must be done to amend it, and everyone who 
 can speak from experience on the subject is heard with 
 deep attention. There is much benevolent activity 
 
302 LETTERS 
 
 amongst us, which only wants and asks to be well guided. 
 We are all struck with his eloquence. ' He took me by 
 the button,' said Mr. Le Breton, ' last time I saw him, 
 and certainly preached a short sermon ; but I did not wish 
 it ended.' In fact, the oftener he is heard, the less one 
 wishes him to end. Since I finished the last sentence, I 
 have taken two ladies to call on him ; I never heard him 
 so interesting and eloquent in the illustration of his I 
 principles and plans. The ladies were all attention ; and 
 one of them, who lives with her brother, a country clergy- 
 man, and devotes herself with him and his daughters 
 to the welfare of a village, found much correspondence 
 between their modes of proceeding and his — except that 
 they talk to the people of original sin. I admired the 
 dexterity with which he slid over this difiference. He has 
 more tact and sagacity than I ever saw united with such 
 ardour. You trace a beautiful outline of what essays for 
 women ought to teach. I fear I could not fill it up ; but 
 I feel that in these days knowledge of points of debate is 
 necessary, to prevent our quick feelings from making us 
 fierce upon them. Ignorant partisans are always the 
 most violent. Candour, the virtue of the wise, is that in 
 which women are most deficient. 
 
 I fear I must at length have quite wearied you ; in 
 writing to you I know not where to stop. 
 
 I rejoice in the good account you give Dr. Tuckerman 
 of your health. Believe me ever. 
 
 Most sincerely yours, 
 
 L. AiKiN. 
 
 Xo. 26. 
 
 Hampstead : May 29, 1834. 
 
 My dear Friend — In your welcome letter received about 
 ten days since, you said it was long since you had heard 
 from me, but I think you must very soon after have re- 
 
TO THE REV. DK. CHANNING. 303 
 
 ceived a long one from me ; at least, I wrote one and 
 consigned it as usual to Dr. Boott. This is to go by Dr. 
 Tuckerman, whom we are very loath to part with, for we 
 all revere and love him, but there is some satisfaction in 
 his assurances that he also loves us, and will do his 
 utmost to send you to visit us. Mr. Phillips we hope 
 to keep a little longer. He is a general favourite, and 
 perhaps even better liked in society than his friend, 
 whose mind is almost engrossed by one subject. It mor- 
 tified me to catch only a glimpse of Mr. Dewey, his stay 
 was so short that he was gone before I could find an op- 
 portunity to invite him. I heard great praise of his pulpit 
 eloquence from very good judges. Send us more such 
 visitors, they will do much to overcome prejudices on both 
 sides. And now to reply to the questions in your letter. 
 
 ' Grodolphin' I have not read. I understand it was written 
 by a Mr. Sunderland, who is genteelly connected, and was 
 educated at Oxford ; but as his extreme youth cannot have 
 allowed him extensive opportunities of observation in any 
 society, it would be unreasonable to put much faith in his 
 view of manners. All novelists run into exaggeration of 
 one kind or other, for the sake of effect. Formerly they 
 were chiefly reproached with painting ^ faultless monsters,' 
 whose charms and graces threw all living merit into shade, 
 and disgusted young people with the sober realities of 
 life. But this was a splendid sin compared with that of 
 the present fashionable school, who exaggerate nothing 
 but vices and follies, and delight in representing as odious 
 or contemptible those classes who will nevertheless con- 
 tinue to be objects of envy to most of their inferiors. In 
 high, as in low and in middle life, there will always be many 
 who yield to the peculiar temptations of their situation, 
 but many also who resist, and I know no reason whatever 
 for believing that our aristocracy are worse in any respect 
 than in past ages ] on the contrary, I know some strong 
 
304 LETTEKS 
 
 reasons for thinking that in several respects they are 
 better. No one denies that they are much less addicted 
 to drinking, less also to gaming ; for men play less, in i 
 general society at least, and women scarcely at all. I \ 
 cannot say whether there is less licentiousness, but you 
 who have read Walpole will not dispute that there is \ 
 much more decorum, much more of at least outward f 
 respect for religion and virtue, and I think it is plain that 
 even hypocrisy must put some restraint on vice. Then it 
 is certain that the circumstances of the times keep the f 
 higher classes in a state of extraordinary mental activity; 
 that they feel it necessary to cultivate all their talents, to 
 inform themselves on every question of practical impor- 
 tance, and at the same time to preserve the graceful 
 accomplishments which may serve to conciliate public 
 approbation. 
 
 With respect to what you have heard of a class of 
 fashionables who set their own pretensions above those of 
 rank and title, there is something in it ; the most fashion- 
 able persons in London are so rather by merit, if one may 
 so apply the term, than by birth. A certain talent, or tact, 
 is necessary to become an ^ arbiter elegantiarum ; ' and 
 although there may be not a little of presumption and 
 conceit amongst the eocclusives, they have at least the 
 recommendation of daring to show great lords and great 
 ladies that they may be looked down upon in society if 
 they rely too much upon mere rank and pedigree. You 
 cannot without seeing it imagine the charm which waits 
 upon a patroness of Almack's. Perfect good breeding is 
 a beautiful thing to behold, and no fiiie art deserves to be 
 more studied. 
 
 I leave it to Dr. Tuckerman to describe to you the 
 society in which he has lived, which consists chiefly of the 
 higher part of the middle class, and is the same with 
 which I mostly associate. I know he will give you a good 
 
TO THE BEV. DR. CHANNING. 305 
 
 jaccount of it, and that he will especially attest the zeal 
 • prevalent in this set for the improvement of the character 
 i and condition of the poor. Much is doing for the ignorant 
 land degraded, and I trust that they will not long be 
 I numbered by millions, even in Ireland. Immense things 
 I are in agitation regarding the poor and regarding the 
 I Church, and both subjects are approached by many, 
 '' especially the first, in a pretty good spirit. I do not yet 
 wish to see the establishment overthrown, because at 
 present the fanatics would be able to seize the chief 
 power and oppress all free enquirers ; but it will do mother 
 Church no manner of hurt to be put in mind of her end, 
 and the Dissenters are wilHng enough to jog her memory 
 on this subject. The worst is, that we must expect an 
 increase of bitterness and animosity as these Dissenters 
 proceed, for when was ever an ecclesiastical question settled 
 'in a Christian spirit? And in the meantime, I grieve 
 I to see literature swamped as it is between politics and 
 theology. You may enquire in vain for light reading. 
 Poetry we have none, and though we have novels not a 
 few, I really know of none which are much praised by 
 people of taste. We can scarcely find new works sufficient 
 to keep our Book Society alive. The dearth is something 
 quite strange, and hardly credible at a time when every- 
 body affirms that there is more reading than ever in the 
 country. I suppose people will be tired of two-penny 
 tracts ere long, and then there will again be a demand 
 for books. In France there is an equal stagnation, in 
 Grermany alone literature really flourishes, although, or 
 perhaps because, literary labour scarcely brings there any 
 pecuniary reward, on account of the impossibility of 
 securing copyright beyond the limits of a single state. 
 The most laborious works, I hear, are composed by pro- 
 fessors of universities, as in some measure a part of their 
 duty, or a means of distinction. I wish I could tell you 
 
306 LETTERS I 
 
 that I am again settled into some substantial work, but I • 
 cannot yet fit myself with a subject. Two in English] 
 history have engaged my attention ; that which you sug- 
 gest, — the Commonwealth, and the two first Georges. But 
 I rather dread the quantity of dry reading, especially oft 
 the polemical kind, which the first w(Juld require, and in ; 
 general the ruggedness of the theme, on which it would . 
 scarcely be practicable to strew flowers. The second also ^ 
 somewhat affrights me by its magnitude, for the materials ^ 
 would be redundant, and it also repels me by the want of 
 great and interesting events ; in short, I am not enough \ 
 pleased with either of these periods to be willing to live 
 in it for years. Sometimes I meditate another kind of j 
 writing — essays, moral and literary. I seem to myself to 
 have some thoughts which it might be useful or agreeable 
 to put on paper ; but here fears and scruples of many i 
 kinds assail me. If I were to give the rein freely to my \ 
 speculations, I know not whither they would lead me — 5, 
 most likely into a kind of Pyrrhonism which would give [ 
 great offence to this dogmatising age. I am not here j 
 referring to religious topics, on which I should never think \ 
 of addressing the public ; besides that, on these my mind t 
 is pretty well settled, though not in opinions which would j^ 
 be approved ; but I have in view many points relating to I, 
 morals and the conduct of life, on which 1 am much more |i 
 convinced that error generally prevails, than prepared to ^ 
 pronounce what is truth or reason. I am a little disposed j 
 to envy those who can adopt a sect or party and stick by, g 
 it with unfaltering allegiance. Such people know at least h 
 what to wish for, what to aim at, what to praise or blame, |; 
 what and whom to love and to hate. With me it is quite •> 
 the contrary. I remain suspended and neutral amid the 
 unceasing clash of parties and principles which rages 
 around me. I listen to both or to all sides till I can take 
 part with none, and I fold my arms in indolence for want 
 
TO THE KEY. DE. CHAINING. 307 
 
 of knowing anything to be done which might not just as 
 well, or better, be let alone. Can you prescribe any re- 
 medy for a state like this, which I am disposed to regard 
 as a morbid one, because one sees that if it were to become 
 epidemic, the whole world would go to sleep ? 
 
 Events press fast upon us. Since I began this letter, 
 a few days only ago, a split of the cabinet has been an- 
 nounced on the important question of the appropriation 
 of the temporalities of the Irish Church. Mr. Stanley 
 and two more, who insisted on preserving the whole to the 
 Protestant establishment, go out, and we may conse- 
 quently expect to see the cause of Church Eeform espoused 
 by the government. In this I do unfeignedly rejoice. It 
 gives some reason to hope that a compromise may be 
 effected with the English Dissenters also, which will 
 divert them, for a time at least, from seeking the utter 
 overthrow of the establishment. But much will depend 
 on what cannot well be reckoned on, the prudence and 
 moderation of our upper house, especially the lords 
 spiritual. There are sinister reports concerning the sanity 
 of our poor well-meaning king. A regency, with a tory 
 queen at its head, might prove under present circum- 
 stances a dangerous incident. Political unions are said 
 to be spreading over the country, or rather trades' unions, 
 which, on the slightest cause of jealousy given by the 
 government, would immediately become political ones. I 
 should exceedingly dread to see more power fall into the 
 hands of the low and ignorant, the selfish, and, on the 
 whole, not moral classes, of whom these associations are 
 composed ; and nothing can preserve us from this peril but 
 a wise, j ust, and liberal, but moderate administration. After 
 I all, though I have been murmuring at the swamping of 
 ; literature between religion and politics, I feel that I cannot 
 1 myself resist the influence of circumstances. We are in a 
 
 i X2 
 
308 LETTEES 
 
 state of revolution, it cannot be denied, and however one 
 may wish to divert one's mind from the present and, 
 the directly practical, it will not be ; and those who do 
 not pretend to be able to instruct the public on the great 
 questions of Church and State (and I am sure I do not); 
 must be content, as matters stand, to hear, see, and say 
 nothing. I am reading: a long and a great work, Sismon- 
 di's ' History of the Italian Eepublics.' It errs somewhat 
 on the side of minute detail, as might well be expected, : 
 considering that the author' had occasion to take for his 
 authorities the native historians — those masters of prolixity. ' 
 But with this abatement the work is surely a very noble one, 
 full of interesting circumstances, and lively, graphic de- 
 scriptions, both of places from personal knowledge, and of 
 characters and incidents. The moral tone is admirable. 
 The author seems to me unerringly faithful to the best 
 interests of mankind, except that he perhaps prizes a little 
 too highly the turbulent liberty of Florence ; fertile, how- 
 ever, it must be owned, in great men in every Hne. I ; 
 am told that Sismondi's ' History of France ' is, however, 
 his best work ; and if I do not set myself to wiiting, I 
 think my next task may be to read it. History never tires 
 me. 
 
 Pray make Dr. Tuckerman tell you a great deal about 
 all us, especially ask him about my friend Mrs. Coltman, ^ 
 in whom he delights, and then figure to yourself how you ; 
 will enjoy finding yourself surrounded by such disciples 
 (for all this set are your disciples, and have received your 
 friends in your name). 
 
 An unpleasant suspicion comes over me that I have 
 been inditing a vastly dull epistle, pray excuse it if so it 
 be. There will be better and worse in letters as in other 
 things ; there is a happiness in topics and expressions 
 not to be commanded, and if my letter be good for 
 nothing else, let it at least serve to assm-e you of my con- 
 
I TO THE EEV. DR. CHANNING. 309 
 
 I 
 
 jtinued esteem and friendship, and my anxiety to keep up 
 
 jmy privilege of communication with you. 
 
 I Ever most truly yours, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 I No. 27. 
 
 Hampstead: June 19, 1834. 
 
 Mr. Phillips offers me conveyance for a letter to you, 
 and though rather pressed for time, I will begin : at least 
 I may be able to thank you for your last admirable letter 
 and to convey my sense of its contents. I am very much 
 enlightened as well as pleased by your remarks on your 
 own country. WTiat very curiously corroborates their 
 justness is, that the characteristics which you note as of 
 presbyterian origin are, or were, almost equally observable 
 here in the Scotch and the old English dissenters — the 
 same coldness and reserve of manner — the same repression 
 of enthusiasm — the same caution, and mutual superin- 
 tendence, I have been struck with in them ever since I 
 have been able largely to compare them with our epis- 
 copalians. Miss Martineau, being herself of dissenting 
 parentage and connection, will be fully prepared to find 
 warm hearts under cold manners, but even our sauciest 
 travellers bear ample testimony to the hospitality they 
 find amongst you. Do you know I am half inclined to 
 quarrel with you for calling us foreigners with respect to 
 you. T think we never call you so. Our common origin, 
 common language, and common history down to a period 
 not yet beyond the memory of man, forbid the use of that 
 chilling word — pray leave it off. 
 
 I think you quite right in the main respecting our 
 religious state. There is, however, a great deal of earnest 
 belief amongst our Evangelicals in and out of the Church, 
 and a good deal of unobtrusive piety amongst individuals 
 
310 LETTEES 
 
 of all communions, and I would say that tlie warm re- p 
 ception your works have found from persons in as well 
 as out of the establishment is a strong proof that spiri- 
 tual religion is congenial with many minds. In the fc 
 meantime the present struggle between the Church and f 
 the dissenters must be regarded as partaking more of the 1 
 nature of a civil than a religious contest. The question f 
 is, Shall the Church-monopoly be suffered longer to exist 
 in all its rigour, or shall it be made to yield more or less ^ 
 to the spirit of the age, and the demands of justice ? You 
 will see that the bill for abolishing subscriptions at the 
 universities as a condition of graduation, has been carried 
 by a great majority in the commons, being supported by i: 
 most of the Scotch and Irish members. It is probable '< 
 that the lords will throw it out, but it will nevertheless be t 
 a great triumph to the dissenters to find the representatives \ 
 of the people so decidedly in their favour. The question i 
 of the appropriation of tithes in Ireland particularly, wiU f 
 next come to be discussed; and should the two houses |o 
 form opposite decisions on this question likewise, very i- 
 long and very important political consequences may, Tnust 
 be the result. The establishment is by no means so i 
 willing as you have been led to believe to correct its own j 
 abuses. It is highly probable that Brougham's Church 
 Bill will also be lost among the lords spiritual and ' 
 temporal. It will, unless a salutary fear of provoking 
 one knows not what should seize upon these noble and 
 right reverend personages. I am surprised at daily proofs 
 of an alienation of the minds of men from the Church, for 
 which, as you know, I was not in the least prepared. In 
 no one county, town, or city have the friends of the 
 establishment ventured to call a public meeting for the 
 purpose of raising the cry of ' The Church in danger.' The 
 blustering of Oxford with its military chancellor has failed 
 to excite emulation. I believe that if the Church is to 
 
TO THE REV. DE. CHANNING. 311 
 
 stand, great concessions must be made, not only on the 
 points of pluralities, sinecures, and non-residence, but in 
 the matter of church patronage. The Scotch General 
 Assembly has found it expedient to allow the parishioners 
 at large a negative on the appointment of the patron, and 
 I look daily for some similar claim here. Now all these 
 may be regarded as tendencies towards what is called the 
 * voluntary ' church system, which I have no doubt you 
 will allow to be much more favourable to spirituality 
 than an establishment dependent chiefly on the crown and 
 the hereditary aristocracy of the country. 
 
 You will gather from all this that I conceive the 
 popular interest to be fast gaining ground, and that I 
 believe it must finally carry every point in contest, whether 
 civil or ecclesiastical. I believe also that important 
 reforms will thus be effected, and the well-being of the 
 people at large promoted. Nevertheless, I cannot exult 
 in the tone of national feeling. I fear we do indeed 
 deserve to be reproached as a nation of shop-keepers — all 
 our quarrels are money quarrels — every question in high 
 debate may be resolved into one of £. s. d. Ask the 
 trade-unions what they require? Higher wages. The 
 shop-keepers? The repeal of the assessed taxes. The 
 manufacturers ? Free trade, especially in corn. The 
 landed interest ? The continuance of the corn laws, and 
 of all others favourable to the maintenance of their rents. 
 Now this universal worship of Mammon makes me sigh 
 and blush for my country. In the first political struggles 
 I can remember great and noble principles were at stake ; 
 now it is a vulgar dispute who shall pay most, or least 
 rather, towards a long reckoning. Fox was the type of 
 the former period, Joseph Hume of the present. But 
 looking at the causes of this extraordinary activity of the 
 mercenary principle amongst us, I am willing to believe 
 that they are in great measure of a temporary nature. 
 
312 LETTERS 
 
 The taxes have pressed with crushing weight on every ■; 
 class and interest by turns. It was the hope of relief from : 
 pecuniary distress principally which has brought the ; 
 people into collision first with the borough-owners, now 
 with the tithe-owners. Some burdens have been already : 
 lightened by our reformed legislature, but the court and 
 the tories still resist retrenchment, and it is necessary 
 that even a clamour for it should still be kept up. But 
 let reforms in expenditure once have been carried fairly 
 through all departments, and this extraordinary pressure 
 removed, and the active spirits of our people will demand -, 
 higher and better occupation. Then shall we find the i 
 great results of the illumination of the popular mind which 
 has been all this time proceeding with a constantly ac- \ 
 celerating pace ; then expect from us moralists, poets, : 
 philosophers. I will tell you a little anecdote which has. f 
 made me hope highly of the effects of the diffusion of \ 
 literature amongst the lower classes. Dear Jane Roscoe, 
 whose head is all benevolence, having accidentally dis- [ 
 covered that various cruel practices prevailed amongst 
 the market people at Liverpool, caused a committee of 
 ladies to be sanctioned by the mayor for the prevention i 
 of these offences- It then occurred to her, that to go to \ 
 the root of the evil the market people themselves should l: 
 be humanised by knowledge, and she got a society insti- 
 tuted by ladies for supplying them with a circulation of 
 books. Soon after, the wife of a small butcher requested 
 of her, on the part of her husband, a second view of one 
 of the volumes : ' He says, madam, that they say the tracts 
 the gentlefolks give us poor people to read are books for 
 children, but that he is sure this is a book for a man, and 
 such a book as he never saw the like of ; and never any- 
 thing did delight him so much, he can talk of nothing 
 else.' It was ' Paradise Lost.' 
 
 The Archbishop of Dublin (\STiately) is doing much 
 
TO THE EEY. DE. CHAKNING. 313 
 
 j good by reconciling the Catholics to the national schools, 
 .' from the system of which he has banished everything 
 I offensive to their religion. * To be sure,' said an old 
 ' Oxford colleague of his to me, ' he is the very opposite of 
 
 I the sort of person I should have chosen for the situation ; 
 
 I I would have had a man remarkable for mildness, patience, 
 I willing to hear and to answer all objections; but Grod 
 ! knows better how to appoint His own instruments. I 
 I know many people who, if the archbishop were to be 
 I roasted, would go to get a bit of him, because he has 
 I yielded to the Catholics respecting giving children the 
 
 whole Bible. But he goes on, and he could not care less 
 for abuse if he were made of wood. He says of the 
 Sabbath, " Spend if you please, or if you can, the whole 
 day in religious exercises, but put things on the true 
 footing; do not tell your children it was instituted by 
 God's command to Moses to commemorate the creation, 
 but tell them it was fixed by the Apostles to commemorate 
 the resurrection. Grive it all the sanctity you please, but 
 not on a wrong ground." This has given great offence. 
 So has a very learned and philosophical work in which, by 
 tracing the origin of many Eomish superstitions to the 
 principles or the weaknesses of our common nature, he 
 has been charged by some with extenuating them.' He 
 added, that the archbishop had a great fondness for 
 parables in conversation, which were often rather homely 
 ones, and for experiments. One day at a great set dinner 
 at the lord lieutenant's, a question arose, how long a man 
 could live with his head under water. The archbishop 
 quitted the room, and presently returned with a great 
 bason full of water, which he set on the table and plunged 
 his head in before the whole company. Having held it 
 there an enormous length of time, he drew it out, crying, 
 * There ! none of you could have kept your heads in so 
 long, but I know the method of it.' Another time, also 
 
314 
 
 LETTERS 
 
 at a formal party at the Castle, he spoke of the gi-eat 
 weight a man could support on the calf of his leg, bending 
 it outwards, ^f your Grace of Cashel,' said he, 'will 
 stand upon mine, as I stretch it out, I can bear your 
 weight without the slightest difficulty.' But his Grace of 
 Cashel would not have done so odd a thing in that 
 company for millions. I take a fancy to a metropolitan 
 who dares to be odd, to conciliate the Irish Catholics, and 
 to provoke the saints, alias bigots. No, I shall not go 
 back to Edward III., never fear. No black-letter docu- 
 ments for me. But I am not yet the nearer to finding 
 work for my pen. I do want a noble subject, and I cannot 
 find one in our history after exhausting Charles I. I am 
 in a thoroughly unfixed state of mind, which begins to feel 
 irksome to me. This whole London season I have been 
 much in society, and I have seen so many and such 
 various people, and have put myself in the way of hearing 
 such various opinions, that I feel as if I had been on an 
 excursion with the Diable Boiteux; that is, I seem a 
 spectator of all things, inclined to be satisfied with that 
 indolent amusement, and to take part in nothing. I 
 suppose there is a limit to the benefit of hearing all sides. 
 La Fontaine came at last to the two maxims that, Every- 
 thing may be true, and that everybody has reason on his 
 side. With such notions I do not see how anyone could 
 write eloquently, or indeed give himself the trouble to 
 write anything at all, but tales and fables to divert idle 
 people. If my letter is to go to-day, as it ought, I must 
 not fill up my corners as usual, but despatch this hasty 
 scrawl, in which you will find, I believe, some things con- 
 tradictory of my former views of things, an inconvenience 
 not to be avoided when every day developes popular 
 feelings more and more. 
 
 Believe me ever with true esteem. 
 
 Your attached friend, 
 
 LucT AiKiy. 
 
TO THE KEY. DR. CHANNING. 315 
 
 No. 28. 
 
 Hampstead : Oct. 19, 1834. 
 
 My dear Friend- -Your welcome letter arrived as I was 
 actually putting pen to paper to enquire after you, and 
 Ipetition to be written to. Thank you very much for the 
 interest you take in the employment of my pen, and your 
 suggestions on this subject. My own inclination is like- 
 wise to essay- writing ; but I feel diffident, well knowing it 
 to be a difficult and an exhausting kind of composition. 
 Sometimes I have thought the form of dialogue a conve- 
 nient one for exhibiting the different sides and bearings 
 of a subject, and I have lately made one or two attempts 
 in this kind, and shall perhaps proceed a little further. I 
 think at least I have made up my mind not to search 
 further for a historic subject. But I am again impeded 
 in my pursuits by a failure in health, and am not able to 
 apply much force of mind to any object. I read, however, 
 much and variously, and seek to lay in ideas for more 
 propitious seasons — should such be in store for me. It 
 would be a great undertaking to 'teach this age to 
 understand itself; ' one ought first to be very certain of its 
 being understood by the teacher. That spirit of aristocracy 
 of which you speak, is of itself one of the most perplexing 
 and, at the same time, important subjects of meditation 
 and enquiry that I know, especially with reference to 
 these times and this country. I have not only thought 
 and conversed, but even made several attempts at writing 
 I on it, without being able to come at all near to the end, 
 j or the bottom of it. Is it true, I have asked, as some 
 ; people say, that the English have more of this spirit than 
 j any people in Europe ? Certainly not, if by the terms it 
 I is meant that the distinction of noble and plebeian families 
 
316 LETTERS 
 
 is broadest here. We have, in effect, no noblesse in the 
 sense of old France or present Grermany. Only the head 
 of any family is a nobleman ; the younger branches are all * 
 commoners, and do not even retain a titular distinction 
 beyond the first generation from a peer. Yet there is f 
 some reason to assert that haughtiness of demeanour towards 
 inferiors acknowledged -as such, and still more, an extreme 
 jealousy of rank and precedence, and an indignant rebut- 
 ting of the pretensions of those a very little below them- 
 selves, are striking characteristics of our people. And why 
 is this ? I believe because there never was a country or a 
 state of society in which men were so much the artificers, 
 not only of their own fortunes, but of their own rank, as 
 modern England. Every advantage, every distinction, is 
 held forth to be struggled for. Each is striving to surpass 
 his neighbour, and still more to be acknowledged by his 
 neighbour himself to have surpassed him. It has been a 
 frequent remark with our essay- writers and novelists, that 
 persons of real rank and gentility were much less arrogant 
 than pretenders or upstarts, which is likely enough to be 
 true as a general rule. But in this land of merchants, 
 manufacturers, men of science, men of letters, orators, 
 preachers, politicans, and dandies, you may easily imagine 
 that there are^hundreds of pretenders and upstarts, or at J 
 least of men who have raised themselves, for one person 
 of established, acknowledged hereditary rank, fortune, and 
 consequence ; and thus perhaps, in some degree, have arro- 
 gance and insolence become unfortunately almost national 
 characteristics, at least this seems likely to be the solution 
 of the fact, if fact it be. \Mien you reflect upon the 
 activity of all these various competitors for the respect 
 or admiration of society, as well as its more tangible 
 prizes, you will perhaps better understand the grounds 
 of what little partiality I may feel towards the old aris- 
 tocracy, the claims_ of which sometimes act as a useful 
 
TO THE EEV. DE. CHANNING. 317 
 
 counterbalance to other claims not better founded, and 
 ; urged with more offensive self-sufficiency. But the ten- 
 jdency of our political state is to diminish all kinds of 
 ! personal preeminence, a tendency of which, as you are 
 I aware, the associating spirit is both effect and cause. The 
 1 diffusion of knowledge is in some respects to all the 
 I aristocracy of this age, what the discovery of gunpowder 
 I was to the military aristocracy of one age, and the Ee- 
 i formation to the ecclesiastical aristocracy of another. As 
 for the trades' unions, I had absolutely forgotten that ever 
 I had been afraid of them. It is now manifest that they 
 cannot become political unions. They are not, as you 
 seem to suppose, combinations generally of the poor 
 against the rich, but of one particular class, the journey- 
 men mechanics, against all the rest of society beneath 
 and around, as much as above themselves. The un- 
 reasonable attempt of this class to enhance the price of 
 theii' commodity, skilled labour, would if successful cause 
 a general advance in the money value of all other com- 
 modities, which, by disabling our manufacturers from 
 maintaining their ascendency in foreign markets, must 
 bring poverty on the journeymen themselves in the first 
 place, and then on the nation. This is so clearly perceived, 
 that they have found no sympathy anywhere, and the 
 delusion amongst themselves is subsiding, or will subside. 
 You may be right that we shall have no religious reform, 
 but I tliink we must have various Church alterations 
 before long. In Scotland, which has now first become 
 a free country, and is likely enough to give the tone to 
 England on several topics, the seceders have lately in- 
 creased prodigiously : and it is not on doctrine that they 
 depart from their Church, but on what they call the 
 voluntary principle, that is, that the minister should be 
 elected by those who are to attend upon him, and paid 
 by them alone. The refusal of vestries to impose church 
 
318 LETTERS 
 
 rates, whicli is becoming general, proceeds on the same 
 principle. In this trial of strength, or at least of numbers, 
 between the Church and Dissenters, the Church, which is 
 almost synonymous with the tory party, has been on the 
 whole signally defeated. Even Church congregations 
 begin to kick at patronage. Just now, a populous and 
 respectable London parish, on losing its rector, sent a 
 deputation to the Bishop of London, the patron, which 
 took the novel liberty of requesting him to appoint a 
 particular clergyman, unconnected with the parish, whom ] 
 they named. The bishop replied that, in that case they, ' 
 not himself, would be the patrons, which he did not intend 
 to permit, and so sent them off malcontent. Tithe must be 
 abolished forthwith in Ireland, and must, I conceive, be 
 much modified here. Now, though these be in themselves , 
 secular matters, they indicate in the middle classes an ^ 
 hostility to ecclesiastics and their authority and interests 
 which cannot be without its influence on religion itself, at ( 
 least on the public exercise of it. The Evangelicals have f 
 not made a conquest of the whole people, far from it, as ■ 
 the defeat of their Sabbath Bill by the representatives of 
 the people abundantly proves. Those, too, whom they 
 have not subjugated they have vehemently provoked by 
 their sourness and their spirit of dictation and exclusion, 
 and I see great reason to believe that a large proportion f 
 of those who now unite with the serious party against r 
 the Church, would equally oppose giving either additional ^ 
 wealth or power to them. J 
 
 It strikes me also as unlikely in itself, that ecclesiastics ^ 
 should escape being losers by that tendency to the 
 levelling of all personal distinctions which I have already 
 noted as belonging to this age. Their authority is more 
 immediately dependent on public opinion than any other. 
 It may seem an obvious remark, yet I know not that 
 anyone has made it, and observed its bearings, that the 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 319 
 
 necessity and value of oral instruction of every kind is, 
 jand must be, exceedingly diminished by the vast extension 
 |now given to the art of reading, and the circulation of 
 !l)ooks. A well-read layman, even of a humble class, will 
 be little inclined to bow to the mere authority of a pulpit. 
 Unless, therefore, some man of genius should arise to 
 promulgate some new system peculiarly adapted to the 
 tastes, the feelings, and the wants of this age and people, 
 11 prognosticate a period of religious indifference, and wide- 
 jspread disbelief. Even from the lighter literature of the 
 day, one may infer the rising of a different spirit from that 
 which, not five years ago, prompted all candidates for po- 
 pular applause to mix up something of piety with every 
 tour, every novel, every song, and every sonnet. I doubt 
 if ' Sacred Annuals ' will long continue in vogue. ' May 
 religion,' I once heard a devout man say, ' be always in 
 honour, and never in fashion.' Whatever has been in 
 fashion will soon be out of fashion. Now in this land 
 religion has been for a good while in fashion. The mode 
 is changing. How I run on, as if I wanted to practise 
 essay-writing upon you ! 
 
 As to a history of England for your daughter, there is 
 none for anybody's daughter. Hume is still the only very 
 agreeable one, and his deficiencies and partialities you 
 well know. Lingard is biassed by his profession and 
 religion ; and Turner is warped by systems and crotchets. 
 However, they all deserve to be read, and out of them the 
 careful reader may pick a history. What Hallam has 
 given us both in his ' Middle Ages,' and his ' Constitutional 
 History ' is of inestimable value to the student, but too 
 deep, and too technical for young ladies. There is a 
 ' History of G-reat Britain,' by a Dr. Andrews, a Scotchman, 
 which I read with great pleasure in my youth. It is 
 written on the plan of giving in separate chapters the 
 civil history of a reign, then the ecclesiastical, then the 
 
320 LETTERS 
 
 history of commerce, of literature, of manners, &c. There is I 
 no great merit in the style, which is flat and commonplace, ji 
 and the first chapter on manners is rendered strangely t 
 absurd by his deriving those of the ancient Caledonians t 
 from Macpherson's fabulous Ossian ; but in spite of these f 
 deductions, it is a valuable and agreeable work for the \ 
 early periods. It stops at either the death of Henry VIII. i 
 or the accession of Elizabeth. I have not seen the work 
 for years, and later ones, Turner's especially, may have 
 gone deeper into the topics of manners and literature ; but 
 I suspect it first opened my mind to those uses of history 
 which produced my own works in this kind, and I there- 
 fore owe it a good word. 
 
 You tell me nothing of your own plans or pursuits. I 
 fear you are not coming over to England for the winter, 
 as we had all been hoping — which is very shabby in you. 
 We shall but just be able to forgive you should another 
 report prove true, as I trust it is, that you are writing a 
 book. That will be some compensation, but indeed you 
 must not give up the dear project of coming hither, and 
 introducing your young people to English society. Eecol- 
 lect what you have sometimes written to me on the advan- 
 tage of your best people coming and making themselves 
 known here. I shall make diligent enquiry after Bryant, 
 whom I long to see. Poets are rare with us. Coleridge 
 we have lost, and where have we his poetic equal ? Of 
 which of his contemporaries can we say that he has written 
 too little ? 
 
 Will you think me outrageously sentimental if I confess 
 to you that I have deplored even with tears the confla- 
 gration of our two Houses of Parliament, rich as they were 
 in historic recollections ? The name of Pym was still to 
 be seen cut over the place which he occupied in the House 
 of Commons, the Armada tapestry still lined the House of 
 Lords. St. Stephen's chapel was built by our third 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 321 
 
 Edward. In the Painted Chamber James and Charles used 
 ;to lecture their sturdy houses of commons — and all are 
 {now ashes and ruins ! We must be thankful that West- 
 i minster Hall itself did not share the same fate. There 
 jwas great manifestation of feeling amongst the spectators 
 I of every rank. With all our faults as a nation, few of us 
 I are without a touch of filial love for old England, and 
 pride in the memory of her glories. How absurd to call 
 your mob tories ! I trust your whigs will defeat them. 
 There can be no fear of your lower classes not having 
 power enough. 
 
 With every good wish for you and yours, and particu- 
 larly that you would give us the opportunity of showing 
 you hospitality. 
 
 Believe me, yours with true regard, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 No. 29. 
 
 Hampstead: March 10, 1835. 
 Avaunt! carpenters, bricklayers, gardeners, painters, 
 and upholsterers ; and let me hold converse with my dear 
 distant friend. These people whom I exorcise are em- 
 ployed, be it known to you, in preparing for my reception 
 a house to which I hope to remove very shortly ; but this 
 being Sunday, they and I enjoy a respite. It is no long 
 flight, only to the opposite side of the street ; but it will 
 give me, besides better rooms, a delicious prospect from 
 my windows. Thirty miles of varied and verdant country, 
 sprinkled only with white houses, and bounded by the 
 range of Surrey hills. This will be a new pleasure to 
 me; I shall scarcely feel my solitude in the presence 
 of so much of nature, and I do promise myself that, in the 
 intervals of gazing through my window, my pen will exert 
 itself to better purpose than heretofore. 
 
322 LETTERS 
 
 All that you say on the subject of dialogue I think just. 
 The chief advantage of that form is not in conveying 
 information, for which it has many inconveniences, but 
 in representing discussion, and thus prompting the reader : 
 to exercise his own powers of reasoning and judging. It: 
 will serve to hint subjects of enquiry which it may not bes 
 convenient to treat more openly ; and it may save a writer) 
 from hostile criticism, by enabling him to plead that heH 
 has represented both sides of a question without pro-f- 
 nouncing for either. Call these paltry utilities if you> 
 please, but amongst a people where ancient prejudice is 
 hugged by the million, the best friends of man's best 
 interests may be thankful to take advantage of them. 
 At present, however, I have scarcely made a beginning of = 
 my work; that is, I have got only one dialogue and a^ 
 half, and some scraps which I think will hatch into essays, i 
 But of this enough. I have had by me for some time a" 
 message for you from a prince (but, thought I, I shan't ' 
 write purely for that ; the republican doctor will laugh at 
 me). This prince, however, is a man of merit ; it is the 
 Duke of Sussex. At a dinner which he gave some time' 
 since to the Fellows of the Royal Society, of which he is 
 President, and a few others, he beckoned to him my" 
 brother Arthur, to talk aside on the topic that he loves — 
 religion. He spoke with delight of your sermons — said 
 he had read every one that was printed. He had heard 
 (would it were true I) that you were coming to England in^ 
 the spring. ^I understand,' he added, 'that your sister 
 corresponds often with him ; tell her that when he comes 
 I shall think it a great honour to be introduced to him. ^ 
 Will notliing tempt you to come to us ? Surely, after the 
 illness you have had, you would find travelling a restorative, 
 and should you not like, ' antiquam exquaerere matrem,' ^ 
 to make your own researches in Dorsetshire ? Meantime 
 I shall not lose sight of the object. 
 
TO THE EEV. DR. CHANNINa. 323 
 
 The first time I can get sight of Joseph Hunter of the 
 I Eecord Office, our first living topographer, one of our first 
 j genealogists, and withal a York student and Unitarian 
 ! divine, I will mention the subject ; and I dare say he can at 
 least inform us how information can be gotten. It happens 
 that I know absolutely not a person in that county. But 
 you are Cannings, you say, and if so, I am afraid you must 
 be content to take, along with the eminent statesman, a 
 certain Bet Canning, who, about the middle of last century, 
 contrived to make herself the talk of the whole kingdom by 
 a well-invented tale of having been carried off and kept 
 prisoner in a lone house near London, from which she made 
 a marvellous escape. The particulars might be found in an 
 old * Annual Register ' if you are curious ; but perhaps you 
 are not. I believe she is mentioned (either in the ' World ' 
 or * Connoisseur ') as the rival of a certain Mrs. Tofts, who 
 professed to have brought into the world — a litter of 
 rabbits. 
 
 Talking of pedigrees, I think I never told you that I 
 saw, too late for my book, one of Queen Elizabeth, kept 
 at Hatfield House, and certainly drawn under the eye of 
 Burleigh, in which she is traced up to a personage called 
 'the second wife of Jupiter,' and collaterally, to no less a 
 worthy than Cerberus himself; whence, no doubt, her 
 habitual vigilance and occasional doggedness. 
 
 I quite agree with you as to the prose merits of our 
 lake poets. Southey is an excellent prose man. The 
 first circumstance which tended to redeem style from the 
 cold regularity of the French school, and the pedantic 
 latinism of ^Johnson, was the appearance of Percy's 
 Reliques ; from that time, and by the help also of the true 
 elucidators of Shakespeare, Steevens, Malone, &c., old true 
 English has been understood and written by all our writers 
 of genius. There is no better English than that of poor 
 Charles Lamb — a true and original genius — the delight of 
 
 y 2 
 
324 LETTERS 
 
 all who knew, still more than of all who read him, and ' 
 whom none who had once seen him — my own case — could . 
 ever forget. Your praise of Artevelde I cannot quite ; 
 agree in. The energetic simplicity and purity of the style, j 
 indeed, I much admire, but I cannot say that his person- i 
 ages do strike or interest me greatly. But I may be 
 biassed. The detestableness of everything relating to the [ 
 depraved creature whom he has made the heroine of his 
 second part — the unspeakable coarseness and vileness of j. 
 the man who is represented as running a long parallel , 
 between her and the virtuous wife whom he has loved and 
 lost — these things we women could not bear or pass over. 
 We have made no outcry, however, but our silent indig- 
 nation has been felt. I thought his criticisms on Byron 
 able, and to a certain degree just, but invidious. Byron's ^ 
 deficiencies, however great, do not prevent his having in j^ 
 some kinds, and in some passages, exhibited merits and J 
 beauties of the first order. Mr. Taylor is, I think, some- 
 what of a heretic in poetical doctrine, inasmuch as he says 
 in company, that he holds Wordsworth for a much greater 
 poet than Milton. 
 
 Twelve years ago I saw at Dr. Holland's a man of three- 
 and-twenty, tall, rather well looking, with an air of talent, 
 promptitude, and moderate self-confidence. He was the i 
 son of a clever gentleman-farmer, and just arrived from 
 Northumberland to seek his fortune in I^ondon, bearing a 
 letter of introduction from excellent Mr. Turner of New- 
 castle, his father's friend. Within three days, Wilmot 
 Horton, then colonial secretary, said to Dr. Holland, 
 ' These lords' sons do no good in our office, I wish you 
 could recommend me a young man who would be willing ^ 
 to work.' The doctor mentioned the young Northumbrian ; 
 he was examined, approved, and immediately installed 
 in a lucrative situation, which he still retains — and this 
 was Henry Taylor. He printed some years ago a tragedy, 
 
TO THE RET. DK. C FANNING. 325 
 
 which had no circulation. He was often at Coleridge's 
 evening parties, and long ago I heard of his provoking 
 some of the company by an invidious eulogium on the 
 'Koran. They were the more angry because he possessed 
 ithe slight advantage in argument, of being the only 
 iperson present who had read the book. I think, or hope, 
 ithat he will yet write things worthy of ungrudging praise ; 
 !and I much approve his manly style, as an antidote to the 
 I sentimental jargon of which we have so much; but he 
 •must cultivate moral refinement, to give pleasure where 
 ,he must wish to please. Above all, he must never again 
 make his hero exclaim, ^ How little flattering is a woman's 
 love ! ' 
 
 Almost two great pages without a word of politics ! 
 Not that they are not the object of interest at present; 
 but what to think ! what to remark or to predict ! In 
 the first place, however, I am not surprised at anything 
 that has happened. I always thought it likely that the 
 tories would make some effort to reinstate themselves in 
 what they have so long regarded as their birthright — the 
 government of the country, with all the advantages, 
 privileges, and emoluments thereunto belonging. Some- 
 thing like treachery on the part of the king was also 
 highly probable, considering the natural antagonism be- 
 tween royalty and whiggism. But in all this / see nothing 
 alarming. With such a House of Commons as the present 
 proves itself to be, in spite of the utmost efforts of the 
 tories, who scrupled nothing of corruption, or intimidation 
 either, to pack it to their minds — reforms we must and 
 shall have, and effectual ones too. It is, I believe, not 
 amiss, that every step of amelioration should be won with 
 I some effort and struggle. Every reform is the more 
 I valued, as well as the better understood, for being the 
 result and reward of long agitation. We might therefore 
 afford to have patience with the reluctance of ministers 
 
326 LETTERS 
 
 to proceed in the road which after all they must travel, 
 were delay the only evil of the case. But I confess I feel 
 hurt at the restoration to power of a party which I 
 regard as essentially that of injustice and abuse — a party 
 which in its best measures must always be open to the 
 reproach of acting inconsistently with its own principles. 
 Surely its reign will not be long. It is hazardous, how- 
 ever, to predict in circumstances unprecedented. A 
 ministry outvoted in the Lower House, and an opposition 
 outvoted in the Upper, is a new dilemma in the history 
 of our mixed constitution. It is the opinion of wise men 
 and friends of religious as well as civil liberty, that great 
 part of all the reaction that there has been against reform 
 has arisen from the rash declarations of certain classes of 
 dissenters against an established church. They egregiously 
 ndscalculated their strength if they supposed that the 
 Church could, yet at least, be outvoted, and the natural 
 result of their vehemence has been that of rousing the 
 clergy to tenfold fierceness against all sectaries and all 
 liberals. There may be some chance, however, that 
 ultimately the sacred order will find itself to have sus- 
 tained irreparable injury, in lay opinion, by the exhibitions 
 of its temper, and its maxims which have thus been drawn 
 forth. I stand by my belief, that no form of religion in 
 this country is extending, if preserving its authority over 
 the minds of men. 
 
 You may be interested to hear that Brougham, like 
 Cicero in his banishment, flies for support under political 
 disappointments to the study of philosophy. He wrote the 
 other day, to an old and respected friend of his and mine, 
 to send him the works of Tucker, the answer printed, but 
 not published, by Milne to Mackintosh's attack on 
 Bentham, and several other books on ethical subjects. 
 Will you charge yourself with my cordial thanks to Dr. 
 Tuckerman for his ordination sermon and his pamphlet, 
 
TO THE KEY. DE. CHANNING. 327 
 
 from which I am glad to learn that his noble experiment 
 proceeds and prospers ? Your charge ' has very much 
 delighted us all. One point, however, I want to discuss 
 with you. It is the opinion given by both you and Dr. 
 T., that, as well with you as in Europe, it is the tendency 
 of modern improvements to increase the distance between 
 the upper and lower classes. Now, with respect to your 
 own country, it seems to stand to reason that it must be 
 so ; because you are beginning, and but beginning, to have 
 a class horn rich, and also because parts of your country 
 are become densely peopled, and of course the wages of 
 labour no longer there bear the same high proportion to 
 the necessaries of life. But I doubt whether there is this 
 tendency in any of the kingdoms of Europe, and here I 
 discern more signs of an opposite one. I grant, indeed, 
 that in some districts over-population, combined with 
 neglect of the wholesome old law that no cottage should 
 be built without a considerable garden attached, has de- 
 pressed the condition of the agricultural labourer, but 
 this effect is partial, and affects only the cultivators. In 
 towns, wages were never, I believe, so high in proportion 
 to the price of the articles of consumption ; and never was 
 education so widely diffused, never were the people so 
 experimentally convinced of the great truth that knowledge 
 is power. On the other hand, several circumstances have 
 combined to bring down our aristocracy. The depressed 
 state of agriculture has shorn down their incomes so low, 
 that to pay the interest of their mortgages is more than 
 most of them know how to compass. The reform bill has 
 deprived them of the great resources in money and pre- 
 ferments, civil and ecclesiastical, which they used to derive 
 from their borough interests, and places and sinecures are 
 much diminished. In the mercantile class it is certain 
 that much fewer great fortunes, and many more moderate 
 ones are made by trade now than some years ago. I 
 
328 LETTERS 
 
 throw out these hints hastily, but you will know how to 
 put them together. I must now conclude. 
 
 Ever yoiirs most truly, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 No. 30. 
 
 London : May 13, 1835. 
 My dear Friend — Mr. Phillips shall not return to you 
 without at least a few lines from me, and I take up the 
 pen in London, and amid many distractions. 
 
 See if I was not riorht ! The tories are out aofain. The 
 will of the king put them in, the will of the House of 
 Commons has nevertheless turned them out. Still our 
 state is not altogether satisfactory ; it is evident that severe 
 and perhaps dangerous party struggles await us. I wanted 
 to tell you — but when I wrote last had little heart to 
 mention politics at all — that I think you simplify too 
 much in your views of our state. It seems that you think 
 we have but two parties, that of reform and that of abuse ; 
 but we have twenty, besides infinite shades of opinion, 
 and there are pure patriots and corrupt and selfish de- 
 signers in all. You will perceive that this must be so, 
 when you consider that now, as in the days of the Stuarts, 
 religion, or at least theology, mingles in the fray, and 
 sects make factions. More to embroil the scene, we have 
 persons who desire reform in the Church and not in the 
 State — the case of numbers of the Evangelicals ; others, 
 ultra-radicals, who in new modelling the State would 
 destroy the Church. The champions of civil liberty are 
 compelled to fraternise with rank Irish papists, who have 
 perhaps for their ultimate object the separation of their 
 country from ours, and the establishment of their own 
 church. These are but a few of the perplexing com- 
 binations of elements naturally discordant which we see 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 329 
 
 ! 
 
 taking place around us. There is much in our moral 
 world to remind one of the old theory of the formation of 
 jthe physical world by a dance of atoms and their fortuitous 
 ''concourse; but as yet we have not risen out of chaos — the 
 order and beauty are all to come. I found the other day 
 in that most original work Tucker's ' Light of Nature,' the 
 startling remark, that few people know what their own 
 I real opinions are ; and I have since felt the truth of it, by 
 I reflecting on the backward and forward talking of almost 
 ! all one's acquaintance — excepting those who have tangible 
 ■ interests involved in questions at issue. One day you 
 find a man a decided reformer, the next day he becomes 
 conservative, then he appears fixed in whiggism — till the 
 next turning of the vane. Now the love of novelty, now 
 the force of old associations, becomes predominant: Hope, 
 Fear, and Memory play their busy part, and fixed 
 principles are found scarcely anywhere. I speak the more 
 feelingly on this head because the case is very much my 
 own. The ultras of all the parties inspire me with re- 
 pugnance, and perhaps fear ; but there is a wide middle 
 space which with me is land debatable, and through which 
 I pick out an uncertain course. In theory I find it im- 
 possible to controvert the principle, that the will of the 
 majority ought to prevail; but when I reflect on the 
 blindness, the ignorance, the gross selfishness of that 
 majority — that headlong multitude — I cannot but wish 
 that it would be content to submit to the guidance of a 
 wise and disinterested few ; but then how are these few to 
 be discovered and invested with power, and how are they 
 to be preserved from being corrupted by it ? 
 
 After all, I believe our people areimprovingin knowledge 
 and in virtue under the discipline of these struggles, and 
 this ought to reconcile our minds to the inevitable evils 
 attending them. 
 , Kead, pray read, Wordsworth's new volume of poems. 
 
330 LETTERS 
 
 You will there see how the dread of innovation has acted- 
 on a mind of no ordinary powers of reflection, not warped:( 
 either by any immediate self-interest, but perhaps we may- 
 say, dominated by poetical associations with old castles, 
 cathedral service, and village steeples. As a poet, I 
 think he rather advances than declines ; for though not a,- 
 few of his new pieces appear to me failures, none of them j 
 have the puerility into which he used so often to fall, and' 
 there are some which I esteem of surpassing excellence. 
 What a treasure of original thouo:hts, and sublime and 
 touching imagery, and exquisite harmonies is his ode 
 ' On the Power of Sound ! ' 
 
 Montgomery has likewise given us a new volume. It 
 has some very striking narrative poems, and many fine 
 stanzas ; but how is his strain marred by his devotedness ! 
 to a monstrous system of religion ! I cannot easily 
 understand how a mind so benevolent as his should have 
 found the peace he says he has under his tremendous 
 belief: but is it not true that there are some secret con- 
 trivances by which the worthy mind escapes from the 
 consequences of shocking theories which it believes itself 
 to admit, and thus secures the serenity which is virtue's 
 right ? Thanks for your sermon on war. I am not suffi- 
 ciently informed of the facts of the case in your dispute |f 
 with the French to be able fully to appreciate the weight 
 of your arguments ; but I trust that, after all, your President 
 will not find it necessary to carry his threats into execution. 
 I believe the genius of civilised nations is becoming less f 
 and less warlike. 
 
 Last night I saw Mr. Hunter, and asked how we could 
 get any answer to your erquiries respecting your family. 
 He said that he thought it very likely Channings were 
 Cannings, and that the only gentle Cannings whom the 
 heralds had been able to discover were seated in Oxford- 
 shire — that Greorge Canning's Irish family was perhaps a 
 
TO THE HEV. DR. CHANNING. 33 1 
 
 Ibranch of it. If the Dorsetshire Channings were people 
 of a certain consequence, some notice of them might be 
 jextant in Hutchins's ' History of Dorsetshire ' — if not, the 
 only course would be to make enquiries of some Cranbourne 
 I person, if the name was still known there. But I think 
 yet I shall be able to find something out by other means. 
 I must here bring my epistle to a conclusion. 
 
 Ever most truly yours, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 No. 31. 
 
 Hampstead: Sept. 13, 1835. 
 
 My dear Friend— Your welcome and long expected 
 letter arrived a few days since, just as I had begun one 
 to enquire what had occasioned so long a suspension of our 
 correspondence. I cannot account for the long delay of 
 mine, unless by the supposition that it must have waited 
 long at Dr. Boott's for an opportunity of sending it. I 
 have certainly written you one since — by Mr. Phillips, 
 surely — which I hope you have received. English and 
 American will, I suppose, in process of time, become 
 distinct languages, at least as to familiar idioms. When I 
 told you that the workmen were preparing a new house for 
 me, you understood that I was building one : an English- 
 man would have understood only that I was changing 
 my house — which was the fact. My present dwelling 
 would be regarded as a venerable relic of antiquity in 
 your country. I dare say it has much more than a century 
 on its head, though it is still strong and in good condition. 
 Thanks to the remission of taxes since the reform bill, and 
 of rates since the amendment of the poor laws, I have 
 now a much better house than formerly for about the 
 same money. Pray do not grudge yourself your healthful 
 exhilarating only luxury. I know how deeply you both 
 
332 LETTERS 
 
 understand and feel the claims of the poor on their more 
 prosperous brethren, the beautiful sermon you last sent 
 me is a striking proof of it ; but depend upon it you are 
 doing more for them, and for the world at large, by 
 keeping yourself in spirits and vigour, than by any amount 
 of money you could bestow in deeds of charity. Not to 
 mention that by giving employment to the industrious, 
 we are often putting money to its most philanthropic use. 
 You lament the fetters placed by custom upon the free 
 energies of virtue, and most assuredly there are those 
 whose own sense of the good and the beautiful would far 
 excel any agency from without, both as motive and 
 restraint. But are not those fitted, as well as * content to 
 dwell in decencies for ever,' — that is, the mass of mankind 
 — the better, do you think, for the habit of submitting to 
 restraint ? If they had more free agency, would they not 
 rather stray into absiudity, or lose themselves in reckless- P 
 ness, than rise to any higher notions of excellence ? But ? 
 in how many different forms are the questions continually f 
 recurring — When to take off the leading strings or ^vhen ^ 
 to remove the fetters ? All the questions of internal policy 
 which have been and are still shaking our state to its : 
 very foundations, may be resolved into these, and even. ! 
 where the restraint is one which has most manifestly 
 originated in nothing but the prevalence of might over 
 right, it is often held a point for grave consideration, how 
 speedily, or how entirely it is wise to take it off. With 
 us there are many who hold that the ' Voluntary Church 
 System,' though best in itself, would not yet be best for 
 the English people. Our tories were loth to allow that 
 dissenters, papists. Irishmen, and negro slaves ought yet 
 to be free from their wholesome restrictions, and the other 
 day our House of Lords decided that a few links of chain 
 ought still to remain around town councils. At the 
 bottom of my heart I have a persuasion that the generous 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 333 
 
 and especially the disinterested are the advocates of the 
 earliest and the most complete emancipation ; and my 
 sympathies go with them ; but then the alarmists and the 
 weighers of expediency come round one with so many 
 plausibilities, that I often, on particular points, become 
 staggered at least, and, if not convinced, I am silenced. 
 
 I With respect to our country, however, I am entirely of 
 opinion that the when is the only question. The popular 
 
 I cause has already gained victories which must lead to 
 further and full success; unless, indeed, the reformers 
 should offend the characteristic moderation and prudence 
 of the nation by some strange ebullitions^ — hardly to be 
 apprehended. The detection of this widely spread con- 
 spiracy to overpower a reformed ministry and liberal 
 House of Commons, on the part of the Orange Association, 
 headed by that disgrace to human nature, the Duke of 
 Cumberland — shared in by many principal tory peers, and 
 diffused widely through every rank in the army— is in 
 every way a fortunate event. Its result must be, I think, 
 to bring upon its knees to the people a faction which 
 might have continued to be very formidable, had it not 
 rendered itself detestable, and by its dark machinations 
 brought itself within the danger of the laws. There can 
 be no doubt that Cumberland's aim was to make himself 
 the head of a party strong enough to place him on the 
 throne, to the exclusion of his niece — a mad design, indeed, 
 unless he believed the whole people to be enamoured of 
 the character of Caligula. He has been driven from the 
 country, never I trust to pollute its soil again, and his 
 principal abettors will not, I suppose, choose to abide the 
 proceedings of the attorney-general. These are strange 
 events, and of absorbing interest to those before whose 
 eyes they pass. You have well traced out to me the cir- 
 cumstances which are exerting the chief influence at 
 present over your national character. No ! with you 
 
334 LETTEES j 
 
 politics cannot now be the ruling interest. Your fathers 
 have won for you the unmolested enjoyment of the 
 greatest inheritance upon earth ; you have now to explore, : 
 improve, and enjoy it. You are destined to the good and ' 
 the ill of a state of unexampled prosperity — unless the slave 
 question be preparing a division of your federal union, i 
 with all the formidable results which would plainly be 
 inevitable. To adjust the balance of moral good and evil 
 in the causes which act largely on the character and{ 
 manners of a nation, is probably a task beyond human ; 
 power. All that the most enlightened philanthropy can • 
 perhaps wisely attempt, is to lean against the prevalent i 
 vices of the time, and cherish its virtues. At all times in : 
 all countries advanced in the arts of life, there must be ' 
 abundant scope for the preacher or the philosopher to cry ^ 
 aloud, ' Be not conformed to the world ; ' be not immersed ii 
 in matter ; forget not the invisible, which alone is real and i 
 permanent ! Long has your voice been heard, and much } 
 longer may it yet be heard, sounding these great warnings f 
 in the ears of men, and impressing on their hearts truths !i 
 of the highest order. For myself, all my exertions are i- 
 confined to the forming of projects, destined very probably t 
 never to be executed. During several months I have found i 
 myself in a state of languor which reminded me of the t 
 knight, in I forget what tale of chivalry, who had drunk t 
 unwittingly of the unnerving fountain, and lay stretched ( 
 upon the grass, lost to all deeds or even thoughts of 
 ' chivalrous emprize,' and unable to lift the spear or 
 sustain the burden of his crested helm. I ascribe this 
 listlessness partly to a very weak state of health aggravated 
 by the unusual heat of the season, which is now happily 
 abated, and partly to the deep impression made upon my 
 spirits by very melancholy circumstances affecting those 
 whom I dearly love. I think I must have mentioned 
 before that Mr. was tried by severe sickness in his 
 
TO THE REY. DR. CHANNINa. 335 
 
 family. He has now two lovely daughters in confirmed 
 Ideclines, and one of them in the very last stage of this 
 ;dreadful and hopeless disease. This last sweet creature, 
 I who has just attained the age of one-and-twenty, has one 
 ,of the noblest, yet softest minds I have known — one of 
 Ithe finest, purest, and least earthly spirits. She long 
 |sufi'ered her father and sisters to believe that she was 
 ignorant of her state : at length she confessed that for 
 months she had been fully aware of its hopelessness, and 
 since that avowal she has at once wrung their hearts with 
 grief, and warmed them with admiration by a bright 
 manifestation of the treasures of her soul. ' In observing 
 the state of her mind,' wrote her father to me, 'I rejoice 
 with trembling ; the question constantly recurring to me 
 — Is it possible this can hold out to the end ? Such firm 
 composui'e — such a calm contemplation of her approaching 
 I departure — such confiding trust in the power and fatherly 
 goodness of God — all this is more than could be anticipated 
 even from her.' In this situation, which has now endured 
 about three months, your writings have been her constant 
 solace and support. Everything I had of yours which she 
 was not before acquainted with, I have sent to her. Her 
 father's last account, too, has this passage: 'She said 
 yesterday she should have liked to be under the observa- 
 tion of Dr. Channing, and speculated upon the nature of 
 the advice he would have pressed upon her, in her present 
 state ; whether he would not have considered her im- 
 patient under her trial — not sufficiently disposed to bear, 
 as well as to do, the will of Grod.' I had written to her, 
 that you were full of cheerful views under a dangerous 
 illness some time since, and she begged I would send her 
 an extract from a letter of yours, describing your feelings. 
 
 This account I could not forbear giving you. Poor will 
 
 be released, in all human probabilty, long before this letter 
 can reach you, or I should have asked some little message 
 
336 LETTERS 
 
 for her ; but perhaps you will give me a few words in ^ 
 your next for the heart-broken father and his other dear 
 sufferer, also of a most angelic sweetness and goodness,^ 
 and quite devoted to the service of the sister still more 
 oppressed with illness than herself. But let me quit this 
 melancholy subject. You have read, or you must read, g 
 ' Mackintosh's Memoirs ' by his son (not the life prefixed 
 to his historic fragment). It will certainly interest you p 
 in many ways, though I think you will agree with me 
 that the impression on the whole is rather a painful one. 
 Mackintosh, with all the ambition of his countrymen, had 
 neither the frugality, nor the steady industry, by means 
 of which a Scotchman usually climbs to fortune or to 
 power. I am inclined also to beheve, that his abilities 
 were overrated, or at least wrongly rated, by himself and 
 many of his friends, especially in the beginning of his 
 career. Hence his life offers the history of little else than ^ 
 abortive attempts and half-executed designs. The wide , 
 range of his reading, the promptness as well as the ac- , 
 curacy of his memory and his power of just and sententious r 
 remark, gave so much power to his conversation — render- ^ 
 ing it in fact so like a clever book — that the hearer in- 
 voluntarily gave him credit for more than he in fact t 
 possessed of the powers of a fine writer ; as a debater in [ 
 parliament' he had no talent, and even his set speeches j 
 were delivered to half-empty benches. His highest efforts, r 
 in whatever line, went just so far as to prove that he was 
 all hut a man of genius. He had attained self-knowledge ^ 
 when he said that his true vocation was that of a professor - 
 in a college ; but to this his ambition and his passion for ; 
 shining in London society, made him disdain to confine 
 himself. Coleridge's ' Table-talk ' is full of strange and i 
 rash opinions. I believe it to be neither an impartial nor »• 
 an intelligent report of his sentiments — and yet a man ^ 
 with his habits might often talk wildly enough : you will [ 
 
j TO THE EEY. DR. CHAINING. 337 
 
 'find the book worth looking through, however. The 
 
 ! second volume improves upon the first, and some of the 
 
 , literary remarks seem to me both fine and just. If I find 
 
 I myself gaining strength, and able to write without great 
 
 , fatigue, I will not neglect your kind request to write often 
 
 ! and fully. 
 
 i I have not yet seen the Ticknors, but am to do so on 
 
 I their return to London next month. 
 
 I Ever believe me, with the greatest truth, 
 
 I Your obliged and affectionate friend, 
 
 ' L. AlKIN. 
 
 No. 32. 
 
 Hampstead: Jan. 17, 1836. 
 
 My dear Friend — I will not wait for your acknowledg- 
 
 I ment of my last letter to write again, knowing by expe- 
 
 I rience how long my letters, committed by Dr. Boott to 
 
 private hands, have often been in reaching you, and more 
 
 than suspecting by your silence respecting them, that two 
 
 or three have never reached you 
 
 In literature, by much the most considerable publication 
 since I wrote last is Joanna Baillie's three volumes of 
 dramas, which you will no doubt see. She tells me that 
 her OAvn favourite is ^Witchcraft,' and I think that it 
 perhaps goes deeper into human nature than any of the 
 rest. But I nevertheless prefer her tragedies in verse, 
 and ' Henriquez,' and still more ' Separation ' charms me. 
 All these new dramas being of the domestic kind, neces- 
 sarily fall short of the majesty of ' Ethel wald' and of 
 ' Constantino,' but I think they have as much or more of 
 pathos than her former ones, and not less of poetry ; and 
 in the arrangement of the plots and other points of 
 dramatic skill, she has improved very considerably. To 
 those who know her well, the value of all she writes is 
 
338 LETTERS 
 
 incalculably increased by its affording so perfect an image \ 
 of lier own pure, benignant, and ingenuous spirit. Her^ 
 character, more, I think, than any I have ever known, ^ 
 deserves to be called a heavenly one ; and when I think of , 
 it in conjunction with her rare genius, I can scarcely help . 
 rea:ardino: her as a beino; of a hio^her order. . 
 
 Never in my life has reading been so constantly, almost r 
 so incessantly, the business of my life. My state of health f 
 confines me very much to th« house ; of society I have [ 
 but little, yet the time very seldom indeed hangs heavy, , 
 for I can always lose myself in a book. My pen is seldom 
 in use ; I am too much cut off from opportunities of in- • 
 forming myself by conversation, too unable to run about 
 in search of documents, to pursue any kind of historical 
 enquiries, and it is but now and then that a subject for a 
 brief essay or dialogue occurs to me. Perhaps indolence r, 
 grows upon me ; it is the natural companion of a mono- 
 tonous and solitary life, in temperaments not irritable 
 and not enthusiastic ; and unless improving health should 
 hereafter enable me, as I am still in hopes it may, to apply 
 the stimulus of change of scene and company, I believe 
 I must be content to allow myself to be numbered with 
 those that U'ere, by all but a few dear friends and relations. 
 You will find me but a dull correspondent I fear — but a 
 very grateful one ever for the pleasure and the benefit of 
 your letters. I will trust mine no more to the preca- 
 riousness of private hands, for I am quite sure that several 
 proofs of my punctuality, if of nothing more valuable, 
 have not reached you. 
 
 You have sometimes been inclined, I think, to reproach 
 us wdth the miserable state of a large portion of om' popu- 
 lation, especially the congregated poor of our cities. I 
 am happy to acquaint you that this great evil is rapidly 
 diminishing. Never were manufactures, arts, and com- 
 merce in such a state of activity amongst us. An extra- 
 
TO THE EEY. DE. CHANNING. 339 
 
 ordinary impulse seems to have been given to everything ; 
 whence derived in the first instance, I know not. Man- 
 chester daily puffs forth fresh volumes of black smoke 
 from more and more huge steam-engines. She invites all 
 agricultural labourers who want work to come to her, and 
 ! sets them down instantly to spin and to weave. Norwich, 
 which I have known from my childhood as the melancholy 
 j seat of decaying manufactures and redundant population, 
 j has not now one able-bodied man on the parish books, 
 ! and twice within six months the doors of her empty jail 
 ' have stood wide open, for forty-eight hours each time. 
 I Our new poor-laws have happily cooperated with this 
 state of things to raise the moral tone amongst the poor, 
 by compelling them to rely more on their own exertions. 
 With the outward prosperity of this class, there can be no 
 doubt that their desire of giving school -learning to their 
 children will go on increasing. The difficulties of estab- 
 lishing a national system of education I believe to be 
 insurmountable in this country of religious divisions, but 
 I think the object is likely to be on the whole better 
 accomplished by the efforts of the labouring classes them- 
 selves, aided by the voluntary exertions of the benevolent 
 and enlightened working on their own plans and within 
 the limits of their respective religious societies. I appre- 
 hend that some kind of parish provision for the wretched 
 poor of Ireland will be established in the coming session 
 of parliament ; but there also religious divisions formidably 
 obstruct almost every plan for the general benefit. There 
 is, and must be in a Protestant government, a reluctance 
 to entrust large funds for the support of the poor to the 
 management of the ignorant, and bigoted, and furious 
 popish priests of Ireland ; yet they are indisputably better 
 acquainted with the necessities of the people than any 
 other persons, and the want of a middle class, consisting 
 of substantial farmers and decent tradesmen, in almost all 
 
 z 2 
 
340 LETTERS 
 
 the agricultural districts, seems to point them out as the 
 only qualified dispensers of parish relief. I like to state 
 to you such facts as these, that you may not underrate 
 the difficulties or the efforts of our statesmen, amongst 
 whom I believe that there is at present much wisdom and 
 a very pure love of the public good. In a new country, or -. 
 under a despotism, a general system may be laid down, ; 
 and carried into effect with little or no modification ; but 
 here, hampered by ancient usages and inveterate pre- 
 judices amongst the people, compelled on all sides to 
 respect vested rights, and yield to powers of resistance in p 
 bodies and in individuals, an administration can do no 
 more than apply partial remedies to inconveniences, and - 
 carry plans and principles into a modified and restricted ■ 
 execution. There is, however, this great compensating . 
 advantage, that no changes can be made by any other ^: 
 power than that of public opinion, deliberately formed and , 
 strongly pronounced ; and that a habit of discussion is thus ,, 
 formed and preserved by which one cannot but hope that . 
 much truth important to human happiness will continue 
 to be elicited ; especially as reasonings on practical ;j 
 questions of government and political economy are here 
 continually made the subject of actual experiment. 
 
 We have all been sympathising with the sufferers in the 
 conflagration at New York — one of the greatest, I should i- 
 think, within memory ; and we have felt for them the more, ^ 
 on account of the spirit and energy with which they have , 
 set themselves to repair their losses by their own exertions, 
 which have been surely admirable, and quite in accordance 
 with your national character. 
 
 Winter is dealing rather severely with us, and I fear 
 with you likewise. I shall be happy to learn that you 
 have not been a sufferer in health by it. 
 
 Pray believe me ever yours most truly, 
 
 L. AiEix. 
 
TO THE KEY. DR. CHAINING. 341 
 
 No. 33. 
 
 Hampstead: June 12, 1836. 
 This is indeed an awakener to my conscience ! A second 
 kind and delightful letter from you, whilst an answer to 
 the first is still lying half-written in my desk, where it has 
 remained untouched, I believe, a full month ! 
 I My only excuse is one which I rejoice that you had not 
 I to plead — an unusual severity and continuance of illness 
 land debility, and perhaps an indolent disinclination to 
 exert the little power which I still possess. But away 
 j with such impediments ; I will make mind victorious for 
 once over body! Your account of Harriet Martineau 
 gives me great pleasure. I rejoice that her remarkable and 
 I fearless sincerity has been rightly appreciated among you ; 
 it sometimes made me fear for her in London, but there 
 also what friends she made she kept. No doubt she will 
 write a book about you, but I entirely agree with you that 
 travellers always see imperfectly, and with a bias. Never- 
 theless, I should like you to look at Von Kaumer's account 
 of us. I believe him to be upright and sincere, and he 
 gave me the idea of an industrious, and zealous, and rather 
 able man of letters. The curious thing is, the coolness 
 with which he takes for granted that Prussia is much 
 further advanced than England in the science of legislation 
 and government, as well as in the arts of music, painting, 
 and sculpture ; and the patronising tone with which he 
 honours us on these matters, doing homage, however, to 
 our surpassing wealth and luxury. It is true that Prussia 
 may boast of a national system of education which imparts 
 the rudiments of several kinds of knowledge, and of 
 singing and playing to all ; and that they have advanced 
 so far as to put all religions on the same footing, not only 
 with regard to civil rights, but to state endowments. Yet 
 
342 LETTEKS 
 
 I believe we shall not be brought to look up to any des- 
 potism, however mildly or prudently administered. ; 
 
 Grermany is a country which now interests me much l 
 more than France, though I am struck with your ideas { 
 respecting the means now at work for her improvement, t 
 and I shall rejoice to see them verified; but to us Grer- I 
 many is of more importance. It is a school in which : 
 numbers of our young men are learning lessons, the results t 
 of which are Hkely, unless I mistake, strongly to influence ■ 
 religious feelings, rather perhaps than religious opinions, 
 amongst us. One of these gentlemen, now about thirty, : 
 poured out his whole heart to me on these subjects the . 
 other day, taking me, I believe, to be the only female 
 relation he had who could understand, or would bear with, [ 
 him. He had returned some years ago from a first visit i 
 to Germany, resolute not to fulfil his destination to the t 
 English church. A second residence has only confirmed - 
 him in his abhorrence of creeds and articles, and admira- 
 tion of the freedom of a G-erman university, where all j 
 varieties of opinion are represented by one professor or ■ 
 another, and the students may attend whichever they 
 please. He seemed to me devout as well as sincere. The 
 cheap and simple life led by the inJmbitants of Munich, 
 where he has also found an agreeable circle of lettered 
 and polished society, delighted him much. He will pro- 
 bably return to it, at least for a season; but, in the 
 meantime, he is connected with a set of young Germanized 
 Englishmen who write in a new British and Foreign 
 Eeview, and are labouring to instil their free opinions 
 into our public. 
 
 Full time it is now that I should thank you for your 
 introduction of your nephew and his family. My illness, 
 indeed, lias prevented my seeing the mother and son more 
 than once, when they paid me too short a visit, and your 
 niece I have not seen, but I was verv much struck and 
 
TO THE REV. DE. CHANNING. 343 
 
 pleased with Mr. Channing. He instantly revived my 
 
 recollection of you, which was in itself a great merit in 
 
 him ; but I can well perceive that he has much besides. 
 
 His manners are such as no teaching could give, they are 
 
 evidently the emanation of a noble and elegant mind. 
 
 I was particularly struck with the candour he evinced 
 
 in all his judgments, and the fine tact manifested in all he 
 
 said and did. I congratulate you with my whole heart 
 
 j on possessing such a relation, and such a friend and asso- 
 
 ! ciate as I am sure he must prove to you. I hope for one 
 
 ^ more glimpse of them before they finally quit London. 
 
 ' Ah ! why will you not come yourself? 
 
 I am all but a prisoner to my house and little garden. 
 I am a miserable walker, and unable to bear without 
 injury the motion of a carriage even for a short drive. I 
 accommodate myself, however, to my circumstances better 
 than I could have anticipated. Whilst I have books 
 always, and the sight of friends sometimes, I find life more 
 than bearable. The only thought which sits heavy on my 
 mind is that of my own inutility. Alas ! what important 
 end of existence do I fulfil ? To whom is it of any real 
 consequence whether or not I continue to fill a place in 
 the world ? I hope only that involuntary uselessness will 
 not be imputed, and that we may say, ' They also serve 
 who only stand and wait.' The thing I find chiefly to be 
 guarded against is indolence, or the habit of filling up time 
 i with trifling occupations which unfit the mind for any 
 I strenuous effort. I own myself guilty this way ; I promise 
 to amend — but how difficult to ifnake motives for exer- 
 tions ! A necessarian would say, impossible. The thought 
 of necessarians brings me back to that system of Hartley 
 which you dielike so much. Surely it must be wrong to 
 trace human character or human actions to any single 
 principle, whether that of association or any other, for we 
 cannot well help observing in ourselves the operation of a 
 
344 LETTEES 
 
 great complication of causes. But yet I suppose you \ 
 would admit that there is not one of our active principles \ 
 which is not strongly influenced by the power of associa- ] 
 tion. How then do you limit its sway? The more I i 
 reflect upon the formation of human character, the more [ 
 impracticable I feel it to reduce the facts to any general » 
 rule. It seems as if the doctrine of association had been : 
 employed by the French philosophers to represent that i 
 chance to which they were willing to ascribe everything. . 
 But the pious Hartley no doubt believed ' All chance 
 direction which we cannot see.' Still I never could un- \ 
 derstand how his system was really compatible with moral 
 responsibility — with the sense of human actions which 
 God himself has surely implanted in our souls. I do not 
 wonder that Mackintosh struggled so hard to find a middle 
 way between two systems which appear each of them false [ 
 and each of them true, according to the side on which \ 
 they are viewed. This is all very crude, I am sensible, but 
 I want to strike a light out of you if I may. 
 
 Pray believe me J 
 
 Ever most truly yours, \ 
 
 L. iViKIN. 
 
 Xo. 34. 
 
 Hampstead: Dee. 10, 1836. [ 
 My dear Friend — Will you, or not, regard it as a pallia- 
 tion of my shameful deficiencies as a correspondent, that 
 I have had in my paper-case for above two months a 
 letter to you half-finished, which I have never found 
 resolution to complete ? The fact was, that I had there 
 entered into some political speculations, the soimdness of 
 which I began to distrust as soon as I saw them on paper. 
 I said to myself, ' Let them wait till I see more of the 
 course of events in Ireland.' And thus they remained till 
 
TO THE BEV. DB. CHANNINO. 345 
 
 1 
 
 ' a few days since, when I finally condemned them. Wiser 
 ' people, and much more skilful politicians than I, have 
 i been as much perplexed to know what to expect, or even 
 I what to wish, for that luckless country. It seems to me 
 I that all the really puzzling questions in public morals, as 
 I in private, arise from having previously gone wrong. The 
 straight line is generally obvious enough to those who 
 have never quitted it, but hard to be distinguished by such 
 i as having deviated, are anxious to return to it by the 
 i nearest way. This is what one feels about the Protestant 
 ' establishment in Ireland. The wrong step was to set it 
 ' up whilst the majority of the people were papists ; but to 
 give to that abominable superstition the triumph of seeing 
 it now at length pulled down again, goes very much 
 against one's feelings, and all one's better hopes for 
 mankind. Still worse would it be to see the reestablish- 
 ment of popery, which seems to be aimed at by O'Connell 
 and his red-hot followers. Meantime, there is unmingied 
 satisfaction in observing the equal justice which is now 
 administered there between men of the two religions, and 
 the means taken to civilise their fierce manners, and to 
 relieve their wants. Should this system be steadily pur- 
 sued for some time longer, it may so mollify angry spirits 
 as to render an equitable adjustment very feasible. 
 
 The warmest wish which my heart now forms for my 
 country is the cessation of the vehement party struggles 
 which have agitated us so long. To say nothing of the 
 interruption of old friendships and of the comfort of general 
 society which they occasion, they occupy many of the 
 ablest heads, and most accomplished characters, to the 
 exclusion of objects of higher, because more extensive and 
 permanent, importance. Literature, as you well know, is 
 in an unsatisfactory state amongst us. By writers it is 
 too much regarded as a mere trade ; by readers as one 
 only of the contrivances for filling up the vacant spaces of 
 
346 LETTERS 
 
 life ; like dancing, singing, or sight-seeing. But we may « 
 live to see a change. I have lately been paying a good t! 
 deal of attention to the literature of the time of William ) 
 and Anne ; and it is cheering to observe what an impulse | 
 was given to it by that revolution which, like the one in 
 which we are now living, was peaceable, and carried in 
 favour of freedom, by appeals to the reason, the best 
 feelings and the true interests of Englishmen. 
 
 Pray read, as I am doing, the ' Literary Eemains ' of 
 Coleridge. In one passage he denounces with such in- 
 dignant scorn those readers who presume to intimate that 
 an author does not understand himself, when it is only 
 that their stupid or ignorant minds are incapable of 
 understanding him, that I certainly dare not intimate any 
 such suspicion regarding him. I will only say that he 
 has very many passages which pass my comprehension : 
 some indeed, which are quite too deep in scholarship for 
 me ; others which I do comprehend, but which seem to 
 me exceedingly absurd ; others, again, which have more 
 of the philosopher, and more of the poet, than we can 
 hope from any one of our living writers with whom I am 
 acquainted. His native proneness to the mystical seems 
 to have received added force from his study of the German 
 philosophy ; but from that deep I often perceive that 
 pearls are dra^\Ti up. I have frequently wished myself a 
 diver in it. I feel, as I know you do, the ' flat, stale, and 
 unprofitable ' of our utilitarianism in everything. It rejoices 
 my spirit when Coleridge launches a thunderbolt at that 
 clay idol of our universities — Paley. As to his assaults 
 upon unitarianism, I do not suppose they will much either 
 irritate or alarm you. He is a perfect enthusiast for the 
 Trinity, and especially for the doctrine of the fall of man. 
 Of the last he says, that it is not only inconceivable to 
 him how it should be true, but that it should be true : 
 but that it is his conscience tells him so. As if a man 
 
TO THE KEY. DR. CHANNI^'G. 347 
 
 should say, I know I am a beggar, and that convinces me 
 
 that my great grandfather must have had a fine estate and 
 
 forfeited it for treason. Next to these grand mysteries, 
 
 he seems to cherish the notion that the genius of Shak- 
 
 speare was actually superhuman; and he approaches an 
 
 i apparently absurd or immoral passage in his writings 
 
 i with full as much awe as a text of scripture — the plenary 
 
 j inspiration of which, by the way, he strenuously denies. 
 
 j Yet his lecture, on English literature, and particularly his 
 
 remarks on Shakspeare, are full of deep thought, exquisite 
 
 discrimination, profound sensibility, and brilliant and 
 
 truly poetical illustration. It is a great pity that, as he 
 
 delivered them almost entirely without notes, we have 
 
 them only in the imperfect memoranda taken down by his 
 
 hearers. They were perfectly dazzling as he delivered 
 
 them. I was so fortunate as to hear two of them, almost 
 
 thirty years ago. 
 
 I have not yet seen Miss Martineau, though several 
 notes have passed between us relative to the memorial of 
 English authors to your legislature concerning coypright. 
 Mr. Farrar says the business would have been more likely 
 to succeed if our government had interposed by its 
 minister, and so I think too ; doubting a little whether 
 Harriet's interest at Washington will prove as powerful as 
 she imagines — but the effort seems at least not likely to 
 injure the cause, which is surely a just one. There will 
 be, I hope, a good deal of curiosity to see our friend's 
 book ; but, unluckily, we have been inundated with books 
 on America, and it will be difficult for her to find unpre- 
 occupied ground. The slavery question is a rock in her 
 way which will require wariness. Our public may think 
 that we have purchased a right not to have our feelings 
 further tortured with details of negro suffering. She 
 will regard herself as addressing, perhaps equally, both 
 sides of the water — for she seems to have left at least half 
 
348 LETTERS 
 
 her heart behind her — and this, I conceive, will make a 
 difficulty. Miss Tuckerman paid me a short visit the 
 other day, and left me desirous of seeing more of her. 
 There is the stamp of something noble upon her, as indeed 
 might be expected of her father's daughter. 
 
 With me time passes — as I believe it never does with 
 you — heavily, languidly. I read and read, but can fix 
 my mind to no pursuit, and my pen is quite idle. It 
 might seem strange to say I am idle because I am alone, 
 and yet I verily believe this to be the case. Under the 
 perpetual misfortune of domestic solitude, I find it im- 
 possible to raise my spirits to the tone necessary for 
 composition ; idleness re-acts on my spirits, and unless I 
 can make to myself, or circumstances should make for 
 me, some kind of stimulus, this unsatisfactory state may 
 continue to the end. Change of scene would be a grand 
 medicine to my mind, but unfortunately travelling dis- 
 agrees exceedingly with my health. ^NTiy do I trouble you 
 with all this ? I believe in excuse for a dull letter, or 
 else from the pardonable wish of gaining a little sympathy. 
 
 Again my letter has suffered an interruption of many 
 days. The melancholy of the last paragraph was, I 
 believe, the gathering of a fit of illness. It is now dis- 
 persed, and I am going to enjoy myself at a friend's house 
 in London, where much good company is to be met. I 
 shall have the opportunity of asking Mr. Hallam when he 
 intends to give us his history of the literature of (I think) 
 the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, which I am im- 
 patient to see. Just now I am reading — what indeed I 
 have often read before, but the changes in our own 
 sentiments often make an old book seem new to us — the 
 great epic of Tasso. I never admired this noble work so 
 much, and I am now wishing to see a critique worthy of 
 it by some modern hand. The division of the poetry of 
 Europe, since the revival of letters, into the classical and 
 
i TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 349 
 
 j the romantic, is, I think, a good one ; but it would be hard 
 I to say which school may best lay claim to Tasso ; their 
 j respective shares seem balanced to a grain, reckoning, that 
 is, by the number of lines which seem to belong to each. 
 j As to the value of the respective parts, the case is very 
 j different. From the ancients, Virgil in particular, he has 
 ; servilely translated many passages and transferred some 
 ■ whole incidents ; what is in the romantic style is full of 
 I life and interest, and, so far as I know, of originality. In 
 I one part he appears only the elegant scholar and versifier ; 
 I in the other, the great poet. Had he not, from melan- 
 choly and distrust of himself, submitted his work to 
 the tyranny and pedantry of classical critics, I cannot but 
 think he would have given us an epic all romantic, 
 and all worthy of his genius, which was not less fertile 
 than graceful. How unaccountable it is that he should 
 everywhere call the Mahomedans pagans, so intimately 
 as Moors and Saracens were then known all over Italy. 
 Did ever religious animosity so mistake the matter as 
 when Italian papists reproached Mussulmans with idolatry ! 
 Ariosto misstates this matter as much as Tasso. I live 
 upon the old masterpieces ; lately I treated myself with 
 the reperusal of ' Don Quixote,' which Coleridge, by the 
 way, has very admirably and eloquently characterised. 
 You are a great optimist ; but will you give me any hopes 
 that we shall ever see greater, or so great, works of genius 
 again produced ? The presiding power of this age is the 
 steam-engine, and what has that to do with anything 
 morally or spiritually great ? 
 
 Pray believe me ever 
 
 Yours, with true regard, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
350 LETTERS 
 
 No. 35. 
 
 Hampstead: Feb. 12, 1837. ? 
 
 My dear Friend— Many thanks both for your kind letter f 
 and for your dedication sermon, in which I found much ^ 
 to interest me, although the general strain of sentiment ^ 
 is, as indeed it could not but be, very similar to what you 
 had before expressed. I was much pleased with your 
 biographical notice at the end of it. Here I reckon 
 myself upon my own ground, and I entirely agree with ^ 
 you that ' no department of literature is so false.' Give 
 us more of these sketches of your old worthies ; this must [ 
 bear to the mind of every reader the stamp of truth and 
 resemblance, and the manner in which its subject dealt ^ 
 with his horrible system was very original and remarkable, 
 and much worth recording. I formerly heard, from the 
 lips of a large and free thinker, this problem : — Suppose 
 that it were necessary, in order to carrying into effect f 
 the system which should produce the greatest amount of 
 good upon the whole to the human race, that a few indi- 
 viduals should endure unrequited misery, such as should \ 
 make existence to them a preponderance of suffering; 
 would you say that it was inconsistent with the justice of 
 Grod to adopt that system ? I could find no other answer 
 than this : — That if it were believed that there was to be 
 even one such victim, as no man could tell that the 
 doomed one might not be himself, it would destroy reliance 
 upon the justness or goodness of Grod in every mind, and I 
 could not believe in an unjust deity. But Dr. Hopkins 
 would have said this was a selfish, wicked view of the 
 subject. Somewhat a similar conclusion, though from 
 very different premises. Mackintosh comes to in one of 
 his speculations, where he seems to say that a man ought 
 to be contented with believing that the race would go on 
 
 t) 
 
TO THE EEY. BIX. CHANNING. 351 
 
 indefinitely advancing in knowledge, virtue, and happi- 
 ness, and discard the weakness of wishing or hoping that 
 his own existence should be continued to be a witness of 
 that advancement. But this is too sublime a height of 
 virtue for me. After all, the origin of evil is the difficulty ; 
 it lies at the bottom of every system, whether of religion 
 or philosophy, and by whom has it ever been solved? 
 You express curiosity respecting our visible church, and 
 want to hear more fully the grounds of my opinion that 
 it is in danger, notwithstanding the stout rally apparently 
 making in its favour. No doubt the sense of danger has 
 called up zealous defenders, and to a small extent a 
 coalition may have taken place between the orthodox, that 
 is the half-Eomish, and the evangelical, that is the half- 
 puritan parties within our establishment. In fact, the 
 ritual superstitions of one sect, and the doctrinal super- 
 stitions of the other, are not so absolutely incompatible 
 but that interest may sometimes reconcile them, and it is 
 from no advancement of human reason upon these points 
 that I augur ill for the ecclesiastical fabric, but from more 
 earthly considerations. 
 
 The spirit of our liturgy, and of our clergy, is basely, 
 slavishly loyal. ' Fear God, and honour the King,' are 
 injunctions which they have always coupled together as 
 equally obligatory and sacred. Now the spirit of this 
 age, as I need not tell you, is anything but this. Hence 
 a wide and deep ill-will among the numerous classes towards 
 the system, and still more towards the men. For proof 
 of this, I cite the success which has attended all late 
 attempts at abridging the exclusive privileges of the es- 
 tablishment. The new registration law, just coming into 
 action, takes from the clergy, and without pecimiary 
 compensation, the monopoly of performing marriages. It 
 likewise adds a universal register of births to the registry 
 alone of baptisms performed by the parochial clergy, and 
 
352 LETTEES 
 
 this too without compensation for probable diminution of 
 baptismal fees. 
 
 The imposition of church rates has been so vigorously 
 opposed by the advocates of the vohuitary system — com- 
 preliending many churchmen, with the whole body of ^ 
 Dissenters — that the ministry must aboHsh them. Tithes [ 
 in England have probably been saved for the present by 
 a commutation ; but High Churchmen, with some reason, 
 regard this as placing the revenues of the church on a less 
 independent and less secure foundation, making them | 
 stipendiaries rather than freeholders. In Ireland the tithe - 
 is certainly at its last gasp. The only claim advanced by 
 Dissenters in which they have been as yet unsuccessful 
 is that of admission to Oxford and Cambridge without a 
 declaration of belonging to the establishment ; but it has 
 been found necessary to grant power of conferring degrees 
 without that condition to an academic body in London, 
 and probably the universities will find it their interest 
 soon to yield. 
 
 Another awkward circumstance for the church is this. 
 The vast increase of our population was natiu-ally judged 
 to require an addition to the number of places of worship. 
 Parliament under the tories, and with many bitter speeches 
 from the opposition, granted large sums for building 
 churches, and by the acti\'ity of zealous persons, especially 
 the Bishop of London, large subscriptions have since been 
 raised for the same purpose. But how to endow the 
 officiating ministers, and provide for current expenses, has 
 become a greater difficulty than raising the edifices. 
 Tithes and other church funds being already appropriated, 
 it was necessary to have recom-se to pew rents, and it ap- 
 pears as if the children of the establishment, accustomed 
 to get their religion gratis, so grudge this payment, that 
 the new churches and chapels mostly turn out failures, 
 and starve their ministers. A person above this sordidness. 
 
TO THE RET. DR. CHANNING. 353 
 
 jbut more attached perhaps to the doctrines than the forms 
 ;or rites of the church, and caring more for the preaching 
 I than the prayer-book, is tempted to say however, ' If I pay, 
 let me at least pay to a chapel, where I may hear a minister 
 I chosen by myself and the rest of the congregation, and 
 not forced upon us by the rector or the bishop.' And 
 thus it seems as if dissent would gain by the very measures 
 I taken to counteract its increase. To call in the voluntary 
 principle in 'part is hazardous for an endowed church. 
 There has also been a little civil war between a commis- 
 sion, chiefly bishops, appointed to attempt some gentle 
 reforms in the church, and the deans and chapters, whom 
 the pious prelates have defrauded of some patronage, and 
 converted to their own benefit. Sydney Smith, that bright 
 wit and independent politician who founded the * Edin- 
 burgh Eeview,' is one of the aggrieved, and has stated 
 their case in a keen pamphlet which unmasks that would- 
 be Laud, the Bishop of London, and which — contrary, I 
 believe, to the author's intentions — gives a handle to the 
 enemies of the hierarchy altogether. These are the signs 
 of the times on which I found my auguries ; but very 
 much of the fate of the church, as well as state, will depend 
 on the event of the renewal of that grand conflict between 
 our two houses of legislature which is now imminently 
 impending. For my own part, I see indeed many dangers, 
 many evils, on both sides of the question ; but I feel my 
 heart beating stronger and stronger towards the cause of 
 the people ; regarding that cause, however, as what would 
 be best promoted by the preservation of our triple form of 
 government, with some modification of the authority of the 
 peers, and especially with the great improvement of the 
 exclusion of the bishops from their house. 
 
 I do not wonder that you regard the kind of religion 
 now prevailing here as little fitted to elevate the mind, 
 and useful only as a restraint. In fact the currency, 
 
 A A 
 
354 LETTERS 
 
 whether stamped with the effigies of prelate or heresiarch, 
 is of base alloy: but our cabinets contain thousands of 
 pure gold medals. The present concern should be to cry 
 down the base coin, afterwards we may raise the standard. 
 You will see my meaning if you will examine an article 
 in the ' Edinburgh Review' on Evangelical preaching. I 
 know not who is the author, but I think him on the righti! 
 track. It would break my heart to believe that superstition 
 and hypocrisy were to hold in perpetual bondage my dear 
 and noble country. They must not — will not — shall not !! 
 Since I began this letter I have had the pleasure of a 
 visit from your friend Mr. Grannett. We seemed acquainted 
 at once, and had a long and animated conversation, partly 
 on the topics of this letter. I am much pleased with him. 
 It is impossible to mistake his sincere devotion to the 
 highest and best objects. I hope we shall return him to 
 you well recruited for future exertions. In literature I 
 have seen nothing lately of much interest, for I have not 
 yet seen Mr. Hallam's new work. There is a life of 
 Goldsmith, prolix, and in every respect meanly written ; 
 the account of his early days, however, is worth reading, as 
 a picture of Irish manners about a century ago. Nothing 
 is more remarkable than the loose notions of property 
 among persons of some education. Those who wanted, 
 however much it was their own fault, asked as a matter 
 of course, and what is more, received as a matter of course, 
 relief from persons whom the same carelessness might 
 reduce to beggary to-morrow. It seems that the descrip- 
 tion in the ' Deserted Village ' of the exemplary clergyman 
 who so freely received all beggars and vagabonds for his 
 guests and companions, was a true draught from Irish 
 life, such as the poet saw it in his own father's house. 
 According to our Irish poor commissioners the same amal- 
 gamation seems still to subsist between the begging and the 
 farming population, and I apprehend it had its root in 
 
TO THE REV. DK. CHANNING. 355 
 
 ll 
 
 the old Brehon law, which gave the property of land to 
 
 Ij the whole Se'pt in common, and merely temporary occu- 
 
 j pation to individuals. One might say that the Irish have 
 
 I never owned anything but land, and in that, or its profits, 
 
 I all have regarded themselves as entitled to some share. 
 
 ' In this there seems to be some natural justice, but how 
 
 I incompatible with civilised English notions. Poor Grold- 
 
 : smith, with his boundless sympathy and good-nature, and 
 
 thus brought up, became in London a constant prey to 
 
 rapacity and imposture, and when brought to distress, he 
 
 I preyed on others by running in debt to them. His habits 
 
 I of life were far from right and correct ; but still he had 
 
 * a spirit finely touched,' he always served virtue with his 
 
 pen, and his delightful works seem no nearer oblivion 
 
 than when they first appeared. I am glad to see him 
 
 brought again before the public. 
 
 I have heard no more since my last writing concerning 
 our Grerman students ; in fact, we are too busy at present 
 with practical matters concerning our church and state 
 to have much leisure for the speculations of philosophy in 
 which the Grermans may freely indulge. I wish we also 
 found ourselves too busy to dip into the infamous and 
 corrupting novels now so prominent a part of the literature 
 of France. You may see that our reviews, under colour 
 of reprehending, are exciting curiosity respecting them, 
 and I fear they are fast gliding into a half secret circu- 
 lation. 
 
 Our whole country has been saddened by a severe epi- 
 demic, under the name of influenza, of which many, chiefly 
 of the aged and the weakly, have died. It is abating now. 
 With me it dealt lightly, and I am now in usual health. 
 
 I rejoice to hear good accounts of your recovered 
 strength. 
 
 Believe me ever truly yours, 
 
 Lucy Aikin. 
 
 AA 2 
 
355 LETTERS 
 
 No. 36. 
 
 Hampstead : April 23, 1837. 
 
 My dear Friend — The very great kindness of your last, ^ 
 which I received lately, impels me to answer it speedily, 
 though I think you will ere now have had one of mine, 
 written in much better spirits than that which so much 
 excited your concern for me. Yes, body is to blame, I 
 believe, whenever my spirits are depressed without any 
 evident cause, for they are usually victorious over all minor 
 miseries, and they, like my health, are now recruited. It 
 appears that thousands liave been attacked, during our 
 long visitation of influenza, with this dejection of mind; 
 that in many cases it has formed the leading symptom of - 
 the epidemic — so mysteriously do mind and body act and ^ 
 react upon each other I This extraordinarily prolonged ^ 
 winter has aggravated all our evils, and we are but just' 
 beginning to feel a milder air breathing upon us. The face ^ 
 of nature is still wintry and dark. Fortunate may those 
 account themselves who, like myself, have not been called 
 to mourn for any very near and dear ; the mortality has 
 been appalling. The weakly, and particularly the aged, 
 have been mown dowa. in heaps. Since the plague of 
 London, so large a proportion of its population has never 
 fallen in a single season. 
 
 Do you enquire what our public is now occupied with ? 
 We have forgotten our epidemic, we have waived politics 
 for a space, and have been supping full with the horrors of 
 a bloody murder. Not that we care so very much for the 
 simple circumstance of a man's killing a woman whom he 
 pretended to be on the point of marrying ; but to have 
 cut ofif her head and limbs afterwards, that is what has 
 shocked us above measure. I believe, however, the gene- 
 ral feeling is in this instance light, and that, even of the 
 persons capable of a cold-blooded mercenary murder, but 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CITANNING. 357 
 
 jfew could bring themselves to attempt such a mode of 
 i disposing of the remains. I should be sorry to see our 
 populace cured of all reverence for the shell which has 
 once contained a human spirit. In this case, the police 
 were obliged to fight hard with the mob, to prevent them 
 from tearing to pieces the murderer, and a woman, his 
 accomplice. 
 
 Are you aware that the humanity of our rabble is one 
 topic of our national boasting. Unlike the French, mobs 
 with us never shed the blood of any whom they regard 
 as their own political enemies. I am not aware that they 
 have massacred since the days of Jack Cade. Then they 
 always take the part of the weaker* A man could scarcely 
 do anything so dangerous as to treat a child with cruelty 
 in the streets of London. Formerly they were unfeeling 
 towards the brute creation ; but owing, I think, to two cir- 
 cumstances — the diffusion of the taste for natural history 
 by Penny Magazines and by the Zoological Grardens, and 
 the enactment of penal laws against cruelty to animals — 
 a great and admirable change has taken place ; insomuch 
 that it is now a protection to cattle to be driven to market 
 through the great thoroughfares of the city. I am in- 
 clined to think that no evil propensity is so generally 
 counteracted by the influence of education as that to 
 cruelty — the vice, peculiarly, of the unthinking and the 
 uncivilised. In this point, at least, the connection between 
 knowledge and virtue is perfectly clear. Would it were 
 equally so in many others. 
 
 A strange thing, good sir, that you should have been 
 preaching here in Hampstead church, fifty yards from my 
 door, without letting me know a word of the matter ! It 
 must have been you no doubt, for I am credibly informed 
 that a stranger delivered in that pulpit, a few Sundays ago, 
 one of Dr. Channing's most admired discourses, changing 
 nothing whatever but the text. Yours is a wide cure 
 seemingly ! This brings me to what you say of the value 
 
358 LETTEES 
 
 of a great idea, which gives ' unity to our inward being.', 
 You have a great right to speak of what you know so well: 
 from happy personal experience. I will add that I regard 
 it as the highest privilege of your profession, when em-c 
 braced from pure motives and strong con\ictions, that it 
 connects by so close a bond the inward and the outward 
 life. It is the single care of the good pastor to put his 
 most intimate thoughts into all his judgments upon the 
 practice of others. From this concentration of his whole 
 being, he derives that mighty power which enables him to!j 
 wield the minds of men almost at his pleasure. No other" 
 class is thus privileged. A physician, for example, may 
 overflow with devout feeling in his closet, but when hei 
 quits it he must take up studies and occupations quite 
 unconnected with religion, which he cannot even intro- « 
 duce into his discourse but at the risk of giving offence, v 
 or of incurring suspicions. He must not take upon him 
 to be weighing the actions and characters of other men in 
 the scales of the sanctuary; if he makes them his owni 
 standard, he cannot very gracefully proclaim that he does 
 so. Hence a kind of complexity in the scheme of life, 
 and especially a separation between inward and outward, 
 unfavourable to ardour and to strong moral eflfects. The 
 same may be said of persons engaged in every other walk 
 of active life; but the contemplative and the Hterary, if » 
 they are willing at least to live almost out of the world, \ 
 may in good measure ennct their own ideaL The ancient \ 
 philosophers appear often to have done so, and they also 
 were able to form schools of disciples, as were Godwin and i 
 Bentham in our own times. But for this, a spirit of dog- 
 matism is requisite, with which many neither are nor 
 would wish to be inspired. Certainly a g^^eat idea is like 
 the faith which could remove mountains, but to think we 
 have found a great, and at the same time a new idea, that 
 is the difficulty. I o^ni I have as much hope of finding 
 
TO THE EEY. DE. CHANGING. 359 
 
 i 
 
 jtlie philosopher's stone. Continual reading, if desultory 
 jand without a definite object, favours indolence, unsettles 
 lopinions, and of course enfeebles the mental and moral 
 J energies. Writing, on the contrary, concentrates the 
 I thoughts and gives strength to convictions. I feel that 
 since I have disused it my mind has become, if I may say 
 so, of a thinner consistency. When by chance I turn to 
 some passages of my James, or Charles, I am apt to say to 
 myself : Surely I was a r}ian when I wi'ote that, who am 
 now a mere old woman. This is lamentable enough. I 
 wish I dare promise to find a remedy ; perhaps I may, 
 j however, for since my health is amended, I feel an appe- 
 ' tite for labour to which I had long been a stranger. 
 
 As to public affairs, we are all at gaze. Must the whigs 
 go out ? Dare the tories come in ? Will the commons 
 pass this bill ? Will the lords throw out that ? These 
 are the questions which everybody asks, and nobody can 
 answer. The king will not let the parliament be dissolved, 
 that seems certain ; and parties are so nearly balanced in 
 the legislature at present, that neither seems able to do 
 more than obstruct the measures of the other. It is like 
 a great stoppage of carriages in the street; the people 
 who sit fretting in their coaches think it will never be 
 over ; but sooner or later some broad-wheeled waggon or 
 brewer's dray will move out of the way, and people will 
 proceed on their various errands as usual. We are waiting 
 for some accident or incident. Meantime all parties are 
 much out of humour, in particular the odium theologicitm 
 is in high venom. 
 
 Poor Lord Melbourne is half distracted whenever a 
 bishop dies, because there is such a difficulty to find whig- 
 parsons out of whom to make a new one — that is, such as 
 are old and seasoned ; plenty may be had made up in 
 haste, on the spur of the occasion, but those are liable to 
 warp by change of seasons. The last who died, Bathurst 
 
360 LETTERS 
 
 of Norwich, still more venerable by his virtues than his I 
 ninety-three years, was a true patriot, a fine scholar, a i 
 finished gentleman, and what might be called the Chris- i 
 tian of every church. Because he believed his own church ; 
 the truest and the best, he was anxious to remove all such \ 
 bulwarks from about her as tests and subscriptions ; he- 
 cause he was a really pious and exemplary man, he dis- 
 dained affected rigour and evangelical sourness. I once 
 heard him deliver a charge to his clergy, which was the 
 best adapted to inspire at once veneration and filial affec- 
 tion that could be conceived, and the gracefulness of com- 
 position and delivery was inimitable. On being introduced 
 to him, I almost wished to beg his blessing. Norwich is 
 one of the poorer sees ; and, highly endowed and highly 
 connected as Bathurst was, he might have insured a speedy 
 translation on the usual terms. But having opposed a 
 tory ministry on an important question he said, on return- 
 ing from the House of Lords, ' I have lost Winchester, but 
 I have satisfied my conscience.' If you look into Lock- 
 hart's ^ Life and Correspondence of Scott,' of which one 
 volume has appeared, and as many more will appear as 
 the public will submit to pay for, you will find an amus- 
 ing fragment of an autobiography, comprising enough of 
 the early years of this extraordinary man to show dis- 
 tinctly the circumstances by which the turn was given to 
 his tastes, sentiments, and pursuits. Much of his sickly 
 childhood was passed at a farm-house, where his chief 
 companions were cattle, and the peasants who tended 
 them. His predominant inclination being to hear stories 
 in order to tell them, he soon made himself master of all 
 the epics of that border country, and hence his heroes are 
 always of the moss-trooping order, and his machinery con- 
 sists of brownies, kelpies, and fairies. Hence, too, his 
 unquenchable animosity against the Southrons. Observe 
 how seldom he draws an Englishman but as a coward or a 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 361 
 
 fool. His vivid fancy, his animal spirits, his good humour 
 and habitual kindliness, and his perfect freedom from 
 affectation, must be liked, and might be envied ; but the 
 furniture of his mind was really made up of trumpery. 
 Elevation of sentiment he had certainly none, and philo- 
 sophy was far from him as the antipodes. Mr. WHiishaw 
 said once, of Bentham, that he was a schoolman born some 
 ages too late ; Scott was a stark moss-trooper in the same 
 predicament, and a Jacobite. 
 
 Since I began this letter I have been making a reviving 
 visit in London, in the midst of kind old friends, liberals, 
 and literati. One tone I find pervading all the men of 
 deep and sound learning in whatever department, and it is 
 what you will not like to hear of. It expresses a full con- 
 viction that the attempt to diffuse knowledge by means of 
 society tracts and mechanics' institutes began in enthu- 
 siasm and proceeds in quackery ; and they deprecate it, 
 not in the spirit of aristocracy, but in the name of good 
 letters, which they see to be sustaining severe injury by 
 the attempt, on every subject, to write down to the dull 
 or ignorant. It used to be said of learning in Scotland, 
 that ' all had a mouthful, and none a full meal,' and it is 
 to be feared that something like this will be the case here ; 
 at least so say the croakers. I hold out the consolation 
 that the multitude will throw down their books when 
 nobody is watching and take up some pastime which suits 
 them better ; and then the old distinction of learned and 
 unlearned will return. But there is a strange tendency to 
 fly from one extreme to another. I perceive that young 
 ladies, fatigued with lectures and languages, have fairly 
 returned to the stupid cross-stitch works of their great 
 grandmothers ; and who knows but they may resume the 
 laudable practices of spelling at random, and writing 
 from corner to corner. My present occupation is reading 
 history ; that of the Eomans occupies me at present. I 
 
362 LETTEES 
 
 have purposes in this course of study, but no formed plan 
 as yet. 
 
 Believe me ever very truly yours, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 The Duke of Sussex desires I will lend him your last 
 sermon. He has been ill, and loves religious reading. 
 
 No. 37. 
 
 Hampstead: Oct. 14, 1837. 
 My dear Friend — Your welcome letter, yesterday re- 
 ceived, contains matters which will not suffer me to leave 
 it a day longer unanswered. Well might you be sorry at 
 the tidings that I sympathised in Miss M.'s ideas of the 
 sphere of woman ; but if she is in the habit of advancing 
 her opinions on no stronger foundations than she has for * 
 this, small must be the proportion of truth in them. The f 
 facts are these. I saw her a few days after her book came * 
 out, when I had only looked in it for half an hour, and ? 
 was even ignorant that she had said anything on the f 
 subjects of marriage and divorce, on which I hold her >! 
 doctrine to be as ignorant, presumptuous, and pernicious 
 as possible. With regard to her notions of the political 
 rights of women, I certainly hold, and it appears to me 
 self-evident that, on the principle that there should never 
 be taxation without representation, women who possess .'- 
 independent property ought to vote ; but this is more the ( 
 American than the English principle. Here it is, or was 
 rather, the doctrine that the elective franchise is a trust 
 given to some for the good of the whole, and on that 
 ground I think the claim of women might be dubious. 
 Yet the reform bill, by affixing the elective franchise only, 
 and in all cases, to the possession of land, or occupancy oi 
 houses of a certain value, tends to suggest the idea that 
 a single woman possessing such property as unrestrictedly 
 
TO THE KEY. DR. CIIAXNING. 363 
 
 as a man, subject to the same taxes, liable even to some 
 burdensome, though eligible to no honourable or profitable, 
 parish offices, ought in equity to have, and might have 
 without harm or danger, a suffrage to give. I vote for 
 guardians of the poor of this parish by merely signing a 
 paper, why might I not vote thus for members of par- 
 liament ? As to the scheme of opening to women profes- 
 sions and trades, now exercised only by men, I am totally 
 against it, for more reasons than I have time to give. 
 
 But there is more. In a very merry little female circle, 
 at the time I mentioned, and I have never seen her since, 
 we hailed Harriet as our champion, between joke and 
 earnest, and she then told us of the scheme of a periodical 
 devoted to the good of the sex, of which she was to be the 
 editor. The chief points she then dwelt upon were, the 
 sufferings of the most unhappy class of women, and the 
 necessity of taking more pains to explain to poor girls at 
 school the snares which encompassed them, and the utter 
 ruin to which one false step exposed them. In this I 
 zealously concurred, ... So far, and only so far, do I 
 agree in any opinions peculiarly hers .... I impute 
 to her no designed misrepresentations, but she is a 
 visionary who, in more senses than one, turns a deaf ear to 
 all objections and remonstrances; takes silence for concur- 
 rence, and imagines that all who show some friendly 
 interest in her must of necessity be her disciples in all the 
 force of the term. I, like you, heed little either the 
 praise or the censure she gives young people ; but indeed, 
 indeed, it is somewhat hard that on her eulogy of American 
 good-temper you should found a charge against us of ill- 
 temper. Poor stupid John Bull has generally been 
 reckoned good-natured at least. But what presumption 
 in any individual to speak of the tempers of a whole 
 nation ! What false judgment do we often form of those 
 of our familiar acquaintances I 
 
364 LETTERS 
 
 I have no doubt your packet would be exceedingly wel- 
 come to his Royal Highness the Duke of Sussex, notwith- 
 standing any republican plainness in the address — I conclude - 
 you do not direct to Mr. Augustus Gruelph. You say you [ 
 do not care enough for our aristocracy to learn their titles, 
 and at this I do not wonder. The history of nobility in f 
 England is, however, a curious subject, on which an essay 
 might be written, and I rather wonder such an one has 
 not been written, capable of throwing much light on our 
 history, and of explaining that attachment to the peerage 
 which now perplexes you. It is because the nobility 
 formed a caste in France, but has never done so in England, 
 that the order is viewed with such opposite feelings in 
 the two countries. In France all the descendants of the 
 noble were noblesse, and enjoyed immunities given to the 
 detriment of the people at large, and which no bourgeois ^ 
 or his children could hope to share. Here the children ; 
 of the highest peer are, all but the eldest, and that after i 
 his father's death, commoners in the eye of the law. They [ 
 enjoy no immunities, and the humblest man in society is 
 not always without a chance of seeing his son a peer, 
 spiritual or temporal. The father of Lord Nelson was an 
 obscure country clerg}Tnan ; the father of Lord Lyndhurst 
 an American painter ; of Bishop Blomfield, a parish-clerk. 
 Lord Ashburton was himself a merchant. And these are 
 the circumstances which attach the middle class to the , 
 lords : they are their own flesh and blood, and even in ] 
 their haughtiness they take a natural kind of pride. To 
 this you must add the respect which an Englishman can 
 scarcely help feeHng for the ancient families, sprung from 
 those barons who wrung: Mag^na Charta from a mean-souled 
 tyrant, and who at many other trying periods of our 
 history bought with their blood our laws, our liberties, 
 and our glory. Think how many lords stood for the 
 people against Charles I Almost all the parliament's first 
 
TO THE KEY. DR. CHANNING. 365 
 
 generals were peers. And it was by a few whig lords that 
 the revolution of 1688 was planned and brought to effect. 
 Long live the principle and practice of religious dissent ! 
 As a mass, zealous churchmen of every rank are tories at 
 heart. The principle of passive obedience, the worship 
 of the powers that be, is almost inextricably interwoven 
 with om' establishment — certainly the most systematically 
 servile in Christendom. Of the present reaction, as far 
 as it exists, several causes may be assigned, of which I 
 take the strenuous efforts of the clergy trembling for 
 many things — their surplice fees among the rest — to be 
 one of the chief. There has certainly been much bribery, 
 and still more intimidation, on the part of the tories, and a 
 very unjust cry raised against ministers on account of the 
 new poor law, in favour of which none of them were more 
 warm or decided than Wellington and Peel. But several 
 of these obstacles to the popular cause are temporary in 
 their nature, none of them absolutely invincible ; and if 
 our young queen should continue her confidence to Lord 
 Melbourne, whom at present she delights to honour, and 
 who has had the wit to surround her with whig ladies of 
 the household, I see not but that the small ministerial 
 majority may suffice to keep the whigs in office. At any 
 rate, I strongly confide that all really useful reforms will 
 sooner or later be carried, even without invading the con- 
 stitution of the House of Lords. The fact is, that the 
 sovereign, if sincerely bent upon it, has always means 
 sufficient, by the application of certain court rewards and 
 punishments, of commanding a majority in the upper 
 house ; and the commons, by their command over the 
 purse, can co7npel the sovereign to use this power in 
 conformity with their will. Thus the result of all is, that 
 a majority of the lower house can always make itself obeyed 
 in the long run. The house, like the nation, is at present 
 nearly equally divided ; but with the spread of light and 
 
366 LETTERS 
 
 knowledge I believe that the party of liberty is also diffus- 
 ing itself — and think what victories it has already achieved. 
 Eash or unj ust measures on either side may temporarily 
 depress, by disgracing, one or the other party, but I do 
 not greatly fear the ultimate event. This great nation 
 ivill have what appears to itself a good government. 
 Indeed, to say the truth, we have not now a bad one, though, 
 like all human institutions, it might be improved. 1 msh 
 I could see the people better. But the crying sin equally 
 of our nation, and of yours, and of all commercial nations 
 the ^auri sacra fames,' goes on augmenting with the 
 growth of trade, of manufactures, of mechanical inven- 
 tions, and even, I fear, with the diffusion of the elements 
 of knowledge. To give men new wants is indeed the way 
 to make them industrious, but it is also the way to make 
 them rapacious, dishonest, gambling speculators, and in 
 public life corrupt. I 
 
 Reverting to what you say of the imputations cast on 
 H. Martineau in your country, I think- it due to her to 
 state, that I have never heard of anything against her 
 personal morality, and large allowances must be made for 
 the hatred wliich she has meritoriously drawn upon herself 
 
 from your slaveowners, and their base abettors 
 
 There are no new books much worth mentioning to you ; 
 indeed this is not the publishing season. I hope Hallam's 
 volume will soon appear. I hear he is now able to employ 
 himself, though still very sorrowful for the loss of a lovely, 
 lovely daughter, who was his worthy pupil and delightful 
 companion. 
 
 Adieu, and believe me 
 
 Ever truly youi-s, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
TO THE EEV. DR. CHANNING. 06 7 
 
 No. 38. 
 
 Hampstead: April 18, 1838. 
 
 Ah, how kind ! You write and thank me for a letter 
 of I know not how old a date, when my conscience has 
 been reproaching me, I know not how long, for leaving 
 your last but one unanswered. But how could I write 
 with any comfort so long as that sad Canada business 
 remained unsettled? Whilst I could not tell whether 
 violent spirits might not even make us /oes— as far as 
 national hostilities could render us so ? Happily, most 
 happily, these fears are all at an end. We have all possible 
 reason to praise and thank your government for its 
 conduct towards us, and it has taken away our common 
 notion, that your central force wanted strength to control 
 the self-will of your borderers. Democracy has done itself 
 great honour by you. For a while, I knew not what to 
 say for it, to myself or to anybody else. 
 
 It is very difficult for our two nations to understand 
 each other, yet I assure you I have long given your people 
 credit for that ' fire under snow ' which some French- 
 woman ascribes to Englishmen, With regard to our 
 boxing -Tnaiches * I have only to say that they are not a 
 popular amusement ; being totally illegal, they are never 
 held in cities, but only in by-places, and are frequented 
 by few except those called, in slang phrase, * the Fancy ' — 
 that is, an assemblage of gamblers, sharpers, ruffians, and 
 profligates of every degree, from the duke to the chimney- 
 sweeper. Eespectable men, even of the lower classes, 
 never need witness them, and seldom do. I think I 
 mentioned mercy to animals as rather a neiv feature of 
 our national character, brought out by laws and education. 
 
 * Since this was written the United States have sent us their Heenan, to 
 meet our Tom Sayers. 
 
368 LETTERS 
 
 The same causes have produced a striking amendment in 
 respect of profane swearing ; I am told that no member 
 of a mechanics' institute ever utters an oath, and even 
 coachmen and cabmen shock the ears less than formerly. I 
 Your rector who said the English whipped their wives, I [ 
 take to have been regardless of truth ; at least, in my whole 
 life, I never either read or heard of one single instance of 
 that infliction ; though of many, alas ! of husbands in- 
 juring, or even killing, their wives by kicks and blows of 
 the fist. In ninety-nine cases out of the hundred, in- 
 toxication — either of the man, the woman, or both — is the 
 occasion of these brutalities. If, or let us say vjlten, we 
 grow more temperate, we shall mend in this point. Our > 
 law does what it can for beaten wives, by binding 
 husbands over, on complaint, to keep the peace; and I ' 
 am told that the merest clo\vn feels deeply the disgrace 
 of this, and seldom offends again. Paddy is a much f 
 more frequent offender, by pugnacity of every kind, than ' 
 cooler John Bull or Sandy. 
 
 No I — born champion of my sex as I may almost call 
 myself — I say deliberately, on good knowledge and careful 
 consideration, that there are only two points in which it 
 seems to me that our laws bear hard on women. The 
 first is, in the want of a stricter hand against the inveiglers 
 of girls for wicked purposes ; the second, in the full power 
 which the father is still allowed to retain over his children 
 when his offences have compelled an innocent wife to 
 obtain a divorce from him. It is surely most monstrous 
 that a woman should be restrained from separating herself, 
 under circumstances of the most aggravated offence, from 
 a brutal and unfaithful husband, by his inhuman threats 
 of never letting her see her children more — of placing her 
 daughters under the very care of his mistress — a menace 
 which I know to have been uttered ! 
 
 On carefully comparing the Code Napoleon with ouis. 
 
TO THE EEV. DK. CHANNING. 369 
 
 I am convinced that we have the advantage of French 
 women. Yet, understand me, not as admitting that we 
 have nothing to complain of. Society wrongs us where 
 the laws do not. The life of a woman is esteemed of less 
 value than that of a man. Juries of men are very re- 
 luctant to punish the slayer of his wife as a murderer. 
 Her testimony is undervalued ; men-juries often discredit 
 her evidence against a worse than murderer. She is 
 wounded by the privileged insolence of masculine discourse. 
 ' Woman and fool,' says spiteful Pope, and dunces echo 
 him. Any feeble-minded man is an •' old woman ; ' fathers 
 cry out to their boys in petticoats not to care what their 
 elder sisters say to them. These and the like insults, 
 when my blood was hotter than now it is, have cost me 
 many a bitten lip. One of our legal exemptions signally 
 offends me. It is that which grants impunity even for 
 felony committed by a wife in presence and under control 
 of her husband. Has a married woman, then, no moral 
 freedom? Must her vow of obedience include even 
 crime? Surely this disgraceful exemption ought now, at 
 least, to be withdrawn, when that immoral vow is no 
 longer an essential of the marriage rite. On the whole, 
 however, I think the present age is more favourable to 
 our sex than any former one. Women are now, with us at 
 least, free of the whole circle of arts and sciences ; they 
 have neither ridicule nor obloquy to encounter in devoting 
 themselves to almost any department of knowledge. All 
 men of merit are forward in cheering them on ; they are 
 more free than ever. Alas ! I speak of women, but you 
 may say I only mean gentlewomen. In truth, I can speak 
 of none else with personal knowledge — the miserable 
 drudges, the beaten and half-famished wives, and a class 
 still more miserable, are never seen, never heard of by 
 me in my tranquil home. I know not whether it ought to 
 humble me — perhaps not, all things considered : but the 
 
 B B 
 
370 LETTERS 
 
 fact is, that I know scarcely more by actual survey of tlie 
 dwellings, the manners, the characters of the most 
 numerous class in England, or even in Hampstead, than 
 of the inhabitants of Pekin. As to the attachment of 
 women to priests, it is curious to observe how little there 
 was of it in England a century ago. Recollect how 
 bitterly Swift complains of their contempt for divines and 
 exclusive preference of beaux and the military. Ladies 
 are, no doubt, much superior now in education, tastes, and 
 manners, to that generation : then they played quadrille ; 
 now they read theology, and attend lectures, and gather 
 pence for missions and bible societies. In this country 
 we are subject to rages, and these things are, or have been, 
 the rage amongst us. But the influence of the clergy over 
 women is so natural that the wonder is to find that it was 
 ever suspended. They seize the female soul both by its 
 strong and its weak sides, its spirituality, its thirst after 
 perfection, its docility, its hopes, its fears, its melancholy, 
 its lively and often ill-regulated imagination, and its 
 general averseness, or incapacity for close reasoning. And 
 this last defect, little is done by modern systems of culture ' 
 to correct. I see numbers of men, and a still greater 
 proportion of women, full of acquirement and accomplish- 
 ment, but mere children in reason — absolutely destitute 
 of the first elements of philosophy, and willing to give up 
 their souls to the guidance of the first who ^vill take the 
 charge. Many times of late it has been a project with 
 me to write something or other respecting us English- 
 women; but alas ! I have lost all energy, and my projects 
 come to nothing. If you were to lay your commands upon 
 me to write you some letters on this subject, perhaps — 
 for think what I have just said of clerical influence over 
 us — and I declare that if any reverend gentleman has 
 power over me, it is you. 
 
 Carlyle does offend my classical taste ; but the worst of it 
 
TO THE EEY. DE. CHANGING. 371 
 
 is that I have been absolutely riveted to his first volume, 
 which I have this minute finished, and that I am hungering 
 for the next. A very extraordinary writer certainly, and 
 though somewhat, I must think, of a jargonist, and too 
 wordy and full of repetition, yet sagacious, if not profound, 
 and wonderfully candid. I think, too, that he shows an 
 exactness and extent of knowledge of his subject which very 
 advantageously distinguishes him from poetical historians 
 in general. I assure you he is not without enthusiastic 
 admirers here ; his lectures on Grerman literature last 
 year were a good deal talked of; and I see he has an- 
 nounced a new course on general literature, which I must 
 enquire about. I am ready to hail almost any striking 
 phenomenon in literature; we have had little but mediocrity 
 lately. Of your two books, ' Miller ' and ' Alison,' no notice 
 whatever has come to my ears. I have just heard that 
 ^ Alison ' is praised in ' Blackwood,' therefore ultra-tory. If 
 they be new works, as I suppose, the first cannot be 
 written by Professor M. of Grlasgow, nor the second by 
 Alison (of Taste), who is now very old and quite infirm ; I 
 believe it is his son. 
 
 Pray read Guizot's ' Histoire de la Civilisation en 
 Europe,' a small book which will give you much matter 
 of thought. 
 
 No, our pattern speakers do not confound h51y and 
 wholly ; to the short vowel in the last word they give a 
 sound between o and u, if you can imagine it. Trent- 
 north, a grand boundary of dialect, the provincials say 
 luoley or ivooley, and in Norfolk they say hullj ; but stick 
 you to wholly if you would pass for a member of your 
 much-respected the English aristocracy. 
 
 I really am totally unable to understand your faith in 
 the coming of a time when all men will be regarded by 
 all as equals. Such a ^time can plainly not come without 
 community of goods, and to that I see no tendency ; nor 
 
 B B 2 
 
372 LETTERS 
 
 can it arrive whilst any division of labour exists. As long i 
 as one man works only with his hands, and another with 
 his head, there will be inequality between them of the 
 least conventional kind ; inequality in knowledge, in the 
 objects of thought, in the estimate of existence, and of all 
 that makes it desirable. Among the rudest savages there j 
 has always been inequality, produced by that nature itself I 
 which gives to one man more strength and more under- 
 standing than another; and all the refinements of social . 
 life open fresh sources of inequality. Even in a herd of I 
 wild cattle there is inequality produced by dififerences of I 
 age, and sex, and size, and what imaginable power or 
 process can ever bring human creatures to a parity ? As 
 little can I see how such a state would be the practical 
 assertion of the preference due to the * inward over the 
 outward,' to ' humanity over its accidents.' Are not many 
 of these sources of inequality really inward? Are not 
 these accidents inseparable from humanity ? The things 
 which elevate man above his fellows are all poivers of one 
 kind or other : wealth is a power, since it can purchase , 
 gratifications and services ; birth is a power, where the ' 
 laws have made it the condition of enjoying privileges or 
 authority : where they have not done so, it speedily sinks 
 into contempt. Grenius is a power; weight of moral 
 character is a power ; beauty is a power ; knowledge is a 
 power. The possessor of any of these goes with his j 
 talent to the market of life, and obtains with it or for it ■ 
 what others think it worth their while to give — some 
 more, some less. Can or ought this to be otherwise? 
 The precious gifts of nature must be valued so long as 
 humanity is what it is; the results of application, of 
 exertion, mental, bodily, cannot cease to bear their price 
 without deadening all the active principles in man. I see, 
 indeed, a tendency in high civilisation to break down in j 
 some deo'ree the ancient barriers between class and class. 
 
TO JME ££T. SiB. CBASSJSiSL 373 
 
 :7 roads to veabdi, to faoR, and to 
 "^tt and Barj* RcfBidds and 
 
 T trailed wtt]idiadameiliber1ijH0mndi 
 
 - thoBR who bave ooOii^ to rol 
 : _____ " lie itaclt The 
 
 - . rtailKfiHeGod;t]ief 
 
 -"^ of llie lav, fairf: aodalfy 
 
 It iKwrfirw^nM 
 
 BO. 
 
 iz^, «rf tarte in If-^r- - 
 
 gIOW( 
 
374 LETTERS 
 
 you have explained wliat I before thought a puzzling 
 phenomenon. I could, if my paper allowed, cavil at your 
 opinions on public amusements ; but another time. ' Texas ' 
 seems to me your greatest effort yet. May success reward 
 the patriotic virtue which inspired it ! 
 
 Ever believe me, my respected friend. 
 Yours most truly, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 No. 39. 
 
 Hampstead : July 16, 1838. 
 My dear Friend — There are two urgent reasons why I 
 must make jNIr. Gannet the bearer of a letter to you ; first, 
 because it is always a pleasure to me to send you a 
 friendly greeting ; and secondly, because I wish, whilst the 
 impression is still fresh, to express the gratification I have 
 felt in his society, and to thank you for the introduction. 
 On his first arrival here, the lamentable state of his 
 health and spirits, obscured, though they could not quite 
 conceal, his admirable talents and qualities ; but they now 
 shine forth, and we all find him an exceedingly interesting 
 companion. Of his powers as a preacher I have not en- 
 abled myself to judge, but I can bear strong testimony to 
 the perfect modesty and simplicity with which he receives 
 tokens of a success which would be sufiicient to turn most 
 heads. Mrs. Joanna BailHe told him truly, that he had 
 been talked of at a time when we had scarcely leisui'e to 
 talk of anyone — so full were all heads with our grand 
 coronation ; and I never saw anything more beautiful than 
 the unaffected modest dignity with which he received the 
 compliment — it would have delighted you to witness. He 
 carries back with him the esteem and good wishes of all 
 whose testimony is worth having, in spite of very indus- 
 
TO THE EEY. DE. CHANNING. 375 
 
 trious efforts to injure liim — I believe you know from 
 what quarter. 
 
 And what have you thought of the fever-fit of loyalty 
 which has seized * universal England,' on occasion of 
 setting the crown on the head of our young queen ? Per- 
 chance you may have viewed it somewhat in the spirit of 
 the laughing philosopher ; but if you had been an eye- 
 witness of what passed, I think you would have sympa- 
 thised in our emotions more deeply than you now believe 
 possible. This young creature has thus far conducted 
 herself most admirably. Her behaviour at her first council 
 was described to me by an excellent judge who was present, 
 as combining the highest degrees both of self-possession 
 and of sensibility compatible each with the other, and such 
 has been the complexion of all her conduct since. Her 
 steadfast adherence to a reforming ministry has been of in- 
 estimable value to the cause of liberality and improve- 
 ment ; her perseverance in the same course is what we 
 have most to wish, and to let her see the popular attach- 
 ment which it has already gained for her seemed the most 
 likely means of securing this great object. The people 
 have to support her against the aristocracy, and I have 
 heard it said, I believe with as much truth as point, that 
 the ministry is kept in place by the queen and the shop- 
 keepers. In the meantime, it seems to me that we are 
 going on well; reforms proceeding slow and sure, and 
 decidedly the tone of at least a large portion of society 
 becoming constantly more liberal, both in religion and 
 politics — the natural effect of the continuance of a whig 
 and low-church administration. I perceive signs also of 
 a revival of literature, which now again is able to hold up 
 its head in the presence of science, by which it was for 
 some time in apparent danger of being totally over- 
 shadowed. In particular it pleases me to perceive that 
 historical literature is cultivated with great activity, for 
 
376 LETTERS 
 
 which there are two obvious causes : a state of public | 
 feeling which allows history to be written freely without 
 incurring persecution either from the government or the 
 mob ; and, with respect to our own country, a great acces- 
 sion of new information from the printing of the public 
 records. 
 
 These favouring circumstances, I think, will enable even 
 me to conquer my long desponding indolence, and attempt 
 a new design. My plan is not yet matured, but it is only 
 entre nous that I give any hint of it ; but I am turning my 
 thoughts towards something like a view of letters and 
 social life in England during the first sixty years of the 
 last century, i. e. the reigns of Anne and the two first 
 Greorges. This will differ from my former works in ex- 
 cluding civil history entirely, for which I could not now 
 undertake the labour of collecting materials, and my chief 
 doubt at present is, how far the work can be rendered 
 sufficiently interesting without it. I must intersperse 
 biography largely ; and I propose entering deeply into the 
 subject of female manners and acquirements. At present 
 I am only collecting materials, but that is no disagreeable 
 or uninteresting part of the business. You may infer 
 from my entertaining so bold a design that my health is 
 stronger than it was, and I expect to find it still further 
 benefited by plunging into business which will alleviate 
 the constant weight upon the spirits of domestic solitude. 
 
 I wonder whether you have ever been a great student 
 of the works of Addison, especially of his periodical 
 papers. It seems to me that justice has not even yet been 
 done, or at least is not done in this generation to his un- 
 rivalled merits. To women he was the greatest of bene- 
 factors. By his arch ridicule and gentle reprehension of 
 their follies, especially of their idleness and their ig-no- 
 rance, he worked a wide reformation. By teaching them 
 to observe the respect of the other sex he enabled them 
 
TO THE EEV. I)R. CHANNING. 377 
 
 to sec are it. No systematic advocate of the rights of 
 I woman, especially none who is herself a woman, will ever, 
 we may safely predict, do them half so much service. I 
 have a good many remarks to make on this topic, which I 
 believe will be new, and I hope may be useful. 
 
 Did I not say to you in my last letter, that a gay 
 young, play-going queen would make a formidable coun- 
 teraction to the progress of the evangelicals ? I will now 
 add that they have been receiving a great injury from the 
 liands of their own adherents — the sons and biogaphers of 
 Mr. Wilberforce. The book is luckily so tiresome as well 
 as so sour and so narrow that it meets with general abuse, 
 in spite of the efforts of the Edinburgh reviewer, a 
 nephew of Mr. Wilberforce. Everybody sticks fast in 
 the perusal, and it has damaged the subject of the book 
 scarcely less than its authors. It is plain that whatever 
 other merits Mr. Wilberforce might have, he was by no 
 means a man of strong understanding ; and the curious 
 disclosure of his practice of wearing pebbles in his shoes 
 by way of penance is little likely to do him honour with the 
 English of the nineteenth century. The life of Hannah 
 More was a much more readable book than this, because she 
 both wrote and received many agreeable letters before her 
 conversion ; but even that made no great noise out of her 
 own set, and I believe did no good to her cause. Our 
 rigorists of the establishment seem now to be swinging 
 towards that kind of high-churchism which is but just to 
 be distinguished from popery; which will do less hai*m, 
 because less likely to be taken up with enthusiasm by the 
 common people than the high Calvinism of the evangeli- 
 cals. The intolerance and the pharisaical arrogance of 
 the two systems is much alike. 
 
 One trait of popular sentiment which I observed in 
 watching the coronation procession may interest you. 
 There was vast applause of the queen, great applause of 
 
378 LETTERS 
 
 her mother and of your friend the Duke of Sussex, and a 
 kind recognition of the other members of the royal family ; 
 there was generous applause of Soult, because we had 
 formerly beaten him, but not the slightest notice of any 
 other foreigner. The ambassadors extraordinary might 
 display as much pomp as they would, and certainly such 
 splendour of equipages had never before been exhibited in 
 the streets of London ; still honest John remained obsti- 
 nately mute, or contented himself with whispering, ' De- 
 pend upon it those coaches are English built, and the 
 horses bought here.' WTience I infer, that national pride 
 was the leading principle in the popular mind ; such part 
 of the show as each man might tell himself he had helped 
 to pay for delighted him ; the rest rather provoked his 
 surliness, and he was little disposed to thank foreign kings 
 for all their civilities. 
 
 I trust your pen is not idle ; you must go on writing, 
 if it were only for the sake of your public here, which 
 becomes a wider one with every new piece you give us. 
 Texas we most of us consider as your best effort. 
 Pray believe me ever 
 
 Yours, with the truest regard, 
 
 L. Alkix. 
 
 No. 40. 
 
 Hampstead: Not. 16, 1838. 
 My dear Friend — You like overflowing letters, you say. 
 and I have no great difficulty in finding materials for 
 such in writing to you ; the worst is, that I grow tired, 
 throw aside the half-filled sheet, and leave it in my 
 writinsr-desk till it is too stale to send. This is what has 
 happened now. I have just condemned a fragment to the 
 flames, and whether this present attempt will have better 
 
TO THE KEY. DR. CHANNING. 379 
 
 success remains to be seen. You enquired if I had read 
 Prescott's ' Ferdinand and Isabella ; ' and hearing much of 
 the work, particularly that so excellent a judge as Lord 
 Holland called it the best history written in English 
 since Gribbon, I was unwilling to write till I had at least 
 seen something of it. I have now finished the first volume 
 and entered upon the second, with very great satisfaction. 
 The spirit and sentiment of the work is admirable ; there 
 is enough of reflection, and not too much ; the narrative 
 is lively and flowing ; and great judgment is shown in the 
 proportions assigned to the various topics on which it 
 treats. It is entertaining, with every mark of strict 
 adherence to truth, and instructive without deep philo- 
 sophy indeed, or sententiousness of remark ; but by means 
 of a pervading spirit of candour, good sense, and liberality, 
 the interest of the subject hurries one on, at first reading 
 too fast, I believe, for the credit of the writer ; and I have 
 little doubt that a second perusal would disclose many 
 fresh merits of detail. As for the style — the diction rather 
 — it is pretty good for an American. ' Civil ! ' cry you ; 
 but like our members of parliament, I disclaim 'any 
 personal application.' In fact, it is not in a style like 
 yours, which neither is, nor ought to be, a colloquial one, 
 that any difference from that of an Englishman can be 
 detected. Neither, indeed, is Mr. Prescott chargeable 
 with using words or phrases peculiar to your country. If 
 it were possible in these days of steamers and railroads to 
 imagine an Englishman possessed of the knowledge and 
 literary talent of this writer, who should never have 
 mingled with the good society of London, he might be 
 expected to compose in the same style, that is to say, 
 provided he had never made a study of his own language. 
 He, Hke Mr. Prescott, might employ the Scotch term 
 ' a border foray ; ' he might call artisans operatives, the 
 slang word of Grlasgow weavers ; he might transplant from 
 
380 LETTERS 
 
 the newspapers, French, military, and other terms, he | 
 might perhaps want the tact to exclude from the style of | 
 history several mere colloquialisms, as well as corrupt uses 1 
 of words which might be enumerated. Considering this f 
 work as one which will attain a permanent station in f 
 English literature, I cannot but regret these blemishes, \ 
 and wish to see them removed in another edition. But I 
 there is a special reason why I mention them to you, f 
 which is this. You tell me you can see no use in our ) 
 aristocracy. This is a use — to establish a standard of taste f 
 and refinement in language as in manners; to rebuke \ 
 pedantry ; to set a mark upon ignorance, provincialism, f 
 and vulgarity; to preserve the native tongue in equal 5 
 purity and vigour. No one without having frequented • 
 those London circles, where lettered men and women of ^ 
 rank associate with lettered men and women without ^ 
 rank, can form a just conception of the grace and beauty ^ 
 of which our language is susceptible in its colloquial ' 
 forms. No one without this advantage can attain finished ■ 
 elegance in any style of composition, except the most 1 
 grave and dignified — that of the pulpit and the schools ; f 
 at least, such attainment is so rare, that when we meet ^ 
 with it, as in the works of that loiu Irishman Groldsmith, • 
 it fills us with surprise as much as admiration. No Scotch- ? 
 man has ever accomplished a perfect English style. Blair ^ 
 and Eobertson escaped faults by rejecting all idiom from '^ 
 their composition ; but at the expense of all originality [' 
 and charm. Hume supplied his want of English idiom ^ 
 and disdain of Scotch, by seizing upon French phrases. 
 Burns, in prose, wrote no language at all ; and Weaker 
 Scott is full of provincialisms and barbarisms, some of ^ 
 which, through his popularity, threaten to naturalise ^ 
 themselves amongst us. Charles Lamb, a Londoner, ^ 
 gained a pure and very racy English by study of our old ^ 
 writers, especially the dramatists, but he acquired at the 
 
TO THE REV. DK. CHANNING. 381 
 
 same time a quaintness which only the best society could 
 have taught him to discard. Dryden, Cowley, and 
 Addison, our three great masters in the middle style of 
 composition, all lived first with scholars, as they were 
 themselves, and afterwards with courtiers, nobles, states- 
 men, great lawyers, and great ladies. A sound classical 
 education, with assiduous study of our best writers, might 
 indeed suffice to forming a pure and correct style, provided 
 their effects were not counteracted by hearing vulgar 
 speech and reading the bad writers of the day ; but in 
 general all people read the current trash more or less, 
 and those who have no access to elegant speakers will 
 scarcely escape the infection derived from coarse ones. 
 An upper class, a metropolis, and a court, can alone pre- 
 serve the language of an extensive empire. Therefore, 
 woe unto you, Americans ! It amuses me to think that 
 I, who have all my life belonged to the democratic party, 
 and have earned the lasting enmity of the admirers of 
 King Charles and his cavaliers, should, with you, take the 
 part of a champion of monarchy and aristocracy. You 
 may place it, if you will, to the account of that spirit 
 which the lords of creation affirm to be so prevalent in 
 our much-libelled sex. But when you profess that ' the 
 reasons for an aristocracy are beyond your comprehension,' 
 I own I wonder a little. Allowing that I may be too 
 much inclined, as Bacon said of James I., ^ to take counsel 
 of times past,' I still must hold that a philosophical 
 thinker ought not to shut his eyes to the large fact that, 
 until the establishment of your states, the whole world, 
 as far as it is known to us by history, had never seen a 
 nation, barbarous or civilised, destitute of some kind of 
 hereditary nobility or aristocracy, excepting those eastern 
 monarchies where all were equal, because all were nothing, 
 beneath the rod of the despot. A counterbalance to the 
 absolute power, whether of a king or a people, has the 
 
382 LETTERS 
 
 most obvious utility, and I offer it for your consideration, 
 whether that very propensity to form associations, which 
 you have found it necessary to rebuke in your own country, 
 is not the consequence of the want of one. In a land 
 where ' the right divine of Tuohs to govern wrong ' is con- 
 secrated as a first principle, how can any sect or any party 
 propose to itself another mode of carrying its points, than 
 persuading or compelling the adherence of a numerical 
 majority? Where the cooperation of king, nobles, and 
 people is required to every public measure, all interests 
 must be consulted; that even of the few must not be | 
 absolutely sacrificed to the many ; reason, justice, fairness, 
 must be allowed their plea ; above all, full liberty of speech 
 is secured. In a despotism, whether of one, of the few, or 
 of the many 'sic volo, sic jubeo,' is sufficient. With 
 regard to our nobility, every impartial person who will 
 study thoroughly the history of its political conduct, must 
 own this : that it gained Magna Charta ; that it opposed 
 effectual resistance to the despotism of the Church and i 
 its head, and the introduction of the slavish maxims of 
 the civil law; that it controlled in many important 
 instances the encroachments of our kings ; that in the 
 great struggle of Charles and his parliament it endea- 
 voured, however vainly, to hold the balance ; that it gave 
 many confessors to the cause of liberty, several distin- 
 guished generals to the people, and that the abolition of 
 its constitutional powers was one of the most guilty acts 
 of the military usurper ; that it gave us our glorious and 
 bloodless revolution, and by its resistance to a Tory House 
 of Commons, Tory squires, and Tory clergy, saved us from 
 the return of the tyrannical and bigoted Stuarts ; that 
 even at the present day, a majority of the high and old 
 aristocracy, which owes not its honours to the trade- 
 pampering policy of Pitt, adheres to Whig principles, 
 though it repudiates Radicalism, that is, the supremacy of 
 
TO THE REY. DK. CHANGING. 383 
 
 the rude and selfish and ignorant many. With such past 
 claims to our gratitude, and in my opinion so much of 
 advantage to be hoped from it for the future, I say to the 
 illustrious order, with all its faults, its errors, sometimes 
 its provoking obstinacy — 'Esto perpetual' Were you 
 more intimately acquainted with the feelings of our people, 
 I believe you would soon renounce the opinion that the 
 existence of the aristocracy endangers property. One 
 proof of the contrary is, that those notable public meetings 
 in which the working men take care to show our optimists 
 how very little their notions have advanced since the days 
 of Jack Cade, all take place in manufacturing towns — 
 the very places in which the aristocracy do not reside and 
 exercise no influence. Even in London, where the in- 
 fluence of the aristocracy is rather that of the class than 
 of individuals, the ultra-Eadicals could make no hand of 
 it; indeed, I believe they are everywhere pining away 
 under the contempt of their superiors and the neglect of 
 the attorney-general. Ignorance is weakness. Ignorant, I 
 believe, the bulk of our spinners and weavers must in 
 the nature of things always remain. In your young 
 and unexhausted country, with land cheap and labour 
 dear, all is different. May you be able to realise the 
 beautiful idea of a nation self-governed with wisdom and 
 justice. With us, the old distinction of governors and 
 governed must still subsist ; but we may indulge the hope 
 that public opinion, which in all classes above the very 
 lowest has made, and is daily making a real progress in 
 light and liberality, will irresistibly urge upon rulers a 
 constant attention to the interests of those who know not 
 what is truly good for themselves. Thus only can we hope 
 to see them preserve that ' national feeling ' which, cheap 
 as you may hold it, Mr. Burke truly entitled ' the cheap 
 defence of nations.' Since beginning this letter I have 
 been proceeding with * Ferdinand and Isabella ' with still 
 
384 LETTEES 
 
 increasing interest and approbation, and I beg that when 
 you write you will give me any particulars you think 
 proper of the author, as I cannot help feeling great desire 
 to know something of his personal history. What think 
 you of our new Oxford set of Laudists or semi-Romanists ? 
 They at least serve as counterbalance to our evangelicals. 
 I must now conclude, having an immediate opportunity i 
 of sending my letter to London. 
 
 Ever truly yours, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 No. 41. } 
 
 Hampstead: March 23, 1839. 
 Months ago did I say to myself, ' My Boston friend will 
 be making enquiries about these Puseyites before long, ^ 
 and I must take care to be provided for him.' At the ^ 
 same time I do not think them of much consequence or ' 
 likely to be so ; and although the sect seems to have its 
 fanatics, it is no new illumination, but mere Laudism — an 
 extreme of high-churchism which cannot prosper without 
 much more countenance from the magistrate than it 
 appears that it has any chance of recei\ing. Dr. Pusey 
 was some time ago the ringleader in a plot for depriving 
 Dr. Hampden of his divinity professorship, on account, or 
 on pretext of an explanation given by him of the doctrine I 
 of the Trinity, which Pusey and his followers called here- 
 tical. But their zeal or malice, having impelled them to 
 go beyond the authority given by the statutes of the 
 university, they were called to order by the government ; 
 and Dr. Hampden, after making a sort of recantation, 
 obtained preferment, although he had openly pleaded for 
 the admission of dissenters to the universities liis worst 
 heresy. As for the origin of the sect, some say Cambridge 
 having had her Simeon, Oxford must have her Pusey. 
 
TO TEE REY. DR. CHANXING. 385 
 
 But the root lies a little deeper than this. Our church, as 
 you know, is a Janus ; ha\TLng one face towards Greneva, 
 the other towards the city upon the Seven Hills. Of the 
 sour Geneva face, as exhibited by the modern evangelicals, 
 our gentlemanly clergy began to grow very sick, and to 
 fancy they should prefer the other, which at least becomes 
 a mitre far better. 
 
 For the purpose of inclining the minds of the people in 
 the same direction, this party have for several years past 
 been publishing panegyrics in reviews and sermons, and 
 panegyrical biographies of our elder divines, with cheap 
 editions of their works ; endeavouring quietly and gradu- 
 ally to bring into fashion again that edging on toward the 
 Eoman creed, that exceeding, almost scriptural tenderness 
 for the divines of the fourth, fifth, and sixth centuries, 
 which distinguishes the Church of England dignitaries 
 from Elizabeth inclusively to our revolution in 1688 from 
 other Protestants ; concerning which edging Coleridge in 
 his latter mind says, ^I scarcely know whether to be 
 pleased or grieved with it.' Yet in an earlier passage of 
 his ' Literary Kemains,' we find him confessing that there 
 was a strange lingering of childish credulity in the divines 
 of the episcopal church down to the time of James II., 
 when the Popish controversy ' made a great clearance.' 
 But this, by the bye. Besides the increased reverence for 
 priesthood by episcopal ordination derived from apostoli- 
 cal succession, and the notion of authority in the church 
 to make orders for externals, and decide questions of faith 
 which the study of these writers was fitted to instil, an 
 important advantage may have been calculated upon in a 
 great controversy. It begins to be clear to all parties, that 
 the doctrine of the Trinity cannot be defended by Scrip- 
 ture, so many of the texts formerly relied upon having 
 yielded under the assaults of modern criticism ; but make 
 Scripture of the fathers of the four first centuries, and 
 
 c c 
 
386 LETTERS 
 
 you have all the authority for it that you can possibly 
 desire. The atonement also might be much strengthened 
 by making an apostle of Augustine ; but tliis perhaps is 
 rather the affair of another party. Now, although this 
 scheme had something plausible, I doubt its solidity. Of 
 all attempts, the least promising is that of restoring things 
 gone by. 7, indeed, believe folly to be immortal, but in- 
 dividual follies certainly live out their day and die. Much 
 as it would redound to the glory and profit of the clergy 
 ' to lift again the crozier,' it cannot be done without the con- 
 currence of the state, without the restoration to the church 
 of coercive powers long since lost, without an authoritative 
 quashing of controversy, without a commanded exterior 
 reverence to things fallen into general contempt ; such, for 
 example, as the keeping of Lent, so scouted in the House 
 of Commons the other day. Therefore, depend upon it, 
 one Pusey will not make a Laudian church. I should not 
 wonder to see a part of the real fanatics of this sect turn 
 Papists ('go the whole hog,' as yovi say) : the others will 
 cool down into proud stiff high -church people — nothing 
 more. The best is, that they thwart the evangelicals, and 
 thus divide the house against itself, for which it will not 
 stand the faster. 
 
 With respect to the bishops who subscribed to the 
 sermons of my venerable friend, a little allowance must- 
 be made for them. Men who are governors in a 
 church with such creeds and such articles, cannot very 
 consistently appear as patrons of Unitarian sermons ; ther 
 Bishop of Durham,* accordingly, had stipulated to have 
 his name suppressed, and might justly be a little vexed atj 
 the breach of this condition ; — the more, as he was bap^; 
 tised and bred among the Unitarians, and has always been 
 of very suspected orthodoxy. The other bisliop I take; 
 to be a timid Liberal. On the whole, I think what youj 
 would call rational religion is silently working its way Idj 
 * Dr. Maltbj, 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 387 
 
 society. It is remarkable that the Unitarian sect, con- 
 fessedly one of the very smallest in the country, has more 
 members of parliament in proportion belonging to it than 
 any other denomination whatever, — a strong presumption, 
 as it appears to me, that many more favour and secretly 
 entertain these opinions than think proper as yet openly 
 to avow them. The orthodox dissenters, who have not a 
 single member, are enraged at this circumstance, and I 
 have no doubt it sets an edge on the polemical zeal of the 
 clergy. An Unitarian has also been made a baronet, one 
 j of the best of men. The present ministry are constantly 
 I upbraided by their opponents as enemies to the church, 
 I and not entirely without reason ; yet they are supported 
 ! by majorities, though small ones. 
 
 Pray observe that it was chiefly as a school of taste that 
 I commended the society in which rank and talent meet. 
 I am sensible that some who frequent it too much, lose 
 that earnestness on which you justly set a much higher 
 moral value. But I see also those who, with manners 
 rendered adroit by the intercourse and example of the 
 great, know how, in more select and private circles, where 
 they meet equals, to maintain excellent opinions on the 
 highest subjects — to maintain them with the more effect, 
 for never losing command of themselves, or a just defer- 
 ence to the claims of others. These indeed are the elite ; 
 as to either commonplace or merely worldly people, they 
 certainly are rendered less displeasing by polished man- 
 ners, and neither more insipid nor more hollow. 
 
 One word more as to aristocracy. In this country it 
 cannot be said to have accomplished its vocation of keep- 
 • ing the peace so long as we have such frightful inequality 
 of property — that is, so long as our population continues 
 (and what should prevent its continuing ?) so excessive in 
 proportion to the means of support. Eight shillings a 
 week is the present pay in many parts of the country of 
 
 c c 2 
 
388 LETTERS 
 
 an agricultural labourer, and hope of ever mending his 
 condition in the common course of things he has none. 
 Dare you trust such a man with a vote ? Political power 
 in such hands would soon conduct us to universal confu- 
 sion. There must be with us strong buttresses to coun- 
 terbalance the thrust which would bring all to ruin. I 
 Malthus, Malthus ! you saw the source of mischief — who ! 
 sees the remedy ? 
 
 I thank you much for your address to the Franklin j 
 society. It has many very valuable remarks and sug- I 
 gestions, but I thought there was some vagueness, for 
 want of more divisions of the subject Ought not 
 moral and intellectual culture to have been considered 
 separately ? In one place you observe that books are not 
 necessary to culture ; in another you eloquently expatiate ■ 
 on their value. Now this I regard as no real inconsis- > 
 tency, but I wanted some distinctions to take away the | 
 appearance of it. You in your country of easy circum- 1 
 stances may look to universal school education ; . here I * 
 neither expect, nor indeed desire, at present to see it 
 attempted. What a mockery to ofifer learning to the [ 
 English labourer at eight shillings a week, or to the Irish 
 peasant with his insufficient quantity of the worst kind of ' 
 potato ! Will the spirit of the age, from which you expect 
 such great things, bring any mitigation to the sufferings ( 
 of our mass ? I fear not much ; but it is still a duty to do all 1 
 that is possible ; and in as much as a government practises 
 rigid economy, promotes legal reforms, and renders justice 
 accessible to the poor by its cheapness, and by a spirit of 
 real impartiality in the ministers of it — in as much as it 
 trims the balance skilfully between the conflicting claims 
 of different classes and interests, it will discharge its 
 highest duties. You will not dispute, I conceive, that 
 these views of political measures involve moral, and if 
 moral, religious considerations of the utmost importance. 
 Therefore you may find even our political events matters 
 
TO THE EEV. DR. CHANNING. 389 
 
 fit for your concern. The more, as it cannot be disputed 
 
 I that, in the main, the Whig is the party of reformation of 
 
 j all kinds, the Tory that of corruption and abuse. 
 
 ; A project of which I am much more in dread than the 
 
 ! attempts of the Laudians, is one of which our busy Bishop 
 
 ' of London * is the head. He has founded a society for 
 
 i the purpose of bringing education under ecclesiastical 
 
 i control. This body are visiting all the London schools ; 
 
 ! they enquire of the masters (I know not whether they yet 
 
 I take cognisance of school-mistresses) whether they will 
 
 j adopt the methods of the society ; especially whether they 
 
 I will engage to teach Church of England catechism, and 
 
 whether they will submit to be examined by the society as 
 
 to their competence in learning. If they consent, they 
 
 are patronised; if not, an opposition school is founded 
 
 close by, and all means are adopted to ruin their business. 
 
 The only comfort is, that this association being maintained 
 
 solely by private subscriptions will perhaps die away by 
 
 degrees for want of funds, and also that it savours too 
 
 much of an inquisition to suit the feelings of the English 
 
 public. The Grerman divines are a thorn in the flesh of 
 
 our university clergy. They dare not pretend to despise 
 
 their learning ; and how to prevent their heresies from 
 
 spreading amongst the students of theology? D(^end 
 
 upon it, the hypocrisy is to the orthodoxy in our church as 
 
 99 to 1 at the least. But can we rejoice in this? I 
 
 cannot, unless it is to lead to some greater good than I 
 
 can conceive. A learned but heretical Cambridge divine 
 
 tells me, ^this generation of us think, the next will 
 
 speakJ 
 
 You cannot, I am sure, complain of this letter for want 
 
 of length. I hope and think it has answered all your 
 
 questions. I have made time to write it, for indeed I am 
 
 I very busily engaged in collecting materials for my ' Addi- 
 
 ; son.' The writing of the work I have not begun, excepting 
 
 j . * Bishop Blomfield. 
 
390 LETTERS 
 
 in detached notes^ therefore I cannot yet judge what kind 
 of figure it will make. I am in pretty good spirits about 
 it, however — chiefly, perhaps, because my bodily health 
 being stronger, my mind is more alert and more inclined 
 to look on the bright side, at least of things depending on 
 myself. I must now bid you farewell. 
 
 Ever yours very sincerely, 
 
 Lucy Aikin. 
 
 No, 42. 
 
 Hampstead : June 19, 1839. 
 My dear Friend— Your very kind letter has just reached 
 me, and I cannot be easy without sitting down imme- 
 diately to thank you for it most cordially, and to give you a 
 few particulars of myself, which I know you will read with 
 some interest. I have indeed been long a very poor feeble 
 creature, and during our long winter and chilly spring 
 (the very opposite of yours, for it has been unusually back- 
 ward) I was almost a complete prisoner : and a solitary 
 one ; for the unhealthy season similarly affected many of 
 my best friends, and kept them from \dsiting me. My 
 spirits were severely tried in consequence. At length 
 ApriP arrived, and I was looking to better times, when I 
 caught, I believe, the influenza, which speedily increased 
 from a feverish cold to an inflammation of the throat and 
 lungs, which brought my life into imminent peril. For my 
 own part, I had not the slightest expectation, nor, I may 
 add, wish of recovery. The love of life, as I may have 
 mentioned to you, has always been feeble in me. Under 
 the influence of sickness and dejection it was at this time 
 quite extinguished, and I was not only calm, but happy, 
 in the prospect of a speedy solution of that mystery of 
 existence which had often weighed heavily indeed upon 
 my spirit. I called to mind all things and persons in- 
 teresting to me, whether near or distant, and did not omit 
 
TO THE RET. DE. CHANNING. 391 
 
 to direct a long message of friendship to be conveyed to 
 you. But the Grreat Disposer had not decreed my imme- 
 diate release. I am still here, speculating and reasoning ; 
 and the affectionate expressions of my friends, joined to 
 the natural influence of returning strength, now dispose 
 me to receive less ungraciously the boon of lengthened life 
 — useless creature as I feel myself to be, or useful only as 
 affording an object to the kind affections of relations and 
 a few frends. I live in my sad domestic solitude and 
 inutility, and I have the grief to see the young and 
 amiable wife of one of my nephews sinking under a mortal 
 disease to leave behind her a heart-broken husband and 
 motherless babe ! Mystery, all mystery ! 
 
 Much have I to say to you, besides returning you my 
 thanks for your two pieces on ' War ' and on ' Slavery.' The 
 last I hold to be the very best work that you have yet 
 given us. I agree with you throughout, or very nearly so, 
 and I much admire the manner in which you have treated 
 the exceedingly delicate topic of the abolitionists. You 
 have dealt out exemplary justice between them and their 
 persecutors. Your commemoration of Darwin's slave gave 
 me a thrill of delight. From the days of my childhood, 
 when I was among the abstainers from sugar till now, that 
 kneeling figure has been the type of his race to my 
 imagination. Let me add, that in this piece your style 
 is more than ever to my taste. It is your true epistolary 
 style, which I may well love best of all. 
 
 The lectui*e on War gives more hold to remark, and 
 perhaps controversy. Yet there is very much in which I 
 cordially concur. The preliminary observations, and more 
 especially the remarks on the causes of the present long- 
 peace, and the summary of those which may again stir up 
 war, the warning of the little reliance to be placed on 
 commerce and prosperity as pacific, on account of the 
 selfish and evil passions engendered by both, appeared to 
 me not only just, but profound, and often original, and 
 
392 LETTEES 
 
 worthy to be widely diffused and deeply pondered. Your 
 discussion, too, of the right in governments to declare war 
 has much powerful argument, and irresistible appeals to 
 the heart and to the conscience. But your exhortations 
 to Christians to submit to martyrdom rather than obey 
 their governments in cases of unjust war, will, I conceive, 
 be a good deal disapproved, both in your pure democracy, 
 where * vox populi ' stands pretty generally, I suppose, for 
 ' vox Dei ; ' and in our mixed constitution, which freely 
 admits of public meetings, petitions to the crown or the 
 legislature, and instructions to representatives. It may 
 be thought, perhaps justly, to tend to anarchy, and thus 
 to war itself — civil war. You take new, and I think 
 strong ground, in holding out a just acknowledgment of 
 the rights of man as the firmest bulwark against war, tha*: 
 thousand-headed monster of wrong ; this idea of the 
 claims of man as such, you derive from the New Testa- 
 ment, which certainly does inculcate that equality among 
 mankind on which rights are based. Yet, on other points, 
 are there not considerable difficulties attending the 
 religious view of the subject? Our old puritans found it 
 hard to reconcile the spirit of Christianity with the armed 
 assertion of civil liberty, and discovered no other means of 
 accomplishing it than by giving more authority to the 
 maxims and examples of the Old Testament than the 
 precepts of the New. In fact, although wars of revenge 
 and ambition are crushed in the germ by the Gospel de- 
 nunciations against the passions themselves, it does so 
 happen that even these are not so directly prohibited as 
 self-defence — as any thought of resistance to tyranny, 
 violence, and wrong, exercised against ourselves. I do not 
 see how any Christian can stop short of quakerism on 
 this point, without allowing himself to regard these non- 
 resisting principles as local or temporary in their intention. 
 You, I suppose, take this view, as you permit self-defence. 
 
TO THE KEY. DR. CHANNING. 393 
 
 But in many cases this is permitting all. Practically, the 
 line dividing offence from defence is very often evanescent. 
 Once allow war not to be utterly unlawful, and we may 
 listen to considerations of state expediency, utility. ' Ne- 
 cessity, the tyrant's plea,' comes in ; and I own I see not 
 on what other ground — certainly not that of justice — you 
 yourself hold it rigJd that your free states should be 
 bound to supply troops to put down slave insurrections in 
 the south. Thus each case of hostilities comes to be 
 discussed on its o^vn merits or demerits, and the applica- 
 bility of the religious scruple comes to be matter of 
 opinion. In the end, the decision is left to the moral 
 feelings or moral principles of men — antagonists how 
 unequal to their passions, prejudices, and interests ! No 
 cause, however, can be more worthy of the zealous efforts 
 of good men than that of peace. Your lecture is emi- 
 nently adapted to awaken conscience and reflection to the 
 enormous guilt of war, and it will be reckoned to you 
 amongst your best services to the interests of human nature. 
 Meantime, let us be thankful that our two governments 
 have shown too much wisdom, whether of the best kind or 
 not, to make enemies of two kindred nations. The Borderers 
 may go on jangling, but there is evidently nothing else 
 to fear. 
 
 You who do not love our utilitarian philosophy, will 
 rejoice, I suppose, to learn that no less men than Messrs. 
 Whewell and Sedgwick are doing their utmost to get the 
 works of Paley put out of the course of reading for Cam- 
 bridge undergraduates ; but I fear this step is not taken in 
 favour of the beautiful mysteries of your Platonists, but of 
 others more gainful to our state-church. Our clergy are 
 desperately active at present, and proportionally mischiev- 
 ous. They will not allow us to have a normal school on 
 terms of anything like fairness to dissenters, and they every- 
 where talk very big of ' the authority committed unto them ' 
 
394 LETTERS 
 
 as the successors of the apostles. I have even heard of 
 attempts amongst them to remind people of a monstrous 
 old law, made against Popish recusants, and still unre- 
 pealed, by which persons are liable .to heavy penalties for 
 not regularly attending their parish church. I apprehend, 
 however, that this applies now only to church people, the 
 toleration act sheltering dissenters. They have * all the 
 plea ' at present ; the press seems as much their own as if 
 they had an inquisition at their command. But let them 
 beware of what is gathering in silence. Men think very 
 freely now and whisper ; presently they will speak out and 
 act, I trust. If you take up a list of new publications, it 
 seems as if nothing scarcely was written or read amongst 
 us except theology, and of the narrowest kind; but so 
 it is, that a person might live in the midst of the best 
 and most literary society for a year together, and never 
 hear the slightest mention of any one new book on these 
 subjects. I know not exactly who are the readers, but I 
 suspect scarcely any laymen of the smallest note. The 
 clergy often write at the bishop or the patron, not the pubhc, 
 and there are a number of women who write theology 
 for little children, which some mammas encourage. The 
 Tory party are in strict alliance with the Church; but 
 I suspect they look more to the increase of their 
 political power through this union than to any objects of 
 a religious nature. You may perhaps have read in our 
 debates, on what pretexts these high allies have defeated, 
 for the present at least, the ministerial project in favour of 
 a normal school, in which the Church would not have 
 been permitted to impose her own dogmas on the children 
 of dissenters ; and I think you will scarcely give such a 
 man as Lord Stanley credit for honest bigotry on the 
 occasion. I suppose that good is to come out of these 
 conflicts between freedom and mental thraldom in the end, 
 but the immediate effect is miserably depressing and 
 
TO THE KEY. DR. CHANNING. 395 
 
 irritating. One can scarcely witness with composure even 
 the temporary success of arrogant priestly claims, sup- 
 ported by fashion, self-interest, or narrow-mindedness. 
 You speak of Luther : have you read a selection from his 
 * Table Talk,' translated into English, which appeared 
 about ten years since ? It is very entertaining, and helps 
 one to understand him. I respect him much. 
 
 Mr. Eogers pointed out a passage in your 'Texas' 
 beginning, ' England is a privileged country,' as one of the 
 finest in our language. 
 
 Have I not given you full measure this time ? and yet 
 I feel as if I had more to say. 
 
 Ever most sincerely yours, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 No. 43. . 
 
 Hampstead: March 2, 1840. 
 You think, my good friend, supposing you have given 
 yourself the trouble of thinking on the subject, that it is 
 an unconscionable length of time since I have written to 
 you — in which you are much mistaken. I wrote you a 
 long letter very lately, and it was safely conveyed to the 
 post ; but by the egregious blundering of the Hampstead 
 post-mistress (I have a great opinion of my sex, and cer- 
 tainly think a woman fit to govern a kingdom^ but defend 
 me from she-governors of post-offices !) — by her egregious 
 blundering in our new postage law my unfortunate epistle 
 got to the dead-letter office, whence it was returned to me, 
 opened, creased, dirty, and unfit to send you. Ah ! you 
 will never know what a loss you had there. Such a letter ! 
 And poor I must be at the trouble to write another. 
 Well, I submit with a good grace to any temporary incon- 
 venience by this new law, which reduces our heavy postage 
 to a single penny from one extremity of our island to 
 
396 LETTEKS 
 
 the other. The moral tendency of the measure seems to 
 me of greater value than j&gures can express. In the 
 humbler classes it restores parents and children, brothers 
 and sisters, to one another, who had grown strangers by 
 long discontinuance of all intercourse; it will give a 
 stronger impetus to national education than all the argu- 
 ments yet advanced, and will' redeem many an hour from 
 idleness or worse, for the usually iimocent, often amiable 
 and useful, employment of letter-writing. In Scotland, 
 where families are often so widely scattered by the impulse 
 of necessity or ambition, which carries their active youth 
 to the farthest ends of the earth, family attachments are 
 nevertheless kept up with remarkable zeal and constancy ; 
 with us, I am sorry to confess that this is not the case, at 
 least in the lower classes. A boy or girl coming to London 
 from a remote county to seek service, seems often to forget 
 entirely the native village and the parent's roof, and with 
 them all the moral restraints imposed by such ties. How 
 stands this case, I should like to hear, with your New 
 Englanders who rush into the wilds of the far TFes^? 
 With them communication must often be difficult and 
 tedious. 
 
 You expressed to me in your last an anxiety lest our 
 clergy should be permitted to exert the control over 
 national education which they have ventured to claim by 
 right of their office. Never fear ; it will not be submitted 
 to. Notwithstanding the bluster of the Church party, 
 nothing would so much surprise me as to see the establish- 
 ment winning, or winning back, a single inch of ground. 
 That spirit of power, the genius of the nineteenth century, 
 says 1^0. I daily more and more perceive the sagacity of 
 those who applied to the epoch of the passing of the 
 Eeform Bill Talleyrand's expression, ' Le commencement 
 de la fin.' We have been striding on towards essential 
 democracy and religious equality ever since ; and nothing 
 
TO THE EEV. DK. CEANNING. 397 
 
 seems to me capable of arresting this progress, unless some 
 such absurd and furious movements of a chartist mob as 
 might cause in the better classes the reaction of alarm. 
 
 o 
 
 In spite of my aristocratic letter — written when I, too, 
 was suffering something of a reaction from deep disgust at 
 the interference of your border states in behalf of our 
 Canada rebels, and their insolent and ignorant defiance of 
 the laws of nations — in spite of feelings which the better 
 liahaviour of your executive has since mitigated — I view our 
 domestic state with hope, and much though not unmingled 
 satisfaction. The pacification of Ireland is a moral triumph 
 which warms my heart with admiration, reverence, and 
 gratitude towards the true statesmen who have com- 
 passed it; and after this achievement I know not what 
 task of reformation can be found too difficult. 
 
 No ; we will not quarrel for a petty boundary question 
 — -it is not to be thought of. ' What is that between me 
 and thee ? ' May our rulers on both sides treat it as friend 
 with friend, brother with brother. Believe me the tie is 
 felt on our side as strongly as it well can be on yours. By 
 all the liberal party, at least, it is strongly felt ; and I 
 cannot but regard it as the most favourable of all circum- 
 stances that this question should fall to be decided under 
 a Whig ministry on our side. 
 
 You have, I hope, found time to read Professor Smyth's 
 ' Lectures on Modern History,' and if you have, I feel sure 
 of your finding in them much to approve and admire. The 
 writer, a young and lively man of seventy-six, is an old and 
 dear friend of mine ; he is also an admirer of yours, and he 
 was just sending me a copy of his work to send to you 
 when he learned that Mr. Eathbonq had anticipated him : 
 but I said I would let you know his intentions. The 
 merit of the counsels of peace, of tolerance, of mild go- 
 vernment with which they abound can only be appreciated 
 by recollecting that these lectures were delivered by a 
 
398 LETTERS 
 
 Regius professor to the sons for the most part of aristocratic^ 
 tory, and cliurchly families, in those evil days when 
 Cambridge had nearly lost all memory of her former 
 honourable distinction as the whig university. The ruling 
 powers always regarded them with jealousy, and, as far as 
 they decently could, discouraged the young men from 
 attending them. They found however, large, and atten- 
 tive and gratified audiences. The style appears to me a 
 model for the purpose — lively, easy, extremely colloquial, 
 but rising to eloquence and brilliancy where the subject 
 prompts; and there is over all that charm of perfect 
 sincerity and simplicity of heart, which I think must 
 be felt even by those who know not how much it is the 
 characteristic of the man. You will own that he has done 
 thorough justice to the merits of all parties in your War 
 of Independence, and that he knows how to estimate 
 Washington. 
 
 It warmed and cheered my heart to read your confes- 
 sions of happiness ; few have such to make. For myself, 
 I think life has become dearer to me since I was last in 
 danger of losing it ; and this, strange to tell, in the face 
 of a grievous anxiety, which is even now preying upon my 
 heart. The health of my brother Charles, than whom I 
 have no nearer and no dearer object of affection in the world, 
 has long been in a very precarious state. His sufferings at 
 this very time are exceedingly severe — and I tremble to think 
 what may be the result. So dearly do I love him — so much 
 has his life-long affection become a part of my very self — 
 that I can think of one circumstance only which could 
 render it tolerable to me to live after him — the prospect 
 of being in some manner useful to his dear children. 
 
 Your friends the Farrars are just at present my neigh- 
 bours. I fear he is still a great sufferer by sleeplessness, 
 and the train of miserable ideas which attend it. A severe 
 trial for his excellent wife, but in which there is no fear of 
 
TO THE RET. DR. CHANNINa. 399 
 
 her failing. I was glad to see her look in bodily health 
 and vigour. 
 
 I am not now in spirits to add more. 
 
 Yours truly, ever, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
 No. 44. 
 
 Hampstead : May 16, 1840. 
 
 My dear Friend — Accept my cordial thanks for your 
 two new pieces, both of which I have read with deep in- 
 terest and high approbation. That on the ' Elevation of 
 the Working Classes' embodies much that I have often 
 felt and thought, without being able to bring it out ; in 
 fact, it applies to all classes ; and when I have seen, as I 
 often have, families of young persons, diligent, docile, will- 
 ing and able to acquire rudiments of many sciences, many 
 languages, considerably skilled in various accomplishments, 
 but without one original thought, one lofty sentiment, 
 I have murmured to myself in sorrow — to what avail ? 
 Hannah More had the merit of raising her voice against 
 mere ' finger accomplishments,' in female education ; and 
 I regard her as the setter of the fashion of domiciliary 
 visits of ladies to the poor — a fashion which can only be 
 followed to advantage by such among them as are capable 
 of elevating the minds, not merely administering to 
 the desire of temporal goods, in those with whom they 
 converse. The kind of elevation you describe is cer- 
 tainly very rare at present, and perhaps will always be 
 so, but it is nevertheless the point to be aimed at, and I 
 rejoice that you have taken up the cause. 
 
 I was much struck and touched with your sermon, and 
 I agree very much with your views on the great and dark 
 question of the origin of evil ; but there is one passage in 
 which, as I feel it a duty to inform you, you have laid 
 
400 LETTERS 
 
 yourself open to severe, and, I fear I must say, just cen- 
 sure. ' They never can be fair,' exclaimed a candid and 
 excellent friend of mine, and your great admirer in 
 general, on finishing your sermon — 'They never can be 
 fair, these divines — not even Dr. Channing. Here is a 
 passage which is an absolute slander — an aspersion which 
 he had no right to make, and which is not true ; ' and he 
 read the passage : ' Such scepticism is a moral disease, the 
 growth of some open or lurking depravity.' * ^yhat busi- 
 ness,' he continued, ' has any one to impute such motives ? 
 WTiat has the view which a mind takes of arguments on a 
 difficult subject to do with depravity ? The spirit of this 
 judgment is precisely the same with that of a Catholic 
 priest, who says ' you must be very wicked if you do not 
 believe transubstantiation.' I sat petrified with amaze- 
 ment at this burst of indignation, and I endeavoured to 
 mitigate my friend — one of the mildest of men on common 
 occasions ; but it was to no purpose. I could only plead that 
 the offensive passage had probably escaped you by inad- 
 vertence. * But,' I said, ' I will mention it to him, and we 
 shall hear what he says.' ' Pray do,' exclaimed my friend : 
 * he ought to be told of it.' I have now kept my word. 
 I own that, for my own part, I cannot comprehend a 
 doubt of the goodness of the Deity. We all feel that He 
 has bestowed on us much intentional good : to believe that 
 He has also inflicted upon us designed, that is, 'purposeless, 
 evil, would be to conceive of him as a being weak, incon- 
 sistent, infirm of purpose, more than any wise and good man 
 — an idea at which reason revolts. At the same time, all 
 that I have known of the characters of men who speculate 
 freely, boldly, and, of course, sometimes absurdly, on these 
 abstruse questions, convinces me that moral character 
 stands quite apart from theories of this nature. If divines 
 were admitted to know the real sentiments of men of cul- 
 tivated and reflecting minds on religious topics, they would 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 401 
 
 often be surprised, and even shocked, to find how many, 
 and what kind of persons, they stab in the dark. By general 
 reflections of this nature — they might even be alarmed at 
 the deep, silent hatred of their whole order, which these 
 insults cause to rankle in the bosoms of a class possessed 
 of so much real, though usually latent power. This par- 
 ticular doubt of the goodness of Providence I have often 
 heard discussed among wise and excellent men ; and the 
 conclusion has usually been that, perfect wisdom and 
 goodness, combined with that absolutely unlimited power 
 for which divines contend, are inconsistent with the evil 
 which we see in the world — that you must limit one, 
 at least, of the attributes ; and that power was, on the 
 whole, that which seemed most susceptible of such limita- 
 tion. To me, neither this nor any other solution of the 
 problem appears entirely satisfactory. I believe it to be 
 one which we have not at present the means of solving ; 
 but I believe that it will be solved, so as entirely to ' vin- 
 dicate the ways of Grod to man.' At the same time, I 
 know those who take a darker view of the subject, to 
 whom you, if you knew them, would be as far as anyone 
 from imputing depravity, however secret. 
 
 Enough, however, of this. You will, I know, rejoice 
 with me, that the anxiety respecting the health of my 
 brother Charles, which tormented me when I last wrote, 
 has now subsided. He is now very nearly restored to 
 health, and I have great pleasure in knowing that his fre- 
 quent visits to me at Hampstead have been a principal 
 means of his recovery. The breezes of this fresh hill-top 
 are often the best of cordials to the dwellers in our over 
 grown metropolis. This great and busy hive is at present 
 in its busiest and fullest season — in full hum — but I 
 know not that there is any great object of general atten- 
 tion much deserving your notice. One book, indeed, there 
 is, which would interest you by the character of the 
 
 D D 
 
402 LETTERS 
 
 writer, although many of the topics treated in it are pro- 
 bably too exclusively English for you to enter into. This 
 is the ' Life of Sir Samuel Eomilly,' published by his sons, 
 and composed of his own diaries and letters. A more pure 
 and perfectly disinterested public character has never been 
 recorded ; in these qualities he might be compared with 
 your own Washington. No man in memory had so much 
 personal weight in the House of Commons; and it was 
 this alone which enabled him, in those bad times, when 
 the very name of reform was hooted down by a corrupt 
 administration and its sycophants, to force upon the legis- 
 lature some of those mitigations of our sanguinary penal 
 code, which opened the way for the extensive improve- 
 ments which have since been demanded by public opinion, 
 and carried through by our best and ablest statesmen. In 
 many other causes, also, he stood forth, the undaunted, 
 and also the skilful, champion of humanity, justice, and 
 souncj/policy. His private life was that of the most vir- 
 tuous, tender, and amiable of men. If the book comes 
 into your hands, read at least his own brief memoir of 
 his early days. You will find it one of the most beautiful 
 pieces of autobiography imaginable. It is remarkable that 
 poetry should have been his first love, the object of his 
 earliest aspirations — a grand confirmation of what I have 
 always suspected ; that the heights of virtue will scarcely 
 be reached but by those who behold them clothed in 
 'hues unbounded of the sun ' — hues lent them by a warm 
 and bright imagination ! 
 
 The Puseyites, or Newmaniacs, as I believe they are 
 more generally called, are certainly making progress. We 
 have clergy who refuse to dine out on Wednesdays and 
 Fridays, being the fasts ordained by the English Church. 
 The other day a curate published a manifesto against a 
 Bible Society, headed by two clergymen, for presuming to 
 meet and to distribute the Scriptures in his parish. He 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 403 
 
 declares it to be heresy for anyone to give away bibles, 
 excepting the person deputed by tlie bishop to do so — 
 namely, the officiating parish priest. A bold step towards 
 Popery ! What is far more extraordinary, there are two 
 laymen, members of the House of Commons, who think 
 fit to scourge themselves! It is in vain to talk of the 
 illumination of the age — at all times there have been, and 
 I believe at all times there will be, horn fanatics, whose 
 destiny is to make, if they do not find, absurdities to be- 
 lieve and to propagate. I see no more probability that 
 this distortion of understanding should become obsolete 
 than that squinting eyes or hump-backs should cease to 
 be found. At the same time, I think that this exagge- 
 rated notion of Church power is less likely than any form 
 of superstition, to find favour in the sight of the English 
 people at large. There is a constant and natural hostility 
 between High Churchism, and Whig, still more radical, 
 principles in government. Under our present liberal ad- 
 ministration, nothing is done by the state to strengthen 
 the hands of the Church. The chief justice has just pro- 
 nounced an important decision (that parish vestries cannot 
 by law be compelled to vote money for church-rates), which 
 is likely ultimately to liberate dissenters from this unjust 
 burden ; and which strikes also at the pride and assump- 
 tion of the establishment a blow which will be deeply felt. 
 And so the French have set their hearts on having 
 back the relics of their Emperor from his prison-isle, 
 that they may make them the object of a grand show and 
 ceremony. It was right, I think, in our government to 
 grant the request, since they regard it as an obliga- 
 tion, but I think it a. mournful sign of the temper and 
 spirit of that people. Military glory, it seems, is still 
 their idol. To their restless temper, peace is insipid, 
 freedom is indifferent, they must have excitement, and 
 that nothing can yield so largely as war. I tremble for 
 
 D D 2 
 
404 LETTERS 
 
 the results. To their king, this worship of the memory 
 of Bonaparte must be exceedingly offensive. Nothinor, 
 certainly, but fear of the consequences of refusal, can have 
 induced him to concur in their wish, and the same fear 
 may soon compel him to seize some pretext for going to 
 war with one or other of his neighbours ; and so the flame 
 would be rekindled throughout Europe. Horrible antici- 
 pation I The mind cannot entertain it without shudder- 
 iDg. What, alas ! in such a case, would become of all our 
 hopes for the improvement of man and his destiny ! 
 
 Our rumours of war seem blowing over. The King of 
 Naples is wise enough to submit. We shall settle our 
 dispute amicably with you. China, indeed, we shall 
 apparently be obliged to take some hostile measures with 
 — but we still hope matters may soon admit of arrange- 
 ment. 
 
 At home, I think we are going on well in almost all respects. 
 The Tories seem further from power than ever, and many 
 quiet reforms, which do much unostentatious good, are in 
 progress. I know of nothing in our political state to 
 excite apprehension, except it be the perpetual turbulence 
 and restlessness of O'Connell, urging on his countrymen 
 to arrogant claims and absurd enterprises, and the violence 
 and folly of our own radicals. These absurd people may 
 go on to produce some reaction in favour of toryism — but 
 that is all, I think, that is to be feared. Even with these 
 men, I hope that a wise and liberal government will 
 know how to deal. 
 
 Believe me ever 
 
 Yours, with true regard, 
 
 L. AlKIN. 
 
TO THE REV. DE. CHANNING. 405 
 
 No. 45. 
 
 Hampstead: Oct. 11, 1840. 
 
 My dear Friend — Your last letter was very peculiarly 
 welcome to me on many accounts. I felt that in giving 
 you the ' ipsissinia verba ' of my vehement friend^ I had 
 put your forbearance to a severe trial ; but it has stood it, as 
 I thought it would, nobly ; and my friend begs to apologise 
 for the word ' slander,' and is quite satisfied that he was more 
 slanderous in imputing to you a priestly spirit. In short, 
 your candour has quite turned his heart, and it is a heart 
 worth turning. You are quite right in saying that my 
 language on the subject was ' too cold ' and measured ; 
 it was indeed purposely kept down, for I wished to see the 
 argument taken up by you alone, and was only desirous 
 to show that I was not one of those touched by your 
 censure. In fact, the goodness of Grod is what I have 
 never doubted, amid all my doubts, more than just enough 
 to make me look into the proofs. I believe, rather I feel 
 it, just as I feel my own existence; I have, like you, a 
 difficulty in conceiving the horror and the absurdity of an 
 opposite opinion ; and far rather would I endure any pos- 
 sible earthly misery, than lose my trust in Him who is alL 
 Could there ever have been a good man without a Maker 
 of man infinitely superior in goodness ? One of Hume's 
 Essays, in which he affirms that we might infer from the 
 world around us, an intelligent, but not a moral cause, 
 struck me, on re-reading it a few years since, as so utterly 
 illogical, so truly absurd, that I could only account for it, 
 from a writer of his acuteness, by supposing that he thought 
 it prudent to throw this cloak over his atheism. Yet 
 it is, indeed, worse than atheism — as bad as ultra-Cal- 
 vinism. You ask if Carlyle makes any progress amongst 
 us. Not with the thoroughly-read or the thorough thinkers. 
 
406 LETTERS 
 
 the intellectual leaders of society; but he finds audiences, and 
 some readers and admirers (I can scarcely say disciples, for 
 I believe nobody pretends to make out his system), amongst 
 the half-read and half-thinkers. You will not admit, 
 with me, that some men are born fanatics, but perhaps 
 you will allow to Coleridge that some are born Platonists, 
 and others Aristotelians— in other words, that some minds 
 have a bent towards the mystical, others towards the ex- 
 perimental, in philosophy — that this difference is innate, 
 and is ever reproducing itself under different shapes and 
 names. In this country the experimental has long borne 
 sway, with Locke for its leader ; of late there has been 
 somewhat of a spirit of revolt; transcendentalism has 
 some considerable advocates, and I think I can perceive 
 that the general tone on these subjects is, in degree, modified. 
 The high church dearly love a system which draws a 
 distinction between the reason and the understanding, and 
 affirms that doctrines which appear to the latter a contra- 
 diction in terms, may be all the more conformable to the 
 dictates of the former — the higher and nobler faculty — 
 this, you may know, is the language held by Coleridge 
 concerning the Trinity. I think, with you, that some 
 great truths may lie at the root of these speculations, but 
 many processes are to be gone through before they can be 
 brought into daylight and fitted for use. In the mean- 
 time, I both dislike and distrust the jargon — the cant of 
 of which Carlyle has such a quantity. You would see in 
 the ' Edinburgh Keview,' an article on his history, which 
 appears to me to be an able exposure of his quackery, and 
 at the same time a candid estimate of his merits and 
 talents. The article is by a friend of mine, a man of 
 immense reading for his age, and a paragon among re- 
 viewers for downright honesty and impartiality — the rarest 
 of all qualities when the writer lies screened under the 
 irresponsible ice. 
 
TO THE EEY. DE, CHANNING. 407 
 
 The grand field for activity amongst us at this time is 
 that of general education. A prodigious impulse has been 
 given by the apparently insignificant grant which our 
 liberal government has extorted from the public purse, 
 in spite of tory opposition. The established priesthood 
 having been baffled, and by the ministry also, in its attempt 
 to assume the control of public instruction, and force its 
 own creeds and catechisms on the children of dissenters, 
 we may now hope that a free, large, and truly national 
 system of instruction will be adopted. Little as I am 
 disposed to sanguine views of human improvement, I own 
 I do look with ardent hope to a general amelioration of 
 manners and principles as the ultimate result of this 
 exorcism of ignorance and brutality. 
 
 I trust we are in no present danger of the return 
 of the Tories to power. This ministry has been well 
 compared to the logging-stone, which one right arm can 
 set shaking, but a hundred could not throw down. It 
 seems to gain strength by the tempests which it weathers. 
 There is great dissension, too, in the tory camp, and some 
 important desertions have taken place. But, oh ! where 
 will be all our hopes, should we see ourselves again 
 plunged in the misery and wickedness of war ? There is 
 no wish for it, but, on the contrary, the greatest horror of 
 it, as I sincerely believe, both in the government and the 
 nation at large ; but I fear that the spirit of the French 
 people is the very reverse. They long to revenge them- 
 selves on their conquerors, to gain territory, plunder, and 
 glory — they abound in turbulent spirits, for whom peace 
 offers no prospects, no career. I believe, indeed, that their 
 king and all their best statesmen are pacifically disposed, 
 but the awful doubt is whether they may not be compelled 
 to yield to the torrent. Perhaps, after all, the heavy 
 national debt of both countries is the best security for their 
 peaceful behaviour. You enquire about Isabella of Castile, 
 
408 LETTERS 
 
 and her relation to the inquisition, and I conclude, from 
 what you say, that you have not read Prescott's life of 
 her. He is her decided eulogist, and insists on our think- 
 ing her one of the most amiabJe of women ; at the same 
 time, he distinctly states that she directly violated the 
 laws of her country in instituting that new tribunal — that 
 no provocation whatever had been given her by the un- 
 happy Moors, or the Jews, the joint objects of her relent- 
 less and atrocious tyranny. In short, her persecutions 
 appear to be amongst the most completely wicked — the 
 most utterly inexcusable on record. She had not even 
 the apology of bad example, her inquisition was an abso- 
 lute novelty in the world. It is true that it was the 
 invention and suggestion of an execrable monk, her father- 
 confessor ; but neither had Isabella the excuse of a weak 
 and pliant character ; she effectually withstood, on many 
 occasions, the influence of a husband whom she is said to 
 have loved, and I do not believe that she would have 
 complied with her confessor in this matter, had she not 
 expected to strengthen her royal authority by the destruc- 
 tion or banishment of her misbelieving subjects. Her 
 bigotry, like that of Louis XIV., was Httle else than the 
 spirit of despotism in disguise. The persecutions of our 
 bloody Mary were venial, compared with those of her 
 grandmother. She had great provocations. 
 
 Have you read Eanke's ' History of the Popes of the 
 Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries,' translated by Mrs. 
 Austin ? If not, think that you have a treasure laid up in 
 store. The writer has collected and studied his authorities 
 with true Grerman industry, and has poured a flood of new 
 light on the most important period of modern history ; and 
 I, for one, feel it a real misfortune to have groped through 
 a large part of that period without his guiding lamp. The 
 history of the Papacy is so closely intertwined with that 
 of every European nation, that no one, in future, must 
 
TO THE KEY. DR. CHANNI^'G. 409 
 
 presume to write of Tudors, or Stuarts, or Bourbons, with- 
 out consulting Eanke, and to possess a true history of this 
 wonderful line of monarch-priests, is a greater gain ti; 
 philosophy than it is possible to estimate. 
 
 But why do I speak of books to read, to you who are so 
 much better employed in writing ? I cordially congratu- 
 late both you and the public on your task, and particularly 
 on the ardent spirit with which you are pursuing it. I 
 long to know what your work is to be, but, be it what it 
 may, I am strongly persuaded that it will prove to be 
 something that the world * will not easily let die.' What 
 you have been meditating half your life cannot but be 
 something of importance, and worthy of general attention. 
 You did well to ' bide your time,' and to wait till you were 
 sure of having the ear of the public in right of your 
 former publications. May health and strength be given 
 you to complete all that is in your heart ! 
 
 In my little, quiet way, I am jogging on comfortably 
 enough. My spirits have lately had a fillip, in the shape 
 of a journey. Thanks to the railroad, I was able to convey 
 myself, with little fatigue, to Southampton, where I found 
 a kind friend in waiting to convey me eight miles further, 
 to a beautiful mansion on the skirts of the New Forest. 
 This is the largest sylvan tract remaining in England, and 
 I was surprised to find how primitive a character it still 
 preserves. A stone marks the spot where Eufus fell, his 
 stirrup is kept as a relic at the royal hunting lodge, where 
 the forest courts are held ; and, on the whole, it seemed 
 to me that his name was quite as current in the mouths 
 of men as that of Greorge III., the last monarch who 
 hunted here. The cottagers are devotedly attached to 
 their native soil ; they have continued on the same spot 
 from father to son, many of them from the Norman times, 
 in fact; they enjoy many advantages from the neigh- 
 bourhood of the forest, besides that delightful sense of 
 
410 LETTERS 
 
 liberty which waits upon the roamer of ' the good green \ 
 wood/ and which he who has once tasted would scarcely f 
 exchange for a palace. The wood consists chiefly of noble ^ 
 oaks and stately beeches, and the undulations of the sur- f 
 face open a thousand picturesque glimpses of hill and vale, ^ 
 open glade and tangled wood, sprinkled with cottages em- « 
 bowered in flower-garden and orchard, and mansions stand- » 
 ing proudly on their emerald lawns. From the higher g 
 eminences you command the Isle of Wight, \vith its bays i 
 and headlands, and the soft yet fresh sea air breathes the b 
 very spirit of health. I was in a state of enchantment ? 
 during my whole visit difficult to describe. Since I began : 
 this letter, I have been reading an article on all Carlyle's ; 
 works in the ' Quarterly Review.' This author, who sets : 
 himself so vehemently against all ' forms,' ought to feel 
 himself rebuked by the praise which he has extorted from 
 the ultra-High-Church reviewer, by his mystical use of j 
 the word faith, from which it is easy for such a reviewer , 
 to extract arguments favourable to ecclesiastical authority. : 
 Woe unto us, if our philosophers are to be as hostile to the 
 employment of reason in the investigation of truth, as our i 
 high priests ! 
 
 I must at length put a period to my long letter. I must 
 answer some other correspondents far more briefly. 
 
 Ever yours with true respect and friendship, 
 
 L. AiKix. 
 
 No. 46. 
 
 Hampstead: Jane 12, 1S41. . 
 
 My dear Friend — You cannot thank me more sincerely i 
 for my letters than I thank you for yours. They are a true ■ 
 refreshment to my spirit, which often suffers a famine from 
 the extreme and increasing scarcity in this country of' 
 such liberal and enlightened sentiment as forms the only 
 
TO THE EEY. DR. CHANNING. 411 
 
 food on which it can exist. I allow, freely allow, that 
 some useful truths — practical ones — have been powerfully 
 argued — successfully promulgated among us, of late years. 
 The cause of free trade, which I, like you, believe to be 
 that of true and just and virtuous policy, has gained and is 
 gaining. Our corn-laws are at the last gasp, and in 
 timber and sugar, I believe, we are going right. But, 
 alas ! what avails all this, if free speculation is taxed to 
 prohibition — if religious liberty lies oppressed, stifled, 
 down-trodden — if no man dares to say, in the face of the 
 world, that all opinions have equal rights — that no one 
 ought to believe himself entitled to put another to silence 
 because his doctrines are not those of the majority, those 
 that the state has endowed? We have in this country 
 many evils — what country is without ? What a sign of 
 the times is it, that so eminent a natural philosopher 
 as Whewell, in his * Life of Gralileo,' labours to defend the 
 proceedings of the Inquisition against him — calls them 
 lenient — seems to suppose that the Church has a right to 
 stop the promulgation of any truth which it regards as 
 dangerous ! Oh ! I am sick at heart when I think upon 
 these things. 
 
 You will see that we are threatened, too, with a tory 
 administration, but this is yet uncertain ; it will depend 
 on the new parliament. Some think we shall see the 
 fulfilment of the Duke of Wellington's prediction — that, 
 if the Eeform Bill were carried, parties would be so 
 balanced, that it would be impossible to carry on any 
 government at all. In France this seems to be almost the 
 case. 
 
 I apprehend that the prodigious increase of zeal and 
 activity, consequently of rancour, on the part of the 
 Established Church, is mainly the result of Catholic eman- 
 jcipation, and the strength and courage it has lent to the 
 i Romanists, which Protestanism feels itself called upon to 
 
412 LETTERS 
 
 resist with all its might and by all its means, Puseyism 
 being one. Such unlooked-for, and often opposite effects/ 
 flow from great public measures. The men who have 
 spent their lives in bringing them about often live to rue 
 in vain their own success. A consideration which, joined 
 to several others, convinces me that fluctuation, much- 
 more than progress, is the great law of human affairs.' 
 But this you will be loth to admit. - 
 
 I was struck with your idea of agriculture being the 
 great civiliser of recent man, and I think that it has been 
 so in some climates — but how this great affair of climate 
 acts upon every other element of human life and society' 
 — how it complicates this whole subject ! I know of 
 nothing but the Book of Genesis which can be adduced in 
 favour of the notion that the whole race sprang from a 
 single pair. Probably there were many original races- 
 adapted to different portions of the earth. * But why go 
 on guessing where we cannot know ? ' ^^^ly ? because we" 
 are guessing and speculating animals ! I am ever specu 
 lating and guessing, because my mind is active and my 
 body idle. This whole winter and spring I have been 
 nearly a prisoner to the house ; latterly I have been really 
 ill, but matters seem now mending with me a little. I 
 grieve that you should have been so much a sufiferer. 
 Perhaps we both feel that it is drawing towards evening 
 with us. Well, so be it. 
 
 As for my book, it is still among the future conditionals.^ 
 I am no longer the diligent labourer I once was. Your- 
 task proceeds, I hope. Great or small, it will be of thei 
 kind of books that we want, the offspring of thought, not^ 
 of mere reading. Original writers, I believe, are always 
 benefactors towards mankind, either themselves or their' 
 answerers are sure to bring out some new truths, or set some; 
 old ones in a stronofer lisrht. 'VVTiether Carlvle deserves at 
 all to be put in the list of original thinkers, I am yet in 
 
TO THE EEV. DE. CHANNING. 413 
 
 doubt ; to me he still appears little more than a jargonist. 
 He makes his way a little in society however, ay, and 
 very genteel and very correct society, notwithstanding the 
 tone of his work on the French Eevolution, which is surely 
 radicalism, combined with the most odious and mischievous 
 moral fatalism. According to him, all crimes and enormi- 
 ties are ' by divine putting on.' You do not love the 
 doctrines of necessity in any shape ; but surely you will 
 admit that, between the vulgar fatalist and the philosophic 
 necessarian there is this essential difference, that the first 
 talks aa^ii any man may be destined to commit a crime, 
 as any man may be destined to die of a fever ; the second 
 firmly holds that none but a bad man can ever be destined 
 to commit a crime, since no man can do anything but 
 what he ivills to do ; his will, indeed, is actuated by 
 motives, but in the mind of a virtuous man those which 
 prompt to crime will never gain the preponderance. In 
 fact, do we not feel that there are many actions which it 
 is impossible, so long as we possess our senses, that we 
 should ever find any temptation to commit ; so fixed is 
 our conviction that nothing could ever make it worth our 
 while. Fatalism is certainly not original in Carlyle, nor 
 in the French school of writers from whom he borrowed it, 
 but I fear they may have done something towards render- 
 ing it popular. There is a circumstance respecting the 
 French people at this time which I think remarkable, and 
 am in doubt how to interpret. During their revolution, 
 never was there such contempt for human life ; blood was 
 poured out like water ; a man was crushed with as little 
 regard as a beetle ; now the feeling is so changed that 
 they can scarcely bear the idea of capital punishment ; 
 their juries find ' extenuating circumstances ' even in the 
 horrid act of a parricide, in order to save him from death. 
 I should like to ascribe this scruple to none but good 
 motives or causes ; but when I consider how strong is the 
 
414 LETTERS 
 
 sentiment of moral indignation in every pure and virtuous 
 and noble breast ; how uniformly all nations, where morals 
 have been strict, and manners unsophisticated, have marked^ 
 their horror of great crimes by taking away the offender 
 from the midst of them, and compare this with the 
 acknowledged profligacy and wickedness of Paris, and the 
 assertion of those who know its society best, that the only 
 inexpiable fault there is evil-speaking, I hesitate. My 
 father has somewhere observed, that universal indulgence 
 is near akin to universal profligacy, and I confess that I 
 do not see mth satisfaction the anxiety manifested in France, 
 and in some degree here also, to abolish capital punish- 
 ments, while crimes are rather on the increase. The" 
 ' godly watch ' set upon one another by your puritans] 
 was one extreme, and an odious one ; but the total dis-i 
 regard of the conduct of others, where it does not imme-' 
 diately affect ourselves, so inculcated at Paris, and perhaps- 
 in high life generally, is still more fatal to all the lofty: 
 sentiments and heroic virtues, and certainly favourable to- 
 all the vices. 
 
 The completion of this long letter has been accidentally 
 delayed for a few days. In the meantime our good 
 ministry has been out-voted. All now depends upon the 
 spirit of the people. If they please they can return a: 
 majority against the Tories — but ivill they? since it can- 
 not be done without risk to the worldly ioterests of many. 
 The crisis may be called awful, when Ireland is taken into: 
 the account. I incline, however, to the hoping side, so: 
 far as this, let who will be in power, public opinion must 
 be respected, and, sooner or later, all really salutary: 
 measures must be carried ; the question is one of this year 
 or next with regard to several of the more important. 
 But no such calm language as this will be held on the? 
 hustings, and the evils of party virulence will abound, 
 Alas for those who speak or write as the servants of truth 
 
TO THE KEY. DR. CHANNING. 415 
 
 and posterity in the midst of party discord ! You, I trust, 
 are safe from its influence. May you only be favoured 
 with health and strength for the completion of your work ! 
 ' I long to see it. 
 
 Pray believe me ever 
 ! Your affectionate friend, 
 
 I Lucy Aikin. 
 
 No. 47. 
 
 Hampstead : June 80, 1841. 
 My dear Friend — Many thanks for your ' Memoirs of 
 Dr. Tuckerman ' and the accompanying Journal. I be- 
 lieve they will cause me to send you almost a pamphlet 
 in return ; but you who enjoin me sometimes to write fear- 
 lessly what I think will not, perhaps, be impatient under 
 this result. Your character of your friend appears to me 
 exceedingly candid and discriminating, as well as affec- 
 I tionate. It is unfortunately true, that with all his heroism 
 j of benevolence, he did not make an agreeable impression 
 here in general society. This was partly because, like all 
 men of one idea, especially such as are eloquent, he could 
 neither speak, nor suffer others to speak, of anything else 
 in his presence — which wore out the patience even of the 
 best disposed ; partly because, for want of knowledge either 
 of the state of the poor with us, or of the plans adopted 
 for their benefit, he, in the words of a very benevolent 
 friend of mine to whom I introduced him, ' recommended 
 as novelties the very things we had all been practising for 
 thirty years.' 
 
 It might well have been supposed, even by those ignorant 
 of the fact, that in an old and densely-peopled land like ours, 
 where great inequality of conditions had always prevailed, 
 and where, as we are apt to flatter ourselves, humanity had 
 always been a striking feature of the national character, 
 
416 LETTERS 
 
 many schemes must liave been put to the proof for thei^ 
 relief of such destitution, physical and moral, as our great ti 
 system of parish support could not reach. But well might i^ 
 Dr. Tuckerman have failed to be led by this consideration 5 
 to acquaint himself fully with the facts, when an unworthy: 
 Englishman goes so far in ignorance or ill will, as tol 
 calumniate his country on this very head. I refer to theP 
 very offensive speech of one Mr. Griles, of Liverpool, re- 2 
 ported in the Journal you have sent me. It has pleased u 
 this person, after judiciously- pointing out the efforts of 'i 
 pastor Oberlin as a kind of compensation for the horrors' 
 of the French Eevolution, to advert generally to the 
 exertions making in favour of the poor and indigent young, i 
 'through the diffusion of an education adapted to raise 
 the soul more and more from earth, and point it heaven- 
 ward.' He professes, however, to speak on this subject, 
 'with horror and shame,' as a native of England, thef 
 only country ' wanting in her duty ' on this head. While] 
 'the proud despotism of Prussia,' as he says, 'trains up! 
 her youth from the cradle to manhood, in a knowledge off 
 themselves and the world around them, freeborn England 
 casts them off as orphans.' And he goes on to represent: 
 our agricultural and our manufacturing population as alike < 
 existing in a state of sordid, almost savage ignorance, andt 
 the last, as abandoned to all the excesses of the worst t 
 passions of mankind, utterly ' neglected by those whose | 
 wealth and power they secure.' 
 
 In England, misrepresentation like this would not 
 deserve refutation ; but it may not be labour lost, to ofifer ' 
 to you and to your fellow-philanthropists beyond the 
 Atlantic, a slight sketch capable of showing both what has 
 actually been done here in this great cause, and the cir- 
 cumstances which have rendered it impracticable to do 
 more, or more speedily, or in a different manner. 
 
 After the establishment and wide diffusion of Sunday 
 
TO THE KEY. DE. CHANNING. 417 
 
 schools, the first comprehensive scheme for popular instruc- 
 tion was that of Joseph Lancaster, schools on whose system 
 forthwith arose by hundreds on every side. It is indeed 
 true that the clergy, and other enemies to the diffusion of 
 education among the lower classes, especially if indepen- 
 dent of the control of the Church, opposed the poor 
 Quaker mth disgraceful virulence, and nothing could have 
 upheld him but the protecting hand of Greorge III., and 
 the energy of his pious wish ' that every poor child in his 
 dominions should be enabled to read its bible.' A kind 
 of compromise at length took place; Dr. Bell and the 
 Church Catechism were introduced into the system, and, 
 under the name of national schools, we have still all over 
 the country multitudes of establishments, supported by 
 voluntary subscription, which afford to thousands the 
 rudiments of common knowledge, and some acquaintance, 
 it is to be presumed, with their duties to Grod and man. 
 
 A system of national education at the public expense 
 was next projected and moved in the House of Commons 
 by Mr. Brougham. It was rejected — and why ? Because 
 the necessity of neutralising the hostility of the clergy had 
 compelled him, by the provisions of his bill, to subject the 
 whole to their superintendence and authority. All classes 
 of dissenters rose as one man against such stipulations, 
 and by their wise jealousy, or just indignation, the measure 
 was thrown out. In a country enjoying less either of 
 civil or religious liberty this could not have occurred — 
 not, for example, in 'the proud despotism of Prussia.' 
 Without the command of the sovereign no such project 
 could there have been brought forward ; and had he com- 
 manded, it must have been carried into execution, whoever 
 was jealous or indignant. This attempt, however, drew 
 great attention to the subject, and was by no means un- 
 productive of good. *Let us alone,' exclaimed the ^free- 
 horn ' English, ' and we will do it ourselves.' Infant 
 
 E E 
 
418 LETTERS 
 
 schools, perhaps the most effective of all the means jet 
 adopted for the prevention of early corruption of morals, 
 were devised, and, with the rapidity of an epidemic, over- 
 spread the whole face of the land. An active rivalry 
 between the sects on one hand, and the Church, which had 
 now found it needful to buckle in earnest to the unwel- 
 come task, on the other, effectually prevented the zeal on 
 either part from flagging. The small aid from the public 
 purse since obtained by a Whig ministry, on terms as 
 equitable as the bench of bishops would allow, has given; 
 a fresh stimulus, by the conditions annexed to all grants, 
 to the exertions of voluntary subscribers. The difficulty 
 has been to find fit teachers in sufficient numbers. Insti- 
 tutions, however, have been founded for the supply of this 
 demand, and should the prosperity of the people keep pace 
 with their generous ardour, the English people may soon 
 contemplate their own plans for popular education with a, 
 glow of satisfaction, to which the Prussian vassal, for whom' 
 ' drill obligation ' and ' school obligation ' stand on the 
 same ground of compulsion, guarded by the same legal 
 penalties, must for ever remain a stranger. t 
 
 All that a free government could properly do by positive* 
 enactment it has done. It is now compulsory on th^ 
 owners of factories, on the managers of workhouses, the 
 superintendents of prisons and penitentiaries, the captains 
 of ships of war, to provide for the children and youth- 
 under their charge the me^ns or opportunities both o^ 
 school learnincr and relis^ious instruction — and is this 
 little ? If after all it must be confessed that there is still 
 a great and lamentable deficiency in the means of carrying 
 civilisation, by which I understand a just and influential 
 sense of the true interests of human nature, through 
 out our vast population, it would be equitable at leasts 
 to weigh more deliberately than some censurers seem to; 
 have done the magnitude of the task, and the difficulties, 
 
TO THE REV. DE. CHANNING. 419 
 
 to be surmounted in its execution. Clusters of factories, 
 mills, and warehouses, rise among us like exhalations; 
 much within the memory of man, our principal seats of 
 manufacture have swelled from moderate country towns, 
 sometimes from nameless hamlets, into aggregates of human 
 dwellings, exceeding in population most of the capital 
 cities of Europe. What provision could exist in these 
 places for gratuitous education, or who was there to supply 
 the want ? What orphan schools, almshouses, hospitals, 
 established charities of any kind, could be looked for ? 
 All was to be created, and by whom? The few older 
 families fled, one after another, from the din and smoke of 
 machinery, and the elbowing of the newly rich, to calmer 
 retreats. The master manufacturers, men for the most part 
 of scanty, often of no education, narrow therefore in their 
 views, and frequently sordid, were slow in learning the 
 claims of those whom they regarded chiefly as a part of 
 the apparatus employed in producing their wealth. This 
 was to be expected : and when it is considered that the 
 periods of greatest distress to the workmen were precisely 
 those of difficulty and failure to themselves, from tempo- 
 rary obstruction of demand, it will be confessed that much 
 destitution, physical and moral, was inevitable. 
 
 By degrees, public opinion began to bear on this mighty 
 mass of evil, and the eyes and hearts of men to open both 
 to the claims of these lower classes, and to the frightful 
 dangers of disregarding them ; but even then the efforts 
 of benevolence were encountered among many obstacles, 
 by one in particular, which there were no obvious means 
 of overcoming. This was the wholesale employment of 
 \ children, almost infants, in various branches of manufac- 
 ture, particularly in that vast one of cotton twist. To 
 ^i attempt to give instruction to these little victims would 
 <]have been absurd, and even inhuman. Not a moment 
 could be spared from their too short hours of rest for any 
 
 E E 2 
 
420 LETTERS 
 
 other purpose ; and by necessity they were left to grow up I 
 to the stature of human maturity with scarcely any other i 
 evidences of humanity about them. But has no remedy 
 been sought or applied to this giant mischief? What are 
 all those long deliberations of parliament which matured ; 
 at length the Factory Law, but the most touching evidence [ 
 of the parental care of the state over those who had no [ 
 one else to care for them? Under this law, the hours of i 
 working are strictly limited, and by its provisions the ; 
 children will receive education — as far as it consists in 1 
 giving the rudiments of literature. Those moral influ- [ 
 ences, which are indeed of infinitely more value, the state i 
 cannot give, or can give but very imperfectly. If parents . 
 be without all sense of their own duties, who can avert j 
 the dreadful consequences from their unfortunate off- > 
 spring ? Besides their setting to their children examples > 
 which too frequently counteract all the influence of thej 
 precepts of religion and virtue, it has been found in all j 
 parts of our country much less difficult to raise funds for 
 the maintenance of schools, than to persuade parents to( 
 enforce the regular attendance of the pupils. Ignorance i 
 too gross to form any estimate of the value of what was j 
 rejected — false indulgence — but far more frequently aj 
 selfish reluctance to give up during school hours any profit j 
 or convenience derived from the labour of the child, have [ 
 largely operated in counteraction of all plans of thisv 
 nature. The case is the same, I perceive, with you.[ 
 Three-fifths appear from the Journal to be the highest j 
 average attendance on the schools of the Home Mission..^ 
 In like manner church -building, the progress of which j 
 among us exceeds anything ever dreamt of by our ancestors, ^i 
 but yet perhaps no more than equal pace with thej 
 increase of our population, is often found easier to accom-, 
 plish than church attendance. And do not your ownj 
 ministers at large in effect confess a failure, when theyr 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 421 
 
 broadly state that it is an error to suppose that their 
 services are attended by the lowest class ? Either there 
 will always remain at the bottom of society a sediment 
 which will refuse to be incorporated with the clearer 
 liquor, or at least it can be but very slowly and gradually 
 taken up. Establish, either in our country or yours, a 
 Prussian compulsion, drive the children to school, and all 
 ages to church, by the terror of fine and imprisonment, 
 and what will be gained to compensate the loss of that 
 spirit of independence, which has probably been the most 
 important element of all in the greatness and progress 
 both of England and her noblest offspring ? No valuable 
 end can be attained but by means of a congenial character, 
 therefore, not the diffusion of moral feeling and virtuous 
 conduct, or of devotion, by arbitrary force. Better a 
 slow, better a partial progress, than one which, under the 
 show of universality, is delusive, and must fail in the full 
 trial. 
 
 With regard to that visiting of the poor at their own 
 houses, to which the agency of Dr. Tuckerman was at first 
 confined, there is Httle reason to impute negligence to our 
 middle and higher classes, whatever faults may often be 
 found in their manner of performing the office. It had 
 I always been the practice of the better kind of country 
 I ladies to distribute benefactions among the cottagers, and 
 I often to carry, as well as to send them, aids in sickness. 
 In towns of moderate size the same things were done ; 
 i but Hannah More, in her ^ Coelebs,' by representing her 
 i 'pattern young lady as regularly devoting two evenings in 
 a week to making her rounds among the village poor, 
 I unfortunately made it a fashion and a rage. I say unfor- 
 tunately, because nothing is ever done well and wisely 
 which is taken up in this manner. Judicious people saw 
 that it was neither an expedient, nor indeed a safe employ- 
 ment, for the inexperienced girls who undertook it. They 
 
422 LETTERS 
 
 objected that young ladies would be exposed to injury, both 
 in temper and taste, by the quantity of vulgar and inter- 
 ested flattery, and vulgar and spiteful gossip which would 
 be forced upon them ; that their ears would continually be 
 assailed by grossness of expression, and their minds either 
 sullied or saddened by too close and unveiled a view of 
 human vices in their coarsest forms. A\Tiile we guarded 
 them with unceasing solicitude against the approach of. 
 even doubtful society of their own class, it seemed strangely 
 inconsistent to permit them to come into habitual contact 
 with what was positively bad in a lower class. 
 
 I have no doubt that these and other objections urged 
 in the beginning were found to be just, to a certain extent. 
 The impulse was given, however, and nothing could stop 
 it. It acted at first chiefly within the evangelical party : 
 but that party became, at length, great enough to give the 
 tone to society at large ; and the practice of thus superin- 
 tending the poor has become so general, that I know no 
 one circumstance by which the manners, studies, and 
 occupations of Englishwomen have been so extensively 
 modified, or so strikingly contradistinguished from those 
 of a former generation. By these female missionaries 
 numberless experiments have been made and projects 
 started. Some have addressed themselves to the bodies 
 of the poor, others to their souls, and there has been 
 much quackery in both departments. Some have distri- 
 buted Calvinistic tracts, others bread and soup tickets. 
 Some have applied themselves to clothing the children, 
 others to teaching them, others to reading to the sick and 
 infirm. One of the results of this system, and which will 
 not have your entire approbation, has been the formation 
 of a prodigious number of associations for the accomplish- 
 ment of objects to which the efforts of single persons were 
 unequal. Women in this country have seldom enough of 
 habits of business, and especially of that habit of the world 
 
TO THE KEY. DR. CHANNING. 423 
 
 which enables men, by conciliation and compromise, to 
 pursue their objects with almost any associates, to be good 
 members of committees. I fear theirs are not always 
 schools of forbearance or good manners ; but practice may 
 improve them. It is a decided advantage that the new 
 accession of zeal among the clergy has urged them to take 
 almost entirely out of the hands of the ladies the theo- 
 logical department, in which their bitterest dissensions had 
 of course occurred. 
 
 Grood and evil have arisen out of this great movement, 
 as out of all others. The good I need not particularise. 
 It is enough to say that much aid, much comfort, much 
 instruction of many kinds, and, it may be hoped, some 
 improvement in decorum, in piety, and in morals generally, 
 may have been effected. On the other hand, I think that it 
 has given rise among the ladies to much spiritual pride and 
 self-injflation ; much of an imperious, pragmatical, meddling 
 habit, which has rendered many both odious to the poor, 
 to whom they took credit for being the greatest of bene- 
 factresses, and troublesome and unamiable to their equals, 
 It has diverted the minds of numbers, not from dissipation 
 only, but from literature, from the arts, from all the graces 
 and amenities of polished life, and rendered many a home 
 intolerable to husbands, fathers, and brothers, thereby 
 causing more moral mischief than all their exertions could 
 eradicate among the poor. But the wise and the foolish, 
 the gentle and the ungentle, will ever throw their own 
 characters into all their occupations and pursuits. With 
 regard to the poor, the benefits they have derived have 
 been counterbalanced by a vast increase among them of 
 hypocrisy, and a disgusting cant of piety, assumed to 
 flatter the ladies ; of fraud and imposture generally, and 
 of a fawning, dependent, servile spirit, unworthy of free- 
 men. Idleness and helplessness have, in many wealthy and 
 well-visited neighbourhoods, become more profitable than 
 
424 LETTERS 
 
 activity and a manly resistance of the evils of life. In- 
 temperance has been fostered among the men, by an 
 assurance that if they did not provide necessaries for their 
 families, the ladies would. 
 
 I apprehend that more good, and certainly fewer evils, 
 have attended the exertions of some excellent men who 
 among us have followed in the footsteps of Dr. Tuckerman ; 
 they alone ought to attempt indiscriminate visiting of the 
 lowest of the low in great and vicious cities. Ladies might 
 act more usefully under their directions. 
 
 I fear I must have wearied you by this long account ; 
 but I wished, besides refuting a most injurious imputation 
 on my own country, to make you acquainted with the 
 results of our experience in attempts to benefit the poor, 
 the ignorant, and the vicious. Your country is still young 
 in the arts of dealing with human misery on a great scale. 
 The essential differences between an aristocratic and a 
 democratic social system which penetrate into every part, 
 must vary the working of every plan and modify every 
 result : but, after all, it is common human nature which 
 is to be dealt with, and the great principles must be the 
 same. 
 
 You naturally wish that the increase of your city should 
 not proceed, if it is to be followed by the moral evils 
 which have accompanied, in all times and countries, a 
 similar aggregation of men and dwellings. In vain ! gre- 
 garious man will ever go on joining house to house, and 
 street to street, and vice and misery will ever find abodes 
 among them. But will not virtue dwell there also, and 
 domestic happiness — warm hearts and enlightened minds ? 
 Will there not be there, as everywhere, more good than 
 evil, more enjoyment than suffering ? There will ; for all 
 is in His hands who loves the creatures He has made. 
 This, after all, is the true balm for the wounded bosom of 
 philanthropy, when, after many trials and much experience. 
 
TO THE EEV. DR. CHANNING. 425 
 
 she discovers how hard a task it is to do even a little good 
 — unalloyed, how impracticable ! I will now release you. 
 Believe me ever most sincerely yours, 
 
 Lucy Aikin. 
 
 No. 48. 
 
 Hampstead: Aug. 6, 1841. 
 
 My dear Friend — It delights me to think how far our 
 correspondence is from languishing. I trust you have ere 
 now received a long letter from me, occasioned by your 
 Home Mission Eeport, and I yesterday was gratified by 
 your letter on our Church. I answer it while fresh in my 
 mind. I am not able to say whether methodism, mean- 
 ing -strictly the sect founded by Wesley, and that division 
 of it which followed Whitfield, has been injurious to 
 dissent or not. I believe the converts were chiefly either 
 members of the establishment, or persons who had pre- 
 viously known nothing or cared nothing for religion in any 
 shape. It seems as if the spread of the evangelical spirit 
 in the Church had checked in some degree that of 
 methodism, which scarcely, I think, keeps up its propor- 
 tion to the population. But when I lamented the decline 
 of dissent, I had in my mind that of Presbyterianism 
 chiefly — that is, of the only sect which could boast of 
 learned ministers, and which once included in its bosom 
 a very considerable body of wealthy and well educated 
 and enlightened families. 
 
 As for the other old denominations, the Independents and 
 
 the Baptists, they are by no means declining in numbers. 
 
 j Formerly their congregations were seldom found but in 
 
 towns, and among the trading classes, but I am now told 
 
 that there is scarcely a rural village throughout the country 
 
 I in which either they or the Methodists, under some of their 
 
 ; subdivisions, have not some humble place of worship. 
 
426 LETTEKS 
 
 They reckon, I believe, by hundreds of thousands. But in 
 this aristocratic country, as you truly call it, numbers alone 
 stand for little or nothing. These dissenters have no 
 political power or weight whatever, as their ministers 
 have confessed or complained. They have not even 
 a single member of parliament belonging to them, 
 while the little Unitarian aristocracy has about fifteen. 
 Their opinions are, I believe, Calvinistic to a high 
 degree, and it is only as persons asserting practically the 
 right of private judgment in religion, that it is possible 
 to prefer them to the members of the establishment. 
 I know not at all what their political bent may be : this 
 only we may rely on, that any administration which should 
 strongly favour the Church would be certain of their 
 enmity — a consideration which may come to be worth the 
 attention of Sir Eobert Peel. At periods of crisis every 
 right aim tells. The church-rate question has served in 
 very many parishes throughout England as a muster-roll 
 of the rated householders, and in a majority, I think, of 
 these, the dissidents altogether have carried it against 
 mother-church. Observe that rating, i.e. to the poor, 
 goes lower than the elective franchise, at least comprises 
 much greater numbers. It may a little illustrate this 
 matter to you, if I mention that full half the maid-servants 
 I have had were either some kind of methodists or regular 
 dissenters; and I believe this to be general. You see 
 from this, that there is no apparent tendency to what you 
 would call pure Christianity in our lower classes^— except, j 
 indeed, that among the Baptists there are, or were, some [ 
 Unitarians. The sect of socialists, the growth of which 
 seems connected or coincident with that of chartism, is i 
 not a Christian sect, it seems, but a deistic one, which has [ 
 exposed itself to just disgrace by condemning the institu- j 
 tion of marriage. I know not at all to what extent it has [ 
 spread, or whether it still increases. The pubHc at large 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 427 
 
 scarcely know it but through the invectives of the Bishop 
 of Exeter in the House of Lords, in which there is probably 
 both exaggeration and misrepresentation. Still I have 
 heard, apparently on good authority, that there is scarcely 
 a town in England without a socialist congregation — an 
 ugly fact, if it be one. A comparison of the religious 
 state of our country now, and a hundred years ago, will 
 not, I conceive, support your theory of the progress of 
 mankind. Then we had Low Church principles in the 
 establishment; the dissenters learned, respected, and 
 steady ; the deists, what there were of them, learned also, 
 moral, and too prudent to promulgate their opinions among 
 the vulgar. 
 
 No ; I cannot go all the length you have done in your 
 late adciress, though I admire it very much, and cordially 
 thank you for it ; and if it be an exact delineation of the 
 present state of opinion with you, especially of the tolerant, 
 rather the enlarged enlightened state of Christian feeling, 
 I must say that we might take a lesson from you with 
 great advantage. But I have often wished to ask you on 
 what special ground you fix your confidence in the constant 
 progress of the race. You reckon much, I know, on the 
 influences of Christianity ; but in this there is nothing new, 
 and why should this power over the human heart be con- 
 tinually augmenting ? If the world could be considered 
 as an individual, we might readily suppose it a design 
 of Providence that all its experiences of every kind should 
 be tending to increase its knowledge and improve its virtue. 
 But when two things remain always the same — the nature 
 of Grod and the nature of man — ^when every human creature 
 is born into the world with the same ismorance, and what 
 is more, with the same appetites and passions, as his 
 earliest and rudest progenitors — when the necessity for 
 the existence of evil, whatever may make that necessity, 
 cannot be supposed likely to cease — can we reasonably 
 
428 LETTEES 
 
 expect more, than that in some countries the progress of 
 the arts of life may redress some outward inconveniences, 
 and obtain for a portion of society some outward comforts 
 and luxuries, and that great crimes of violence may 
 become more rare, and vice in the higher classes less gross ? 
 Men may grow more skilful in adapting means to ends, 
 but may we hope that their ends will be wiser or better ? 
 The very diffusion of knowledge may prove little more 
 than the beating out of the ingot into gold leaf. In this 
 country, at least, literature in its higher sense is certainly 
 not advancing ; books must be made so rapidly, that even 
 industry, labour, cannot be bestowed on the manufacture. 
 For the interests of good taste, and the effectual cultiva- 
 tion of the mind, it would be far better if we had not 
 above one-tenth of the new books that are published ; and 
 so in science, the sciolists may amuse themselves, but 
 assuredly they do nothing for the advance of any branch of 
 study. 
 
 Your new people may be making progress, and I hope 
 they are; but in these old countries population increases 
 upon us so frightfully, that it will be very well indeed if I 
 in any respect we can hold our own. Such are my more 
 gloomy speculations; but it is impossible to concur 
 more entirely than I do in what you point out as the 
 improvement to be made of the present state and ten- 
 dencies of society, or in the warnings which you think 
 required. 
 
 No more will I add at present. I doubt if you will 
 thank me for so much on the discouraging side. But you 
 seek the truth, and it should be told you. 
 
 Ever most sincerely yours, 
 Lucy Aikin. 
 
TO THE EEV. DR. CHANNING. 429 
 
 No. 49. 
 
 Hampstead : Jan. 10, 1842. 
 
 My dear Friend — It grieves me mucli to find that illness 
 was the cause of that long silence which I had been wonder- 
 ing at and lamenting. This cause did not suggest itself 
 to me, because I had received from you a sermon delivered 
 far from your home, and, as I thought recently, which 
 certainly bore no marks of feebleness. This, I think, is 
 almost all I shall say to you about it, for a good reason — 
 that I know nothing of the subject. Your discourse goes 
 entirely on the ground of religion being a social, an uniting 
 principle ; and such indeed I know it to be usually. To 
 me, however, it has never been so ; on the contrary, I have 
 always felt it as a matter more strictly personal than any 
 other ; and the very last office I could bear to commit to 
 any human being would be that of speaking to my Maker 
 for me, or in my name. I mention this only as what is, 
 not what ought to be : at least it is a matter in which 
 everyone must do as suits best with his temper and cir- 
 cumstances. I can imagine that if it had ever been my 
 fortune in youth to attend upon any minister who could 
 either have satisfied my judgment, or moved my heart, 
 I too might have known devotion as a bond of friendship, 
 a social pleasure. Your charity is very large, and certainly 
 no man ever had less of the priest 
 
 I am glad my mention of it led you to read Milman's 
 work ; and I made him very happy two days since, by tell- 
 ing him that he had cheered your convalescence. It was 
 very many years since we had met before, and that but 
 once, yet we had each a strong remembrance of the other, 
 and met like friends. I found him cheerful, animated, 
 quite without pomp or pretension, and full of agreeable 
 conversation. I agree with you, however, that his style in 
 
430 LETTERS 
 
 writing is by no means so easy or simple. His close study ! 
 of Gibbon seems to have injured him in this point. There 
 is no writer whose faults are more infectious than Gibbon's 
 — condemn them as you will, you cannot contemplate them I 
 long without a strange propensity to repeat them. In fact, ■ 
 though certainly faults, they are seldom gratuitous ones. • 
 Most of his ambiguities prove, on examination, devices to 
 comprise much matter in few words : this is seldom the case 
 with those of his imitators. You ask if our church has 
 many Milmans. Very few, I conceive ; and the clergy are so 
 far from being proud of his learned and courageous work, 
 that they and their reviews have preserved a studied silence 
 respecting it. I know not which way mother-church is 
 setting her face. Oxford, indeed, casts a longing eye towards 
 Eome, but with the powerful evangelical anti-Popery party 
 to watch her, she durst not what she would. Then Scotland 
 is almost in a flame on the old ground of the superiority 
 of the Church authorities to the civil power and the laws 
 of the land. In that country the Sabbatarian fanaticism 
 burns still fiercer than among our evangelicals. ^Miat 
 think you of a provincial presbytery's excommunicating a 
 man and his wife also for burying their child on the Sun- 
 day — the general custom here, at least with the working 
 classes ? I fear indeed ^ve grow no wiser. 
 
 How far, I wonder, have I brought down my own small 
 particular story in my letters to you ? I doubt if I have 
 told you that I went, in the middle of September, to that 
 deserted seat of fashion and gaiety, Bath. The railroad 
 brought the journey within my strength, and I had the 
 reward of my effort by leaving in those warm waters a 
 very troublesome gouty affection, which had kept me long 
 in a state of sufferino^ and langruor. Since my return I 
 have been labouring upon Addison with vigour, and am 
 not quite vdthout hope of bringing it out before the end 
 of our London spring, lasting till August. Mr. Hallam 
 
TO THE REV. DE. CHANNING. 431 
 
 says it is time the public should be put in mind of him, 
 for we have had no such writer since, and I find the same 
 is the faith of all our high literati. One thing strikes me 
 as quite unique in him. He was a great reformer of 
 manners, yet never drew upon him the anger either of the 
 high or the low — he improved mankind, and they did not 
 persecute him. But perhaps I say wrongly mankind. 
 His chief aim was to improve ivomankind, as the first step 
 to amending society, and we were so good and so docile as 
 to thank him even when he took the liberty of laughing 
 at us. Had he begun with you 
 
 Pray, had your Miss Sedgewick the like benevolent 
 design in all the elaborate disparagement that she be- 
 stows on the outside s and insides of us unhappy women 
 of England, with our Queen at our head? The hardest 
 morsel is her choosing to record, and thus to sanction, 
 the sentence of one of the girls of her party, that a 
 woman gentle and lovely could not be an Englishwoman. 
 Such stuff is not worth talking about, but American 
 women visiting England will certainly be sufferers by 
 these demonstrations of national hatred. Your niece did 
 not look like a hater ; I should be glad to be remembered 
 to her. 
 
 You and I have our own private treaty of amity, but 
 this slave-trading is likely, I fear, to make ill-blood between 
 our governments. 
 
 I have been lately led to think of one of the greatest 
 differences between education among us now and half a 
 century ago — consisting in the introduction of Grerman 
 literature. The study of this language is now become so 
 nearly universal in good society, that twenty years hence 
 young people will be saying with wonder, ' I do really sus- 
 pect that neither that old Mr. Suchaone nor his wife know 
 German.' Just as we used to say of some of our elders 
 regarding French. I have made some young people stare 
 
432 LETTERS 
 
 by telling them that, in my childhoo(i, Mr. William Taylor \ 
 of Norwich, whose translation of Burger's Leonora was the ii 
 spark which fired the muse of Scott, was quite as much 
 wondered at for knowing G^erman, as a person would now i: 
 be for a profound acquaintance with Euss. "VMiat are to 
 be the effects of this new ingredient on the flavour of our 
 lighter literature, I cannot clearly perceive ; certainly, if 3 
 Carlyle be made the example of its influence on taste and 
 style, nothing can be fancied more detestable. Mrs. Austin, 
 on the contrary, is able to render a vast variety of German 
 styles all into pure and flowing English, preserving at the 
 same time something quite foreign in the subject-matter 
 and turn of thought. There seems to be something more 
 profoundly sentimental — more cordially affectionate in the ^ 
 expressions of the G-ermans than is the tone with us, and 
 all our travellers hold their demonstrations to be sincere 
 and trustworthy. On this account we certainly love them i 
 better than any other foreign people (it is to be con- 
 sidered that we have no national rivalries with them); 
 yet a want of polish, tact, refinement, is remarked, which 
 often gives a tinge of burlesque both to their sublime and t; 
 pathetic. Mr. Taylor has somewhere said that ' there is a 
 too-onuchness in almost all German writers.' It seems as 
 if the lightness of touch and perfection of taste of a Voltaire 
 were gifts denied to their national mind. In one study 
 their writers show a quite original spirit, combined with 
 their well-known laboriousness — that of biblical criticism ; 
 and it is in this that I apprehend they are producing the 
 strongest effects on other nations. Their most startling 
 paradoxes seem to have found a welcome among your 
 divines, and they certainly have not been universally 
 rejected here. At our universities, 'German Theology' 
 is a word of fear and reproach, but those who, like Milman, 
 would dive into Christian antiquities, well know that their 
 main reliance must be on the guidance of German clown- 
 
TO TEE KEY. DR. CHANNING. 433 
 
 diggers. Are they destined once more to produce a 
 revolution in religion? Will new blood be poured into 
 the old churches of Christendom from their veins ? Alas ! 
 neither of us can expect to live long enough to see these 
 questions solved by the event. How I long sometimes to 
 peep into the yet unopened leaves of the book of fate, to 
 read the destinies of nations in their moral relations ! It 
 is not the doom of dynasties that I would learn. 
 
 We have nothing new in literature, and in politics we are 
 mutely awaiting the meeting of the new ministry's new par- 
 liament. The grand trials of strength will be on the corn- 
 laws and protective duties — momentous questions, no 
 doubt ; but on which, if all who are unqualified to judge 
 would be silent, there could be no popular cry. Every year 
 there is more or less of distress in our manufacturing towns, 
 because such are the productive powers of our gigantic 
 machinery, that every year some markets are overstocked, 
 and the mill-owners are obliged to hold their hands. But 
 ! this simple explanation never satisfies the sufferers > false 
 i or partial causes are sought out : it is now the fault of 
 your banking system, now of our own. Once it was the 
 decrees of Bonaparte ; now it is our corn-laws. All Europe 
 seems to be over-peopled, and the wages and condition of 
 the working-classes sink in consequence — sink without help 
 or hope of restoration. Sad truths, which in your new 
 country you will know nothing of for many ages. Our 
 magnificent colonies afford us, indeed, considerable relief, 
 and I cannot repress some swellings of national pride, as I 
 spread before me the map of the world, and realise it to 
 myself, that the British Empire is the widest ever known 
 to history. It is a proud feeling to dismiss an English 
 MS. to the press, and think in how many zones and regions 
 your thoughts will be read — the more reason they should 
 be worthy and noble ones. 
 
 I must not spare more time from my Addison, even to 
 
434 LETTERS 
 
 chat with you, but I could not bear to let your last lie aj 
 day longer unacknowledged. I grieve that you have been, 
 so long a sufferer, and shall be very anxious to hear that: 
 your strength returns completely. Be not too impatient i 
 to resume your literary labours, notwithstanding our im-j 
 patience for the work you have in preparation. It is in| 
 vain to urge, while the body refuses to second the eager- 1 
 ness of the mind. I now feel that a week of the applica-j 
 tion of health performs more than months of languor. 
 Do you recollect Mrs. Carter's pretty dialogue in verse | 
 between Body and Soul, and their mutual reproaches ? 1 1 
 always thought poor Body was the ill-used party. , 
 
 Adieu. May all good attend you. 
 
 Ever your sincere friend, 
 
 Lucy Aikin. , 
 
 No. 50. I 
 
 Hampstead : Aug. 9, 1842. | 
 My dear Friend — Tt grieves me to learn that illness has 
 been the cause of your long silence ; but it is past, I hope, 
 and if your summer be bright and balmy like ours, it will 
 give you strength to support the rigours of the coming 
 winter. But that you would come to recruit in our ; 
 milder climate ! We should then soon exorcise that strange 
 phantom of a petticoated man which your imagination 
 has conjured up during your illness, and some demon has 
 whispered you to call an Englishwoman. I am well per- 
 suaded that you could have formed no such notion of us 
 when you were here, although I believe you then saw but ^ 
 little society, and that of an inferior kind. 
 
 As to the very delicate subject of comparative beauty, our 
 travellers attest that you have many very pretty girls ; so 
 have we, and even Miss Sedgewick pronounces that ' the 
 Englishwoman is magnificent from twenty to five-and-forty.' 
 We are satisfied ; so let it rest. 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CIIANNING. 435 
 
 With respect to our step, or stride, as you say, I have 
 a little history to give you. Down to five-and-forty or 
 fifty years ago, our ladies, tight-laced and * propped on 
 French heels,' had a short mincing step, pinched figures, 
 pale faces, weak nerves, much affectation, a delicate help- 
 lessness, and miserable health. Physicians prescribed 
 exercise, but to little purpose. Then came that event 
 which is the beginning or end of everything — the French 
 Eevolution. The Parisian women, amongst other re- 
 straints, salutary or the contrary, emancipated themselves 
 from their stays, and kicked off their petits talons. We 
 followed the example, and, by way of improving upon it, 
 learned to march of the drill-sergeant, mounted boots, 
 and bid defiance to dirt and foul weather. We have now 
 well-developed figures, blooming cheeks, active habits, 
 firm nerves, natural and easy manners, a scorn of affecta- 
 tion, and vigorous constitutions. If your fair daughters 
 would also learn to step out, their bloom would be less 
 transient, and fewer would fill untimely graves. I admit, 
 indeed, some unnecessary inelegance in the step of our 
 pedestrian fair ones ; but this does not extend to ladies of 
 quality, or o^eal gentlewomen, who take the air chiefly in 
 carriages, or on horseback. They walk with the same 
 quiet grace that pervades all their deportment, and to 
 which you have seen nothing similar or comparable. 
 "WTien you mention our ' stronger gestures,' I know not 
 what you mean. All Europe declares that we have no 
 gesture. Madame de Stael ridiculed us as mere pieces of 
 still life ; and of untravelled gentlewomen this is certainly 
 true in general. All governesses proscribe it. Where it 
 exists, it arises from personal character. I have seen it 
 engaging when the offspring of a lively imagination and 
 warm feelings, repulsive when the result of a keen temper 
 or dictatorial assumption. Again, your charge of want 
 of delicacy I cannot understand. The women of every 
 
436 LETTERS 
 
 other European nation charge ns with prudery, and I 
 really cannot conceive of a human being more unassailable ■. 
 by just reproach on this head than a well-conducted I 
 Englishwoman. We have indeed heard some whimsical ! 
 stories of American damsels who would not for the world ' 
 speak of the leg even of a table, or the back even of a 
 chair ; and I do confess that we are not delicate or inde- 
 licate to this point. But if you mean to allude to the , 
 enormities of Frances Wright, or even to some of the i 
 
 discussions of , I can only answer, we blush too. \ 
 
 Be pleased to consider that you have yet seen in your r 
 country none of our ladies of high rank ; and few of your 
 people, excepting diplomatic characters, have had more i 
 than very transient glimpses of them here, while we have < 
 had the heads of your society with us. Now I must 
 frankly tell you, in reference to your very unexpected : 
 claim for your countrywomen of superior refinement, that i 
 although I have seen several of them whose manners were i 
 too quiet and retiring to give the least offence, I have ' 
 neither seen nor heard of any who, even in the society of i 
 our middle classes, were thought entitled to more than j 
 this negative commendation — any who have become ' 
 prominent without betraying gross ignorance of more 
 than conventional good breeding. The very tone of 
 voice, the accent and the choice of phrase, give us the 
 impression of extreme inelegance. Patriot and staunch 
 republican as you are, I think you must admit the a 
 priori probability that the metropolis of the British 
 empire, the first city in the world for size, for opulence, 
 for diffusion of the comforts, accommodations, and luxuries 
 of life, as well as for all the appliances of science, literature, 
 and taste — the seat of a court unexcelled in splendour, 
 and of an aristocracy absolutely imrivalled in wealth, in 
 substantial power and dignity, and especially in mental 
 cultivation of the most solid and most elegant kind — 
 
TO THE EEV. DR. CHANNING. 437 
 
 would afford such a standard of graceful and finished 
 manners as your state capitals can have no chance of 
 coming up to. Further : it has been most truly observed 
 that in every country it is the raotliers who give the tone 
 both to morals and manners ; but with you the mothers 
 are by your own account the toilers. Oppressed Y?ith the 
 cares of house and children, they either retire from society 
 into the bosom of their family, or leave at least the active 
 and prominent parts in it to mere girls : and can you suppose 
 that the art and science of good breeding, for such it is, 
 will be likely to advance towards perfection when all who 
 have attained such proficiency as experience can give 
 resign the sway to giddy novices ? With us it is quite 
 different. Young ladies do not come out till eighteen, 
 and then their part is a very subordinate one. It is the 
 matron who does the honours of her house, and supports 
 conversation ; and her daughters pay their visits beneath 
 her wing. Under wholesome restraint like this, the young 
 best learn self-government. 'Sir,' said Dr. Parr, when 
 provoked by the ill manners of a rich man who had been 
 a spoiled child, *it is discipline that makes the scholar, 
 discipline that makes the gentleman, and it is the want of 
 discipline that makes you what you are.' 
 
 One of your young women showed her taste and breeding 
 by asking an English lady if she had seen 'Victoria;' and 
 I must mention that Miss Sedgewick has thought proper 
 to describe the first and greatest lady in the ivorld as ' a 
 plain little body,' adding, ' ordinary is the word for her.' 
 
 It was no woman luckily, but your Mr. D , who had 
 
 the superlative conceit and impertinence to express his 
 surprise to a friend of mine at finding so much good 
 society in London. Now I think I have given you 
 enough for one letter. 
 
 Let me thank you very gratefully for your ' Duty of the 
 Free States.' We ought all to be grateful to you as one 
 
438 " LETTEES 
 
 of the most earnest and powerful pleaders for peace 
 between our two countries. I trust there is now good 
 hope of the settlement of all our disputes. But your 
 man-owners may as well give up all hope of our lending 
 our hands to the recovery of their chattels ; we shall go 
 to war sooner, I can tell them. Your piece gave me 
 much new information respecting the obligations of the free 
 states in connection with slavery ; they are more onerous 
 than I thought. You must carry your point as to the 
 district of Columbia at all risks, and I apprehend you I 
 will do so as soon as your people can be brought earnestly ! 
 to will it — a state of public feeling which seems to be 1 
 advancing. After our victory over slave-trade and slavery, 
 no good cause is ever to be despaired of, not even although ' 
 many of its champions may show themselves rash, un- i 
 charitable, violent. Eeason, justice, and humanity must ' 
 condescend to own that they need the service of the ' 
 passions to lead the forlorn hope in their holiest crusades. ' 
 Your lively delineations of the Southerns and the Northerns ' 
 struck me very forcibly. The contrast is just what we { 
 should draw between English and Irish. Difference of 
 climate may in great degree account for this in your 
 case, but it can have no part in ours. We should ascribe 
 it to ditt'erence of race, had not the original English settlers ^ 
 in Ireland grown into such a likeness of the old Celtic ^ 
 stock. Nothing more inscrutable than the causes of 
 national character. Climate certainly modifies the original 
 type. Thus the picture which you draw of American ' 
 women in your letter bore much resemblance, I thought, 
 to the Creoles of our islands. But surely the same 
 character cannot apply to the women of both North and " 
 South any more than to the men, for, independently of all 
 other causes, the presence or absence of domestic slaves '] 
 must modify every detail of domestic, and of course of 
 feminine, life. 
 
TO THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 439 
 
 We have a new book which, if it fall in your way, 
 will surely interest you. It is the ' Life of Oliver Hey- 
 wood,' composed chiefly from his own journals by the Eev. 
 Joseph Hunter. He was one of the two thousand ejected 
 Presbyterian ministers of Charles II.'s time. After he 
 was silenced, so far from holding his tongue, he passed the 
 rest of his life, more than thirty years, in assiduous, almost 
 incessant preaching, as a kind of missionary. His sphere 
 of action was the wild mountainous tract along the borders 
 of Lancashire and the West Eiding of Yorkshire, then 
 thinly sprinkled with pastoral villages, small towns en- 
 gaged in woollen manufacture, and seats of rustic gentry 
 — now a region of factories and steam-engines, mostly 
 deserted by its hereditary gentry, but swarming with 
 population. Oliver Heywood founded many congregations, 
 and was indeed one of the chief fathers of Protestant 
 dissent in all that country ; it was a productive soil, and 
 the seed sown by him has brought forth abundantly. The 
 wealthy descendants of the poor and rude people whom he 
 penetrated with his own profound sense of practical re- 
 ligion, his own stern hostility to the claims of 'poiuer in 
 the concerns of conscience, and his defiance, his scorn of 
 persecution, have not yet quite lost the spirit of their 
 forefathers, although they have mitigated their gloomy 
 austerity and Calvinistic faith. Many of them are at this 
 time the zealous and liberal supporters of the Unitarian 
 congregations in Bolton, Manchester, Leeds, HaHfax, &c. 
 The picture of manners is very striking. I doubt if any- 
 thing has been published which brings so close those rigid 
 men whose lives might be called one long religious service 
 —with whom to fast and pray appeared the great ends 
 for which mankind were created. The intensity of their 
 bigotry was frightful, and it was chiefly exerted against 
 their brother sectaries. When they are themselves under 
 persecution, one is disposed to respect and admire them ; 
 
440 LETTERS TO THE REY. DR. CHAINING. 
 
 but yet it is impossible to forget that they are quite ready 
 to do as much, and more also, to all who differ from them 
 if ever their own turn should come round again. You 
 must see the book. I will try to beg you a copy of my 
 friend James Heywood, one of two wealthy and most worthy 
 brothers, at whose desire and cost this life of their ancient 
 kinsman has been written. Mr. Hunter is in every part 
 thorough master of his subject, and his own portion is 
 full of curious and valuable matter. 
 
 This reminds me of your Mr. Savage, with whom I had 
 an interesting conference. The spirit of ^ Old Mortality ' 
 seems to have migrated into his form. There is something in 
 what Carlyle keeps repeating about real men, earnest men. 
 It is they alone who stamp their image into coming ages. 
 They ! I should have said you. 
 
 My * Addison,' a theme on which there is no room for 
 anything very earnest^ though I am real as far as I go, 
 proceeds at a very leisurely pace, but I hope to be ready 
 for the next book season. I have been fortunate in obtain- 
 ing much new matter, especially some very agreeable 
 unpublished letters from the lineal representative of his i 
 executor Tickell. 
 
 Ever your sincere friend, 
 
 LUCT AlKIN. 
 
 039 
 
 LOSDON 
 
 PBINTED BY SPOTTISWOO DK AND CO. 
 
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