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 ,<.>■
 
 JOSEPH JENKINS; 
 
 LEAVES FROM THE LIFE 
 
 OF A 
 
 LITERARY MAN. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS," "THE 
 GREAT METROPOLIS," 
 
 &c. &c. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 SAUNDERS & OTLEY, CONDUIT STREET. 
 
 MDCCCXLIII.
 
 CITY PRESS, LONG LANE 
 D. A. DOUDNEY.
 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The Author appears, on this occasion, in a new 
 walk of literature. The hero he has chosen for 
 his volumes has little of that romance in his 
 character which is usually to be found in the 
 heroes of modern novels. Such personages as 
 Joseph Jenkins are everywhere to be met with ; 
 and that is the main reason why the Author has 
 made him the hero of his pages. The leading 
 design of the book will, it is hoped, be evident to 
 all. It is to point out the necessity of moral 
 and religious principles, even to present happi- 
 ness. It only remains to be added, that though
 
 iv PREFACE. 
 
 the incidents recorded in these volumes did 
 not take place in the precise order which the 
 Author has assigned them, nor, in every in- 
 stance, in the experience of the persons vnth 
 whom he has connected them — they have this 
 recommendation in their favour, that they are, 
 one and all, founded on fact. 
 
 London, Nov. IS-IS.
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introductory notice of our hero — Death of his mother 
 — His arrival in London — The impression which the 
 external aspect of the metropolis makes on his mind , 1 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Visits Cogers' Hall — Account of the origin, appearance, 
 and nature of the place — A ludicrous incident . .12 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Joseph, seeing the necessity, resolves to do something 
 for his own support — Determines, with that view, on 
 the publication of a poem entitled " The Universe " — 
 Calls on the prince of publishers, to offer him the 
 manuscript — Is disappointed in not obtaining an inter- 
 view—Returns home, and sends the manuscript for the 
 bibliopole's inspection — The result . . . .32
 
 VI CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Though disappointed with the result of his first effort to 
 dispose of his poem, Joseph renews the attempt with 
 another eminent publisher — Waits on, and is admitted 
 to an interview with, the latter — His mode of dealing 
 with authors — The nature and result of the interview 43 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Makes a third attempt to get a purchaser for his manu- 
 script — Fails as before — Resolves to publish the work 
 on his own account — Some secrets worth knowing 
 respecting authorship and publishing — Extent of the 
 sale of " The Universe " 52 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Joseph determines for ever to abjure writing poetry, 
 and never again to publish on his own account — Wishes 
 to become a parliamentary reporter .... 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Is received on trial for the situation named in the pre- 
 vious chapter — Feelings consequent on a first attempt 
 at parliamentary reporting — Succeeds in getting a per- 
 manent engagement . . . , . . .78 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Duties of a parliamentary reporter — Joseph attends the 
 meetings of a political association — Character of the 
 leading speakers — Aniusing incident — Close of the 
 public career of the principal demagogues . . .82
 
 CONTENTS* VU 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Importance of a proper religious education— Mr. Jenkins' 
 want of it — Consequences of neglecting the outward 
 means of religion — Interview with Mr. Lovegood and 
 Joseph on the subject Ill 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Becomes an infidel — Causes of infidelity — Wretchedness 
 of an infidel creed — General remarks .... 120 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Joseph extends his acquaintance with authors and pub- 
 lishers — A dinner scene — Unpleasant discoveries on 
 the following day 128 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Forms another engagement — Writes leading articles 
 for two papers of opposite politics — An awkward mis- 
 take — Its consequences 143 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Joseph forms a new literary engagement — Corrupt state 
 of literary criticism in the metropolis — Sketches of the 
 leading literary critics in London .... 160 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Farther observations on the corrupt slate of literary 
 criticism in the metropolis — Authors of title or stand- 
 ing in society — The way in which they contrive to get 
 favourable notices of their books — Literary coteries — 
 General observations 185
 
 Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Mr. Lovegood brings out a new work — Conversation 
 between him and Joseph on reviewing books in the 
 periodicals of the day 210 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Joseph is taken seriously ill — Neglect of his acquaint- 
 ances — Ingratitude — Conversation with Mr. Lovegood 
 on the arguments in favour of and against Christianity 219 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Is restored to health — Effect of the conversation with 
 JVJr. Lovegood described in the last chapter — Visits 
 Hastings 260 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Joseph attends, from motives of curiosity, a Socialist 
 meeting — The principles promulgated— Mr. Hatchet's 
 speech — Its effects ..:.... 270
 
 JOSEPH JENKINS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Introductory notice of our hero — Death of his mother — His 
 arrival in London — The, impression which the external 
 aspect of the metropolis makes on his mind. 
 
 Joseph Jenkins was born in a small village, 
 which it is needless to name, in the county of 
 Moray, a district in the north of Scotland 
 equally remarkable for the beauty of its land- 
 scapes and the salubrity of its climate. The 
 lowland portions of the county possess an as- 
 pect of loveliness, in that season of the year 
 when the trees are loaded with foliage, and the 
 fields are luxuriant with corn and grass, which 
 is hardly to be surpassed, and seldom equalled, 
 by any scenery within the limits of our sea-girt 
 shores. And, from some of the more elevated 
 
 B
 
 2 INTRODUCTORY NOTICE 
 
 situations in Morayshire, the prospect is as ex- 
 tensive as it is pleasant. From the summit of 
 the hill, now called Quarrywood, though its ori- 
 ginal name was Quarrelwood, the eye can take 
 in, at one glance, no fewer than nine counties. 
 Nor is its vision, even then, circumscribed by 
 the intervention of physical objects : it is only 
 because the eye possesses not the power of ex- 
 tending its vision farther, that its range is thus 
 limited : it literally loses itself in the immensity 
 of space. 
 
 Having a lively perception, and an exquisite 
 relish for the beauties of nature, Joseph Jen- 
 kins was in the habit of feasting his vision, for 
 entire days, in. the season of summer, on the 
 lovely panorama spread before him, as he seated 
 himself on the summit of Quarrywood. He not 
 only possessed a cultivated literary taste, but had 
 much of the ardour and sanguine temperament 
 of the poet in his composition. His fond ima- 
 gination clothed his prospects in life — though 
 prospects, properly speaking, he had none —
 
 OF OUR HERO. 6 
 
 with all the brightness and beauty of colour ex- 
 hibited by the rainbow. He looked through 
 the vista of futurity, and it was as pleasant to 
 his mental eye as the lovely landscapes which 
 graced the place of his nativity, were to his phy- 
 sical vision. He dreamed not of the possibility 
 of his path of life containing so much as one 
 solitary thorn; he pictured it to himself as a 
 path which, from the beginning to the end, he 
 w^ould find strewed with flowers, soft to the 
 feet, delightful to the eye, and fragrant to the 
 smell. 
 
 And yet he had no independency on which to 
 rely ; he had not even a moderate competency 
 to which he might look forward, as sure to afford 
 him a refuge from want. He had been educated, 
 and hitherto supported, on an annuity of 120/., 
 which his mother received from Government, 
 in virtue of her deceased husband having been 
 an officer in the army. Being an only son, he 
 was the idol of his mother's heart; every com- 
 fort which her means could procure was enjoyed
 
 4 DEATH OF HIS FATHER. 
 
 by him ; and in the north of Scotland, where 
 provisions of all kinds, fuel, house-rent, &c., 
 are exceedingly cheap, a little sum, with 
 judicious management, can be made to go a great 
 length. If even in England, where living is 
 more expensive. Goldsmith's poor curate was 
 passing rich with his forty pounds a year, it 
 may easily be believed that, with three times 
 that sum, Joseph Jenkins and his mother were 
 able to make a highly respectable appearance 
 in a remote part of Scotland. With the latter, 
 however, the pension died ; and, as she had lived 
 up to her income, there was no expectancy for 
 her son. The possibility of the death of the 
 maternal parent, though he had been furnished 
 with what ought to have proved a striking 
 illustration of the uncertainty of life by the 
 death, in his eighteenth year, of his father, 
 seems never to have occurred to Joseph, It h 
 passing strange, apart from the religious aspects 
 of the question, that, at the very moment 
 we are surrounded with the emblems of death,
 
 DEATH OF HIS FATHER. O 
 
 and when the graves of departed friends can 
 scarcely be said to be closed on our view, we 
 are not only insensible to those solemn consi- 
 derations which are associated with the uncer- 
 tainty of life, but even entirely overlook the 
 fact that our death, and the deaths of surviving 
 friends, must, sooner or later, succeed the dis- 
 solution of the friends that have gone before us. 
 The author of "Night Thoughts" represents 
 unreflecting man as considering himself im- 
 mortal, while aware that all others are mortal. 
 The observation admits of a more extended ap- 
 plication. We often fondly fancy that the 
 friends we most ardently love are immortal, as 
 well as ourselves ; or, which is practically the 
 same thing, we forget that they, like the rest of 
 mankind, must one day sicken and die, and 
 vanish from our society and our sight. 
 
 But though the loss of Joseph's father, and the 
 daily dissolution of others around him, never 
 opened his eyes to the possibility of his mo- 
 ther's being some day suddenly snatched from
 
 b DEATH OF HIS MOTHER. 
 
 him, and to the certainty of the event which hap- 
 peneth to all, happening one day to her ; his 
 forgetfulness of that event did not defer it for 
 even one little hour. She died w^ithin ten days 
 of the twenty-fourth anniversary of his birth. 
 
 Thus thrown on his o\vn resources, the 
 question now forced itself, for the first time, on 
 his serious attention — What was to be done to 
 procure a livelihood ? He had, as has already 
 been remarked, a taste for literary pursuits ; he 
 was a young man of accurate and varied in- 
 formation, and he possessed considerable facility 
 in the art of composition ; some of his manu- 
 script productions had been highly commended 
 by competent judges: and the upshot was, that 
 his friends advised him to quit his native coun- 
 try, and try his fortune, as a literary man, in the 
 great metropolis. 
 
 The advice was in accordance with his own 
 
 private predilections ; for he was proud of being 
 
 . considered a literary man, and very ambitious of 
 
 acquiring the reputation of a successful author.
 
 ARRIVAL IN LONDON. i 
 
 He therefore resolved on repairing to London, 
 and trusting for a subsistence to the produce of 
 his pen. 
 
 He reached the metropolis in 1821, with 
 twenty-five pounds in his pocket, which was all 
 that remained of the proceeds of his mother's 
 furniture, after discharging a variety of trifling 
 debts which she owed, and providing himself 
 with the needful supply of apparel. 
 
 Coming from a quiet, unpretending village, 
 six hundred miles north of the metropolis, it 
 may easily be imagined how much he was im- 
 pressed with what he witnessed in London, as 
 well as with the place itself. He was charmed 
 with the novelty, and dazzled with the splen- 
 dour, of what everywhere met his eye, as he 
 passed along the great thoroughfares. Regent 
 Street, however, possessed peculiar attractions 
 to him. And here we may pause for a moment, 
 though it \vill slightly interrupt the flow of the 
 narrative, to make the observation, that not 
 only no part of London, but nothing in Lon-
 
 8 HIS FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF THE 
 
 don, possesses the same permanent charm to a 
 stranger as Regent Street. Buckingham Palace, 
 the Parks, the British Museum, Westminster 
 Abbey, the Houses of Parliament, St. Paul's, 
 the Thames Tunnel, and a score of other places 
 which it is unnecessary to name, may all rely 
 upon receiving an early visit from him ; but 
 nobody ever hears of his expressing a v^rish to see 
 any of them a second time. With Regent Street 
 the case is different. The charm which it 
 possessed in his eye when he first put his 
 foot in it, continues in all its original bright- 
 ness: it never loses its loveliness; its attrac- 
 tions do not diminish by familiarity. The 
 splendour of its shops, the rich and never- 
 ending variety of the objects contained in its 
 windows ; the crowds of well-dressed persons 
 perpetually promenading its pavements ; the 
 dashing equipages, tenanted by the beauty 
 and fashion of the land, which sweep past you 
 in a stream of unbroken continuity ; — these 
 are among the things which render Regent
 
 APPEARANCE OF LONDON. V 
 
 Street a place of perpetual interest and attrac- 
 tion to the stranger, and which, it might be 
 added, prevent its becoming uninteresting or 
 unattractive even to the eye of him who has 
 been for years a resident in the metropolis. 
 
 The bustle of Cheapside and the other 
 crowded streets in the city contrasted strongly, 
 in Joseph's view, with the stillness and repose 
 of the peaceful village which he had left. He 
 wondered whether the streets could be always 
 as crowded as when he was proceeding along 
 them, or whether there might not be some par- 
 ticular cause for the moving masses of human 
 beings which he beheld passing to and fro when- 
 ever he chanced to be out. He was scarcely 
 less confounded at the multitudes of horses, 
 omnibuses, coaches, and other vehicles, which 
 he saw in every direction. The whole scene 
 was beyond anything he had ever conceived. 
 It surpassed all his ideas of the business and 
 bustle of the metropolis. It was with diihculty 
 he could persuade himself that it was not all a 
 b2
 
 10 HIS FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF THE 
 
 dream. Could it be real ? Did not his senses 
 deceive him ? And if not — if what he saw was 
 an actual scene — if it was only an every-day 
 sight, whence could the vast concourse come 
 from ? Where were they proceeding to ? What 
 were their modes of earning a subsistence? 
 How could they pursue their respective avoca- 
 tions amidst so much bustle and confusion? 
 These were questions which obtruded them- 
 selves on his mind ; and the more he meditated 
 on them, the more was he perplexed at the 
 mysteries of metropolitan life. 
 
 These, however, were only evanescent feel- 
 ings. The novelty of the scene gradually wore 
 off. Joseph's eye became familiarized to every- 
 thing he saw around him, and the bustle and 
 business ceased to excite his wonder. Ere two 
 months had elapsed, he could pass along Cheap - 
 side without indulging in a single feeling of 
 surprise at the immense masses of men that are 
 there continually moving in opposite currents. 
 But, indeed, for the rough jostling which he
 
 APPEARANCE OF LONDON. 11 
 
 had every now and then to encounter in con- 
 sequence of the crowd, he might have passed 
 along without discovering that he had not the 
 pavement to himself: so powerful are the 
 effects of habit.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Visits Cogers' Hall — Account of the origin, appearance, and 
 nature of the place — A ludicrous incident. 
 
 Every day of the first fortnight was diligently 
 improved by Joseph in visiting the principal 
 places of resort for strangers. But he was not 
 one that would be satisfied with seeing the ordi- 
 nary sights ; he wanted to witness human na- 
 ture in the various phases it assumes in all great 
 cities ; but especially in such a place as the 
 modern Babylon. He had been to both Houses 
 of Parliament, but he had not yet visited a sub- 
 ordinate sort of senate, of which he had read in 
 Scotland, wherein all the more prominent poli- 
 tical questions of the day were nightly discussed, 
 and where the speeches were said to be, in many 
 instances, as able and eloquent as any which are 
 delivered in either branch of the Legislature.
 
 ACCOUNT OF COGERS' HALL. 13 
 
 He did not remember the name of the place, 
 but his description of the character of the pro- 
 ceedings, enabled an acquaintance at once to 
 point out the debating assembly into which he 
 was desirous of being introduced. 
 
 " Oh, it is the Cogers' Hall you mean," re- 
 marked his friend. 
 
 " That is the name of the place," observed 
 Joseph. " In what part of London is it ? " 
 
 " In the neighbourhood of St. Bride's 
 Church." 
 
 " Let us go together," said Mr. Jenkins. 
 
 " I have no objection," returned the other. 
 
 " Shall we go to-night ? " 
 
 " If you wish it ; but this being Thursday, 
 will not be a good night." 
 
 "Is, then, one night better than another ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, there is a very great difference." 
 
 " Which is the best night ? " 
 
 " Saturday night. On that night the place 
 is crowded. In fact Saturday night is always a 
 field night in the Cogers' Hall."
 
 14 ACCOUNT OF COGERS' HALL. 
 
 " Suppose, then, we appoint Saturday night 
 next." 
 
 "Agreed." 
 
 Joseph's friend kept his appointment, and to 
 the Cogers' Hall they proceeded. But, before 
 following them thither, let us pause for a little, 
 and endeavour to give the reader some idea of 
 the place. 
 
 Cogers' Hall can boast of a very respectable 
 antiquity; perhaps there is no other place in 
 the country appropriated to discussions of the 
 same kind, that has existed for an equal period. 
 The discussions now nightly carried on in 
 Cogers' Hall, commenced in the year 1 756. The 
 circumstances in which they had their origin, 
 beyond the fact of their being of a political cha- 
 racter, are, we believe, unknown ; at any rate, 
 our researches into the matter have not been 
 rewarded with results on which we can rely. 
 
 The name, Cogers' Hall, is said to have been 
 derived from the word " cogitate ;" the per- 
 sons forming the Society calling themselves co-
 
 ACCOUNT OF COGERS' HALL. 15 
 
 gitators, or reflectors, on the political events of 
 the day. 
 
 A number of individuals, who have afterwards 
 risen to great distinction, have made their first 
 appearance, as public speakers, in Cogers' Hall. 
 Among these may be mentioned the name of the 
 late Mr. Alderman Waithman, twice Lord Mayor 
 of London, and for many years one of the Mem- 
 bers for the city. 
 
 The room in which the Cogers meet is not 
 large. It is not capable of containing more 
 than from fifty to sixty persons, with any de- 
 gree of comfort, though a much larger number 
 often cram themselves into it. 
 
 The Cogers always muster most strongly on 
 occasions of great political excitement. On such 
 occasions, even on the evenings of the other 
 days of the week, as well as on that of Saturday, 
 the Hall is often crowded in every part. Every 
 one is naturally anxious to express his opinions 
 on the state of public affairs in all great political 
 conjunctures. It is only at such seasons that
 
 16 ACCOUNT OF COGERS' HALL. 
 
 the inveterate political character of the Cogers 
 is seen in its proper light. Nothing can exceed 
 the earnestness of their manner in commenting 
 on the conduct of public men, except in masti- 
 cating their chops, steaks, Welsh rabbits, or any 
 of the other good things which grace the ever 
 amply-supplied larder of the landlord. In ordi- 
 nary circumstances, a few of the fraternity re- 
 joicing in the reputation of crack speakers, are 
 allowed to monopolize the greater part of the 
 oratory to themselves. Not so when there is 
 great political excitement out of doors, — the 
 phrase by which the Cogers, in imitation of 
 both Houses of Parliament, usually designate 
 the public ; then all are speakers. It may be 
 worthy of mention, that the first time we visited 
 Cogers' Hall, which was in company with a 
 Coger of considerable standing, was on the Wed- 
 nesday evening after the opening of the Parlia- 
 ment of 1837. The public mind, it will be re- 
 membered, was then very much occupied with 
 the declaration of Lord John Russell against the
 
 ACCOUNT OF COGERS' HALL. 17 
 
 vote by ballot, the extension of the suffrage, 
 the shortening of the duration of Parliaments, 
 and, indeed, against all farther progress in the 
 road to additional reform. That was a circum- 
 stance which could not fail to call forth the 
 Cogers from the retirement of private life. Ac- 
 cordingly there was a numerous attendance, all 
 eager to denounce the conduct of the then Home 
 Secretary; and yet, paradoxical as the posi- 
 tion may appear, the very excess of the general 
 — I may say, universal — anxiety which prevailed 
 on this occasion in Cogers' Hall, to play the 
 orator, almost entirely prevented anything wor- 
 thy of the name of public speaking taking place. 
 We may be asked, "How could this be?" 
 We will answer the question in as few words as 
 possible. Well, then, the truth was, that so 
 eager were the Cogers to give vent to their Ra- 
 dicalism at so momentous a national crisis, that 
 they endeavoured to speak by the dozen at a 
 time. The only evil was, that the audience, not 
 having individually a couple of dozen ears, so as
 
 18 ACCOUNT OF COGERS' HALL. 
 
 to lend two to each orator, could not hear a 
 word of what was said. Sometimes, indeed, it 
 seemed as if the speakers actually outnumbered 
 the hearers. The Bahelish character of the 
 eloquence was such, that hardly any of the 
 speakers themselves heard what they were say- 
 ing. The evil, consequently, soon cured itself; 
 and eventually, from having twelve or fourteen 
 orators all at once endeavouring to engage the 
 attention of the remaining Cogers, there were 
 scarcely any speaking at all. 
 
 Here let us state a fact which is highly in 
 praise of the Cogers. We have always observed 
 that, however little respect they may show to 
 one another, they invariably evince the most 
 profound deference for " My Grand," — the title 
 bestowed on the gentleman who has the honour 
 of presiding in the Hall. Even on the memo- 
 rable occasion to which reference has been 
 made, when, from the anxiety of all to speak, 
 there seemed to be a general determination that 
 none should be heard; even on that occasion.
 
 ACCOUNT OF COGERS' HALL. 19 
 
 the moment *^ My Grand " opened his mouth, 
 there was a profound and universal silence in 
 the Hall. He made some pointed observations 
 on the conduct of Lord John Russell, — which 
 observations were loudly cheered. These were 
 divided into three speeches. The first was 
 delivered standing, and was as long as the re- 
 maining two ; both of which were uttered while 
 he retained his sitting posture in the chair. It 
 should also be stated that, while delivering him- 
 self of the two short orations, " My Grand " 
 kept the pipe in his mouth, and continued, by 
 some means or other, which are probably un- 
 known to anybody but himself, to speak and 
 smoke at the same time ; and this part of his 
 duty he performed as well as if the capability of 
 doing it had been one of the ordinations of 
 nature, — which everybody knows is not the fact. 
 It was impossible to help admiring the regularity 
 with which the president of the Cogers took 
 advantage of the necessary pause in his oration, 
 while the Hall was resounding with the plaudits
 
 20 ACCOUNT OF COGERS' HALL. 
 
 with which his eloquence was greeted, to emit 
 the inconveniently large collections of smoke 
 which had " taken place " in his mouth. It was 
 as gratifying to us to witness the " smoke which 
 so gracefully curled " above " My Grand's " 
 head, in these pauses in his orations, as the 
 cheers of the Cogers must have been to him. 
 It is pleasant to hear him speak ; but half the 
 pleasure of hearing him would be lost, if his 
 audience did not, at the same time, see him. 
 He never comes to what he conceives a point, 
 without accompanying the last word with a 
 smile. He is one of the most pleasant chairmen 
 that ever presided over the proceedings of any 
 body of one's " fellow-subjects." He is full of 
 good temper, and furnishes an impressive illus- 
 tration in his own conduct of the rule he lays 
 down for the guidance of others — namely, to 
 use one of his own favourite phrases, of 
 " bearing and forbearing." Shakspeare says of 
 Falstaff, or of some other of his characters, that 
 he was not only witty himself, but the cause of
 
 ACCOUNT OF COGERS' HALL. 21 
 
 wit in others. " My Grand" speaks repeatedly 
 himself, and is the cause of oratory in his brother 
 Cogers. When he is anxious for a discussion 
 on any given point, he has only to commence it 
 himself, or (as he calls it) give "a toast," to 
 insure a regular succession of speakers. There 
 can be no question that, but for him, there 
 would not be half the oratory in Cogers' Hall 
 which is heard in that interesting locality. 
 The occupation of the members, were he un- 
 happily absent, would chiefly consist in masti- 
 cating Welsh rabbits, and swilling Boniface's 
 bottled stout ; which last article the Cogers, to 
 a man, declared to be unrivalled. Those who 
 were present on the occasion, will remember 
 that on one evening in November, 1838, seeing 
 an unwonted dulness in the Hall, and a 
 manifest indisposition in the countenances of 
 the Cogers to play the Demosthenes of the 
 evening, " My Grand " started to his legs, 
 and, after a few introductory observations, 
 proposed, as the subject of discussion, " The
 
 22 ACCOUNT OF COGERS' HALL. 
 
 Reform of the Reform Bill." The announce- 
 ment was received with thunders of applause : 
 its effect, indeed, was electrical. Cogers started 
 up to speak in such rapid succession, that you 
 would have thought at one time they would 
 " stretch to the crack of doom." Did we say suc- 
 cession ? That is not the proper word. They 
 started up in half-dozens, and a most interest- 
 ing and animated discussion ensued. There is 
 one indication which " My Grand" always 
 gives of his intention to speak, about half-a- 
 minute before he begins, which is, putting his 
 pipe in the centre of his mouth, and then 
 causing it to project in a straight line. Most 
 people prefer putting their pipes in one side 
 of their mouth, and then placing them in 
 a slanting position. So does "My Grand" 
 in ordinary circumstances ; but let those who 
 are curious in such matters only observe 
 the motions of "My Grand" for one even- 
 ing, and see whether he does not, before 
 making a speech — no matter how often he may
 
 A LUDICROUS INCIDENT. Z8 
 
 speak in the course of the evening — invariably 
 adjust his pipe in the particular way we have 
 mentioned. 
 
 When it happens (which it seldom does) that 
 neither " My Grand" nor his deputy enters the 
 Hall in time to take the chair, any person pre- 
 sent is eligible to the office of president for the 
 evening, in the event of a motion for his being 
 chosen to it, being made and carried. On such 
 occasions, if a stranger be in the room, a hoax 
 is played oif at his expense, by his being 
 elected president for the evening, and then 
 made to pay a certain penalty for the honour. 
 A short time ago, a Yorkshireman, remarkable 
 for his money-getting and money-keeping pro- 
 pensities, who had heard a great deal about the 
 Cogers, and was consequently anxious to see 
 what sort of animals they were, determined, on 
 the very first night of his arrival in town, to 
 pay a visit to their Hall. He was accompanied 
 by two friends — one of them, Mr. Huggins, as 
 celebrated for his waggeries as for his literary
 
 24 A LUDICROUS INCIDENT. 
 
 abilities, which are certainly very great. Seeing 
 the chair empty on their entrance, and it being 
 past the usual time of "My Grand's" arrival, 
 the wag had scarcely taken his seat when he 
 rose and said — " Gentlemen, seeing the chair 
 unoccupied, I have infinite pleasure in rising to 
 propose that we choose, as our president for 
 the evening, my very worthy and esteemed 
 friend, Mr. John Rogers, who sits on my right. 
 He has never been here before; indeed, this 
 is the first day he has ever put foot in the 
 metropolis." 
 
 The object of Mr. Huggins in making the 
 intimation, was at once understood, and all 
 prepared forthwith for a cordial co-operation 
 with him in the hoax about to be practised. 
 
 "Yes, gentlemen," continued Mr. Huggins, 
 "my excellent friend has never been in Lon- 
 don before ; but, notwithstanding that, I know 
 enough of his intellectual acquirements, com- 
 bined with his business habits (which are of the 
 first-rate order), to justify me in saying that he
 
 A LUDICROLS INCIDENT. ^O 
 
 will make an admirable cliairman. (Loud 
 cheers, amidst which Mr. Rogers, as he himself 
 afterwards remarked, blushed " profoundly," 
 and held down his head.) Without one word of 
 farther preface, therefore, I propose that Mr. 
 Rogers do take the chair." 
 
 '^ I second the motion with all my heart," 
 said the other friend of Mr. Rogers. 
 
 The question was put, and carried amidst 
 acclamations, which almost threatened to cause 
 an explosion of the Hall. 
 
 The artist then took Mr. Rogers by tlie 
 hand, and conducted him to the chair with an 
 edifying observance of etiquette. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Mr. Rogers, betaking 
 himself to his legs, after he had graced the 
 chair for a few seconds in a sitting posture — 
 " gentlemen, I do assure you that this is a most 
 unexpected, as it soortainly is a most un- 
 deserved, honour. When I coom to Lunnun 
 this morning, I never dreamt of any such dis- 
 tinction being conferred upon me. I will, gen- 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 SSO A LUDICROUS INCIDENT. 
 
 tlemen, remember, with the deepest gratitude, 
 this night till the hour of my death. I thank 
 you, from the bootoom of my heart, for the 
 hoonour you have done me." 
 
 "Mr. Chairman," said Mr. Huggins, "you 
 have great reason to be proud of the high and 
 honourable position to which you have been 
 elevated by the unanimous votes, and amidst 
 the loudest acclamations, of this most respect- 
 able — indeed, I may say philosophical, assem- 
 blage." 
 
 Mr. Rogers made a low bow, put his hand to 
 his breast, while his physiognomy, which was 
 of very ample proportions, deeply coloured 
 from ear to ear, and from the summit of his 
 brow to the lower extremity of his chin. 
 
 "But, Mr, Chairman," continued Mr. Hug- 
 gins, "something more than mere thanks is 
 always expected, and indeed exacted, on such 
 an occasion as this, before commencing the 
 business of the evening. A small penalty 
 is"
 
 A LUDICROUS INCIDENT. 21 
 
 Mr. Rogers started at the word penalty, and 
 then looked marvellously grave. 
 
 " A small penalty is always imposed on any 
 gentleman who has, for the first time, conferred 
 upon him the distinguished honour which you 
 have this evening received, amidst universal 
 and deafening applause. That penalty is " 
 
 Here John looked as if he w^ould burst, from 
 the intensity of his anxiety to learn what the 
 nature and amount of the penalty were. 
 
 " That penalty, Mr. Chairman, is the placing 
 of five guineas in the hands of the treasurer, for 
 the purpose of getting your portrait taken to 
 hang on the walls of this room," 
 
 Mr. Rogers stood aghast. He was too con- 
 founded to utter a word. 
 
 "But," resumed Mr. Huggins, with the 
 greatest possible gravity — " but, Mr. Chairman, 
 if, from delicacy or other considerations, you 
 have any objection to your likeness being 
 taken and affixed to these walls, you can escape 
 that penalty by submitting to another, which,
 
 28 A LUDICROUS INCIDENT. 
 
 considering that less than the usual number of 
 members are present to-night, will prove much 
 lighter than the one already mentioned." 
 
 Mr. Rogers began to breathe more freely. 
 
 " That penalty, Mr. Chairman, is, that 
 the gentlemen now present have the privilege 
 of ordering anything of the waiter they please, 
 to the extent of a shilling each, at your ex- 
 pense. It is for yourself, Mr. Chairman, to 
 make your choice." 
 
 " Moost (must) I pay either penalty ?" groaned 
 Mr. Rogers. 
 
 "Oh, certainly; it's indispensable," shouted 
 all present, with one voice. 
 
 "Well, gentlemen, if I moost, I moost; but 
 I'm so taken by surprise that I hardly know 
 what to do," 
 
 " It is not my intention to dictate, Mr. Chair- 
 man; but, as it may be inconvenient for you, 
 who are to be only a short time in town, to 
 give the requisite number of sittings for your 
 portrait, I think it would be the better way to
 
 A LUDICROUS INCIDENT. 29 
 
 accept the latter alternative at once. And you 
 may think yourself exceedingly fortunate that 
 there is not a full attendance to-night; as, in 
 that case, you would have had, instead of fifty 
 shillings, to pay five pounds.'* 
 
 " If you take my advice, Mr. Chairman," 
 said John's other friend, "you will decide in 
 favour of the latter penalty at once ; for 
 see," he added, pointing to the wall, " out of 
 the many hundreds who have been chosen as 
 you have this night, and, consequently, incurred 
 the penalty annexed to the high honour, only 
 those three chose to have their portraits taken ; 
 all the others preferred the second alterna- 
 tive. 
 
 " Yes, and those three would have done the 
 same, only they knew they had exceedingly 
 handsome countenances, of which they were 
 ver}^ vain. The portrait of any one not having 
 a handsome face would look horrible, by con- 
 trast, if placed beside them." 
 
 This decided Mr. Rogers; he hesitated no
 
 30 A LUDICROUS INCIDENT. 
 
 longer. He was the proprietor of one of the 
 most ugly visages which anybody ever wit- 
 nessed, and, what was more, was sensible of 
 the fact. "Waiter!" he shouted most lustily, 
 though the functionary wanted was within a 
 few yards of him. " Waiter !" 
 
 " Coming, sir." 
 
 " How many gentlemen are there here ? " 
 
 " Besides yourself, sir ? " 
 
 " Besides myself." 
 
 " One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, 
 eight, nine, ten forty-nine, sir." 
 
 " Then bring them in a shilling's-worth of 
 whatever they shall order." 
 
 " Yes, sir," responded William. 
 
 " Come, come, Mr. Chairman, you're for- 
 getting yourself," interrupted Mr. Huggins. 
 
 " Oh, must I order something for myself also ? " 
 
 " Why, certainly, there's no compulsion ; but 
 surely, Mr. Chairman, you would not sit and 
 see us all enjoying ourselves at your expense, 
 and not join us."
 
 A LUDICROUS INCIDENT. 31 
 
 "Waiter I" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Bring me a glass of brandy-and-water." , 
 
 Mr. Rogers paid his £2 10s., with a trifle to 
 the waiter. The usual speechification was pro- 
 ceeded with ; but the expenditure of his money 
 deprived him of all the pleasure which he would 
 otherwise have derived from the distinction of 
 being chairman. He vacated the chair at an 
 early hour,resolved that he would never again 
 cross the threshold of Cogers' Hall, and in- 
 wardly heaping maledictions on the heads of 
 the friends who had " taken him in " in a 
 double sense.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Joseph, seeing the necessity, resolves to do something for his 
 own support — Determines, with that view, on the publica- 
 tion of a poem entitled "The Universe" — Calls on the 
 prince of publishers, to offer him the manuscript — Is dis- 
 appointed in not obtaining an interview — Returns home, 
 and sends the manuscript for the bibliopole's inspection — 
 The result. 
 
 Before Joseph had been many weeks in the 
 metropolis, he discovered that his limited funds 
 were rapidly undergoing the process of diminu- 
 tion. Every stranger in London, who wishes 
 to make any appearance in society, will, how- 
 ever careful he may be to avoid extravagance, 
 soon make the same discovery ; for he is liable 
 to overcharge and imposition at every step he 
 takes. Consequently, though living in London 
 be expensive at all times and to all persons, it is 
 peculiarly so to the man who is unacquainted 
 with its ways. Our hero, finding his funds fast
 
 A MANUSCRIPT POEM. 33 
 
 disappearing, and feeling that he was thrown en- 
 tirely on his own resources, began to think se- 
 riously of what he was to do. He had written 
 a poem, when in his twentieth year, on a 
 very comprehensive subject, and one, more- 
 over, of universal and enduring interest: the 
 subject was " The Universe," and that he pro- 
 posed to be the title of the book. Hitherto, the 
 poem had lain in undisturbed repose in his 
 trunk : it had never been offered to any pub- 
 lisher ; in fact, there was no publisher in the 
 north of Scotland to whom it could be offered. 
 The only individuals who had seen " The Uni- 
 verse," were a few private friends, and, as is al- 
 ways the case, they were rapturous in their ad- 
 miration of it. They were unanimous in the 
 opinion, that it was destined at once to raise 
 the author to the highest distinction at which 
 a literary man could aspire — to place him, in- 
 deed, on a level with Shakspeare and Milton ; 
 and to procure him that competence, if not for- 
 tune, wliich is the usual accompaniment of a 
 c 2
 
 34 CALLS ON A PUBLISHER, 
 
 first-rate literary reputation. He therefore re- 
 solved on applying himself, in the first instance, 
 to the disposal of his manuscript to a " respect- 
 able publisher ;" not doubting that the name it 
 would get him, immediately on its publication, 
 would at once insure him a market for what- 
 ever else he might write, whether in poetry or 
 prose. 
 
 Joseph therefore determined on calling per- 
 sonally, next morning, with his manuscript, on 
 the prince of poetic publishers. Who that gen- 
 tleman is, need not be more particularly indi- 
 cated. He is known almost as extensively as 
 any of the illustrious poets whose works he has 
 brought out in every variety of form, in a style 
 of surpassing typographical and pictorial ele- 
 gance, and at* so cheap a rate as would make 
 the poets of a previous age hold up their hands 
 in amazement, were they only permitted to 
 revisit our sphere, and to gaze on these " illus- 
 trated editions " of the press of the present day. 
 It is no stretch of the imagination to suppose,
 
 TO OFFER HIM THE WORK. 35 
 
 that were the shades of Shakspeare, Pope, 
 Thomson, and others — Milton, having been 
 blind in his latter years, is necessarily out of the 
 question — cognizant of the elegance with which 
 modern works are brought out, they would 
 wish that the period of their appearance in the 
 world had been deferred until near the middle 
 of the nineteenth century. But this is a digres- 
 sion. 
 
 Joseph, according to the resolution he had 
 formed, called, the following morning, with 
 the manuscript of " The Universe " in his 
 pocket, on the Leviathan bibliopole. He found 
 two cabriolets and a carriage at the door of his 
 business premises, which, as every one knows, 
 are situated in a fashionable street at the West 
 End. He entered, and inquired whether Mr. 
 Harold was at home. 
 
 " Your name, sir, if you please," said a gen- 
 tlemanly-looking young man behind the counter. 
 
 " I only want a few words with him," re- 
 marked Mr. Jenkins.
 
 36 VISIT TO THE PUBLISHER. 
 
 " Perhaps you would send up your card, sir," 
 suggested the other. 
 
 Joseph had no card to send up. In the north 
 of Scotland, cards are not very common among 
 young persons, not even among the younger 
 branches of the better orders of society ; and he 
 was not aware, that in London a card is almost 
 as indispensable to a person with any preten- 
 sions to respectability, as a coat or hat. 
 
 ** My name," said Joseph, ingeniously avoid- 
 ing the subject of the card, " is Mr. Jenkins." 
 
 " Tell Mr. Harold that Mr. Jenkins wishes to 
 see him," said the party behind the counter, to 
 another young man in an inner room. 
 
 The latter vanished for a few seconds, and 
 then re-appeared. " Mr. Harold, sir, is sorry 
 that he is so much engaged at present, as to be 
 unable to see you." 
 
 *' Shall I call again?" inquired Mr. Jenkins. 
 
 " Perhaps you would be kind enough to men- 
 tion the nature of your business. Would any one 
 else than Mr. Harold do ? '-'
 
 VISIT TO THE PUBLISHER. 37 
 
 " I should like to see Mr. Harold himself: 
 it is about a matter of great importance to him, 
 as well as to me." 
 
 " He is very sorry, sir ; but he is particularly 
 engaged at present." 
 
 ' " Could you mention any other hour at which 
 I should be likely to see him ? " 
 
 " It is quite impossible to say ; the claims on 
 his time are so many and urgent." 
 
 " I wish to make him the Jirst offer of a 
 poem." 
 
 " A poem, and by a Mr. Jenkins ! a name 
 unknown to poetic or any other kind of fame ! " 
 
 Both the individuals in the employ of Mr. 
 Harold felt instantaneously relieved. 
 
 " Hadn't you better ivrite to Mr. Harold on 
 the subject?" suggested the elder of the two. 
 
 " That would be your best course," remarked 
 the other. 
 
 " Very good ; well, I shall write to him. Good 
 morning, gentlemen." 
 
 " Good morning, sir."
 
 38 THE RESULT. 
 
 Joseph returned home with his manuscript. 
 The polite conduct of the young men prevented 
 his seeing anything unpromising in the inter- 
 view with them; while nothing unfavourable 
 could be inferred as regarded Mr. Harold 
 himself, he being not only so pressingly en- 
 gaged as to be inaccessible at the time, but 
 ignorant of the great poetic prize which Joseph 
 meant to place within his reach. Had he only 
 known that it was Mr. Jenkins, the author of 
 ** The Universe," who was desirous of seeing 
 him, and that the purport of his presence in his 
 bibliopolic premises, was to offer him " The 
 Universe," the parties to whom the cabriolets 
 and the carriage at the door belonged, who 
 were enjoying the privilege of an interview, 
 would have received a polite hint to make way 
 for him. 
 
 Joseph, the moment he returned to his 
 rooms, eagerly snatched up pen and paper, and 
 despatched a note to Mr. Harold. He apprized 
 him of his having called that morning upon
 
 THE RESULT. 39 
 
 him at Periodical Street, but found him too 
 deeply engaged to be accessible. He added, 
 that the object of his visit was, to offer him the 
 manuscript of " The Universe," a poem which 
 would extend to ^00 pages, and would sell for 
 half-a-guinea without illustrations, but for 
 which a guinea might, with propriety, be 
 charged, if liberally and tastefully illustrated. 
 He now begged to send the manuscript for his 
 inspection, and would be glad to hear from him 
 in the course of a few days, stating what he 
 would be disposed to give for it. 
 
 On the third day, Joseph received a note 
 from Mr. Harold, along with his manuscript, 
 thanking him for the offer of his poem of " The 
 Universe," but regretting that it was not in 
 his power to avail himself of it, 
 
 Joseph was confounded at this. Not in his 
 power to avail himself of it! Why, what was 
 to prevent him, if he felt so inclined ? It could 
 only be the want of will, not the want of 
 power, that prevented his acceptance of the
 
 40 THE RESULT. 
 
 offer. And that a man should be indisposed to 
 avail himself of such an opportunity as might 
 never again present itself, w^as, indeed, passing 
 strange. " There must be some mistake in the 
 matter; indeed there must," reasoned Joseph. 
 " Ah ! " said he, suddenly dropping his hand 
 on his head after a few moments' abstraction — 
 "ah! I see how it is; he has not read the 
 manuscript ; he has too hastily inferred that it 
 is of the same common-place character as most 
 of the poetry of the day. He must be unde- 
 ceived ; indeed he must." 
 
 And, in prompt execution of his newly- 
 formed purpose, Mr. Jenkins sent " The 
 Universe" on a second visit to Mr. Harold, 
 accompanied with a note to the effect, that he 
 was certain he had returned the manuscript 
 without reading it, and begging that he would 
 bestow upon it an attentive perusal. 
 
 In less than an hour from its quitting Mr. 
 Jenkins' lodgings, " The Universe " was re- 
 turned to him, with a note from Mr. Harold,
 
 THE RESULT. 41 
 
 posilively declining the publication of the 
 work ; and adding that, though the whole of the 
 poem had not been read, enough of it had been 
 perused to justify the resolution not to under- 
 take its publication. 
 
 The rejected manuscript arrived, on this 
 occasion, at a most unseasonable moment ; for, 
 just as the energetic knock of the messenger 
 who brought it was heard at the door, the 
 author was in deep debate in his own mind as 
 to whether he ought to accept £500 for it; 
 assuming that Mr. Harold would be so defi- 
 cient in liberality as to offer so moderate a 
 sum. 
 
 It will not, therefore, surprise the reader to 
 be told, that he felt considerably mortified at 
 the result of his second application to the 
 prince of publishers. He had no doubt of 
 speedily meeting with some more discerning 
 bibliopole, who would feel but too happy in 
 bringing out a work which would not only 
 prove the source of ample profit to him, but
 
 42 THE RESULT. 
 
 raise his reputation as a publisher. Still he 
 could not divest his mind of the unpleasantness 
 arising from the reflection, that the work would 
 not possess the advantages and the eclat of 
 being ushered into the world under the aus- 
 pices of him who had brought out the works 
 of two of the greatest poets of the age.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Though disappointed with the result of his first effort to dis- 
 pose of his poem, Joseph renews the attempt with another 
 eminent publisher — Waits on, and is admitted to an inter- 
 view with, the latter — His mode of dealing with authors — 
 The nature and result of the interview. 
 
 While the fruitless attempt which we have 
 just recorded was being made to induce Mr. 
 Harold to purchase the manuscript of " The 
 Universe," the finances of the author, as will 
 be easily supposed, were becoming lower and 
 lower every day. As a question of pounds, 
 shillings, and pence, and wholly without refer- 
 ence to the reputation he so confidently ex- 
 pected to obtain for it, it now became a point 
 of urgent importance that Mr. Jenkins should 
 lose no time in procuring a purchaser. He 
 therefore resolved to renew the effort without 
 delay. Accordingly, on the following day, he
 
 44 CALLS ON A SECOND PUBLISHER. 
 
 called on Mr. Fiction, another publisher of 
 celebrity, to submit his manuscript to him. 
 Mr. Fiction's plan of doing business differed 
 materially from that pursued by Mr. Harold. 
 Proud of his aristocratic connexions, the latter 
 made it a rule not to see any person who was 
 not himself the possessor of a title, or who came 
 without an introduction from some aristocratic 
 acquaintance. Mere merit was nothing in his 
 eyes. Even a second Shakspeare, coming to 
 him without the recommendation of some 
 nobleman, or person of family, would not 
 succeed in his efforts to obtain an interview 
 with him ; while the man that could boast of 
 some illustrious prefix to his name — such as 
 " The Marquis of," " Lord," or even " Sir " 
 — was sure, however humble his intellectual 
 pretensions, to be received with the most 
 obsequious politeness. Mr. Fiction, on the 
 other hand, though no man was more re- 
 spectful to persons of rank — and the feeling is a 
 very proper one — conceived it possible that
 
 MR. FICTION. 45 
 
 there might be merit in a book, though no no- 
 ble blood ran in the author's veins. In support 
 of this hypothesis, he was in the habit of mus- 
 ino- over, in his own mind, the nam.es of many 
 of the greatest men that the world ever pro- 
 duced—all of whom had no distinctions of birth 
 
 or rank to boast of. 
 
 His plan, therefore, was, to grant personal 
 interviews to all who called upon him, lest some 
 of them— and, possibly, the least likely in ap- 
 pearance—might have some "happy idea" to 
 suggest, or promising proposal to make. But, 
 in order that there should be no undue expen- 
 diture of time with literary men, from whom, 
 after hearing their propositions, he saw no rea- 
 son to expect " anything to his advantage," he 
 had given standing orders to one of his clerks to 
 enter the apartment precisely five minutes after 
 the interview had commenced, and to say, " A 
 gentleman wants to see you, sir." If the work 
 which the other party had to propose for pub- 
 lication did not appear to Mr. Fiction a promis-
 
 46 MR. FICTION. 
 
 ing speculation, he desired his clerk to usher 
 the imaginary gentleman "into an adjoining 
 room," adding, " I'll be with him this moment ;" 
 and then rising, and turning to the author, he 
 would make a low bow, and express a hope 
 that he would excuse him. Of course there was 
 no alternative for the poor literary man, but to 
 walk himself out of the room, Mr. Eiction po- 
 litely accompanying him to the door. If, on the 
 other hand, the bibliopole liked the " idea" — 
 for that is the technical word when an author has 
 any promising work to propose for publication 
 — the clerk was desired, when he rushed into the 
 room, announcing that "a gentleman" wished 
 to see Mr, Fiction, to ** tell the gentleman" 
 that he was very much engaged just now. 
 
 Should this chapter meet the eye of any in- 
 experienced author, who may happen to make 
 proposals to Mr. Fiction for the publication of 
 a work, and hear him give the above instruc- 
 tions to the clerk, instead of desiring him to 
 " put the gentleman into the other room ;" let him
 
 INTERVIEW WITH MR. FICTION. 4< 
 
 take courage, and try to make for himself the 
 best terms he can. 
 
 Joseph presented himself on the morning for- 
 merly mentioned, outside the counter of Mr. 
 Fiction's bibliopolic premises. His name was 
 intimated in the usual way ; and the party mak- 
 ing the intimation immediately returned, and 
 desired him to walk up to Mr. Fiction's room. 
 He was ushered into the presence of the enter- 
 prising bibliopole, and politely asked to take a 
 chair. 
 
 " Good morning, sir." 
 
 " Good morning, Mr. Fiction." 
 
 " You have come, I presume " 
 
 " I have come to propose to you the publi- 
 cation of a work " 
 
 ** A work of fiction, in three vols." interposed 
 the spirited bibliopole. 
 
 " No, sir, a work of a very difierent descrip- 
 tion," said Mr. Jenkins, with a slight dash of self- 
 importance in his manner, as if he considered 
 a work of fiction to be unworthy his genius.
 
 48 INTERVIEW WITH MR. FICTION. 
 
 **0h, I beg your pardon," remarked Mr. 
 Fiction, apologetically ; " a work of travels, 
 perhaps." 
 
 " No, sir ; certainly not, Mr. Fiction. It is 
 a work on a theme of universal and enduring 
 interest, and not referring to any particular 
 country or time." 
 
 "A theme,'' ejaculated Mr. Fiction to him- 
 self. " A theme ! That is a word which very 
 few of my authors ever use. * Plots,' * stories,' 
 * incidents,' * heroes,' * heroines,' ' denouements,' 
 and so forth, are quite familiar to my ears; 
 but * theme ' does sound somewhat strange. 
 Pray, Mr. Jenkins, what may your work 
 be?" 
 
 " ^ The Universe, sir.' " 
 
 Mr. Fiction was confounded. " I don't ex- 
 actly understand you, Mr. Jenkins." 
 
 "Oh, I flatter myself, sir, there is nothing 
 unintelligible in what I have said," replied 
 Joseph, with a forced self-complacent smile. 
 
 " Oh, I simply mean that I do not know
 
 INTERVIEW WITH MR. FICTION. 49 
 
 whether * The Universe ' be the subject or the 
 title of your proposed work." 
 
 ** It is both, sir," said Mr. Jenkins, empha- 
 tically. 
 
 " Oh ! And how many volumes do you pro- 
 pose making it?" 
 " Only one." 
 
 *^ Only one ! We are not fond of publishing 
 works in only one volume ; we always prefer 
 three ; because the expense of advertising three 
 volumes is no greater than the expense of ad- 
 vertising one. Could you not, at any rate, 
 spin it out to two volumes, supposing that, on 
 examination, I approve of the work ? " 
 
 " Oh, dear no, sir ; I could not do that. 
 Spin it out! Why, to add a single line to it 
 would completely spoil it." 
 
 " It is a work of light or miscellaneous lite- 
 rature, is it not?" inquired Mr. Fiction, half 
 dubiously. 
 
 " Certainly not, sir," replied Mr. Jenkins, 
 mouthing the words in a particular manner, and 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 INTERVIEW WITH MR. FICTION. 
 
 looking as if he deemed the question an im- 
 proper reflection on the constitution of his 
 mind, and the purpose to which he had applied 
 his talents. 
 
 " Not a work of fiction ; nor a book of tra- 
 vels; nor consisting of light or miscellaneous 
 literature! Pray, then, Mr. Jenkins, will you 
 be good enough to inform me what is the nature 
 of your proposed work ? " 
 
 " It is a poem, sir ; the volume will consist of 
 one great poem, sir," replied Mr. Jenkins, em- 
 phatically, and with a dash of self-consequence 
 in his manner. 
 
 Mr. Fiction looked aghast. Had Mr. Jen- 
 kins been a burglar, and been in the act of 
 plundering his apartments at the time, he could 
 scarcely have looked more astonished than he 
 did on the occasion. 
 
 "We never publish ani/ poetry," said the 
 bibliopole, after he had slightly recovered his 
 breath. 
 
 " But this work, Mr. Fiction, is not a poem
 
 INTERVIEW WITH MR. FICTION. 51 
 
 of an ordinary class; neither, I flatter myself, is 
 the subject treated in an ordinary manner. The 
 manuscript has been seen by a number of com- 
 petent judges, and they, one and all, declare 
 that they never saw anything that could " 
 
 Joseph was interrupted in the delivery of his 
 sentence by the abrupt self-introduction of the 
 clerk, with the usual announcement, " A gen- 
 tleman wishes to see you, sir." 
 
 " Show him into another room ; I'll be with 
 him presently," said Mr. Fiction. 
 
 And, as he spoke, he rose from his seat; 
 which, of course, Mr. Jenkins understood to be 
 a signal for him to do the same. 
 
 " Then, Mr. Fiction," observed Mr. Jenkins, 
 slowly taking up his hat, "you do not think it 
 advisable to undertake the publication of * The 
 Universe.' " 
 
 " We never publish any poetry." 
 
 ** Then, good morning, Mr. Fiction." 
 
 ** Good morning, Mr. Jenkins." 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY or \\.mm
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Makes a third attempt to get a purchaser for his manuscript — 
 Fails as before — Resolves to publish the work on his own 
 account — Some secrets worth knowing respecting authorship 
 and publishing — Extent of the sale of '* The Universe." 
 
 This looked ominous; and, sanguine as was 
 Mr. Jenkins' temperament, he began to have 
 serious apprehensions that, after all, he should 
 not succeed in procuring a publisher for " The 
 Universe." Not that he thought one iota the 
 less of the production, but that there was now 
 a probabihty of his failing to persuade a pub- 
 lisher that its merits were as great as he and his 
 Scottish admirers conceived they were. Still, 
 possessing, as he did, no inconsiderable share of 
 that quality — the quality of perseverance — for 
 which his countrymen get so much credit, he 
 resolved not to relinquish the attempt to find a 
 publisher for a work, which, he felt assured, 
 would not only prove pecuniarily profitable both
 
 TRIES A THIRD PUBLISHER. 5S 
 
 to the publisher and to himself, but procure him 
 a name in the literary world, which would induce 
 the bibliopoles of the metropolis to pour in 
 their solicitations to him to honour them with 
 the publication of his future works. Besides, 
 the daily decreasing condition of his funds 
 rendered it necessary that he should lose no 
 time in getting his book brought out. He 
 therefore, on the following day, called on a 
 third publisher, in the hope that he should be 
 more successful with him than he had been with 
 either of the former two. An interview was 
 asked for, and promptly obtained. Mr. Jenkins 
 stated the purport of his visit. The bibliopole 
 smiled. " Ah, sir, I perceive you're not much 
 acquainted with the literary world yet. You'll 
 soon see the folly of writing poetry." 
 
 "I don't understand what you mean, sir," 
 observed Mr. Jenkins, pettishly. 
 
 " Then you soon will, depend on it. You'll 
 excuse me, sir, but I'm very much engaged 
 this morning."
 
 54 FAILS AS BEFORE. 
 
 Of course this was a hint, which there was 
 no mistaking, that our hero's presence could be 
 dispensed with, and he accordingly quitted the 
 place. 
 
 The unfeeling manner in which the biblio- 
 pole spoke to Joseph, made a painful impression 
 on his mind. And no wonder ; for, to a young 
 man just entering on metropolitan life, and 
 wholly unacquainted with the ways of the 
 world, it was a piece of gratuitous harshness. 
 He might not only have civilly declined the 
 publication of the work, but he might, by a 
 slight alteration of the words and the tone of 
 their utterance, have converted his heartless 
 sneer into a piece of sound advice. Publishers, 
 however, are proverbial — though, happily, there 
 are many honourable exceptions — for their dis- 
 regard of an author's, and especially a young 
 author's, feelings. Having, as a class, no very 
 lively susceptibilities themselves, they are un- 
 able to sympathise with those who have. But 
 it is not my purpose to enter on the un-
 
 A NEW IDEA STRIKES HIM. 55 
 
 pleasant treatment which authors too often 
 receive at the hands of their publishers. Those 
 who would like to see some striking specimens 
 of such treatment, ought to consult D'Israeli's 
 " Curiosities of Literature." 
 
 Mr. Jenkins, though still on equally good 
 terms with himself as a poet and as a man of 
 general talent, and not thinking a whit less 
 favourably of his poem on "The Universe," 
 now began to feel something approaching to 
 despair. Still, the necessity of doing some- 
 thing with the poem — that is, as he fancied, 
 getting something for the manuscript — not only 
 continued as pressing as before, but became 
 more and more urgent every hour. While 
 deliberating that night, as he lay restless on his 
 bed, and when, with a less anxious mind, he 
 would have been sound asleep, as to what he 
 should do on the following day, it occurred to 
 him, that he had heard of authors publishing 
 their works on their own account. He was 
 delighted with the thought. He had no doubt
 
 56 PUBLISHES ON HIS OWN ACCOUNT. 
 
 of the success of the book : it could not fail to 
 be admired wherever read, and, if admired, to 
 command a remunerating sale ; while there was 
 this most grateful reflection, that it would no 
 longer be in the power of publishers to insult 
 him. He therefore called on a printer, and 
 received an estimate of the expenses of paper 
 and printing for 1000 copies; the volume to 
 consist of thirteen sheets, post octavo, which, 
 as each sheet consists of twenty-four pages, 
 would make 312 pages. The estimate given by 
 the printer was, sixty-five pounds for cash, or 
 seventy pounds with credit. Ready money Mr. 
 Jenkins could not, of course, give ; and the 
 question therefore was, how could he obtain 
 credit for a few months? The friend, intro- 
 duced in the second chapter, who accompanied 
 him to Cogers' Hall, eventually undertook, 
 though disapproving of the plan of publishing 
 on his own account, to become security for him. 
 This arrangement being completed, and the 
 work having been put to press, Mr. Jenkins
 
 SECRETS WORTH KNOWING. 57 
 
 called, one morning, on Mr. Figure, a publisher 
 in the city. " Mr. Figure, I believe," said Mr. 
 Jenkins, on entering the shop of the former. 
 
 "Figure is my name," remarked the bibhopole. 
 
 " My name is Jenkins. I have come to pro- 
 pose a work of mine for publication." 
 
 Mr. Figure remained silent for a few seconds, 
 looked at the counter, and then inquired, 
 " What is the nature of the work, sir ? " 
 
 " A poem, entitled ' The Universe.' " 
 
 " Oh, sir," said the bibhopole, with a signi- 
 ficant shake of the head, and transferring a 
 book, which was lying on the counter, to one 
 of his shelves, " Oh, sir, I should no more think 
 of publishing a poem than of attempting to fly. 
 Money thrown in the streets, sir — money 
 thrown in the streets. Though Byron himself 
 were to rise from the dead, and come and offer 
 me the manuscript of a new * Childe Harold, 
 I would not accept it as a present ; it would fall 
 still-born from the press. There is no such 
 
 thing now as a" 
 
 d2
 
 58 SECRETS WORTH KNOWING. 
 
 "But this," interposed Mr. Jenkins, "is a 
 poem of a very peculiar character." 
 
 "No matter; it is all the same. Any poem 
 would drop still-born from the press. There is 
 no taste for poetry now-a-days. No publisher, 
 depend upon it, will undertake its publication." 
 
 " But I did not mean that it should be pub- 
 lished at your expense," said Mr. Jenkins. 
 
 " Oh ! ah ! I see — you mean to publish it on 
 commission;" and Mr. Figure's countenance 
 brightened as he spoke. 
 
 " I do, sir." 
 
 "You simply wish me to publish it on your 
 account." 
 
 " Precisely so." 
 
 " Of course I can have no objection to that; 
 and, what is more, I will do my best to 
 push it." 
 
 " What is the amount of commission in such 
 cases ? " inquired Mr. Jenkins. 
 
 " Ten per cent ; that is the invariable rule of 
 the trade, sir."
 
 SECRETS WORTH KNOWING. 59 
 
 " And you account to the author for all sales 
 at trade price, after deducting ten per cent. " 
 
 " Just so, sir." 
 
 "But you quite dishearten me, Mr. Figure, 
 by telling me that no poem can now-a-days 
 succeed." 
 
 " Well, perhaps I spoke too rashly and 
 without due limitations, on that point. More 
 strictly speaking I ought, possibly, to have said, 
 that poetry in general does not now succeed." 
 
 " So that you think there is, at least, a chance 
 of my work succeeding." 
 
 " Oh, certainly, there is a chance." 
 
 " Well, I'm glad you say so." 
 
 " When, Mr. Jenkins, will the work be 
 ready?" 
 
 *' In about a fortnight." 
 
 " I hope you have chosen a happy title." 
 
 " Every one assures me that the title is un- 
 deniably good." 
 
 " Pray what may it be ? " 
 
 " * The Universe.' "
 
 60 SECRETS WORTH KNOWING. 
 
 " Oh ! excellent ! admirable ! Nothing could 
 be better," exclaimed the bibliopole, now cheer- 
 ing on the luckless wight of a poet, and having 
 an eye to the profits which would be derived 
 from the advertisements, and the service it 
 would be to himself, by keeping his name 
 before the public, even should not a single 
 copy be sold. 
 
 " Of course you'll advertise it well," continued 
 Mr. Figure. 
 
 "Oh, certainly," replied Mr. Jenkins, "I'll 
 do everything I can that way to bring it fairly 
 into notice. What is the best mode of manag- 
 ing that part of the matter ? " 
 
 "Why, sir, by my expending in advertise- 
 ments any amount of money you think proper 
 to leave in my hands for the purpose." 
 
 " How much will be necessary ? " 
 
 "Oh, that depends on the circumstances and 
 disposition of the author. It would require, at 
 least, twenty pounds to do the work anything 
 like justice."
 
 SECRETS WORTH KNOWING. 61 
 
 " Why," remarked Mr. Jenkins, " that is 
 more than I can conveniently spare. At any 
 rate, in the first instance, suppose we say half 
 the sum ? " 
 
 " Very well, I will lay it out judiciously, as 
 far as the amount will go." 
 
 " Then I will call with the money in two or 
 three days, and you can begin advertising im- 
 mediately." 
 
 "Very good," said Mr. Figure; and Mr. 
 Jenkins wished him a good morning. 
 
 The ten pounds were handed to Mr. Figure, 
 and a succession of advertisements appeared in 
 the leading daily and weekly papers. The work 
 itself followed in due course. By this time the 
 resources of Mr. Jenkins had completely dried 
 up ; and knowing that, however successful the 
 work might be, some weeks, at least, would 
 elapse before he could expect any return from 
 his publisher, he bethought himself of applying 
 to a friend in Scotland for the loan often pounds 
 for a few weeks. His application was success-
 
 62 OPINIONS OF 
 
 ful ; the money was immediately remitted to 
 him; and he resolved, as he expressed it, to 
 " rest on his oars " for a season, to watch the 
 progress, which, in his view, was but another 
 name for the triumph, of his work. " The Uni- 
 verse " was extensively reviewed. The opinions 
 of the critics were as diversified as it was possi- 
 ble for opinions to be. Some of them, in the 
 plenitude of their admiration of the poem, 
 gravely asserted that it was superior to " Para- 
 dise Lost," or to anything which ever proceeded 
 from Milton's pen. Others, less lofty in their 
 eulogiums, said it was only second to the work 
 just named ; while some six or seven reviewers 
 maintained that it was a farrago of nonsense ; 
 that it was neither poetry nor prose ; that, in- 
 deed, there was not another man in the king's 
 dominions (we had not then the happiness of 
 living under a queenly government) who could 
 have written anything so supremely and unre- 
 deemably absurd. There was not an inter- 
 mediate opinion -between these opposite judg-
 
 SALE OF '^ THE UNIVERSE." 63 
 
 merits, but was expressed by one or other of the 
 critics with whom the metropolis abounds. 
 
 Regarding it as the more dignified course 
 not to make any inquiries at the pubUsher's as 
 to what reception, in the way of sale, his poem 
 was meeting with, until after it had been some 
 time before the public, Joseph resolved not to 
 call on the former until the expiration of the six 
 weeks, the term for which he had obtained the 
 loan of the ten pounds. Even then he would 
 have made no inquiries as to the sale of " The 
 Universe," had it not been that he prided him- 
 self on his punctuality, and on his faithful ful- 
 filment of any promise he had made. He felt 
 that his countryman in Scotland, who had ge- 
 nerously advanced him the ten pounds, at a time 
 of great emergency, had the best right to ex- 
 pect a moiety of the first profits of the work. In 
 six weeks he accordingly called on Mr. Figure 
 to inquire how matters stood ; having, by this 
 time, fully decided, in his own mind, as to the 
 best way of disposing of the proceeds of the sale,
 
 64 SALE OF " THE UNIVERSE." 
 
 after he should have remitted his friend's ten 
 pounds. Mr. Figure was all civility to Mr. Jen- 
 kins. **And how is *The Universe' doing?" 
 inquired the poet. '' It has been extensively 
 reviewed, and in several journals in most grati- 
 fying terms," he added. 
 
 "I'll show you presently," answered Mr. 
 Figure, advancing to his desk, and snatching up 
 his ledger. 
 
 " Oh, don't trouble yourself to refer to your 
 book; I only want a rough guess," said Mr. 
 Jenkins. 
 
 " Why, it will, perhaps, be more satisfactory 
 to see the exact position of matters," pursued 
 the bibliopole. 
 
 " It is wholly unnecessary," said the poet; 
 " it will be quite sufficient if you just name the 
 amount of the proceeds." 
 
 " Oh, you had better see the exact position of 
 affairs. Here, sir," placing the book before Mr. 
 Jenkins — " here, sir, is the precise state of mat- 
 ters."
 
 SALE OF "the universe." 65 
 
 Mr. Jenkins eagerly glanced his eye at the 
 folio to which the bibliopole directed his atten- 
 tion, and read as follows ; — 
 
 Francis Figure, 
 
 Dr. to Mr. Joseph Jenkins. 
 
 To three copies of " The Universe" (trade 
 
 price 7s. 2d.) £116 
 
 To commission (10 per cent.) . . . . 2 1| 
 
 Amount due to Mr. Jenkins 19 4J 
 
 The blood rushed to Mr. Jenkins' face ; his 
 eyes were seized with partial blindness ; a sud- 
 den dizziness overtook him, and it was with dif- 
 ficulty he could retain his equilibrium. When 
 he had slightly recovered his self-possession, he 
 said, " Mr. Figure." 
 
 " Sir," 
 
 " Surely there must be some mistake here." 
 
 " No mistake, Mr. Jenkins." 
 
 " You don't mean to say that these are all 
 the copies of * The Universe' you have sold." 
 
 " I do, sir." 
 
 " It's impossible."
 
 66 SALE OF " THE UNIVERSE." 
 
 " It's true," remarked Mr. Figure, with im- 
 perturbable coolness. 
 
 Mr. Jenkins inwardly groaned. 
 
 " Shall I pay you the nineteen and fourpence 
 farthing just now ? " said Mr. Figure. 
 
 " Mr. Figure, do you mean to insult me, 
 sir ? " answered Mr. Jenkins, with considerable 
 indignation. 
 
 " Not at all ; by no means ; only a business 
 question, sir," remarked the bibliopole, with 
 the most perfect nonchalance. 
 
 " We can settle at some other time. You 
 don't mean to say, Mr. Figure, that three copies 
 are all that will sell?" observed the poet. 
 
 *' That is a point on which it is impossible to 
 give an opinion," said the publisher. 
 
 " Do works ever sell after they have been 
 some time published, and proved a failure ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," answered Mr. Figure ; " Milton's 
 ' Paradise Lost,' you know, is a case in point." 
 
 Mr. Jenkins groaned an assent to the accuracy 
 of the statement.
 
 SALE OF " THE UNIVERSE. bi 
 
 " What can be the cause of so decided a 
 failure?" pursued the poet. 
 
 *' Oh, it is very obvious." 
 
 " Pray what may it be?" said Mr. Jenkins, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Why, sir, simply this — that your poem is too 
 good : you are a century in advance of the age." 
 
 Mr. Jenkins drew his hand across his chin, 
 and delivered himself of a " Hem!" He felt 
 that this was praise, certainly ; but, then, what 
 was praise without pudding ? He could not live 
 on his publisher's praise. 
 
 " Your poem, sir," resumed the bibliopole, 
 " will be admired by posterity ; it will call forth 
 unquaUfied " 
 
 " But, Mr. Figure," interrupted Mr, Jen- 
 kins, never questioning the soundness of the 
 bibliopole's judgment, nor doubting the truth 
 of his predictions — " but, Mr. Figure, what am 
 I to do in the meantime ? I cannot subsist on 
 the admiration of posterity; I cannot live on 
 prospective praise ; I must have"
 
 68 SALE OF " THE UNIVERSE." 
 
 ** Is Mr. Figure within ?" inquired a stranger, 
 who had entered the shop, before Mr. Jenkins 
 had completed his sentence. 
 
 " My name is Figure," answered the biblio- 
 pole. 
 
 " I have called for the purpose of consult- 
 ing you about the pubhcation of a volume of 
 poems." 
 
 ^' Mr. Jenkins, would you do me the favour 
 to call upon me any time to-morrow ? " said the 
 bibliopole, addressing himself to the author of 
 " The Universe." The latter, perceiving at once 
 that this was a hint to withdraw, and leave Mr. 
 Figure to victimize another " poet/' responded 
 to tlie appeal, by saying he would call again, 
 and immediately walked himself out of the 
 bibliopole's shop.
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 Mr. Jenkins determines for ever to abjure writing poetry, 
 and never again to publish on his own account — "Wishes 
 to become a parliamentary reporter. 
 
 The result of our hero's literary speculation, 
 was a determination never to indite another line 
 of poetry ; and never again, in the event of his 
 becoming the author of any prose production, 
 to be his own publisher. 
 
 He farther determined that he would not, 
 for some considerable time, again turn his 
 thoughts to authorship of any kind. The little 
 taste he had already had of that, was sufficient 
 to inspire him with a distaste for it, at least for 
 a season. He saw, judging from the experience 
 he had had, abundant reason to believe, that 
 authorship on his own account, was as likely an 
 expedient as any he could have recourse to, for 
 getting into debt ; but he could not perceive the
 
 70 AT A LOSS WHAT TO DO. 
 
 most slender probability of its providing him 
 with the means of living. 
 
 With his little resources not only completely 
 exhausted, but having, by his literary adventure, 
 got himself considerably into debt, it became a 
 matter of urgent and absolute necessity, that 
 he should turn his attention to some occupation 
 which would afford him the means of obtaining 
 a certain livelihood, however humble it might 
 be. The only question was, how or where could 
 he meet with such an occupation ? As for him- 
 self, he was quite bewildered on the subject. 
 He knew not in what direction to turn ; he was 
 utterly at a loss as to what sort of employment he 
 ought to apply himself. He eventually resolved 
 on applying to a Mr. Lovegood (with whom he 
 had accidentally met, from whom he had received 
 much kindness, and of whose friendship even to 
 strangers he had heard a great deal) for his 
 counsel in the matter. He was unwilling to 
 apply to that gentleman, knowing he had no 
 claims on him ; still he was the only individual
 
 A VIRTUOUS CHARACTER. 71 
 
 in all this vast metropolis, from whom he con- 
 ceived there was a chance of obtaining assist- 
 ance, or even friendly advice. Mr. Lovegood 
 was not only remarkable for his kindness of 
 heart, but was, moreover, himself a literary 
 man — the author of various successful works — 
 which made Joseph calculate still more confi- 
 dently on his sympathy and friendly counsel. Nor 
 was this all : Mr. Lovegood was also a Chris- 
 tian, in the most comprehensive acceptation 
 of the term. He not only constantly sought 
 to perform right actions, but to perform those 
 actions from proper motives. His was the reli- 
 gion of the thought, as well as the word — of the 
 heart, as well as the life. The good he did was 
 not the result of any desire to obtain the ap- 
 plause of men, but was purely the consequence 
 of a conviction that, in doing all he could to be^ 
 nefit his fellow-creatures, he was discharging an 
 obligation imperatively imposed upon him by 
 the Divine command. The inward conscious- 
 ness that he was doing the will, and, conse-
 
 72 A VIRTUOUS CHARACTER. 
 
 quently, receiving the approbation, of his Cre* 
 ator, was all the reward he ever sought to ob- 
 tain for the performance of acts of kindness and 
 benevolence. The judgment of the world was, 
 in no instance, the rule of his conduct. The 
 tribunal by whose decisions he was always 
 guided, was one which had been set up in his 
 own breast, — the tribunal of conscience, enlight- 
 ened and regulated in all its decisions by the re- 
 vealed will of the Almighty, To his Maker he 
 felt that he was placed under a solemn and 
 abiding responsibility for everything he did, 
 however trivial his actions might often appear 
 in the eyes of others; and he found, as every 
 one else will find who recognises and makes a 
 conscience of adopting the same principles of 
 action, that this was the surest way to avoid un- 
 pleasant circumstances, and to insure his own 
 peace of mind. If men could only be persuaded 
 of the infinite anxiety which one spares himself, 
 by acting according to the rigid rules of right, 
 the most profligate of mankind would become
 
 INTERVIEW WITH MR. LOVEGOOD. 73 
 
 conscientiously upright in all their transactions 
 with their fellow-men from a feeling of pure 
 selfishness. 
 
 Mr. Jenkins was received by Mr. Lovegood 
 with the greatest cordiality. He apologised 
 for the liberty he had taken in calling to ask a 
 favour from one on whose friendship he had no 
 claims ; but was told that no apology was 
 needed. Mr. Jenkins then mentioned the posi- 
 tion in which he was placed by the unfortunate 
 result of his literary adventure ; and Mr. Love- 
 good, so far from rebuking him for his folly, 
 inquired whether he could name any other way 
 in which he could act the part of a friend to 
 him. 
 
 Mr. Jenkins suggested that, if he could pro- 
 cure an engagement on any of the daily papers, 
 either as reporter or stated contributor, he 
 thought he might yet be able to make his way 
 in the world. 
 
 " An engagement as stated contributor to a 
 daily journal is," remarked Mr. Lovegood, "very 
 
 VOL. 1, E
 
 74 INTERVIEW WITH MR. LOVEGOOD. 
 
 rarely to be met with. The situation of a 
 reporter might, probably, with a great deal of 
 exertion and influence, be procured ; but it is 
 a most arduous and harassing situation." 
 
 " I am well aware of that," replied Joseph, 
 "but I would willingly submit to any amount 
 of labour, and encounter any measure of fatigue, 
 to be put in the way of earning a livelihood for 
 myself." 
 
 "Do you think," inquired Mr. Lovegood, 
 " you are competent for the situation of a 
 parliamentary reporter? I do not mean in a 
 literary sense, but in reference to the requisite 
 facility of catching and transferring to paper 
 the words which fall from a speaker's lips." 
 
 " I am aware," answered Joseph, " that great 
 mechanical dexterity, as well as superior literary 
 taste, is necessary to constitute an efficient re- 
 porter ; but I think that, if I possess the latter 
 qualification, I shall not be found wanting in 
 the former." 
 
 "The situation of a reporter to a daily
 
 INTERVIEW WITH MR. LOVEGOOD. 75 
 
 paper," observed Mr. Lovegood, "is one of 
 great respectability, though gentlemen of the 
 press do not rank so high in public estimation 
 here as in France. It is one, moreover, which 
 furnishes, perhaps, better opportunities for 
 obtaining an insight into the manifold myste- 
 ries of metropolitan life, than any other that 
 could be named. But that very circumstance 
 only renders it the more perilous in a moral 
 point of view. You have to meet with all sorts 
 of persons, and mix in all descriptions of 
 society ; and, unless one's mind be well fortified 
 with right principles, he is in great danger of 
 being damaged by the contact." 
 
 Mr. Jenkins remarked, in an unassuming 
 tone, that he trusted his mind and conduct 
 were under the government of moral principles. 
 
 " Moral principles," remarked Mr. Lovegood, 
 " are very good in themselves ; but they do not 
 constitute a sufficient protection to any one, 
 especially a young man, when surrounded by 
 powerful temptations to stray from virtue's
 
 76 INTERVIEW WITH MU. LOVEGOOD. 
 
 paths. Thousands of young men yearly bring 
 with them to London irreproachable moral 
 characters, who, in the short space of ten or 
 twelve months, become so thoroughly contami- 
 nated by the corrupt practices of those with 
 whom they associate, as to cease even to do 
 outward homage to virtue, and to glory in the 
 very things which, before they launched on the 
 ocean of London life, they could not have con- 
 templated without horror. Unless that divine 
 grace which is brought to light by the Gospel, 
 reign in the heart, and restrain and regulate 
 the life, there can be no security even for one's 
 moral rectitude, amidst the formidable tempta- 
 tions with which the metropolis abounds." 
 
 To this Joseph made no reply. He knew 
 nothing, experimentally, of the heaven-born 
 principles of which the other spoke. He was a 
 moral man, but nothing more. 
 
 " I am intimately acquainted," resumed Mr. 
 Lovegood, "with the editor of one of the 
 morning papers. I will speak to him about
 
 INTERVIEW WITH MR. LOVEGOOD. 77 
 
 you ; and I have no doubt that, should there be 
 now or soon afterwards, a vacancy on the estab- 
 lishment with which he is connected, he will be 
 happy to give you an opportunity of testing 
 your competency for the situation." 
 
 Mr. Jenkins heartily thanked him for the 
 many striking proofs he had afforded of his 
 friendship, and took his leave.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Is received on trial for the situation named in the previous 
 chapter — Feelings consequent on a first attempt at parlia- 
 mentary reporting — Succeeds in getting a permanent en- 
 gagement. 
 
 Mr. Lovegood's application to the editor of 
 the morning journal to which he had alluded, 
 was successful. There fortunately happened to 
 be a vacancy in the reporting department of the 
 establishment at the very time he spoke to the 
 editor on the subject; and the result was that, 
 in ten days afterwards, Mr. Jenkins was to 
 obtain a regular engagement, at five guineas 
 per week, as parliamentary reporter, assuming 
 that, after that period, he should be found 
 competent for the office. The result of the 
 trial was, to satisfy the editor that he was 
 fully competent to discharge the duties of the
 
 PARLIAMENTARY REPORTING. 79 
 
 situation in an efficient manner. Intimation 
 was made to him to that effect, accompanied 
 with the gratifying observation that he might 
 consider his engagement of ^a permanent cha- 
 racter. 
 
 Those only who have been put on their trial 
 in the gallery assigned in the House of Com- 
 mons to the reporters for the daily press, can 
 form the slightest notion of ^the arduous nature 
 of such a trial. Only imagine a young man — and 
 reporters when commencing their career, are, 
 almost without an exception, young in years — 
 entering a place in which he never was before, 
 if, indeed, he ever were in the House of Com- 
 mons at all; entering it, too, for the special pur- 
 pose of noting down, in order that it may be forth- 
 with transferred into a morning paper, every 
 word which shall fall from the lips of those who 
 shall address the House. Let it be farther re- 
 membered, that he enters this strange place — a 
 place well calculated to overawe and flurry the 
 mind of any person unaccustomed to the scene—
 
 80 PARLIAMENTARY REPORTING. 
 
 with the painful consciousness resting on his 
 mind, that on the way in which he acquits him- 
 self depends the alternative of his heing either 
 ingloriously rejected, or permanently engaged. 
 Let all this be distinctly and deeply borne in 
 mind, and then say whether there be room for 
 any surprise, that the reporters' gallery of the 
 House of Commons should be entered for the 
 first, or second, or third time, with fear and 
 trembling. Many a young man, of great talents 
 and distinguished scholastic attainments, has en- 
 tered that perilous place and completely failed, 
 from the overpowering sense he entertained of 
 the difficulties of his undertaking, coupled with 
 the knowledge that his destinies for life might 
 very possibly be hanging on the issue of his ad- 
 venture. The most intellectual persons, espe- 
 cially where, with a highly cultivated mind, 
 there is associated — which is frequently the case 
 — an extreme sensitiveness, are the very persons 
 who run the greatest risk of breaking down. 
 The annals of the gallery are replete with
 
 PARLIAMENTARY REPORTING. 81 
 
 exemplifications of this. Some, indeed, of the 
 most illustrious names in modern literature 
 might be mentioned, as affording illustrations of 
 it in their own persons. 
 
 Mr. Jenkins, however (as has been already 
 remarked), came triumphantly through the fiery 
 ordeal, and received the reward of a regular en- 
 gagement. 
 
 E 2
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Duties of a parliamentary reporter — Joseph attends the meet- 
 ings of a political association — Character of the leading 
 speakers — Amusing incident — Close of the public career of 
 the principal demagogues. 
 
 A PARLIAMENTARY reporter, when not em- 
 ployed in the gallery of either House of Parlia- 
 ment, is liable to be sent to public meetings, 
 to public exhibitions, to the theatres, and to va- 
 rious other places where the proceedings of pub- 
 lic bodies are to be reported, or criticisms to be 
 given on works of art. In this way " the gen- 
 tlemen of the press " — as reporters are usually 
 called — are afforded peculiar facilities for form- 
 ing an acquaintance with eminent men, and for 
 obtaining an early and intimate knowledge of 
 what is going on in the mighty Babel. 
 
 Mr. Jenkins, in the discharge of his profes- 
 sional duties, had occasion to attend most of the 
 leading political meetings held in London. At
 
 ATTENDS POLITICAL MEETINGS. 83 
 
 some of those meetings, he was in the habit of 
 witnessing very amusing scenes. One, which was 
 held monthly in the north of London, was parti- 
 cularly prolific of ludicrous incidents and of rich 
 exhibitions of human character. This monthly 
 meeting was held for the purpose of carrying 
 out the schemes of a body of persons calling 
 themselves the " Association of North London 
 Liberals." These political meetings were always 
 very numerously attended. Taking their own 
 word for it, the persons who played the part of 
 orators at these meetings, were all patriots of 
 the first order. They cared not for themselves 
 at all: their solicitudes and anxieties — so unself- 
 ish was their patriotism — were wholly reserved 
 for their country. Its sufierings they wept over ; 
 for its degradation by a tyrannical Government, 
 they deeply blushed; and they were willing 
 any day, should the necessity ever arise, to sub- 
 mit to martyrdom for their principles. Ener- 
 getically and often did one and all of these self- 
 elected redressers of their country's wrongs,
 
 84 MR. FREDERICK FREEMAN. 
 
 declare their willingness to die, rather than com- 
 promise their principles in the slightest degree, 
 or forego one particle of their indefeasible and 
 inalienable rights. The majority of the usual 
 speakers at these meetings, were a set of despe- 
 rate men, severally affording, in their own persons, 
 one more illustration, in addition to the count- 
 less number previously given, of the truth of Dr. 
 Johnson's remark, that " every scoundrel takes 
 refuge in patriotism.'* There was one exception 
 to the justice of the remark. Mr. Frederick 
 Freeman, in becoming one of the regular speak- 
 ers at the monthly meeting of the North Lon- 
 don Liberal Association, was actuated by no 
 more unworthy motive than that of seeking an 
 opportunity of displaying bis fancied oratorical 
 powers. 
 
 Of his talents as a public speaker he was 
 exceedingly vain. He considered himself the 
 Demosthenes of the nineteenth century; and 
 cherished the comfortable conviction that, had 
 Fortune been sufficiently considerate towards
 
 MR. FREDERICK FREEMAN. 85 
 
 him to give him a seat in either branch of the 
 Legislature, he would have immeasurably out- 
 shone the most distinguished of our Lords and 
 Commons. It was, no doubt, very unkind of 
 Fortune not to raise him to the distinction of a 
 legislator, and he never forgave her ladyship, 
 not even in his dying hour. As Mr. Freeman 
 was thus denied the opportunity of shining in 
 what he himself always called his proper 
 sphere, he was compelled, unless he chose to 
 hide his light altogether, to shine in whatever 
 sphere was accessible to him. He preferred 
 the North London Liberal Association to any 
 other arena which was open to him at the time ; 
 and accordingly gave its members, and the 
 mixed multitudes that used to attend its 
 monthly meetings^ the exclusive privilege of 
 listening to his eloquence. 
 
 Frederick invariably wrote his speeches at 
 full length, and then committed them, verbatim, 
 to memory. On one occasion, when the public 
 mind was worked up to a pitch of extraordi-
 
 86 MR. FREDERICK FREEMAN. 
 
 nary political excitement, and when the general 
 meeting, appointed to take place in two days 
 afterwards, was consequently expected to be 
 unusually numerous, the committee met to 
 make the necessary preliminary arrangements. 
 Frederick gave sundry hints, too broad and too 
 often repeated to be mistaken, that he was pre- 
 pared to make an oratorical display which 
 would excite no little sensation among the 
 audience, and which would surpass any exhi- 
 bition he had ever before made. He was 
 accordingly solicited by the committee to ad- 
 dress the meeting. He expressed a wish to 
 have the moving of one of the most important 
 of the resolutions to be proposed for its adop- 
 tion. He was asked to make his choice: he 
 chose the third resolution. Mr. Murphy, a 
 clever Irishman and a wag, who was also to 
 take part in the proceedings of the day, ob- 
 served a roll of manuscript peeping out of 
 Frederick's pocket. It at once occurred to 
 him, that this was the crack speech with which
 
 AMUSING INCIDENT. 87 
 
 Frederick intended to electrify the meeting. 
 Mr. Murphy abstracted the manuscript from 
 Frederick's pocket with a care and dexterity 
 which would have done no discredit to the 
 most experienced pickpocket in the metropolis. 
 It was precisely as he supposed. " He held in 
 his hands" — to use a parliamentary phrase — Mr. 
 Freeman's speech, written in a style of penman- 
 ship, as far as regarded legibiHty, which would 
 have added to the reputation of the most re- 
 nowned copying clerk in London. What was 
 more — all the more important passages, those 
 which Frederick thought were most likely to 
 tell, and consequently to draw forth plaudits from 
 the audience, were marked on the margin with 
 a score, and the word "emphatic;" meaning 
 that they were to be delivered with peculiar 
 emphasis. Mr. Murphy instantly bethought 
 himself of having a joke at Frederick's expense. 
 He resolved to commit the whole of his speech 
 to memory, not neglecting to obey the instruc- 
 tions given on the margin, as to the passages
 
 88 AMUSING INCIDENT. 
 
 which were to be delivered with the greatest 
 emphasis. Mr. Freeman having previously got 
 every word of his speech by heart, and having 
 a memory so retentive that it never failed him, 
 had no occasion to refer to his written oration 
 during the interval between the preliminary 
 meeting of the committee and the great meet- 
 ing itself ; and, consequently, never missed his 
 manuscript. His only feeling was one of im- 
 patience for the arrival of the hour at which he 
 was to astonish the huge mass of his fellow-men 
 who, there could be no doubt, would be present 
 at the meeting. If it had been in his power, 
 he would have annihilated the intervening 
 period of time. That, however, he felt was not 
 to be done — not even by so great an orator as 
 himself. But, though Time would not quicken 
 his steps to please Frederick, he proceeded at 
 his accustomed pace ; and, accordingly, the 
 great, the important hour of taking the chair, 
 at length arrived. It had been arranged, at 
 the particular request of Mr. Murphy himself
 
 AMUSING INCIDENT. 89 
 
 (though for what reason he was so particular 
 on that point, no one but himself had any idea), 
 that he should be intrusted with the seconding 
 of the second resolution. 
 
 Mr. Onward, who had taken the chair amidst 
 deafening acclamations, opened the meeting in a 
 decidedly democratic speech, every sentence of 
 which — ^and sometimes before the sentences 
 were half finished — was lauded to the echo. He 
 concluded, by calling on Mr. Headlong to move 
 the first resolution, which that gentleman did in 
 a manner which did not belie his name. The 
 resolution was appropriately and energetically 
 seconded by a Mr. Leveller, and unanimously 
 passed amidst plaudits, which, when at their 
 height, were calculated to produce a stupifying 
 effect. Then came the moving of the second 
 resolution, which was also of a thoroughly de- 
 mocratic, or rather destructive character.. With 
 the spirit and tendency of this resolution the 
 speech of the mover was in admirable keeping. 
 Never did a resolution and the remarks with
 
 90 AMUSING INCIDENT. 
 
 which it was introduced, more thoroughly ac- 
 cord together. Then came Mr. Murphy's turn. 
 " Mr. Murphy, gentlemen " (the most worthless 
 and ragged mob that ever congregated for the 
 purpose of doing all in their power to annihilate 
 the most valuable institutions in the country, and 
 to throw society into a state of perfect chaos, 
 are all, while listening to demagogues, unde- 
 niable gentlemen) — " Mr. Murphy, gentlemen," 
 said the Chairman, ''will second the resolu- 
 tion." Mr. Murphy accordingly rose and 
 advanced to the front of the platform, amidst 
 loud cheers. " Now, then," said Mr. Freeman 
 to himself, with infinite self-complacency — - 
 " now, then, it will be my turn next. I hope 
 the fellow (Mr. Murphy) will be short-winded, 
 and not detain the meeting." "Gentlemen," 
 commenced Mr. Murphy, " I rise, with great 
 diffidence, to second the resolution. I exceed- 
 ingly regret that the duty should not have de- 
 volved on some gentleman more competent than 
 myself for its due discharge. I am sorry that
 
 AMUSING INCIDENT. 91 
 
 my very able and excellent friend, Mr. Free- 
 man, does not now stand in the place which I 
 occupy. He would, I am sure, have done ample 
 justice to it; pouring, in strains of unrivalled 
 eloquence, a flood of light on every aspect which 
 the great principle involved in the resolution 
 can be made to assume." 
 
 Here Mr. Freeman looked blushingly on the 
 floor of the platform, while the spacious room 
 rang with the plaudits with which the sentiment 
 was received. 
 
 " My only consolation, gentlemen, is — and I 
 am sure you will receive the announcement with 
 ecstatic delight — my only consolation is, that 
 my worthy friend, Mr. Freeman, is to move the 
 next resolution. (Loud cheers.) I will not, there- 
 fore, deprive you of the pleasure of listening to 
 his spirit-stirring and truly patriotic oratory, by 
 detaining you at any length." 
 
 To the latter clause of the sentence Mr. 
 Freeman inwardly uttered an ** Amen." 
 
 " Mr. Chairman, and Gentlemen, it was justly
 
 92 AMUSING INCIDENT. 
 
 remarked by the celebrated Lord Chatham — one 
 of the few noblemen who have conferred a lustre 
 on the order to which he belonged — it was, I 
 say, once remarked by that distinguished man, 
 that there are times and seasons when a nation 
 are called on, by the most sacred considerations, 
 to present a bold and determined front to the 
 aggressions of tyranny." 
 
 Loud cheers followed this sentence, in the 
 midst of which Mr. Freeman was observed to 
 look somewhat surprised, as he directed his eye 
 towards the speaker. It struck him as a very 
 extraordinary circumstance, that Mr. Murphy 
 should have commenced his speech in the very 
 words in which he intended beginning his ; but 
 then he remarked, that great minds do some- 
 times exhibit a wonderful coincidence in their 
 trains of thought,, and, consequently, he resolved 
 to think no more about it. 
 
 " Gentlemen, this is one of those times, 
 this is one of those seasons." 
 
 Deafening applause greeted the sentiment;
 
 AMUSING INCIDENT. 93 
 
 during which Mr. Freeman several times moved 
 his chair, gazed with evident astonishment at 
 the speaker, and, indeed, exhibited every con- 
 ceivable sign of surprise and uneasiness. 
 
 " Yes, gentlemen, the country has now ar- 
 rived at a most terrible crisis; and it is the 
 bounden duty of every Englishman, of every man 
 who has the slightest particle of patriotism in 
 his brea^ — of every man who has a spirit within 
 him, to abhor and to spurn at slavery — of every 
 man who values freedom, and would be free : it 
 is, I say — and would that my voice could reach 
 the ears of the tyrants who seek to enslave us, 
 who would fain grind us beneath the iron hoof of 
 oppression — it is the duty of every Englishman ; 
 it is the duty of every one that now hears me ; 
 it is, gentlemen, your duty, to arise in all the 
 majesty of men' — in all the lofty dignity of those 
 in whose bosoms the flame of a pure and ardent 
 patriotism burns and blazes with an unquench- 
 able energy, to resist the daring encroachments 
 of despotism."
 
 94 AMUSING INCIDENT. 
 
 Here the immense assemblage simultaneously 
 rose from their seats, took off their hats, and 
 gave expression to their feelings in plaudits 
 which were literally deafening, and which lasted 
 for some minutes. Mr. Freeman now put his 
 hand into his pocket, and, for the first time, 
 missed his manuscript* Unable any longer to 
 restrain himself, he rose, and vociferously ex- 
 claimed, " Stop the speaker. Gentlemen, that 
 is my speech." 
 
 " Gentlemen," resumed Mr. Murphy, " the 
 time is gone by for mincing matters. The 
 people of this great country must now trust to 
 themselves. (Loud cheers.) Jf the torrent of 
 tyranny is to be stemmed ; if a bulwark is to be 
 erected against the farther progress of despot- 
 ism. Englishmen must " 
 
 Mr. Freeman, now worked up to a pitch of 
 ungovernable excitement, again rose, and a se- 
 cond time protested, in the most vehement man- 
 ner, that Mr. Murphy was delivering his speech. 
 He was met with loud cries of " Turn him
 
 AMUSING INCIDENT. 95 
 
 out ;" " Chuck the fellow over the platform ; " 
 " Order, order," &;c. ; when some one who 
 sat beside him, seized him by the tails of the 
 coat, and forcibly reseated him in his chair. 
 Order being eventually restored, Mr. Murphy 
 resumed. 
 
 " I was proceeding to observe, gentlemen, 
 when so unaccountably interrupted by my friend, 
 Mr. Freeman, that if the despotism which is 
 evidently destined for us by the tyrants in power, 
 is to be averted at all. Englishmen must throw 
 all their minor differences to the winds of hea- 
 ven ; and, forming themselves into one cordial 
 and compact confederacy, promptly afford our 
 oppressors a specimen of what a united and de- 
 termined people can do, when attempts are mak- 
 ing to rob them of their rights, and to despoil 
 them of all that makes life worth possessing." 
 
 Here there was another burst of tremendous 
 applause, in the midst of which Mr. Freeman 
 started from his seat, and, springing like a tiger 
 at Mr. Murphy, seized him by the breast of the
 
 96 AMUSING INCIDENT. 
 
 coat. He was torn from the speaker by a per- 
 son on the platform, amidst the universal uproar 
 of the meeting. " Why don't you turn him 
 out at once?" shouted one. " He's mad," ex- 
 claimed another. " Send him to a lunatic asy- 
 lum," cried a third. Order being once more 
 partially restored, Mr. Murphy resumed. 
 
 " I appeal to you, Mr. Chairman, for protec- 
 tion against these unseemly interruptions. The 
 conduct of Mr. Freeman is most extraordinary. 
 If he will only have patience, it will be his turn 
 next to address the meeting ; and I pledge my- 
 self that I will offer him no interruption." 
 
 " No, because you have stolen my speech. 
 Your conduct is most" 
 
 The completion of the sentence was prevented 
 'by one of the demagogues on the platform sud- 
 denly and unceremoniously clapping his hand 
 on Mr. Freeman's mouth. 
 
 " I will not, gentlemen, detain you long. I 
 was seeking to impress on your minds, the pa- 
 ramount importance of union, energy, and im-
 
 AMUSING INCIDENT. 97 
 
 mediate action. It has been remarked by one 
 of the most illustrious philosophers which this 
 or any other country, which this or any other 
 age of the world, ever produced, that a people 
 resolved to maintain their freedom, never can be 
 made slaves. Gentlemen, are you resolved to 
 maintain your freedom V 
 
 Vociferous shouts of " We are ! we are !" 
 accompanied with deafening cheers, proceeded 
 from all parts of the meeting. Mr. Freeman, 
 however, instead of joining in the universal 
 response to his own patriotic sentiment, audibly 
 groaned. 
 
 " Gentlemen, I anticipated that answer. I 
 know that there beats not a bosom before me 
 that is not ready to peril his all — that is not 
 prepared to risk his liberty ; ay, and even his 
 life itself, in the boundlessness of his zeal for 
 his country." 
 
 Here another shout of tremendous applause 
 burst from all parts of the meeting. While its 
 tones were resounding through the piace, Mr. 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 AMUSING INCIDENT. 
 
 Freeman, who by this time had been worked up 
 into a paroxysm of passion, which made him 
 look like an infuriated maniac, started from his 
 seat, and was again about to spring at the 
 speaker, but was prevented by those beside him, 
 who, seizing him by the arms, once more drag- 
 ged him back to his seat, in which he was kept 
 by sheer force, during the delivery of the re- 
 mainder of the speech. Mr, Murphy having 
 resumed his seat amidst applause which seemed, 
 for a time, as if it would never end — the reso- 
 lution was put and carried unanimously, amidst 
 the loudest applause. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said the chairman, " Mr. 
 Freeman will move the next resolution." 
 
 " I'll do nothing of the kind," observed the 
 latter, suddenly starting to his feet, and eagerly 
 snatching up his hat; " I'll do nothing of the 
 kind. After the injustice done me to-day, I'll 
 never move another resolution, nor make an- 
 other speech in my life." And so saying, he 
 immediately left the place, to the surprise of
 
 99 
 
 all present, with the single exception of Mr. 
 Murphy. 
 
 Mr. Freeman kept his word ; and happy was 
 it for him that he did so. Formerly, when in 
 the habit of spouting democracy, and often 
 something worse at the meetings of the North 
 London Liberal Association, he neglected his 
 business, and was known by all his friends, 
 if not by himself, to be rapidly running to ruin. 
 His fortune began to retrieve as soon as he broke 
 off his connexion with the violent men compos- 
 ing the committee of that Association ; and he 
 eventually became a man of the highest respect- 
 ability in his sphere of life. Very differently 
 did the career of his democratic companions ter- 
 minate. Mr. Onward soon afterwards was 
 obliged to seek an asylum on the Continent, to 
 escape the consequences of certain swindling 
 transactions of the most aggravated character, in 
 which he was deeply implicated. Mr. Headlong 
 was doomed to undergo a long period of impri- 
 sonment for grossly assaulting his wife ; while
 
 100 CLOSE OF THE PUBLIC 
 
 Mr. Murphy, then only in his thirty-fifth year, 
 was sent across the seas, at the public expense, 
 for forging, to a large amount, the name of a 
 friend to whom he was under the deepest obli- 
 gations for previous services. — There was an- 
 other leading demagogue (a Mr. Bullet) in the 
 Association, of whom no notice has been taken, 
 but to the close of whose political career, some 
 slight reference ought to be made. With his 
 deep moral criminality, there was mingled a dash 
 of the romantic. Mr. Bullet had long, to use 
 the fashionable phraseology of the day, had a 
 young woman under his protection. She was 
 the sister of Mr. Dogget, a brother demagogue, 
 and had been seduced by him on one of those oc- 
 casions on which he and her brother were en- 
 gaged, at the house of the latter, concocting their 
 revolutionary schemes. It so happened that, a 
 few months before the breaking up of the Asso- 
 ciation, a new patriot of the first water, of the 
 name of Braggs, gave in his adhesion to it. As 
 he went the whole length in liberalism, and was
 
 CAREER OF A "PATRIOT." 101 
 
 a very effective declaimer, he rose at once to the 
 rank of a leading man among the orators ; and he 
 and Mr. Bullet became, in less than a fortnight, 
 inseparable friends. Braggs was a married man, 
 and the father of four children. He surpassed 
 the whole of the declaiming fraternity to which 
 he belonged, in the frequency and seeming 
 earnestness of his advocacy of private morality. 
 He dealt out his invectives, with " liberal" 
 hand, on all those who, professing to be the de- 
 nouncers of public abuses and legislative corrup- 
 tion, could yet indulge, in private, in practices 
 which were severely condemned by those prin- 
 ciples of morality which have existed in all na- 
 tions and ages of the world, and found an abode 
 in every well-regulated breast. One evening he 
 surpassed himself in the vehemence and elo- 
 quence with which he enforced his virtuous 
 views. Next morning he abandoned his wife 
 and family, and decamped with the mistress of 
 his friend and fellow-patriot, Mr. Bullet. The 
 latter gentleman, in the plenitude of his sym-
 
 102 CLOSE OF THE PUBLIC 
 
 pathy for Mrs. Braggs, went, on the evening of 
 the same day, to condole with that lady, and, at 
 the same time, to express his virtuous indigna- 
 tion at the faithlessness of him on whom he had 
 lavished so much kindness. 
 
 A fellow-feeling, every one knows, makes us 
 wondrous kind ; and nothing, it is an equally 
 well-ascertained fact, has a more powerful in- 
 fluence in drawing out people's afiections to 
 each other, than a similarity of sufferings or 
 circumstances. Bullet denounced Braggs in 
 terms of unlimited indignation ; and Mrs. 
 Braggs, though no advocate for any gentleman 
 forming an illegitimate intimacy with one of 
 her sex, could not refrain from saying, that 
 the lady who had quitted Mr. Bullet's protec- 
 tion, had acted a very ungrateful and improper 
 part. Mr. Bullet was so pleased with Mrs. 
 Braggs' views on this point, and was, at the 
 same time, so anxious to continue to give 
 " the ill-used woman" all the consolation which 
 his sympathy could afford her, that he re-
 
 PATRIOT." 103 
 
 peated his visits at intervals much shorter than 
 those of angels' ^dsits to the earth. So much 
 did the two enter into each other's feelings, 
 and so strongly did they sympathize in each 
 other's wrongs, that, in ten days after the elope- 
 ment of the first pair, they followed their ex- 
 ample, leaving Mrs. Braggs' four children to the 
 tender mercies of the parish. By and by, how- 
 ever, Mr. Braggs' means became e?f:hausted, 
 and, with their disappearance, came a return of 
 Miss Dogget's fond affection for Bullet. She 
 wTote to him from Manchester, expressing her 
 deep regret at the steps she had taken, and 
 throwing the whole blame on "the brute 
 (Braggs) who had taken advantage of her sim- 
 plicity." She implored Bullet's forgiveness, 
 though she could never forgive herself; as- 
 suring him that her heart was broken at her 
 folly, and that her eyes had been in a complete 
 ocean ever since she had quitted his (Mr. Bul- 
 let's) roof. Bullet at once forgave her, and 
 entreated her to return to his heart and his
 
 104 CLOSE OF THE PUBLIC 
 
 arms, both being equally open to receive her. 
 She was in his embraces within forty hours of 
 the receipt of his note ; and, in as many hours 
 thereafter, Mrs. Braggs was turned into the 
 streets, to live if she could, or to die if she 
 could not. " Sophy (Sophia was her name), 
 Sophy, will you ever leave me again ? " said 
 Bullet, looking the lady, with an aspect of ten- 
 derness, in her face. 
 
 " Never, never — oh, never 1" was the ener- 
 getic response of Miss Dogget, throwing her 
 arms, as she spoke, around Bullet's neck. 
 
 "You're sure." 
 
 " Oh 1 do not doubt me. I only wish you 
 would allow me to prove the truth of my asser- 
 tion, and the firmness of my resolution, by 
 making me your lawful wife." 
 
 " I did intend doing that before your elope- 
 ment with that wretched fellow Braggs," re- 
 marked Mr. Bullet. 
 
 "Oh ! how I wish you had 1 that unfortunate 
 occurrence would not, in that case, have taken
 
 PATRIOT." 105 
 
 place, and I should have been spared the misery 
 I have since felt, and now feel." 
 
 And Miss Dogget, as she spoke, very drama- 
 tically again entwined her arms around Bullet's 
 neck, and thrust her head into his bosom — 
 bathing his waistcoat with her tears, and filling 
 his ears with her sobbing and her sighs. The 
 effect was altogether irresistible. " Sophy," 
 said Bullet, raising her face from his bosom, 
 and looking touchingly at her ; " Sophy, you 
 shall be my lawful wife ; all I have " — and Bul- 
 let was the proprietor of £150 in bank notes, 
 which were lying in his desk, to say nothing of 
 some valuable articles of furniture — " all I have 
 shall be yours." 
 
 " Oh I James, "sobbed Miss Dogget — James 
 being Bullet's Christian name — "oh! James," 
 and she again gracefully dropped her head on 
 his breast. 
 
 The latter kept his word. In less than a 
 
 fortnight Miss Dogget was lawfully and truly 
 
 Mrs. Bullet. 
 
 f2
 
 106 CLOSE OF THE PUBLIC 
 
 A fortnight more passed, and Mr. Bullet had 
 occasion to go, for two days, into the country. 
 He begged "Sophy" to accompany him. It 
 would have been a heaven on earth for her to 
 have done so; but, the moment he had made 
 the proposal, she was seized with " a serious ill- 
 ness," and expressed a wish to retire to her bed. 
 
 " My dear Sophy," said Mr. Bullet, in great 
 alarm, " I'll postpone going from home, seeing 
 you are so ill." 
 
 " Oh, no, love, don't do that ; you're going on 
 business, and business, you know, must be 
 attended to. A day's rest will bring me round 
 again." 
 
 " But I cannot think of leaving you in your 
 present state." 
 
 " There is no danger, James ; it's only a tem- 
 porary illness. You don't start till to-morrow 
 at ten, and perhaps a night's rest may restore 
 me." 
 
 The night passed away, Mrs. Bullet enjoying 
 seven consecutive hours' profound repose. She
 
 CAREER OF A "PATRIOT." 107 
 
 professed herself considerably better, but was, 
 of course, too feeble to accompany him on a 
 distant journey. 
 
 " Well, my dear," said Mr. Bullet, " there is 
 no help for it; I must, however reluctantly, 
 go by myself. I trust you will be perfectly re- 
 covered by the time I return." 
 
 " I'm quite sure I shall," returned Mrs. Bul- 
 let, in affectionate accents. 
 
 The hour for starting arrived ; and Mr. Bul- 
 let, after being affectionately embraced by his 
 wife, quitted home in pursuance of his journey. 
 
 " Punctual as a lover to the moment sworn," 
 he returned at the time he had promised. He 
 knocked at the door, and, knowing that his 
 wife could always distinguish his knock from 
 that of anybody else, he confidently calcu- 
 lated on her opening the door and welcoming 
 him herself, as it was the first time he had been 
 absent since their marriage. His servant, how- 
 ever, let him in. " How is your mistress ? " in- 
 quired he eagerly, fearing that, as she was not
 
 108 CLOSE OF THE PUBLIC 
 
 to be seen as he entered the house, she must 
 have had a relapse, 
 
 "Don't know, sir," answered the servant, 
 in a feeble and faltering tone. 
 
 " Don't know ! What do you mean ? " 
 
 "Missus is not in, sir." 
 
 " Not in at this hour of the morning ! " 
 
 It was only seven o'clock. 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " And pray, how long has she been out ?" in- 
 quired Mr. Bullet, in great consternation. 
 
 " She's been gone these two days, sir." 
 
 Mr. Bullet was scarcely able to support him- 
 self. His countenance assumed the paleness of 
 death, and a few seconds elapsed before he was 
 able to utter a word. 
 
 " Do you know where she is gone to ?" was 
 his next question. 
 
 "No, sir, I don't." 
 
 " Did she say when she intended to re- 
 turn?" 
 
 " No, sir, she did not."
 
 CAREER OF A "PATRIOT." 109 
 
 "Was there anybody with her when she 
 left?" 
 
 ** Yes, sir," replied the maid, hesitatingly. 
 
 " A man or woman ? " 
 
 " A man, sir." 
 
 " A man ! And do you know who he was ? " 
 
 "It was Mr. Braggs, sir." 
 
 Mr. Bullet groaned aloud, and, staggering 
 with difficulty to the sofa in the parlour, sank 
 down in a state of stupefaction. 
 
 As soon as he had recovered sufficiently to be 
 able to speak, Mary mentioned to him that 
 " missus " had left a letter for him in her bed- 
 room. 
 
 " Bring it down." 
 
 It was brought down and read. It intimated 
 that Mrs. Bullet had eloped with Mr. Braggs. 
 The writer farther said, that her object in wish- 
 ing to be married to Mr. Bullet was, that she 
 might have a legal right to plunder him; and 
 that, availing herself of that right, she had 
 taken with her the £150, and all the portable
 
 110 CLOSE OF A "patriot's" CAREER.' 
 
 articles of any value in the house. She concluded 
 by protesting that she never had the slightest 
 regard for Mr. Bullet, but was devotedly at- 
 tached to Mr. Braggs, with whom she would 
 live and die.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Importance of a proper religious education — Joseph's want 
 of it — Consequences of neglecting the outward means of 
 religion— Conversation with Mr. Lovegood on the subject. 
 
 No man can have lived any time in London, 
 without being struck vv^ith the number of young 
 men vy^ho, though what is called religiously edu- 
 cated, and commendably correct in their moral 
 conduct, lose every sense of religious obligation 
 before they have been many months in the me- 
 tropolis. Their course of retrogression begins 
 by their absenting themselves from a place of 
 worship, and neglecting all the external observ- 
 ances of religion. When once they have pro- 
 ceeded thus far, their downward progress is 
 rapid and inevitable. They rarely stop until 
 they have plunged themselves over head and 
 ears in the mire of moral degradation.
 
 112 PROPER RELIGIOUS EDUCATION, 
 
 There is no disguising the fact, that such 
 is the history of great numbers who have been 
 carefully instructed, by pious parents, in the 
 distinctive doctrines of the Christian faith. It 
 will, however, be found in the vast majority of 
 such cases, that the parties have not, in early 
 life, been thoroughly grounded in evangelical 
 truth. Their parents have contented themselves 
 with teaching them by mere rote — perfectly 
 satisfied if they could repeat, from memory, 
 the answers given in catechisms and other 
 works for the religious education of the young. 
 There is a radical defect here. Unless an 
 anxious desire be felt, and a constant endeavour 
 made, to impress divine truth on the heart, 
 there is no ground for hoping that the learner 
 will be materially benefitted by it. When he 
 launches on the ocean of life, and has to come 
 into daily contact with men of loose notions 
 on religious subjects, and whose sole rule of 
 action is the readiest and easiest way to gratify 
 the unhallowed propensities of their nature;
 
 Joseph's want of it, 113 
 
 he will feel that he has nothing to oppose to 
 the antagonist force with which he comes into 
 collision. 
 
 It was the misfortune of Joseph Jenkins, that 
 his religious education — if, indeed, such educa- 
 tion deserve the name of religious — ^was of the 
 nature to which we have just referred. In 
 Scotland, he had been regular in his attendance 
 in his parish church ; he was an amiable and in- 
 teresting youth ; he possessed several excellent 
 qualities; his moral conduct, indeed, was un- 
 exceptionable. He was, moreover, in a merely- 
 notional or theoretical point of view, intimately 
 conversant with the details of the Christian 
 scheme. His religion, however, was confined 
 to the head; it never, in the remotest degree, 
 aifected his heart. 
 
 The result was, in his case, what it has been 
 in the case of unnumbered individuals before 
 him. For a season, after coming to London, he 
 was exemplary in his attendance in a place 
 of worship in connexion with the Presbyterian
 
 114 NEGLECTS THE OUTWARD 
 
 establishment of his native land. There was, 
 too, an external propriety in his moral conduct 
 which it was pleasing to witness. As, however, 
 he began to form acqi^aintances in London, and 
 to feel that he was in a fair way of making 
 a competent livelihood, his attendance in a 
 place of worship became less regular. He 
 began by deeming it enough to go to chapel 
 once a week. In less than a month he thought 
 there would be no harm in occasionally absent- 
 ing himself from it the whole day, provided he 
 felt indisposed to leave his room, or was invited 
 to join some party of pleasure. In a few weeks 
 more he came to the conclusion, that going 
 to a place of worship at all, or making any dis- 
 tinction between Sunday and any other day, 
 were very unnecessary things. His practice 
 kept pace with his newly-adopted notions. He 
 would not, it is true, commit the crime of theft ; 
 but he saw no other objection to getting into 
 debt, which he knew he had no reasonable 
 prospect of ever being able to pay, than the in-
 
 MEANS OF RELIGION. 115 
 
 convenience of being dunned, and probably 
 being some day consigned to the care of the 
 Marshalsea of the Queen's Bench prison. The 
 progress he made in libertinism, was of the 
 most marked description. He himself was the 
 only person of all who knew him, who was 
 not struck with it ; it excited the surprise even 
 of persons who had themselves been confirmed 
 libertines for a long series of years. Every 
 moment he could spare from professional duties 
 was devoted to the indulgence of his passion for 
 criminal pleasure ; and that passion only grew in 
 strength the more it was fed. The more he con- 
 ceded to it, the greater became its demands. 
 The first portion of his unemployed evenings 
 was spent in the tavern or the theatre ; the 
 remainder in houses of a still more objectionable 
 kind. 
 
 If a thought of a Supreme Being or a future 
 state, did occasionally obtain an entrance into 
 his mind, not a moment did he lose, after the 
 discovery had been made, in seeking to eject the
 
 116 MR. LOVEGOOD. 
 
 unwelcome intruder. As yet, he was no specu- 
 lative infidel. He nominally assented to the 
 truths of Christianity ; hence the circumstance 
 of his being so eager to banish all reflections re- 
 specting the being of a God, and the destinies of 
 a world to come. To a person living in guilt and 
 yet unconfirmed in speculative infidelity, there 
 can be nothing so terrible as the thought of the 
 Most High, or of a future state. Joseph knew 
 this from painful experience, limited though the 
 period yet was of his libertine career. 
 
 Mr. Lovegood had learned, with the deepest 
 regret, the line of conduct Joseph was pursu- 
 ing. The latter had not called on him ever 
 since he had fairly abandoned himself to a course 
 of indulgence in immoral pleasures. It is one 
 of the almost invariable concomitants of guilt, 
 that it leads its victims studiously to shun all in- 
 tercourse with the virtuous persons with whom 
 they were formerly acquainted. Mr. Lovegood 
 had, on learning how he was conducting him- 
 self, repeatedly invited Mr. Jenkins to his house ;
 
 INTERVIEW WITH MR. LOVEGOOD. 117 
 
 but the latter, under some pretext or other, al- 
 ways declined the invitation. Feeling, as he 
 did, a peculiar interest in the well-being of Jo- 
 seph, and seeing no probability of his being able 
 to prevail upon him to call at his house, Mr. Love- 
 good determined on paying him a morning visit, 
 for the purpose of remonstrating with him on 
 the criminality and inevitable consequences, if 
 persisted in, of his conduct. He found Joseph 
 in bed — as, indeed, he would have done, if, in- 
 stead of calling at eleven in the morning, he had 
 deferred his visit till two o'clock ; for the result 
 of the late hours he now kept, and the habits of 
 indolence he had contracted, was, that he rarely 
 quitted his bed before that hour. Mr. Love- 
 good's presence, caused considerable embarrass- 
 ment to our hero, who would have given any- 
 thing to avoid the interview. He, however, re- 
 ceived his friend and visitor with the respect 
 which his moral worth could not fail to extort 
 from aU who knew him, even from the most 
 abandoned of mankind; and with, besides, a
 
 118 INTERVIEW WITH MR. LOVEGOOD. 
 
 sense of the deep obligations under which he 
 lay to him. The latter, after a few introduc- 
 tory observations of that general kind which 
 are usually made on one acquaintance meeting 
 with another, stated plainly, but mildly, the 
 purpose of his visit. He expressed the deep con- 
 cern with which he had heard of Joseph's regu- 
 larly absenting himself from a place of worship, 
 utterly neglecting even the external observances 
 of religion ; and resigning himself, without re- 
 straint, to the impulses of those criminal pro- 
 pensities which are inherent in human nature, 
 though not equally powerful in all. He reasoned 
 and remonstrated with him, not only on the 
 moral criminality of the course he was pursuing, 
 but on its certain effects, if persisted in, even as 
 regarded his status in society and the means of 
 his subsistence. He pointed out to him, that 
 the loss of moral character would, sooner or later, 
 be infallibly followed, not only by the loss of his 
 situation, but probably his utter ruin, even in a 
 worldly point of view. Mr. Jenkins listened,
 
 INTERVIEW WITH MR. LOVEGOOD. 119 
 
 with the greatest attention, to all that his bene- 
 factor said. He felt that every word he uttered 
 was true ; in his own bosom it all met with a 
 ready response. He urged a variety of excuses 
 for himself, ascribing his errors (as he called 
 them) to the circumstance of his being profes- 
 sionally obliged to associate with young men 
 who led him astray. He expressed a grateful 
 sense of the friendship which prompted Mr. 
 Lovegood to point out his " errors," and gave 
 him a solemn assurance, that he would be more 
 careful, for the time to come, as to whom he as- 
 sociated with, and how he acted.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Becomes an infidel — Causes of infidelity — Wretchedness of an 
 infidel creed — General remarks. 
 
 Hitherto, Mr. Jenkins might be regarded as 
 a speculative believer in revealed truth, though 
 in his practice trampling on all its most sacred 
 obligations. If any one had expressed or insi- 
 nuated a doubt of his Christianity, he' would 
 have resented it as an unpardonable insult — an 
 unjustifiable reflection on his character. Nay, 
 he would have gone even farther than this ; he 
 would have entered the lists (and on repeated 
 occasions did enter the lists) as a champion for 
 the Christian faith when its truths were assailed 
 in his presence. Nor, in this respect, was he a 
 singular character. Christendom is crowded 
 with such persons. That the parties themselves 
 do not discern the glaring inconsistency of their
 
 RELIGIOUS FEELINGS. 121 
 
 conduct is only one of the innumerable proofs 
 that are daily furnished, of the moral blindness 
 which sin has produced in the minds of men. 
 
 Eventually, however, a conviction began to 
 break in on the mind of Mr. Jenkins that, if 
 Christianity were true, the course of conduct 
 which he had latterly pursued, was not such as 
 to warrant a belief, that his would be a happy 
 hereafter. On the contrary, he looked forward 
 to a future state with apprehension and alarm. 
 The result was precisely what might be ex- 
 pected : he began to wish that there were no 
 future state at all. 
 
 No one can have bestowed any consideration 
 on the operations of his mind, without being 
 cognizant of the fact that, when a man anxiously 
 wishes that any particular position in morals 
 were true, he almost invariably, sooner or later, 
 reasons himself into the conviction that it is 
 true. In all such cases his mind is sealed 
 against the admission of adverse evidence, while 
 its portals are thro'WTi wide open to whatever 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 CAUSES OF UNBELIEF. 
 
 arguments can be brought forward in its favour. 
 So it was in the instance of Joseph. He stu- 
 diously abstained from the perusal of any work 
 which had for its object to prove the authenti- 
 city of the Scriptures, and the consequent truth 
 of Christianity; while he eagerly sought for, 
 and carefully read, whatever books had been 
 written in favour of infidelity. With his mind 
 thus filled with the leading objections which 
 have, at various times, been urged against Chris- 
 tianity, while wholly unacquainted with the 
 triumphant answers which have been given to 
 one and all of these objections, it will not oc- 
 casion surprise when the reader is informed, 
 that the wishes of Joseph were eventually con- 
 verted into convictions. He became a spe- 
 culative, as he had before been a practical, 
 rejector of Christianity. There were seasons, it 
 is true, in which the unwelcome suspicion and 
 terrible apprehension, that the Scriptures might 
 after all contain a divine revelation, would ob- 
 trude themselves on his mind. His hours of soli-
 
 MISERIES OF INFIDELITY. 123 
 
 tude, and particularly of temporary sickness, 
 were especially seasons of this nature. The 
 visit, however, of a worldly acquaintance, or the 
 occupation of his mind with literary or secular 
 matters, usually had the effect of ridding him 
 of such unwelcome reflections, and of causing 
 him to relapse into his infidel notions. 
 
 Infidelity is a miserable system : no man ever 
 yet found happiness in it. A happy unbeliever 
 is a contradiction. Desolate, indeed, is the soul 
 of him who rejects the revelation which the 
 great Creator has vouchsafed to his creature 
 man. None but an infidel can form any idea of 
 the wretchedness which reigns in an infidel bo- 
 som. Not only have all who have been deli- 
 vered from the dreadful domination of unbe- 
 lief, been forward to bear their testimony to 
 the misery of which it is the parent ; but those, 
 also, who have renounced Christianity, and em- 
 braced an infidel creed, have, even while the 
 victims and slaves of atheism or deism — for there 
 is, in effect, scarcely any difference between the
 
 124 MISERIES OF INFIDELITY. 
 
 two — been forced to make the admission, that 
 misery and unbelief are inseparably associated 
 together. The experience of Joseph afforded a 
 striking illustration of this. Though never a 
 Christian in the evangelical or legitimate accept- 
 ation of the term, he was (as before remarked) 
 a speculative believer in revelation; in other 
 words, was a Christian in his own estimation. 
 And, while he continued so ; while he was in 
 the habit of attending externally to religious 
 observances, he enjoyed a certain kind and 
 amount of happiness, though falling far short 
 of that kind and that amount of bliss which 
 invariably accompanies the work of regene- 
 ration. How different the state of matters 
 now! His infidel notions not only afforded 
 him no consolation, but plunged him into un- 
 speakable wretchedness. He talked of Chris- 
 tianity as a delusion, but he admitted it was a 
 most delightful delusion. He talked of infidel- 
 ity as a reality, but he confessed, because he 
 felt, that it was a wretched reality. Nor was
 
 MISERIES OF INFIDELITY. 125 
 
 this all. Though the prevailing impression 
 on his mind was, that Christianity was false, the 
 idea (as has just been observed) would, every 
 now and then, force itself upon him, that there 
 was, at least, a possibility that it might be 
 true ; and if so, where should he be ? 
 
 In this respect, I am persuaded that Mr. 
 Jenkins was only undergoing a mental process 
 which every infidel is more or less frequently 
 doomed to go through. I feel assured that the 
 man never existed, provided he were acquainted 
 with revelation, whose mind had become so 
 steeled with infideHty, as to be impervious to 
 even an occasional apprehension that, after all, 
 Christianity might be a divine system. Infidels, 
 I know, may, in the spirit of bravado, affirm that 
 they have lived for years in the entire and con- 
 stant disbelief of Christianity. I confess I can- 
 not believe them. I should hke to hear their 
 testimony on the point, when they are stretched 
 on their dying-beds, and are conscious that they 
 stand on the verge of the world to come. No
 
 126 MISGIVINGS OF INFIDELITY. 
 
 instance, that I am aware of, is on record, of a 
 dying infidel having, in his last moments, gloried 
 in the fact that he was then dying, as he had 
 always lived, in the full conviction that Christi- 
 anity was a system of fraud and falsehood. 
 
 At all events, Mr. Jenkins could make no 
 such boast. He was often assailed by the ap- 
 prehension that, after all, Christianity might be 
 a revelation from Heaven. To describe the 
 alarm with which the apprehension filled his 
 mind ; to convey an idea of the wretchedness it 
 produced in his breast, were wholly impossible. 
 Those, only, whose minds have been similarly 
 exercised, can form any adequate conception of 
 it. The horror which, on such occasions, took 
 possession of his soul, did not exhibit itself in 
 the same way as the horror of which Bolingbroke 
 was the victim, when he could not endure to be 
 one moment in a dark room by himself ; but it 
 made him spend many a sleepless hour, and 
 caused him, whenever practicable, to shun that 
 solitude which is not only essential to the spiri-
 
 WRETCHEDNESS OF INFIDELITY, 127 
 
 tual health of the mind, but in which every true 
 believer finds his highest happiness. To be shut 
 up in a room by himself, without books or writ- 
 ing materials, or any other means of occupying 
 his mind or amusing himself, would have been, 
 to Mr. Jenkins, a most terrible doom. His 
 own thoughts, in his moments of sober reflec- 
 tion, he felt constrained to regard as his great- 
 est enemies. Most earnestly would he have then 
 wished that he were a believer in Christianity, 
 were it not that revealed religion annexes the 
 most fearful penalties to the course of conduct 
 which he still continued to pursue.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Joseph extends his acquaintance with authors and publishers — 
 A dinner scene — Unpleasant discoveries on the following 
 day. 
 
 As it was generally known among the literary 
 men of the metropolis, that the majority of the 
 reviews of new books which appeared in the 
 daily journal with which Joseph was connected, 
 proceeded from his pen, authors and publishers 
 became desirous of forming a personal acquaint- 
 ance with him ; knowing that a little attention 
 from them was not likely to render his notices 
 of their works less favourable. With one 
 author, Mr. Norman (who was also a partner 
 in a publishing establishment), Joseph's inti- 
 macy ripened into friendship. Mr. Norman 
 was a person quite to his taste. He was a man
 
 A DINNER SCENE. 
 
 129 
 
 of cultivated mind, pleasing manners, free- 
 thinking opinions, and by no means encum- 
 bered with very rigid notions of morality. He 
 kept a splendid establishment; far more splen- 
 did, indeed, than his means warranted. That, 
 however, was nothing to him. If he could only 
 obtain the needful credit, or, as he himself ex- 
 pressed it, could but *«keep the top a-spinning," 
 he cared not to what extent his creditors might 
 suifer. He was self-willed in his conduct, and 
 fancied, that to assume an independent bearing 
 was to make himself a man of importance. He 
 was in the habit of giving expensive dinners, to 
 which Joseph was almost invariably invited. 
 One day, about five years after the accession of 
 George the Fourth, Mr. Norman determined to 
 give an unusually large and splendid dinner. 
 Being a bachelor, no ladies were present. The 
 party included some of the most celebrated 
 authors of the day, two or three publishers, 
 and an officer of superior rank and high stand- 
 ing in the army. The cloth having been re- 
 g2
 
 130 A DINNER SCENE. 
 
 moved, a gentleman who sat on the right of Mr. 
 Norman, proposed, as the first toast, the health 
 of the King. 
 
 ** Oh, the King ! " exclaimed Mr. Nor- 
 man; "give us something else." 
 
 "Order! order!" shouted several voices at 
 once. A hum of suppressed disapprobation was 
 heard at all parts of the table; while Captain 
 Royston, not knowing, in the confusion of the 
 moment, whom the gentleman was who had 
 uttered the ofiensive exclamation, cried, in 
 stentorian accents, " Turn him out !" 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Norman, almost choking 
 with rage ; " what ! turn me out of my own house ! 
 Who is the fellow who says he'll turn me out?" 
 
 "I am the fellow," answered the captain, 
 springing to his feet. 
 
 " Sir, say that again, and I'll knock your head 
 to atoms." And, as he spoke, and without wait- 
 ing to see whether the captain would repeat the 
 words, he snatched a large crystal bottle full of 
 wine, and was in the act of aiming it at the other
 
 A DINNER SCENE. 131 
 
 — ^who sat some yards distant from him — when 
 a Mr. Sherwin, who was next to him^ seized 
 his arm, and, with inimitable coolness, while 
 all the rest of the company were worked up 
 to a state of great excitement, said, " Don't 
 you think, Mr. Norman, we had better empty 
 the bottle before you throw it ? " 
 
 " Very well," responded Mr. Norman, me- 
 chanically, as if scarcely conscious of what he 
 was saying. 
 
 "Don't you think, Mr. Norman," pursued 
 Mr. Sherwin, after an interval of a few seconds, 
 ** that you had better not throw it at all ? " 
 
 "Very well," replied the other, in the same 
 mechanical way as before. 
 
 "Don't you think, Mr. Norman, you had 
 better sit down ? " 
 
 Mr. Norman sat down. 
 
 "I'm quite sure it has been a mistake all 
 through," resumed Mr. Sherwin; " Mr. Nor- 
 man meant no disrespect to our beloved King." 
 
 " Certainly not," said Mr. Norman.
 
 13:^ A DINNER SCENE. 
 
 " It was a mere thoughtless ejaculation, 
 uttered in the forgetfulness of the moment." 
 
 Mr. Norman nodded assent. 
 
 "And I am quite sure," addressing himself 
 to Captain Royston, " the gallant officer does 
 not seriously mean to turn our excellent host out 
 of his own house. It was merely a threat 
 uttered on the impulse of the instant, and in 
 the commendable exuberance of his loyalty." 
 
 " Hear, hear," cried a dozen voices at once ; 
 but that of the captain was not heard among 
 the number. 
 
 " I am perfectly sure, captain," resumed Mr. 
 Sherwin, " that you do not now mean anything 
 offensive to Mr. Norman." 
 
 " Certainly not, Mr. Sherwin. Mr. Norman 
 has handsomely disclaimed intending anything 
 disrespectful to the Sovereign whom I have the 
 honour to serve, and I therefore retract the 
 expression." 
 
 " Suppose we now drink the Sovereign's 
 health," said Mr. Sherwin.
 
 A DINNER SCENE. 133 
 
 "With all my heart," responded Mr. Norman. 
 
 " And I'm quite sure that our worthy host 
 will be delighted to propose as well as drink it." 
 
 "The King!" shouted Mr. Norman, "up- 
 standing, and three times three ! " Mr. Nor- 
 man sprang to his feet before he had completed 
 the sentence, and all the others simultaneously 
 imitated his example. The toast was drunk 
 amidst deafening plaudits. 
 
 " I am quite sure," resumed Mr. Sherwin, 
 " I only give expression to the mutual feelings of 
 our worthy host and the gallant officer, when I 
 say that they will be most happy to shake 
 hands, and entirely forget all that has past." 
 
 " "With infinite pleasure," responded both at 
 once. They advanced and shook hands amidst 
 the gratulations of all present. Harmony was 
 then completely restored, and the remainder of 
 the evening was spent in the most agreeable 
 manner. 
 
 Mr. Norman had only one partner in the 
 publishing business, and his name was Rogers
 
 134 AN AWKWARD INCIDENT. 
 
 — a married man, and the father of a family. 
 His notions on moral points were essentially the 
 same as those of Mr. Norman and Joseph. He 
 was in the habit, in his convivial moments, 
 of talking loosely respecting the sacredness of 
 the marriage obligation. Neither was he cele- 
 brated for an undue respect for the principles of 
 honesty in his commercial transactions. 
 
 On the morning after the festive occasion to 
 which we have alluded, Joseph called at the 
 bibliopolic establishment of Rogers and Norman, 
 for the purpose of seeing the latter. He had 
 not yet arrived. Joseph was surprised at the 
 confused manner of Mr. Rogers; and his sur- 
 prise was heightened when he was not asked, 
 as in similar circumstances he had invariably 
 been before, to sit down till Mr. N. came. Just, 
 however, as Joseph was leaving the place, he 
 met Mr. Norman, and, in compliance with his 
 request, was accompanying him inside the coun- 
 ter, when the latter was accosted by Mr. 
 Rogers, who looked an impersonation of fury.
 
 AN AWKWARD INCIDExVT. 135 
 
 with " You scoundrel, how dare you, sir, 
 
 ever look me again in the face ? " 
 
 ''What's the matter?" inquired Mr. Nor- 
 man, in utter amazement, and with consider- 
 able trepidation. 
 
 " What's the matter ! Your own conscience, 
 you consummate villain, must, if you have one, 
 tell you what's the matter." 
 
 " Upon my honour I don't understand you. 
 What can be the meaning of this ? " 
 
 Here Joseph withdrew, not wishing to be 
 present at so unpleasant an altercation, especi- 
 ally as he had not the remotest idea of what 
 were the circumstances which had led to it. 
 
 " If, sir, you have any regard for your own 
 life, you will leave the counting-house directly, 
 and never again enter the place where I am." 
 
 " Mr. Rogers, this unaccountable conduct 
 requires explanation." 
 
 "Yours, sir, will admit of none, far less of 
 justification." 
 
 " Your conduct perfectly astounds me."
 
 136 AN AWKWARD INCIDENT. 
 
 "You ought to be astounded at your own 
 villany." 
 
 " Pray explain the meaning of all this." 
 
 " Do you, sir, know whose handwriting that 
 is ? " said Mr. Rogers, showing Mr. Norman his 
 own signature to a letter, but concealing every- 
 thing else. 
 
 " That is my signature,'* remarked the other. 
 
 "And perhaps that also is your writing," 
 said Mr. Rogers, holding before Mr. Norman 
 the back of a letter addressed to Mrs. Rogers. 
 
 Mr. Norman turned as pale as death, and 
 quivered like an aspen leaf. 
 
 " You consummate " 
 
 Mr. Rogers, whose eye glared with indigna- 
 tion, and whose whole manner displayed an 
 ungovernable rage, was about to renew his 
 denunciations of the conduct of his partner, 
 when Mr. Merton, a venerable-looking old gen- 
 tleman, remarkable alike for his amiable man- 
 ners and the moral rectitude of his conduct, 
 entered the counting-house.
 
 AN AWKWARD INCIDENT. 137 
 
 The moment the door opened, Mr. Rogers, 
 without taking the slightest notice of Mr. 
 Merton, hurried out of the place into an ad- 
 joining room. Mr. Merton, being intimate 
 with both parties, was very much surprised 
 at this ; but still he took no notice of it to Mr. 
 Norman. 
 
 In less than two minutes, the housemaid 
 opened the door, and, advancing with tre- 
 mulous step and flurried manner (caused by 
 the excitement under which Mr. Rogers was 
 labouring) towards Mr. Norman and Mr. 
 Merton, who were both standing beside the desk 
 inside the counter — she put a slip of paper 
 into the hands of the latter ; observing in falter- 
 ing accents, " Mr. Rogers, sir, desired me to 
 give you this." 
 
 Mr. Merton opened the piece of paper and 
 read as follows, the ink being scarcely dry : — 
 " Your conduct to my wife proves you to be 
 one of the most atrocious scoundrels in exist- 
 ence ; and if you do not quit the premises pre-
 
 138 AN AWKWARD INCIDENT. 
 
 sently, or if you ever again dare to come into 
 my presence, I solemnly declare that I will 
 blow your brains out." The blood rushed to 
 Mr. Merton's face, and he was seized with a fit 
 of temporary stupefaction as he read this extra- 
 ordinary note. On partially recovering from 
 the confusion vsdth which he had been over- 
 whelmed, he placed the slip of paper in Mr. 
 Norman's hands, observing, " What can be the 
 meaning of this ? My conduct to his wife ! I 
 have never spoken to Mrs. Rogers in my life. In 
 fact, I have not the pleasure of knowing her 
 even by sight." 
 
 " Oh ! this is intended for 7?ie," groaned Mr. 
 Norman, as he glanced his eyes over the con- 
 tents of the piece of paper ; " this is intended 
 for me ; the maid has given it to you by mis- 
 take." 
 
 Mr. Merton was scarcely less surprised on 
 hearing this, than when he thought the oppro- 
 brious epithets and alarming threat were in- 
 tended for himself. Still he was ignorant of
 
 AN AWKWARD INCIDENT. 139 
 
 the precise cause of the quarrel between the 
 bibliopolic partners. " I'll call some other 
 time," remarked Mr. Merton, taking up his hat 
 to quit the place. "Good morning, Mr. Nor- 
 man, for the present." 
 
 " Good morning," sighed Mr. Norman. 
 
 Just as Mr. Merton was leaving the place, 
 Joseph Jenkins re-entered, thinking the alter- 
 cation between the two partners would by this 
 time be over. 
 
 " Ah ! Jenkins, this is a sad business," re- 
 marked Mr. Norman, as the other advanced to 
 the desk. 
 
 ** Whafs a sad business ? " inquired Joseph, 
 eagerly, 
 
 "Why, this afiair of Mrs. Rogers and my- 
 self." 
 
 " I don't at all understand you." 
 
 " It's a horrible business." 
 
 " Pray explain." 
 
 " I may as well ; it cannot be concealed any 
 longer. I have been carrying on an improper
 
 140 AN AWKWARD INCIDENT. 
 
 intimacy with Mrs. Rogers, and Rogers has 
 found one of my letters to her, in which the 
 fact is admitted." 
 
 "Ah! that is very awkward, certainly — a very 
 awkward affair." 
 
 Joseph's notions of morality since his adop- 
 tion of infidel principles did not dictate any 
 stronger expression respecting the enormity of 
 the crime of which his friend had avowed him- 
 self guilty. Of the crime itself, in fact, he felt 
 no abhorrence at all. When he spoke of the 
 awkwardness of the affair, he simply alluded to 
 the social and commercial inconvenience which 
 would probably attend the discovery of the 
 seduction of the wife of his friend's partner. 
 
 "What's to be done?" inquired Mr. Nor- 
 man. 
 
 " I think," replied Joseph, " your better way 
 would be to leave the premises immediately, 
 lest Rogers should re-enter, and, in the excite- 
 ment of the moment, make an attempt on your 
 life."
 
 AN AWKWARD INCIDENT. 141 
 
 Mr. Norman took the hint, instantly left the 
 premises, and hurried to his private residence, 
 kept by a very interesting young woman, his 
 own illegitimate daughter. He had not been 
 ten minutes in the house, when he formed the 
 resolution of eloping with Mrs. Rogers. With 
 that view he wrote a cheque for a balance of 
 £550 belonging to the business, then lying in 
 their banker's hands. He immediately de- 
 spatched a confidential messenger to the city 
 for the purpose of procuring the money. On 
 the arrival of the messenger, however, the an- 
 swer was, " No eifects." This was unaccount- 
 able to Mr. Norman ; as he had himself, on the 
 previous afternoon, added £230 to a former 
 deposit of £320. He leaped into a cab, and 
 hastened to the banker's to obtain an explana- 
 tion of the mystery. The explanation was 
 given. Mr. Rogers, the moment the bank was 
 opened that morning, presented a cheque for, 
 and of course immediately received, the entire 
 amount. On the same day, it was discovered
 
 142 AN AWKWARD INCIDENT. 
 
 that Miss Norman was enciente. Her elope- 
 ment, the next morning, with Mr. Rogers af- 
 forded a clue to the parentage of the unborn 
 infant.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Joseph forms another engagement — Writes leading articles 
 for two papers of opposite politics — An awkward mistake- 
 Its consequences. 
 
 Very few of those engaged as reporters for the 
 daily journals confine their services to them. 
 They look out, and in almost every instance, 
 with more or less success, for other kinds of 
 literary employment. In no case does the com- 
 mon remark, that one thing leads to another, 
 hold more true than in that of literature. Many 
 of those engaged on the daily press of London, 
 average from two to three guineas per week by 
 working for weekly papers, in addition to their 
 stated salary, which on most of the morning 
 journals is] five guineas per week. Joseph, in 
 the course of a few months after his engage-
 
 144 FORMS A NEW ENGAGEMENT. 
 
 ment as reporter for the daily journal which has 
 been repeatedly referred to, entered into an 
 arrangement with the proprietor of two weekly 
 papers to furnish for each a leading article, 
 averaging a column in length. For this he was 
 to receive two guineas weekly. Beyond writing 
 the leading articles, he had no concern with, nor 
 influence over, the papers. Arrangements of 
 this nature, though unknown in the provinces, 
 are quite common in London. Neither of the 
 papers had a large circulation, and it was only 
 by transferring the " general intelligence " of 
 the one to the other, and in that way saving the 
 expense of a second composition, that the pro- 
 prietor got them to pay. The two jour- 
 nals, though belonging to the same proprie- 
 tor, were as much opposed in character as 
 it was possible, perhaps, to be. One was tho- 
 roughly democratic, and bore a title — " The 
 Leveller" — which sufficiently indicated the 
 destructive principles it advocated. It weekly 
 launched the most terrible denunciations at the
 
 PAPERS OF OPPOSITE POLITICS. 145 
 
 devoted heads of the aristocracy, representing 
 them as a confederacy of tyrants, who lived 
 to feed and fatten on the industry of the work- 
 ing classes ; and plainly hinted that their estates 
 would be fair subjects for spoliation. The 
 labouring classes were held up as the true no- 
 bility, because they were a nobility of nature's 
 workmanship. While to the higher classes was 
 ascribed every vice under the sun — and some- 
 times vices which even the sun itself has never 
 witnessed — the masses were represented as pos- 
 sessing not only all the virtues which actually 
 exist, but many which have never existed at all — 
 except in the columns of " The Leveller." The 
 farmers were the objects of that journal's un- 
 ceasing and most virulent vituperation; no 
 week was suffered to elapse without a full share 
 of coarse abuse being heaped on them. The 
 other paper, " The Constitutionalist," took (as 
 already intimated) a directly opposite course. 
 With it the aristocracy were everything; they 
 were the glory, as they had proved the stay, of the 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 PAPERS OF OPPOSITE POLITICS. 
 
 land. "Without the higher classes, this country 
 could not exist an instant in its present moral 
 grandeur. The farmers, too, were a most 
 worthy and singularly intelligent body of men. 
 It was a " Farmer's Friend " journal. Agricul- 
 ture was the ]ife-blood of England's prosperity ; 
 trade and manufactures were nothing. The 
 industrial portion of the community were the 
 dregs of English society. The population of all 
 large towns were a body of reckless democrats, 
 having no respect for the rights of property, 
 and undeserving the protection of a constitu- 
 tional Government. 
 
 To undertake the writing of the leading arti- 
 cles of two papers, of such antagonist views on 
 all the leading questions of the day, was what 
 no honest man could have brought himself to do. 
 Joseph, however, knew not what honesty in po- 
 litics or literature meant. He had no compunc- 
 tious visitings, no scruples of any kind, on the 
 point. He at once accepted the offer, when 
 made to him, to write the leading articles for
 
 PAPERS OF OPPOSITE POLITICS. 147 
 
 " The Leveller" and "The Constitutionalist." 
 But though untroubled by any reproaches of 
 conscience on the subject, he felt that, if the 
 circumstance of his furnishing the editorial arti- 
 cles to papers whose principles were so tho- 
 roughly antagonist, were to transpire, it would 
 not have the effect of raising his character in the 
 estimation of his friends ; neither could it fail to 
 operate very injuriously to him if, on any future 
 occasion, he should attain distinction — which he 
 fondly hoped he one day would — as a public man. 
 He therefore stipulated with the proprietor of 
 the papers, that his name should be kept a pro- 
 found secret in connexion with the authorship 
 of the articles. He himself, of course, took 
 care not to breathe a whisper of the circumstance 
 to his own acquaintances. All went on smoothly 
 enough for a season. He possessed great readi- 
 ness and versatility in writing on the topics of 
 the day. What was more — lawyer-like, he could 
 appear to great advantage on either side of a 
 question. Before he had been three months
 
 148 PAPERS OF OPPOSITE POLITICS. 
 
 connected with the papers, the subscribers to 
 each saw, or fancied they saw, a marked im- 
 provement in the "leading" department. The 
 readers of the Tory and agricultural paper were 
 in ecstacies with the contemptuous terms in 
 which the editorial articles spoke of the " un- 
 washed," and the " great manufacturing lords 
 of the large towns;" while the freedom and 
 fearlessness with which " The Leveller" assailed 
 the aristocracy, denounced the corn laws, and 
 exposed Tory corruption of every kind and 
 wherever detected, raised the "unrepresented 
 masses " to the third heaven of happiness. Nor 
 was this all : week after week did " The Con- 
 stitutionalist " reply, with unsparing severity, to 
 the " gross misrepresentations" of " The Le- 
 veller;" while "The Leveller" "demolished 
 with tremendous effect" — so, at least, its readers 
 alleged — the tyrannical positions advanced by 
 " The Constitutionalist." The result was, that 
 the landlords and their tenants toasted, amidst 
 loud plaudits, the " able and unflinching editor
 
 PAPERS OF OPPOSITE POLITICS. 149 
 
 of * The Constitutionalist,' " at all their public 
 dinners ; while the " unenfranchised millions," 
 never privileged to sit down to a public dinner — 
 rarely, indeed, partaking of a dinner, how- 
 ever frugal, even at home — were obliged to con- 
 tent themselves with passing, amidst deafening 
 acclamations, at their open-air meetings, their 
 most " cordial thanks to the talented editor of 
 ' The Leveller,' for his masterly and untiring 
 advocacy of the interests of the working classes." 
 The natural consequence of all this was, that 
 the circulation of both papers considerably in- 
 creased. And as proprietors of public journals 
 always, or, at least, with very few excep- 
 tions, test the competency of an editor by the 
 effect which his writings have on the circula- 
 tion, the reader will not be unprepared for the 
 information, that the proprietor of " The Con- 
 stitutionalist" and of " The Leveller" congra- 
 tulated himself on the accession of Mr. Jenkins. 
 He had, indeed, resolved, as a practical proof of 
 this, on increasing his remuneration; and the
 
 150 PAPERS OF OPPOSITE POLITICS. 
 
 only question with him was, whether he ought 
 to double it at once, or content himself with 
 adding half-a-guinea a week to the previous gui- 
 nea for each of the journals, and make the ad- 
 dition of the other half-guinea in two or three 
 months, should the circulation of the papers con- 
 tinue to rise. In the meantime, Saturday, the 
 hour of publication, was approaching. It was 
 Friday evening, and both the papers must ap- 
 pear on the following day. Mr. Jenkins had 
 not a line of leading article written for either 
 journal, and the printers were besieging his 
 apartments — for he wrote at home— for copy. 
 He began to write with energy, and never quitted 
 his seat until he had dashed off a leader for each 
 paper. Somehow or other — he could not tell 
 why — he was, on this occasion, seized with a 
 vehement desire to write something unusually 
 decided in tone and energetic in language. He 
 was pleased with his success; for, on reading 
 over the articles in manuscript, before despatch- 
 ing them to the printer, he thought that, in
 
 PAPERS OF OPPOSITE POLITICS. 151 
 
 point of boldness and vigour, they surpassed any 
 of his previous effort. He wrote, as was his 
 custom, on the first slip of each article, the name 
 of the journal for which it was intended; and, 
 having sent off the copy to the compositors, 
 he went to bed on remarkably excellent terms 
 with himself. He slept soundly until eight on 
 the following morning, when, it being summer, 
 he rose and started, by coach, for St. Alban's, 
 where he remained imtil Monday afternoon; 
 his duties for the morning journal with which 
 he was connected, then requiring his presence in 
 town. 
 
 In the hurry of the moment, Joseph had writ- 
 ten the name of the wrong paper at the head 
 of each of the articles — that is, he had assigned 
 the democratic article to " The Constitution- 
 alist," and the violent Tory tirade against liberal 
 principles, to " The Leveller." The mistake 
 was not discovered until the entire impression 
 of each paper had been sold. In the leader 
 of " The Constitutionalist" — the journal which
 
 152 PAPERS OF OPPOSITE POLITICS. 
 
 had hitherto been so staunch a supporter of 
 ultra-Toryism, the Throne, the aristocracy, the 
 Church, and the agricultural interest, there oc- 
 curred the following passage : — " Toryism and 
 tyranny are synonymous terms. The profligate 
 men now in power would not hesitate a moment 
 in letting loose their demon soldiery on every 
 meeting of the people assembled to petition for 
 the redress of their grievances, were it not that 
 they dread the day of retaliation. They are 
 individually and collectively, a parcel of as 
 great despots as ever trod the earth. We could 
 name among the members of the present Minis- 
 try, men whose bosoms are as destitute of hu- 
 manity as was the bosom of Nero himself. The 
 same may, unfortunately, be said with too much 
 truth, of hundreds of the aristocracy. They are 
 so many titled monsters ; and the day, we trust, 
 is not distant, when every vestige of * the order ' 
 will be swept from off the face not only of this 
 country, but of the earth. They prey on the life- 
 blood of the working classes, whom they regard
 
 PAPERS OF OPPOSITE POLITICS. 153 
 
 with no more feeling or respect than they do 
 the veriest reptile that crawls on the ground. 
 With regard to the Church, again, we unhesitat- 
 ingly pronounce her to be one of the greatest 
 evils ever inflicted on this or any other country. 
 What are her bishops, but so many drones, 
 whose only idea of duty is, to loll in their car- 
 riages, to wallow in luxury, and to live in regal 
 splendour? And what are her clergy, but a 
 body of worthless men, whose only occupations 
 seem to be fox-hunting, card-playing, dancing 
 at balls, quaffing port at home, and spouting 
 unadulterated Toryism, mixed with the most 
 odious religious cant, at public dinners? Are 
 we surprised at this ? Not in the least. It is 
 just what might be expected from that hideous 
 system of priestcraft, which has been created 
 and nursed by the religious establishment of 
 this country — the worst religious establishment, 
 beyond all comparison, that has ever disgraced or 
 degraded any country on the face of the earth. 
 
 Never will England know what real dignity is ; 
 h2
 
 154 PAPERS OF OPPOSITE POLITICS. 
 
 never will she enjoy genuine liberty — never will 
 she attain true intellectual greatness, until her 
 Church establishment is scattered to the winds 
 of heaven, and the entire race of her parsons 
 are utterly extinguished. With regard to the 
 farmers, they, poor miserable men, are more to 
 be pitied than blamed. They are the dupes of 
 the clergy, and the slaves of their landlords. 
 They are as ignorant as their own pigs; ay, 
 and as obstinate, too. They have no more idea 
 of their true interests, than the horned cattle 
 which they feed and fatten for the market; 
 and never will they be enlightened, until the 
 abominable corn laws shall be totally repealed. 
 The extinction of these diabolical imposts would 
 be as much for their benefit — though they are so 
 stupid as not to perceive it — as it would be for 
 the advantage of the rest of the community." 
 
 Such was one of the passages in the leading 
 article of " The Constitutionalist." The rest of 
 the article was in a similar strain. The follow- 
 ing was the commencing paragraph in the leader
 
 PAPERS OF OPPOSITE POLITICS. 155 
 
 of "The Leveller:"— "We live in eventful 
 days; the aspect of public affairs is at this 
 moment most portentous. There is a spirit 
 abroad which, if not promptly checked, will, 
 ere many months have elapsed, precipitate this 
 country into a revolution of the most frightful 
 character. That Throne under whose paternal 
 care and powerful protection this country has 
 risen to an unexampled pitch of prosperity, is 
 menaced with destruction. That Church, which 
 has proved the source of infinite blessings to 
 England, is the object of the most deadly hatred 
 of the lower classes ; while her clergy, the most 
 devoted and pure-minded body of men the 
 world ever saw, are loaded with the worst of 
 obloquy. Still more fierce, if that were pos- 
 sible, is the hatred which the working classes, 
 under the tutorship of a band of ruffian dema- 
 gogues, bear to the aristocracy of England, 
 That body of men who are most feelingly alive 
 to the welfare of the lower orders; who are 
 ever foremost in works of benevolence ; in
 
 156 PAPERS OF OPPOSITE POLITICS. 
 
 whose bosoms, in a word, is centred all that can 
 adorn and dignify human nature — this excellent 
 body of men, not only run the risk of having 
 their estates confiscated, but of personally 
 sharing the frightful fate of the French noblesse. 
 The agricultural interest is threatened with 
 immediate and utter ruin. The farmers are 
 most grossly traduced ; they are held up as 
 being no better informed than the oxen which 
 browse in their fields. In short, the working 
 classes seem to have been of late converted into 
 so many demons in human form. They are, as 
 a body, steeped to the very ears in profligacy. 
 They look forward with fiendish exultation to 
 the contemplated subversion of social order — to 
 the overthrow of the Throne, the destruction of 
 the Church, the annihilation of the aristocracy, 
 and the entire and irremediable ruin of the 
 farmer. There is not a vice under heaven 
 which does not luxuriate in their breasts. They 
 are, in fact, prepared and panting to enact all 
 the atrocities of the French revolution. Need
 
 PAPERS OF OPPOSITE POLITICS. 157 
 
 we say after this, what course the Government 
 ought to pursue? The duty of Ministers is 
 clear: increase the standing army; repeat, 
 wherever necessary, the course pursued in 1819 
 at Manchester ; prohibit all open-air meetings ; 
 and arrest and consign to the wholesome silence 
 and solitude of our prison cells, some two or 
 three score of their most noisy and violent 
 demagogues." 
 
 The reader is left to conceive the effect which 
 the two articles produced on the subscribers to 
 the different papers. At first they were struck 
 dumb with amazement. They read and paused 
 in silence. They could hardly believe the evi- 
 dence of their eyes. And yet there was no 
 resisting that evidence ; there stood the articles, 
 in large bold letters, and in the most prominent 
 part of the papers. What gave the leaders 
 more effect, and added to the surprise and con- 
 fusion of the readers, was the circumstance that, 
 on that particular occasion, there was no other 
 leadiner matter of any kind — though there
 
 158 PAPERS OF OPPOSITE POLITICS. 
 
 usually was some — in either of the journals. 
 Boundless indignation succeeded a recovery 
 from the first stun of surprise caused by the 
 articles. One and all exclaimed, "We are 
 grossly betrayed." "Villain," "traitor," "apos- 
 tate," &c., were among the epithets most libe- 
 rally applied to Mr. Jenkins. " The Constitu- 
 tionalist " was publicly burnt in all the agricul- 
 tural districts ; and the editor himself would have 
 run a great risk of receiving a similar doom, could 
 he have been as easily laid hold of as his paper. 
 The working classes mobbed the oflice of " The 
 Leveller " on Monday morning ; demolished the 
 windows; and, but for the interposition of the 
 police, would have shivered to pieces the un- 
 oifending printing-press, whence had emanated 
 an article which had so flagrantly insulted and 
 so grossly betrayed them. They uttered the 
 most terrible imprecations on the editor, and 
 were in excellent condition for tearing him to 
 pieces, had he fallen into their hands. During 
 every day of the week, the postman brought
 
 PAPERS OF OPPOSITE POLITICS. 159 
 
 loads of letters to "the editor," abusing him 
 without measure and without mercy, and inti- 
 mating that the writers had given up the paper. 
 By the time Saturday had arrived, neither " The 
 Constitutionalist" nor "The Leveller" had a 
 score of subscribers left ; and the few " from 
 whom the editor had not heard," were those 
 who had either been from home, or were in too 
 remote a part of the country to be able to 
 stop their paper that week. Next week wit- 
 nessed the extinction of both journals. In life 
 they were united (both belonging to the same 
 proprietor, both issuing from the same press, 
 both published at the same office), and in death 
 they were not divided.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Joseph forms a new literary engagement — Corrupt state of 
 literary criticism in the metropolis — Sketches of the leading 
 literary critics in London. 
 
 In about two years after his settlement in the 
 metropolis, Joseph obtained an engagement, at 
 three guineas per week, to conduct the literary 
 and dramatic department of " The Investigator," 
 a weekly newspaper of considerable reputation. 
 This brought him into still more frequent and 
 intimate intercourse with authors and pub- 
 lishers, and gave him an insight into matters 
 connected with the literature of the day, of 
 which he had not previously formed the re- 
 motest idea. 
 
 The corrupt state of literary criticism, whether 
 in newspapers or periodicals, particularly sur- 
 Drised him. Not, indeed, that his notions of
 
 LITERARY CRITICISM. 161 
 
 morals were of that refined or rigid nature 
 which made him regard with abhorrence the cor- 
 ruption he found pervading almost the whole of 
 such criticism; but that, having suspected no- 
 thing of the kind before, the discovery pos- 
 sessed the interest and freshness which are 
 usually associated with the knowledge of a 
 novelty. He found that such a thing as honest 
 criticism was very rarely to be met with. He 
 knew the leading reviewers in the metropolitan 
 newspapers and magazines, and heard — in con- 
 fidence, of course — from their own lips the 
 motives which dictated their notices of new 
 publications. The reviewer in one journal de- 
 nounced the author of a particular work, be- 
 cause he was a successful writer in a depart- 
 ment of literature in which the reviewer himself 
 had signally failed. Another author and his 
 works were denounced, in unmeasured terms, 
 by the literary critic of another journal, for no 
 other reason than that the author, though 
 entirely self-educated, had, by the force of his
 
 162 CORRUPT STATE OF 
 
 genius, raised himself to distinction and import- 
 ance in the literary world ; while the reviewer, 
 though he had received all the advantages which 
 a classical education could confer, had never been 
 able, notwithstanding his repeated efforts, to 
 acquire literary renown, or even to extend the 
 knowledge of his name beyond the walls of 
 the establishment in which " The Weekly 
 Luminary" was printed. Other authors and 
 their works, Joseph found to be systematically 
 proscribed by certain critics, because the former 
 would not associate with the latter, when spend- 
 ing their evenings over their glass and cigar in 
 the taverns which they nightly frequented. 
 Many critics ran down particular authors with- 
 out any better reason for doing so, than that 
 other critics had set them the example. A 
 great deal of the hostile criticism which per- 
 vades our modern literature, has its origin or 
 motive — if motive it may be called — in this cir- 
 cumstance. The minor reviewers, in very many 
 instances, follow in the wake of the critics in
 
 LITERARY CRITICISM. 163 
 
 the more influential journals. They lack the 
 moral courage, however favourably they may, in 
 their consciences, think of the works of a par- 
 ticular author, to adventure a word on his 
 behalf, if the reviewers in some of the leviathan 
 journals have fallen foul of himself or his works. 
 This is a painful fact; it is one which is very 
 degrading to human nature ; but all who are 
 conversant with the literary criticism of the day 
 know that it is a fact. Envy at the success of 
 particular authors, without any intelligible mo- 
 tive for that envy, Joseph found to be, in a 
 great many cases, the cause of the savage fero- 
 city with which many popular writers were 
 assailed. Where the critic has himself at- 
 tempted success, but failed^ in the same walk of 
 literature, one could comprehend the feeling 
 which would dictate a coarse and violent tirade 
 against the productions of the triumphant 
 author; but where an author has not, in any 
 way, come in collision with his reviewer, the 
 unqualified censure which the latter heaps on
 
 164 CORRUPT STATE OF 
 
 the name and works of the author, is not so 
 easily accounted for. In many instances the 
 hostile criticism was seen by Joseph to have 
 had no other motive than personal dislike to the 
 writer. Our current criticism is very deeply 
 tainted with this unworthy feeling. If an 
 author happen to incur the personal displea- 
 sure of a reviewer, the latter rarely makes a 
 distinction between his works and himself; 
 but, by means of his works, indulges in 
 his vindictive feelings towards himself. There 
 were other authors, again, whom Joseph found 
 to be habitually attacked by certain reviewers 
 for no other reason than that the latter, being 
 on terms of personal intimacy with the former, 
 conceived that they were slighted in not being 
 asked to dinner on particular occasions, when 
 they fancied they ought to have been invited. 
 What made the neglect the more unpardonable 
 was that, according to their own notions on the 
 subject, they had a much better claim to such 
 attentions than certain other persons who re-
 
 LITERARY CRITICISM. 165 
 
 ceived them. None but those who have had 
 opportunities of observing what takes place 
 behind the curtain in the literary circles of the 
 metropolis, could imagine the extent to which 
 modern criticism is affected by this circum- 
 stance. 
 
 But it were an endless task to enumerate the 
 various motives which dictate the hostile criti- 
 cism to be met with in the periodical literature 
 of the day. Equally various are the motives 
 which prompt the extravagant praise, amount- 
 ing to positive puffery, which so many books 
 receive. If Joseph did not meet with instances 
 in which praise was literally purchased with 
 money, just as candidates for the representation 
 of corrupt boroughs purchase the votes of pro- 
 fligate electors, innumerable instances were 
 brought to his knowledge of lavish commenda- 
 tion having been insured by personal attentions 
 on the part of the author to the reviewer. Per- 
 sonal friendship with the critic was found to be 
 the secret why many authors were systemati-
 
 166 CORRUPT STATE OF 
 
 cally praised in particular journals, no matter 
 how poor and worthless their productions. 
 With several of the less influential newspapers 
 and magazines, the way to insure extravagant 
 praise was discovered to be, the sending them 
 an advertisement or two of the work itself. The 
 praise of other journals, again, could be pro- 
 cured on still easier terms. They were satisfied 
 if the compliment were paid them, of sending 
 them a copy of the book immediately on its 
 appearance. 
 
 But is it to be inferred from all this that, 
 when Joseph first became acquainted with the 
 secrets of metropolitan reviewing, there was no 
 such thing as honest criticism? Far from it. 
 There were several editors whose constant aim 
 it was, after a careful and unbiassed examina- 
 tion of the works submitted to them, to form a 
 just opinion of their merits, and to express that 
 opinion with fairness, and yet with freedom and 
 force. The reviewers in these journals sought 
 to divest their minds of all prejudices and par-
 
 LITERARY CRITICISM. 167 
 
 tialities, and to speak of the book as impartially 
 as if they had never before heard the name of 
 the author. But the number of such persons, 
 compared with that of the reviewers who were 
 influenced by very different considerations, was 
 very small indeed. 
 
 Nor is there any material difference between 
 the state of our current literary criticism, and 
 what it was when Mr. Jenkins first became 
 acquainted with it. The same causes are still 
 in active operation to produce dishonest reviews 
 of books. A really unbiassed honest piece of 
 criticism, if found inseveral of our leading 
 journals that could be named, would be a 
 moral rarity worthy of being rescued from the 
 corrupt mass by which it is surrounded, and 
 handed down to posterity as something which 
 merits preservation. A glance at some of the 
 more prominent reviewers of the day, will serve 
 to give a better idea of the real state of literary 
 criticism than any general observations that 
 might be made on the subject.
 
 168 CORRUPT STATE OF 
 
 First of all, then, there is Mr. Dodsley, of 
 " The Weekly Review." He is an unsuccess- 
 ful author himself, and cannot endure the 
 thought that any other writer should be success- 
 ful. To hear of the literary triumphs of an 
 author — no matter in what department of litera- 
 ture — is gall and wormwood to his soul. And 
 as some authors are always meeting with more 
 or less success, notwithstanding the thousands 
 who are constantly failing in their efforts to 
 emerge from obscurity, he, unhappy man! is 
 kept in a state of perpetual wretchedness. The 
 moment he discovers the slightest symptom of 
 a new author beginning to attract attention, he 
 sets to work, and belabours the rising WTiter 
 without measure and without mercy. The un- 
 fortunate author is assailed with a brisk and 
 unintermitting volley of abusive epithets. He 
 is called coarse, vulgar, dull ; he is without the 
 slightest pretensions to either talent or intelli- 
 gence. He is an upstart in literature, a pre- 
 tender, an impostor, an empiric. Every term.
 
 LITERARY CRITICISM. 169 
 
 indeed, of a degrading or depreciatory kind, 
 which the critic's vocabulary can furnish, is ap- 
 plied to him. To bring him down again to the 
 level of the common herd of authors, or, if that 
 cannot be done, to prevent his ascending higher 
 on the ladder of fame, is the great object of Mr. 
 Dodsley; and, to the accomplishment of that 
 object, he devotes himself with the zeal of an 
 apostle. If he could only have his own way, 
 there would be no author of distinction at all. 
 Nor does " this sour and surly critic" — for so 
 he is generally called — content himself with his 
 depreciating and vituperative labours in his 
 journal; his tongue is as actively and inces- 
 santly engaged in the ungenerous avocation, as 
 his pen. He never opens his lips in society, 
 when modern literature is the topic, without dis- 
 paraging one or more authors, who have already 
 risen to reputation, or are in a fair way of ra- 
 pidly rising to it. Depreciation of merit is the 
 element in which he lives ; without indulging in 
 it, he could not, indeed, exist at all. It is a 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 CORRUPT STATE OF 
 
 necessity of his nature. If he ever^ in the 
 columns of his journal, or in the intercourse of 
 private life, happen to venture a word of praise, 
 the object of his commendation is always some 
 author of no reputation, and who has not even 
 the remotest chance of obtaining any. Such 
 authors, he thinks, he may praise vdth safety ; 
 because nobody else ever has praised them, and 
 never, in all probability, vdll bestow a word of 
 commendation on them. Should any such, how- 
 ever, by accident, rise into distinction, Mr. 
 Dodsley, in utter disregard of his former praise, 
 would be the first to seek to pull them down 
 again. 
 
 Mr. Pardon is the literary editor of " The 
 Hercules." He is constantly talking of the 
 perfect purity of his criticisms. Take his own 
 word for it, and there is not a more honest critic 
 in Christendom. From the frequency with 
 which he asserts his entire independence of 
 booksellers, authors, and everybody and every- 
 thing else, you would think that he was, were
 
 LITERARY CRITICISM. 171 
 
 such a thing possible, honest to excess. You 
 are almost sorry to see a reviewer so exceedingly 
 scrupulous about the opinions he delivers re- 
 specting the books that come before him. His 
 honesty, you take it for granted, must, at least, 
 in these days of literary corruption, be a very 
 serious inconvenience to him. It is not enough 
 that he feels a consciousness of his uncorrupted 
 and incorruptible integrity, but you would fancy 
 that his very existence must be wearing away in 
 the intensity of his anxiety, that his critical 
 integrity should, like the character of Caesar's 
 wife, be above suspicion. There is a common 
 proverb, that you have more than reason to 
 doubt a person's possession of that very quality 
 of which he is loudly and constantly boasting. 
 In the case of Mr. Pardon's honesty as a lite- 
 rary critic, you are justified, not only in doubt- 
 ing the existence of the virtue, but in denying 
 it altogether. A more dishonest reviewer is not 
 to be met with. The books of certain authors 
 and certain publishers, are sure to be praised to
 
 172 CORRUPT STATE OF 
 
 the echo : those of certain other authors and pub- 
 lishers are equally sure to be visited with unquali- 
 fied censure. If he have a sufficient motive for it, 
 a review of a particular book will appear before 
 he has read a page of it ; ay, even before he has 
 seen it. And the review will consist of either 
 extravagant praise or unqualified condemnation, 
 accordingly as he is favourably or unfavourably 
 inclined to the publisher or author. 
 
 Mr. Sampson, of " The Moonbeam," has a 
 very simple test by which to ascertain, at first 
 sight, the merits of a book. Is it, or is it not, 
 ushered into the world under the bibliopolic 
 auspices of Mr. Drummond ? If it be, then it is 
 all, in point of literary excellence, that the most 
 fastidious taste could desire. If it be brought 
 out by any other publisher, it may be worth a 
 moment's consideration, whether it is to be 
 damned by faint praise, or denounced at once 
 and in plain terms as a " disgrace to the litera- 
 ture of the land." The same author publishing 
 with Mr. Drummond, is a man of very different
 
 LITERARY CRITICISM. 17o 
 
 intellectual calibre, from what he is when 
 the name of Mr. Cramston — Mr. Drummoncl's 
 bibliopoHc rival — graces the lower part of the 
 title-page. A work published by the former, 
 is unquestionably the most talented and extra- 
 ordinary production which has appeared during 
 the present century; and the author himself 
 stands first in the first class of those writers 
 who have cultivated the same department of 
 literature. If brought out by Mr. Cramston, 
 the work, though in " the same department of 
 literature," is " a most trashy and contemptible 
 production," and the writer is the dullest dog 
 that ever put pen to paper. It has happened to 
 Mr. Sampson more than once, to write an elabo- 
 rate review, under a misapprehension as to who 
 the publisher was ; and, on making the disco- 
 very, he has immediately rectified the mistake, 
 by withdrawing the first review, and inditing 
 another in exactly the opposite strain. Mr. 
 Gordon was in the habit of publishing with 
 Mr. Cramston ; and every successive book he
 
 174 CORRUPT STATE OF 
 
 brought out, was declared to be the vilest stuff 
 ever palmed on an unsuspecting and patient pub- 
 lic. Some time ago, he had reason to change 
 his bibliopole, and made an arrangement with 
 Mr. Drummond for the publication of a new 
 work, in the same department of literature as 
 that to which his previous ones belonged. Mr. 
 Sampson at once had the discernment to per- 
 ceive that the new book was " one of surpass- 
 ing merit, abundantly studded with intellectual 
 gems, and sparkling in every page with the 
 coruscations of a genius of the loftiest order." 
 
 Mr. Swallow has, for some years, been in- 
 trusted with the review department of " The 
 Inspector," a weekly journal of considerable 
 celebrity and circulation. He was never yet 
 known to notice a book at all, without being 
 actuated by some private consideration. The 
 attentions paid to him by the authors of the 
 various works he notices, or the terms on which 
 he happens to be with the publishers, are the 
 only matters which weigh with him in the
 
 LITERARY CRITICISM. 175 
 
 opinions he forms, or, rather, expresses of new 
 books ; for his private and public opinions are 
 two very distinct things, and are often in direct 
 antagonism to each other. Any author who 
 can afford, and is disposed to give, a good din- 
 ner, can command Mr. Swallow's unqualified 
 commendation of his work. With him, a 
 " splendid affair," in the shape of a dinner, was 
 never yet known to fail of its effect ; it covers 
 a multitude of literary sins. If there be faults, 
 he not only has no eye to detect them — far less 
 a heart to expose them — ^but he discerns in- 
 numerable beauties where they have no exist- 
 ence. Countless as the sands on the seashore, 
 are the high praises he has penned under the 
 generous sympathies inspired by the after-dinner 
 Champagne or Madeira of authors consuming 
 with anxiety for the fate of their new-born 
 literary offspring. It is certain that he never 
 yet wrote a kindly critique without having pre- 
 viously done ample justice to the creature-com- 
 forts of the writer or publisher. It is doing
 
 176 CORRUPT STATE OF 
 
 him no more than justice to say, that he has 
 never indited a severe sentiment, or made use of 
 an unkind expression, while the remembrance of 
 the author's or publisher's v^^ell-furnished table 
 has been fresh upon his mind. Only it is to be 
 observed, that one dinner will not suffice for two 
 books, however close on the publication of the 
 first may be the appearance of the second. He 
 reasons with himself — and the reasonable- 
 ness of his notions can, after all, be hardly 
 questioned — that surely every good review 
 deserves a good dinner. Nor is this all: if it 
 so happen, which it does occasionally — and a 
 very recent and very remarkable instance could 
 be adduced — that an author sends Mr. Swallow 
 a portion of his work before the whole has 
 passed through the press, he will readily, if 
 previously invited to dinner, elaborately notice 
 the work as unpublished ; only, when it is com- 
 pleted, he expects, as a matter of right, to be 
 asked to celebrate its pubhcation over another 
 splendid dinner.
 
 LITERARY CRITICISM. 177 
 
 The second dinner will insure a second no- 
 tice ; but, if there be no second dinner, there 
 will not only be no second notice, but a full 
 retraction of all the previous commendation ; 
 the reason assigned by the reviewer for the 
 change in his estimate of the work being, that 
 he had not then seen it in its completed state. 
 This is so likely to be supposed nothing better 
 than mere invention, that it may be necessary 
 to repeat the assurance already given of an 
 instance of the kind having lately occurred in 
 the case of a popular author and a well-known 
 reviewer. Something similar takes place, if the 
 author bring out a new work without having 
 asked Mr. Swallow to dinner. The latter does 
 not, in such a case, content himself with taking 
 no notice of the book, but abuses it as libe- 
 rally as he praised those previous books of the 
 vnriter which were issued into the world amidst 
 the genial feelings inspired by "three courses 
 and a dessert." 
 
 " Clayton, my dear fellow," said Mr. Ransom, 
 I 2
 
 178 CORRUPT STATE OF 
 
 grasping the other eagerly by the hand, as he 
 met him a few days ago in Regent Street ; 
 " Clayton, my dear fellow, that was a most 
 atrocious notice of your new work in the last 
 number of ' The Inspector.' " 
 
 ** Why, it was rather, certainly." 
 " What in the name of wonder could Swallow 
 have meant ? He has never served you so 
 before." 
 
 "No, certainly not; I must do him at least 
 that justice." 
 
 " Surely there must be something private at 
 the bottom of this abominable review." 
 " You're quite right, Ransom; there is." 
 " So, then, you've had some private quarrel." 
 "Oh, no, nothing of the kind; a mere over- 
 sight on my part. I have another work on the 
 eve of its appearance ; it will be all set right 
 again, whenever it is brought out." 
 
 " I don't understand you," remarked Ransom. 
 " Can I depend on your keeping a secret, if 
 I let you into one ? "
 
 LITERARY CRITICISM. 179 
 
 " You may." 
 
 " On your honour ? " 
 
 " Upon my honour." 
 
 "You'll never give the slightest hint about 
 what I am going to mention." 
 
 " Never ; I give you my solemn promise." 
 
 " Then the whole secret of this vile review of 
 my book is, that I did not ask Swallow to 
 dinner on its publication." 
 
 " Are you serious ? " inquired Ransom, 
 amazed at what he had heard. 
 
 " Perfectly so." 
 
 '* Can it be possible that a person who has 
 the control of the review department of such a 
 journal as ' The Inspector,' could be influenced 
 in his criticism by such unworthy, such 
 thoroughly contemptible considerations ? " 
 
 " The fact is as I have stated. I know it," 
 answered Clayton. 
 
 " And do you really believe that Swallow can 
 be so utterly lost to all sense of self-respect, so 
 totally regardless of consistency, that by in-
 
 180 CORRUPT STATE OF 
 
 viting him to a * feed ' immediately before your 
 next work appears, you can insure a most com- 
 plimentary notice of it ?" 
 
 "I am certain of it. And what is more, not 
 a favourable notice of the new work only, but a 
 virtual recantation of all the abuse he has 
 heaped on myself and my present work, by the 
 unqualified panegyrics he will then lavish on 
 me as a literary man." 
 
 " I confess I shall wait with some impatience 
 the publication of your next work. When will 
 it be out ? " 
 
 " In five or six weeks." 
 
 Six weeks elapsed, and the work made its 
 appearance. On the day of its publication, 
 Swallow, with several other literary men, par- 
 took of a sumptuous dinner in Mr. Clayton's 
 cottage at Old Brompton. On the Sunday fol- 
 lowing, " The Inspector " devoted five of its 
 columns to a review of the new work, which 
 was eulogised- to the echo ; and Mr. Clayton 
 himself, who but two months before had been
 
 LITERARY CRITICISM. 181 
 
 represented as an author whose productions 
 were discreditable to modern Hterature, was 
 now held up as one of the most philosophic, 
 elegant, and able writers of the day. 
 
 Mr. Shepherd's test of literary merit is, the 
 success, or otherwise, of an author's works. He 
 has never yet known a successful author who 
 was not a man of extraordinary genius. On the 
 other hand, he never could discern the slightest 
 traces of talent where the author was obscure. 
 The pages of his ''Literary Miscellany" never 
 yet contained a word of encouragement to a 
 struggling author ; neither, on the other hand, 
 is an instance on record, during the fifteen years 
 he has been a weekly reviewer, in which he has 
 omitted to bestow the most fulsome adulation 
 on authors of celebrity. When a new author 
 appears in the literary vineyard, he maintains 
 an unbroken silence as to his merits, until he 
 sees the tide of popularity setting in either in 
 his favour, or against him. If the former, the 
 panegyrics w^hich Mr. Shepherd heaps upon
 
 182 CORRUPT STATE OF 
 
 him are nauseating from their extravagance; 
 but, if the probability be that the author is to be 
 unsuccessful, *^ The Literary Miscellany" will 
 always be found among the first and most fre- 
 quent in its efforts to consign the poor fellow to 
 the depths of obscurity. The jackass had a 
 kick to bestow on the dead lion. 
 
 Mr. Jackson, the editor of the literary 
 department of " The Mercury," has a mode of 
 reviewing which differs from each and all of the 
 modes to which we have been referring. He 
 praises all the books, if they possess any con- 
 siderable marketable value, which are forwarded 
 to him. Aware, however, that, if praise were 
 uniform and constant, it would lose much of its 
 worth, and he himself be charged with being 
 deficient in the critical quality of discrimi- 
 nation, he systematically denounces and abuses 
 all the works which are not transmitted to the 
 office of " The Mercury." Of course it is not 
 necessary to read a work before abusing it. 
 Mr. Jackson takes the title of the book from
 
 LITERARY CRITICISM. 183 
 
 the advertisements in the daily press, and then 
 appends to it a string of vituperative epithets of 
 the most general kind, such as the following : — 
 " This most illiterate author and contemptible 
 production ; " "a parcel of the greatest rubbish 
 that ever issued from the press;" "a dull, 
 stupid, ignorant author;" "a writer who is a 
 disgrace to the literature of the age," &c. 
 
 From these "illustrations" of the present 
 state of our literary criticism — and they are, we 
 ought to repeat, no imaginary cases — it will be 
 seen that the " opinions of the press" on a new 
 work, whether favourable or adverse, are, in 
 the main, very little to be depended on. The 
 public, happily, are beginning to make this dis- 
 covery. Time was when authors who were 
 deficient in moral courage, were to be written 
 down by hostile reviewers, and when trashy 
 productions could be puffed into something 
 like celebrity by critics whose praise had been 
 virtually purchased by the pudding and pies 
 of the author; but, fortunately, this state of
 
 184 LITERARY CRITICISM. 
 
 things no longer exists. Every month furnishes 
 the most unanswerable proof, that neither books 
 nor authors of merit are to be written down by 
 the attacks of hostile reviewers; while every 
 week affords one or more confirmations of the 
 position, that a worthless book is no longer to 
 be lauded into fame.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Farther observations on the corrupt state of literary criticism 
 in the metropolis — Authors of title or standing in society — 
 The way in which they contrive to get favourable notices of 
 their books — Literary coteries — General observations. 
 
 In the preceding chapter various illustrations 
 have been given of the corrupt state of our 
 literary criticism. References have also been 
 made to the reasons which induce reviewers to 
 endeavour to run down certain authors. The 
 uninitiated in these matters will naturally ask, 
 " How happens it that, not in one or two jour- 
 nals only, but in the great majority of our me- 
 tropolitan publications, every book brought out 
 by particular authors receives the most unquali- 
 fied commendation, however great and manifold 
 may be its blemishes ? " No one, who knows 
 anything of the existing state of criticism in
 
 186 AUTHORS AND REVIEWERS. 
 
 London, can be at a loss for an answer to the 
 question. 
 
 The explanation of the mystery is to be found 
 in the fact, that the authors referred to, who 
 will be found, in almost every case, to be per- 
 sons of title or distinction, indirectly purchase 
 the praise by the attentions they show to the 
 reviewers. 
 
 A few examples will set the matter in a 
 clearer light than any general observations 
 Tdiich could be put into the mouth of Mr. Jen- 
 kins, or which might be made by the author of 
 these volumes. 
 
 Among the houses to which Joseph was oc- 
 casionally invited to dinner, after it had become 
 generally known that he was the principal re- 
 viewer in a journal of established reputation and 
 influence, was that of Lady Dartmoor. She 
 gave sumptuous entertainments; and, as her 
 ladyship had the reputation of being a great 
 beauty as well as a popular authoress, the various 
 reviewers invited to her parties were so gratified
 
 AUTHORS AND REVIEWERS. 187 
 
 with the compKment paid them, that they felt as 
 if they could not sufficiently praise her works 
 in return. 
 
 On the second occasion on which he had been 
 present at one of Lady Dartmoor's " splendid 
 parties" — for so they were called by general 
 consent — he missed several acquaintances con- 
 nected with the review department of the metro- 
 politan press, whom he had seen at the first 
 dinner. He inquired of Mr. Monteith, one of 
 the guests on both occasions, the reason of this. 
 
 " Ah, I see," remarked the other, " that you 
 are not yet acquainted with the way in which 
 her ladyship manages these matters." 
 
 "My question," said Joseph, "is a virtual 
 admission of my ignorance on the point. How 
 does she manage such matters ? " 
 
 " Very adroitly and very systematically," 
 replied the other. " Of course, Jenkins," he 
 added, " I speak in confidence." 
 
 " I understand that perfectly ; and what you 
 say shall never escape my lips."
 
 188 AUTHORS AND REVIEWERS. 
 
 " Well, then, Lady Dartmoor makes a point 
 of getting acquainted with every reviewer of any 
 note in London, and keeps a list of their names, 
 divided into three classes. The first class in- 
 cludes the names of those who have the control 
 of the review department of the leading journals. 
 In the second class are to be found the names of 
 reviewers connected with respectable, but not 
 first-rate, newspapers or periodicals ; while, un- 
 der the third head are written the names of 
 persons who do, as she herself remarks, ^the 
 review department of journals of limited circu- 
 lation, and still more limited influence.' " 
 
 "But," interrupted Joseph, "that does not 
 explain why some of those reviewers I met with 
 at Lady Dartmoor's first party were absent from 
 the second." 
 
 " I should," answered the other, " have come 
 to that in a moment or two, had you allowed me 
 to go on. For some years past she has, on an 
 average, brought out three books annually. 
 Now the regulation sKe has laid down for her
 
 AUTHORS AND REVIEWERS. 189 
 
 guidance as to the frequency or infrequency 
 with which to issue her invitations is this : The 
 first class are invariably invited to dinner about 
 a fortnight before, and about a week after, the 
 publication of a new work. When sending the 
 preliminary invitation, no reference is made to 
 any new forthcoming production ; but the ques- 
 tion as to when she intends to bring out another 
 work, is naturally put by some of her literary 
 guests in the course of the evening's conversa- 
 tion, and she is thus led, as it were accidentally, 
 to mention that she is on the eve of re-appearing 
 in the character of authoress. On each suc- 
 cessive occasion she expresses her apprehen- 
 sions that her book will be a failure. Of course, 
 all present dissent from her conclusions. She is 
 told to banish her fears, and to assure herself of 
 her wonted success. It is unnecessary to add 
 that, putting out of view the genial influence of a 
 magnificent dinner, the fact of all present having 
 virtually staked their literary discernment on the 
 merits of a book they have not seen, and even
 
 190 AUTHORS AND REVIEWERS. 
 
 of whose nature and title they are probably ig- 
 norant, feel under a moral obligation to back up 
 their opinion, and to endeavour to bring about 
 the fulfilment of their predictions, by lavishing 
 the most liberal commendations on the work, 
 when it makes its appearance. But, to guard 
 against the possibility of any mistake in the 
 matter — to make assurance doubly sure of a 
 favourable notice — a copy of the book, the mo- 
 ment it is out, is sent to each of the reviewers 
 who were at her table, accompanied with a plea- 
 santly-penned note, inviting him to dine with 
 her ladyship on an early day, which, of course, 
 she duly names." 
 
 " He certainly," remarked our hero, " would 
 be an ill-conditioned reviewer who could say 
 aught against a book which was forwarded to 
 him under such circumstances." 
 
 " Ay, and destitute would he also be of 
 gratitude and gallantry did he not exhaust his 
 vocabulary of praise in bringing it before the 
 public. Would he not ?"
 
 AUTHORS AND REVIEWERS. 191 
 
 " He certainly would." 
 
 " And now," resumed Mr. Monteith, after a 
 moment's pause ; " and now, with regard to the 
 second class of reviewers on her ladyship's list. 
 Their notices of her works being of subordinate 
 importance, they only receive one invitation — 
 namely, the one which precedes the publication 
 of her ladyship's book. This will explain why 
 several of those who were present on the first 
 occasion you were here, which was a dinner 
 before publication, were not on the second. Does 
 it not ?" 
 
 " It certainly does. The names of the absen- 
 tees, in other words, are to be found in the list 
 of class two." 
 
 " Precisely so." 
 
 "Well, this is certainly something new to 
 me. I never heard a whisper of anything of 
 the kind before. But how does her ladyship 
 deal with the third class of reviewers on her 
 list?" 
 
 "Oh, she finds it a very easy matter to
 
 192 AUTHORS AND REVIEWERS. 
 
 manage them. They are generally men who 
 are so proud at the circumstance of being asked 
 to the house of a lady of title and celebrity 
 at all, that they will be contented with any- 
 thing. She is well aware of this, and con- 
 sequently does not ask them to dinner or sup- 
 per, but deems it enough if she invite them to 
 a converzationne, at which coiFee and a few 
 glasses of wine, and sandwiches, constitute the 
 only traces of festivity which they can discern in 
 her ladyship's house." 
 
 " And they invariably praise her productions 
 to the echo, in consideration of this little act of 
 attention." 
 
 " They do, except in the few instances in 
 which one or two of their number turn refrac^ 
 tory, and are offended at the fancied slight put 
 upon them by not inviting them in the same 
 way, and on the same occasions, as the others." 
 
 "So then, after all," pursued Joseph, " Lady 
 Dartmoor's books are sometimes 'cut up.'" 
 
 "Oh! no; hardly ever. The reviewers in
 
 AUTHORS AND REVIEWERS. 193 
 
 question content themselves with passing by 
 her works without any notice at all." 
 
 But Lady Dartmoor is not the only popular 
 authoress in the metropolis who has a coterie of 
 persons calling themselves literary men always 
 at her beck, and who, in their zeal to serve her, 
 do not wait her bidding, but anticipate her 
 wishes. Lady Carrington, another authoress of 
 distinction, is equally happy in her literary 
 acquaintances. She, however, has a method of 
 her own of "managing" her men; a method 
 which is, undoubtedly, less expensive than that 
 of Lady Dartmoor, and yet is, if her ladyship's 
 own testimony may be credited, fully as effi- 
 cient. She has not only repeatedly heaped the 
 warmest eulogiums on three or four of the lead- 
 ing London reviewers, in private conversation, 
 when she knew her commendations could not 
 fail to be conveyed to them; but she has, by 
 way of parenthesis, introduced their names, and 
 the names of their respective journals, into one 
 of her works, amidst a profusion of praise which 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 AUTHORS AND REVIEWERS. 
 
 well might put the most gifted to the blush. 
 She reasons, and reasons very justly, that, if she 
 can only secure the unqualified commendation 
 of the leviathan reviewers, the *^ small fry," as 
 she calls them, of the minor journals will, as a 
 matter of course, follow in their wake. Lady 
 Carrington has also her literary dinners, but 
 they are neither so frequent nor so sumptuous as 
 those of Lady Dartmoor. She not only does 
 not, like the latter, celebrate the publication of 
 every new work of hers by two dinners — one im- 
 mediately before, and another immediately after, 
 the birth of the book ; but ushers all her minor 
 productions into existence without the pomp and 
 circumstance of a dinner at all ; while the pub- 
 lication of her larger or more important books 
 is honoured with only one dinner to her literary 
 friends. The soundness of her theory, that to 
 have the same extravagant praise bestowed on a 
 trifling work as on an important three-volume 
 production, is only to deprive the commenda- 
 tion of the latter of its effect — has been abun-
 
 AUTHORS AND REVIEWERS. 195 
 
 dantly confirmed by the best of all proofs — 
 namely, experience. And, as she issues her 
 cards of invitation to literary dinners less fre- 
 quently than her rival, Lady Dartmoor, so she 
 has, on such occasions, a much more limited 
 number of guests. The literary friends at her 
 dinner-parties are usually limited to seven, and 
 almost always consist of the same persons. 
 When Mr. Jenkins' name was first put on her 
 ladyship's list, he made an eighth reviewer. On 
 the first occasion on which he dined at Lady 
 Carrington's, there were seven literary men, 
 including himself. He was personally ac- 
 quainted with three of the reviewers ; but her 
 ladyship's other three literary guests were 
 wholly unknown to him. Anxious to ascertain 
 who or what they were, more especially as in 
 the conduct of all there was something which 
 struck him as peculiar, he next morning called 
 on Mr. Bridget, one of the three whom he 
 knew, for the purpose of learning from him 
 some particulars respecting them.
 
 196 AUTHORS AND REVIEWERS. 
 
 " Who was that large-featured person, with 
 swarthy complexion, and black curly hair, 
 named Manson, who sat last night on your 
 right, at Lady Carrington's party ? " 
 
 "Oh, he is a man whose means and mode 
 of. life are a mystery. No one knows where or 
 how he contrives to procure a single sovereign ; 
 for, while he confessedly has no fixed income, he 
 is not known ever to have earned a sixpence by 
 his literary labours." 
 
 "If not a literary man," inquired Joseph, 
 " what induces her ladyship to ask him to her 
 literary parties ? " 
 
 " Because she finds him exceedingly useful." 
 
 "In what way ? I don't exactly see how 
 he can be of any service to her, as an 
 authoress." 
 
 "Though not," replied Mr. Bridget, "a 
 literary man, in the sense in which the phrase 
 is usually understood — that is, as the author 
 of one or more works, or articles in periodicals, 
 he is a literary man in this sense, that he has
 
 AUTHORS AND REVIEWERS. 197 
 
 read a great deal, is very intelligent, and, though 
 not known to have written anything, acquits 
 himself in such a manner in conversation as 
 to leave the impression that he is a man of very 
 superior talents." 
 
 " But still I cannot comprehend," remarked 
 Joseph, " in what way he can be of service to 
 Lady Carrington." 
 
 " In this way," replied Mr. Bridget, " that, 
 whenever her ladyship brings out a new work, 
 he employs himself for several consecutive days, 
 to the exclusion of everything else, in lauding 
 it to the third heaven. Wherever he goes, and 
 in whatever company he mingles, he introduces 
 her ladyship's new work, and lavishes the 
 highest encomiums on it. He thus performs 
 the part of a locomotive advertiser; at once 
 raising her reputation, and creating a great de- 
 mand for the book at the circulating libraries." 
 
 " And has Lady Carrington a due sense of 
 the obligation under which she lies to Mr. 
 Manson?"
 
 198 AUTHORS AND REVIEWERS. 
 
 " She is quite aware of the service he renders 
 her ; and yet she speaks of him in very disre- 
 spectful terms. * He is,' she says, ' shockingly 
 vulgar, but very useful, and therefore he must 
 be tolerated,^ " 
 
 " Does she really speak in that way of a 
 person who thus almost degrades himself in his 
 zeal to serve her ? " 
 
 " She does, and in doing so is by no means 
 singular. I could mention at least a dozen 
 authors, male and female, moving in the better 
 circles of society, who privately speak in the 
 same or similar terms of reviewers; who, be- 
 cause they are asked to their parties, commit 
 high treason against literature, by heaping the 
 most fulsome adulation on every book they 
 bring out, no matter how worthless it may be. 
 * I observed at your last party, Mr. Forbes, the 
 literary editor of " The Independent," ' said Mr. 
 Bosworth, one evening, to Mrs. Cavendish, the 
 fashionable authoress of ' The Shrew,' and other 
 three-volume works. ' Oh yes,' she replied, ' he's
 
 AUTHORS AND REVIEWERS. 199 
 
 a horrid brute ; I detest the very sight of him ; 
 but what can I do ? To invite him immediately 
 before the publication of a new work, is the 
 only way of insuring a favourable notice of it ; 
 and, you know, that is an object.* And yet," 
 continued Mr. Bridget, "though Mrs. Caven- 
 dish thus detests Mr. Forbes, and feels as if her 
 splendid drawing-room were polluted by his 
 presence, she lavishes upon him the greatest 
 attentions when there. And so it is in most of 
 the other cases where literary men are invited 
 to the dinners and * at homes ' of the fashion- 
 able authors in the metropolis ; they are looked 
 upon as mere tools, that may be used whenever 
 required. The titled ^nd the rich entertain 
 very little real respect, very little sincere regard 
 for literary men ; as is proved by the fact, that 
 the moment the influence of the latter in the 
 literary world is gone, the doors of these 
 persons are closed against them. Nor is this 
 all. They will even scarcely deign to give 
 them a nod of recognition as they whirl past
 
 200 AUTHORS AND REVIEWERS. 
 
 them in their carriages in the streets. It is 
 much to be regretted that literary men — those 
 of them, especially, who conduct the review 
 departments of the public journals — have not 
 more respect for themselves ; if they had, they 
 would command much more of the respect of 
 those above them than is at present accorded to 
 them." 
 
 Joseph, comparatively limited though his 
 acquaintance was with the ways of the fashion- 
 able world, was forcibly struck with the obser- 
 vations of Mr. Bridget, and he resolved that 
 they should not be lost upon him. 
 
 When Mr. Bridget had concluded his obser- 
 vations, Joseph remarked that there was another 
 who sat opposite him, whose name he could 
 not remember. " Pray," he added, " who or 
 what is he ? " 
 
 " Oh, that young man," remarked Mr. 
 Bridget, " is a Mr. Pufiwell." 
 
 "Is he of any sensible service to her lady- 
 ship, in her capacity of author ? "
 
 AUTHORS AND REVIEWERS. 201 
 
 " Oh, very great indeed ! " 
 
 " In what way ? " 
 
 " Though not himself immediately connected 
 with any publication, he is on intimate terms 
 with several editors, and they occasionally — 
 indeed, I may say frequently — ^insert gratui- 
 tously paragraphs from his pen respecting her 
 new works." 
 
 *^ You don't mean reviews ! " interrupted 
 Joseph. 
 
 " Oh, no, short paragraphs inserted among the 
 miscellaneous intelKgence of the paper. In 
 length they rarely exceed eight or ten lines, 
 but they are well adapted to tell." 
 
 " What may be their nature ? " 
 
 " They are a good deal varied. If, for ex- 
 ample, the book, soon after its appearance, be 
 exciting some attention, a paragraph forthwith 
 appears in the papers to whose columns he has 
 access, to the effect that Lady Carrington's new 
 work, * the best that she has produced,' is 
 
 exciting a very great sensation in the literary 
 k2
 
 ^02 AUTHORS AND REVIEWERS. 
 
 and fashionable circles of the metropolis ; or, 
 if it be meeting with a tolerable sale, a para- 
 graph appears representing the demand as very- 
 great; and the paragraph is so ingeniously or 
 adroitly worded, that the public go away with 
 the impression that there is something so ex- 
 traordinary in the interest or the merit of the 
 work, that the editor has deemed the circum- 
 stance worthy of mention among the news of 
 the day. The effect of this paragraph is, to 
 excite that very interest in the work which it 
 professes to record as being already felt." 
 
 " That is to me a new way," observed Jo- 
 seph, " of puiBng a book." 
 
 " And, you might have added, a most effec- 
 tual one." 
 
 " Has Mr. Puffwell ever written anything 
 himself?" 
 
 " Never ; and yet he contrives to puff him- 
 self off, by an ingenious device, as a literary 
 man." 
 
 '* What is the ingenious device?"
 
 AUTHORS AND REVIEWERS. 20S 
 
 " Whenever an anonymous work, newly pub- 
 lished, begins to attract attention and acquire 
 popularity, and conjectures are hazarded as to 
 the authorship, he sends a note to each of the 
 metropolitan papers, to the effect, that, as he 
 has been very generally named as the author of 
 the particular work, he hopes the editor will 
 permit him to mention that he is not the 
 author." 
 
 " Does he do this without any one having 
 represented him as the author?" inquired 
 Joseph, with no inconsiderable surprise. 
 
 " He does ; and therein consists the cool as- 
 surance of the thing. Nobody who knows him 
 would ever suspect him of the authorship of ani/ 
 work of merit, for he is a man of no talent ; 
 and of course the public generally, to whom his 
 name is unknown, would never think of affili- 
 ating any unfathered production on him. By 
 this singular expedient, he has contrived to ob- 
 tain a sort of reputation for literary talent and 
 acquirements ; for those who see his disclaimer
 
 204 AUTHORS AND REVIEWERS. 
 
 of the authorship of a work of merit, naturally 
 infer that, if he were not capable of producing 
 such a work, it would not be ascribed to him. 
 He published a letter, a few weeks before Sir 
 Walter Scott confessed himself to be the author 
 of the ' Waverly Novels,' to the effect, that, as 
 he had been repeatedly pointed at as the author 
 of the * Northern Fictions,' he thought it would 
 be unjust to the real author of those splendid 
 productions, were he not to state, in the most 
 unequivocal terms, that he was not only not the 
 author, but that he had had no hand whatever in 
 their production ! Shortly afterwards, Mr. Puff- 
 well energetically disclaimed the authorship of 
 ' Almack's ' — a work which excited a great deal 
 of interest, ten or eleven years ago, and respect- 
 ing the authorship of which there was a great 
 deal of guessing at the time. And had he been 
 a contemporary of Junius, he would have pub- 
 lished a very decided disclaimer of the author- 
 ship of the celebrated letters which appeared 
 under that name."
 
 AUTHORS AND REVIEWERS. 205 
 
 " Oh, I remember," remarked Joseph, after 
 hearing Mr. Bridget's curious statement — " oh, 
 I remember having, on several occasions, seen 
 the name of PuiFwell attached to disclaimers, in 
 the public journals, of the authorship of various 
 works." 
 
 " Then that is the person you saw last night 
 at Lady Carrington's." 
 
 " There was a third," pursued Joseph, 
 " wholly unknown to me, who sat at your left. 
 Who is he?" 
 
 " That is a Mr. Warden ; one of the most 
 conceited persons in London. He has never 
 written a line in his life, except in the shape of 
 an occasional newspaper paragraph ; and yet he 
 is unceasingly engaged in decrying the works of 
 successful authors, and saying how much better 
 he himself could have written on the same 
 subject." 
 
 " I suspect," observed Joseph, " he is not 
 singular in that respect. There are hundreds 
 in London, calling themselves literary men, who
 
 206 AUTHORS AND REVIEWERS. 
 
 have not written, nor are capable of writing, 
 a page of passable matter on any subject, 
 whose sole occupation is, to decry and depre- 
 ciate the works of others." 
 
 " Very true," remarked Mr. Bridget ; " but 
 this Mr. Warden has the happy knack of per- 
 suading many of his literary friends that he is 
 actually a genius of the first order. And thus, 
 though no author at all, and wholly incapable 
 of writing a passable page on any subject, he 
 not only himself enjoys the delightful delusion, 
 that he is a literary man of the highest talents, 
 but receives from others the homage which is 
 due to the most distinguished merit." 
 
 " He is certainly a lucky man," remarked 
 Joseph, " thus to enjoy a first-rate literary 
 reputation, though wholly destitute of all title 
 to it." 
 
 " He is, indeed," responded Mr. Bridget ; 
 " especially when there are so many instances 
 on record, in which the authors of works of the 
 very highest order of merit have never been
 
 AUTHORS AND REVIEWERS. 207 
 
 fortunate enough to emerge from obscurity, or 
 even to have their private admirers." 
 
 " And such are some of the leading persons 
 connected with the review departments of the 
 metropolitan press," observed Joseph. 
 
 " Yes ; and they would resent it as an insult, 
 were you to throw out the slightest imputation 
 on their honesty or independence." 
 
 " And the way you have described is that in 
 which we are to account for the extravagant and 
 invariable praise bestowed on the books of 
 certain authors." 
 
 " It is." 
 
 What a painful picture does it present of 
 the alleged manly independence and incorrup- 
 tible integrity of which we hear so much in 
 connexion with the literary criticism of the 
 metropolis ! There is scarcely such a thing as 
 fairness, impartiality, or honesty, in literary 
 criticism. The public are beginning to discern 
 this. They have, in so many instances, met with 
 books which, though most extravagantly praised.
 
 208 AUTHORS AND REVIEWERS. 
 
 were the greatest trash that was ever penned ; 
 and, on the other hand, with meritorious works 
 which had been loaded with the coarsest abuse, 
 that they have all but ceased to repose any con- 
 fidence in the opinion of new books expressed 
 by the public press. Much has been said of 
 late respecting the bribery and corruption 
 which prevailed at the last general election ; 
 and legislative measures are to be taken with 
 the view of preventing a recurrence of the evils. 
 Bribery and corruption are scarcely less pre- 
 valent in the world of literary criticism, than in 
 the world of politics ; only that the bribery in 
 the case of literature, instead of being practised 
 through means of money, is chiefly effected 
 through means of what, in the political world, is 
 called "treating." In the case of literary 
 criticism, Parliament can pass no act to put an 
 end to the corruption which exists. It is a 
 thing which cannot be reached — an evil which 
 cannot be remedied by the Legislature. It is 
 only by a fearless exposure of the great literary
 
 AUTHORS AND REVIEWERS. 209 
 
 nuisance, that any one can hope to abate it. The 
 evil is lamented by many authors, but they 
 want the moral courage to grapple with it. This 
 is to be regretted. Were two or three influen- 
 tial writers to expose to the light of day, each 
 in his own way, the secret springs of our metro- 
 politan criticism, they would soon put an end 
 to the existing corruption; and thus at once 
 do an essential service to modem literature, and 
 to the cause of morals. But should the more 
 honest class of authors, though mourning over 
 the corrupt and degraded state of our literary 
 criticism, continue to shrink from what they 
 are aware must be the unpleasant consequences 
 of entering the lists with dishonest reviewers — 
 there only remains the satisfaction of hoping 
 that the evil will eventually reach such a height 
 as to insure its own cure.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Mr. Lovegood brings out a new work — Conversation between 
 him and Joseph on reviewing books in the periodicals of 
 the day. 
 
 About this time Mr. Lovegood, of whom we 
 have for a season lost sight, brought out a new 
 work ; and Joseph, who, notwithstanding the 
 numerous defects in his character, possessed, in 
 no ordinary degree, the redeeming quality of 
 gratitude, was gratified with the circumstance, 
 because he thought it would afibrd him an 
 opportunity of serving him. 
 
 Joseph called one morning on Mr. Lovegood, 
 and, after an interchange of the usual courtesies, 
 intimated that he would be happy to publish in
 
 AUTHORS AND THEIR WORKS. 211 
 
 the weekly journal with which he was connected, 
 any notice of Mr, Lovegood's new book 
 which might be sent him. 
 
 "A notice to be sent you!" remarked Mr. 
 Lovegood, with manifest surprise. 
 
 ** Yes ; any notice which you yourself would 
 Hke to appear." 
 
 " You don't mean that I should write it my- 
 self!" 
 
 "Where would be the harm," answered 
 Joseph, " if you did ? It's often done." 
 
 " What ! authors review their own works ? " 
 
 "Even so." 
 
 " I had hardly believed such a thing was pos- 
 sible," observed Mr. Lovegood. "I would 
 rather a thousand times over, that no line should 
 ever appear in the shape of a notice of any 
 work of mine, and that a copy should never 
 be sold, than pen one syllable in its 
 favour." 
 
 **But could you not get some friend, who 
 has more time on his hands than I can spare, to
 
 212: AUTHORS AND THEIR WORKS. 
 
 write an elaborate and commendatory notice of 
 your work ? '* 
 
 " To ask a friend to praise it," replied Mr. 
 Lovegood, " would be the next most unworthy 
 thing to praising it myself. I have never, on 
 any occasion, bespoken a word of commendation 
 for any of my productions, though my intimacy 
 with various reviewers would have insured a 
 ready compliance with my wishes." 
 
 "I think," rejoined Joseph, "that you are 
 much too scrupulous, considering the frequency 
 with which such things are done." 
 
 "The conduct of others," observed Mr. 
 Lovegood, " must not be the rule of mine. If 
 they do discreditable actions, that would be no 
 justification for my doing them. The question 
 with every honest and honourable man will be, 
 whether an action be in itself right or wrong. 
 To ask another to praise one's own work, is 
 practically the same, if the book be praised 
 by the party to whom the request was preferred, 
 as if the commendatory notice had proceeded
 
 AUTHORS AND THEIR WORKS. 213 
 
 from the author's own pen. I should have no 
 hesitation in asking a reviewer to notice any 
 work of mine ; but I should feel bound, from a 
 regard to my own peace of mind, and in order 
 to preserve my own self-respect, to accompany 
 the request with a distinct intimation, that I 
 wished the work to be noticed in exactly the 
 same way as if the reviewer did not know the 
 author. On that principle I have ever acted, 
 and hope ever shall act." 
 
 " Then," remarked Joseph, " I will write a 
 notice of your work myself; but, before insert- 
 ing it, will send you the manuscript for your 
 inspection. If you see anything in it you don't 
 like, you can put your pen through it." 
 
 " I beg you will not send me the manuscript ; 
 for, to strike out censure, should there be any, 
 is only a degree less unworthy than inditing 
 praise. I have, on several occasions, had 
 manuscript notices of former works unexpect- 
 edly sent me, accompanied with a request that 
 I would cancel whatever passages or sentences
 
 214 AUTHORS AND THEIR WORKS. 
 
 I might dislike ; but in no instance have I ever 
 altered a word — unless, indeed, the notice con- 
 tained some glaring error as to fact, -or some- 
 thing which might be personally offensive, and 
 had no connexion, one way or other, with the 
 merits or demerits of the work." 
 
 " I think you carry your conscientious scru- 
 ples too far," suggested Joseph. 
 
 " I can only say that I think differently. At 
 all events, it is to me the source of a pleasure 
 which I would not part with for any earthly 
 consideration, that, whatever may be my status 
 in the literary world, I have resorted to no 
 unworthy means to obtain it. To me the 
 highest literary reputation ever enjoyed would 
 possess no attractions, nor afford the slightest 
 satisfaction, if my own mind told me T had been 
 resorting, directly or indirectly, to any such 
 expedients as those to which I have referred." 
 
 "Well, then, we will say no more on the 
 subject," remarked Joseph. " Of course you 
 have seen Mr. Calderwood's new work."
 
 AUTHORS AND THEIR WORKS. 215 
 
 " I have." 
 
 "And read it through?" 
 
 " And read it through." 
 
 *'As he has been in the habit of attacking 
 and calumniating you as a literary man for 
 several years past, the publication of a book 
 of his will afford you an excellent opportunity 
 of retaliating. Send me a review of his work, 
 and apply the tomahawk to himself and his 
 book without mercy. I will insert anything 
 you send, however severe." 
 
 " That I cannot and will not do," replied Mr. 
 Lovegood. "Were I to treat Mr. Calderwood 
 in the way you suggest, it would only be 
 practising myself the very thing which you, 
 and I, and others, have condemned in him." 
 
 " But he is the aggressor. You would only 
 be returning the blow which he has already 
 struck." 
 
 " That consideration would not alter the jus- 
 tice of the case. No provocation, however 
 great, will ever justify a man in doing what
 
 216 AUTHORS AND THEIR WORKS. 
 
 is morally wrong. My rule throughout my 
 literary life has been, to endeavour to divest 
 my mind of all prejudices and of all vindictive 
 feehngs, when having occasion, either in society 
 or through the press, to speak of the works 
 of those who have been in the habit of attacking 
 myself or loading my books with abuse. To 
 that line of literary conduct I shall, I trust, 
 adhere to the last. Had I been disposed to act 
 on a contrary principle, I could, in innumerable 
 instances, have retaliated with no inconsiderable 
 effect (without the parties themselves ever dis- 
 covering who was their assailant) on authors 
 who have been the most virulent and most 
 frequent in their attacks on my productions. 
 It is to me the source of a proud satisfaction, 
 that in no one instance have I allowed any 
 personal dislikes, any sense of injustice done to 
 myself, to influence my criticisms of the works 
 of others. If, indeed, I have had any feeling 
 either way, it has been that of erring on the 
 other side ; in other words, of speaking more
 
 AUTHORS AND THEIR WORKS. 217 
 
 favourably of their works than they really de- 
 served. And of this I feel assured, that the 
 frame of mind which dictates such a course, is 
 immeasurably happier than that which prompts 
 a reviewer to treat an author and his work with 
 virulent abuse. An ill-natured critic is neces- 
 sarily a miserable man: it is needless to add, 
 that the converse of the proposition is equally 
 true. The good-natured and generous-minded 
 man is necessarily happy. Were our cynical 
 critics aware of this truth, they would covet a 
 kindly disposition and generosity of feeling from 
 considerations of pure selfishness. There is a 
 physiognomy in print as well as in the human 
 countenance. The only wonder is, that some 
 second Lavater has not, before now, specially 
 directed the attention of the public to the fact. 
 An appeal may cafely be made to those who 
 know, in the private walks of life, the leading 
 critics of the day, whether their temper and 
 disposition be not, at home and in the social 
 circle, fairly set forth by their criticisms in the 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 AUTHORS AND THEIR WORKS. 
 
 public journals. The sour, the surly, and the 
 malignant reviewer will almost invariably be 
 found exhibiting the same unamiable qualities 
 in the relations of private life ; while the kindly 
 and generous-minded critic, in newspapers and 
 periodicals, will, with remarkably few excep- 
 tions, be found to be amiable and generous in 
 the bosom of his family, and in all his inter- 
 course with society."
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Joseph is taken seriously ill — Neglect of his acquaintances — 
 Ingratitude — Conversation with Mr. Lovegood on the argu- 
 ments in favour of and against Christianity. 
 
 Three months after the date of the conversation 
 between him and Mr. Lovegood, recorded in 
 the last chapter, Joseph was taken seriously ill ; 
 so seriously, indeed, that, for five weeks of the 
 period during which he was confined to his bed, 
 his life was deemed, by the medical gentleman 
 who attended him, to be in imminent danger. 
 He was, in some respects, a man of very sensi- 
 tive feelings ; and the malady with which he 
 had been seized was considerably aggravated by 
 the circumstance of none — no, not one — of his 
 boon companions, or hotel acquaintances, call- 
 ing to inquire for him, after the first fortnight
 
 JOSEPH S ACQUAINTANCES. 
 
 of his illness. When first confined to his bed, 
 some of them did make a formal call to inquire 
 how he was ; but ten or twelve days sufficed to 
 test the quality and strength of their friendship. 
 After the lapse of that brief period, they not 
 only ceased to call on, but even to think of, him. 
 He was scarcely any more remembered by them, 
 than if such a person as Joseph Jenkins had 
 never existed. 
 
 And so it will generally be found. Those 
 friendships — if so they ought to be called — which 
 are formed of no better materials than those 
 which are supplied by a similarity of convivial 
 tastes, and of loose practices in the ordinary 
 walks of life, are, indeed, but rarely to be 
 depended on. They lack cordiality or strength 
 while they last, and are always liable to be 
 snapt asunder by the slightest breath of adver- 
 sity. 
 
 Most poignantly did the mind of Joseph feel 
 the desertion of those with whom he had spent 
 so many hours of his life since his settlement in
 
 INGRATITUDE. 221 
 
 London ; with whom, indeed, was spent almost 
 every fragment of his time not required in the 
 discharge of his professional duties. What 
 aggravated the bitterness of his disappointment 
 was the fact, that he had been of considerable 
 service to some of their number, not merely by 
 forwarding their views, but by repeatedly assist- 
 ing them with small loans of money. He con- 
 sequently felt, that he had claims not only 
 on their friendship, but on their gratitude ; 
 and to neglect him entirely — to suffer him to 
 languish on his bed, or spend his tedious hours 
 alone in his apartment, without once calling 
 to stay an hour with him, or even to inquire 
 for him, was the return which they made. 
 
 The philosophers of ancient Greece and 
 Rome regarded ingratitude as one of the worst 
 crimes which could be committed; and, in 
 accordance with this conviction, they laid down 
 the position, that those who were guilty of it 
 deserved a double punishment. A more una- 
 miable state of mind than that evinced by the
 
 222 INGRATITUDE. 
 
 ungrateful man, it would be impossible to con- 
 ceive. And yet it is to be feared, that this 
 state of feeling, so abhorrent to every well- 
 regulated mind, prevails to a fearful extent at 
 the present time. Do we not witness it every 
 day of our lives? Do we not, indeed, expe- 
 rience it every hour of our existence? Nor 
 does the unsightly evil end even here. "Who 
 that has experienced aught of human life — who 
 that has sought, from the purest, and holiest, 
 and most disinterested motives, to avert a 
 threatened calamity, or to remove an evil which 
 had already overtaken and threatened to crush 
 some acquaintance — has not, when success had 
 crowned his generous exertions, found that, 
 instead of being rewarded with the love and 
 gratitude of him he had served, perhaps saved, 
 been treated with a coldness and neglect he had 
 never witnessed before ? Nor is this all. To 
 perform to some men acts of the purest friend- 
 ship which one human being ever performed to 
 another, is often, indeed, to incur the posi-
 
 INGRATITUDE. 22S 
 
 tive enmity of the very party you have placed 
 under the deepest obligations. Oh! it does 
 make the heart sick, and the spirit sink, when 
 one meets with such a return for deeds of kind- 
 ness and friendship which his own conscience 
 tells him were performed from motives of the 
 most generous kind ; from motives as pure, 
 we had almost said, as ever existed even in the 
 breasts of angels themselves. 
 
 The Greeks and the Romans were right 
 in regarding ingratitude as one of the most 
 ignoble acts of which a man could be guilty. 
 It entails the deepest degradation on human 
 nature ; and inspires in every virtuously-consti- 
 tuted mind, a feeling of shame for one's species. 
 Pity that it is so common. It is to be hourly 
 met with. Go where one will, it is sure to 
 cross his path. Ingratitude has slain its thou- 
 sands. Many a noble heart has been broken 
 by its constant reflections on the utter neglect 
 of those on whose attention and friendship the 
 victim had claims of the most powerful kind.
 
 224f INGRATITUDE. 
 
 The bosom of many a reader will respond to the 
 justice of the remark, when I say that, to confer 
 an essential service on an acquaintance is (as 
 has just been remarked) often the sure way to 
 forfeit his friendship and put an end to the 
 intimacy which previously existed. And in 
 proportion to the importance of the service 
 rendered, is often the desire of the party served 
 to have no farther intercourse — or, at any rate, 
 as little as possible — with him who has conferred 
 the obligation. Such individuals are guilty of 
 conduct which is not only in the highest degree 
 unworthy in itself, but is productive of the 
 worst results to society; for persons who are 
 constitutionally of a generous mind, and in 
 whose bosoms nature has implanted feelings of 
 friendship for their fellow-men, are forced to 
 the conclusion, by the instances of ingratitude 
 with which they meet, that the surest way 
 to cause an acquaintance to demean himself 
 with coldness, if not to put an end altogether 
 to the previously existing intimacy, is to render
 
 INTERVIEW WITH MR. LOVEGOOD. 225 
 
 him the greatest service which it is in your 
 power to perform. And when once such a con- 
 clusion as this has forced itself on the mind, 
 what wonder if it extinguish all the charities 
 and kindliness which before glowed in one's 
 heart, and restrain his hand for the future from 
 serving those who may stand in need of his 
 assistance ? 
 
 Such were some of the considerations which 
 occupied Joseph's mind. Most acutely (as before 
 remarked) did he feel the neglect of those who 
 were formerly his constant associates in the 
 hours set apart to convivial indulgences. Their 
 neglect was heightened by contrast. Mr. Love- 
 good, the moment he heard of his illness, hurried 
 to his bedside ; and seldom did a day pass with- 
 out the presence of that gentleman, for a longer 
 or shorter period, in his sick chamber. What 
 chiefly occupies our mind, is usually that on 
 which we are most ready to speak. Joseph had. 
 scarcely thought, for some weeks past, of any- 
 thing but the indifference to the issue of his ill- 
 l2
 
 226 CONVERSATION WITH MR. LOVEGOOD. 
 
 ness, which his acquaintances had manifested ; 
 and, having no one else but Mr. Lovegood to 
 whom he could unbosom himself, he made some 
 pointed observations to him on the subject. 
 
 " I do not at all wonder at the circumstance," 
 remarked the latter. 
 
 Joseph looked surprised on hearing the ob- 
 servation. 
 
 " I see you wonder at the remark." 
 
 " I confess I do ; because I had formed a 
 better opinion of human nature." 
 
 " I fear," replied Mr. Lovegood, " your 
 opinion of human nature in its unregenerate 
 state, has been more favourable than facts would 
 warrant." 
 
 " I admit it has been, so far as my former 
 associates are concerned." 
 
 " A little more experience of the world would 
 have led you to give a more extended applica- 
 tion to the remark." 
 
 " I hope not ; charity would lead me to be- 
 lieve that my late acquaintances— for, should I
 
 CONVERSATION WITH MR. LOVEGOOD. 227 
 
 be fortunate enough to recover, they will be my 
 acquaintances no more — must be among the 
 most unfavourable specimens of our species which 
 are to be met with." 
 
 " In that you are mistaken," remarked Mr. 
 Lovegood. " I do not say that there can be no 
 friendship among men whose minds are unre- 
 newed by a supernatural influence — for I have 
 known instances in which there has been ; but I 
 do maintain, as the result of a very extensive 
 acquaintance with the world, that such instances 
 are exceedingly rare. Should you, in the event 
 of your recovery, persist in forming your inti- 
 macies with unsanctified men, you will be again 
 doomed to realize, in all the bitterness of expe- 
 rience, the truth of my statement." 
 
 Joseph was silent. 
 
 " May I be permitted, in the spirit of genuine 
 kindness, to ask a question?" inquired Mr. 
 Lovegood. 
 
 " Certainly, by all means," answered Joseph. 
 
 " Well, then, do you view matters— and.
 
 228 RELIGIOUS MATTERS. 
 
 above all, religious matters — in the same light 
 as you did when in perfect health, and in your 
 moments of hilarity among your former asso- 
 ciates?" 
 
 " I view things differently to this extent, that 
 I am alive to the hollowness of seeming friend- 
 ship, which I once thought real. Had not ex- 
 perience taught me, had I not been confined to 
 a sick chamber, I could never have believed that 
 acquaintances on whom I had lavished unnum- 
 bered acts of kindness, could have as entirely 
 deserted me as if I had been suddenly trans- 
 formed into some object too hideous to be seen." 
 
 " My question," observed Mr. Lovegood, 
 " did not point to the ingratitude and neglect 
 of your former companions ; it had reference to 
 your views on religious topics." 
 
 Joseph returned no answer. 
 
 " I should be sorry," pursued the other, " to 
 press upon you a subject on which you are un- 
 willing to converse ; but you will admit, what- 
 ever view you take of it, that it is the most
 
 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 229 
 
 momentous question which ever occupied the 
 thoughts of man." 
 
 Joseph assented. 
 
 " And I have generally found, that however 
 much persons may be indisposed to entertain 
 the subject when in the enjoyment of health, 
 and when borne along on the tide of prosperity, 
 their minds are accessible to reason and their 
 judgments to conviction, when stretched on a 
 bed of sickness." 
 
 Joseph was silent. 
 
 " I am sure," continued Mr. Lovegood, " that, 
 apart from the truth or falsehood of Christianity, 
 you are satisfied, that it is a system far more 
 suited to a person in your circumstances, than 
 the infidel or sceptical creed which you have 
 unhappily embraced." 
 
 " I admit it. That conviction is now most 
 deeply impressed on my mind. I am a stranger 
 to the joys inspired by a firm faith in that 
 blessed immortality which the Gospel professes 
 to unfold. I am a slave, do what I may, to fears
 
 230 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 
 
 and apprehensions regarding a future state. Still 
 I cannot satisfy myself that Christianity is true." 
 
 ** Do you not think," suggested Mr. Love- 
 good, " that your practice may have something 
 to do with your principles ?" ^ 
 
 " I do not," replied Joseph, ** very clearly 
 see how it can. I can easily understand in what 
 way a man's creed may influence his conduct ; 
 but I cannot so easily comprehend how a man's 
 conduct can influence or control his creed." 
 
 " To me the thing is plain. Have you never 
 felt your conscience reproving you for certain 
 actions you have performed ? And, when thus 
 condemned by that inward monitor, have you 
 not felt a wish arising in your bosom, that no 
 punishment were annexed to particular moral 
 crimes ; and, as Christianity does annex fearful 
 penalties to all such ofiences, have you not felt a 
 wish that Christianity itself were not true ? " 
 
 " I must own," replied Joseph, " that I have 
 felt a process, similar to what you describe, 
 going on in my mind."
 
 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 231 
 
 " Then you cannot fail to perceive, that your 
 conduct influences your creed. You must be 
 aware, that when you thus once wishy because 
 it is for your interest, that a certain class of 
 opinions were not true, you are already half-way 
 towards the rejection of them ; the remainder 
 of the distance is trodden with an incredible 
 rapidity. Depend on it, my dear friend, that 
 were men's lives more correct in a moral point 
 of view — were they less at variance with the 
 spirit and precepts of the Christian system, that 
 system would be much more generally em- 
 braced than it is." 
 
 " I confess," said Joseph, " that I do some- 
 times wish I could bring myself to believe in 
 revelation ; but I cannot." 
 
 " What is the principal obstacle that lies in the 
 way of your reception of the Christian system ? " 
 
 " I can scarcely tell ; unless it be an impres- 
 sion, of which I cannot rid myself, that, after 
 man ceases to exist on earth, he ceases to exist 
 at all."
 
 232 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 
 
 '' The man wlio can abandon himself to so 
 gloomy a belief, is assuredly to be pitied. His 
 must indeed be a desolate bosom. To me it 
 has always appeared unaccountable, that any 
 one who rejects the idea of a future state — who 
 believes that contemporaneously with the death 
 of the body is the annihilation of the spirit, can 
 reconcile himself to existence at all. "Why 
 should he bear up under the ills of life, when 
 self-destruction is an infallible specific for them 
 all ? Why endure even a twinge of the tooth- 
 ache, when he has it in his power, at any mo- 
 ment he chooses, to put an end to pain entirely 
 and for ever ? " 
 
 " I can only," replied Joseph, " account for 
 the tenacity with which those of us cling to life 
 who have no belief in a future state, by an 
 undefinable instinct which nature has implanted 
 in our breasts, and which never leaves us so 
 long as existence lasts." 
 
 " The attachment to life amidst all its trou- 
 bles and trials, which those who entertain your
 
 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 2SS 
 
 views exhibit, is, to say the least of it, anoma- 
 lous and inconsistent," said Mr. Lovegood. 
 
 " I admit that it is," replied Joseph ; " but 
 is not life itself made up of a mass of incon- 
 sistencies ? " 
 
 " It isj certainly, on j/our principles, but not 
 on those of Christianity. Revelation reconciles 
 the various seeming discrepancies which we 
 meet with in the world ; it clears up all mys- 
 teries ; makes darkness light and crooked things 
 straight," 
 
 "Tjf one could only believe in its truth," 
 remarked Joseph, with significant emphasis. 
 
 " And why not ? Others have done so : they 
 do so still. Many, indeed a large majority of 
 the most illustrious men in every country and 
 every age, since the death of its Founder, have 
 cordially embraced Christianity. Where shall 
 we find in the ranks of the rejectors of revela- 
 tion, names as distinguished as those of Bacon^ 
 Locke, Milton, Boyle, Newton, and others that 
 could be named ? And if such individuals could
 
 234f CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 
 
 make an unreserved surrender of their judgments 
 to the truth of the Christian scheme, there 
 surely can exist no moral necessity why you 
 should not also embrace the Christian system. 
 You are not, I am sure, vain enough to suppose 
 that your judgment and your capacity for sift- 
 ing and weighing evidence, are superior to what 
 theirs were." 
 
 " You only," replied Joseph, " do me justice 
 in acquitting me of any such vanity. But still, 
 if I cannot yield the assent of my understand- 
 ing to certain moral or religious propositions, I 
 cannot help it. The mind is not to be forced : 
 persecution may achieve a seeming conviction, 
 it may extort a lip admission that the mind 
 concurs in views which it formerly repudiated, 
 but persecution cannot influence or control the 
 mind." 
 
 "But have you, allow me to ask, honestly 
 and perseveringly sought to arrive at the truth 
 in this momentous matter ? Have you not come 
 too hastily to your present opinion ? Have you
 
 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 235 
 
 not too suddenly arrived at the conclusion that 
 Christianity is not true ?" 
 
 " I have read a great deal, and thought still 
 more on the subject." 
 
 " On both sides of the question ? " 
 
 " On both sides of the question." 
 
 " And equally on both sides ? " 
 
 " I am not sure that I could, with a strict 
 regard to truth, say that I have read as much 
 on the evidences of the truth of revelation as I 
 have on the arguments which have been urged 
 against it." 
 
 " Then you are not a competent judge ; you 
 have no right to come to a conclusion on the 
 subject ; certainly not, at any rate, to an ad- 
 verse conclusion. Your case is that of almost 
 every unbeliever : infidels greedily devour what- 
 ever is written against Christianity, and as 
 studiously omit the perusal of the masterly 
 treatises written in its favour." 
 
 Joseph felt that the observation was strictly 
 applicable to him, and therefore was silent.
 
 2S6 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 
 
 " But, my dear friend," resumed Mr. Love- 
 good, "I do not say this with the view of 
 woimding your feelings. I make the remarks 
 you have heard in the hope of convincing you 
 that you have not acted with the integrity 
 required on a question of such unspeakable 
 importance, and, consequently, of more fully 
 opening your mind to the reception of evidence. 
 But permit me to make one or two observations 
 on your statement, that you have, somehow or 
 other, arrived at the conclusion, that after death 
 man ceases to exist altogether, and conse- 
 quently is no longer susceptible of pleasure or 
 pain, of happiness or misery." 
 
 " A strong impression to that effect, to say 
 the least of it, has taken possession of my 
 mind." 
 
 *' I can deeply sympathize with you, because 
 that very idea did for a season, before I cor- 
 dially embraced Christianity — for there was a 
 period in my life, when, without absolutely 
 rejecting revelation, I was not entirely con-
 
 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 237 
 
 vinced of its truth — often intrude on my mind. 
 But the moment I became thoroughly per- 
 suaded that the Bible constitutes a revelation 
 from Heaven, that moment all scepticism, or 
 misgivings as to the truth of any doctrine it 
 contains, vanished away. I then became a 
 settled and firm believer not only in the doc- 
 trine of a future state, but in that of rewards 
 and punishments according to the deeds done in 
 the body. You, however, have not yet been 
 able to yield your assent to the truth of the 
 Scriptures, and, consequently, you must be 
 reasoned with on the principles of philosophy 
 only. Well, then, you admit that you do 
 exist." 
 
 " Certainly ; that is a proposition regarding 
 which there can be no scepticism. It is one of 
 the few truths in which all are agreed. Des- 
 cartes, in the plenitude of his anxiety to make 
 men sceptical on all points, advised them to 
 begin by doubting their own existence. His 
 advice, however, was of a nature that no one
 
 238 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 
 
 could take : he could not take it himself. He 
 must indeed have a wonderful capacity for 
 doubting, who could doubt his own existence." 
 
 " And, I presume," resumed Mr. Lovegood, 
 *' that, as you admit your existence, you will 
 also admit with equal readiness, that you have 
 been created or made." 
 
 " The latter proposition is as undeniable as 
 the former." 
 
 " Nor will you hesitate to acknowledge that 
 you did not make or create yourself." 
 
 "Such a supposition would be the very 
 essence of absurdity. It would involve a con- 
 tradiction." 
 
 " You must have been called into being by 
 some Power superior to, and altogether inde- 
 pendent of, yourself." 
 
 " Undoubtedly ; there can be no question on 
 that point." 
 
 "Well, then, since you thus admit your 
 existence, and that you did not create or make 
 yourself, but that you were created or made by
 
 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 239 
 
 some other Power, does it not, so far from 
 appearing unreasonable, appear exceedingly 
 probable, that the same Power which gave you 
 an existence here, will confer on you an exist- 
 ence hereafter ; or, to speak more in accordance 
 with the light of Christianity, continue in a 
 future state the existence you now enjoy ?" 
 
 " But," suggested Joseph, " all our notions of 
 a future state imply not only a difference of 
 being, but an existence in a different sphere ; 
 and these circumstances increase the difficulty 
 of believing in a future state." 
 
 "They ought," replied Mr. Lovegood, "to 
 have no such effect; assuredly they have no 
 such necessary tendency. Just only assume 
 for a moment, that the child in the mater- 
 nal womb had the reasoning power as fully 
 developed as persons of mature age, instead 
 of being in an exceedingly imperfect state — 
 if, indeed, it can be said to exist at all ; — 
 and that, by some process or other of com- 
 municating knowledge with which we are un-
 
 240 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 
 
 acquainted, the unborn child were informed 
 that, after the lapse of a few weeks or months, it 
 would be ushered into an entirely new world, 
 and, instead of being confined to the limited 
 space of its mother's womb, where it could hear 
 no sound and see no object, it would, after the 
 expiration of a certain period, roam at pleasure 
 among new and illimitable regions, in which, 
 above, there would be a sun, a moon, and stars 
 innumerable, while the earth on which it trod 
 would present landscapes of surpassing loveliness : 
 just only suppose that it were possible to com- 
 municate information of this nature to the child 
 in its mother's womb, and that it possessed 
 the requisite intelligence to comprehend its 
 purport ; only, I repeat, suppose all this, and 
 then say, whether the changes which the 
 infant would, in that case, undergo between 
 any period previous to its birth and its reach- 
 ing the age of ten or twelve, or whether the 
 change in its sphere as the tenant of the womb 
 and the full-grown inhabitant of this earth,
 
 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 241 
 
 would not be almost, if not altogether, as great 
 as those which the Scriptures point out as 
 necessary to be undergone by all men after 
 death. And if the event shows that the con- 
 clusion of the unborn child, supposing it capa- 
 ble of coming to conclusions — that it would 
 never have any other mode or sphere of exist- 
 ence than it then has, is altogether erroneous, 
 have we not the strongest presumptive grounds 
 for believing, putting out of view the testi- 
 mony of revelation on the subject, that there 
 are another state and sphere of existence beyond 
 the confines of the present life ?" 
 
 Joseph listened with evident attention to the 
 argument of his friend, but said it failed to 
 carry con\dction to his mind. 
 
 Mr. Lovegood rephed, that he was sorry to 
 hear it, but expressed a hope that, by pursuing 
 the line of reasoning and illustration which the 
 few observations he had made had only opened, 
 the result would eventually be his belief in a 
 future state. "Will you," he added, "bear 
 
 VOL, I. M
 
 242 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 
 
 with me while I make one or two more 
 remarks?'* 
 
 " Oh, certainly," rejoined Joseph. " He must, 
 indeed, have but little faith in his creed who is 
 afraid to listen to any observations having for 
 their object to show that it is untenable." 
 
 "Well, then, I shall, for the moment, put 
 Christianity wholly out of the question, and 
 state my position thus : — Either there must 
 be no God, or there must be a future state of 
 being in which the virtuous shall be rewarded 
 and the wicked punished. I shall enter into no 
 elaborate arguments to prove the existence of a 
 Supreme Being — that is the province of the pro- 
 fessed theologian ; neither, even were I competent 
 to the task, would this be the proper occasion. 
 Ours being merely an accidental conversation, I 
 shall content myself with a few general observa- 
 tions. There is something in every virtuous 
 breast which leads one inevitably and utterly to 
 revolt from the awful doctrine, that there is 
 no God. I should hke to have a faithful
 
 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 243 
 
 description of the thoughts,, and feelings, and 
 operations of that mind which has reached the 
 astounding hardihood of excluding the Deity 
 from the universe. How dark, and desolate, 
 and wretched, must be the bosom of the man 
 who has attained the fearful climax of audacity 
 necessarily involved in the denial of the exist- 
 ence of a God! No Supreme Being to punish 
 him for his crimes ! Why, then, hesitate for a 
 single instant to commit any action, no matter 
 how atrocious the light in which society may 
 regard it, for which the law will not punish 
 him? No Almighty to reward him for his 
 virtues ! Why, then, perform acts of benevolence 
 and mercy for which society will not recom- 
 pense him? If there be no Supreme Being, 
 then let mankind apostrophise the principle 
 of evil as did Milton's fallen angel — * Evil, be 
 thou my good ; ' that is to say, injure, and 
 plunder, and rob your fellow-men, to the great- 
 est possible extent, no matter what the amount 
 of misery you inflict on them, if it only
 
 244 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 
 
 administer to your own gratification, without 
 incurring the risk of legal consequences. Athe- 
 ists tell us that the existence of a God has 
 never been satisfactorily proved. The evidence, 
 I admit, is not of that class which comes under 
 the designation of mathematical demonstration ; 
 but it is of the most conclusive kind of which 
 a moral truth can be conceived susceptible. 
 Creation and Providence, everything above, 
 below, about, and within us, proclaim aloud 
 that there is a God; and I do not believe 
 the human being ever existed, who had not, 
 at one time or other of his life, overwhelming 
 convictions in his own breast of the existence 
 of a Supreme Being. Is there to be found a man 
 among those who have embraced the principles 
 of atheism, who can lay his hand on his heart 
 and say, that a belief in the existence of a God 
 has never forced itself on his mind ? No such 
 man is to be found. Atheists demand of their 
 opponents proofs of the existence of the Deity, 
 which shall be as conclusive as those which
 
 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 245 
 
 demonstrate a mathematical proposition. The 
 demand is unreasonable. I speak with all reve- 
 rence, but I speak advisedly, when I say that, 
 constituted as man now is, the Supreme Being 
 could not, consistently with his own character 
 and revealed purposes, furnish the desired 
 proofs. Man while here is in a state of pro- 
 bation. Even atheists will, in a modified sense, 
 admit the truth of this proposition; they mil 
 admit that man is surrounded by circumstances 
 which test his moral character, and which have 
 visible bearings on his conduct. If the Deity 
 were to furnish mankind with the proofs of his 
 own existence which atheists demand, then 
 man's faith in the being of a God would 
 become inevitable; it would be a matter of 
 absolute necessity ; and he would consequently 
 cease to be in a probationary state in reference 
 to that first and most essential principle of 
 all religion. But can atheists furnish us with 
 that class of evidence for the non-existence of a 
 God, which they demand of us in proof of
 
 246 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 
 
 his existence ? Unless they can, they have no 
 right to demand it of us. So far from this, 
 they cannot furnish us with anything worthy 
 of the name of even moral evidence in 
 support of their proposition, that there is no 
 God. They content themselves with mere 
 assertions on the subject. They endeavour to 
 dogmatise and ridicule men out of all belief 
 in a Divine Being, but they do not — at any 
 rate, not so far as I am aware — advance any- 
 thing bearing the semblance of argument in 
 support of their position. There is something 
 awfully daring and presumptuous in coming to 
 the conclusion, that there is no God. That 
 conclusion actually involves, on the part of the 
 misguided individual who arrives at it, an 
 assumption of the very qualities in his own 
 person which he denies to the Being whom the 
 believers in revealed religion — ay, and even 
 deists too, regard as God. In other words, 
 the denial of the existence of the Deity is 
 a virtual arrogation, by the person making it.
 
 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 247 
 
 of the very attributes which constitute Deity. 
 On this point I would earnestly commend to the 
 serious attention of atheists, the following 
 passage from Foster's 'Essays on Decision of 
 Character,' which is, perhaps, one of the most 
 striking passages within the whole range of 
 English Kterature. Mr. Foster proves, with 
 the clearness of demonstration, that it is impos- 
 sible, whatever men may pretend, that they 
 can, with the slightest regard to even the 
 semblance of reasoning, come to the conclu- 
 sion that there is no God. He shows, that 
 the very fact, supposing it possible, of a man 
 excluding a Supreme Being from the universe, 
 actually involves his assumed possession of the 
 very attributes which constitute the essence of 
 a God. The passage, when I first met with 
 it, struck me as one of such singular force, 
 that I committed it to memory. It is as 
 follows : — 
 
 " ' I will imagine,* says that wonderful man, 
 ' only one case more, on which you would em-
 
 248 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 
 
 phatically express your compassion, though for 
 one of the most daring beings in the creation, a 
 contemner of God, who explodes his law by 
 denying his existence. 
 
 " * If you were so unacquainted with mankind, 
 that this character might be announced to you 
 as a rare or singular phenomenon, your conjec- 
 tures, till you saw and heard the man, at the 
 nature and extent of the discipline through 
 which he must have advanced, would be led 
 towards something extraordinary. And you 
 might think that the term of that discipline 
 must have been very long ; since a quick train 
 of impressions, a short series of mental grada- 
 tions, within the little space of a few months 
 and years, would not seem enough to have 
 matured such an awful heroism. Surely that 
 creature that thus lifts his voice, and defies all 
 invisible Power within the possibilities of in- 
 finity, challenging whatever unknown Being 
 may hear him, and may appropriate that title 
 of Almighty which is pronounced in scorn, to
 
 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 249 
 
 evince his existence, if he will, by his ven- 
 geance, was not as yesterday a little child, that 
 would tremble and cry at the approach of a 
 diminutive reptile. 
 
 " * But indeed it is heroism no longer, if he 
 knows that there is no God. The wonder, then, 
 turns on the great process, by which a man 
 could grow to the immense intelligence that can 
 know that there is no God. What ages and 
 what lights are requisite for this attainment! 
 This intelligence involves the very attributes of 
 Divinity, while a God is denied: for unless 
 this man is omnipresent, unless he is at this 
 moment in every place in the universe, he can- 
 not know but there may be in some place mani- 
 festations of a Deity by which even he would be 
 overpowered. If he does not know absolutely 
 every agent in the universe, the one that he 
 does not know may be God. If he is not him- 
 self the chief agent in the universe, and does 
 not know what is so, that which is so may be 
 God. If he is not in absolute possession of all 
 
 M 2
 
 250 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 
 
 the propositions that constitute universal truths 
 the one which he wants may be, that there is a 
 God. If he cannot with certainty assign the 
 cause of all that he perceives to exist, that 
 cause may be a God. If he does not know 
 everything that has been done in the immea- 
 surable ages that are past, some things may 
 have been done by a God. Thus, unless he 
 knows all things — that is, precludes another 
 Deity by being one himself, he cannot know 
 that the Being whose existence he rejects does 
 not exist. But he must know that he does not 
 exist, else he deserves equal contempt and com- 
 passion for the temerity with which he firmly 
 avows his rejection, and acts accordingly. And 
 yet a man of ordinary age and intelligence may 
 present himself to you with the avowal of being 
 thus distinguished from the crowd; and if he 
 would describe the manner in which he has 
 attained this eminence, you would feel a 
 melancholy interest in contemplating that pro- 
 cess, of which the result is so portentous.'
 
 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 251 
 
 " Is not the passage a very remarkable one ? " 
 said Mr. Lovegood, when he had finished its 
 rehearsal. 
 
 ** It is, unquestionably, very original and very 
 striking. Every one must admit, that it is a 
 powerful passage, even should he doubt the 
 conclusiveness of its reasoning." 
 
 " All I shall say on that point," remarked 
 Mr. Lovegood, is this : — I should like to see those 
 who dissent from its conclusions, attempt an 
 exposure of the fallacy which they fancy they 
 have discovered in them . Jus t let them shut them- 
 selves up for one short hour in unbroken soli- 
 tude, and make the attempt. If they only do 
 this; if they but reflect upon it calmly and 
 fully ; if they bestow on it a careful and candid 
 consideration, I trust the event will prove, that 
 I am not over-sanguine in anticipating that it 
 will, through the blessing of that very Being 
 whose existence they have hitherto denied, be 
 the means of rescuing some of them from that 
 fearful gulph of atheism into which they have
 
 252 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 
 
 plunged themselves, and establishing them in 
 the firm faith of the existence of a Creator, 
 a Preserver, and a moral Governor of the 
 universe. It w^ere far more rational and far 
 better, even as regards the individual's own 
 present happiness, to believe, as Lord Bacon 
 says, in all the absurdities of the Talmud, than 
 to deny the existence of a God : it were infinitely 
 more reasonable and more consolatory to a 
 rightly constituted mind, to believe in the 
 countless inanimate deities of the heathen, 
 than to believe in no Deity at all. Atheists 
 make large pretensions to philosophy: give 
 me, in preference to their creed, the philo- 
 sophy which obtains in the darkest and most 
 barbarous regions of Africa ; for even there the 
 mind of the poor untutored savage ' sees God 
 in clouds, and hears him in the winds.' But," 
 continued Mr. Lovegood, after a brief pause, " I 
 shall suppose the existence of a God to be con- 
 ceded. Well, then, if a Supreme Being exists, I 
 hold that a future state of rewards and punish-
 
 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 253 
 
 ments follows as a necessary consequence. Here, 
 again, I would purposely abstain from anything 
 metaphysical. I put my argument on this plain 
 intelligible ground : — We can form no concep- 
 tion of a Deity, without investing him with the 
 attributes of omniscience, almighty power, spot- 
 less purity, and perfect justice. He must have 
 each and all of these. He must have the 
 power equally to punish the bad and reward 
 the good. Guilt, being so opposed to his own 
 nature, must be the subject of his deep displea- 
 sure ; while goodness, being a transcript of his 
 image, must be viewed by him with unspeak- 
 able satisfaction. "Whatever he thus knows 
 to be deserving of punishment, and what he 
 knows to be deserving of reward, the justice of 
 his character calls on his almighty power to 
 punish and to reward. But, in the present life, 
 it is palpable to all — indeed it has never been 
 denied — that the worst and most profligate of 
 men often entirely escape punishment ; while it 
 is equally true, and equally admitted, that the
 
 254 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 
 
 most virtuous of mankind frequently live and 
 die in wretchedness; not only never enjoying 
 the revs^ards of virtue, but treated with the 
 grossest injustice and the greatest unkindness 
 by their fellow-men. The conviction, therefore, 
 is irresistible, that there must be a future state 
 in which these seeming anomalies in the moral 
 government of God shall all be explained and 
 reconciled, by the rewards which will be be- 
 stowed on the righteous, and the punishments 
 which will be inflicted on the guilty. This," 
 continued Mr. Lovegood, " appears to me an 
 unanswerable, though simple, mode of arguing 
 the existence of a future state of rewards and 
 punishments ; and I cannot divest my mind of 
 the powerful conviction, that there are mo- 
 ments in the life of every professed infidel, who 
 has not sought refuge in the gloom and hor- 
 rors of absolute atheism, in which the force of 
 the argument does commend itself to his judg- 
 ment." 
 
 Joseph made no attempt at reply ; he merely
 
 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. ^55 
 
 remarked, that the subject was one on which 
 there was no positive certainty, because there 
 was no mathematical proof on either side. 
 
 " Well, then," remarked Mr. Lovegood, " I 
 am willing to put the matter on that footing. I 
 am willing to concede to you the truth of your 
 own proposition. I am willing, for the moment, 
 to concur with you, that there is no absolute 
 certainty on the point. Viewing, then, the sub- 
 ject in that light, does, let me ask you, the un- 
 believer or the Christian stand in the safer posi- 
 tion ? I will go still farther. I will even, for 
 the sake of argument, admit, if you wish it, 
 that the proposition, that Christianity has no 
 pretensions to the character of a divine revela- 
 tion, is susceptible of demonstration. What 
 then ? What does the deluded believer in its 
 truth lose by his faith in it ? If there be no 
 hereafter, he cannot, of course, lose anything in 
 a future state from his credulity in this world. 
 And you will hardly, in the face of all testi- 
 mony and observation, venture to assert, that
 
 256 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 
 
 the Christian loses hy his religion in this life. 
 The delusion he is, for the moment, assumed to 
 cherish, is, necessarily, a delightful delusion. 
 Dr. Johnson says, that half the happiness of this 
 life is derived from hopes which are not des- 
 tined to be ever realized. What, then, must be 
 the measure of happiness which the believer 
 derives from the glorious hopes which he so 
 fondly cherishes ? If hopes which only embrace 
 objects which are finite, fleeting, and neces- 
 sarily limited to the duration of human life, be 
 productive of so much happiness to the bosom 
 in which they have been engendered and are 
 fostered — what^ oh! what must be the amount 
 and quality of that bliss which is produced by 
 the vigorous exercise of an assured hope of 
 realizing in another world, objects of infinite, 
 immutable, and imperishable good ? Then, 
 again, as regards the Christian's conduct in the 
 various relations of life, does his belief in reve- 
 lation make him a worse member of society ; a 
 worse husband, father, master, servant, subject,
 
 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 257 
 
 or citizen, than he would be were he to reject 
 Christianity, and adopt the opposite system of 
 faith ? That will not be pretended : it never 
 has been pretended. Bolingbroke, Hume, 
 Rosseau, and almost every infidel of note, have 
 all, on the contrary, been candid enough to ad- 
 mit, that Christianity not only contributes 
 largely to the happiness of those who embrace 
 it, but that it makes them, at the same time, 
 better members of society. And I am much 
 mistaken, Mr. Jenkins, if your candour will 
 not prompt you to make a similar admis- 
 sion." 
 
 " I do admit it," replied Joseph, with con- 
 siderable emphasis. 
 
 " I expected as much," remarked Mr. Love- 
 good. " But," he continued, " if Christianity 
 should be true; if there be a future state in 
 which virtue shall be rewarded and vice pu- 
 nished, how unutterably awful the alternative 
 to the infidel! — how terrible his doom! — how 
 indescribably fearful his destiny ! The error is
 
 258 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 
 
 irremediable ; its consequences are eternal. Ah, 
 my friend, just only devote a few hours of your 
 present seclusion from society, to the considera- 
 tion of the world of import there is in that 
 little ^word 'if.' If Christianity be true ; if 
 there be a future state ; if there be a Supreme 
 Being, who will hereafter reward every man 
 according to his deeds, what will become of 
 those who reject divine revelation; or, in the 
 more emphatic language of the Scripture, where 
 vdll the ungodly and the sinner appear ? But, 
 I fear," said Mr. Lovegood, in conclusion, " I 
 only weary you." 
 
 " Oh, no; certainly not," replied Joseph. 
 " The subject, whatever view may be taken of 
 it, is, unquestionably, worthy of the gravest con- 
 sideration." 
 
 "I shall be exceedingly happy," remarked 
 Mr. Lovegood, "if anything I have said may 
 have the effect of leading you to reconsider your 
 views on matters of such unspeakable import- 
 ance. I shall call on you again in a few days,
 
 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 259 
 
 when I hope to find you continuing to im- 
 prove in health and strength. In the meantime 
 I shall wish you good night." 
 
 " Good night, and I am exceedingly obliged 
 to you for your visit," said Joseph, extending 
 his hand to Mr. Lovegood, who, after having 
 cordially shaken it, quitted the room.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Is restored to health— Effect of the conversation with Mr. 
 Lovegood described in the last chapter — Visits Hastings. 
 
 Joseph continued to recover gradually from his 
 severe and protracted illness ; and, in four weeks 
 from the time of Mr. Lovegood's visit recorded 
 in the preceding chapter, his health w^as so far 
 restored that he was able to quit his room. In 
 a fortnight more he felt himself sufficiently 
 recovered to resume his professional avocations 
 as a reporter and a literary man. 
 
 For some days after the conversation which 
 he had had with Mr. Lovegood, on the import- 
 ance and truth of the Christian system, Joseph 
 felt a decided conviction that the arguments of 
 his friend in favour of the being of a God and 
 the existence of a future state of rewards and
 
 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 261 
 
 punishments, were unanswerable. The result 
 was, that his mind suddenly acquired a pecu- 
 liarly solemn tone, and he resolved on re- 
 gulating his after life by the light which had 
 so recently beamed on his mind. As yet, how- 
 ever, he had not learned the necessity of aid 
 from on high to carry out any virtuous resolu- 
 tions he might form. He made his resolves on 
 this point in the same way as he would have 
 done, had he simply intended to visit St. Paul's, 
 or any place of public amusement. The result 
 was the same as in every other similar case, it 
 only proved the futility and folly, as well as 
 sinfulness, of religious resolutions formed in 
 one's own strength. No sooner was Joseph 
 once more in a condition to mingle in society, 
 and to resume his usual avocations, than 
 he returned to his former libertine course of 
 conduct. 
 
 But though, practically, no good result fol- 
 lowed from the conversation he had had with Mr. 
 Lovegood on the truth of revealed religion, the
 
 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 
 
 force of the arguments employed by the latter 
 still remained undiminished on his mind. In 
 this there is nothing surprising to those who 
 have studied the philosophy of human nature, 
 either as unfolded in Scripture or as seen in 
 the ordinary intercourse of life. Every hour's 
 observation brings before the mind the most 
 striking illustrations of the truth, that it is 
 possible for ihe judgment to be fully convinced 
 on matters of religion, while the heart remains 
 wholly unaffected. One cannot be an attentive 
 observer of the characters of those with whom 
 he daily meets in society, without being struck 
 with the vast number of persons who are not 
 only convinced in their judgments of the truth 
 of Christianity, but who will zealously, and 
 sometimes even ably, vindicate its claims to the 
 character of a divine revelation, and yet whose 
 whole conduct proves to demonstration that 
 they have never felt in their hearts the power 
 of those principles which have challenged the 
 assent of their minds. Christendom abounds.
 
 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 263 
 
 and no portion of it more largely than the 
 land we live in, with individuals who are specu- 
 lative Christians, but practical infidels — men 
 whose judgments do homage to revealed truth, 
 but whose hearts have never embraced it, and 
 whose conduct is, in consequence, altogether 
 uninfluenced by it. This is what the Scripture 
 so emphatically calls a dead faith. Far better 
 were it for such persons that they had never 
 known the truth at all. The case of the man 
 who is a speculative as well as practical infidel, 
 is preferable to theirs. Among this class of 
 men, Joseph Jenkins was now to be ranged. 
 His judgment was right, but his heart and his 
 life were, as heretofore, wholly wrong. 
 
 But though his speculative assent to the truth 
 of Christianity was thus productive of no im- 
 mediately practical results, in so far as his general 
 conduct was concerned, the change which his 
 creed had undergone was followed by one bene- 
 ficial effect in reference to others. As a matter 
 of course, he no longer sought to proselytise
 
 264 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 
 
 to infidel views, those with whom he met in the 
 ordinary relations of life. And this circum- 
 stance being soon observed by his more intimate 
 acquaintances, led them to the conclusion that 
 he had renounced his infidel views. 
 
 And I may be permitted to take this op- 
 portunity of expressing my surprise, how even 
 the firm believer in infidelity — assuming that 
 infidelity can have its firm believers — can, pro- 
 vided he be a philanthropist, take any pleasure 
 in attempting to bring over others to the sys- 
 tem which he has embraced. Infidelity never 
 yet made, and never can make, an individual 
 happy ; but it invariably robs a man of the 
 happiness he previously enjoyed. Even there- 
 fore, were I an unbeliever in Christianity, I 
 should feel under an imperative obligation, from 
 mere considerations of benevolence, to allow 
 others to enjoy opinions which are so well 
 adapted to afibrd present comfort in every 
 emergency, by the bright and blessed halo 
 which it throws around the future.
 
 CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY. 265 
 
 It has often struck my mind w-ith a force to 
 which no words can give adequate expression, 
 that even supposing it to be a delusion, the 
 universal impression that there are regions 
 beyond the precincts of time and the limits of 
 terrestrial space, in which all the disorders of 
 the present state of things will be remedied, and 
 all the wrongs of the world redressed, is one of 
 the wisest and most merciful ordinations of the 
 benevolent Power who has given us being. But 
 for the hope of a happy hereafter, there are mil- 
 lions of our race to whom existence would be 
 a burden too heavy to be borne. That glorious 
 hope alone sustains them under the pressure of 
 the toils and troubles of life. He, therefore, who 
 seeks to rob his fellow-creatures of their faith 
 in immortality, is the greatest enemy of his 
 species, even supposing his own convictions in 
 the non-existence of a future state are as 
 strong as they are in the existence of the 
 material world. 
 
 Joseph, with a view to the complete restora- 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 VISITS HASTINGS. 
 
 tion of his health, repaired for a fortnight to 
 Hastings, as soon as he could make the neces- 
 sary arrangements for leaving town. Hastings 
 is a delightful place : it is one of the most 
 respectable — because so select in the charac- 
 ter of its visitors — of the many watering- 
 places which are located along our English 
 coast. The scenery around is the most beauti- 
 ful and picturesque I have ever witnessed. The 
 view of the sea is delightful, studded as it is with 
 its numerous fishing-boats, with here and there 
 a vessel of larger size enthroned on the bosom 
 of the ocean, and riding with an aspect of dig- 
 nity and triumph to its destined haven. But 
 the great attraction of Hastings to those who, 
 like myself, are enamoured of lovely landscapes, 
 is the surpassing richness of the terra Jirma 
 scenery in its immediate vicinity. When I first 
 travelled from Hastings to Rye, a distance of 
 about twelve miles, it was between seven and 
 nine o'clock in the evening, in the month of 
 July. The singular fineness of that evening
 
 VISITS HASTINGS. 267 
 
 will never fade from my recollection. Not a 
 breath of wind disturbed the stillness of the 
 atmosphere. All was calm — perfectly calm. 
 Nature seemed as if she had resolved to enjoy, 
 at least for a little season, the luxury of a pro- 
 found repose. It is no poetic flight of the fancy 
 to say, that the sun seemed one vast globe of 
 brilliant fire. Slowly yet majestically was that 
 luminary descending towards the horizon, and 
 rich beyond the power of expression was the 
 yellow radiance which it poured on every object 
 on earth's surface. At some parts of the road 
 the view which the eye could command em- 
 braced an extent of many miles in all directions. 
 And in the landscapes which thus lay at my 
 feet, as I stood on the summit of one of the 
 highest hills in that part of Sussex, there were 
 a variety and picturesqueness to which I feel 
 assured there are but few parallels in the world 
 we inhabit. Hill and dale, wood and vale, the 
 green sward and the heath-clad moor; ex- 
 tended rows of umbrageous trees intersecting
 
 VISITS HASTINGS. 
 
 luxuriant fields of corn and grass; gentle- 
 men's country seats, with their adjoining gardens 
 and orchards ; and last, though not least, the 
 clean and cheerful cottages of the peasantry, 
 which rose up in hundreds at short distances 
 from each other — were among the objects which 
 contributed to the surpassingly beautiful scenery 
 on which my vision feasted itself. I had read 
 of charming landscapes in that class of romances 
 known by the name of fairy tales, but I felt 
 how poor were the efibrts of the imagination, 
 when compared with the reality of the scenes 
 which lay before me. No one could have 
 looked on the landscapes which I then beheld, 
 under such a concurrence of favourable circum- 
 stances, without recurring in his mind to what 
 he has read in the records of inspiration, of 
 what must have been the pleasures of our first 
 parents, while yet in a state of innocence, in the 
 Paradise which their Maker assigned them. I 
 thought how beautiful and blessed it were 
 possible for this world to become, were
 
 VISITS HASTINGS. 269 
 
 moral and physical evil only exiled for ever 
 from it. 
 
 Hastings, in addition to the respectability of 
 those who visit it in the fashionable season, and 
 the singular beauty of the surrounding scenery, 
 possesses this other great source of attraction — 
 that it is, with the single exception of the Isle 
 of Wight, the most healthy place for invalids in 
 any part of England. The climate is peculiarly 
 mild, and the air remarkably salubrious. Hence 
 it is that so many patients labouring under pul- 
 monary complaints, are sent to Hastings by 
 their medical advisers. 
 
 The place was full when Joseph Jenkins paid 
 his visit to it. There he met with some literary 
 acquaintances who had resorted thither with 
 the same view as himself — ^namely, to enjoy a 
 little relaxation at the seaside.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Joseph Jenkins attends, simply from motives of curiosity, 
 a Socialist meeting held in the metropolis — The princi- 
 ples promulgated — Mr. Hatchet's speech — Its effects — A 
 ludicrous incident. 
 
 Joseph, having spent his fortnight at Hastings, 
 returned to town, considerably invigorated 
 by the healthful seabreezes of that favourite 
 watering-place. At the seaside, notwithstand- 
 ing all the attractions of the place and the 
 season, he had felt, for the last ten or twelve 
 days, quite out of his element, and panted for 
 the variety and excitement of metropolitan life. 
 A certain amount of excitement was, indeed, 
 necessary to his enjoyment of existence; nay, 
 without something of a stirring kind, constituted
 
 A SOCIALIST MEETING. 271 
 
 as his mind then was, life would have been 
 barely tolerable. This eagerness for mingling 
 in scenes of an exciting kind often induced him 
 to attend public meetings, where he expected 
 to witness amusing exhibitions of character, 
 though such attendance was not at the time 
 necessary for professional purposes. The first 
 meeting which his curiosity prompted him to 
 attend, on his return to town, was a meeting of 
 the friends and admirers of Robert Owen, then 
 in the height of his glory as the founder of the 
 Social system. When Mr. Owen first developed 
 his views in the metropolis, they were cordially 
 and promptly embraced by large masses of the 
 working classes. The father of the Socialist 
 philosophy not only held out to the operatives 
 the Elysian prospect of being abundantly fed 
 and clothed, and comfortably housed, under the 
 " new moral state of things," whose immediate 
 advent it was his mission to harbinger — but 
 this, too, without the necessity of labour, or, 
 if there should be any work, it would only be
 
 272 A SOCIALIST MEETING. 
 
 in the way of recreation; Mr. Owen, we say, 
 not only inculcated these gratifying doctrines, 
 but he was most zealous in his efforts to expose 
 and banish from the world the egregious though 
 popular error, that man is responsible to his 
 Maker for his belief, and to society for his con- 
 duct. Mr. Owen boldly maintained, that men's 
 opinions and actions are wholly the effects of 
 the bad system of education under which chil- 
 dren are brought up. He farther contended 
 that, were his Socialist views of education 
 adopted, there would not, before another gene- 
 ration had passed away, be a vicious man in 
 the empire, but all would be perfectly virtuous. 
 Mr. Owen was clear that society itself was the 
 subject of the deepest blame, because it suffered 
 a pernicious system of education to exist. But 
 then the Social philosopher, in the plenitude of 
 his charity, and on maturer consideration, ac- 
 quitted society also of all blame ; because it had 
 itself, when its members were boys and girls at 
 their parents' hearths, or in the public school,
 
 A SOCIALIST MEETING. 273 
 
 been just as erroneously educated as those in- 
 dividuals whom it condemned and punished. 
 Mr. Owen, therefore, preached up the delight- 
 ful doctrine, that society itself ought not to be 
 punished, nor had it any right to apply the lash 
 to any miseducated man who had committed 
 crimes against the old, worn-out, obsolete state 
 of things which previously prevailed. In fact, 
 there was to be no restraint ; there were to be 
 no checks, no punishments, no rewards of any 
 kind, in the new state of things he came to bring 
 about. Every man would have a right to do 
 as he liked ; the promptings of his own passions 
 were to be the rule of his life ; and, do what 
 he pleased, nobody ought to blame him nor 
 society to punish him for it. The most noto- 
 rious and daring thief was quite as estimable a 
 character as the most upright man, because his 
 pilfering propensities and practices were the 
 result of a vicious education : in other words, 
 he was the creature of circumstances ; he had 
 no control over his actions. 
 
 N 2
 
 274 A SOCIALIST MEETING. 
 
 The first promulgation of such doctrines as 
 these was, as might have been expected, re- 
 garded by the vicious and v^orthless as a preli- 
 minary step to the introduction of a millennial 
 state of things. There vi^as unbounded exulta- 
 tion among the immense crowds of idlers, 
 thieves, and profligate characters of all descrip- 
 tions, who were present at each successive 
 meeting held to further these new, these libe- 
 ral, and enlightened views. The Old Bailey, 
 Cold Bath Fields, and other well-known locali- 
 ties, would have been vocal with joy at the 
 great discovery of Mr. Owen, had it not, 
 unfortunately, been made rather late for the 
 ladies and gentlemen residing in those places. 
 No one will be surprised to learn that the 
 new system made rapid progress. In a few 
 vreeks, Mr. Owen could boast of numbering 
 among his attached disciples, all the felons, 
 pickpockets, burglars, swindlers, and other reck- 
 less characters in London. He was the god of 
 their idolatry. Their only regret was, that
 
 A SOCIALIST MEETING. 275 
 
 the new system could not be brought into 
 immediate operation. 
 
 It is needless to add, that Mr. Owen's ad- 
 mirers were too deeply interested in the success 
 of his philosophy, not to do everything in their 
 power to hasten the advent of the new era, 
 which it was their object to usher in. As al- 
 ready remarked, Joseph Jenkins attended, merely 
 lor the gratification of his own curiosity, one of 
 the meetings soon after his return to town. 
 The meeting was held in a very large building- 
 near the farther end of Gray's Inn Road. It 
 was crowded almost to suffocation ; there were 
 nearly 3000 disciples of the illustrious So- 
 cialist philosopher present, and there would 
 have been double the number, had there been 
 room for them. Mr. Owen himself, as a matter 
 of course, presided on the occasion. He took 
 the chair, as chairmen usually do, amidst loud 
 cheers. He opened the meeting in a suitable 
 speech; that is to say, a speech which was in 
 perfect harmony with the principles of the new
 
 276 A SOCIALIST MEETING. 
 
 system, which he represented himself as com- 
 missioned to propound. He took a cursory 
 view of the differences which subsisted between 
 the philosophy of his new moral world, and the 
 absurd notions which obtained in the worn-out 
 old world, of which it was their fate to be inha- 
 bitants. Having concluded his own oration, 
 Mr. Owen announced that Mr. Graball would 
 move the first resolution, and address the meet- 
 ing. Mr. Graball did so, and acquitted himself 
 to the satisfaction of all present. The resolu- 
 tion, which energetically denounced the unphi- 
 losophical system which had heretofore prevailed 
 in the old world, and represented man as the 
 creature of circumstances, was in the act of 
 being put from the chair, having been duly 
 seconded, when an intelligent-looking young 
 man, in the body of the meeting, said that he 
 wished, with the chairman's permission, to make 
 a few observations before the resolution was put. 
 " Name, name," shouted a hundred voices at 
 once.
 
 A SOCIALIST MEETING. 277 
 
 "My name is Butler/' answered the young 
 man. 
 
 " Who are you, sh' ?" shouted about a dozen 
 voices at once. 
 
 Before Mr. Butler could answer, a per- 
 son possessing a more stentorian voice than 
 any of the others, said, " Are you a So- 
 cialist ? " • 
 
 " No, I am not ! " was the answer to the 
 latter question. 
 
 "What are you then?" inquired a score of 
 voices at once. 
 
 " I am a Christian," replied the] young man, 
 emphatically. 
 
 Groans, hisses, and cries of " Turn him out," 
 burst from the multitude at the mention of the 
 word Christian. 
 
 " I think we had better hear him," remarked 
 Mr. Owen ; " otherwise we shall not only be 
 accused of a want of fair play, but we shall be 
 represented as shrinking from the discussion of 
 our principles."
 
 278 A SOCIALIST MEETING. 
 
 Cries of " Go on/' from a few voices, and 
 silence from the rest of the auditory, followed 
 the observation of the chairman. 
 
 Mr. Butler accordingly rose, and said, that 
 the mover of the resolution had attempted to 
 show, that man's character is partly the re- 
 sult of physical organization, and partly of the 
 influence of the external circumstances by which 
 he is surrounded, and that no two human beings 
 possess a similar organization. " The doctrine," 
 said Mr. Butler, "that man is the creature of 
 circumstances, is at variance with all experience 
 and observation. Not only do children who have 
 been reared under the same roof, receiving the 
 same care, tenderness, and education from the 
 same parents, often exhibit the most marked 
 dissimilarity of character and conduct; but 
 even twins who have been brought up under 
 precisely the same circumstances, eating and 
 drinking at the same time and out of the same 
 dish, sleeping in the same bed, and, in short, 
 receiving the same mental, moral, and physical
 
 A SOCIALIST MEETING. S79 
 
 education, are often found to be as unlike in 
 temper, disposition, and conduct, as any two 
 rational human beings could be supposed to be. 
 This fact, then — a fact which must have been 
 observed by every one who has paid the least 
 attention to the subject — overthrows, at once 
 and for ever, the Socialist theory so far as relates 
 to the influence which the external circum- 
 stances by which man is surrounded, are said to 
 have in the formation of his character. If aught 
 else were needed to demonstrate the absurdity 
 of that hypothesis, it would be found in a fact 
 which is one that occurs in thousands of cases 
 every Sabbath-day — that two persons go to the 
 same place of worship in an unconverted state, 
 and, after having heard the same sermon, the one 
 comes away in precisely the same state of mind 
 as he entered ; while the other has experienced 
 an entire change of mind, which will be accom- 
 panied by a thorough change of conduct during 
 the remainder of his life. And yet were not 
 the external circumstances by which each was
 
 280 A SOCIALIST MEETING. 
 
 surrounded, while hearing the sermon, exactly 
 the same ? 
 
 "But I will not pursue the subject farther; 
 lior is it necessary I should. Every man's 
 observation and experience must convince him, 
 that the potent influence which the Socialists 
 ascribe to the external circumstances by which 
 mankind are surrounded, is monstrously exagge- 
 rated in the case of any man, and that, on many 
 persons' characters, they exert no perceptible 
 influence at all. But then the Socialists may 
 tell me that I overlook the important fact, that 
 they partly ascribe the formation of man's cha- 
 racter to his physical organization. The phrase 
 'physical organization,' is one which I do not 
 altogether understand. It sounds sufficiently 
 well, but it is not so definite in its present 
 application as could be desired. The Socialists, 
 if T mistake them not, use it as but another 
 name for the old doctrine of necessity. The 
 Socialists are indeed necessitarians. Hence 
 their doctrine of non-responsibility for men's
 
 A SOCIALIST MEETING. 281 
 
 actions, either to their fellow-men, or to any 
 other intelligence, could they admit the exist- 
 ence of any other intelligence. In their eyes 
 man is no better than a mere machine, mov- 
 ing only when propelled by circumstances. 
 This position is also at issue with all observa- 
 tion and experience. We daily witness entire 
 and enduring changes in human character, 
 effected through the agency of revealed reli- 
 gion. We see the man whose breast was the 
 abode of everything cruel and barbarous, be- 
 come the wonder and admiration of all around 
 him for his mildness, his benevolence, and 
 humanity. The celebrated Howard, whose 
 name will be ever hallowed wherever humanity 
 asserts its rights in the bosom of man, is a 
 remarkable case in point — not remarkable for 
 the change undergone in his principles, feel- 
 ings, dispositions, and conduct, but remark- 
 able for the prominency with which his his- 
 tory shines out in the biographical literature 
 of the land. Howard was not naturally nor
 
 282 A SOCIALIST MEETING. 
 
 always the philanthropist which he proved him- 
 self to be during the latter part of his life. 
 For many years after he had attained to man's 
 estate, he was not only a stranger to those 
 humane and benevolent feelings which, when 
 embodied in action, in the after part of his 
 career, filled the civilized world with his fame, 
 but was remarkable for his indiiference to the 
 sufferings of his fellow-creatures. It was evan- 
 gelical religion that softened his heart, human- 
 ized his mind, and wrought a total transforma- 
 tion in his character. Now, a Socialist, had 
 such a person existed prior to Howard's conver- 
 sion, would, at once, have attributed his indif- 
 ference to human suffering, and other unamiable 
 features in his character which I will not par- 
 ticularise, to his physical organization, in con- 
 junction with the alleged influence of the 
 external circumstances by which he was sur- 
 rounded ; while another Socialist, who chanced 
 to become acquainted with him after his con- 
 version, without, knowing anytliing of his pre-
 
 A SOCIALIST MEETING. 28S 
 
 vious history, would, with equal confidence, 
 have ascribed his sublime philanthropy, and all 
 the other excellencies of his character, to the 
 same causes — namely, physical organization, and 
 the influence of the external circumstances by 
 which he was surrounded. In other words, the 
 Socialist before Howard's conversion would 
 have traced all his vices, when a man of vicious 
 character, to the causes in question ; while the 
 Socialist who knew him only after his character 
 had undergone the wonderful transformation to 
 which I have alluded, would have ascribed all 
 his virtues to the conjoint operation of the same 
 causes. What more need be said with the view 
 of exposing the absurdity of the Social notions 
 respecting the effect of physical organization, and 
 the influence of the external circumstances by 
 which mankind are surrounded ? But I now " — 
 Mr. Butler, who had met with frequent inter- 
 ruptions in the course of his short address, was 
 now assailed with a storm of hisses, yells, 
 groans, &c., which rendered it impossible to
 
 284 A SOCIALIST MEETING. 
 
 proceed. He repeatedly appealed to Mr. Owen 
 to exercise his authority as chairman, and pro- 
 cure for him a patient hearing; assuring the 
 father of Socialism that he would not occupy 
 the time of the meeting two minutes longer. 
 Mr. Owen, however, finding Mr. Butler's argu- 
 ments to be rather awkward customers to deal 
 with, took no notice of his appeals to him ; and 
 the consequence was, that he was literally 
 clamoured down. 
 
 The resolution was then put, and carried 
 without a single hand, with the exception of 
 that of Mr. Butler, being held up against it. 
 The applause was sufficiently prolonged to jus- 
 tify the chairman in sitting down until it should 
 subside. Having sufficiently subsided, Mr. 
 Owen again rose from the chair, and, with 
 special emphasis, as if anticipating something 
 very unusual in the way of a speech, announced 
 to the meeting that " Brother" Hatchet would 
 next address it. . 
 
 Before referring to Mr. Hatchet's speech —
 
 A SOCIALIST MEETING. ^5 
 
 which, as will be afterwards seen, was the speech 
 of the evening, it may be proper to remark, 
 that this was his maiden effort as a public 
 speaker; and that he had only recently been 
 converted, by the personal exertions of Mr. 
 Owen himself, to " the new views of society." 
 He was an honest, industrious man ; and, there- 
 fore, the father of Socialism, tliinkir.g tliat it 
 would not be amiss, for the sake of appearances, 
 to have a few persons of character among them, 
 who would take a prominent part in their pro- 
 ceedings, was particularly anxious that he should 
 move one of the resolutions at their next great 
 meeting. Mr. Owen had accordingly, for seve- 
 ral days, personally entreated Mr. Hatchet to 
 move a resolution. The latter, at last, reluc- 
 tantly consented. It was then agreed that he 
 should move the second resolution, a copy 
 of which was given him, in order that he 
 might prepare an appropriate speech. Mr. 
 Hatchet speedily prepared a speech to his own 
 satisfaction ; but he thought that, in order to
 
 286 A SOCIALIST MEETING. 
 
 make his oratorical debut with the greater effect, 
 a little harmless clap- trap at the commencement, 
 might not be amiss. With that view, though 
 not a rich man, and never evincing the slight- 
 est disposition to play the fop, he came to 
 the determination to purchase a fine new cloak — 
 it being the winter season — in whose ample 
 folds his person might be enveloped while 
 sitting on the platform, waiting his turn to 
 address the meeting, and which might be grace- 
 fully laid aside when the chairman should 
 announce his name, and he should have to rise 
 to deliver himself of the load of eloquence 
 lying so heavily on his mind. 
 
 Thus much being premised by way of explana- 
 tory observation, Mr. Hatchet, on the chairman 
 announcing his name, rose from his seat, made a 
 low bow to the meeting in return for the loud 
 plaudits with which the mention of his name 
 had been greeted, and, theatrically taking off 
 his cloak, and placing it on the back of the chair 
 he had just vacated, he proceeded to address the
 
 A SOCIALIST MEETING. 287 
 
 meeting. " Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen," said 
 Mr. Hatchet, " I utter, I assure you, the senti- 
 ments of my heart, when I say that never, in 
 the whole course of my life, have T felt myself in 
 a position of greater perplexity than I do at this 
 moment. Unaccustomed, gentlemen, as I am to 
 public speaking, I am borne down by an appre- 
 hension, that the resolution which I have been 
 chosen — unworthily chosen — to propose, will 
 not receive justice at my hands. (Cries of " No 
 fear;" " No danger;" Go on. Hatchet," and so 
 forth.) Most sincerely do I speak when I say, 
 that I wish the moving of the resolution had been 
 confided to some more competent man than I am 
 (Cries of " No, no ") to do it justice. The re- 
 solution, gentlemen, is as follows : — * That all 
 the crimes which are committed in the world, 
 are to be ascribed to the erroneous opinions 
 which prevail on the subject of education ; and 
 that man is not responsible, and ought not to 
 be punished by society, for his actions.' " The 
 cheers which followed the reading of the resolu-
 
 288 A SOCIALIST MEETING. 
 
 tion, were cheers indeed. Accustomed as the 
 ear of Joseph was to the plaudits with whicli 
 popular propositions are received at public 
 meetings, he had never before heard applause 
 which could bear a moment's comparison with 
 that which the reading of Mr. Hatchet's resolu- 
 tion drew forth from the vast assemblage. When 
 the cheering had in some measure subsided, the 
 mover proceeded to establish the positions con- 
 tained in his resolution. Ably and eloquently 
 did he argue, that education could mould the 
 human character at will ; and that, if all children 
 were only properly trained, there would be no 
 such thing as criminality of any kind in the 
 world. The applause which this part of Mr. 
 Hatchet's speech received, was not by any 
 means so cordial or general as he, doubtless, 
 anticipated. It was evident, that the great 
 majority of his audience had no particular relish 
 for the notion, that a time ever could come — 
 at least they hoped it would not be in their 
 time — when there would be no crime in the
 
 A SOCIALIST MEETING. 289 
 
 world ; for that seemed to imply, if they com- 
 prehended the matter aright, that a period was 
 expected, or, at all events, promised by the 
 Socialists, in which there should be no longer 
 an appropriation of what did not belong to one's 
 self; a contingency, which would be so unlike 
 anything which had occurred in their past expe- 
 rience, that they could not bear to entertain the 
 thought. When, however, Mr. Hatchet came 
 to the consideration of the second part of his 
 resolution, that, namely, wherein the great 
 principle is so broadly laid down, that man is 
 not blameable, nor ought to be held legally re- 
 sponsible, for his actions, — the applause with 
 which every successive sentence was received 
 must have more than compensated for any want 
 of gratification visible during the delivery of the 
 first part of his address. Never was public 
 speaker known to make a deeper impression on 
 his hearers. You saw conviction in every coun- 
 tenance, when Mr. Hatchet energetically de- 
 scanted on, and went through an elaborate 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 ^90 A SOCIALIST MEETING. 
 
 course of what he himself called ratiocinative 
 reasoning, to prove the grand Social proposition, 
 that man is not morally responsible, and ought 
 not to be punished by the civil powder, for his 
 actions, however much they may militate against 
 the best interests of society. Oh ! the loudness 
 and manifest cordiality of the applause which 
 followed this part of Mr. Hatchet's speech! 
 No one present could have before had the 
 slightest idea of the capabilities of the human 
 throat, when it has a sufficient motive to put all 
 its powers into action. There is no extravagance, 
 nothing hyperbolical, in what we say, when 
 we assure our readers, that the plaudits uttered 
 on this occasion by the vast assemblage, resem- 
 bled so many peals of thunder. We are guilty 
 of no figure of speech when we say, that Mr. 
 Hatchet completely carried the sympathies of 
 his hearers along with him in every word he 
 spoke, in this part of his speech. If anything 
 could have exceeded the efiect with which he 
 laid down and enforced his views, as to the non-
 
 A SOCIALIST MEETING. ^1 
 
 responsibility of man for his actions, and the 
 consequent criminality of society in punishing 
 him with imprisonment, hard labour, transporta- 
 tion beyond the seas, and the gallows itself, for 
 conduct which he could not help, — ^it would have 
 been the illustrations he gave of his positions. 
 One of these was remarkable, not only for its 
 singularly apposite nature, but for the noble 
 disinterestedness of character on the part of the 
 speaker, which it so forcibly displayed. ^* I 
 do, gentlemen," said Mr. Hatchet — and warm 
 and energetic as he had been before, he waxed 
 still warmer and more energetic when he came 
 to this part of his oration — " I do, gentlemen, 
 stand before you with all the boldness of a man 
 who feels that he is giving utterance to a 
 great and momentous truth when I say, that the 
 consequences of the faulty system of education 
 which prevails among us, are completely to con- 
 found all the distinctions between right and 
 wrong ; and, being so thoroughly persuaded of 
 this, I must add, that I could not hold that per-
 
 2^2 A SOCIALIST MEETING. 
 
 son to be a fit subject for blame or punishment, 
 who robbed me of my property — of my own 
 property, gentlemen." 
 
 Here the audience rose in a body to their feet, 
 just as if they had experienced some mesmeric 
 agency. Not only was every throat vocal with 
 the loudest hurrahs of which it was susceptible, 
 but every hat in the place whirled in the air, 
 and every foot was energetically applied to the 
 floor. What was, perhaps, more remarkable 
 still — at any rate it was the greatest triumph 
 which Joseph Jenkins had ever seen achieved 
 by oratory — the persons on the platform also 
 simultaneously rose from their seats, and min- 
 gled their plaudits, the ruffling of their feet, 
 the clapping of their hands, and the waving of 
 their hats, with those of the vast assemblage in 
 the body of the meeting. 
 
 Mr. Hatchet, as may well be supposed, was 
 all this time in the zenith of his glory. Never 
 had public speaker been so received before, on 
 the delivery of his first address. While the
 
 A SOCIALIST MEETING. ^5 
 
 presence of you all, that knowing man's conduct 
 to be entirely the effect of education, I shall 
 always regard the thief with the same respect as 
 I would the most honest man in the world." 
 (Loud cries of " So will we.") Mr. Hatchet con- 
 tinued in the same strain, and to the entire satis- 
 faction of his audience, till the close of his 
 address, when he sat down with a renewed assu- 
 rance of the infinite pleasure he experienced in 
 moving the resolution. 
 
 Mr. Hatchet's resumption of his seat, was 
 another signal for a renewed burst of applause. 
 The plaudits he then received were as loud as 
 the exhausted lungs and hoarse throats of his 
 audience would admit of. The Socialists on 
 the platform flocked around him like so many 
 bees, — a regular struggle taking place among 
 them as to who should first shake him by the 
 hand, in token of their admiration of his speech. 
 
 " A most able, eloquent, and convincing 
 speech," burst in chorus from the lips of all. 
 Even the chairman himself, instead of first
 
 096 A SOCIALIST MEETING. 
 
 announcing, as he ought to have done, the 
 name of the seconder of the resolution, was so 
 far carried away by the general feeling in 
 favour of Mr. Hatchet's speech, as to shake 
 him cordially by the hand, and audibly con- 
 gratulate him on the triumphant manner in 
 which he had demonstrated his positions. And 
 the three thousand present in the body of 
 the hall, would doubtless have followed the 
 example set them on the platform, and indi- 
 vidually congratulated Mr. Hatchet on his 
 "splendid display of eloquence," but for the 
 circumstance of the platform being only acces- 
 sible by another door, which they knew to be 
 locked. 
 
 Mr. Hatchet, having thus received the audi- 
 ble congratulations of his fellow-Socialists on 
 the platform, and the inaudible, though not less 
 real or cordial congratulations of those in the 
 body of the room, arose from his seat, and 
 turned about to the back of his chair, for the 
 purpose of taking up and putting on (which he
 
 A SOCIALIST MEETING, 29S 
 
 plaudits were ringing in his ears, and resounding 
 through the large hall, his imagination was 
 fondly feasting itself on the national reputation 
 he was sure to acquire, or, rather, had already 
 acquired, by his maiden speech. 
 
 The audience having cheered the passage 
 just quoted, till they could, literally, owing to 
 physical exhaustion, cheer it no more, Mr. 
 Hatchet resumed his address. "Yes, gentle- 
 men," he continued, " the world has been too 
 long the victim of the present anomalous and 
 degrading state of things ; and it is high time 
 that some great effort were made to banish error 
 of every kind from off the face of the earth, and 
 to introduce the new and glorious era which our 
 illustrious chairman has had the honour of being 
 the first to bring to light. I am sure, gentlemen, 
 that I can confidently rely on your cordial co- 
 operation in the strenuous efforts we are deter- 
 mined to make to carry into practical effect 
 the principles I have laid down in this imperfect 
 
 address, (Loud and unanimous shouts of " You 
 o2
 
 ^4 A SOCIALIST MEETING. 
 
 may — you may "). Gentlemen, I fully antici- 
 pated that ready response. I am sure you 
 firmly maintain with me — do you not, gentle- 
 men ? — that no man is responsible for his actions, 
 or ought to be punished for them. (Ener- 
 getic cries of " We do," burst from all parts of 
 the meeting). 1 am confident that you cor- 
 dially concur in the great principle, that the 
 thief, constituted as society now is, and erro- 
 neously educated as mankind have been, is not 
 a fit subject for blame, and ought not to be 
 either punished by law, or virtually excluded 
 from society because he commits felony. (Reite- 
 rated and vociferous cries of " We do "). I am 
 no less persuaded, gentlemen, that you will all 
 give a cordial response to the sentiment, that 
 the felon is just as respectable a member of 
 society as the most upright and moral man in it. 
 (The deafening cheers which greeted the 
 utterance of the sentiment, showed how ortho- 
 dox it appeared to the meeting). For my own 
 part, gentlemen, I here publicly declare in the
 
 A SOCIALIST MEETING. 297 
 
 had fully resolved on doing in the most graceful 
 possible manner) the handsome cloak which he 
 had thrown over the chair when he commenced 
 his oration. But, behold! no cloak was 
 there. It had vanished. Mr. Hatchet first 
 looked confounded, and then turned pale. For 
 a few seconds he said nothing, but looked alter- 
 nately at the vacant chair and the Socialists 
 around him. When he had recovered the 
 power of speech, he exclaimed, in accents 
 which no language can describe, his eye looking 
 
 unutterable things, " I'm , but they've stole 
 
 my cloak. By all that's sacred, it's gone ! " A 
 universal shout of laughter burst from the 
 assembled multitude, in the midst of which 
 there was heard a voice — " Is there anything 
 sacred, Mr. Hatchet?" 
 
 " Mr. Owen," resum.ed Mr. Hatchet, turning 
 to the chairman, " do you mean to tell me that 
 the person who has stolen my cloak knows 
 nothing about the distinctions between right 
 and wrong ? "
 
 298 A SOCIALIST MEETING. 
 
 "Ah, brother Hatchet," replied Mr. Owen, 
 with imperturtable gravity; " ah, brother 
 Hatchet ; come now, you know you're a great 
 wag." 
 
 The remark of the father of Socialism was 
 greeted with laughter and cheers. 
 
 " Ay, ay, Mr. Owen, it may be all very well 
 for you to make light of the matter, but there's 
 nothing jocular in it to me." 
 
 And the mover of the second resolution 
 looked furiously indignant as he apostrophised 
 the father of Socialism. 
 
 " Why, Mr. Hatchet," remarked one of the 
 Socialists on the platform, "it's the greatest 
 proof you could have of the effect of your 
 speech. It forms a striking illustration of the 
 power of your oratory. You are a WQxy per- 
 suasive speaker." 
 
 " Yes," echoed a shrill, penny-trumpet voice 
 at the farther end of the hall, " it shows that 
 Mr. Hatchet produced conwjiction in the minds 
 of his auditors."
 
 A SOCIALIST MEETING. 299 
 
 Here a universal roar of laughter burst from 
 the audience. 
 
 *'Ay, and in their fingers too," remarked 
 another Socialist, in the centre of the hall. 
 
 " If I can only catch the rogue," said Mr. 
 Hatchet, drily, "we shall soon have a conz^?ic- 
 tion of another kind — a contf?iction at the Old 
 Bailey." 
 
 "The person wot prigged your cloak, old 
 boy, is not responsible for his actions," cried 
 a fourth. 
 
 " No, he aint," responded a fifth. 
 
 " It was all the effect of a defective educa- 
 tion," remarked a sixth. 
 
 " Is the tailor paid, Mr. Hatchet ?" asked a 
 seventh. 
 
 " Or did you take it on tick, old * un ? ' " in- 
 quired an eighth. 
 
 Renewed roars of laughter followed this dis- 
 play of Social wit, in the midst of which Mr. 
 Hatchet forced his way to the door, muttering, 
 in the extremity of his mortification, curses
 
 300 A SOCIAUST MEETING. 
 
 loud and deep at the persons and principles of 
 the Socialists. From that moment he cut all 
 connexion with Mr. Owen and his disciples, — 
 without the most slender probability of its ever 
 being renewed. c^«*«-. /»^f**— (^t^/v 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 City Press, Long Lane : D. A. Doudney.