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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
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 13, THREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET, 
 
 Jan. 1841. 
 
 Mr COLBURN'S 
 
 LIST OF NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 QUEEN VICTORIA, 
 
 FROM HER BIRTH TO HER BRIDAL. 
 
 2 vols, post 8vo, with Portraits, 2Is. bound. 
 
 " These attractive volumes furnish not merely an adequate and authentic record of the pure 
 and happy life of our young- Queen, but the only available one that has hitherto been given to the 
 world. The charming letters of Miss Jane Porter, contained in the work, offer some of the most 
 deljg-htf ul reminiscences of the infancy and childhood of Queen Victoria that have ever been made 
 public." — Naval and Military Gazette. 
 
 II. 
 
 PRINCE ALBERT; 
 
 AND THE HOUSE OF SAXONY. 
 
 BY FREDERIC SHOBERL, ESQ. 
 
 Second Edition, Revised, with Additions — By Autliority. 
 In One Vol. post 8v(). with a Portrait of the Prince. 8s. 6d. hound. 
 
 " The best and most authentic work on the subject of the prince-consort and his family." 
 
 John Bull. 
 III. 
 
 LETTERS ILLUSTRATIVE OF 
 
 THE COURT AND TIMES OF WILLIAM III. 
 
 Addressed to the Duke of Shrewsbury, by Ja.mes Vernon, Esq., Secretary of State. 
 
 Edited, with Introduction and Notes, by G. P. R. James, Esq., 
 Author of " Richelieu," &e. 3 vols. 8vo, with Portraits, 4"2s. bound. 
 
 " These letters detail, in a familiar manner, somewhat after the fashion of Horace Walpole's 
 celebrated epistles, all the important and interesting events which took place at the period in 
 question, with a liberal infusion of Court gossip ; forming valuable historical illustrations of a 
 reign of which clu: knowledge has hitherto been very limited."— G7oie. 
 
 IV, 
 DEDIC.VTED, BY PERMISSION, TO HER MAJESTY. 
 
 LIVES OF THE QUEENS OF ENGLAND, 
 
 FROM THE NORM.\N CONQUEST. 
 
 WITH ANECDOTES OF THEIR COURTS. 
 
 Now first published from Official Records and other Authentic Documents, private 
 
 as well as public. 
 
 By AGNES STRICKLAND. 
 First Series, complete in 3 vols., price 10s. 6d. each, bound, eithir of which may lie 
 
 had separately. 
 
 " This interesting and well- written work, in which the severe truth of history takes almost the 
 wildness of romance, will constitute a "valuable addition to our biographical literature."— 
 Morning Herald. 
 
 " This agreeable book may be considered a valuable contribution to historical knowledge. It 
 contains a mass of every kind of matter of interest."— .it/trnmii.in. 
 
 " The execution of this work is equal to the conception. Great pains have been taken to make 
 it both interesting and valuable."— Li/era;-// Gazette. 
 
 " This important work will form one of the most useful, agreeable, and essential addiHons to 
 cur historical library- that we have iiad for many years."— .YoBai and Mililary Gazette.
 
 2 Ml?. COLBURN'S NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 V. 
 
 MR. BURKE'S 
 
 HISTORY OF THE LANDED GENTRY ; 
 
 A COMPANION TO THE PEERAGE AND BARONETAGE, 
 COMPRISING ACCOUNTS OF 
 
 ALL THE EMINENT FAMILIES IN THE UNITED KINGDOM, 
 
 And of upwards of 100,000 Individuals connected with them. 
 Illustrated with the Armorial Bearings of each Family, Portraits, &c. 
 Complete in 4 vols., price 18s. each; or in 16 parts, price 4s. 6d. each. 
 
 This important work has been undertaken by Mr. Burke as a companion to his well-known 
 and established " Dictionary of the Pceratjc and Baronctag-c of the United Kingdom," and upon 
 a somewhat similar plan, in order that the two publications may embrace the whole body of 
 the British Peerage, Baronetage, and Gentry, and may furnish such a mass of authentic inform- 
 ation, in regard to all the principal Families in the Kingdom, as has never before been brought 
 together. 
 
 *,* Subscribers should give immediate orders to their respective Booksellers for the completion 
 of their sets of this work, (a very small extra number of odd parts and volumes having been 
 printed for this purpose) which will eventually become exceedingly scarce and valuable. 
 
 ALSO, BY THE SAME AUTHOR, 
 
 BURKE'S peerage" AND BARONETAGE 
 
 With important Additions, beautifully printed on a new plan, in one large volume, 
 with an Emblazoned Title-page, and upwards of 1500 Engravings of Arms, &c., 
 price 38s. bound. 
 
 Containing all the New Creations, and much other New Matter, the result of 
 great research, and of Communications with the various Noble Families; forming 
 the most complete, the most convenient, and the cheapest Work of the kind ever 
 offered to the public. 
 
 VII. 
 
 BURKE'S EXTINCT, DORMANT, & SUSPENDED 
 
 PEERAGES OF ENGLAND, IRELAND, 
 
 AND SCOTLAND. 
 
 A COMPANION TO ALL OTHER PEERAGES. 
 
 New and Cheaper Edition, beautifully printed, in double columns, 1 vol. 8vo., with 
 Emblazoned Title-page, &c., price 28s. Iiound. 
 
 Tliis work, formed on a plan precisely similar to that of Mr. Burke's very popular 
 Dictionary of the present Peerage and Baronetage, comprises those Peerages which 
 have been suspended or extinguished since the Conquest, particularizing the members 
 of each family in each generation, and bringing tbe lineage, in all possible cases, 
 through either collaterals or females, down to existing liouses. It connects, in many 
 instances, the new with the old nobility, and it will in all cases shew the cause which 
 has influenced the revival of an extinct dignity in a new creation. It should be 
 particularly noticed, that this new work appertains nearly as much to extant as to 
 extinct persons of distinction ; for though dignities pass away, it rarely occurs that 
 whole families do.
 
 HISTORICAL WOIIKS. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 QUEEN ELIZABETH AND HER TIMES. 
 
 A SERIES OF ORIGINAL LETTERS. 
 
 Selected from the Inedited Private Correspondence of the Lord Treasurer Burghley 
 — the Great Earl of Leicester — the Secretaries Walsingham and Smith — Sir 
 Christopher Hattoii — and most of the distinguished Persons of the Period, 
 
 EDITED BY THOMAS WRIGHT, M.A., F.S.A. &c. 
 
 DEDICATED, BY PERMISSION, TO HER MAJESTY. 
 
 2 vols. 8vo, with PoRTiiAiTS, price 32s. 
 
 " One of the most interesting historical works that have issued from the press for some time. 
 The editor's object has been to do for English history what Bishop Percy did for English poetry ; 
 and by his judicious and instructive notes he has rendered his pages as interesting to the reader 
 who may fly to them for amusement, as valuable to the iiifiuirer who may resort to them for in- 
 formation." — Literary Gazette. 
 
 IX. 
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL AND HIS TIMES. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED IN A SERIES OF LETTERS BETWEEN THE DISTINGUISHED MEN 
 
 OF THE PERIOD. 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES, BY DR. VAUGHAN, 
 
 Author of " The Life of Wickliffe," &c. 
 
 2 vols. 8vo, with Portraits. Price 32s. 
 
 " These volumes are liiglily important ; they give authentic information of one of the most 
 complicated periods of EngUsh history, and exhibit the workings of some of the most powerful 
 minds which ever guided or disturbed a state. They develop the general policy of the great 
 leader of the Commonwesilth with a clearness and an interest of the most explicit and satisfactory 
 nature." — New Monthly. 
 
 X. 
 
 THE LIFE OF SIR EDWARD COKE, 
 
 LORD CHIEF JUSTICE IN THE REIGN OF JAMES I. 
 
 WITH MEMOIRS OF HIS CONTEMPORARIES. 
 
 By C. W.JOHNSON, Esq., Barrister-at-Law. 
 
 Second and Cheaper Edition, 2 vols. 8vo, with Portraits. Price I6s. bound. 
 
 " This Is a very valuable work, illustrating one of the most important periods in our liistory, 
 and written In a candid spirit, whose judgment is based on materials collected with great in- 
 dustry. Mr. Johnson has neglected nothing that could make his work complete ; and it does 
 equal honour to his intelligence and his industry." — Literary Gazette. 
 
 XI. 
 
 DIARY OF THE REV. J. WARD, A.M., 
 
 VICAR OF STRATFORD-UPON-AVON, 
 
 Extending from 1G48 to 1678, now just published, from the original MS. in the 
 Library of the Medical Society of London. 
 
 EDITED BY CHARLES SEVERN, M.D. 
 1 vol. 8vo, price 1 2s. bound. 
 
 "This Is one of the most ciuious and interesting works that for a long period has been pre- 
 sented to the public. The Rev. J. Ward was all but contemporary with Shakspeare ; and part of 
 the work before us relates to our poet, and throws much light upon disputed portions of his 
 biography, and elucidates that relating to Ids death, of which hitherto we have been in ignorance. 
 Dr. Severn has presented to the public, from these invaluable records, a selection of very singular 
 interest." — Dispatch.
 
 4 Ml?. COT.BURN'S NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 XII. 
 
 THE COURT AND TLAIES OF QUEEN ANNE ; 
 
 ILLUSTRATED IN THE 
 
 MEMOIRS OF SARAH, DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH. 
 BY MRS. A. T. THOMSON, 
 
 Author of " Memoirs of Henry VIII.," " Life of Sir W. Raleigh," &c. 
 2 vols. 8vo, price 28s. bound. 
 
 "The author of tTiese voluincs is so well known for her Memoirs of Henry VIII. and Life of 
 Sir Walter Raleiph, that the readers of her new work wUl at once perceive in it the grace and 
 ^icnnr of style which so distiiipruish her fnniicr otTorts. The political intrigues which so dis- 
 tracted the Court of Queen Anne are all veiy ably set forth, ('ircuiiistances have called public 
 attention to the.-c matters : so that we consider Mrs. Thomson's publication as peculiarly well 
 timed. But even had there been no such.intrnduction to our notice, the delightful manner in 
 which she narrates the varied incidents of the Life of one of the most illustrious ladies who 
 have become celebrated in our liistorj', the anxiety to place the character of the Duchess of 
 Marlborouph in a right light before our readers, would recommend the work to general accept- 
 atice. It supplies a portion of history which was much wanted, and we are bound to say that 
 Mrs. Thomson has executed her task with diligence, fidelity, and grace." — Age. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH'S PRIVATE 
 
 CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE COURT AND TIMES OF QUEEN ANNE. 
 
 (Now (irst puljlishcd froin the Originals.) 
 
 WITH HER SKETCHES AND OPINIONS OF HER CONTEMPORARIES 
 
 Second edition. 2 vols. 8vo, with Portraits, price 28s. 
 
 " This is a very delightful work. We have closed the volumes with a confirmed impression that 
 in many of the highi st points of conduct, courage, and \mderstanding, the Duchess of Marlborough 
 was the moat remarkable woman of her own or any other <ia.y."— Examiner. 
 
 XIV, 
 
 MEMOIRS OF THE BEAUTIES OF THE 
 COURT OF CHARLES U. 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTORY VIEW OF THE STATE OF FEMALE SOCIETY, 
 AND ITS INFLUENCE, DURING THAT REMARKABLE REIGN. 
 
 BY MRS. JAMESON. 
 
 COMPRISING 
 
 A SERIES OF TWENTY-ONE SPLENDID PORTRAITS, 
 
 Illustrating the Diaries of Pepys, Evelyn, Clarendon, and other contemporary 
 
 writers of tliat gay and interesting period, — engraved by 
 
 the most distinguished Artists. 
 
 NEW AND CHEAPER EDITION, WITH CONSIDERABLE ADDITIONS, 
 
 A'oi» complete, in 2 voh. Rpo, bound, price 45s., or in Six Parts, price Is. Qd. each. 
 
 " Nothing Is wanting to make this publication perfect in its kind. We have the multum in 
 parvo of the fiiiot fornix of Itmalc beauty in the woild— the choicest excellence of England's 
 •chool ol portrait paiiiling^the Ino^t rna'-ferly execution which modern engraving can bestow, 
 and aii interc-iing nuini.ir of each of the celebrated cliaracters thus brought bclore our eyes by 
 the c)ia--le and judici'ius i)en of one of the most acccmpllshcd female writers of the day. The 
 paper and typography are of the moiit superior description, and the price is moderate in the 
 extreme." — iJuOlin Jivening Mail.
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL WORKS. 
 
 XV. 
 
 DEDICATED TO THE RIGHT HON. GENERAL LORD HILL, 
 
 G.C.B., G.C.H., K.C., ETC. 
 
 LIFE OF FIELD MARSHAL, HIS GRACE TtlE 
 DUKE OF WELLINGTON, 
 
 EMBRACING HIS MILITARY, CIVIL, AND POLITICAL CAREER, TO THE 
 
 PRESENT TIME. 
 
 EDITED BY SIR J. E. ALEXANDER, K.L.S. 
 
 LIKUT.-COL. PORTUGUESE, AND CAPTAIM, BRITISH SKRVICB. 
 
 In Two Large Volumes, 8vo, price 28s. bound; or in Eleven Parts, at 2s. 6d. each. 
 
 EcautifuUy emhellished with Portraits, Battle Scenes, &c., 
 
 by Landseer, Heath, Warren, &e. 
 
 ' ' Sir James Alexander's Life of Wellington has the treble advantage of being the cheapest— of 
 inserting a large portion of the original correspondence — and of condensing within popular limits 
 the drj' military details." — Globe. 
 
 " Sir James Alexander possesses every requisite for this great undertaking. His work is 
 pec\jliarly attractive. No doubt can be entertained that it will obtain a prominent place in 
 the library of those to whose hearts their countr> 's glory is dear, and be received as a standard 
 work in all military circles." — Dublin Enenina Packet. 
 
 " This work is likely to have a prodigious circulation. It contains the most complete, correct 
 and authentic details of the eventful life of tliis exalted military nero, profound statesman, and 
 patriotic politician." — Bath Herald. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 THE LIFE AND TIMES OF THE RT. HON. 
 HENRY GRATTAN. 
 
 BY HIS SON, HENRY GRATTAN, ESQ., M.P. 
 
 In 2 vols. Svo, with Portrait, &:c., price 28s. 
 
 " This truly valuable work will unquestionably form one of the most important and interesting 
 additions to our biographical and historical literature that our own day has produced. The 
 large body of private correspondence which is here brought to bear upon the early and private 
 life of Grattan will be read with an eager and intense interest. Moreover, there is a fund of 
 personal anecdote scattered through the voliunes, all of which is characteristic as well as 
 new." — Xaval and Military Gazette. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 THE LIFE OF WASHINGTON, 
 
 Commander-in-chief of the American Armies, and First Presidentof the United States. 
 
 WITH HIS DIARIES AND SPEECHES, AND VARIOUS OTHER PAPERS. 
 
 BY J A RED SPARKS. 2 vols. 8vo, with Portraits, price 28s. 
 
 " The Life of Washington is now first given to the world from original sources. Every inform- 
 ation and document of value and undoubted authenticity that remain in the recollections and 
 cabinets of America, France, and England, have been procured or examined, and here used at 
 vast trouble and expense, and at the sacrifice of many years of labour. In short, the life of 
 Washington is now complete ; and every new addition to our knowledge of him only serves the 
 more clearly to exhiliit liim as (in the resolution of Congress on his death) ' The man first in 
 war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of liis fellow-citizens.' "Sun. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF JOSEPH HOLT, 
 
 GENERAL OF THE IRISH REBELS IN 1798. 
 Edited from his Original MS. BY T. CROFTON CROKER, ESQ. 
 2 vols. Svo, with Portrait, price 28s. 
 " We have read this work with great interest and satisfacHon. It is a most remarkable piece 
 of autobiography, teeming vidth romantic incidents,."— Chronicle.
 
 6 MR. COLBURN'S NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 AVOMAN AND HER MASTER; 
 
 OR, THE niSTOIlY OF THE FEMALE SEX FROM THE EARLIEST PERIOD 
 
 TO THE PRESENT DAY. 
 
 BY LADY ]M O R G A N. 
 
 2 vols post 8vo. Price 21s. 
 
 " Lady Morsran has Imparted to history the charm of romance. We liave read her series of 
 rapid but brilliant and vi(jorous sketches with an interest which many a novel fails to excite." — 
 W'ffklv Chruuiclf. 
 
 " Lady Morgan has in these volumes undertaken to investigate the position v?hich woman 
 should occupy in society. She has sought in the records of the past, guidance and direction 
 for the future : slie has subjected the pages of history to a vigorous moral analysis, testing 
 their facts with the skill of a critic, and deducing results with the wisdom of a philosopher." — 
 Athena:um. 
 
 XX. 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF BEETHOVEN. 
 
 BY HIS FRIEND. A. SCHINDLEIl. 
 
 Edited, with Notes, &:c., by IGNACE MOSCHELLES, 
 
 2 vols, with Portrait, &c., 2 Is. bound. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 MEMOIRS AND LETTERS OF MADAME 
 
 MALIBRAN, 
 
 WITH NOTICES OF THE PROGRESS OF THE MUSICAL DRAMA IN ENGLAND. 
 
 Second and Clieaper Edition, 2 vols, post 8vo, with Portrait, 16s. bound. 
 
 " These memoirs are full of interesting details, much of wliich is entirely new to the public, 
 and of a nature to give new ideas and impressions of the extraordinary woman to whom they 
 relate. We could fill several columns very pleasantly vinth those singular personal anecdotes 
 and traits with which these volumes are filled ; but extracts are unnecessary, as the book will 
 be universally read. In addition to the chief memoir, there is a large body of miscellaneous 
 anecdote, and a selection of Malibran's Letters, all singularly characteristic and amusing." — 
 Saval and Military Gazette. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 THE DUCHESS OF ST. ALBANS' MEMOIRS. 
 
 Third and Cheaper Edition, in 2 vols, witli Portraits, &c., price 16s. bound. 
 
 " A life of this very extraordinary woman, whose career was so plethoric of good fortune, and 
 whf)sc singular destiny placed her in so many and so varied situations, in which persons of every 
 rank in life were involved, has at length been written with candour and fidelity. It would be 
 next to impossible for us to give even an analysis of volun\es so full of interest ; every page teems 
 with proofs of the late Duchess' kind-heartedness and good sense, while the numerous anecdotes, 
 thickly interspersed, at once attract ai\d instruct. The volumes are written with that taste and 
 good feeling, which must command general approval, and will obtain the patronage, not only of 
 those intcre->ted in theatrical matters, but of those who are watchers of the great stage of the 
 world." — Age. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 THE LIFE, CORRESPONDENCE, 
 AND POSTHUMOUS WRITINGS of M. G. LEWIS. 
 
 Author of" The Monk," " Casti.e Spectre," &c. 
 
 " Hail \ wonder-working Lewis." — BvkOm. 
 
 2 vols. 8vo, with Portrait, &c., price 28s. bound. 
 
 " The Life of the great magician of horrors, wliose genius partook of the very essence of 
 German ' wonder-working' and mysterious creation — the Life of Monk Lewis, who knew, withal, 
 every one of the choice H|iirits of his time, affords a most tem))ting subject. Crammed full of 
 anecdote aa these volumes are— theatrical, jiolitical, and literary — there is not a dull page 
 throughout. 'Ilic great body of the work has relation to theatrical matters, and gives us some 
 capital stories about the most prominent members of the histrionic profession of both sexes ; but 
 the editor ha-* introduced so much matter rif a different kind— has i)resentcd us with so many 
 varieties of wit and tiiimour — that the work is as free from the fault of monotony as any we have 
 read." — Court Journal.
 
 NAVAL AND MILITARY WORKS. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 NARRATIVE of the WAR in AFFGHANISTAN. 
 
 BY CAPTAIN HENRY HAVELOCK, 
 In 2 vols, post 8vo, price 21s. bound, witli a complete map of the seat of war. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 LIFE AXD CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 ADMIRAL EARL ST. VINCENT. 
 
 BY CAPTAIN BRENTON, R.N. 
 
 Author of " The Naval History of Great Britain," &c. 2 vols. 8vo, 28s. 
 
 " To the several valuable records of the achievements and characteristics of our great heroes 
 which late years have produced, these excellent voliunes are now to be added. They will claim 
 a permanent place in the splendid collection, as worthy to rank in design and execution with any 
 work of the cla^s." — Court Journal. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 THE STANDARD 
 
 NAVAL HISTORY OF GREAT BRITAIN, 
 
 BROUGHT DOWN TO THE PRESENT TIME. 
 
 BY CAPTAIN EDWARD PELHAM BRENTON, R.N. 
 
 2 thick vols. 8vo, price 3ls. 6d.bd., comprising nearly 1400 closely-printed pages, with 
 numerous PORTRAITS OF DISTINGUISHED OFFICERS, Plans, &c. 
 
 " This important work has long been an esteemed chronicle of the triumphant exploits of the 
 British Navy, but its value is much further enhanced in this edition by the history being con- 
 tinued to the present time by the gallant author, who, in addition to his long experience of fifty 
 years' scivice, has also been facilitated in the progress of his work by the assistance of most of 
 the eminent men whose actions he narrates." — Globe, 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 THE MARINE OFFICER. 
 
 BY SIR ROBERT STEELE, KNT., K.C.S., ETC. 
 
 In 2 vols, post 8vo, with Portrait. Price 21s. 
 
 " Our ' Marine Officer' is a very pleasant, lively, and intelligent fellow ; and we have accordingly 
 grreat pleasiae in directing the attention of our readers to his autobiography. In the commence- 
 ment of the work the writer gives an account of his birth, parentage, education, and first entry 
 into military life, which is admirably written, reminding us often of some of the best parts of 
 ' Peter Simple ;' but. Sir Robert Steele does not confine himself to his own adventures, 
 he touches, from time to time, on mostof the leading events of the late war — fighting many naval 
 battles over again. For marine officers Sir Robert's book will have peculiar attractions, as it 
 records many anecdotes of the heroism and fidelity of the corps wliich would not discredit the 
 palmiest era of Roman valour." — United Service Gazette. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 CAPT. D. H. O'BRIEN'S ADVENTURES DURING 
 
 THE LATE WAR. 
 
 COMPRISING A NARRATIVE OF SHIPWRECK, CAPTIVITY, ESCAPES FROM 
 FRENCH PRISONS, &C., FROM 1S04 TO 1827- 
 
 In 2 vols. 8vo, with Illustrations, 28s. bound. 
 
 " This is a work from the pen of a very distingruished officer, who has now added a literary 
 fame to his professional reputation. Capt. O'Brien's adventures are numerous and extraorduiary, 
 and he narrates them in an unostentatious manly manner, and in a style, simple, natural, and 
 eflfective. Every page bears the strongest features of truth and nature ; so much so, that the 
 reader makes the case his own, aud vividly enters into all the scenes of danger and noble daring 
 with wliich the work abounds."— iJi'.'s/>a<c/i.
 
 8 I\1K. COLliURN'S NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 THE VETERAN; 
 
 OH, FORTY YEARS IN THE BRITISH SERVICE. 
 
 DY CAPTAIN JOHN HA RLE Y, late Paymaster, 47th Regiment. 
 2 vols, post 8vo, price 21s. bound. 
 " Tliis work will afiord much amusement to niilitarj- readers ; it is full of anecdotes of the 
 tness-table aiid the barracks." — Times. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF CAULINCOURT, 
 
 DUKE or VICENZA. 2 vols. 8vo, l.Ss. 
 
 " This is one of the very few works that are destined to acquire more than an ephemeral re- 
 putation. We have perused it with great interest, and look upon it as one of great historical 
 value. It may be said to be the first that has done full justice to Napoleon's real character as a 
 statesman and as a man."— Courier. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 MEMOIRS OF PRINCE CAMBACERES, 
 
 SECOND CON^L, &c. 
 BY BARON LAN GO N. 
 
 2 vols. 8vo, with Portraits of Napoleon & Cambaceres, price 28s. 
 " This work contains many revelations little inferior in interest to those contained in the 
 famous ' Voice from St. Helena.'" — Stm. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 THE BRITISH SENATE IN 1840: 
 
 A SECOND SERIES OF RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 THE LORDS AND COMMONS. 
 
 By the Author of " The Bench and the Bah," " Uhe Great Metropolis," &c. 
 
 2 vols, post 8vo, 21s. 
 
 " This work is exceedingly entertaining, as well as in.structive. Mr. Grant has here furnished 
 the public with a set of portraits of the members of Queen Victoria's Parliament. In the Lords 
 wcha\c all the new hereditary legi.slators, and those not particularly described in his former 
 work ; then all the new members are e.xhibited, and a very correct and impartial estimate of 
 their powers and abilities given, from the orator in embr)'o to the full-iledged stager." — 
 Caledonian Mercury. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 THE BENCH AND THE BAR. 
 
 By the Author of " Random Recollections of the Lords and Commons," 
 " The Great Metropolis," &c. 
 
 New and Cheaper Edition. 2 vols, post 8vo, price 18s. 
 
 " In the^e volumes, as in a mirror, the reader can catch a glimpse of all the leading members 
 of the legal profession. The work is higlUy interesting, and will circulate extensively. The 
 anecdotes are lively, characteristic, and happily introduced." — Sun. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 DR. JENNER'S LIFE AND CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 J5Y JOHN BARON, .M.D., F.H.S., kc. 
 
 Now first puhlished complete, in 2 vols. 8vo, with Portraits, 24s. 
 
 (Vol. 2 may be liad separately to complete sets.) 
 
 " To medical men these volumes will be very valuable, as illustrations of the history of one of 
 the greatest discoveries in their science j and the general reader will feel the greatest interest in 
 the biocraphical portirm of the work. \Ve know of very few books more pleasingly written, or 
 more likely to be of public benefit. Too much can hardly be said in praise of Dr. Jenner's private 
 character, and every one who will peruse the history of his life will be sure to find himself the 
 better for having hi)ent a few hours in such company. We wish, for the sake of the pubUc, 
 tb«re were more 8ucb biographie.s." — Times.
 
 BOOKS OF TRAVELS. 9 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 ITALY AND THE ITALIANS. 
 
 BY FBEDERICK VON RAUMER, 
 Author of " England in 1835," " Illustrations of History," &c. 2 vols, price 21s. bd. 
 
 " The contents of this attractive book are multifarious, and put tog:ether in a familiar and 
 ajjreeable spirit. It forms a most pleasant, varied, and interesting work upon Italy as she is."— 
 Atlas. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 A SUMMER IN BRITTANY. 
 
 BY T. A D O L P H U S T R O L L O P E, ESQ. 
 Edited by Mrs. TROLLOPE. 
 2 vols. 8vo, with Illustrations, 32s. bound. 
 
 " A work full of every species of interest and value which can attach to a book of travels. To 
 the inquiring tourist who is tired of the beaten tracks of the Contuient, the author opens an 
 entire new field of travel, and smooths the paths through it. To the traveller whose journeys are 
 confined to books, he offers one in which there is as much variety as novelty, as much entertain- 
 ment as information. To the philosophic observer of human nature he presents a most interesting 
 object of study — to the antiquarian a most fertile field of examination— to the lover of legendary 
 lore, and the inquirer into popular superstitions, an ample fund of new and strange materials 
 for thought and fancy. Finally, he puts on record a large body of singular and interesting facts, 
 touching an actual condition of society to which the extraordinary social changes that are at 
 hand throughout Europe, and especially in France, may, at no distant period, put an end'for ever. 
 Mixed with the graphic style of this book there is a liveliness and fioii-hommie, which greatly add 
 to its charm, and which make the work altogether one of unusual attraction. The volumes aie 
 embellished by many spirited and characteristic etchings."— lYe;^ Monthly. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 TRAVELS TO THE CITY OF THE CALIPHS, 
 
 ALONG THE SHORES OF THE PERSIAN GULPH AND THE MEDITERRANEAN. 
 
 BY J. R. WELLSTED, ESQ., F.R.S., F.R.A.S., ETC., 
 Author of " Travels in Arabia." 2 vols, 8vo, with Illustrations, 2os. bound. 
 
 " A publication of singular interest and entertainment."— iVa»a/ and Military Gazette. 
 
 " In these days of dull and flat common-place, it is quite refreshing to come upon a narrative 
 of strange travel and wild adventure like this, which recals to mind the exploits of the old 
 voyagers of Spain and England, when half of the wodd was undiscovered, and the other half 
 unknown. Our traveller quits India by embarking on the Persian Gulf in a trading vessel bound 
 to Muscat, and the first important features of his narrative relate to that remarkable city. Here 
 he commences slave merchant, and embarks for Gambrun, visiting, in his way thither, some of 
 the singular islands in the Persian Gulf, and particulariy those where the pearl fisheries are 
 established, of which he gives an interesting description. In due course he reaches Bagdad, the 
 celebrated ' City of the Caliphs,' remains there a considerable time, and affords many details of 
 it that are not to be found in the narrative of any other traveller. Among the most interesting 
 of his adventures are those which take place among the Arabs of the Desert, particularly the 
 Bedouins, with whom he passes a considerable period Another point of great interest in these 
 sketches is the celebrated city of Damascus, of which we have many graphic and characteristic 
 descriptions. The first volume concludes with a visit to Tripoli, Lebanon, and Baalbec— 
 Naval and Military Gazette. 
 
 xxxvni. 
 
 A WINTER IN ICELAND AND LAPLAND. 
 
 BY THE HON. ARTHUR DILLON. 
 2 vols. postSvo, with Illustrations, price 2Is. bound. 
 " The north of Europe presents much ciu-ious matter for investigation that has not yet been 
 explored as it deserves. Iceland and Lapland are all but untrodden regions. Mr. DiUon, inured 
 to the hardships of a northern winter, was induced by the interest he took in these nations to 
 attempt the hazardous expedition of visiting them in their remote and unfrequented homesteads ; 
 and these volumes, full of information, historical and descriptive, are the result of a journey not 
 less creditable to his literary character than his courage. Of Iceland he gives a very full account, 
 tracing the progress of the country from the earliest records of the first piratical descent on the 
 island in the ninth century to the present time, 'i lie historv is a sort of sea romance, in which 
 all the actors are marked by the strong feattues of a hardy clime and a daring spirit."— .4//a«.
 
 10 MK. COl.BURN'S NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 A YEAR AMONG THE CIRCASSIANS. 
 
 BV J. A. LONGWORTII, ESQ. 
 2 vols postSvo, with illustrations, 21s. bound, 
 
 " Incomparably the most valuable account of Circassica that has yet appeared. "—CoMr< Journal. 
 
 " This account of Mr. Longworth's residence in Circassia will deeply interest our readers. 
 ■VNTiether perused merely with a view to amusement, or studied as to the dutits which England 
 has to discharge in the Kast,— in whatever aspect it is contemplated, Mr. Longworth's truly 
 graphic sketch cauuot fail to reward tlie reader's attention."— i'ost. 
 
 XL. 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF THE EAST; 
 
 15 V D. URQUFIART, ESQ. 
 
 Author of" Turkey and its Resources." Second Edition, 2 vols. 8vo. 28s. 
 
 " This is certainly one of the most interesting and valuable works of modem times. The infor- 
 mation, the learning, the admirable pictures of mankind in the eastern countries which the author 
 lays before us— the views of religion, legislation, social life, government and history— the errors 
 he clears up, and the facts, hitherto almost unknown, which he establishes— the felicity of his 
 illustrations, and the sprightliucss of hia narrative, make this one of the works of an age." — 
 Tj/ne Mercury. 
 
 XI.I. 
 
 LORD LINDSAY'S LETTERS on the HOLY LAND. 
 
 Third and Revised Edition, in 2 vols., with Illustrations. 24s. bound. 
 
 " Among the many travellers who have contributed to our knowledge of the interesting regions 
 dignified by events recorded in Holy Writ, a prominent place must be assigned to Lord Lindsay. 
 His abilities and accomplishments are of a high onler; a spirit of inquuyand a glowuig enthu- 
 siasm have been aided by various knowledge, and refined by a sincere piety. He exhibits a con- 
 siderable store both of ancient and modern learning, but liis draughts of Helicon have been 
 abundantly tempered by — 
 
 ' Siloa's brook, that flow'd 
 Fast by the Oracle of God.' 
 
 " Having gone out in the perseverance and devotion of a pilgrim, he has felt and recorded what 
 he saw with the wisdom of a philosopher and the faith of an enUghtcned Christian." — Quarti^rly 
 Heriew. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 A PILGRIMAGE TO PALESTINE. 
 
 15Y THE REV. FATHER MARIE JOSEPH DE GERAMB, 
 
 Abbot and Procurator of La Trappe. 
 2 vols, post Bvo, with Illustrations, 21s. bound. 
 
 " These volumes are the most curious and interesting of their kind that we have lately met 
 with. They may be looked upon as the first written record ever made public of the actual daily 
 observations and feelings of a pilgrim to the Holy Sei)u!clirc, and the other most famous scenes 
 of Holy Writ. 'I'hc strong and evidently sincere religious feeling which pervades the volumes 
 throuirboiit, will give them a strong interest with the religious portion of the community." — 
 Natal and 31ilitury (Jazetle. 
 
 XI.III. 
 
 TRAVELS IN PALESTINE AND SYRIA. 
 
 BY GEORGE ROBINSON. ESQ. 
 2 vols, post 8vo, with Maps and Plans, price 21s, bound. 
 
 " Mr. Robinson ha.s traversed the whole of Syria and Palestine, including the countries lying 
 cast of the Jordan and the Antc-Libanus, and also many interesting jxirtions of Asia Minor. Of 
 his travels he has here given a succinct, plain, and unornament(^d account. His journal is not 
 merely the best, but perhaps the only, guide through these remote regions."— iiYtruri^ Gazette.
 
 VOYAGES AND TRAVELS. 11 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 NARRATIVE OF A TEN YEARS' 
 
 VOYAGE OF DISCOVEEY 
 
 ROUND THE WORLD 
 
 OF H.M.S. ADVENTURE AND BEAGLE, 
 
 UNDER THE COMMAND OF 
 
 CAPTAINS KING AND FITZROY. 
 
 In 2 large vols. 8vo, with INIaps, Charts, and upwards of Sixty Illustrations, 
 by Laiidscer, and other eminent Artists, price '21. 18s. bound. 
 
 " One of the most interesting narratives of voyaging that it has fallen to our lot to notice, 
 and wliich must always occupy a distinguished space in the history of scientific navigation." — 
 QiKirterly Reiuetv. 
 
 Tliese volumes detail the various incidents which occurred during the examination of the 
 Southeni Shores of South America, and the Beagle's circumnavigation of the Globe, and add 
 considerably to our knowledge of Hydrography, Geography, and Natural History, and of the 
 Habits, Sec. of the Aborigines. There will be found in them the materials of two distinct works, 
 embracing everything worthy of notice in the expeditions during a period of nearly ten years. 
 The first volume, by Captain P. P. King, F.R.S., relates to the expedition under his command, 
 ■with an Appendix by Major Sabine, R.A., F.R.S., containing discussions on the magnetic obser- 
 vations made during the voyages. The second volume is by Captain Robert Fitzroy, and 
 relates to the second voyage, with an Appendix, giving the determination of many positions and 
 measurements of meridian distances, and other nautical information. The work is beautifully 
 Illustrated with etchings and engravings on steel, by Mr. Landseer and other eminent artists, 
 from drawings by Mr. Martens and Mr. Earle ; and with Charts and Plans by Mr. Gardner and 
 Messrs. Walker: and an entirely new Map of South America, by Mr. J Arrowsmith, in which 
 the position of places may be ascertained to -witliin less than two miles. In the volumes notices 
 will be found of the Cape Verd, Falkland, and other Islands in the Atlantic Ocean— of the coasts 
 of South America, from Pernambuco to Guayaquil— of the Galapagos Islands— the dangerous 
 Archipelago, or Low Islands — Otaheite— New Zealand— Australia — The Keeling Islands- 
 Mauritius— the Cape of Good Hope. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 MR. BREMNER'S NORWAY, DENMARK, 
 AND SWEDEN. 
 
 WITH NOTICES OF THE STATE OF PUBLIC OPINION IN THOSE COUNTRIES, AND 
 
 ANECDOTES OF THEIR COURTS. 
 2 vols. 8vo, with Portraits, 28s. bound. 
 
 " There is not a single reader of Mr. Bremner's admirable book on Russia who will not be 
 delighted again to encounter a traveller who unites in himself so many excellent qualities. 
 With liveliness and bon-hommie to please the most idle of readers, with good sense and impar- 
 tiality to satisfy the most critical, with activity, information, and judgment to turn all these good 
 qualities to account, and a position in society that enables him to do so ; these are the character- 
 istics whicli Mr. Bremner brings to the concoction of this new work. On every subject vj-hich 
 it touches — politics, statistics, public feeling, social habits and condition, agriculture, letters, 
 science, personal character — aU is treated with impartiality and strong good sense." — New 
 Monthly. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 MR. BREMNER'S EXCURSIONS IN THE 
 INTERIOR OF RUSSIA; 
 
 INCLUDING SKETCHES OF THE EMPEROR NICHOLAS AND HIS COURf'. 
 
 Second Edition, in two vols, post 8vo, with Illustrations, price 21s. bound. 
 
 " This ample and able work, the production of a man of sense and impartial observer, will soon 
 be in the hands of the majority of readers tluroughout tlie empire, and not Improbably throughout 
 Europe also." — Literary Gazette. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 AUSTRIA AND THE AUSTRIANS ; 
 
 WITH SKETCHES OF THE DANUBE AND THE IMPERIAL ST.ATES. 
 
 2 vols, post 8vo, with Portraits, price 21s. 
 
 "This is at once an instructive and amusing book. It contains a great deal of information, 
 a vast number of anecdotes of distinguished persons, and a mass of general instruction, im- 
 portant and novel." — Times.
 
 12 MR. COLBURN'S NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 THE IDLER IN ITALY. 
 
 BEING A JOURNAL OF THE TRAVELS OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. 
 
 New and cheaper edition, 2 vols, post 8vo, with Portrait of the Author 
 after Landseer, price 24s. bound 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 LETTERS FROxM THE SOUTH. 
 
 BY THOMAS CAIMPBELI., ESQ., 
 
 Author of " The PLEAstriiEs of Hope,'' &.c. 
 
 Ill 2 vols. 8vo, with Eleven Plates of Scenery, &c., 1/. lis. 6d. bound. 
 
 " A most remarkable and interesting work." — John Bull. 
 
 " There is much information and novelty in these volumes, and many sound reflections and 
 exquisite graces of poeticsd feeling." — Court Journal. 
 
 L. 
 
 SIR JAAIES E. ALEXANDER'S EXCURSIONS 
 IN WESTERN AFRICA. 
 
 Second Edition, with Additions. 2 vols. 8vo., with IMaps and numerous Plates, 
 
 24s. bound. 
 
 " This is a very interesting' account of the colonies of Western Africa. Very little is known of 
 the new settlements on the African frontier, and it is a matter of surijrise to us that no work, ex- 
 cept Mr. Martin's, has been published descriptive of the establishment and rapid prog^ress of these 
 aciiuisitions. The volumes before us contain a great deal of valuable and interesting inteUi- 
 geuce." — John Bull. 
 
 LI. 
 
 A JOURNEY ACROSS THE PAMPAS AND 
 
 THE ANDES, 
 
 FROM BUENOS AYRES TO VALPARAISO, LIMA, PANAMA, &c. 
 
 BY THE HON. P. CAMPBELL SCARLETT. 
 
 2 vols, post 8vo, with Illustrations, 25s. bound. 
 
 " These volumes abound with anecdotes and descriptions which will afford both information 
 and amusement to all classes of rcatlers. The v.-hole of the work will be read with pleasure ; but 
 the preat commercial and political interests connected %vith the statements in it respecting steam 
 navigation on the Pacific rcfjuire the public attention to be particularly drawn to its considera- 
 tion." — Timet. 
 
 LII. 
 
 TRAVELS IN EGYPT AND CANDIA; 
 
 WITH DETAILS OF THE MILITARY POWER AND RESOURCES OF THOSE 
 
 COUNTRIES, AND OBSERVATIONS ON THE GOVERNMENT, POLICY, 
 
 AND COMMERCIAL SYSTEM OF MOHAMMED ALL 
 
 BY CAPT. C. U. SCOTT, H.P. Royal Staff Corps. 
 
 2 vols. 8vo, with Illustrations, price 28s. 
 " One of the most sterling publications of the sesLson." — Naval and Military/ Gazette. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 EXCURSIONS IN THE MOUNTAINS OF 
 RONDA AND GRANADA. 
 
 BY CAPT. C. UOCHFORT SCOTT, 2 vols. Bvo, with Illustrations. 28s. bound.
 
 WORKS ON SPORTING. 13 
 
 LIV. 
 
 HISTORY OF THE BRITISH TURF, 
 
 FROM THE EARLIEST PERIOD TO THE PRESENT DAY 
 
 BY JAMES CHRISTIE WIIYTE, ESQ. 
 In Two Large Volumes, 8vo, with lUustiations. Price 28s. bound. 
 
 COMPRISING : — 
 
 1. Memoirs and Anecdotes of re- 
 
 markable Sport in j^ Characters 
 
 2. The Performances and Pedigrees 
 
 ofceiebrated Ilacehorses 
 
 3. Descriptions of the Racecourses 
 
 in Great Britain 
 
 4. The Plates and Stakes annuallj- 
 
 run for over them 
 
 5. Accounts of the most approved 
 
 Method of Breeding, Training, 
 and IMananing Racehorses 
 
 6. Notices ofceiebrated Jockeys 
 
 7. Description of the principal Races and Matches. 
 
 Also, every Particular, technical and otherwise, to which the Lover of Racing may 
 desire to refer, cither as a matter of i)usiness or amusement. 
 
 "This work must become a standard authority on the subject of horses and horseracingr, and 
 no one at all interested in such subjects will be without it, whilst the general reader v.iU be de- 
 litchtedwith it for the pleasant spirit in whicii it is written, and the singular traits of extraor- 
 dinary character with which it is so profusely studded." — Argus. 
 
 LV. 
 
 THE SPORTSMAN IN IRELAND, 
 
 AND THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 BY R. ALLEN, ESQ., A.M., F.S.A., &C. 
 
 In 2 vols, post 8vo, with numerous illustrations, price I8s. bound. 
 
 " A most weU-informed, humorous, and agreeable travelling companion. The leading features 
 are all, more or less, of a sporting nature ; and in this point of view the work has uncommon 
 interest. The details the author gives of his various ' experiences' in the beautiful lands which 
 he passed over, cannot fail to send hosts of sportsmen thither who never before contemplated 
 such a visit, and many more who would scarcely have ventured such an undertaking without the 
 guide here jjlaced at their disposal. The work is embellished with very many spirited and inter- 
 esting sketches of remarkable localities, and is altogether one of the most readable and amusing 
 books of its kind that we have had for many a day."— iVew Monthly. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 SCENES AND SPORTS IN FOREIGN LANDS. 
 
 BY MAJOR E. NAPIER, 46th Regt. 
 2 vols, small Svo, with Nineteen Illustrations, 21s. bound. 
 
 " Through the medium of these pages the sportsman in England may enjoy his leisure by 
 becoming acquainted with the proceedings of his brother sportsmen abroad, in climes where the 
 game sought, instead of being confined to hare, pheasant, partridge, and similar timid denLzens 
 of our stubbles and coverts, comprises tigers, wolves, bears, jackals, buffaloes, elks, and other 
 dangerous inhabitants of the tropical wildeme.'s. But, whatever may be the risk attendant on 
 their pursuit and death, our gallant adventuier will here be found seeking them in tlieir desert 
 and jungle retreats, eager to attack whatever might offer in the way of sport, from a snipe to an 
 elephant ; the result of which is, that the wide 'preserves' of the far East are thrown open for 
 the reader, and he is shewn the various methods pursued to bring down the game, whUe enter- 
 tained with the amusing adventures of the daring hunter." — Age. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 SPORTING EXCURSIONS IN THE ROCKY 
 
 MOUNTAINS. 
 
 BY J. K. TOWNSIIEND, ESQ. 
 
 2 vols, post Svo, with Illustrations, 18s. bound. 
 
 " Mr. Townshend supplies in these volumes a fund of very curious and entertaining matter. 
 There is much variety and information of a practical kind in the book, and it will be especially 
 acceptable to naturalists on account of the descriptions of the animals with which the regions 
 traversed by the writer abound. On the whole, the work forms a most valuable addition to the 
 library of American travels."— yi»as.
 
 14 MR. COLBURN'S NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 Lvin. 
 
 COMIC MISCELLANIES. 
 
 IX PEOSE AND VERSE. 
 
 BY THE LATE JAMES SMriH, ESQ. 
 
 One of the authors of " Rejected Addresses." 
 
 With a Selection front his Correspondence, and Memoirs of his Life. 
 
 15Y IILS BKOTIIER, HORACE SMTni, ESQ. 
 
 Second edition, witli additions, 2 vols, post 8vo, with portrait, 21s. bound. 
 
 " One of the most amusinp: books that have seen the liglit, since the ever famous Rejected 
 Addresses themselves." — Globe. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 CO:\LMENTARIES ON THE HISTORICAL 
 PLAYS OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 BY THE RIGHT HON. T. P. COURTENAY. 
 
 2 vols, post 8vo, 18s. bound. 
 
 "We have read this work with pleasure as the production of a scholar and a gentleman of 
 refined ta.^te and acute judgment. The many new points of view whicli he takes, and the many 
 lights which he throws upon passages of tlie Immortal bard, command our lively interest. It 
 dejerves the attention of the public as an almost inseparable companion to Shakspeare's Plays. 
 Indeed, it is a work without which we do not look to see a respectable library, or collection of 
 polite literature." — Lit. Gazette. 
 
 LX. 
 
 VISCOUNT DE CHATEAUBRIAND'S SKETCHES 
 OF THE LITERATURE OF ENGLAND. 
 
 2nd Edition. 2 vols. Svo, 24s. 
 
 " There has not appeared, for a long time, any work so calculated to pique the curiosity of 
 the literary world as this new production of the celebrated Cliateauliriand, in which he discusses 
 the merits of Shakspeare, Milton, Byron, and the whole galaxy of ancient as well as modern 
 English writers > drawing the most curious comparisons and analogies." — Globe. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 LORD BROUGHAM'S OPINIONS 
 
 ox POLrncs, theology, law, science, literature, etc. 
 
 WITH A MEMOIR OF HIS LORDSHIP'S MFE. 
 
 One very thick and closely-printed volume, price 12s. bound. 
 
 " TTic design of this volume is to afford a collective view of his Lordship's opinions and practical 
 olyerts. It embodies not only the most brilliant passages from his celebrated speeches and 
 writings, but alsr) unfolds to the reader the gradual development of his mind on those great ques- 
 tions in iwjlitics, hterature, and science, in which learned men of all countries and all ages must 
 ever take a lively interest. To the selections is prefixed a prefatory memoir, which will be found 
 more complete, accurate, and elaborate, than any that has hitherto appeared, containing parti- 
 cularh of his l^)rd'hip's early, and al.so of his more advanced, life, with a philosophical analysis of 
 hiit mind and writings." 
 
 "This volume is calculated to be of infinite service, by teaching its readers to think, and think 
 justly, on all the great political questions of the day." — Sun. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 THE AMERICAN IN PARIS; 
 
 OB, SKETCHES OF THE NEW INSTITUTIONS, THE EMEELLISHMr.NTS, THE 
 hOCIETV, THE ECCENTRIC CHARACTERS, THE WOMEN, THE PRESS, 
 THE LITERATURE, ETC., OF PARIS. 
 
 2 vols, post 8vo, price IBs. 
 
 " We cordially recommfnd this hook to our readers as by very far the best, because incom- 
 parably the most amusing as well as infonning. Guide to Paris that we are acquainted with in 
 the Eng\iah language, or indeed in any other." — Naval and Military Gazette.
 
 POETICAL WORKS, &c. 15 
 
 I.XIII. 
 
 SONGS AND BALLADS. 
 
 WRITTEN AND BET TO MUSIC BY 
 
 HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS PRINCE ALBERT, & PRINCE ERNEST. 
 
 Translated from the German, by G. F. Richardson, Esq. 
 DEDICATED, BY PERMISSION, TO H.Il.II. THE DUCHESS OF KENT. 
 
 Imperial 4to, containing Fourteen Songs, and Forty-two Pages of Music, with a 
 beautifully engraved Portrait of Prince Albert, price 12s. 
 
 LIST OK THE SONGS. THE WORDS IN ENGLISH AND GERMAN. 
 
 1 . Farewell to Home. 
 
 2. To my Brother. 
 
 3. Italian Son^. 
 
 4. The Hark dashes wildly. 
 
 5. The Wandering Harper. 
 
 6. Sleep, O Sleep. 
 
 7. Say, sleepest thou, Love ? 
 
 8. To an absent Friend. 
 
 g. Yonder, thou shalt tind the 
 
 blessing. 
 10. All silent were the foun- 
 tains. 
 
 1 1 . Come, dearest, come. 
 
 12. How sweet this hour of 
 pure devotion. 
 
 13. As the hark dashes wildly. 
 
 14. The star of splendour. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 THE DREAM ; AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY THE HON. MRS. NORTON. 
 
 Second Edition, with Additions. In 1 vol., with Fine Portrait of the Authoress, 
 after a Drawing by E. Landseer, R.A., price 10s. 6d. bound, 
 
 *' A very beautiful poem. This lady is the Byrou of our modem poetesses." — Quarterly 
 Review. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 POPULAR SONGS OF IRELAND. 
 
 Collected and Edited, with Introductions and Notes, by 
 
 T. CROFTON CROKER, ESQ. 
 
 1 vol. with Illustrations, price 10s. 6d. bound. 
 
 "A volume of sin^ar interest and curiosity. It is even more than this,— it Is a publication 
 of real value, as illustrative of the past and present condition, both mental and moral, of the most 
 singular people in the world. At the same time, it is, as a collection of l>Tical compositions, full 
 of the graces and beauty of wliich that class of poetry is so eminently su.sceptible."— Alalia/ and 
 Military Gazette. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 THE ROSE-FANCIER'S MANUAL. 
 
 BY MRS. CHARLES GORE. 
 New and cheaper edition, one elegant vol., price 6s. bound. 
 
 CONTENTS : 
 
 Geography of Roses— Culture of Roses— Glossology of Roses— Hybridity— Importance of Specific 
 Characters— Comparison of Specific Characters— On Species— Distinction of Species and Variety 
 — BibUography of the Rose— Pharmacopceia of Roses— Monography of the Rose, comprising 
 notices of 2500 Varieties— Last of the Species admitted by Botanists, &c. &c. 
 
 "All the lovers of flowers, and especially the fairer portion of our readers, ought forthwith to 
 have this elegant volume in their possession."— Sura. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 THE ART OF NEEDLEWORK, 
 
 FROM THE EARLIEST AGES. 
 
 With Notices of the Ancient Historical Tapestries. 
 
 EDITED BY THE RIGHT HON. THE COUNTESS OF WILTON. 
 
 Second edition, revised, in 1 vol. post 6vo, 10s. 6d. bound. 
 
 " An admirable volume. It should be possessed by every lady."— Times. 
 
 "A charming volume. We congratulate our fair countrywomen on this valuable addition to 
 theur hhraries."— Herald.
 
 IG MR. COLBURN'S NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES 
 
 OF 
 
 MICHAEL ARMSTRONG, THE FACTORY BOY. 
 
 BY MRS. TROLLOPE. 
 
 Now complete in 1 Vol. 8vo., price l'2s. bound, or in 12 Parts at Is. each, printed 
 and embellished uniformly with " Nicholas Nickleby," &c. 
 
 " We are cxceodiiisly plad that Mrs. Trollope has devoted the energies of her powerful and 
 fertile mind to the production of tliis at once striking, amusing, and useful worli. Without any 
 desire to depreciate the value of similar productions, we cannot but consider this as infinitely 
 more valuable tliaii any which we have yet seen." — Metropolitan Conservative Journal. 
 
 NOW IN COURSE OF PUBLICATION, IN OCCASIONAL VOLUMES, 
 PRICE O.VLY 6S. EACH BOUND, 
 
 Printed uniformly witli Byron and Scott, and beautifully embellished wilii the 
 Portraits of the Autiiors, and other Engravings, by the Findens 
 and other eminent Artists. 
 
 COLBURN'S STANDARD NOVELISTS, 
 
 A SELECT COLLECTION OF 
 
 5rte 'bc^t SlJSJorfts of fiction 
 
 THE MOST DISTINGUISHED ENGLISH WRITERS, WHICH CANNOT BE r-ROCURED 
 
 IN ANY OTHER COLLECTION. 
 
 The Proprietor ol'tlie Series hero announced having had the good 
 fortune to puljlish a very large proportion of the most masterly modern 
 works of Fiction — such as have become incorporated with tlie literature 
 of tiie country, — is obviously y)laced in the most favourable position 
 for an undertaking of this nature ; and he has determined that no 
 composition of inferior and ephemeral character shall be admitted into 
 the collection ; but that those works alone w hich have received the 
 stamp of unequivocal public approbation, and which may be read 
 from time to time witli still recurring pleasure and profit, shall 
 constitute the Series. 
 
 Works 'whicb bave already appeared in tbe above Collection. 
 
 61K E. L. llLLWl.It S I'l LHAM 
 
 8in E. L. bulwer's disowned 
 SIR E. L. bi;lwi:k's deveueux 
 
 MJl. WARDS TREMAINE 
 
 MR. smith's BBAMBLETYE HOUSE 
 
 M.i. smith's '/ILLAII 
 
 MR. I.ISTHRS OKAMiY 
 
 LADY morgan's o'dONNEL 
 
 LADY morgan's FLORENCE MACAKTHY 
 
 " ' Cr>!bum's Modern Novelists' present a series of those works of fiction that have most tended, 
 with the writings of Sir Walter Scotf, tf) elevate this description of literature. This publication 
 Iire.Hcnt-s a concentration of imag'inativc genius. " — (Jlohe. 
 
 • ,• Due notice will be given of the future appearance of each new volume of this work. 
 
 CAl'T. MAKRYAT S FRANK MILDMAY 
 MR. hook's SAYINGS AND DOINGS 
 
 (First Seriei;) 
 MR. hook's sayings AND DOINGS 
 
 (Second Series) 
 MR. hook's SAYINGS AND DOINGS 
 
 (Third Series) 
 
 MR. James's richelieu 
 
 MR. GLEIG's CHELSEA PENSIONERS 
 
 AGENTS FOR SCOTLAND : .MESSRS. BELL AND BDADFUTE, EDINBURGH. 
 AGENT FOR IRELAND : MR. JOHN CUM.MING, DUBLIN. 
 
 T. C. Savill, Printer, 107, St. Margin's Lane.
 
 THE BOOK 
 
 WITHOUT A NAME. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 Also, Just Published, 
 
 WOMAN AND HER MASTER; 
 
 or, the history of the female sex from the earliest 
 period to the present day. 
 
 By lady morgan. 
 2 vols, post 8vo. price 21s. 
 
 " Lady Morgan has imparted to history the charm of romance. 
 We have read her series of rapid but brilliant and vigorous 
 sketches with an interest which many a novel fails to excite." — 
 Weekly Chronicle. 
 
 " Lady Morgan has in these volumes undertaken to investigate 
 the position which woman should occupy in society. She has 
 sought, in the records of the past, guidance and direction for the 
 future ; she has subjected the pages of history to a vigorous moral 
 analysis, testing their facts with the skill of a critic, and deducing 
 results with the wisdom of a philosopher." — Atheneeum.
 
 •^^r-v- 
 
 v.^-' 
 
 ^/$2^. X, 
 
 %trr9,yt^> 
 
 r
 
 THE BOOK 
 
 WITHOUT A NAME.. 
 
 BY 
 
 SIR T. CHARLES AND LADY MORGAN. 
 
 Unfinished things, one knows not what to call, 
 Their generation's so equivocal. 
 
 Pope. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDOi^ : 
 HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER, 
 
 GRE.\T MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1841.
 
 LONDON: 
 
 P. PHf nKRr, JIN., 51, RUPERT STHF.ET.-HAVMARKET, 
 
 PRINTER TO H. R. H. PHINf E ALBERT.
 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 The reason for not giving a name tp the follow- 
 ing papers, is simply that their authors had no 
 name to give. The golden age of literature, when 
 titles for books were "plenty as blackberries," 
 when publications were few, readers many, and 
 authors (in the Horatian phrase) were things to 
 point the finger at — that golden age is passed and 
 o-one. Now, every one writes, few have leisure to 
 read ; and an unpreoccupied title is more difficult 
 to be met with, than the industry which goes to 
 write a volume, or the enterprize that undertakes 
 to publish it. 
 
 This difficulty will be more readily acknow- 
 ledged, when a further statement is made, that 
 the present venture is, for the most part, a mere 
 funding of literary exchequer bills, a gathering 
 into the fold, of certain stray sketches, some of 
 which have already appeared in different leading 
 periodicals of the last ten or fifteen years. Such 
 re-publications are a prevailing fashion of the day, 
 (to which, by the b3'e, we are indebted for much 
 
 1301323
 
 VI ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 pleasant reading, that otherwise would have been 
 " in the great bosom of oblivion buried") ; and 
 even while these pages were passing through the 
 press, more than one appropriate title, under consi- 
 deration, had been seized on by others, who, in thus 
 " filching from us our good name," had so far 
 " made us poor indeed," that they reduced us to 
 the necessity of preferring no name at all, to a bad 
 one. 
 
 The original articles which have been added to 
 the collection, (owing to the continued illness, for 
 many months, of one of the authors,) have been 
 taken, rather than selected from a portfolio, where 
 many such "unfinished things" have from time to 
 time been deposited, and all but forgotten. 
 
 Books like the present were allowed, in former 
 days, to find sanctuary in the parlour window-seat, 
 then the great receptacle for whatever, in litera- 
 ture, might be idly taken up, and as carelessly 
 dropped. At present, they may aspire to become 
 " bench fellows" with that large class of miscella- 
 neous compositions, the albums, annuals, books of 
 beauty, and beautiful books ; and if got up " to 
 match," may make their way to the drawing-room 
 table, along with other elegantly-bound volumes, 
 "to be had of all the booksellers" and venders of 
 knick-knacks in the kingdom.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 BY LADY MORGAN. 
 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Le Cordon Bleu . . . . . . 
 
 16 
 
 Milton's House ...... 
 
 125 
 
 St. Alban's Abbey, No. 1 . 
 
 138 
 
 No. 2. 
 
 151 
 
 Memoirs of the Macaw of a Lady of Quality . 
 
 257 
 
 BY SIR T. C. MORGAN. 
 
 
 The Public ...... 
 
 1 
 
 A First Lesson in Reading 
 
 51 
 
 The Absurdities of Men of Merit 
 
 
 70 
 
 An Essay on Coals 
 
 
 89 
 
 Curiosity 
 
 
 
 106 
 
 Rural Pleasures . 
 
 
 
 167 
 
 A Defence of Punning 
 
 
 
 . 184 
 
 The Pleasures of Hearing 
 
 
 
 . 202 
 
 The English Malady . 
 
 
 
 . 223 
 
 Liberality 
 
 
 
 . 238 
 
 Luxuries and Necessaries 
 
 
 
 . 317 
 
 Memoir of Dr. Botherum 
 
 
 
 . 333
 
 THE PUBLIC. 
 
 "Tout le monde meprise les harangeres; cependant, qui 
 oseroit risquer de les off'enser, en traversant la Halle?" 
 
 Champfort. 
 
 In the olden times, when the public was rarely 
 addressed, save from a tub, a ladder, or the foot- 
 lights of the stage, it was a modest, well-behaved 
 body corporate, as heart could desire. Settmg aside 
 an occasional lark, a sportive riot about a jew-bill, or 
 the innocent burning of a Popish chapel, ad ma- 
 jorem Dei gloriam, it kept the peace, as a discreet 
 public should do. Since, however, it has become a 
 power, and is consulted by cabinets and congresses, 
 it has grown as capricious and tyrannical as other 
 irresponsible autocrats. Puffed up with daily of- 
 ferings of mouth-honour, administered by all who 
 live by its patronage (from the Lord Chancellor on 
 his woolsack, to Mr. Professor Warren, behind his 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 THE PUBLIC. 
 
 dingy counter, inclusive), there is nothing on earth, 
 of which its Dis aqua potestas does not think itself 
 capable. 
 
 " The public," says Dumont, " is a tribunal 
 worth more than all the others put together ;" and 
 the prevalence of this opinion probably is the reason 
 why that body is constituted the great referee of 
 injured innocents. Does an actress quarrel with 
 her part, or her partner? Is a Prima Donna dis- 
 satisfied that the manager is not her devoted ad- 
 mirer ? She straightway files her bill before the 
 public, in the columns of the daily press. Does an 
 author think himself regularly " cut up" by a 
 hostile reviewer, he forthwith cites him to answer 
 interrogatories before the same authority. Is a 
 gentleman's nose pulled, or his coat beaten " after 
 the Connaught fashion," * out comes his letter to 
 the public, with " a statement of facts ;" or, if a 
 common swindler is roughly handled by the inqui- 
 sitors of Bow Street, he intreats the public to sus- 
 pend its judgment till the day of trial. 
 
 But, as if this wore not enough, there is no end 
 of the villanous cajoleries, in which such appeals 
 are ordinarily enveloped. The commonest vender 
 of the commonest article crams his advertisements 
 with fulsome epithets, in all the hyperbole of ori- 
 ental exaggeration. It is, forsooth, a humane 
 public — a charitable public — a discriminating pub- 
 lic (God bless the mark !) — and, above every thing, 
 
 * Id est, on the person of its owner.
 
 THE PUBLIC. 3 
 
 a religious public ; while the poor dupe, taking it 
 all for granted, gives itself credit for every virtue 
 under the sun, and quemlibet occidit populaiiler, 
 hunts any man to the death, who presumes to think 
 for himself, and bows not the knee before its self- 
 arrogated infallibihty. 
 
 That a writer of so logical a turn of mind as 
 Dumont should liave ranked public opinion above all 
 other tribunals, is perfectly inexplicable. " Though 
 susceptible of error," he continues, " this tribunal 
 is incorruptible. It tends perpetually to instruct 
 itself; and it contains all the wisdom and justice 
 of the nation."" 
 
 The compliment, to be sure, is but equivocal ; 
 and perhaps it was intended merely as a quaint 
 and sly bit of irony. The public may surely come 
 by its decisions more rapidly than the Court of 
 Chancery, and yet not be very expeditious : it may 
 be governed more closely by common sense than 
 our courts of law, and yet not be remarkably intel- 
 ligible ; it may act with more wisdom than " the 
 great unpaid," without being justly set down for a 
 conjuror. Then, as for its incorruptibility, is it not 
 the same public, which the strongest laws against 
 parliamentary corruption cannot bind ? and for 
 whose benefit insolvent bills are framed with meshes 
 that would let slip a whale ? What, if a direct 
 bribery of the public be not as easy, as it was in 
 ancient Rome, when corn was distributed and 
 games celebrated to purchase the voices of the 
 people, ingenuity finds a thousand by-ways for 
 
 u 2
 
 4 THE PUBLIC. 
 
 arriving at the same end. Public opinion is noto- 
 riously self-interested. The very imputed excel- 
 lence of its decisions rests on the supposition, that 
 the sum of individual interests constitutes the com- 
 mon good ; and that self-seeking, consequently, 
 must be the safest basis, on which a judgment can 
 stand. Whatever parade parliamentary orators 
 may make of the wisdom and justice of their pro- 
 posed measures, they always take care to conclude 
 with a show of something to be made, or saved, 
 by the operation. In the same spirit, and with 
 equal knowledge of the world, advertising trades- 
 men lay less stress on the beauty or goodness of 
 their wares, than on their cheapness ; and they head 
 their paragraphs, in well-leaded capitals, " full 
 twenty ^;er cent, under prime cost." 
 
 On the score of self-instruction, it must be 
 allowed that the public does possess a certain 
 tendency, or velleity rather, to learn : but it is 
 'at/To/xa6>)? t'e Kol 'o-vJ/i^aSri?, that is to say, it comes 
 at a truth when every body knows it, and not be- 
 fore : videlicet, some century, or so, after the wise 
 have commenced beating the facts into its silly 
 noddle, and have been fined, imprisoned, spit upon, 
 and reviled for their pains. Hitherto, the public 
 has very closely resembled that converted Catholic 
 gentleman, who " renounced the errors of Popery, 
 and embraced those of the Protestant church," ex- 
 changing merely one set of prejudices for another; 
 or if haply, at long intervals, it has enjoyed a lucid 
 moment, the temporary gleam of light has been
 
 THE PUBLIC. 5 
 
 followed by a deeper plunge into the pristine dark- 
 ness. 
 
 As yet, the public has very constantly been 
 doomed to follow in the career of intelligence, to 
 sit below the salt at the table of knowledge, and to 
 feed on the scraps and orts of philosophy, which 
 the more acute portion of mankind abandon, as no 
 longer wholesome and digestible. 
 
 Then for the matter of " wisdom and justice," 
 the word " Public" is but the representative of a 
 congregation, including all the fools and knaves of 
 the community — a large dilution of the few persons 
 whose opinion a man of sense would take on the 
 boiling of a potato. How, then, can an accumu- 
 lation of their several absurdities and rogueries be 
 converted into wisdom and justice ? All the first 
 judgments of the public, indeed, are prejudices, 
 adopted on the ipse dixit of some fashionable au- 
 thority ; and, if not always false, they are com- 
 monly used sophistically, to gloss over some political 
 wrong ; while a correction of the error lags haltingly 
 behind, till the mischief is completed and rendered 
 irrevocable. 
 
 " Interdum vulgus rectum v'ldet^^ says Horace, 
 and it was a large admission from one so knowing ; 
 but the worst of it is, that the vulgar are not con- 
 fined to a single grad'^ of society. Vulgar errors 
 are to be found prevailing in the first, as well as the 
 lowest ranks •, and they are too often cruel, as 
 they are false. Such, for example, is that vulgarest 
 of the vulgar — the judging men and measures by
 
 6 THE PUBLIC. 
 
 the event.* Such, too, are the placing criminality 
 in punishment, and identifying virtue with stars 
 and garters. 
 
 It is another point of vulgar wisdom, that public 
 documents, like gift horses, must not be looked in 
 the mouth ; nor any nonsense be questioned, that is 
 delivered ex cathedra. To doubt that a wig is 
 wisdom, a red coat courage, or a bar-gown wit, 
 woidd consign the sceptic to general reprobation : 
 but to deny that a well-stocked purse is a receipt 
 in full for every virtue, would incur the risk of in- 
 terdiction ab igne et aqua. 
 
 The judgments of the public being thus lightly 
 formed, it is not surprising that its favourites 
 should be as lightly taken up and let down again. 
 VVliere now is the popularity of Dr. Johnson ? 
 where that of George the Third, " the good old 
 king" ? Blucher, if he were alive, might walk the 
 streets unnoticed ; and the sun of Brodum's Balm 
 of Gilead is outshone by the superior brightness of 
 Mr. Morrison's pills. 
 
 Can that public, moreover, be really wise, which 
 is so easily led by the ears ? Eloquence is its de- 
 light ; and experience in vain declares that " fine 
 words butter no parsnips." Even foul words pos- 
 sess an unctuous quality, which causes things to be 
 
 * Niillus est turn sapiens, mitis, et formosus, 
 Tam prudens virtutihiis, caeteris fumosus, 
 Qiiin stultiis rcpulabitur, el satis dispectus. 
 Si Fortiina prosperos evertat effectus. 
 These verses are attributed to King Eldvvard the Second.
 
 THE PUBLIC. 7 
 
 swallowed, of much harder digestion than that 
 stringy esculent. The time is not so far distant, 
 when, to carry the worst measures, nothing more 
 was necessary than an energetic appeal to national 
 antipatliies, a rhodomontade of " British valour," 
 or " good old English feeling." And though a 
 bitter experience acting on men's pockets (the 
 shortest cut to their brains) may have since dis- 
 credited these particular watchwords of party, uno 
 avulso non deficit alter. The words indeed are 
 changed, but the tune continues the same : the old 
 formulae may have fallen into disuse, but newer 
 and more popular claptraps have inherited their 
 vogue — et voila tout. 
 
 If we estimate the opinion of the public by its 
 overt acts, all history teems with traits, the reverse 
 of advantageous. Was it not public opinion that 
 cast Manlius from his rock, for striving to protect 
 the people against a tyrannical oligarchy ? Was it 
 not public opinion which became tired of hearing 
 Aristides for ever called the just — that adminis- 
 tered the cicuta to Socrates — or (to come nearer to 
 our own times) that shut Gilbert Wakefield in a 
 prison, and burned Priestley's house over his head, 
 because they lifted their voices against a mad and 
 unprincipled war ? Cobbett, who must have known 
 the public to a nicety, having exploited its credulity 
 through the greater part of a long life, first by 
 humouring the loyalty and altarity of the times, 
 and afterwards by abusing kings, ministers, and 
 ** the old woman of Threadneedle Street," never
 
 8 THE PUBLIC. 
 
 made a better hit, than in his sarcastic calling us a 
 thinking people — the people, whose penal code is 
 written in blood, a thinking people ! — the eaters of 
 taxed bread a thinking people ! ! It shows little 
 power of thought to found morality upon station, 
 and to take philosophy from party reviews — to bite 
 at every commercial bubble, to uphold every esta- 
 blished abuse, simply because it is established, or to 
 take alarm, whenever the political shepherds amuse 
 themselves with crying wolf in broad daylight. 
 
 It may perhaps be objected, on the strength of 
 the change in watchwords, already noticed, that 
 the errors of the public are not immortal, and that 
 opinion is ever on the advance. True : we are old 
 enough to have outlived many well-conditioned 
 absurdities; and that, too, in spite of the strongest 
 efforts to sustain them. But what are these among 
 so many ? 
 
 Quid te exempta jiivat spiiiis e pluribus una / 
 
 Are no new sophisms rising into vogue ? Are no 
 efforts making and favourably received, to revive 
 such as are defunct, or to bolster such as are faUing 
 to ruin ? Who shall say that humbug does not 
 fully maintain its ancient rule, or that plausibility 
 has lost any of its prescriptive right to pass for 
 reality ? Society seems capable of bearing only a 
 certain quantity of truth at a time ; and those who 
 strive to overdose their contemporaries, do little 
 more than hurry them prematurely into some new 
 absurdity.
 
 THE PUBLIC. 9 
 
 If the public, then, be such an hospital of in- 
 curables, why, it will be asked, set about curing 
 them ? The question is a smart question, but 
 rather hastily put. Who said that any such design 
 was on foot, or that the Essays now offered for pe- 
 rusal have any such arriere-pensee 9 Books in this 
 age (and it is their distinctive merit) are written, 
 as Peter Pindar's razors were made — to sell ; and 
 the author who risks his peace of mind in the vain 
 attempt to make mankind either wiser or happier 
 than they choose to be, is a mere philanthropic 
 Quixote. 
 
 It is all very well to talk of these matters, en 
 these generate, and, in a half-jesting way, to no- 
 tice absurdities, which each reader may lay to the 
 account of his neighbours ; but to sit down dog- 
 gedly to prove yourself more knowing than the 
 mass of mankind, and to disturb social order, by 
 making folly discontented, or roguery distrustful, 
 is a sort of Curtius-like proceeding, at which the 
 very children would scoff. Never was it more 
 necessary than now to chatter with the apes,* and 
 howl with the wolves. Think with the wise, if you 
 can ; but keep your thoughts to yourself, if you 
 don't like being stoned. Let your opinions be con- 
 cealed even from the brother of your love, and the 
 wife of your bosom. But, in mixed societies, fail 
 not also to add a strong touch of the hypocrite, to 
 boot, if you would not be the butt of every paltry 
 
 B 5
 
 10 THE PUBLIC. 
 
 knave, who desires to derive profit or pleasure from 
 gibbeting all those who " wear their hearts upon 
 their sleeves for (the public) daws to peck at." 
 
 In publishing, an author of course desires to be 
 read. But to be read, he must humour the mass 
 of purchasers, and not simply consult the select 
 few. Hannah Glass is a much better thumbed 
 author than Babbage or Bentham ; and Sir Walter 
 himself would have been infinitely less popular than 
 he is, had he set up as a teacher or reformer of 
 mankind. He who would see his volume on every 
 club-table, the ornament of every boudoir, must 
 flatter and encourage every fashionable vice and 
 reigning folly ; must support every interest on earth 
 but that of mankind. Let such a man write religious 
 novels, record the experiences of hysterical spin- 
 sters, and celebrate the conversions of bedlamites, 
 or the election of rope-sanctified sinners ; but let 
 him not touch the sacred landmarks of gothic ig- 
 norance, nor lift the veil through which his great 
 great grandfather viewed law, physic, divinity, and 
 the nature of things. 
 
 If possible, let him indeed make it a rule in 
 writing to confine himself to those " airy nothings" 
 qui ne tirent pas a consequence. Twaddle is your 
 only wear ; and common-place, which disturbs 
 no one's complacency, has the readiest market. 
 Among all the favourites of our times, Byron was 
 perhaps the only original thinker, and the excep- 
 tion admirably proves the rule. 
 
 Such are the principles which steer an author 
 safely over the rocks of criticism ; and the reader
 
 THE PUBLIC. 11 
 
 is earnestly requested to believe that by them the 
 pages here offered to his notice will be squared. 
 
 It is a monstrous abuse which has crept into 
 fashion among readers of a certain class, " qui 
 entendent finesse, et qui rientendent pas raison," to 
 be discontented with what lies on the surface of the 
 page, and to exert a perverse ingenuity in prying 
 into the author's concealed doctrines ; and that, 
 too, for the worst purposes of malice and detrac- 
 tion. A true and faithful reader will take an 
 author on his word, and will not indulge in any 
 superfine interpretations ; but even when he can- 
 not seize the drift of an argument, will rather sus- 
 pect his author of trifling than of mischief. It is 
 hard, indeed, because a man deals in manuscript, if 
 he may not sometimes be simple without deceit, or 
 silly without malice. Against such nasuti homines 
 as these, it is as well, once for all, to enter a protest ; 
 and to request all who amuse themselves with fish- 
 ing for under-currents of meaning, and in hunting 
 for mares'" nests, if they must poach on this manor, 
 at least to remember that the mischief is of their 
 own making. 
 
 " Non me ne fate autore, io non vo' guai." 
 
 If Socrates, as the great Frederick said, preferred 
 the poison cup to holding his tongue, that is no 
 precedent for other people. No imputations, there- 
 fore, of felonious wisdom, if you please, good gen- 
 tlemen : stick to the simplicity of the text, and keep 
 your quibbles for a better occasion. 
 
 On the other hand, there is a class of persons
 
 12 THE PUBLIC. 
 
 mightily given to the enthusiastic, by their own 
 chimney-corners — great admirers of public devo- 
 tion in others — flaming patriots when it costs 
 nothing ; but deplorably complaisant when there 
 is any thing to be got by subserviency. These will 
 open upon us like a pack of foxhounds, with an out- 
 cry about moral cowardice, dereliction of duty, base 
 compromise of principle, and all that sort of thing. 
 
 According to these persons, if the world goes 
 wrong, the fault is with its instructors. The 
 fanatic and persecuting public are honest in their 
 cruelty and blindness. They know no better ; and 
 if writers will but teach them, they will be equally 
 eager to defend the right. If society has grown 
 up from its nonage, to the point of civilization at 
 which it stands, there can be no reason wliy it may 
 not be still further corrected. The people come 
 into the market of knowledge and lay down their 
 pence freely for such shreds and patches of truth 
 as their schoolmasters are willing to afford them 
 for their money. Instead of grumbling, then, at 
 the public, of which you yourself are but a com- 
 ponent atom, open your budget manfully, take out 
 a handful of the truest truths, and boldly fling it in 
 the face of mankind. Yes, and be held up to ridi- 
 cule as the scapegoat of honesty ; to be kicked, and 
 cuffed, and disfranchised, and disqualified for oneV 
 pains. 
 
 It is no such pleasure to forfeit the sympathies 
 of society. Worth, itself, may be 
 
 " but a cliarter, 
 " To be mankind's distinguished martyr;"
 
 THE PUBLIC. 13 
 
 and ^' vitam impendere vero" is certainly a very 
 dignified and respectable position ; but not " all 
 alone, Proudy" — not to no earthly purpose. There 
 can be no manner of doubt, that if all who hold 
 sound doctrines would manfully own them, and 
 would " keep together in their chivalry" as steadily 
 as the wilful teachers of error, they are numerous 
 enough to win public opinion, and force the per- 
 verse to respect their liberty of thought and speech. 
 
 It is certain that the partizans of moral truth 
 betray their cause ten times a day, not only by an 
 unworthy timidity which prevents them from openly 
 displaying it, but what is infinitely more infa- 
 mous, by joining in the outcry against honester and 
 bolder men. En attendant, however, it is rather too 
 much to expect from an individual that he should 
 risk his eyes and his cheeks, in a solitary and un- 
 aided effort to " bell the cat." 
 
 A popular writer has well observed, that " though 
 those coarse correctors of honesty, the gibbet and 
 the stake, are gone out of fashion, yet the ingenuity 
 of power has invented other methods of inforcing 
 silence or belief, not quite so effectual, but more 
 painful to the mind of the sufferer." 
 
 The chain may be broken and the thumbscrew 
 may rest in the cabinets of the curious, but influ- 
 ence and detraction are instruments of torture no 
 less effectual ; and these, thanks to the slavish 
 readiness of the masses to compromise their own 
 interests, and to join in the cry against those whom 
 they ought to protect, are still in the fullest acti-
 
 14 THE PUBLIC. 
 
 vity. Like the Irishman in the water, they will be 
 drowned, and nobody shall help them. The utmost 
 mercy to be expected at their hands by the man who 
 would do violence to this amiable propensity, and 
 would enlighten the public, whether it will or no, 
 is to be shut up in Bedlam, with the other catego- 
 ries of lunatics, who are insane in a different way 
 from those of their fellow-sufferers, who are per- 
 mitted to go at large. 
 
 Once more, therefore, and once for all, " notice 
 is hereby given" that these volumes are volumes in 
 the queen's peace, volumes with no offence in their 
 mouths ; that they are desirous of enjoying their 
 own sense or nonsense, without let or molestation 
 to the sense or nonsense of the world at large. 
 Those who delight to imagine that " les vessies sont 
 des lanternes" are welcome to their whim, provided 
 they will leave other folks alone, and not cry haro 
 against all whom in their wantonness they may 
 suspect of being suspicious. 
 
 Nay, if, in spite of such protestations, some rea- 
 sons in behalf of forbidden truths should by accident 
 have crept into these innocent pages, such reasons 
 are at once admitted to be of no avail, against any 
 lawful or customary authority to the contrary. 
 Those in possession are hereby acknowledged to 
 have a plenary right to make fair and foul weather 
 at their pleasure, and to place the heart on which- 
 ever side of the body it seems good to them. 
 Whenever it is asserted that such a tiling " must 
 be," that " such a consequence flows from such and
 
 THE PUBLIC. 15 
 
 such undisputed premises/* this is intended as a 
 simple declaration of the historical fact, that such 
 is the case with respect to the understandings of 
 those who know no better — of those obstinately 
 freethinking logicians, who will have a will of their 
 own. It is not pretended that such consequences 
 are theologically true ; nor is it meant to force any 
 to believe the evidence of their own senses, if their 
 instincts or their interests (which are often one and 
 the same) happen to point another way.
 
 16 LE CORDON BLEU. 
 
 LE CORDON BLEU.* 
 
 From an unpublished work. 
 
 " La <»astrouomie n'est autre chose que la reflexion qui 
 apprecie, appliquee a la science qui ameliore." 
 
 We live in awful times ! By we, I mean we 
 women. Power has departed from us, passions 
 are things over which we no longer have control, 
 love has become a calculation, matrimony a spec, 
 and friendship (that peculiar attribute of our sex) 
 *' but a name." Bright eyes now shine in vain, 
 
 • "Cordon bleu," an honorary distinction conferred on the 
 first class of female cooks in Paris, either in allusion to their 
 blue aprons, or to the order, whose blue ribbon was so long 
 considered as the adequate recompense of all the highest 
 merit in the highest classes. The Fermicr General who 
 built the palace of the Bourbon Klysee, became not more ce- 
 lebrated for his exquisite dinners, than for tiie moral courage 
 with which he attributed their excellence to his female cook, 
 Marie, when such a chef was scarcely known in the French 
 kitclien ; for when Marie served up a " jjolil diner de- 
 lirant" she was " called for " like other prima-donnas, and 
 her health drank by the style of " Le cordon bleu."
 
 LE CORDON BLEU. 17 
 
 when opposed to the sparkle of a cigar ; the pret- 
 tiest ancle may withdraw itself within the cumbrous 
 comforts of a trailing petticoat, for it is powerless 
 against breasts protected by egotism or a Peter- 
 sham. Cinderella's slipper might be sent round 
 from club to club, without increasing the throb of 
 a single heart, even in " the guards and Crock- 
 ford's." Neither lajeune France, nor the dandyism 
 of England could now furnish a man to extatise 
 over a corsage with St. Preux, or to envy with 
 Waller the pressure of a zone : though 
 
 Give me but wliat tluit girdle bound. 
 Take all the rest the world goes round, 
 
 might still be applied, in the ardor of jockeyism, to 
 the girth of the favourite of the field, it never would 
 apostrophize the cincture that marks the symmetry, 
 " fine by degrees, and elegantly less," of the best 
 dressed subject of Victorine or Carson. The days 
 when the rape of the lock agitated society to its 
 centre, are now like the days beyond the flood ; and 
 the times when women were all charming, and men 
 all charmed, are as the nights of Arabian fiction. 
 
 Women of those times — where lay your secret? 
 My own opinion is, that it lay in the kitchen ! 
 
 "Ma belle," said the gallant Henri IV. to one 
 of Marie de Medici's maids of honor, — " quel est 
 le chemin a voire caur ? Par Veglise^ Sire .'" was 
 the prompt and piquant reply : but had those fe- 
 male Sommit^s of the reign of his grandson, the 
 Maintenons, the Contis, and the Soubises been in- 
 terrogated before a star-chamber of coquettes, as
 
 18 LE CORDON BLEU. 
 
 to what was the true road to royal hearts, they 
 might, on their own experience, have answered, 
 par vos cotelettes, Mesdames. 
 
 It is a fact that women never understood the 
 kitchen better, than in that epoch of their greatest 
 power. They understood it in its physiology, in 
 its morahty, and in its politics. The immortal 
 cotelettes a la Maintenon of the queen- mistress of 
 Louis XIV. were as much an expedient of the 
 times, as her revocation of the Edict of Nantes ; 
 and her drag^es and her dragonnades were alike 
 directed to the service of her own unmeasured am- 
 bition. The best educated English women of the 
 present day scarcely know the materiel of an entree^ 
 or the elements which give its character to an en- 
 tremet; or can tell when an hors-d'oeuvre should come 
 in, or apiece de resistance should go out ;* but this 
 great stateswoman, this elegant writer, and best 
 dresser of her age, — she who governed France, and 
 influenced Europe, — was likewise capable of regula- 
 ting the most modest menage, with equal genius 
 and equal attention to details. 
 
 There is on record a letter of Madame de Main- 
 tenon, which should be studied by all housekeepers, 
 like their breviary. It is that, in which she lays 
 out the expenditure of her thriftless brother's house 
 and table, and tries to regulate the economy of her 
 
 • A fair friend of mine having inadvertently ordered her 
 Irish footman to ring tlie bell in the middle of a first course, 
 he replied, in the spirit of a superior savoir faire, " If I do, 
 ma'am, sure the goose wrill come up !"
 
 LE CORDON BLEU. 19 
 
 careless, slovenly sister-in-law's wardrobe, whom 
 she reproaches with knowing as little of the science 
 of the toilet as of that of the kitchen. * Such arts 
 may be " the scoff of fools," but they will ever re- 
 main " the reverence of the wise ;" for the woman 
 who, under the pressure of necessity, can first dress 
 a dinner, and then dress herself, to please the pa- 
 late of the most fastidious, and the taste of the 
 most precise, will be found adequate to every other 
 exigency, in any combination, by which man (the 
 creature of sense and appetite) may be saved, 
 served, or gratified. 
 
 Women are nature's own cooks ; and the power 
 which man has usurped in the kitchen, as in the 
 state, arose in a temporary necessity (a necessity 
 now giving way to steam -kitchens and hot hearths) 
 the demand for physical force. In all epochs of so- 
 ciety, what man eats must mainly be determined 
 by climates and races ; but in all, the manner and 
 fitness of his meal must depend on the intelligence 
 and science which are brought to its preparation : 
 and there it is, that the adroitness, the patience, 
 and the keen senses f of the sex, are super-emi- 
 nently applicable. 
 
 ♦ " Si ce calcul," she concludes, " pent vous etre utile, je 
 n'aurais, pas de regret a la peine que j'ai prise de le faire ; 
 et du moius je vous aurai fait voir que je sais quelque chose 
 du menage.'^ — Lettres de Madame de M aintenon, v. i. 
 f "The pleasant savoury smell 
 So quicken'd appetite, that I methought 
 Could not but taste it."— Paradise Lost.
 
 20 LE CORDON BLEU. 
 
 The children of the spicy East and dew-drop- 
 ping South are provided by nature with delicate 
 appetites, and with all the stimulating condiments 
 necessary to a fastidious gastronomy. The northern 
 tribes, voracious and indiscriminate in the urgency 
 of their brute appetites, fall foul of whatever first 
 substantially presents itself to their cravings. To 
 the stomach of an ostrich, the tender and too- 
 easily digestible fibre is no joke ; and to the shiver- 
 ing little animals of the Pole, who feed the lamp of 
 life as other lamps are fed, imbibing heat and nou- 
 rishment from the same source, a dead seal is worth a 
 covey of partridges ; and the rank savour of raw fish 
 dried in the wind is more gratifying, than the most 
 delicate fumet of the best preserved venison. But, 
 amidst these coarser outlines of nature's adapta- 
 tions, there are still concealed shadings and soften- 
 ings of tone ; and when circumstance and civiliza- 
 tion commenced their triumphs over the sterner 
 necessities, woman, with her sensitive organization, 
 must have been the first to discover culinary im- 
 provements, and reduce them to practice. 
 
 The women, indeed, must have early found that 
 the animal susceptibility to civilization (that is to 
 domestication and taming) lies in the stomach ; 
 and that those species alone are capable of the pro- 
 cess, whose will is eminently obedient to their ap- 
 petites. The inference from the animal to the human 
 stomach could not have been lost on female pene- 
 tration ; and its application to the purposes of influ- 
 ence was probably among the first uses of the dis-
 
 LE CORDON BLEU. 21 
 
 covery of Prometheus. From that day to this, the 
 most stubborn and rebellious characters have been 
 remarkable for their indifference to the art of eat- 
 ing ; and, from Esau's mess of pottage, to Andrew 
 Marvel's shoulder of mutton, the connexion be- 
 tween spare diet and dogged obstinacy has remained 
 unshaken. 
 
 I'he earliest cookery on record will be found 
 in the history of the Hebrews ; and it is there 
 stated that the collation set before the angelic vi- 
 sitants of Abraham was prepared by Sarah ; — a 
 proof of the superior science of the future mother of 
 nations. That the patriarchal women presided 
 over the confection of bread may be inferred from 
 the form it received, which was long and tapering, 
 such as is still called " lady's fingers." The Jews, 
 therefore, broke their bread, having no necessity 
 for cutting it ; and their bread was so eminently 
 good, that it was adopted as a general expression 
 for viands of all descriptions. The Hebrew Cor- 
 dons bleus also excelled in confectionary. So early 
 as the mission of Moses, offerings of confectionary 
 were ordained by the law ; and cakes of honey, 
 flour, and oil, evince the ingenuity and savoir 
 viwe of the fair descendants of Sarah. 
 
 That gastronomy was not neglected among the 
 Egyptian sciences, we have proofs in the picture 
 histories of the country, so lately brought into evi- 
 dence; and though the hardships incidental to a 
 sojourn in the desert must have interfered with the 
 lore derived by the Hebrew women from that
 
 22 LE CORDON BLEU. 
 
 quarter, there can be little doubt that such re- 
 sources as circumstances left at their disposition, 
 were rendered more fully available, through the 
 culinary ability which was brought to their pre- 
 paration. 
 
 The refreshments offered to David by that pro- 
 found intriguante, but excellent housewife, Abigail, 
 though of a pastoral character, contained the ele- 
 ments of the choicest cookery — barley, beans, len- 
 tils, peas, dried figs, and grapes, butter, (or cream) 
 honey, oil, and succulent veal j but how were these 
 ingredients combined, and how served ? Had 
 Abigail retained a tradition, or had she, in her 
 philosophy, reconquered a knowledge of the uni- 
 versality and immense capabilities of her veal ? 
 Did she subdue the conqueror of Goliah with an 
 oreille de veau a la Tartare ? or mollify him with a 
 creme a la moelle, — the head and front of modern 
 laitaye ; but also within the reach of the most 
 rustic dairy? The solution of this question would 
 involve the profoundest calculation of conflicting 
 elements. A nation which wanted metals for 
 arming its warriors, could hardly have possessed a 
 respectable batterie de cuisine ; but then the tra- 
 ditions of the table are amongst those most faith- 
 fully preserved ; and woman, under the pressure of 
 adverse circumstances, manifests such wonderful 
 resources ! 
 
 The Jews, however, were an obstinate race ; 
 and, where prejudice interfered, hardened their 
 stomachs, no less than their hearts, against " the
 
 LE CORDON BLEU. 23 
 
 goods the gods provided them." Thus, to the last, 
 they remained insensible to the merits of the pig, 
 that animal encydop^dique, — and were but little 
 touched by the gastronomic capabilities of fish. In 
 like manner, the Egyptians abjured mutton ; (they 
 had probably no south-downs ; for Wales, and its 
 delicious breed of sheep, were as yet undiscovered) 
 — and they held beans in Pythagorean horror. 
 
 Not, however, that such self-denial is always to 
 be placed to the account of prejudice. St. Clement 
 of Alexandria tells us that natural reasons may, in 
 many instances, be given for it. The abstinences 
 imposed by law or religion, he says, have generally 
 originated in some wholesome, or prudential con- 
 sideration. 
 
 Tims Moses, Mahomet, and Father Matthew are 
 in the same category ; for the swine, the wine, and 
 the whiskey inhibited by each on religious grounds, 
 were alike injurious to the health, or to the morality 
 of the parties, to whom they were forbidden. It is 
 always easier to fanatise, than reason man into 
 virtue. 
 
 Whatever progress was made in the culinary code 
 of the Hebrews, women appear to have taken the 
 initiative. The spices, gums, and essences intro- 
 duced by Queen Sheba into the kitchens of Jeru- 
 salem, were valuable innovations ; and the syrup of 
 Guimauve of modern times is said to be made 
 after one of the receipts furnished to " les offices" 
 of Solomon, by that great woman. Cleopatra, that 
 first-rate jue^i/e maitresse and efficient stateswoman, 
 was not ignorant of the resources which the kitchen
 
 24 LE CORDON BLEU. 
 
 oflPers to ambition and to coquetry, to politics or 
 passion. The exquisite luxury of her banquets 
 was among the instruments by which she reigned 
 over the hearts of her lovers, and subdued the 
 enemies of her country. The suppers she gave to 
 Caesar obtained for her the honours of a Roman 
 Empress ; and Anthony's love of fish and of fish- 
 ing was made instrumental to her deep political 
 purposes. In spite of the religious prejudices of 
 her subjects, she accompanied him in his piscatory 
 excursions ; and, her frolicksome habits taken into 
 consideration, she may have assisted in dressing the 
 salmon she had helped to catch. 
 
 Among the means by which Agrippina subju- 
 gated the Emperor Claudius, her receipt for dres- 
 sing mushrooms was not the least important. 
 Claudius loved this dish, " not wisely, but too 
 well ;'* and died, — not because the fungus was 
 poisoned, but — because he was a glutton. The 
 close alliance between the edible and the poisonous 
 species of this genus is a sharp lesson given by 
 nature to the gluttonous appetite; but its daily 
 admonitions have been very uniformly set at 
 nought ; and we have abundant classic authority 
 for supposing that Claudius's case was by no 
 means a rare one among the Romans. 
 
 The masters of the world, however, were not 
 master-cooks ; and the now popular entremet of the 
 champiynon d la creme was a delicacy little dreamed 
 of in their philosophy. * That delicious dish is now 
 
 • As a general rule, house mushrooms are always the best 
 and safest.
 
 LE CORDON BLEU. 25 
 
 de rigueur, in the second course of the spring and au- 
 tumn wiCWM of all civilized tables; and the woman who 
 is ignorant of ihepoco meno and poco piu of its con- 
 stituent elements, (so essential to the digestion and 
 health of her husband and his guests,) is unworthy, 
 not only of an imperial throne, but to sit at the 
 head of any board, more dignified than the cod's- 
 head and shoulder table of a Bow-bell amphitryon. 
 Such a woman is fit for nothing but the perpetra- 
 tion of a " toad in the hole," or a participation in 
 the mysteries of the apple-dumpling, which, if they 
 "perplexed a monarch,"* are intelligible to the 
 meanest capacities of kitchen-maids and servants of 
 all work. 
 
 With the Roman empire fell, in Europe, the great 
 but unscientific kitchen of antiquity. The secrets 
 of Vitellius were lost, the prize dishes of the 
 Aventine fell from the memory of man, and the 
 leaves of the imperial " Almanac des gourmands," 
 like those of the sibyl, were scattered to the winds ; 
 one solitary volume only finding its way to pos- 
 terity, and that one rescued from oblivion by a 
 physician of the 18th century, f Long, however, 
 
 * See — not Milton, but — Peter Pindar. 
 
 f There were three persons who bore the name of Apicius, 
 all celebrated for their culinary science. Cselius Apicius, 
 who lived in the reign of Tiberius, wrote a work on Roman 
 cookery, of which an edition was printed in the year 1705 
 by Doctor Martin Lister, physician to Queen Anne; un- 
 dertaken probably in deference to the well-known tastes of his 
 royal patient. 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 26 LE CORDON BLEU. 
 
 before tlie final extinction of the Roman power, 
 gastronomy shared the fate of the other sciences, 
 and faded by degrees, with the fading genius and 
 virtue of the people. The learning of the Romans 
 was, indeed, all second-hand — borrowed from the 
 more civilized countries, which their ferocious 
 valour overthrew : and their start from savagery to 
 refinement, in the table as in their other tastes, is 
 more marked by caprice and expense, than by a 
 true sense of the beautiful or the sublime. The 
 culinary precision of Geta, who placed his dishes 
 alphabetically, was not learning, but pedantry ; and 
 though the secretary of Heliogabalus passed his 
 life in writing out receipts and bills of fare, art 
 owed little or nothing to that extravagant despot, 
 with whom il n'etait de sauce, que la cherts. His 
 •pates de Crete de coq, and his tites de papageux^ 
 prove that to be an Emperor, is not enough to 
 constitute a good cook. The plain good woman's 
 dish, — the alouettes en sahni, a la bonne bouryeoise 
 — would leave all the inventions of the imperial 
 gastronome at an immeasurable distance. 
 
 The irruption of the barbarians extinguished 
 the last lingering lights of the kitchen (such as 
 they were) with all other lights ; and their intel- 
 lectual couvre-feu operated on the fires of the hot 
 hearth, as on those of poetic and of scientific inspira- 
 tion. The northern races, " hungry as the sea, 
 could devour as much ;" and quantity, with them, 
 was a far more important consideration than qua- 
 lity. Antiquarian lore has dived laboriously into
 
 LE CORDON BLEU. 27 
 
 the culinary arrangements of those days ; but, to 
 appreciate the barbarian kitchens of the fifth cen- 
 tury, it is enough to have tasted the national 
 cookery of the same races in the nineteenth : sour 
 crout, pic kled herrings, and lusciously sweet pud- 
 dings, followed by the final leg of mutton, ob- 
 ligato, are still the staple of a German dinner ; and 
 " even unto this day," the national dinners of the 
 Saxon heptarchy may be traced in a genuine 
 English bill of fare of their descendants. 
 
 There may be some excuse for northern igno- 
 rance on this point, in " tlie divinity wliich hedged 
 in" their women, and which deemed it sacrilege to 
 devote them to any coarse employment. The north 
 men would have blushed to turn their noble wives 
 into turnspits ; so the men took the cookery to them- 
 selves, and a pretty mess they made of it. The 
 crude fibre of an old ox satisfied the tastes of the 
 rude worshippers of Odin ; and the heroes of Thor, 
 like those of Homer, disdained not to prepare it 
 with their own hands. The women, indeed, were 
 consulted as oracles ; but it was on all subjects, 
 save that which concerned the daily interests and 
 comforts of the community. 
 
 Charlemagne, to whom no source of social civi- 
 lization was wholly unknown, was the first of his 
 race to turn cookery to political purposes ; and to 
 act upon that maxim, so extensively amplified by 
 one of the last of his descendants, that la majesty 
 du trone est dans la cuisine. He first taught his 
 peers to eat like gentlemen ; and raised the culi- 
 
 c 2
 
 28 LE CORDON BLEU. 
 
 nary profession to a state dignity, by institut- 
 ing a domestic order, still found in European 
 courts, — les officiers de la bouche. He made 
 sovereign princes his waiters " for the nonce ;" he 
 put Paladins into his pantries, and Bishops over 
 his butteries ; and set the democratic example of 
 degrading the privileged classes, by reducing them 
 to menial servitude, and turning their " mean am- 
 bition" to the " pride of kings" — the valet aille of 
 Louis XIV. was the highest development of the 
 schemes of Charlemagne.* 
 
 To the festivities of this monarch, the women 
 were recalled ; and something of their taste and 
 ingenuity became soon visible in the Imperial table. 
 Pheasants were served at Aix la Chapelle with gilt 
 spurs ; and peacocks were dished with their gor- 
 geous tails in full fan. The service, says a chro- 
 nicler, was attended, par des jeunes petits pages, 
 chamarres d'or, et jjur de gentes pucelles. 
 
 Admitted to the table, the women were soon 
 
 • At the coronation dinners of the Emperors of Germany 
 at Aix-la-Chapelle and Frankfort, the Imperial table was 
 directed by the Nine Electors — tlie modern Kings of Enrope 
 — the Marquis of Braudebourg, " comme grande chara- 
 bellain, porte un bassin d'arjent avec aiguieres et des 
 serviettes parfumees ; il donna I'eau sur les mains de I'Em- 
 pereur. Le Palatin du Rhin, portant qnatre plats d'argent 
 rcmplis de viandes, les posa devant TEmporeur ; puis le Roi 
 de Bolieme portant un tasse rempli de vin, presenta a boire 
 a I'Empereur." After the feast was over, these illustrious 
 valets were left to scramble for the plunder of the table. — 
 " Creation de la Dignite Imperiale, -par Claude d'Alhois."
 
 LE CORDON BLEU. 29 
 
 found necessary to the government of the kitchen ; 
 and females of the highest rank {les plus titr^es) 
 occupied themselves with the interior of their house- 
 holds, in preparing aliment for their families, and 
 for stranger guests. Amidst the barbaric pomp of 
 their knightly husbands, some touches of refine- 
 ment were thus introduced to vary the homeliness 
 of their ancient fare. Under the deviceful imagi- 
 nation of the sex, eels appeared with the darts of 
 serpents and the eyes of basilisks ; and dwarfs 
 jumped out of pasties, with aultres joyemitees pa- 
 reilles; which, absurd as they may now appear, 
 were then well fitted to set the table in a roar. 
 
 Scarcely had the merchants of Venice re-intro- 
 duced the spices into Europe, when the women in- 
 troduced them into their domestic cookery; and 
 when the perfumes of Araby the blest breathed 
 their odours over the ill- scented chambers of 
 royalty, they were transported to the kitchen, till 
 even the fish was quelquefois cuit a I'eau rose. 
 
 But the Church also took a considerable part in 
 culinary reform, and joined the women in forward- 
 ing the social entertainments of their flocks. The 
 great abbeys were schools of gastronomy ; the 
 learning of the Benedictines was applied to the re- 
 fectory; and many lady abbesses, canonized for 
 their fasts and vigils, better deserved a place in 
 the album sanctorum for their confectionary and 
 their compounds. Monasteries were indeed the 
 asylums of culinary, as of all other learning ; and 
 to this day *' latin de cuisine" is applied to express
 
 so LE CORDON BLEU. 
 
 what in English is called dog latin — as intimating 
 the imperfect latinity of those friars, who, in their 
 devotion to gastronomic studies, had necessarily- 
 become less perfect proficients in their humanities, 
 than their brethren, who knew no other proof of 
 the pudding than the eating. 
 
 But, in spite of the priests and of the women, 
 the progress of the art was slow and vacil- 
 lating. Though the potages must have been of 
 early date in monasteries and in hospitals, soup, in 
 its modern acceptation, was perhaps first histo- 
 rically noticed in the commencement of the fif- 
 teenth century. The charming chronicler, Mon- 
 strelet, describing the festivities on the marriage of 
 Catherine de Valois with our Henry the Fifth, 
 mentions tliat the Archbishop of Sens, at the head 
 of a procession of the clergy of his diocese, served 
 up the soup and wine to the bridal chamber of the 
 royal pair. 
 
 About the same epoch, accident favoured les 
 droits de la louche, in France, by raising its 
 ministers to a high position. During the insanity 
 of Charles the Sixth, the Comte de St. Paul raised 
 a militia in Paris of five hundred garcons bouchers, 
 commanded by their own officers, the master pro- 
 prietors of la boucherie. This corps, having fought 
 well at the battle of Azincourt, retained their mi- 
 litary grades and plunder ; and from these knights 
 of tlie marrowbones and cleaver, descended some 
 of the noble houses of France — the illustrious fa- 
 milies of Saint-Yon, Thibeaut, ^^-et autres" says
 
 LE CORDON BLEU. 31 
 
 the chronicler, owe their origin to layrande boucherie 
 de Paris of the fifteentli century. 
 
 If the servants of the abattoirs of Paris were thus 
 mounting the baronial coronet, an English Queen 
 (but a French woman) raised her cook to the rank 
 of an English gentleman. Eleanor de Provence, 
 the consort of Henry the Third of England, struck 
 by the superior art of Richard de Norreys, her 
 sergeant cook, induced the king to grant him the 
 manor of Ockholt, or Ockwell, in Berkshire. From 
 this eminent artist, so generously appreciated by his 
 royal mistress, descended a family, which, in the 
 days of Elizabeth, ranked high in the state ; and 
 represented that class — their country's boast and 
 pride — the gentry of England, under its most re- 
 spected phasis. 
 
 About one mile from the ancient town of Bray, 
 immortalized in story by its versatile, yet ever- 
 consistent vicar, still rises for the delight of the 
 antiquary and the triumph of the gastronome, one 
 of the most perfect and interesting specimens ex- 
 tant, of the old English manor houses of the middle 
 ages : it was erected by John de Norreys, the 
 direct descendant of Richard, the queen's cook. 
 John de Norreys bequeathed, by will, a large sum 
 for the completion of this mansion ; or, as he ex- 
 presses it, for the " full building and making uppe 
 of the said chappel, with the chambers adjoining, 
 within my manor of Ocholt, in the parish of Bra\ , 
 not yet finished." Of the portions of this manor- 
 house still existing, its gables, porches, and beau-
 
 32 LE CORDON BLEU. 
 
 tiful windows of six bays, the most remarkable 
 feature is the quartering of the arms of the his- 
 torical cook with the armorial bearings of the 
 proudest peers of England. Here, among the 
 antelopes of Henry the Sixth, the eagles of Mar- 
 garet d'Anjou, the crests of the Beauforts, and 
 the lambriquins of the Beauchamps, are still to be 
 seen the beaver of Richard de Norreys, with the 
 appropriate motto of " faitlifully serve," borrowed 
 from the calling of the founder of the family. 
 
 The wars of the Roses were unfavourable to the 
 arts ; and the English kitchen retrograded with the 
 rest. The " household bokes,"" so carefully kept by 
 the Lancasters, were lost or destroyed ; though that 
 of the old Countess of Hereford * is still extant ; 
 and the sensual but thriftless Yorks, as careless of 
 their domestic details, as of those of the state, left 
 few lights behind tliem to guide the researches of 
 posterity. Still, Edward the Fourth, all voluptuary 
 as he might be, was a cautious one ; and sinning by 
 rule, he escaped the penalty of excess. " The doc- 
 teur of physique stondeth much in the king's pre- 
 sence at his meles, counselling or answering to the 
 king's grace, which diet is best according ; and to 
 tell the nature and operation of all metes. And 
 much he should talke with the steward, chamerlayn, 
 asserver, and the maister cook, to devise, by coun- 
 sayle, what metes and drinks is best according with 
 the king."f 
 
 * The gra»)clmotlier of the immortal Henry the Fifth, 
 t In tlie Liber Niger, or household-book, of Edward IV.
 
 LE CORDON BLEU. 33 
 
 The elevation of the Tudors, accompanied, as it 
 probably was, by the introduction of Welsh mutton, 
 formed an epoch in the science ; and, while it served 
 the parsimonious habits of the seventh Henry, it 
 may have afforded a not-neglected hint to his 
 luxurious successor. But it was the feasts of the 
 field of gold that gave a more decided impulse to 
 culinary progress in England, by the many and 
 vast improvements, then and there borrowed from 
 the cooks of more civilized France, which, even 
 before the time of Louis the Eleventh, had pre- 
 ceded all the northern states in gastronomy. It 
 was one of the Preux of that nation, who intro- 
 duced the shalot from the plains of Ascalon 5 and 
 La belle chatelaine la dame de ses pensees first em- 
 ployed it in the ragouts of her table. Parsley 
 was brought from Italy, with the first rudiments 
 of that Opera Buffa, which still bears, in Paris, its 
 original name j while the saucisseuses of the fifteenth 
 century gave a promise of fame and fortune, from 
 their manipulation of pork, which the charcutiers 
 of the seventeeth are well known to have realised. 
 
 But the epoch of la renaissance (a term which 
 has shed round Francis the First a glory denied 
 him on the plains of Pavia) founded a professional 
 chair for cookery, which has never since been va- 
 cated, in all the revolutions of French fortunes. 
 Francis the First again, for the third time, brought 
 back the women to the court, whence the ferocious 
 Louis the Eleventh had banished them. His Italian 
 daughter-in-law, Catherine de Medicis, being placed 
 
 c 5
 
 34t LE CORDON BLEU. 
 
 at the head of the royal household, brought to her 
 lofty position all the lights and science of the Ita- 
 lian " office," then the first in the world. Confec- 
 tionary, the poetry of the kitchen, was at its acme ; 
 and les patisseurs de la Dauphine shed a glory on 
 the whole order, by the ingenuity tliey displayed in 
 their architectural and allegorical structures. They 
 were soon incorporated into a company ; and, in 
 the reign of Cliarles the Ninth, the son of this 
 foundress of Vart sucre^ they received a statute, 
 " ou Von remarque le privilege defabriquer la pain 
 a chanter messe." 
 
 The French cookery displayed in the field of 
 gold made an obvious impression upon Wolsey, the 
 greatest man, and most liberal Amphitryon of his 
 age ; to whom his brute king was not worthy to be 
 a scullion. He saw, at once, the advantage of a 
 reform in the rude English kitchen ; and the 
 " Butcher's cur," the " honeste poore man's 
 Sonne," who, from the heights of his own great 
 mind, must have looked down on the ferocious de- 
 scendant of Owen Tudor, soon introduced the ele- 
 gancies of the French table among the other civi- 
 lizing influences of learning and art. In his Palace 
 of Hampton, the Cardinal Minister may be said to 
 have established a college of gastronomy, of which 
 the halls and offices still standing give the best 
 idea. They are the last subsisting monument in 
 the country of priestly magnificence, and of the 
 household arrangements of clmrchmen, at the time 
 when tlioyaccumulated in the hands of the sameindi- 
 vidual, the highest offices of the church and the state.
 
 LE CORDON BLEU. 35 
 
 Among the thousand domestics who crowded the 
 vastness of Hampton Court, many were noble peers, 
 knightly gentlemen, and gallant squires, 
 
 " The liv'ryed army and the menial lords." 
 
 One domestic official there was, who strutted 
 in pre-eminent importance through its halls, in 
 doublet and cloak of crimson velvet, rich gold 
 chain, and feathered cap, to whom men took off 
 their bonnets as he passed, reverently observing, 
 '* There goes my lord cardinal's master cook." 
 This personage held under his rule two first and 
 six under cooks, a yeoman and groom of the larder, 
 a yeoman and two grooms of the scullery, two 
 yeomen and two grooms of the buttery, three 
 yeomen and three pages in the cellary, two yeomen 
 in the chandry, two yeomen and two grooms of the 
 ewery, and two yeomen in the wafery.* 
 
 To the sumptuous banquets prepared by this 
 Vatel of the mighty and munificent churchman, the 
 fairest ladies of England f were invited ; and they 
 studied under his lessons the dishes and devices, 
 
 * See an agreeable little volume by C. Jesse, Esq., Surveyor 
 of Her Majesty's Parks and Palaces, entitled, " A Summer's 
 Day at Hampton Court." 
 
 The recent regulations, by which the public is freely ad- 
 mitted to view the curious and interesting interior of that royal 
 palace, without " let or hindrance," or paying for their tickets 
 at the door, does great honour to the present Administration. 
 When will the reverend proprietors of Westminster Abbey 
 take the hint ? 
 
 f " This \u<i\]t he makes a supper, and a great one. 
 To many lords and ladies : there will be 
 The beauty of this kingdom."
 
 36 LE CORDON BLEU. 
 
 which, passing from Italy to France, afforded them 
 opportunities for improving their own culinary 
 science — a science, which no great lady then neg- 
 lected. What model sweetmeats must have been 
 carried away ! what subjects of domestic discussion 
 for the tapestry chambers and oriel windows of the 
 country mansions, to which the delighted guests 
 returned from these more than royal festivals ! 
 
 The culinary traditions of Hampton Court were 
 long preserved in the neighbouring palace of Sheen. 
 The nutritive and delicious creme a la frangipane 
 (borrowed from the receipts of Catherine de Me- 
 dicis) suggested, to one of the courtly maids of 
 honour of the dying Queen Elizabeth, that myste- 
 rious delicacy suited to her declining appetite and 
 wasted health, which has reached posterity, under 
 the name (marking the station of its ingenious in- 
 ventor) of " the ]\Iaid of Honour." 
 
 For more than two centuries, successive genera- 
 tions have offered their annual homage at the 
 shrine of this noble cordon bleu, of the wafery of 
 Richmond. The patron saint of hungry children, 
 and of child-cramming mothers, still shares the 
 triumphs of that exquisite spot, *' which nature's 
 choicest gifts adorn." 
 
 While the haggis, cocky-leeky, and Scotch broth* 
 
 • " I liave consulted," says Doctor Hunter, " Homer, 
 Aristophanes, Aristotle, Athenaeus, &c. &c. &c., in order to 
 obtain some knowledge of the Grecian cookery, but have not 
 been able to collect anytliinj^ worthy of notice, beyond the 
 black broth of LacedsLmon, which probably was the same as 
 sheep's-head broth, well known in our sister kingdom." — 
 Culina Famulalrix Medicince.
 
 LE CORDON BLEU. 37 
 
 introduced from Holyrood House into Wliitehall, 
 by James the First, threw back EngHsh cookery to 
 its brute elements, France steadily pursued the 
 golden career, which had opened to her kitchen at the 
 renaissance, by the genius of her Italian Queen, and 
 by the quick apprehensions of her spirituel women. 
 
 From that epoch, says a learned and elegant 
 writer on the subject, " etant bien certain que les 
 dames Fran^aises se sont tonjours plus on moins 
 mdl^es de ce qui sefaisait dans leurs cuisines, on doit 
 en conclure que c'est a leur intervention, qiiest due la 
 preeminence indisputable qxCa tonjours cue en Eu- 
 rope la cuisine Franqaise, et qu'elle a principale- 
 ment acquise, par une quantity immense de prepara- 
 tions recherchees, legeres, etfriandes, dont lesfemmes 
 seules ont pu concevoir Videe" 
 
 Under these happy auspices, the gorgeous siecle 
 de Louis XIV. began ; and the gastronomic science, 
 obeying the impulse of progression common to the 
 period, the kitchen took its place beside the altar 
 and the throne. Sumptuous banquets and royal 
 f6tes were not, however, the pierres de touche of 
 the highest effort of art of the times. It was for 
 the petit convert of retired royalty, it was for the 
 soupers fins of the elegant and the tasteful, that 
 the artist brought forward his best skill, and was 
 emulous of rival superiority. Madame de Sevigne's 
 poulard and plat de legumes (enjoyed with the 
 Rochefoucaulds, and the La Fayettes, in her Hotel 
 de Carnavalet,) were as exquisitely dressed, as the 
 most complicated dishes of the grand convert of 
 Versailles.
 
 38 LE CORDON BLEU. 
 
 The declining years of Louis the Fourteenth 
 brought with them a decline of appetite and of 
 taste ; and he was so subject to weaknesses of the 
 stomach, that a species of cordial was invented for 
 his use by Madame de Maintenon, consisting of 
 distilled spirits, sugar, orange flowers, and other 
 perfumes. This was the origin of the various 
 modern compounds known by the general name of 
 liqueurs — the " chasse," — without which there is 
 no chance of digestion for the high-born and 
 wealthy of our own times. The success of this in- 
 vention originated a school of valetudinarian cooks, 
 of which Madame de Maintenon was the foundress. 
 Her famous cotehttes en papillotes, which pro- 
 tected the stomach against grease, and Louis le 
 Grand from indigestion, spared him from many a 
 fit of bile and penitence, and increased the in- 
 fluence of the favourite, to the despair of Louvois, 
 and of the princesses, and to the triumph of Pere 
 la Chaise and the Jesuits. 
 
 The charming and very esjneyle Princesse de Conti 
 had almost exhausted her art in the attempt to save 
 her husband and brother-in-law from the King's re- 
 sentment, and from that punishment wliich their 
 vices were drawing on them, when she suddenly 
 thought of attacking the royal mercy through the 
 royal stomach ; and invented the famous dish, still 
 so popular in France, under the style and title of 
 Carrie de rnouton a la Conti. * This was a dish in 
 
 • The language of cooker}' is French, as that of medicine 
 is Latin. I will not presume, therefore, to spoil the Prin- 
 cess's receipt by translating it. " Appropriez un carre de
 
 LE CORDON BLEU. 89 
 
 which the coarser fat and fibre disappear, under 
 the flavour of the natural juices, and of bouquets de 
 Jines herbes, mushrooms, and anchovies. Tlie whole 
 was so digested in the casserol, that it left nothing 
 for the royal organs to perform, save to enjoy. 
 
 The old king threw aside his insipid potage a la 
 vierge (a palling jow/'^e of chicken, veal, cream, and 
 eggs) and fell upon his piquant carrt^ with the ap- 
 petite of former times, wlien his en cas de nuit (a cold 
 fowl) was left at his bed-side, lest he should awake 
 hungry. The court was amazed at his lenity to 
 the crimes of the Conti and Bourbon ; and Madame 
 de Maintenon becoming alarmed, called the Pere la 
 Chaise to her aid. The result of this consultation 
 was the " Canard au Fere Douillef which then 
 first took its place at the royal table ; and the king's 
 conscience was awakened by it to a new sense of 
 — orthodox cookery. Thenceforth, every new dish 
 came labelled with a saintly name ; and the many 
 excellent morceaux a la Ste. Minehould date from 
 the reign of the Saint Fran9oise de Maintenon. 
 
 mouton, en levant les peaux qui se trouvent sur le filet ; prenez 
 un quarteron de petit lard bien entrelarde, aiichois laves; 
 coupez les en lardons, et les maniez avec un pen de gro3 
 poivre, deux eclialottes, persil, siboule une feuille de laurier, 
 quatre de basalic, feuilles d'astragon, tous hachees en poudre ; 
 lardez tout le filet avec le lard et les aucliois ; mettez le carre 
 dans luie casserole ; mouiliez avec un verre de vin blanc, 
 autant de bouillon ; degraissez la sauce, et mettez gros comme 
 un noix de beurre, nianiee avec un pince de farine; faites lier 
 la sauce sur le feu, et le servez sur le carre" — "and was not 
 thai a dainty dish to lay before a king."
 
 40 LE CORDON BLEU. 
 
 If the science remained stationary during the' 
 last unfortunate days of Louis the Fourteenth, it 
 took a rapid stride under the Regency, when some 
 of the greatest ladies of the day lent their names to 
 dishes of their invention or adoption. Piquees, 
 d^une finesse extreme, were ascribed to the Duchesse 
 de Berri ; and the Dinde truffe was brought into 
 vogue by the pretty wife of a Fermier-General, * to 
 the consummation of high cookery and the injury 
 of weak digestions. 
 
 The reign of Louis the Fifteenth, with its long 
 peace, was favourable to female influence in the 
 cabinet and in the kitchen ; and the order and re- 
 gularity in which a modern table is served in the 
 palaces of royalty, and the mansions of the great, 
 date from that epoch. 
 
 Tlie petits soupers of Marli surpassed in ele- 
 gance and refinement its "grands collations'" in the 
 last days of Louis Quatorze. The great ladies of 
 the court purchased the inventions of dishes from 
 some obscure cook of genius ; and edited Matelottes 
 and Salmis, as great English ladies now edit or 
 appropriate works of far less taste and science. 
 
 The Princesse de Soubise lent her historical 
 name to that excellent dish, which first brought the 
 jmree d'oiynon into fashion ; and proved that the 
 
 • 7'he first turkey was brought into France in 1570, and 
 was served at the table of Catherine de Medicis, at the mar- 
 ria;2:e supper of her son, Charles the Ninth. — See Almanack 
 des Comestibles, ] 77 Q.
 
 LE CORDON BLEU. 41 
 
 greatest vegetable condiment of the kitchen might 
 be deprived by art of all that was offensive in its 
 odour, without losing the piquant acidity of its 
 flavour. 
 
 The success of the Cotelette a la Soubise, and 
 the rising favour of its inventress, alarmed the am- 
 bitious jealousy of the celebrated Duchesse de 
 Mailly. She saw something behind the cutlet 
 greater than the cutlet ; and, recalling the old 
 spirit of political intrigue of the Soubise women in 
 the former reign, which had so long agitated all 
 Europe, she resolved to meet the princess on her 
 own ground ; and she gave to the royal menus and 
 to the world her immortal ffiffot a la Mailly ! ! 
 
 In the reign of Louis the Sixteenth, the alimen- 
 tary philosophy had reached the very acme of its 
 perfectibility ! Cookery assumed all the dignity of 
 a science, and stood half-way between physic and 
 chemistry. The most distinguished savans * did 
 not think it beneath their consequence to occupy 
 themselves with its processes ; and they everywhere 
 introduced improvements, from the simple pot au 
 feu of the poor mechanic, up to the elaborate com- 
 binations which are served in dishes of crystal and 
 vases of gold, f 
 
 The language of the kitchen then became as 
 
 * No man can be a good ph3-sician who has not a com- 
 petent knowledge of cookery; and in this I am supported by 
 every eminent physician from Hippocrates to Sydenham. — 
 Dr. Hunter, Culina Famulatrix Medicinal . 
 
 f The wholesome pot au feu of the lower orders in France 
 might be introduced with incalculable benefit among the
 
 42 LE CORDON BLEU. 
 
 polished as that of les belles lettres : cookery-books 
 and " almanacs" were composed with the wit of 
 Voltaire and the graces of Sevigne. Receipts for 
 purees were written with the purisms of the aca- 
 demy ; petits plats were named " epigrams ;" and 
 the very genius of pastoral poesy reigned over the 
 technicahties of the second course and the dessert. 
 Women of all classes now aspired to mingle (in the 
 most material sense of the words) the utile dulci; 
 and, while great ladies exercised themselves in 
 drawing out elaborate bills of fare, with a unity 
 of design that would have well become an epic 
 poem, those of humbler houses, where no chef was 
 kept, rivalled the master-spirits of the times by 
 their inventions, and gave their names to some of 
 the best dishes of the age. " La Cuisine Bourgeoise" 
 was published in the latter part of the reign of 
 Louis the Sixteenth ; and it required all the wit 
 of La Reyniere to make head against one of the 
 best cookery-books ever published for the edification 
 of posterity. 
 
 Tiie pretensions of the sex to meddle with an 
 art, for which, it was said, " nature had never in- 
 tended them," produced, however, a violent oppo- 
 sition on the part of their masters ; and Madame 
 de Genlis, having boasted that she had taught a 
 German Count at Vienna to dress seven delicious 
 French dishes, in return for his hospitality, she 
 
 same classes in England ; " for, after all, the stomach is the 
 chief organ of the human system; and npon its state the 
 powers and feelings of each individual mainly depend."
 
 LE CORDON BLEU. 4.S 
 
 drew down upon her presumption the sarcasms of 
 the coterie de Holbach. It was accordingly pre- 
 dicted that the cuisinieres of Paris would soon 
 usurp the chairs of the chefs ; the jjrecieuses of the 
 pantry were subjected to general ridicule ; and 
 
 Toute Fraiif aise, a ce que j'imagine 
 Sait, bien ou mal, faire une cuisine, 
 
 was an epigram borrowed from a fashionable 
 
 comedy of the day, and in every body's mouth. 
 
 But the women persevered ; and the order of the 
 Cordon Bleu was founded, which passed through 
 the storms of the revolution, of the restoration, and 
 les troisjourSj still flourishing in France, when all 
 other orders have been trampled under foot. 
 
 England, meantime, made so little progress in 
 the culinary art, that the household which could 
 not afford to import a French cook remained where 
 the wisdom of its ancestors had left it in 1688. 
 Queen Anne, however, though a dull woman and 
 a weak sovereign, was a divine-righted cook. The 
 kitchen, not the cabinet, was her vocation. There, 
 indeed, she admitted no rival near the throne ; there 
 no Duchess of Marlborough ruled her counsels, no 
 Mrs. Masham undermined them. There she found 
 her own level ; and all who are acquainted with the 
 culinary literature of the day, or who possess a 
 cookery-book published by Tonson or by Curl, will 
 find that by far the best receipts, in their prescrip- 
 tions for indigestion, are those headed with, " after 
 Queen Anne's fashion." " La Reine Anne etoit 
 tres gourmand, et ne dedaignait pas a s'entretenir
 
 44 LE CORDON BLEU. 
 
 avec son cuisinier," says a French historian of the 
 kitchen ; and, it is curious to add, that Lord Bo- 
 hngbroke, with whom her majesty secretly worked 
 for the overthrow of the Wliigs, and the restoration 
 of the Pretender, was married to the favourite niece 
 of the great inventress of the cotelettes a la Maintenon. 
 The accession of the House of Hanover did Httle 
 for cookery. The Fatimas of the seraghos of the 
 two first George's, good fussy Frows, bourrees 
 with their German kitchen, were little calculated 
 to improve the taste of the nation in any respect ; 
 and the fine gentlemen, the travelled men of the 
 day, the Chesterfields, the Walpoles, and the Mon- 
 tagues, preached the pre-eminence of France in all 
 matters of social enjoyment — from the kitchen to 
 the boudoir, from a toilet to a tourte. At their 
 dictation, it soon became an admitted axiom that, 
 to procure a good dinner in England, it was neces- 
 sary to procure a good cook from France — that the 
 most paltry second-rate yaryotiei- of a Parisian 
 restaurant was preferable to the best cook, male 
 or female, bred in the English kitchen. 
 
 This universal preference of the foreigner pre- 
 served and increased the deficiencies in which it 
 arose. English cookery, if in any respect it re- 
 mained stationary, derived the advantage from the 
 fact that it could scarcely retrograde : till, finally, 
 the wars of the French Revolution, by cutting off all 
 communication with the Continent, caused the me- 
 mory to fade even of the material elements oi gusto, 
 in tlie land, where, though there were twenty reli-
 
 LE CORDON BLEU. 45 
 
 gions, there was but one sauce,* andthat one — melted 
 butter I ! I Fines hei'hes were no longer known in 
 the English garden ; gravies were made with water, 
 entrees were cooked on blazing fires, and black 
 pepper and allspice were the sovereign condiments. 
 Salads were dressed with cream and hard eggs, and 
 soups (reserved for great occasions) were flavoured 
 with ketchup, and seasoned with Cayenne. Mrs. 
 Glass's volume of hashes and hodgepodges became 
 the church and state manual of orthodox cookery ; 
 and was not to be superseded, even by Kitchener's 
 once popular kitchen-stuff; so that the actor, 
 Quin's, sarcastic summary of a particular dinner, 
 might have been adopted as a universal definition 
 of all ordinary feasting — " The soup was cold, the 
 ice hot, and everything sour in the house, but the 
 vinegar." 
 
 Such was the state of things, when the fall of 
 Napoleon gave peace to Europe. The royal Am- 
 phitryon of England had, indeed, possessed great 
 views for the elevation of the national kitchen ; but 
 he wanted the supplies. He had imported the im- 
 mortal Careme, and had implored his assistance in 
 the revival of the art, as Louis the Sixteenth had 
 called on Necker to restore the ruined finances of 
 France. Careme came ! — he came, he saw ; but 
 
 * The saucy Neapolitan who made this remark of *' our 
 own, our native land," would have shown more philosophy, 
 had he been shocked at the characteristic of his own country, 
 which, though it could boast of twenty sauces, had but one 
 religion.
 
 46 LE CORDON BLEU. 
 
 he could not conquer. The ponderous batterie of 
 Brighton (that \\'oohvich of the kitchen) shone out, 
 in its vast armament of polished coppers, in vain ! 
 Troops of chuckle-headed little English aides, 
 plump and platter-faced, as the Cnpidons houffis of 
 the days of Louis the Fourteenth, were no aids to 
 him ; and hecatombs of constitutional English beef, 
 and oceans of passive obedient fisli, which came to 
 be caught within view of the kiosks of the Pavilion, 
 invoked the genius of the enlightened foreigner to 
 no purpose. To use his own expi-ession, he was 
 " souffoqiie'^ 
 
 Careme could not but perceive at a glance that 
 he had a school, not to reform, but to create. 
 There were no abuses, because there were no uses. 
 He looked out at the Smithfield fires of the royal 
 elaboratory j and he thought of \\\q pet'its feux and 
 petit s fours of France ! He listened, and discovered 
 that there was no language capable of expressing 
 the ideas which he would have communicated. He 
 found that he had a vocabulary to invent, a 
 grammar to compose ; and he shrank from the her- 
 culean labour imposed upon him. 
 
 But, above all, he discovered that the women of 
 England knew nothing of his art ; that the pre- 
 siding deities of the Pavilion scarcely rose above 
 Cowslip's appreciation of a roasted duck, with its 
 coarse and predominating accompaniment of sage 
 and onion. He heard, no doubt, with horror and 
 dismay, that the culminating point of political 
 cookery and coquetry of the great dame du palais
 
 LE CORDON BLEU. 47 
 
 of the Regency, was a plain peppered cutlet 
 (anglice a mutton-chop) which the English Louis 
 the Fourteenth went daily in his plain chariot to 
 lunch upon — tout son saoul ! 
 
 Careme, "• dont Thonneur fut dans ses fournaux^'' 
 sent in his resignation ; and his answer to the in- 
 quiries of French friends why he had left so distin- 
 guished a service, is well known : Cest que la cui- 
 sine de son altesse Royale, est trop bourgeoise. 
 
 The opening of the continent brought the nobi- 
 lity and the gentry of the British empire in multi- 
 tudes, unequalled since the Crusades, to the great 
 metropolis of gustatory excellence ; and when they 
 returned from the altars of Very to their own do- 
 mestic hearths, they were as unable to relish the 
 legitimate kitchen, as they were to sit out the legi- 
 timate drama of their native country. To the 
 noble and the wealthy, foreign cooks, as usual, were 
 easily attainable, at a cost trijDle the income they 
 gave to the learned members of the Universities, 
 who educated their sons, and at six times the re- 
 ward they bestowed on the accomplished women 
 who brought up their daughters. But the mass of 
 travellers who had equally acquired all the elegant 
 tastes of foreign refinement, could not afford to 
 entertain a chef and his legions of subaltern bon- 
 net-blancs ; and were thus thrown beyond the lines 
 of continental cookery. 
 
 The social want of the times, however, brought 
 its remedy along with it ; and the reaction was 
 astounding. Then it was that the clubs arose, houses
 
 48 LE CORDON BLEU. 
 
 of refuge to destitute celibacy, chapels of ease to 
 discontented husbands. There, men could dine like 
 gentlemen and christians, upon all the friandises 
 of the French kitchen, much cheaper and far more 
 wholesomely, than at their own tables, upon the 
 tough half-sodden fibres of the national roast and 
 boiled, or on the hazardous resources of calf's head 
 hash, gravy soup, and marrow puddings. Moral 
 England gave in. The English " home," that temple 
 of the heart, that centre of all the virtues, was left 
 to the solitary enjoyment of the English wives ; and 
 the whole husbandry of England migrated to those 
 splendid Duomos, served by priests bred in the cells 
 of Lesfrhres Robert, or educated in the cloisters of 
 the Cancale. 
 
 From that moment, Almack's Xost it?, prestige ; 
 dowdies now " stept" in where angels feared to 
 tread ! — tickets, once sued for in vain by suppliant 
 duchesses, were repelled by second-class dowagers 
 for their daughters, in the motherly consideration, 
 that 
 
 " Where none were beaux, 'twere base to be a belle :" 
 
 for younger brothers and ci-devant exquisites do 
 not fill the ball-room, " as well as better men." 
 
 To your casserols, then, women of Britain. Would 
 you, " with a falconer's voice," lure your faithless 
 tassels back again, apply to the practical remedy 
 of your wrongs, proceed to the reform of your do- 
 mestic government, and turn your thoughts to that 
 art, wliich, coming into action every day in the
 
 LE CORDON BLEU. 49 
 
 year during the longest life, includes within its 
 circles the whole philosophy of economy and 
 order, the preservative of good health, and of the 
 tone of good society, all peculiarly within your 
 province ! The greatest women of all ages — from 
 a Sarah to a Sevigne — have not disdained its study 
 and its practice. One quarter of the time which 
 you now give to "nicknaming God's creatures" 
 upon canvass, if devoted to the philosophy of 
 your larders and your pantries, to the doc- 
 trines of a pure culinary literature, would furnish 
 your husbands' tables with elegance and science, 
 from which slovenlv ignorance now drives them to 
 other and better dinners. Open then fortliwith se- 
 minaries, not merely for catechisms and spiritual 
 metaphysics, so difficult to infant digestion, but for 
 culinary instruction and physical amelioration, 
 facile to the comprehension of all. Establish model 
 schools, and found chairs for the dissemination of 
 that eminently useful knowledge, the knowledge 
 by which we may eat to live, with safety and satis- 
 faction. Provide for the sufficient education of a 
 convenient number of able-bodied young women, 
 and for sending them forth as missionaries through 
 the benighted provinces of the empire ; — and when, 
 through the philosophic researches of these female 
 seminarists, maxims shall be attained to form a 
 volume of reports, some female Bentham may yet 
 arise to complete the good work, by an encyclo- 
 pedic code, that will supersede for ever the false 
 guides and erring prophets of the old English 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 LE CORDON BLEU. 
 
 kitchen ;* and prove that one exquisite little dinner, 
 (the table round, the guests few) if dressed with 
 science and illumined by wit, is worth all the great 
 feasts and fastidious banquets, that ever were given, 
 if considered as a means to the great end of bring- 
 ing those together, whom God has joined, and 
 family dinners have put asimder. 
 
 * Je ne regarderai point les sciences sufBsamment repre- 
 sentees, (said the President H de P- — to the celebrated 
 
 La Place) tant que je ne verrai pas un cuisinier sieger a la 
 premiere place, de I'institut.
 
 A FIRST LESSON IN READING. 51 
 
 A FIRST LESSON IN READING. 
 
 " Oh reader — if that thou can'st read." 
 
 " If that thou can'st read ?" a strange question, 
 that, for the nineteenth century, amidst tract and 
 education societies of every faith and form. The 
 doubt, however, it implies may be justified. True 
 it is, we have schools of all calibres, Bell's schools, 
 Lancasterian schools, infant schools, and schools 
 " for grown gentlemen," Bible schools, with note 
 and comment, and Bible schools without note and 
 comment, Sunday schools, evening schools, &:c. &c. 
 Even polemics have become the handmaids of lite- 
 rature ; if not for mutual instruction, for mutual 
 annoyance, — for making the gospel of peace the 
 medium for evolving all manner of sectarian hatreds 
 and dissensions. But, all this notwithstanding, 
 there is no going beyond statistical fact ; and the 
 Parliamentary commissioners have a field before 
 them, of which in our patriotism we cannot think 
 without a blush. 
 
 Our meaning, though, goes a little deeper, and 
 
 d2
 
 52 A FIRST LESSON IN READING. 
 
 looks further into the national condition, than con- 
 cerns mere primary instruction. 
 
 It is not every one who has overcome the diffi- 
 culties of Dilworth and Lindley Murray, that needs 
 not a literary go-cart ; nor are all emancipated 
 from the necessity for additional tuition, who might 
 laugh at the poor Welch curate, of whom it is 
 related, that, making no hand of the Hebrew names 
 of the Old Testament, he told his parishioners that 
 " hard name went unto hard place." The art of 
 reading is by no means so mechanical a process. 
 
 Montaigne, who in many particulars got the 
 start of the age in which he lived, has placed this 
 matter in its proper light, and will, without further 
 detail, explain the meaning of the enigma. " J' ay 
 leu" he says, " en Tite Live cent choses que tel vCy 
 a jtas leu : Plutarque a leu cent, outre ce quefy 
 ai sceu lire ; et a V adventure, ce que Vauteur y a 
 mis.^'' 
 
 Scarcely any two people read the same book 
 precisely alike ; every one spelling and putting it 
 together, after the measure of sense, which nature 
 and art have stored his mind withal, as Whittington 
 read the ringing of the church bells. Of this we 
 need no further proof, than the various and con- 
 tradictory meanings, which the several party re» 
 views contrive to pick out of the same volume. 
 There is many an S. T. P. who has gone half 
 through his college library, without having mas- 
 tered the contents of a single volume, not to
 
 A FIRST LESSON IN READING. 53 
 
 Speak of the " ce que Vauteur ny a mis,'''' wliich 
 the man who knows how to read, woukl infaUibly 
 have discovered. 
 
 As for the mass of everyday readers, they run 
 over the type, pretty much hke the compositor, 
 without even perceiving that it has a meaning ; 
 and there is scarcely one in a hundred of them 
 ten paces in advance of a wight, of Cambridge 
 celebrity, who, having diligently perused the entire 
 volume of Euclid, declared that it was an amusing 
 book enough, but that he could make nothing of 
 the pictures ; for so he called the diagrams. 
 
 It cannot, then, but be considered a wise ordina- 
 tion of Providence (all the ordinations of Providence 
 are wise in man's presumptuous imagination, when 
 they happen to chime in with his comforts, and 
 jump with his interests) that men should in the 
 course of nature buy books first, and set about 
 reading them afterwards. What between the books 
 which are above the average reading powers of 
 the public, and those which are too easily under- 
 stood, and speak unpleasant truths too plainly, 
 by far the best and most serviceable volumes would 
 remain unsold, if the order of things were inverted, 
 and purchasers were not compelled to deal for a pig in 
 a poke. Still worse would be the fate of that very 
 numerous class of publications, which are positively 
 without a meaning j " for true no meaning " puz- 
 zles more than the most abstruse sense. What, 
 then, would become of the race of those who live 
 by their pen ? Nature, however, is kind -, and 
 bibliopoly has not wholly gone to the dogs.
 
 54 A FIRST LESSON IN READING. 
 
 The art of reading being thus imperfectly under- 
 stood, and its knowledge thus narrowly diffused, it 
 is no more than common charity in the bookseller 
 to assist his customers in their difficulties ; and this, 
 probably, was the " moving why" that first tempted 
 the trade to dabble so largely in reviews — a class 
 of publications expressly adapted to the service of 
 those who cannot read for themselves. A review 
 is to the intellect what a pair of spectacles is to the 
 eyes ; and without its assistance, printing might as 
 well be confined to the advertising of Macassar oil, 
 or giving circulation to Burgess's fish sauce. Be- 
 tween the ignorance, the wilfulness, and the pre- 
 occupation of readers in general (the present com- 
 pany always excepted) a book may be thumbed 
 till its pages are reduced to dog's ears, without the 
 student becoming " any the wiser," if the way to 
 the interior and mystic sense of the author be not 
 macadamized, made straight in the desert, and 
 cleared from verbiage, by the lucubrations of a pro- ' 
 fessed critic. 
 
 There are many books of the greatest celebrity 
 in literature, concerning whose readings the world 
 is far from being generally agreed. There is, for 
 example, Machiavelli's " Prince," which QLdipus 
 himself could no more develop, than a spaniel can 
 unroll a hedgehog. One half of mankind say, that 
 it is a most nefarious manual of tyranny, a cold- 
 blooded estimate of the ways and means of des- 
 potism ; while the other half understand it as a 
 lesson of tyrannicide, a Jacobinical denunciation of
 
 A FIRST LESSON IN READING. 55 
 
 the cruel practices, by which social order is main- 
 tained in half the churches and states of Europe. 
 Then, there is the " Divina Conutiedia" of Dante, 
 which statesmen, scholars, and philosophers, have 
 spelled, generation aftergeneration, from the hour 
 when it was first written, without suspecting that it 
 was a political satire, till Signor Rossetti flashed 
 the truth upon them, in his learned and very inge- 
 nious commentary : a sure proof, that "in diebus 
 illis" there was no Attorney-general, or Constitu- 
 tional Society in Florence, to " teach the boys to 
 read." 
 
 The ancients were much more modest than we 
 are, in their estimate of their own powers of read- 
 ing. Pliny tells us, that Appian, the grammarian, 
 (in his despair, probably, of mastering the art by 
 his own unassisted powers), applied to the devil to 
 teach him to read, evoking spirits, and compelling 
 them to aid him in his critical studies. It is pro- 
 bable, however, that having, by means of the 
 father of lies, got at the truth, he was afraid of a 
 state prosecution ; for he kept " the ghost's word" 
 scrupulously to himself.* If all that has been said 
 of ancient authors be true, there is nothing so 
 strange in this diffidence of Appian. 
 
 The works of Homer, we are told, contain all 
 
 • Plia. 1. XXX., cap. 2. The text sa3's, "seque evocasse 
 umbras ad percontandum Homerum, qua patria, quibusque 
 pareutibus genitus esset;" but this could not have been all, 
 for he adds, " non tamen ausus profiteri quod sibi respon- 
 sisse diceret."
 
 56 A FIRST LESSON IN READING. 
 
 the principles of all the sciences ;"* and this throws 
 some light upon Jacotot's child-killing dogma, that 
 all things are implicitly contained in Telemachus, 
 though that far-famed volume is indeed but a flat 
 parody of the Odyssey, and Calypso, qui ne jjeu- 
 voit se consoler da depart d' Ulysse was not half so 
 ennwjee as the schoolboy condemned to wade through 
 its insipidity. 
 
 Not, however, but there are cases in which the 
 moderns are as mucli at fault as the darkest of the 
 ancients. Is there any man sufficiently single- 
 hearted, to believe that he can read all that is 
 enveloped in the nothingness of a king's speech ; 
 or can comprehend the elaborate profundity of an 
 harangue on the state of the nation ? Who, un- 
 possessed of second sight, would pretend to read 
 (in the proper sense of the word) the thousand 
 expositions of tlie Apocalypse, or the protocols of 
 modern diplomacy ? 
 
 This discovery of the difficulty of reading throws 
 a light on the quotations, so frequently occurring 
 in polemical works, which tell directly against the 
 argument in hand. It cannot be presumed that 
 such passages have been cited at second hand ; 
 first, because it would be uncharitable ; and, se- 
 condly, because it would be unfair — hanc veniam 
 jiethnus, damusque vicissim. On the other hand, 
 people never argue, like Mrs Malaprop, against 
 themselves, if they can help it. When, there- 
 
 * Blackwell's Life of Horner.
 
 A FIRST LESSON IN READING. 51 
 
 fore, so much only of a sentence or paragraph 
 is taken, as may appear convenient, and the hos- 
 tile clauses are omitted, we are not to set it down 
 as bad faith, and to a foolish confidence that the 
 reader's idleness will prevent his consulting the 
 original, but loyally believe that the author has 
 misread his authority. 
 
 There is not a more palpable mistake, than the 
 imagining professional criticisms to be written 
 with a view to enlighten the authors, whom they 
 castigate. An author is the natural prey of a 
 critic ; and a reviewer cares no more for the whole 
 race, than a fox does for a hen and chickens. 
 Their vituperation has another motive, to in- 
 struct, namely, their subscribers how to read, 
 and to lead them (by the nose) to those conclu- 
 sions, to which, if left to themselves, they would 
 never arrive. This is one of those " verites veri- 
 tables,'"' of which Napoleon spoke, and of which 
 there are so few in the world. 
 
 It is, moreover, the difficulty in reading, tlie 
 inability of penetrating the mystery of things, and 
 discovering on which side one's bread is buttered, 
 that has thrown certain governments on the neces- 
 sity of hiring, at such exorbitant prices, sense- 
 keepers for the nation, over which they rule. The 
 restored dynasty of France employed a countless 
 host of Jesuits, both of the long and the short 
 robe, as a literary gens d'armcrie, for cutting down 
 all passages above the level of public comprehen- 
 sion, (as if ideas were of no more value, than sim- 
 
 D 5
 
 58 A FIRST LESSON IN READING. 
 
 pie citizens), — for extinguishing such " lights'" as 
 " lead astray," — and for explaining to the people 
 the manner in which they should read those few 
 books which are not absolutely forbidden. 
 
 If in this art, we English are comparatively 
 behindhand, it must be either for the want of a 
 few Jesuits and censors, or because we are a nation 
 of shopkeepers, and have no time for study. Led- 
 gers must be posted ; the main chance must be 
 looked after ; and we are glad to make use of 
 ready-made interpreters, upon whose sagacity we 
 may pin our faith, while we are paying an unin- 
 terrupted worship at the shrine of Mammon. 
 Unluckily, these our teachers are never all in a 
 story. If conspiracy comes, as an Irish barrister 
 once asserted, from " con, to breathe, and spiro, 
 together," they must be acquitted of the charge 
 altogether. A consultation of lawyers or physicians 
 could not ex luce dare fumum, more distinctly. 
 
 The people, therefore, unable to read for them- 
 selves, and deprived of instructors to give them any 
 certain and fixed direction, are blown about by every 
 wind of doctrine, and are the dupes of every one, 
 who finds it worth his while to mystify them. 
 They pore over the pages of a volume with great 
 earnestness and zeal, and swallow the words 
 straight on, without spelling or skipping ; but 
 when they come to ^'JiniSy'' they know no more of 
 the essence of the subject, than Mrs. Shandy. Ac- 
 cordingly, they are constantly at fault, and lapse
 
 A FIRST LESSON IN READING. 59 
 
 into such signal errors, as are no where else to be 
 met with among civilized communities. 
 
 In putting forth these opinions on scholarship, 
 nothing is intended with reference to the great 
 cause pending between the biblicals and the esta- 
 blishment. Let the expert decide whether religion 
 be more degraded by the licence of the fifth mo- 
 narchy-men and the modern Southcotians, or by 
 the arrogant intolerance of the partizans of an in- 
 fallible authority. One may have one's own leanings, 
 no doubt, like other folks, and yet let the milkmaid 
 kiss her cow, if "Heavy Ralph," the ploughman, 
 or some other more acceptable biped, be not at hand 
 to attract her preference. If there be those who think 
 that they can read, and not only read, but " mark, 
 learn, and inwardly digest" the dark words of the 
 book of the law, without note and comment, they 
 have free permission to indulge in the conceit; — pro- 
 vided they do not make a precedent of the case, 
 and, pretending to more knowledge than they pos- 
 sess in lay literature, set up for teachers themselves. 
 In other words, they are welcome to take the "prim- 
 rose path" to the other world, if they please ; but let 
 them not knock down the funds, blow up the ortho- 
 dox, and turn Noodledum out of windows. 
 
 So, too, of their opponents, if they insist upon it, 
 that the essence of the law is too refined for ordi- 
 nary intuition, they have full leave to " compile 
 and compile " for its illustration, provided they will 
 let others do the same, and not insist on cramming
 
 60 A FIRST LESSON IN READING. 
 
 their own expositions down the throats of the un- 
 wilHng, as exclusively trustworthy. 
 
 Having disposed of that very ticklish subject, 
 modern polemics, the law of the ease requires, also, 
 a paragraph, in order to satisfy the world that there 
 is nothing in it hostile to the fundamental and 
 sapient maxim of British jurisprudence, ^^ Igno- 
 rantia legis non excusaty This maxim is no autho- 
 rity for any presumed facility in the art of reading, 
 because the longest life would not suffice for the 
 mere manual operation of perusing the statutes, 
 while not even the most learned of the profession 
 pretend to have thoroughly read them in our sense 
 of the word. Besides, the unwritten law, constitu- 
 ting a floating capital of pains and penalties too 
 subtle to be permanently funded in black and white, 
 has nothing whatever to do with reading, and can 
 only be known by an especial grace, and a regular 
 course of Temple legs of mutton. 
 
 The meaning of the dogma, then, is this, that 
 divine Providence, having bountifully provided so- 
 ciety with attorneys and counsel learned in the law, 
 any man may, at the small charge of £2 25., and a 
 bill of costs, be duly advised on the speciality, as 
 often as he may choose to exercise his free will, by 
 putting his foot beyond tlie castle walls of his own 
 house. To be ignorant of the law, in any particular, 
 with such facilities for acquiring information, is 
 wholly inexcusable. The law is, indeed, the per- 
 fection of human reason ; and nothing can be more 
 reasonable than such a decision !
 
 A FIRST LESSON IN READINCi. 61 
 
 The purpo&es for which books are consulted are 
 various, and the art of reading varies accordingly. 
 Some persons read only to propitiate sleep ; and 
 witli them the whole art of reading lies in the 
 choice of the books ; a circumstance that may 
 safely be trusted to instinct. Baker's Chronicles 
 will answer as well as the best. 
 
 For those readers who, in Hamlet's phrase, seek 
 nothing in books but " words, words, words," and 
 who never arrive at the idea of a complete sentence, 
 there are a number of prettily-printed, highly-illus- 
 trated volumes, which will occupy their time per- 
 fectly and pleasantly. The market being large, 
 the supply is abundant ; and tlie purchaser has 
 only to complain of the embarras de richesse. But, 
 for those readers who, in the act of perusal, think 
 that they are thinking, who have a propensity of 
 lookino- into mill-stones, and who will not be con- 
 tented with less than the essence of things, reading 
 is a very serious concern ; and, if they mean to win 
 the race, they must be careful not to bolt at the 
 starting -place. 
 
 Let such be duly convinced that the value of 
 every book rests upon the intelligence of the reader, 
 and that, unless the author's ideas are already impli- 
 citly in his mind, he will not read the book with 
 effect. 
 
 " Ce qui fait," says Champfort, " le succ^s de 
 quantite d'ouvrages, est le rapport qui se trouve 
 cntr^ la mediocrite des idees de Vauteur, et la me- 
 diocriie des id6es du public" Such works find an
 
 62 A FIRST LESSON IN READING. 
 
 echo in almost every bosom. The ordinary reader 
 feels himself in his own element. He does not meet 
 with a mystery in every sentence, and a conundrum 
 in every paragraph. He is not obliged at every 
 page to " give it up,'* and run to a commentator 
 for an explanation. 
 
 Let every reader, then, who desires to understand, 
 examine carefully " quid valeant humeri," and not 
 venture out of his depth before he has learned to 
 swim. The neglect of this rule leads to much unpro- 
 fitable reading ; as in the case of that mathema- 
 tician, who, after perusal of the Paradise Lost, dis- 
 covered too late that it "proved nothing." Let not 
 the unsuspecting Whig, therefore, meddle with the 
 columns of the Standard. Let not Theodore Hook 
 commit flirtation with Jeremy Bentham, whose 
 works he will assuredly find no joke. Let the 
 Moores and the Campbells eschew all treatises on 
 the steam-engine, and let every man of sense avoid 
 the transcendentalists like a pestilence. 
 
 But the choice of books is not always, alas ! in 
 our own possession. Accident, fashion, the absurd 
 zeal of a patronizing friend, are constantly thrusting 
 volumes mal apropos down an unwilling throat ; or 
 the necessity of answering objections may lead to 
 the same disagreeable result. A second rule, there- 
 fore, is necessary to meet these cases, and that is, 
 ever to read such books rigidly and uncompromis- 
 ingly in your own system. All facts militating 
 against your own opinions are to be disbelieved, 
 explained away, or disregarded ; all deductions,
 
 A FIRST LESSON IN READING. 63 
 
 hostile to your preconceived ideas, are to be set 
 down as illogical ; and the plainest and most obvious 
 sentiments of the author are to be construed as 
 containing a concealed and mischievous moaning. 
 
 No book, more especially, can be read with 
 effect till the politics of the author are known. 
 He is no good workman who finds it necessary to 
 express in words all that he means to convey ; 
 and the subauditions and inferences of a clever 
 writer are so much the more important, because 
 they sink into the mind, without passing through 
 the eye; and, therefore, they betray the judgment, 
 without touching the conscience. But the politics 
 of the author, like the subdominant and dominant 
 in music, determine the key in which he is playing, 
 and decide the harmony of the piece. Without 
 this key, the reader will certainly mistake the 
 meaning of many and many a passage. 
 
 Thus " piety," with a Sacheverel, means hating 
 a dissenter ; with a Fenelon, it has a more primi- 
 tive signification. Thus, also, when a country squire 
 talks of social order, he is to be read as meaning 
 the game laws. " Good government"" not long 
 ago meant Gatton and old Sarum; and "loyalty" 
 was equivalent with place and pension. 
 
 In more modern times, the difficulty of reading 
 has been vastly increased by the unsteady application 
 of words in different senses, on different occasions, 
 and at different places. A speech delivered to consti- 
 tuents, or at the Goldsmitlis' company, is not to be 
 interpreted as if the sentiments were uttered in a
 
 64 A FIRST LESSON IN READING. 
 
 cabinet council ; and an oration which is perfectly 
 innocent joro populo^ would be irrational and dan- 
 gerous if delivered with closed doors ad clerum. 
 
 If the reader happens to belong to the same 
 party as his author, let him take all equivocal expres- 
 sions in the Johnsonian definitions of the words; but, 
 in the other case, let him incontinently translate 
 them into their opposites : for piety, read supersti- 
 tion ; for social order, read oligarchical tyranny; for 
 good government, understand the six acts ; and, for 
 loyalty, read slavish submission to the predominant 
 faction. 
 
 Furthermore, by well weigliing an author's posi- 
 tion, you may penetrate still deeper into his more re- 
 condite philosophy, and understand not only his book, 
 but himself, into the bargain. Thus, if the author 
 of a red-hot pamphlet be a parson, you may be sure 
 that in publishing, he looks principally to church 
 preferment. If a young physician write on some 
 particular mineral spring, the object of his book is 
 clearly to monopolize the practice of the place where 
 the water is to be drunk. If a briefless barrister 
 publish an essay on finance, he certainly is endea- 
 vouring to prove that he is the fittest man in the 
 world for a place under government. If he writes 
 a commentary on Burn's justice, he intends to be- 
 come a county chairman. 
 
 Another rule never to be neglected in the reading 
 of any work, is to bear in mind that a certain con- 
 siderable portion of all is dedicated expressly to 
 the decencies of society ; such are the tirades on
 
 A r'lRST LESSON IN READING. 65 
 
 virtue, patriotism, and religion ; on the excellence 
 of our glorious constitution and the wisdom of the 
 aristocracy ; on respect for the liberty of the press, 
 or the liberty of the subject, hearts of oak, and the 
 battle of Waterloo. It is a great and a frequent 
 balourdisc, in inexperienced readers, to dw(;ll upon 
 such ornaments of the Corinthian capitals of po- 
 lished literature, as if they were intended for the 
 solid substratum of a powerful argument. They 
 are, in fact, but so much " sounding brass and 
 tinkling cymbal," meant to fill the ear, and to soothe 
 the reader into an unsuspicious and dozing reception 
 of the real pith and marrow of the discourse — no 
 more. 
 
 Nothing can be so silly, and, at the same time, 
 so unfair to the author as, in such a case, to tie 
 him down to the letter, and to expect from him a 
 precise and logical application of the passages in 
 question. Whenever a writer has something to 
 propose more than usually startling to the public, if 
 he be wise, he commences with a double dose of this 
 material. Newspaper editors are especially aware 
 of the worth of the method ; and they have sets of 
 sentiments and phrases preliminary, ready cut and 
 dried, to preface all manner of hardy or unpalatable 
 assertions. They are never so loyal, as wiien on 
 the eve of writing treason ; never so pious, as when 
 making an attack on the establishment ; and never 
 so much in love with freedom, as when advocating 
 a suspension of the Habeas Corpus Act. 
 *The knowledge of tiiis secret is turned to a good
 
 G6 A FIRST LESSON IN READING. 
 
 account by the older quidnuncs, whose experience 
 enables them to scent these placebo passages, at the 
 first word ; when they unceremoniously cut the 
 whole tirade, and let the eye fall perpendicularly 
 down the column, till it comes to the pith, cream, 
 and quintessence of the matter really in hand. 
 
 A candidate at an election, be it then remembered, 
 may, in his addresses to the county, profess the 
 most profound esteem for his constituents, without 
 compromising his right to purchase his return at 
 five pounds a vote, if they cannot be had at a 
 cheaper rate. To understand him in any other 
 sense would be cruel. In like manner, the diatribe 
 against quackery, the boastings of honour and 
 secrecy in the puffs of an advertising surgeon, must 
 not be mistaken for a pledge not to poison the 
 patient. 
 
 The mystery of diplomacy lies very much in a 
 judicious use of these figures of rhetoric ; and, if 
 that science has fallen into some discredit, it is be- 
 cause lawyers, divines, country justices, publishers, 
 and even tailors and cheesemongers, have become 
 such adepts in the application of its terms of art, 
 as to have deprived statescraft and ambassadorship 
 of half their dignity, grace, and imposing so- 
 lemnity. 
 
 By the application of the rules here laid down, 
 there are few books which he who runs may not 
 read ; and, when a reader fails, let it be a hint to 
 him to suspect whatever he cannot thus understand. 
 That, *' what we cannot understand is nothing to
 
 A FIRST LESSON IN READING. 67 
 
 US," is the maxim of a latitudinarian ; for an honest 
 meaning can lack no cloak of verbal obscurity. 
 
 A poet has said contemptuously, "tutti apjjlaiidir, 
 niun comprese ;" and he was right : for there is no 
 greater " mark of the beast," than the " omne 
 ignotuni pro magnijico ;" and thus to be done, is 
 perfectly plebeian ! 
 
 Forget not, then, that there is an universal Free- 
 masonry abroad ; that every party endeavours to 
 speak a jargon of its own, which shall only be un- 
 derstood amongst its own members ; and you may 
 rest assured, that, whatever is unintelligible at first 
 sight, is no production of a friend ; and must be 
 the language of deceit. Besides, what you do not 
 comprehend, must be contrary to what you do com- 
 prehend ; and, on that account, contrary to common 
 sense, and as absurd as it is dangerous. 
 
 Self-contradiction, be it also understood, makes 
 nothing against the arguments of a writer of the 
 true sort. " Caesar does never wrong, but with 
 good cause '," and, if such a one should change 
 from black to white in the same breath, rest con- 
 fident he has a sufficient reason for so doing. But, 
 if the rogue writes for the enemy, the matter is 
 toto colo changed : in that case, read him as Milton 
 read Salmasius. Should he even agree with 
 you in trifles, think, that, like his coadjutor, 
 the devil, it is but to betray you " in deepest con- 
 sequences ;" and set it down boldly that he speaks 
 in any other than the obvious sense. Recollect 
 well what St. Augustine says, " that you may
 
 68 A FIRST LESSON IN READING. 
 
 safely praise or blamt', witliout reference to general 
 principles, by imputing intentions at pleasure, and 
 availing yourself of the circumstances of the con- 
 juncture." Remember that in hostile writers no 
 trifles are unimportant ; and, if you allow one word 
 that they say to be true, you are never safe from 
 being tossed on the horns of a dilemma. 
 
 It must, by this time, be sufficiently evident, 
 that there is a very large class of authors, who 
 address themselves exclusively to such readers as 
 cannot read ; and whose value depends altogether 
 on the density of the public intellect. This class 
 includes not only the mediocre who live by ad- 
 dressing the mediocre, but all those, who, by the 
 cunning, contrive to feed the babes of literature 
 from the pap-bowl of plausibihties. Civis and 
 Vindex, and Junius Secundus, and a long list of para- 
 graph-grinders of the same calibre, write very 
 principally for the non-readers ; and they are lost 
 if they fall into the hands of one that can read. 
 Such, too, are the writers of Fast sermons, judge's 
 charges, and the royal proclamations of the celestial 
 empire ; whose occupation would be gone, if their 
 riddle were once expounded. 
 
 Against writings of this sort, an honest plain man 
 cannot be too much on his guard ; but incomparably 
 more dangerous are the works writtene xclusively 
 for such as can read : for they are stuffed from be- 
 ginning to end with that inflammable matter, 
 which none but the expert can understand ; and 
 which, therefore, is the quintessence of disloyalty 
 and infidelity.
 
 A FIRST LESSON IN READING. 69 
 
 Having established these points, enough has 
 been done for " a first lesson." The tocsin has 
 been sounded, and the world put on its guard 
 against its own bonhomie. Fore-warned is fore- 
 armed ; and, after this notice, whoever is duped, 
 will be the unpitied victim of his own self-conceit, 
 and deserves to be dogmatized out of his senses. 
 
 It is lamentable to have been thus obliged to dis- 
 turb the calm complacency of so many ignora- 
 muses, in whose philosophy these refinements were 
 never dreamed of ; but something was necessary to 
 be done, in order to remedy such crying abuses. 
 Mean time, if the reader be desirous of further in- 
 struction, he is referred to ^'' Les Quinze Vingts" 
 at Paris, " lieu^ ou les Jiommes gagnent leur vie a 
 ne voir goute, comme aussi en plusieurs autres 
 lieux." * 
 
 • Satire Menippee.
 
 70 THE ABSURDITIES OF 
 
 THE ABSURDITIES OF MEN OF MERIT. 
 
 " Que les gens d'esprit sont betes !" 
 
 Manage de Figaro. 
 
 Society is, proverbially, intolerant of merit. 
 Other aristocrasies are cheerfully acknowledged ; 
 rank is allowed, because it is an ancient and time- 
 honoured convention ; wealth, because it is a dif- 
 fusible good, and repays the sycophant 5 but for 
 personal endowments, there is no mercy. An ac- 
 knowledgment of the supremacy of merit is ex- 
 torted from the crowd, in spite of spite ; and the 
 world, compelled to admit the wide difference be- 
 tween itself and the man of genius, on his own par- 
 ticular ground, is perpetually on the search after 
 collateral weaknesses and failings in his deport- 
 ment, as a compensation for this provoking excel- 
 lence, and as a means of re-establishing something 
 like equality between the parties. 
 
 The French, who, with all their admiration for 
 talent, are at once intolerant of inequality, and 
 susceptible of the ridiculous, are especially prone 
 to this species of levelling : and the jealous rivalry 
 of tlieir savans and beaux esprits has largely fed the
 
 MEN OF MERIT. 71 
 
 malignity of that nation with scandalous anecdote. 
 There are few of the eminent wits of their Au- 
 gustan ages of science and of literature, who have 
 not thus contributed their full quota to the history of 
 the littleness of great men. 
 
 Geniuses of the highest order are not more 
 exempt from human infirmity than their neigh- 
 bours ; and there are few, even of the wisest and 
 the best, who, when closely examined, will not, 
 like the diamond, exhibit some flaw or stain, to 
 detract from the purity and lustre of their water. 
 Nor is this very difficult to explain. We are apt 
 to speak of the human intellect, as of a simple 
 unity ; whereas, the intelligent and voluntary 
 powers of the mind are complex aggregates of 
 many independent faculties, each existing in its 
 own degree of development, which has no obvious 
 connexion with that of any of the rest. Genius, 
 wisdom, and virtue, are each the result of its own 
 peculiar combination of these faculties ; and they 
 are so far from being necessarily yoke fellows, 
 that no sure inference can be drawn from the pre- 
 sence of any one concerning the probable expec- 
 tation of the other two. " Un cour faihle^' says 
 Voltaire, '"'■ pent subsister avec un esprit fort, car 
 on peut penser fortement , et agir faiblementy 
 
 In point of fact, merits are almost ever specific, 
 and what is called a great man is unfrequently 
 not a very little man, great upon one point. A 
 great musician may be, and often is, a great fool ; 
 a great mathematician may be a great rogue j and
 
 72 THE ABSURDITIES OF 
 
 it is possible for an admirable Crighton to be so 
 lamentably deficient in some one element of cha- 
 racter, as to excite the risibility of the dullest dog 
 that ever tired the patience of a listener. Even 
 madness is a partial, not a general malady ; and, 
 as there are monomaniacs, who, (as the word im- 
 plies) are lunatic only on one subject, so there are 
 monoelithiacs, who unite strong general powers of 
 mind with a vein of folly that extends only to a 
 single particular. Rousseau, quarrelling with his 
 best fiiends, and Pascal indulging in the supersti- 
 tion of an ascetic, are by no means phenomena so 
 rare in the literary and philosophic world as is 
 commonly imagined. 
 
 But it is not alone through those weaknesses 
 which genius inherits in common with flesh of in- 
 ferior endowment, that merit lies open to the ridi- 
 cule of mediocrity : the very qualities which lead 
 to eminence are apt to expose their possessor to the 
 world's contempt. The poetic temperament, or 
 that constitution of organs, which engenders a sus- 
 ceptibility to the beautiful and the sublime, is in 
 itself almost a disease ; and it affects with many 
 obvious peculiarities the whole round of thought 
 and action. With a keener perception of externals, 
 and a nicer susceptibility to moral relations, prompt 
 sympathies and fiery passions, the poetic mind 
 reacts upon nature and society by other laws than 
 those which govern the movements of ordinary 
 spirits : sometimes really disturbing the moral fit- 
 ness, or the wisdom of conduct ; and sometimes
 
 MEN OF MERIT. 73 
 
 merely producing whimsical results, which the world, 
 for want of a key to the mysterious workings of 
 genius, wrongfully censures as vicious or absurd. 
 The man of genius, governed by feelings and de- 
 sires which the world cannot appreciate, neglecting 
 and despising interests which the world adores, and 
 acting from impulses of which even himself is 
 scarcely conscious, becomes, in the estimate of his 
 contemporaries, a miracle or a monster of wayward- 
 ness, inconsequence, and caprice. 
 
 Between the man of real endowment, and the 
 mere common- place drudge, there is an infinite 
 variety of shades. The combinations of particular 
 faculties, in various degrees of development, are 
 almost endless, and produce characters of various 
 utility, respectability, and consistency. A great 
 number of these intellectual complexes may suffice, 
 (especially when favoured by external circum- 
 stances) to lead the possessor to distinction, or, at 
 least to notoriety, without affording them a pre- 
 tence to the higher order of celebrity. 
 
 In some^ a vein of genius shows itself in the mere 
 animal aptitude to combine and invent, without 
 the perseverance, judgment, and taste necessary to 
 the production of a great work. In others, talents 
 for some particular arts, holding a powerful influ- 
 ence over the human imagination, exist, without any 
 concomitant intellectual power. In others, strong 
 passions and a determined volition supply the place 
 of genius ; and generate imitative excellence, which 
 passes current with the world for originality. 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 THE ABSURDITIES OF 
 
 In the estimate of the mass of mankind, all these 
 powers are taken as equal ; for all incomprehen- 
 sibles are equal, in an imagination too narrow to 
 embrace them. By this mistaking mere aptitude 
 for genius, this confounding a particular talent 
 with a comprehensive intellect, the world at large 
 is betrayed into forming a lower estimate of the 
 moral value of intellectual excellence, than is con- 
 sistent with truth : and genius suffers for the sins 
 of its spurious imitators. If due exception be 
 made of the operation of accidental causes, it will 
 be found that the really great men, who, in their 
 respective lines have distinguished themselves by 
 works of indisputable originality and value, are 
 very generally remarkable for the respectability 
 and morality of their worldly conduct. 
 
 It cannot be denied that talents of a high order 
 are sometimes led astray by that enthusiasm, that 
 '•foco animatore" so necessary to the perfection 
 of the imitative arts. Benvenuto Cellini, Cara- 
 vaggio, and Spagnuoletti, are instances in point : 
 and Salvator Rosa, though he deserves not to be 
 placed in the same category witli these wild artists, 
 was yet sufficiently bizarre, to afford scope for the 
 petty sarcasm of vulgar minds. 
 
 It is chiefly, however, among the geniuses of the 
 second, third, and fourth rate, that either great 
 vices, or striking absurdities, very notably detract 
 from personal respectability. To give consistency 
 and a-plomb to character, a sound judgment is 
 essentially necessary ; but no work of genuine
 
 MEN OF MERIT. 75 
 
 worth, even though it be a work of mere art, can be 
 produced, without the exercise of a severe judg- 
 ment. In the fine arts, it is true, feehng alone 
 may produce striking effects ; and, when these arts 
 have been long cultivated, even a mere imitative 
 power in the fingers' ends will suffice to make the 
 trading professor a name ; but the capi d' opera in 
 painting, sculpture, and music, are not created 
 without intellectual effort ; and they who are capable 
 of deep thought, have generally a wholeness and 
 unity of character, well calculated to inspire respect. 
 Michael Angelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and Titian, 
 were no less remarkable for their personal excellen- 
 ces, and the vast scope of their mental powers, 
 than for their ability as artists. 
 
 Glittering, however, as is the eminence assigned 
 to poets, painters, and musicians, the highest in- 
 tellectual honours are attained by persons whose 
 energies are of a very diff^erent character, and seem 
 to guarantee the utmost gravity and decorum both 
 of thought and action : these are the scientific 
 and the learned, mathematicians, philosophers, and 
 statesmen. In minds of this class, concentration, 
 or the aptitude for labour, seems to be the predo- 
 minant characteristic ; and accuracy and precision 
 the prevailing excellences. Slow, painful, deli- 
 berate, the march of their ideas is almost neces- 
 sarily determined in the narrow right-lined path of 
 integrity and moderation. Yet it is in this class, 
 most especially, that those ridicules are usually 
 discovered, which furnish the armoury of small 
 
 e2
 
 76 THE ABSURDITIES OF 
 
 wits with their pop-gun sarcasms against the merit 
 they are sure to envy, and cannot equal. 
 
 The learned and the recluse are, above all others, 
 liable to certain obvious and fantastic defects, which 
 are dependant on a neglect of social forms, or on 
 acquired habits, which the dull are careful to avoid 
 themselves, and are apt to take note of in others. 
 The man of intellectual labour commonly lives 
 apart from what is called the world, and thus es- 
 capes from a social discipline, very necessary to 
 rub off the asperities of selfishness, and to correct 
 the whims and caprices that constitute originality, 
 in the bad sense of the word. Rugged with the 
 rust of a college, recluse students afford a thou- 
 sand little salient points of humorous absurdity, 
 which the microscopic eye of folly can measure 
 with a fastidious accuracy. Their coat, perhaps, 
 is unfashioned, their gait awkward, their manner in 
 society bashful and embarrassed, or, haply, (from 
 the want of something wherewith to measure 
 themselves) presuming and overbearing. They 
 are also not unfrequently conspicuous for some 
 ungainly motion, some ridiculous tic, which gives 
 them an air of imbecility in the eyes of those, who 
 are utterly incapable of appreciating their solid 
 excellence. Every blockhead could quiz the enor- 
 mity of Dr. Parr's ^ji.iyx ()a.vij.a., the extravagance of 
 Johnson's outward demeanour, or the coarseness 
 of Paley's northern dialect ; but their intellects 
 and acquirements could only be estimated by their 
 equals.
 
 MEN OF MERIT. 77 
 
 In the scientific departments, which so frequently 
 develop lowly and self-educated merit, genius is 
 often marked by a simplicity and a confiding frank- 
 ness of exterior, which the world accounts as folly ; 
 and the individuals are almost always guilty of a 
 neglect of fashions and of observances, which is 
 charged against them as vulgarity. What chance 
 could an Emerson or a Watt stand of being re- 
 spected in a mixed company, if he ate with a knife, 
 or wore worsted stockings ? The plainness of Ro- 
 land's dress excited in the French court as much 
 ill-will as his politics. " Voyez done," said the 
 master of the ceremonies, "j-jos meme de boncles a 
 ses souliers ! tout est perdu." 
 
 A large harvest of ridicules is also furnished by 
 a class of celebrities, whose merit is often of a very 
 questionable quality — the men of mere learning. 
 Learning, without judgment, is pedantry, and pe- 
 dantry is a fault obvious and obtrusive. On the 
 revival of letters, a multitude of blockheads and 
 coxcombs arose to distinction, by dint of a parrot's 
 memory, and an acquired knowledge, whose rarity 
 was its only title to distinction. The Gaspar 
 Scioppiuses and the Julius Caesar Scaligers still 
 continue to furnish a laugh against literary emi- 
 nence, by many a tale of their egregious vanity, or 
 of their insane vituperation of rivals. The absurd 
 importance which such men confer on their own 
 trifling pursuits, and the exaggerated price they 
 set upon themselves, lead them to dispense with the 
 merits of a decent exterior, or even of common
 
 78 THE ABSURDITIES OF 
 
 honesty in their intercourse with society : and the 
 more absurd they are in conduct, the better they 
 imagine themselves to have asserted their claims to 
 extraordinary endowment. 
 
 In these various infirmities, abundant matter 
 may be found, to justify the reproaches against real 
 excellence, by which every-day personages indem- 
 nify themselves for the want of that " digito mon- 
 sirari," in their fancy so enviable a distinction. 
 
 But if all is not gold that glitters, all is not dross 
 which shows no metallic brilliancy. A great deal 
 of what the world imputes against men of merit as 
 antisocial or whimsical, is less referable to bad qua- 
 lities in the individuals, than to the imbecility of 
 those with whom they are obliged to live. Agree- 
 ability is a mutual relation ; and harmony may be 
 as effectually destroyed by an excess, as by a defi- 
 ciency of tone. If the man of true genius is some- 
 times reputi'd a bore, or a dealer in paradox, it will 
 be necessary to guage the quality of his society, 
 before acceding to the judgment. 
 
 Is it the fault of tlie man of high intellectual 
 powers, that, in every mixed society, he should en- 
 counter so few who can relish or comprehend any 
 subject that is not either political or licentious ? 
 Is it his fault that, in contemplating things from a 
 more elevated point of view, he sees many par- 
 ticulars which escape the cognizance of those below 
 him ? As justly might a foreigner be accounted 
 dull, because he cannot speak the language of the 
 country, as such a man be taxed with moroseness
 
 MEN OP MERIT. 79 
 
 or singularity, because his associates cannot rise to 
 the level of his ideas. 
 
 He who is above the intellectual level of his com- 
 pany, is like the writer who has gotten the start of 
 his age. Both are despised and neglected, because 
 they are misunderstood and misrepresented. It is 
 a heavy misfortune, but it is no fault, that they 
 address a circle which cannot, or will not perceive 
 its own deficiencies ; that, abounding in ideas 
 which are peculiarly their own, and thinking justly 
 where others are in error, they are compelled to 
 cast their pearls before swine, or, in Goldsmith's 
 happy phrase, 
 
 " To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor." 
 
 But it may be said that the man of genius loses 
 nothing by condescending to the level of his com- 
 pany, and by stooping to trifle with those whose 
 nature or habits are unfitted for graver matters. 
 To trifle agreeably, however, is not an every-day 
 talent, and he who attempts its exercise in a circle 
 of dullards, is deficient in tact, and will inevitably 
 be set down as a fool. It is a good rule ever to 
 be sure of your company, before venturing a joke, 
 or hazarding a refined observation, even on the 
 most familiar subject. 
 
 A mathematician would be justly blamed, who 
 should strive to introduce his diagrams into ge- 
 neral society ; and genius, in every department, 
 has what may be called its shop conversation. To 
 introduce this, mal apropos, is an impertinence al-
 
 80 THE ABSURDITIES OF 
 
 together intolerable ; but, in avoiding the error, 
 the mere stooping to common-place subjects will 
 not suffice. To descend to the level of an inferior 
 person, is to enter into his mind, and to be aware 
 of the full extent of its poverty — a power of no 
 easy acquirement. The ideas and associations with 
 which we are ourselves familiar, we naturally ima- 
 gine to be held in common with others ; and it is 
 not until a man feels that he has puzzled, shocked, 
 or scandalized his audience, that he discovers how 
 far he has left his hearers behind him, and that 
 he has suggested a very different train of ideas by 
 his language, from that which it represents in his 
 own mind. What he puts hypothetically, is haply 
 taken affirmatively ; or, when he uses a word in 
 its strict technical lueaning, it is perhaps received 
 in some lax and popular sense, which disfigures 
 the sentiment ; or, it may be, that when he is hu- 
 morous, he is understood as serious ; and when he 
 is sarcastic, he is translated into literal matter of 
 fact. 
 
 Thus is the pleasantry of the polite scholar con- 
 stantly mistaken for offence ; and the simplest re- 
 mark deemed dangerous or impertinent, because 
 the company cannot fill up the sub-auditions, fa- 
 miliar to persons better instructed, or of quicker 
 apprehension. Much of the truth or falsehood of 
 conversational propositions depends on their con- 
 nexion with something expressed, or implied in the 
 preceding discourse : the greater, tlierefore, the 
 finesse of the remark, the greater is the chance of
 
 MEN OF MERIT. 81 
 
 its passing with blockheads for a paradox or an 
 absurdity. 
 
 Who is there among the class of readers to 
 whom the subject of the present paper affords an 
 interest, who has not, on many an occasion, found 
 himself thus awkv/ardly situated in a circle of dull, 
 matter-of-fact persons, ignorant of his most familiar 
 quotations, inapprehensive of his imagery, insen- 
 sible to his allusions, and construing every propo- 
 sition into its direct contrary — until he has felt 
 convinced that they have one and all convicted him 
 in their own minds of blasphemy and treason, or at 
 least set him down as a driveller and an idiot ? 
 
 If the fool answers according to his folly, it is 
 because he understands according to his folly. The 
 wise speech, for the same reason, sleeps in the 
 foolish ear; the fault lies in the ratio recipientis. 
 A Newton or Bacon would come off but second best 
 in an encounter of the wits with the members of the 
 " Free and easy Foxhunters," or the "Eccentrics' 
 Club;" yet the club-room is but an exaggeration 
 of the dullness too common in what is ordinarily 
 considered the very best company. 
 
 A few experiences of this species of disappoint- 
 ment will drive a modest man into silence, and 
 reduce even the highest endowments below the 
 conversational level of those who have little besides 
 impudence and garrulity to help them. Despairing 
 to make himself intelligible, or of entering into the 
 nothingness and inanity which form the circulating 
 medium of ordinary society, the man of merit seeks 
 
 E ^
 
 82 THE ABSURDITIES OF 
 
 a refuge in abstraction ; and gives place to more 
 flippant speakers, from a disgust, which is at once 
 attributed to superciliousness or incapacity. 
 
 The greater the intellectual superiority of the 
 individual, the greater is the probability of his fall- 
 ing into one particular species of practical error — 
 an over-refinement of conjecture upon motives and 
 probabilities. Over estimating the intelligence of 
 those with whom he has to deal, he becomes the 
 dupe of his own superiority. " Let us search this 
 house," says one of a party in pursuit of a thief, 
 " for the sign announces it to be the house of call 
 for his countrymen." " No," replied the other j 
 " he will hardly take refuge where he must ex- 
 pect to be looked for." " You are wrong," said 
 a third ; " he will calculate on our coming to your 
 conclusion, and will hide in this very house, be- 
 cause he must think that we shall suppose it the 
 last place where we should expect to find him." 
 The house was searched on this refined specula- 
 tion, time was lost, and the thief passed uninter- 
 rupted on his journey, for a reason all had over- 
 looked — he could not read. 
 
 No one is less capable of foreseeing and guarding 
 against the silliness of others, than he who is not 
 silly himself; exactly as the loyal-minded are the 
 least protected against the plotting of traitors. If 
 la mi'jiance est la mere de la sfirete, none are in such 
 danger as the worthy and the wise. He who se- 
 parates himself from the world, though it be by 
 rising above it, becomes proportionately weak, and
 
 MEN OF MERIT. 83 
 
 (in as far as he is dependent upon opinion) mise- 
 rable. It is not every Democritus who finds an 
 Hippocrates, possessed of the public ear, to protect 
 and encourage him. 
 
 In private life, men of real merit are seldom 
 found to err widely through inequality of character. 
 If they do not possess an absolute wholeness and 
 unity of disposition, they have sufficient self-com- 
 mand to preserve the decencies. Whartons and 
 Rochesters are rare exceptions ; and even their 
 shewy qualities are of a nature too equivocal to be 
 taken on trust. The bare fact that they have not 
 turned their excellence to a useful purpose, is 
 presumptive proof that it was not what it has been 
 supposed. 
 
 It is in the conduct of public affairs, that men, in 
 many respects superior, are most likely to break 
 down, and to become the wonder and the reproach 
 of their age. Duclos, in his treatise on the manners 
 of his own times, attributes some of these failures 
 to a want of agreement between the character and 
 the wit ; that is, to speak more precisely, between 
 the will and the intellect. If there are many va- 
 rieties of intellectual power, there are as many dis- 
 positions and tendencies to various action : and if a 
 man's impulses are not in harmony with his powers, 
 he cannot succeed. 
 
 A decided passion for public affairs is not un- 
 frequently combined with a capability only for 
 abstract reasoning, inapplicable to the complex 
 relations of real life. Thus a statesman may have
 
 84 THE ABSURDITIES OF 
 
 extensive views, and form grand designs, and yet 
 be baffled and disgusted with the commonest ob- 
 stacles in the details of business. He may want 
 the promptitude to encounter unforeseen opposi- 
 tion, or the adroitness which wields at pleasure the 
 wills of others ; or he may be destitute of that 
 perseverance and firmness of purpose, without which 
 great masses are not to be moved. 
 
 Often, when the character and the intellect tend 
 to the same point, their forces are still unequal. 
 The volition is often the feeblest, where the intel- 
 ligence is the most piercing ; and ministers of un- 
 doubted talent, with liberal views, honest intentions, 
 and great powers of combination, for want of a 
 strong passion to energize volition, are incapable of 
 conducting a continuous action to a successful 
 issue. 
 
 This deficiency has sometimes been attributed 
 to the Liberals, as a party, of whom it is said, 
 tliat they see what is right, and desire to effectuate 
 it : but removed by aristocratic influences above 
 the people whose good they seek, and without 
 the corrupt interests which bind their opponents 
 into a phalanx, they want that intensity of purpose, 
 that should give efficacy to their designs. Such 
 men are easily turned aside from their purpose. 
 They are the victims of minor considerations. Even 
 their ambition is fluctuating and intermittent ; and 
 it alt(?rnates with paroxysms of indolence, of plea- 
 sure, &c. &c. &c. 
 
 Of still more frequent occurrence, are statesmen
 
 MEN OF MERIT. 85 
 
 in whom the most unbounded ambition, the 
 strongest passion for affairs, the firmest purpose, 
 and the most undaunted courage, are united with 
 absolute mediocrity of talent, and narrowness of 
 conception. Those who are not admirers of the 
 late Lord Castlereagh will very probably place him 
 in this category ; and it is one of the most mis- 
 chievous to a country that a minister can stand 
 in. In such a character, failure inspires no self- 
 doubting, and demonstrated error begets no hesi- 
 tation. The will is exalted, not checked, by the 
 show of opposition ; and perseverance degenerates 
 into obstinacy. 
 
 There are occasions in which the greatest states- 
 men have become the victims of some accidental 
 circumstance, acting on slight inequalities between 
 the intellect and the will. The volition of Napoleon 
 at Moscow thus obscured his judgment, and be- 
 trayed him into the deepest consequences. His 
 extraordinary powers of combination, which had 
 hitherto never failed him, could not triumph over 
 the preponderance of one idea, rendered prepotent 
 by its coincidence with his intense passion. In the 
 campaign of 1814 and 1815, the two forces were in 
 the strictest harmony, and the results were the 
 most brilliant of his eventful life. After the battle 
 of Waterloo, his voluntary power, subdued by re- 
 peated misfortune, wholly failed him. His mind 
 was crippled, nay, palsied by despair ; and when he 
 had no longer the energy to avail himself of his 
 remaining resources, he fancied that he was ac-
 
 86 The absurdities of 
 
 tuated by a respect for human life, and a patriotic 
 regard for the welfare of his country. 
 
 Talleyrand, with the highest intellectual powers, 
 was but " un grand homme manque,'" for want of a 
 character sufficiently energetic to have placed him 
 at the head of events. With a mind capable of 
 directing the energies of France, he had a will 
 fitted only for playing second fiddle ; and his ambi- 
 tion was ever placed at the service of others. 
 
 Louis the Sixteenth had, perhaps, the full average 
 intellect of his family, and he had ten times their 
 average heart. He perished, the victim of an utter 
 incapacity for forming a decided volition. Louis 
 the Eighteenth died on the throne, because these 
 faculties, without being eminent, were in equili- 
 brium ; and because, united, they were equal to 
 the circumstances in which he was placed. Charles 
 the Tenth lived in exile, because, with the weakest 
 of intellects, he was the most obstinate of mortals. 
 
 In politics, the greater the genius, the more fatal 
 are tiie consequences of this species of inequality ; 
 and " niaynis tamen excidit ausis" might be the 
 motto of some of the greatest men who have filled 
 thrones, or directed the affairs of powerful nations. 
 The more extensive the intellectual grasp of a 
 public man, the more he is placed at the mercy of 
 circumstances. In politics, and in war, much must 
 be left to chance ; but a happy union of intelli- 
 gence and firmness can alone determine how much 
 should be trusted to events ; and decide when an 
 object should be pursued to all lengths, or safety
 
 MEN OF MERIT. 87 
 
 be secured by a timely retreat. The world judges 
 in these cases exclusively by success ; and it places 
 the leader, who has not failed simply because he 
 has not attempted, before the most daring spirits 
 and penetrating geniuses, whose designs fortune 
 has not seconded in the execution. 
 
 There is a foolish question agitated among mo- 
 ralists, whether talents are desirable — whether a 
 parent should wish his child to be a genius. The 
 question, if it merits an answer, is easily decided. 
 Genius is but an instrument ; and its influence 
 upon happiness depends on the nature of its em- 
 ployment. Increase of power is valuable only as it 
 is swayed by a regulated will ; and any intellectual 
 endowment which only enables its owner to give 
 more effect to his caprices, places him in a false 
 position, and must become the source of misery. 
 To virtue and to vice, to wisdom and to folly, mere 
 talent is in itself indifferent : an intellectual edu- 
 cation, unaccompanied by moral development, is 
 a discord, that cannot produce sweet music ; but 
 when the two go together, intellectual power in all 
 its modifications is good ; for intellect is power, and 
 power well directed is happiness. 
 
 There is, however, some truth in the notion that 
 great endowments, and more especially a decided 
 excellence in the imitative arts, affect our relations 
 to society in a way not always favourable to hap- 
 piness, by originating ideas and associations at 
 variance with our fortunes. With the mental, as 
 with the bodily functions, whatever is gained in
 
 88 THE ABSURDITIES OF MEN OF MERIT. 
 
 extent of mobility, is lost in security and precision 
 of action ; and as the shoulder is more liable to 
 dislocation than the hip, so a susceptible tempera- 
 ment is exposed to accidental displacements, when 
 coarser minds are secured in their inefficiency. 
 
 But then, it must not be forgotten, that with 
 such liabilities, men of genius have chances of suc- 
 cess, far beyond those of ordinary characters. If 
 life be better than death, and wakefulness be pre- 
 ferable to sleep, genius must (every thing consi- 
 dered) be more desirable than mediocrity and dull- 
 ness. •
 
 AN ESSAY ON COALS. 89 
 
 AN ESSAY ON COALS. 
 
 " In-grale-um si dixeris, omnia dixeris." 
 
 In commencing an Essay on Coals, two very op- 
 posite prejudices stare an unfortunate author in the 
 face. First, there is that commonest of all pre- 
 sumptions, which induces men of little calibre to 
 imagine that nothing exists in nature, or in art, 
 beyond the very narrow sphere of their own com- 
 prehension. " Coals," quoth the representative of 
 this faction, with a contemptuous twist of his nose, 
 *' what on earth has the man to say on that sub- 
 ject ? Is he going to rip up the disputes of a late 
 lord mayor, and to call the monopolising owners of 
 the great mines of the north over their own com- 
 modity ? Surely there is nothing new or interesting 
 to be said on that matter." 
 
 Opposed to this opinion are the trembling sus- 
 ceptibilities, of him who knows the full extent, the 
 wide encyclopaedia of learning embraced by the 
 theme, and who foresees in the opening of such a 
 mine, nothing less than a very great bore. " To
 
 90 AN ESSAY ON COALS. 
 
 do common justice to the subject of coals, what 
 a question" (he will say) " presents itself at the 
 very starting place, in their disputed origin and 
 geological history. Why, the very fossil Flora con- 
 nected with this singular formation, would alone 
 occupy a life of ordinary labour and industry. The 
 chemical and economical department of the inquiry, 
 too, what a field is there ! to say nothing of the 
 very intricate and very essential episode concerning 
 smoky chimneys and smoke-consuming furnaces, 
 and a rechaiiff'e of the history of the musical " Small- 
 coal man." 
 
 Between the dilemma of these hostile conclu- 
 sions the essayist is shut in, nut-cracker-wise ; or, 
 to speak without a metaphor, stands a fair chance 
 of losing a large part of the good-will of his pro- 
 posed readers, who will either " skip and go on," 
 in search of something which promises better sport, 
 or lay it by for a more convenient season, when 
 there shall be sufficient leisure to enter upon so 
 weighty a matter. 
 
 If the subject adopted for this paper had been of 
 what Swift would have called a more tritical na- 
 ture — had it concerned the old lady of Babylon, or 
 her twin sister in iniquity, the other old lady of 
 Throgmorton Street — had it proposed for discus- 
 sion the way in which Shakespeare spelled his 
 name, the authenticity of Ossian's Poems, the Ca- 
 tholic Question, or Napoleon's quarrel with Sir 
 Hudson Lowe — had it, in short, touched upon 
 something, concerning which everything, to the pur-
 
 AN ESSAY ON COALS. 91 
 
 pose, and from the purpose, had been repeated ad 
 nauseam, no such doubts would have arisen. Readers 
 of all dimensions would have found themselves en 
 pays de connoissance, and have fallen-to like French 
 falconers : but coals ! that theme untouched of all 
 essayists in prose or verse ! it will be as forbidding, 
 as the first attempt to swallow an oyster ! 
 
 This is a great disadvantage, and discoui'aging 
 enough, Heaven knows ; but le vin est tire, and it 
 must be swallowed. Nothing, therefore, remains 
 but to adopt the practice and language of show- 
 men, and to courteously request all whom it may 
 concern to walk in and " see what they shall see ;" 
 promising, for our own sakes, to be as original, and 
 as little tedious as possible, and expressing an 
 humble hope that curiosity will not be wholly dis- 
 appointed. 
 
 There is, per contra^ one merit connected with 
 the theme, which will afford a considerable set off 
 against its novelty, and ought to remove from it a 
 large weight of that suspicion which falls in this 
 country, on every thing unbacked by precedent — it 
 is a truly English question. Coals, however new to 
 literature, are as matters of fact amongst the most 
 familiar objects of an Englishman's experience — an 
 object of which, if he does not boast, as of the 
 crowning excellence of his fortunes, (especially when 
 he shall have read what is here to be advanced on 
 that head), he will be more ungrateful to nature 
 and to Providence than it becomes a good Christian 
 to shew himself.
 
 92 AN ESSAY ON COALS. 
 
 Poets in general, and all dealers in figure, have 
 taken a fancy to couple Old England with the 
 watery element ; and historians and political writers 
 (adopting the notion on trust) have attributed the 
 national superiority in everything feasible and cog- 
 nizable, to the circumambient ocean, by which the 
 people are insulated from the less gifteci races of 
 human beings. From Horace, with his divisos orbe 
 Britannos, to Dibdin's " Go patter to lubbers," and 
 " England's best bulwarks," the sea has been as- 
 signed on all hands as the Englishman's element. 
 But this is a great mistake. 
 
 An Englishman"'s true element (and it is strange 
 that the fact should have escaped the whole ballad- 
 making crew) is fire. The English soldier is steady 
 under fire, the English poet writes with fire, the 
 English merchant is famous for the many irons he 
 has in the fire, and there are more fire insurance 
 offices in London alone, than in all the rest of the 
 world. In one word, no nation exists that has so 
 completely obtained a mastery over every depart- 
 ment in which fire is brought into action. Che- 
 mistry, metallurgy, dyeing, brewing, distilling, 
 cotton-spinning and weaving, horse-shoeing, gas- 
 lighting, and steam navigation, are the distin- 
 guisliing excellences of our happy land ; and it 
 cannot be doubted that men will " think ere many 
 days are gone," that the High-mettled Racer him- 
 self must ultimately yield the pas in the Meltonian 
 field to fire, and get his supersedeas from a tea- 
 kettle.
 
 AN ESSAY ON COALS. 93 
 
 If the Irish antiquarians are right, and if it be 
 true that the Druids worsliipped the fire god Bel, 
 there must have been something more than acci- 
 dental in the coincidence ; for fire has become to 
 the Englishman what Socrates prophetically said of 
 it in the general, " his fellow-workman in every 
 art." * Even theology in these days is based on a 
 due application of fire ; and if we do not still wor- 
 ship it in the same way as our Druidical ancestors, 
 its agency as an instrument of morals and hap- 
 piness is very universally invoked. But on theology 
 politics rest as on a pedestal, and fire enters still 
 more largely into our statescraft, as presiding over 
 the three great engines of policy, " killing, burn- 
 ing, and destroying." 
 
 Let people, therefore, talk as they will of our 
 glorious constitution, the right thinking will be 
 more inclined to celebrate our glorious coal-mines. 
 Great Britain is more indebted for all that renders 
 it " the envy of surrounding nations, and the ad- 
 miration of the world," to Mulciber, than to Mi- 
 nerva : and Venus was not so much out, as some 
 have thought, when she preferred the sooty divinity 
 of Lemnos for a husband, to all the smarter, but 
 less serviceable gods of Olympus. The steam- 
 engine, indeed, the latest born, but greatest of the 
 sons of Vesta, has become a fourth estate in the 
 
 * Eirtitou^ov ^e airoTOvi, avvipyov Sj irjof iraT-av rs)(ynv, xal Travli 
 iaa axpiXlag svfxa avQeckiiroi Kolaa-nfual^o'jlai 
 
 Xeno-ph. Mem. Socrates.
 
 94 AN ESSAY ON COALS. 
 
 realm, and is fairly worth the other three. It is 
 the vivifying principle of taxation, and is a more 
 powerful conservator of the peace, than an army of 
 new police, or a host of vice- suppressing associa- 
 tions. The instant it stops working, the people 
 become turbulent and discontented, and when it 
 resumes its activity, the agitator's " occupation is 
 gone." The steam-engine is the real and effectual 
 balance in the state, it maintains the credit of the 
 national debt, it is the thunderbolt of war, and the 
 fruitful olive of peace. 
 
 Even the people themselves (for whom alone 
 wrong-headed radicals maintain that government 
 exclusively should subsist) may become too nume- 
 rous ; and may thus prove more burdensome to the 
 state, than an extravagant court, a grasping aristo- 
 cracy, or a greedy church ; but there is nothing exi~ 
 geant in the nature of the steam-engine. When it 
 cannot work, it does not jacobinically insist upon 
 eating ; and, like a good and pious machine as it 
 is, takes no thought wherewith it shall be clothed. 
 When pressed too hard, it may, like those living 
 machines the mob, haply make '* a blow-up;" but 
 its safety-valves are much more easily managed, 
 and are more to be depended upon : besides, the 
 burst once over, the steam-engine becomes as tame 
 and harmless as a child ; whereas the people go on 
 thundering at the door of the legislature with acce- 
 lerated impetus, and at every rent they effect in the 
 coercing medium, acquire fresh force for a renewed
 
 AN ESSAY ON COALS. 95 
 
 explosion, till institutions are cut into ribbons, and 
 order is utterly subverted. 
 
 Steam-engines are, therefore, better subjects 
 than men ; they have many advantages also over 
 the aristocracy. They never combine to make corn 
 dear ; they have no younger children to quarter on 
 the public ; nor do they insist upon making their 
 tutors bishops; they never rat for a ribbon, nor 
 sell their country for an empty title. In the hands 
 of Perkins himself, " with all appliances and means 
 to boot," they indulge not in murderous battus ; 
 nor do they fortify their preserves with laws which 
 exceed the atrocity of a Draco. 
 
 As to the first order of the state, we must re- 
 frain from odious comparisons ; but it is no treason 
 to assert, that steam-engines, when well used, can 
 really, and without figure of speech, do no wrong. 
 The world has never yet heard of one that was a 
 Jesuit, like Charles X. ; or set itself against learn- 
 ing, like the Emperor Francis ; or was as absurdly 
 tyrannical as a Miguel or a Ferdinand. A steam- 
 engine may be as indifferent to human suffering, as 
 a Nero or a Henry VIII. , and it will assuredly 
 chop off the best head that ventures to thrust a 
 nose across the career of its humour ; but, then, it 
 never goes out of its way to do mischief, being 
 contented to leave those alone who let it alone j 
 and, as kings in general go, that is no trifling ad- 
 vantage to the subject. 
 
 It is unnecessary to remind the reader (such 
 being the case), that coals are to the steam-engine
 
 96 AN ESSAY ON COALS. 
 
 what mind is in the microcosm. Hippocrates, in- 
 deed, carried this analogy one point further, when 
 he declared pure fire to be the moving principle of 
 life, which sets the piston of the heart in motion, 
 and opens and shuts the valves of the arteries, as 
 the grosser element does those of the steam- 
 engine. 
 
 Whatever good has been predicated of the en- 
 gine, is implicitly predicable of the fuel, which 
 gives it activity. On this account, it is a little un- 
 reasonable, perhaps, to object to the political in- 
 fluence of the Lowther family ; for, as lords of the 
 coalmines, and possessors of that which is the pri- 
 mum mobile of the state, the summum bonum of 
 our national being, they ought to have some finger 
 in the pie. 
 
 This is a question of national import ; not so the 
 objection which foreigners make to the smoke of 
 London — an objection as impertinent as it is in- 
 felicitous, smacking, at least, as much of envy as 
 of dislike. That majestic canopy of rarified soot 
 is rather to be regarded as the regal diadem of 
 
 " Old King Coal, that jolly old soul," 
 
 more typical of the wealth and power it over- 
 shadows, than the richest jewels that were ever 
 hired for a coronation. 
 
 The crystallized carbon, which, under the name 
 of diamond, sparkles on the brow of royalty, is 
 but a childish bauble, estimable only for its rarity 
 and inutility ; it mitigates no human sorrow, it
 
 AN ESSA.Y ON COALS. 97 
 
 cuts no pains (panes), except in the hands of the 
 glazier. Barren and unproductive, it shines ra- 
 ther as a pharos, to warn mankind, than to attract 
 them by its ghtter : but the black diamond warms, 
 and cherishes, and protects. It is the raw material 
 of industry, ingenuity, and order — the first cause 
 of diffusive wealth, comfort, and respectability. 
 More powerful than destiny itself, it annihilates 
 both time and space. Mastering the winds of heaven, 
 it enables Britannia, without a metaphor, to rule 
 the waves ; and, in the mightiness of its strength, 
 it reduces the fable of Briareus to a cold and 
 trifling conceit. 
 
 Coal likewise triumphs in the moral world. It 
 has added fresh wings to the press ; and, by dif- 
 fusing knowledge with increased rapidity, it rules 
 the intellects, as it presides over the physical wel- 
 fare of nations. Coal is, moreover, the concen- 
 trated essence of democracy, the supremacy of the 
 people, the only effective antagonist of the con- 
 queror's sword, and of the statesmen's craft. 
 Stretched on its dark and dingy bed, from the 
 depths of its cavernous palaces, it gives the law to 
 the " Sophy on his throne ;" and says to the em- 
 peror of half the world, " thus far shalt thou go, 
 and no further." Coal armed the coalition of Eu- 
 ropean kings, and was more fatal to Napoleon, 
 than the snows of Moscow. 
 
 It is not without reason, that the Englishman 
 takes for his motto ^^pro arts et focis;" for his 
 domestic fires are his wealth, and his wealth is his 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 AN ESSAY ON COALS. 
 
 religion. If the cliildren of the East were ex- 
 cusable for worshipping the sun, that splendid type 
 of creative power, the Englishman is still better 
 justified for honouring his coalmines. What is 
 the sun (of England) ? — less glorious than the moon 
 of Naples, it is wrapped in clouds, and shrouded 
 in ungenial mists. Coal is the Englishman's sun ; 
 its fostering warmth never deserts him, amidst the 
 rigours and inclemencies of the fiercest summer. 
 It lights his dreary path in the long nights of 
 winter, while the sun is coquetting with the anti- 
 podes; and it ripens his grapes and his cucum- 
 bers, when the celestial luminary churlishly refuses 
 to bring to maturity a potato or a cabbage. 
 
 Coal does not exhale the pestilence of the marsh, 
 inflict a dysentery, nor strike down a Hercules, 
 like a coup lie soleil. Unlike the balmy skies of 
 the south, the atmosphere of coal speaks not of 
 sloth and slavery ; nor does it tell of burning pas- 
 sions, of implacable hate, causeless jealousy, and 
 murderous revenge. The cheerful glow of a sea- 
 coal fire is the very spirit of domesticity, and of 
 conjugal faith ; it kindles the torch of Hymen, and 
 preserves its fire pure and eternal as the vestal 
 flame. 
 
 Seated in his chimney comer, the father of the 
 family feels his heart dilate with affection for his 
 wife and children, as the benign influence of the 
 fuel sends its efficacy from the feet to the centre of 
 the circulation. If the imagination of his chaste 
 moiety should for a moment roam towards the false
 
 AN ESSAY ON COALS. 99 
 
 splendours of the world, one ray from the cheerful 
 hearth brings back the wanderer, by recalling it to 
 the comforts of domesticity. 
 
 The aspect of nature in its summer smiles pro- 
 vokes a meditative and antisocial feeling, inspiring 
 independence, and therefore coldness ; but the 
 blazing hearth produces more expansive impulses, 
 awakens sociality, kindles philanthropy, and knits 
 the affections of mankind in the closest union. 
 Who will doubt that England alone could have 
 produced that effusion of tenderness and sensibi- 
 lity, " Home, sweet home ;"" or attribute its inspi- 
 ration to any other cause, than the abundance and 
 excellence of the national fuel ? Matrimony may be 
 as gloomy, cold, and churlish, as satyrists and comic 
 writers pretend ; but it cannot resist the expansive 
 sympathies of a cheerful grate. Wisely and pru- 
 dently, then, do our daughters, in their selection of 
 a mate, give the preference to him, who is best 
 able to keep the pot boiling, and is least likely to 
 live in the fear of a coal-merchant's bill. 
 
 Of all the distinctions known to English society, 
 the title of housekeeper is the most respectable. To 
 " keep crock and pan" is the Irish phrase for re- 
 spectable incumbency, because in that country the 
 abundance of turf makes a hearth no distinction ; 
 but in England, housekeeping, which is the assur- 
 ance of maintaining many hearths, is the proper test 
 of virtue, and of aptitude for public functions. It is 
 not, therefore, without political wisdom, that pot- 
 walloping has been made a cause of elective fran- 
 
 r 2
 
 100 AN ESSAY ON COALS. 
 
 chise, in tlie British constilution ; for he who 
 cannot afford to boil a pot, must be incapable of 
 maintaining those far more expensive things, " the 
 relations of amity and social order," and therefore 
 he ouglit not to be entrusted with the liberties of 
 the country. 
 
 The influence of coal on the head is not less 
 striking and extensive, than its power over the 
 lieart. Coal expands the intellect, developes ge- 
 nius, and contributes largely to the quickening of 
 the march of mind. Apollo, assisted by the nine 
 Muses, and mounted on his winged nag, Pegasus, 
 whose feet naturally run into metres, never per- 
 formed half the deeds in literature, which are daily 
 effected under the inspiration of the best Wall's 
 End. That leviathan of learning, Dr. Johnson, 
 bore ample testimony to the virtues of a coal fire, 
 and of the influence upon bright thoughts, which it 
 exercises through the medium of the teakettle. 
 
 But we need not individual testimony of this truth. 
 Take away fire=, and the reign of tlie blue stock- 
 inofs would be as defunct as that of Nebucadnassor. 
 Let the muffins be " cold and neglected," and let 
 the coffee cease to steam, and the Royal Society 
 would be completely a sec. If the tea-tables of 
 some half-dozen literary ladies were overset, half 
 the gorgeous poets and sermonizing essayists in 
 town might hang themselves " in their own gar- 
 ters ;" and without the same exhilarating beverage, 
 the religious zeal of caelebs-hunting young ladies 
 would fall below zero.
 
 AN ESSAY ON COALS. 101 
 
 Even now, while sitting by a snug, comfortable 
 fireside, surrounded by books, with curtains closed, 
 the urn bubbling, with the Argand lamp brightly 
 trimmed, and (above all) the Cannel coal shedding 
 its not " intolerable day," the very symbol of en- 
 joyment — one feels the kindling god within, while 
 thoughts come skipping with an alacrity which sets 
 the raging snowstorm at contemptuous defiance. 
 How different from those ancient times, when the 
 student buried his knees in a basket of straw, for 
 want of a peck of coals to thaw his ice-bound 
 genius ! 
 
 Coal is not only the cause of talent and of virtue, 
 but the instrument which gives utility to much of 
 human action. Vain were the hospitality of the 
 most generous Amphitryon, if unseconded by a 
 good fire. The richest and most epicurean fare 
 goes away unenjoyed, if the guest freezes in the 
 north-east corner of the dining-hall, near an ever- 
 open door, and half a world away from the glowing 
 hearth. Vainly, also, would the sun of France 
 ripen the grape, to cheer the heart of man, to culti- 
 vate friendship, and to beget good-will to all, if 
 coal did not conspire to the same end, by forming 
 the light and transparent glass, which betrays the 
 brilliance of the wine, and commends it to the lip. 
 
 But why dwell thus upon particulars ? The 
 simple want of fuel strikes whole districts with ste- 
 rility, and stamps the foreheads of their population 
 with the hardened characters of guilt ; where the 
 discovery of a coal-mine w^ould at once diffuse ho-
 
 102 AX ESSAY ON COALS. 
 
 nesty, industry, and happiness, as if by the wand 
 of an enchanter. 
 
 " Virtus^'' says the poet, <' laudatur et alget ;" 
 which is as much as to declare that praise is a suf- 
 ficient reward for the virtue which is not warm ; and 
 it would be difficult to assign a good reason why 
 the lower regions should be paved (as they are said 
 to be) with good intentions, if it be not in the hope 
 that the warmth of the climate may thaw them into 
 overt acts. 
 
 It is a matter well worthy the consideration of 
 the Right Reverend the Bench of Bishops, how far 
 the spread of sectarianism may depend on the chill 
 damp of our churches, and on the larger economy 
 of fuel in chapels and gospel- shops. An eloquent 
 preacher is thrown away upon an auditory, whose 
 piety is frozen in their fingers' ends ; whereas the 
 most frigid of sermons may kindle a religious 
 fervour in hearers surrounded by an atmosphere 
 not below 60". 
 
 Talk not of warm hearts ! warm feet are the 
 sources of genuine benevolence ; and the hand of 
 charity will not be extended to less purpose, for 
 being cherished in an Angola glove. Hearts, in- 
 deed, cannot be warm, when the extremities are 
 cold ; yet are the cold-hearted proverbially selfish. 
 The man whose nose turns cold when he is angered, 
 is to be feared, as he is hated ; his vengeance is 
 deadly. But the hot-tempered opponent, whose 
 countenance glows when he is enraged, is a ge- 
 nerous and a forgiving enemy. We call a man of
 
 AN ESSAY ON COALS. 103 
 
 wealth a " warm fellow." to indicate that he pos- 
 sesses that which all men esteem. The flame of 
 genius, in like manner, is a phrase which marks 
 our instinctive notions concerning the source and 
 origin of intellectual endowments ; while our detes- 
 tation of death is exhibited in the distasteful epithet 
 of a " cold" grave. Money, therefore, is well and 
 facetiously called " the coal ;" the phrase being 
 perfectly " germane to the matter." To be phy- 
 sically without fire, is to be divested of all that 
 makes life worth having ; while to be spiritually so, 
 is to be without virtue, genius, or courage, without 
 sensibility to beauty, or resentment for wrong. 
 Even in the burning desarts of Arabia, a peck of 
 coals would be a blessing ; for, if the pilgrim some- 
 times perishes there, for want of a draught of cold 
 water, he is also compelled to eat his food uncooked, 
 from the total absence of any thing combustible to 
 dress it withal. 
 
 If love, then, " is heaven, and heaven love," coal 
 is equally virtue, and virtue is coal. With infinite 
 veneration, therefore, should we behold the heavily- 
 laden waggon working its slow and painful course 
 up the steeps of the Adelphi, or emerging from the 
 purlieus of St. Clement Dane's. With reverence 
 should we make way for the broad-flapped, long- 
 whipped dispenser of oaths and " whoeys," who 
 conducts it ! Slumbering in its charge, lie the un- 
 wrought elements of an infinity of excellences and 
 utilities — or (if abused) the first cause of a thousand 
 crimes, follies, and woes. There, repose uncon-
 
 104 AN ESSAY ON COALS. 
 
 cocted hearts'-ease and hilarity, or, it may be, the 
 serpents of discord, and the artillery of war ; — the 
 untasted sweets of the sugar-baker, or the con- 
 densed form which gives explosiveness to gun- 
 powder ; — the possible cannon that is to defend the 
 country, or the unborn pike that is to overthrow 
 the state ; — the razor which may shave a beard, or 
 cut a tliroat, the lancet which may breathe a vein, 
 or insert a deadly poison. 
 
 Those panting, straining horses, the pride of Lon- 
 don, labour in their convulsive efforts to transport 
 an inert mass, which contains a motive energy 
 sufficient to carry the largest vessel to some far- 
 distant port. More awful still, murder and violation 
 may ensconce themselves within the tarred and sooty 
 bags, awaiting their hour to escape upon the world, 
 through the incendiary worm of a spirit-still. In 
 the dark and dingy load is concealed a load which 
 may develop the most important truths, or baffle 
 the deepest conspiracy of crime; or perhaps, as 
 chance directs the devious conduit-pipe, may 
 " waste its sweetness" upon the idleness of a ball- 
 room, and set forth to advantage the charms of the 
 lady-killing Adonis ! It may second the madness of 
 the new light, or illumine the collective wisdom of 
 a Reformed Parliament. It may melt the wax 
 which shall seal the liberties of an empire, or 
 temper the blade which shall redeem nations from 
 oppression. Unmarked of the heedless multitude 
 who pave the well-trodden pavement of Fleet Street 
 and the Strand, it may perchance dress their bridal
 
 AN ESSAY ON COALS. 105 
 
 dinner, or weld the spade which shall dig tlieir 
 unthought-of grave. 
 
 The coal-waggon is the Thespian car of life's 
 drama, the ambulant encyclopedia of human inte- 
 rests, the brief abstract of all our sayings and 
 doings, the little cause of mighty effects, the 
 embryo destiny of immortal souls 1 As it wends 
 its predestined way to the theatre, or the conven- 
 ticle, to the gaming-house, or the hospital, it may 
 become the instrument of eternal wretchedness, or 
 of happiness everlasting. It may help luxury to 
 waste the body and enervate the soul ; or it may 
 aid charity in benefitting the earth, and winning 
 heaven. 
 
 Wretched, miserable humanity, of what trifles art 
 thou the creature ! Let but that unconsidered and 
 unmissed mass of matter be now annihilated — let 
 all its consequences be swallowed up and annulled ; 
 and the fate of the remotest generation that shall 
 live and suffer to the fullness of time, may be 
 changed in its minutest particulars. 
 
 Go, then, proud, presumptuous man — boast of 
 your faculties, vaunt your free will, triumph in 
 your immortality, chain down Omnipotence to your 
 narrow conceptions, and make your petty thoughts 
 the measures of eternal wisdom ! what are you, 
 after all, but the sport of an accident — the uncon- 
 scious victim of a chaldron of coals ! 
 
 F 5
 
 106 CURIOSITY. 
 
 CURIOSITY. 
 
 " A pretty general belief is entertained that curiosity is 
 the strongest in the rudest and least cultivated stages of 
 society. All my experience goes in the other direction." 
 
 Hall's South American Voyage. 
 
 There are few readers of the present day, it 
 may be presumed, who have not paid their visit to 
 Paul Pry 5 and, while offering an involuntary tri- 
 bute of inextinguishable laughter to the merits of a 
 great actor, have not likewise indulged in a com- 
 placent comparison between themselves and the 
 curious impertinent, whose anxiety in other people's 
 concerns brings him into so many scrapes. 
 
 This self-gratulation is very natural ; but it is 
 not very just. The desire of knowledge is innate 
 in human nature. We are all born more or less of 
 a Paul Pry, and inherit a good dash of the tem- 
 perament of " our general mother." But what of 
 that ? There is nothing to be ashamed of in this 
 much decried propensity. Knowledge, as Lord 
 Bacon and the prospectus of every new magazine
 
 CURIOSITY. 107 
 
 reports, is power; and power is a very valuable 
 consideration, and a rational object of desire. But, 
 without curiosity, there could be little or no know- 
 ledge ; for knowledge is a fruit which no longer 
 grows upon trees : on the contrary, it partakes more 
 of the nature of the truffle, and must be dug for by 
 those who are desirous of tasting it. 
 
 The distinction, which is so improperly set up 
 between laudable and idle curiosity, is altogether 
 untenable. No one is curious about that whicli 
 does not interest him 5 and on that point every one 
 must be left to judge for himself. To be curious, 
 no matter about what, is to be moved by the 
 passion which led Newton to the discovery of gra- 
 vitation, and enabled Franklin to disarm Jove of 
 his thunders. In what did La Place, when taking 
 measure of a comet's beard, as it wandered in the 
 extreme bounds of space, differ from Socrates cal- 
 culating the length of a " flea's hop ?" Or in what 
 does the member of a Linnean society, who pries 
 into the secrets of cryptogamic love, exceed " Peep- 
 ing Tom of Coventry?" Homer has made it a 
 matter of boast concerning Calchas, that he knew 
 the past, the present, and the future : — 
 
 "Of SSe to, r'lavTa, to, r'ijs-o/XBva, Trpo t'Iovto. 
 
 But if this was the case, he must have troubled 
 himself with a vast many things which did not in 
 the least concern him ; and must have indulged in 
 as much idle curiosity, as the arrantest Paul Pry in 
 Christendom.
 
 108 CURIOSITY. 
 
 No matter, then, for the subject of investiga- 
 tion, the curious are all alike entitled to take 
 rank as philosophers : and it cannot but be ac- 
 counted strange, considering the prevalent conspi- 
 racy amongst literate and illiterate, to give the 
 moral world a decided pre-eminence over the phy- 
 sical, that those ethic philosophers who employ 
 themselves in investigating family secrets, and 
 watching the conduct of their neighbours, should 
 have been selected as especial subjects for ridicule 
 and censure. What can be more noble than the 
 scope of their inquiries ? The " quid veruni atqiie 
 deceiis,"" of which Horace makes such a fuss, is 
 their especial care. The former tliey carry into 
 the minutest particulars ; and the latter they never 
 suffer to be violated by any man or woman within 
 the range of their inquiries, without duly de- 
 nouncing the fact to public opinion. 
 
 To have thoroughly studied any one subject, is 
 sufficient praise to ordinary talent : a conchologist, 
 or an excavator of tumuli, is, by courtesy of Eng- 
 land, qualified as a learned man ; but the inquiries 
 of a Paul Pry embrace nothing less than the whole 
 field of morals, the " quicquid ayunt homines^ from 
 an intrigue in a garret, to a pudding on the kitchen 
 fire. 
 
 Nor is this range of intellectual exertions more 
 praiseworthy, than the expansion of sympathies, 
 which interests the curious in matters that af- 
 ford tliem neither personal advantage, nor subject 
 them to personal loss. An incurious mortal is,
 
 CURIOSITY. 109 
 
 eo nomine, of necessity, selfish. He reads the 
 name of his nearest neighbour in the papers, and 
 pauses not to inquire whether it stands recorded 
 among the births, the marriages, or the deaths : 
 " cela lui est ^gaV^ Intent upon his own affairs, 
 he looks to the price current, or the advertizing 
 columns, and leaves Mr. Spriggins to marry, have 
 children, or go to the devil, as destiny, and the three 
 learned professions, may decree. The curious man, 
 per contra^ is not only diligent in discriminating 
 these particulars, but he is miserable till he learns 
 the colour of your child's eyes, the marriage portion 
 of your bride, and whether you have been buried 
 in a patent coffin, or have not received a vestment 
 of lead. 
 
 The love of fame, so dear to the noblest and the 
 best of the species, is but the desire of occupying 
 the attention of mankind : valuable, then, is the 
 curious neighbour, without whose aid the majority 
 of mankind would live unobserved, and die un- 
 heeded. By his assistance, the humblest is at least 
 assured of one friend, whose thoughts are fixed on 
 making his words and deeds as diffusively known, 
 as the widest sphere of one man's energies will 
 admit. 
 
 Neither is it a trifling merit in the minutely 
 curious, that they give daily bread to an infinity 
 of pressmen, type-founders, paper manufacturers, 
 compositors, readers, and penny-a-line men, who 
 would starve, but for the laudable desire of the 
 Pry family, to know every thing of every body.
 
 no CURIOSITY. 
 
 from the king to the cobbler. Without the ex- 
 emplary patience which enables so many of this 
 class to wade through the parliamentary debates, 
 the two houses might as well shut up shop : for, 
 except in the indulgence of what is called idle curi- 
 osity, it would be difficult to assign any other mo- 
 tive, to induce any mortal man's undertaking so 
 laborious a course of action. 
 
 The English, who have acquired the reputa- 
 tion of being a thinking nation, are yet the most 
 curious people of Europe ; mixing themselves in 
 the private affairs of the most distant nations, in- 
 triguing with the Turk, watching the Russian, and 
 setting spies upon the shah of Persia, going every 
 where, and seeing every thing that is to be seen 
 wherever they go. 
 
 So innately anxious for knowledge is a true 
 John Bull, that his whole conversation is made up 
 of interroaatories : when all other matter fails 
 him, he finds full employment for his time and 
 faculties in incessantly repeating three questions. 
 '* How do ye do ? What news ? and what's 
 o'*clock." Some are still alive to remember when 
 the elite of the land spent whole mornings in the 
 streets watching the goings and comings of old 
 Blucher, and following the motions of the Emperor 
 of Russia. Thousands, likewise, put themselves 
 within danger of being crushed to death, that they 
 might see the passage of the Duke of York's 
 funeral. Nay, there is not a spectacle, from a 
 coronation to a cock-fight, from a burning moun-
 
 CURIOSITY. Ill 
 
 tain to a burking establishment, that does not con- 
 gregate its mob of English spectators. 
 
 No one, then, with a grain of patriotism, will 
 presume to speak ill of curiosity. Great authorities, 
 it is true, may be quoted against this passion ; but 
 where is the absurdity which great authorities have 
 not sanctioned ? Lot's wife was certainly a melan- 
 choly monument of a salt itch for the indulgence. 
 Poor Mrs. Bluebeard, also, narrowly escaped paying 
 with her head for inconsiderate peeping ; and 
 Psyche's misadventures have been said or sung in 
 all languages. But, in these cases, the punishment 
 was more directed against the disobedience of the 
 parties, than against their abstract thirst for know- 
 ledge. As for Lot's wife, every body runs to a fire, 
 without sustaining greater penalties than the loss 
 of a watch, or a pocket handkerchief: Mrs. Blue- 
 beard ought to have been acquitted on the plea of 
 self-preservation : and, with respect to Psyche, it 
 was most unreasonable to suppose she could lay her 
 head near that of her husband, without some desire 
 of seeing what was the colour of his whiskers. 
 
 Besides, these examples prove too much ; for in 
 every recorded instance of such cruel injunctions, 
 against the indulgence of a natural propensity, 
 from Eve to Orpheus, and from Orpheus to the 
 aforesaid Mrs. Bluebeard, the command has uni- 
 formly been broken ; which shows to demonstration 
 that the passion for prying is plus forte que nous, 
 and that we are not accountable for its workings. 
 If curiosity be really a heinous offence, God help
 
 112 CURIOSITY. 
 
 BelzonI and Dr. Young, who could not even let 
 the Pharaohs rest quiet in their graves j and God 
 help all residents in country towns, where curiosity 
 is an ever reigning epidemic ! 
 
 A curious man is necessarily endowed with many 
 virtues, or, at least, his curiosity stands him in the 
 place of many. Industry and perseverance he must 
 possess in the highest degree. There is no stone 
 which a truly curious person will leave unturned, 
 in order to obtain a desired piece of intelligence. 
 Slieba performed a tedious pilgrimage, merely to 
 get a sight of King Solomon in all his glory. 
 Actaeon encountered a miserable death, to learn 
 what sort of stuff a goddess was made off; or, 
 probably, to ascertain whether she was as great a 
 prude as she pretended. One woman jammed her- 
 self into a clock-case, to surprise the secret of the 
 Freemasons ; and many a man, and many a wom.an 
 too, have sacrificed the happiness of their lives, for 
 the pleasure of satisfying themselves, that they were 
 — how shall we express the idea ? — entitled to a 
 divorce. 
 
 Another quality essential to the curious is courage. 
 As all the world have something to conceal, all the 
 world have tlieir hands set against him who would 
 penetrate their secret ; and kickings and cuffings 
 innumerable are the reward of that patriotism, 
 which would make itself a sufficient substitute for 
 Momus's glass-window. The melancholy fate of 
 the benevolent chamberlain, Polonius, who took 
 such a kind-hearted interest in the affairs of his
 
 CURIOSITY. 113 
 
 master, would afford an instance strongly in point, 
 if such instances were not too common to need 
 quotation. Many a curious eye has been lost by a 
 wound inflicted through a key- hole ; and many an 
 ear has been destroyed by an explosion of gun- 
 powder blowing the handle of a lock into its 
 porches. 
 
 From all this it may be concluded, that he who 
 desires to live in a whole skin, should not be of too 
 prying a disposition. 
 
 Curiosity demands likewise in its exercise no 
 ordinary degree of forbearance. Listeners, it is 
 believed, seldom hear much good of themselves. It 
 frequently costs the curious incredible efforts of face 
 and temper to conceal the knowledge they have 
 surreptitiously obtained, of other people's opinions 
 to their disadvantage ; and to avoid the practical 
 bull of the Irishman, who, when a man in a coffee- 
 house, writing to his friend, told him, " I shall say 
 
 no more, for there is a d d impudent Paddy 
 
 looking over my shoulder," gave him the lie, and 
 knocked him down, to prove that he was innocent 
 of the fact. 
 
 In addition to these various moral excellences, 
 great intellectual endowment is necessary to the 
 gratification of curiosity. It is not alone by the 
 use of the senses, that men arrive at the knowledge 
 of hidden truths. Quickness in seizing upon hints 
 accidentally dropped, dexterity in dovetailing par- 
 ticulars individually insignificant, and a prompti- 
 tude of induction to make the most of those hghts.
 
 114 CURIOSITY. 
 
 which must transpire in spite of the extremest cau- 
 tion, will alone extort the truth, when any pains 
 are taken to keep a matter concealed. 
 
 Whoever has read Monk Lewis's pretty story of 
 " My Uncle's Garret-window," will at once under- 
 stand the meaning and value of this hint. By the 
 exercise of vast powers of combination, and a hap- 
 piness of conjectural criticism, worthy of the 
 brightest days of the " slashing Bentleys," the 
 hero of this tale was enabled, in the confinement of 
 the above-mentioned observatory, to evolve a com- 
 plicated intrigue, from the scanty but indubitable 
 indications of what was passing in the opposite 
 house. 
 
 In further illustration of the excellence of curio- 
 sity, due mention must be made of the various 
 great public functionaries, high in station, and 
 venerable in character, with whom its indulgence is 
 strictly ex officio. Perhaps the most curious per- 
 sons on the face of the earth are the going judges 
 of assize, who interest themselves in all the con- 
 cerns of a county in which they are utter strangers ; 
 and leave their snug chambers and commodious 
 mansions in London, for the purpose of prying into 
 the conduct of men whose modesty induces them to 
 avoid by every artifice such publicity. They will 
 spend whole mornings in scrutinising little traits of 
 character, and clearing up little anecdotes, respect- 
 ing the veriest canaille; and they ask the most 
 perplexing and disagreeable questions, from the 
 most respectable persons that come before them,
 
 CURIOSITY. 115 
 
 with as much coolness and gravity, as if they were the 
 born heirs of a note of interrogation, and as if the 
 world was made for no other purpose, than to satisfy 
 their demands. So far do they carry this matter, 
 that they do not scruple to shut up twelve of the 
 best men of the county in a box, detaining them 
 from their lawful occupations, merely to obtain 
 their opinion of any trifle that may happen to be in 
 dispute. The fatal consequence of this official 
 curiosity is to place many unhappy persons in the 
 most trying situations ; and they have been known 
 to be the death of a great many of the subjects, 
 whom they have submitted to this cruel and haras- 
 sing process. 
 
 Next to the judges, the members of the legis- 
 lature are noted for their tendency to pry. These 
 last are in the daily habit of forming themselves 
 into committees for instituting inquiries, often ex- 
 ceedingly provoking, into other people's affairs. 
 One day they will have a list of the fees you take 
 in your office ; another time they insist upon your 
 telling how many promissory notes you have issued ; 
 and then, again, they must needs know at what 
 price your farmers have sold their wheat. There are 
 cases in which their curiosity will descend as low as 
 a yard of ribbon, or a pint of port ; and if you re- 
 fuse to part with your secret, they will set a man 
 with a black rod upon you, whose insinuating man- 
 ners and persevering attentions will soon inveigle 
 you into a change of opinion. 
 
 There are, at all times, a certain number of the
 
 no CURIOSITY. 
 
 members of that honourable corps who take mani- 
 fest pride and pleasure in asking disagreeable ques- 
 tions of Her Majesty's Ministers ; who, in revenge, 
 exert all their ingenuity in balking this curiosity, 
 either by a direct refusal to answer, or by so framing 
 their replies, as to shut out precisely the information 
 sought for. For the same reason, ministers have, 
 by a long practice of evasion, enabled themselves 
 to render the King's or Queen's Speech a model of 
 cryptology, and a perfect type of the anti- didactic. 
 
 In this they are nothing to be blamed. The best 
 things become mischievous by abuse ; and curiosity 
 exercised, not for obtaining information, but for 
 embarrassing the servants of the crown, is very 
 troublesome, and of dangerous example ; and there- 
 fore worthy of rebuke. To what end is the Mi- 
 nister a member of the Privy Council, if his 
 thoughts and actions are to be as much publici jut-is, 
 as Privy Gardens? 
 
 But while thus chary of their own secrets, 
 * they of the council" are not the less curious 
 after those of every body else. Witness the sums 
 annually expended in secret service, both at home 
 and abroad, and for the most part distributed 
 among that honourable and useful class of persons 
 invidiously called spies. In the foreign cabinets of 
 the continent, this curiosity is carried to such a 
 pitch, that almost in every house one or more 
 observers are employed in reporting every thing 
 that is said or done within its walls : while to 
 every post-office is attached a separate depart-
 
 CURIOSITY. 117 
 
 ment, exclusively occupied in counterfeiting seals, 
 and opening the letters of unsuspicious corre- 
 spondents. 
 
 Another set of public functionaries, of whom 
 curiosity may be predicated in a high degree, are 
 the very respectable officers of Her Majesty's Cus- 
 toms and Excise : a man cannot import a pint of 
 brandy, or make a pound of soap or of candles, but 
 they must know the reason why ; and a farmer 
 cannot take a ride by moonlight on the coast, with- 
 out having his meditations disturbed by the scru- 
 tiny of their water guard. 
 
 It would, however, be extremely unfair to blame 
 this indiscretion in the subaltern officers of the 
 state, when the Lord Chancellor himself sets them 
 so tempting an example. The Chancellor is, per- 
 haps, the most curious person in his Majesty's do- 
 minions ; and it is probably for this reason that he 
 carries the seals with him, wherever he goes, as a 
 memento of that secrecy which should accompany 
 the prying of a man of honour. The whole time of 
 this great dignitary is scarcely sufficient to read the 
 answers to questions he is perpetually putting, to 
 the right and to the left, in season, and out of 
 season, to all persons who are unfortunate enough 
 to come within the sphere of his authority. So 
 inveterate is this his habit, that he will permit any 
 man who likes to supply him with interrogatories, 
 for the mere pleasure of forcing some poor devil to 
 put his answer into court : an amiable weakness, of 
 which the cruellest advantage may be taken, by
 
 118 CURIOSITY. 
 
 putting questions at once, personal, offensive, and 
 groundless, and at v;ar with common sense, truth, 
 and decency ; and this, too, by individuals who have 
 no more to do with the Chancellor, or the matter in 
 hand, than with the great Mogul. 
 
 One of the principal occupations of this official, 
 is listening to endless details of private life ; in- 
 quiring whether people read improper books; 
 whether they teach their children the catechism, or 
 the Child's Guide to the Gallows, or the like. 
 There is, in fact, no department in life, to which 
 a Chancellor's curiosity will not extend. He dab- 
 bles in medicine ; and is always suspecting that his 
 friends are mad : and when he has, with infinite 
 pains, established the fact, he insists on having a 
 minute account of how the poor man is treated, 
 and how his money is spent, to the last farthing. 
 He affects, also, to be a great judge of literature; 
 and he will go out of his way to stop the printing 
 of any book that he hears has in it what he calls 
 heterodoxy. In this, too, he is the more perverse, 
 because, while he restrains the owner of the copy, 
 he gives full leave to any pirate who can get hold 
 of the MS. to do his worst. 
 
 The Chancellor is also an amazing connoisseur of 
 music, and will inquire whether a fiddler stole the 
 music of a song, or got it " all out of his own 
 head." As keeper of the King's conscience, the 
 Chancellor must also be curious in theology ; and 
 the world has not yet forgotten one Chancellor, so 
 tenderly scrupulous on this point, that he would not
 
 CURIOSITY. 119 
 
 admit any man to serve his master in the meanest 
 office, who could not satisfy him as to his know- 
 ledge and faith in the Thirty-nine Articles. 
 
 The Chancellor of the Exchequer is another 
 asker of impertinent questions, who keeps curiosity 
 in countenance by his practises. He cannot pass 
 a house without stopping to count its windows ; he 
 is constantly inquiring how many equipages, ser- 
 vants, and horses his friends keep, whether they 
 are fond of sporting, and whether they are single 
 or married ? So frankly does he indulge in these 
 indiscretions, that he openly keeps in every parish 
 one or more questionists, for the express purpose 
 of obtaining the most exact information concerning 
 such particulars. He makes it a boast, that the 
 proudest lord of the land cannot hire a pair of 
 posters, or shoot a brace of partridges, without his 
 knowledge of the fact. Once he took a frolic of 
 knowing how many persons wore watches, and 
 whether they were gold-mounted or not. At ano- 
 ther time he counted the powdered heads, till 
 people got frightened, and combed out the farina, 
 to the great and lamentable increase of Jacobinism 
 in the land. Another year he must needs know 
 how much his neighbours had for pocket-money ; 
 and whether a man lived by begging, borrowing, 
 or stealing. * But as few people cared to reply 
 
 * Home Tooke, wlien told by the Income Tax ('oramis- 
 sioners tlnit his visible expenditure exceeded the income he 
 had returned (under £G0 per annum), and was asked to 
 explain the fact, replied, that people who exceed their means.
 
 120 CURIOSITY. 
 
 fairly to such ticklish questions, he was, after a 
 while, advised by his friends to refrain from putting 
 them any more. 
 
 The Chancellor of the Exchequer is precisely the 
 last man entitled to indulge in such fancies, be- 
 cause he is always extravagantly jealous of the 
 curiosity of others ; and when obliged to lay his 
 accounts, as in duty bound, before the public, he 
 has often taken special care so to confuse the items, 
 that not one man in a thousand could make out, 
 whether his income exceeds or falls short of his 
 expenditure. 
 
 Questioning is not, however, confined to official 
 dignitaries. Lawyers and physicians are great 
 questionists ; and the clergy are not less curious 
 concerning the agricultural interests of their pa- 
 rishioners. The first nobles of the land take in 
 certain Sunday papers, that they may gratify a 
 prurient curiosity for scandal ; and the whole tribe 
 of would-be aristocrats among the middle classes 
 devour the " Morning Post" and " Court Journal," 
 to learn how the royal family and nobility pass 
 their time, and to obtain an insight into circles to 
 which they can never penetrate in person. 
 
 The gentlemen of the Stock Exchange, too, live 
 only from one story to another, and are miserable, 
 if '• a great man's butler looks grave," * without 
 
 may contrive to live by begging, borrowing^, or stealing; and 
 he left them to decide for themselves, on which of these re- 
 sources he depended. 
 
 • Murphy's " Upholsterer."
 
 CURIOSITY. 121 
 
 tlieir knowing why. Accordingly, tliey keep the 
 high roads of Europe alive with their expresses, 
 which ply with more regularity and speed than the 
 king's messengers. To be sure, they are not al- 
 ways very scrupulous about the truth of the results 
 of their research. They are metaphysicians enough 
 to be aware, that truth is only " what all men be- 
 lieve;"* and, provided a lie be accredited, it an- 
 swers their purpose as well as the purest matter 
 of fact. 
 
 There is a very respectable class of persons, who 
 are greatly solicitous to ascertain your precise no- 
 tions concerning the Apocalypse ; and to know 
 whether you read your Bible; and whether you 
 employ the lights of commentary, or reject them, 
 in your biblical lucubrations. There was, not long 
 ago, also another set, who were seen mounted upon 
 lampposts, to peep into their neighbours' windows, 
 and learn whether they shaved themselves, or em- 
 ployed a barber on a Sunday morning ; and there 
 are still many who cannot find leisure to go to 
 church themselves, in their intense anxiety to dis- 
 cover who smoke pipes, and drink ale, in the time 
 of divine service. 
 
 Society, in short, may be considered as one vast 
 system of espionage, and the business of every 
 man is not only with the actions, but with the very 
 thoughts of all his neighbours. The parliament, 
 therefore, is properly designated as the grand in- 
 
 ♦ " Diversions of Purley." 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 122 CURIOSITY. 
 
 quest of the nation ; and every assemblage of men, 
 from a county aggregate meeting, to a coroner's 
 inquest, may be considered as a committee for in- 
 vestigating whatev^er is, or may be. 
 
 In no respect does a mere man approach nearer 
 to the nature of the immortal gods, than in be- 
 coming a participator in their knowledge of human 
 affairs ; and on this account the situation of kings 
 is singularly enviable, for they are ever fond of 
 gossip, and have always a plentiful supply pre- 
 pared for their gratification. Napoleon employed 
 a double set of spies to watch each other, and, 
 with all the great interests of Europe on his hands, 
 he found time to dive to the bottom of every love 
 intrigue in his court and army. 
 
 These things being considered, can we suffici- 
 ently laud our fortunes in being born in an age, in 
 which the whole globe lies open to our researches, 
 and new centres of civilization are preparing in the 
 most distant wilds, to enlarge the objects of re- 
 search ? 
 
 Nor is it a less matter, that while the geogra- 
 phical globe expands, as it were, under our search- 
 ing glances, the world of science exhibits a still 
 ampler increase. The discovery of the mysteries 
 of phrenology, more especially, is a cause for in- 
 tense gratulation, since it is the shortest of all 
 methods for arriving at every species of secret. A 
 man possessed of this science is like a gamester who 
 plays with marked cards ; he sees at a glance his 
 antagonist's game ; and he reads his most secret
 
 CURIOSITY. 123 
 
 thoughts, transferred from the sanctum of his 
 brain, and rendered palpable upon his integu- 
 ments. With the dissemination of this truly " use- 
 ful knowledge," simulation and dissimulation will 
 be done away with, as superfluous and unavailing ; 
 and curiosity will have a field for its indulgence, 
 which nothing but a revival of Louis XIV.'s great 
 wigs can close — and that would be a resource too 
 expensive for common use. 
 
 Awaiting the fulness of time for the full disse- 
 mination of phrenological science, it might not be 
 amiss to favour the public appetite for the know- 
 ledge of little things, by the establishment of a 
 royal society for the encouragement of the moral 
 and social Periwinkles, and the Tradescants of 
 ethical rarities, where papers might be read on all 
 the departments of anecdote, and archives be kept 
 of those petty transactions, which biographers over- 
 look, and historians disdain. The presidents of 
 such a society might be chosen, alternately, from 
 the two classes of saints, and blue-stockings, as 
 that of the other royal society used to be from the 
 naturalists and mathematicians — a maiden lady in 
 advanced life always having the preference. A 
 certain portion of every sitting might be occupied 
 with reading and commenting on the satirical novels 
 of the day, and determining, for the benefit of pos- 
 terity, the precise heroes of their inuendo. 
 
 The society should have, of right, a copy of all 
 parliamentary returns ; an annual lecture might 
 be founded for the perpetual discovery of the au- 
 
 g2
 
 124 CURIOSITY. 
 
 thor of Junius, for identifying '' the iron mask," 
 and for recovering the lost " Pleiad ;" but, above 
 all, there should be a standing committee of blanks 
 and asterisks, to illustrate the fashionable intelli- 
 gence of the London papers, to chronicle crim 
 cons, and to preserve the annals of the police- 
 offices, with the names of the parties in full. 
 
 It is, however, unnecessary to enter into details : 
 establish the society, and the instinct of prying 
 will soon find the fit sphere for its activity. The 
 Inquisition, or the Society for the Suppression of 
 Vice, might be taken as the models for its course 
 of procedure.
 
 MILTON'S HOUSE. 125 
 
 MILTON'S HOUSE. 
 
 England, which has produced the three greatest 
 poets of the modern world, is singularly deficient 
 in poetical nationality- — a noble quality, distinct 
 from egotism — a quality that awakens reverence 
 for sites hallowed by the memory of compatriot 
 genius, and consecrates every spot reminiscent of 
 events influential on a people's greatness. 
 
 In England, genius has few shrines erected in 
 the public imagination, through the medium of 
 material landmarks commemorating its passing 
 existence, and identifying the scenes of its splendid 
 and beneficent exertions. Shakspeare, Milton, and 
 Byron — eacli the bright star of his cotemporary 
 galaxy — are illustrations of the proposition. Neg- 
 lected, or persecuted, or blighted while living, in 
 death their dwelling on earth is marked by no 
 tablet; no mausoleum (the receptacle of their ashes) 
 rises beneath the fretted roof of the national Pan- 
 theon. Shakspeare was buried at Stratford ; Milton 
 in St. Giles's, Cripplegate (the very stone which 
 marked the hallowed spot having been removed.
 
 126 MILTON'S HOUSE. 
 
 and never replaced ; *) while the bier of Byron 
 passed the towers of Westminster Abbey, on its 
 way to the parish church of a remote village. In 
 one age, a Dean and Chapter of Westminster 
 deemed the name of the inspired author of the 
 " Paradise Lost" a profanation to the repository 
 of regal and prelatical greatness : it was declared 
 by Dr. Spratt to be " too detestable to be read 
 (even incidentally) on the walls of a building de- 
 dicated to devotion." -f- In another age, the same 
 authorities refused to Byron an inscription in that 
 *' corner," where the poets of England are huddled 
 together in a petty space, and overshadowed by 
 the monuments of women, who lived without cha- 
 racter, and of men who died without distinction.]: 
 
 * This injury was compensated through the liberality of 
 the late Mr. Whitbread, at whose expense a bust, by Bacon, 
 of tlie great poet, was erected in the church. 
 
 •|- The Dean and Chapter of Westminster were more liberal 
 to the memory of Caxton. On being applied to by the Rox- 
 burghe Club for leave to erect a tablet in the Abbey to him, 
 whose works issued from the Sanctuary of Weslrninster in 
 the reign of Edward IV., they replied, by the pen of the 
 former Dean's son, tliat a tablet to the late Mr. Caxlon would 
 not be objected to, for which they would consider the price. 
 (See "Athenaeum," No. 324.)— Oh! this price to the pit, 
 box, and gallery of Westminster Abbey ! 
 
 X More than one heroine of the drama, not quite as exem- 
 plary for virtue and unblemished character as the Farrens, 
 Siddons, Bruntons, and other estimable actresses of the pre- 
 sent age, liave found " snug lying in tlie Abbey." Mrs. Old- 
 field, the public mistress of Mr. Mainwaring and of General 
 Churchill, was laid in state in the Jerusalem Chamber. Her
 
 MILTON'S HOUSE. 127 
 
 Shakspeare owed the resuscitation of his fame to 
 an actor, like himself; he owed, also, to that actor 
 the highest honours paid to his memory. 
 
 But what have the university-bred men of Eng- 
 land, or its " most thinking" people, done to pre- 
 serve from ruin the dwelling-place of him who has 
 raised the literary character of England to unri- 
 valled eminence ? What has been done fOr the 
 house at Stratford, which, like that of Loretto, 
 should be enshrined in marble, and gemmed with 
 the votive offerings of the intellectual world? If 
 that house still exists, if the identical chimney- 
 corner is preserved, by whose hearth the fresh 
 smelling forest scenery of "As you like it" — the 
 joyous wit of FalstafF — the philosophy of Hamlet — 
 the poetry and passion of Macbeth and Romeo, 
 were probably first conceived and embodied — by 
 whom has the fane been rescued from destruction ? 
 By a poor woman, to whose sordid cares it is aban- 
 doned, and who derives a pittance from the con- 
 tributions of foreigners, who crowd, as pilgrims, to 
 the Mecca of English genius, to offer that homage, 
 so scantily bestowed at home. 
 
 And where stand the dwellings of Milton ? Is 
 the house, in which he wrote his glorious " Defence 
 for the people of England," and his treatise on 
 
 funeral, splendidly " got up" in Westminster Abbey, with 
 permission of the Dean and Chapter, was attended by the 
 principal nobility of the land, " some of whom were her pall- 
 bearers." — See " Leigh Hunt's London Journal," a delightful 
 periodical.
 
 128 Milton's house. 
 
 ' The likeliest means to remove Hirelings out of 
 the Church," unknown to the English people — 
 unknown to the church reformers of England? 
 Does no inscription of national respect emblazon 
 its walls, does no column rise in its gardens ? Has 
 no literary institution purchased and preserved it, 
 as a monument of the great and stirring times it 
 recalls ; and does it stand unrevered and unvisited 
 by the " curled darlings of the nation," who flock 
 to \\'eimar to worship at the shrine of Goethe, or 
 search every corner of Germany for literary loca- 
 lities, to record in the overladen Magazines and 
 Annuals, the whereabouts of sickly sentimentalists 
 and dreaming metaphysicians ? 
 
 It was not always thus. Even in the darkest 
 hour of Milton's adversity, when the untiring ven- 
 geance of the Stuarts thirsted for his blood,* and 
 
 * The Duke of York, in the hey-day of his honours and 
 greatness, went to satisfy a malignant curiosity, by visiting 
 Milton in his own house. He asked him if he did not regard 
 the loss of his sight as a judgment for his writings against 
 the king. Milton replied, calmly, " If your highness thinks 
 calamity an indication of Heaven's wrath, how do you account 
 for the /ate of the king, your father? I have lost but my 
 eyes — he lost his head " 
 
 On the Duke's return to court he said to the King, " Bro- 
 ther, you are greatly to blame that you don't have that old 
 rogue Milton hanged." 
 
 " What!" said the King, " liave you seen Milton ?" 
 
 " Yes," answered the Duke, " 1 have seen him." 
 
 " In what condition did you find him?" 
 
 " Condition ! why he is old, and very poor," 
 
 " Old and poor," said the king, "and blind, too — you are
 
 Milton's house. 129 
 
 his timid, ungrateful, and prostrate countryiueu 
 abandoned him to his fate, his house was a shrine 
 to illustrious foreigners, to whom he was still the 
 object of regard and veneration, in England. If, 
 in the reign of Cromwell, the Latin secretary of 
 state had shared wdth the Protector the homage of 
 continental visitors, in the hour of his danger and 
 desolation, the eminent of all countries flocked to 
 his deserted house in Bread Street, with a feeling 
 of almost religious veneration, as the birthplace of 
 the defender of the British republic. 
 
 In 1652, when Milton was at the summit of his 
 genius, his fame, and his prosperity, he removed to 
 his residence in Petty France, which he occupied 
 till the Restoration. "It was a handsome house" 
 (says the best of his biographers), " opening into 
 St. James's Park, adjoinhig the mansion of Lord 
 Scudamore." It was also a garden-house, such as 
 the imaginative love to occupy, and all within its 
 view was poetical and picturesque, for it stood in 
 the time-honoured dominions of the Abbots of 
 Westminster, and commanded the towers of the 
 halls of the Tudors. In this house Milton wrote 
 that splendid answer to the hireling Salmasius, the 
 paid defender of prelacy, royalty, and Charles, in 
 which he first propounded the axiom, that political 
 power by right emanated from the people, for 
 whose good it should be exercised, and for whose 
 
 a fool, James, to have liitn han<^ed — it would be doing him a 
 service. No : if he is poor, old, and blind, he is miserable 
 enough in all conscience ; let him live." 
 
 G 5
 
 130 MILTON'S HOUSE. 
 
 benefit it may rightfully be resumed. Here, too, 
 amidst many other products of his full and teem- 
 ing mind, he struck out, and nearly completed the 
 most glorious of all known poems, his " Paradise 
 Lost." This house still remains, but remains un- 
 honoured, save by a few of the working class, who 
 live and labour in its neighbourhood — the class 
 who are educating tliemselves — the class who ga- 
 thered round the poet's grave, when, in 1792, it 
 was opened, " when the people came from all 
 quarters for a sight of his bones ; and happy was 
 the man who became possessor of any portion of 
 the sacred relics." * 
 
 This house, whence Milton dates so many of 
 his letters and works,-f- in whose gardens he re- 
 ceived so many illustrious foreigners, is now no 
 longer '* a garden-house," as when he fled from it 
 at the Restoration, to avoid an ignominious death. 
 It is now inclosed in the coarse purlieus of mecha- 
 nical industry and vulgar bustle. | Its once spa- 
 
 * Symmons's " Life of Milton." 
 
 t Andrew Marveil addresses Milton as " My honoured 
 friend, Jno. Milton, secretary for the foreign affairs, at his 
 liouse in Petty France, Westminster." 
 
 X It is No. 9, in York Street, Westminster, The writer 
 uf this article visited it. On inquiring at a greengrocer's 
 sli'ip for Milton's house, the mistress knew at once the 
 object of our search, and pointed it out as " next door to 
 the undertaker's." The undertaker too, an intelligent young 
 man, did the honours of the locality with a ])lcased alacrity, 
 which bespoke bis knowledge and regard of the gifted being, 
 who had given the edifice its celebrity. Having charge of
 
 Milton's house. 131 
 
 cious stairs are contracted to a steep, narrow flight; 
 and little of the interior remains as it was in the 
 seventeenth century, but an attic, beside whose 
 cavernous chimney Milton is said to have written 
 during the winter, " when his vein was happiest, 
 and from whose elevated casement, hanging over 
 his garden, he must have watched the return of 
 his own favourite spring : — 
 
 Fair season budding sprays, sweet smelling flowers. 
 And quite forgot earth's turmoils, spite, and wrong. 
 
 Drummond. 
 
 But if the house of the blind republican be thus 
 neglected, where stands the dwelling of the poet of 
 many quarterings ? Which of the aristocratic muses 
 of the St. James's Parnassus would venture to point 
 out to the princes and ambassadors of Russia and 
 
 the key, he abandoned his work to conduct us through every 
 room ; and, after having patiently pointed out what was re- 
 markable in the interior, he returned with us to his own 
 house, to obtain a view of the garden-front — for Milton's gar- 
 den had been added to that of Jeremy Bentham. In the 
 gable of the house is an almost obliterated inscription, inti- 
 mating, that " Here lived John Milton, the prince of poets." 
 The philosopher of utility, though proud of the neighbour- 
 hood, is said to have been very cautious of pointing it out to 
 his guests, till he had first ascertained that they had no poe- 
 tical pretensions of their own, having been fairly worn out 
 with the affected raptures and calculated enthusiasm of tlie 
 disciples of the modern forcing-pump scliool. A drawing of 
 this house was taken by Mr. Franklin, an ingenious artist, 
 who published, at the period of this visit, a lithography of it. 
 The last occupant was Mr. Hazlitt.
 
 132 MILTON'S HOUSE. 
 
 Austria, the mansion of the Italian liberal — of the 
 champion of Greece? There was, indeed, a time, 
 when the house of Byron was not unknown to fame 
 — when Fashion, like a poor petitioner, stood wait- 
 ing at its threshold, in supplication for admittance 
 — when Love, laughing at surly porters, forced the 
 pass, and fools rushed in, and angels did not fear to 
 tread the luxurious saloons of the modern Alci- 
 biades. But, when the open scorner of cant ceased 
 to keep terms with hypocrisy, the Tartuffes, who 
 could pardon vices in princes, and do homage to 
 royal mistresses, as the givers of all good things, 
 placed the frail young poet under the anathema of 
 fashionable morality, and then he was left " alone 
 on his desolate hearth ;" his house, like one marked 
 by the yellow flag of pestilence, was avoided and 
 forgotten ; and when its immortal master retired, in 
 disappointment and disgust, from the country he 
 had illustrated, the paternal abbey of Childe Harold 
 would have been demolished and swept away by 
 the greedy hand of speculation, but for the inter- 
 vention of private sympathy, and school- formed 
 affection, * 
 
 If, then, the most thinking people of Europe 
 think the memory of their great poets best em- 
 balmed in their own works, and leave to the meri- 
 dian blood of southern climes, the honouring of 
 
 ♦ Colonel Wildman, llie favourite schoolfellow of Lord 
 Byron, has made Newstead Abbey a monument of his own 
 laste and liberal spirit, no less than of his devotion to its 
 former illustrious owner.
 
 MILTON'S HOUSE. 133 
 
 literary genius in the consecration of its dwellings, 
 they show an equal indiflFerence with regard to their 
 more substantial benefactors. In which of the 
 places of popular resort rise the statues of the phi- 
 losophers and the statesmen, to whom England is 
 indebted for the earlier lights of science, and the 
 amelioration of its social condition? The statues 
 of Bacon, Hampden, and Sydney — the St. Johns 
 of the dark desert of despotism and ignorance — the 
 illustrious precursors of the reform of all know- 
 ledge — present not their intellectual images to ani- 
 mate the popular gaze, and to elevate the popular 
 feelings. Among the many statues of " stout gen- 
 tlemen" in wigs and armour, with truncheoned 
 hands and best leg foremost, which occupy the 
 aristocratic squares and high places of the metro- 
 polis, there beam forth few specimens of the 
 sculptured beauty of mind, which, while it forms a 
 study for art, holds forth a bright example to 
 patriotism, and turns the thought of the lowliest 
 spectator to subjects of high and glorious im- 
 port. 
 
 London, indeed, like Florence, has her Piazza del 
 Gran Duca ; the " statue which delights the world'' 
 (of Conservatism) rises proudly on its elevated co- 
 lumn to challenge popular veneration. There is 
 another statue, too, colossal as the " David" of 
 Michael Angelo of the Loggia Orcagno ; but, on 
 whose ponderous shoulders (formed from the can- 
 non of a conquered enemy), the people will never 
 mount, and, like those of Florence, shout into the
 
 134 MILTON'S HOUSE. 
 
 ear of despotism, " Popolo e liberta !" for the 
 statue in Hyde Park leads to no such associations. 
 But, if, among the idols of party — if, among the 
 images of power and ascendency with which adula- 
 tion has pre-occupied the public places of the me- 
 tropolis, a monument to patriotism and to popular 
 virtue has here and there intruded on the public 
 gaze, it has rarely been set up by public acclama- 
 tion, or by the government of the land ; but has 
 been placed by family affection, or dedicated by 
 private feeling. The statue of Fox was raised by 
 the Duke of Bedford. 
 
 The same want of imaginative nationality which 
 is marked, in England, by the absence of enthu- 
 siasm for literary and intellectual localities, is like- 
 wise observable in the oblivion that has fallen over 
 her ancient buildings and historic sites. From Crosby 
 Hall and the Star Chamber,"* to the dull, dingy 
 " pouting place of Princes'" in Leicester Square, 
 all are forgotten or neglected, preyed on by the 
 decay of time, or overthrown by the recklessness of 
 speculation. Even the recent hot fit of literary 
 zeal and antiquarian activity has barely sufKced to 
 extort as much money as was necessary to restore 
 the edifice where Richard the Third gave his ren- 
 dezvous to the young widow of his murdered cousin ; 
 though that edifice is consecrated alike by architec- 
 
 * T!)e Star Cliamber, the scene of iniquities under the 
 Stuarts, unsurpassed by the Inquisition, occupied that old 
 gothic house whidi, till a very recent day, existed to the right 
 of Westminster Hull. It was the last residence of Godwin.
 
 Milton's house. 135 
 
 tural beauty and by historic recollections, and en- 
 deared by its associations with some of Shakspeare's 
 most splendid pages. 
 
 The shores of the Thames, up to the close of 
 the seventeenth century, resembled those of a Ve- 
 netian lagoon. There, in gothic or in Palladian 
 beauty, rose the patrician mansions of the How- 
 ards, the Arundels, the Surreys, the Cecils, and 
 the Villierses, whence princes and ministers issued 
 from beneath the marble porticoes, into their gor- 
 geous barges, amidst trains of badged and liveried 
 watermen, for the courts of Westminster and 
 Whitehall. One only of these splendid dwellings 
 now remains, an historical monument of manners 
 long obsolete, and of a supremacy that has passed 
 away, never again to be asserted at the people's 
 expense ; though, in its time, a necessary agency to 
 check the despotism which it overthrew — a despo- 
 tism on whose ruins it has in vain endeavoured to 
 rear its own oligarchical rule. 
 
 When these picturesque and baronial edifices 
 were abandoned by their proprietors, and were 
 swept away, to give place to humbler dwellings, the 
 change was not made in search of air, or space, nor 
 to raise happier models of architectural beauty and 
 accommodation for public imitation. The close and 
 narrow streets and the mean and cribbed houses, 
 which then succeeded, marked the degradation of all 
 the arts. The genius of the Dutch and German dy- 
 nasties hung like a fog over the tastes of the nation. 
 The cumbrous but splendid style of the preceding
 
 136 MILTON'S HOUSE. 
 
 ages was abandoned, and the metropolis expanded 
 itself over its western environs, on the models of 
 Holland and of Hanover. A tide of phlegm de- 
 luged and diluted the blood of the descendants of 
 the bold Norman barons, and dimmed the bril- 
 liancy of the profligate, but witty, courtiers of the 
 Stuarts. A Bosotian influence fell upon the arts in 
 England, from which they are even now but slowly 
 recovering. Its poetry was illustrated in Dodsley's 
 collection, its painting in the cocked hats and arms 
 akimbo of the Jervises, and its architecture was a 
 replico of formless windows and Dutch gables, mo- 
 delled strictly after the grandeurs of the Grossen 
 Heeren Strass of Amsterdam, and the cold formali- 
 ties of the Hague. 
 
 Schnaps and the pipe accord not with the gor- 
 geous and golden rococoed saloon, the taste of Louis 
 the Fourteenth, and required not the gothic gallery 
 of more ancient times for their enjoyment. The 
 royal patrons of the arts, who (as one of them 
 declared of himself) " hated boetry and bainting," 
 and preferred nothing in Shakspeare to the Lord 
 Mayor in " Richard the Third," did little by their 
 influence and example to promote the ideality of 
 the Rnglish temperament : and the English schools, 
 during the first Georges, neither revived the noble 
 fabrics of baronial greatness, nor thought of origi- 
 nating the commodious elegance of a style, which, 
 in the present day, so suits the growing civilization 
 of the people. " I suppose," says Horace Walpole, 
 (writing in the middle of the eighteenth century —
 
 Milton's house. 137 
 
 1743,) " we shall revert to York Houses, Clarendon 
 Houses, &c. &c. But from that grandeur all the 
 nobility have contracted themselves, to live in 
 coops of a dining-room, a dark back-room, with one 
 eye in a corner, and a closet," — an accurate, and 
 humorous, description of the paltry structures in 
 the vicinity of Cavendish and Hanover Squares ; 
 and of that conservative square, where gas-light 
 was so lately deemed innovation, and train-oil was 
 thought to smell of sound constitutional principle. 
 
 It was while standing in devote homage before 
 the monument of Bacon, in the ancient and obscure 
 church of St. Michael, Herts — it was in gazing on 
 the ruin of his own beloved Verulam House, near 
 the palace of Gorhambury, and in wandering among 
 the crumbling remnants of the Abbey of St. Albans, 
 that the subject of the present article developed 
 itself, under the influence of the passing impres- 
 sions. It was there that a conviction w^as engen- 
 dered, that among the agencies of intellectual and 
 political reform, the awakening of a poetic nation- 
 ality, not only among the people, but among the 
 higher classes, might successfully be employed to 
 revive an ennobling and healthy taste, which, while 
 it reflected on the arts, would raise the moral cha- 
 racter of the nation, and supersede that love for 
 the frivolous, the trifling, and the hypocritical, 
 which is the reproach of the literature of the day.
 
 138 ST. alban's abbey. 
 
 ST. ALB AX'S ABBEY. 
 No. I. 
 
 " Think what London would be, if the chief houses were in 
 it as in the cities of other countries ; and not dispersed, like 
 great rarity plums, in a vast pudding of a country." — 
 H. Walpole's Correspondence. 
 
 The dispersion of the historic sites of England 
 over its wide surface has been a cause of their 
 preservation, and has rendered the country inte- 
 resting and poetical, beyond any other in Europe. 
 The rural districts, and not the great towns and 
 cities, (with the sole exception of London,) are the 
 especial seats of those monumental residences, which 
 are landmarks of the social story of the people, 
 stuck fast, and, as it were, rooted in the very soil. 
 It is there, principally, that language, (the master- 
 key to the secrets of the past,) still labels every glen, 
 stamps every rock, and designates every stream 
 and river, with terms which chronicle by-gone 
 events and persons, beyond the influence of time 
 and accident to efface. 
 
 When the Saxons, in the fifth century, driven by 
 want from their German forests, swarmed over the
 
 ST. alban's abbey. 139 
 
 pleasant and fertile vales of England, * they seem 
 to have utterly destroyed, or to have displaced, 
 both the aboriginal Britons, and the remnant of the 
 scattered and straggling descendants of the Roman 
 conquerors. The face of the country, desolated by 
 fire and by rapine, retained few traces of the 
 nascent civilization, which had scarcely taken root 
 at their advent. With the people, perished their 
 language, as a living tongue, in the land ; and 
 England became a mere Saxon camp. The sites 
 which the conquerors then occupied, and the edi- 
 fices and towns they subsequently erected on them, 
 assumed Saxon appellations ; yet, notwithstanding 
 this universal subversion of the British race, the 
 natural monuments -of the country, (its rivers and 
 greater landmarks,) preserved, in many instances, 
 their primitive names ; and the British " Avon,*" 
 and the Roman " Castrum," still figure in the 
 Saxon geography. 
 
 When that intelligent savage, Egbert, the first 
 English monarch, had reduced the independent pro- 
 vinces of the Heptarchy into one kingdom, and the 
 soil was divided into districts, " for the greater 
 ease of his government," one of these shares, or 
 " shires," the nearest to the infant metropolis, was 
 singularly distinguished by natural beauty, by com- 
 parative civilization, and by sites, which, even then, 
 
 • " In this century all the nations of the north, as if hy 
 common consent, broke loose from their cold inhospitable re- 
 gions, and came down in vast armies to the warm and plen- 
 tiful regions of the south."
 
 140 ST. alban's abbey. 
 
 were historical. The natural advantages of Hert- 
 fordshire, "than which," says old Camden, "there 
 is scarce one county in England can show more 
 footsteps of antiquity," were well adapted to the 
 state of society in semi-barbarous times. Its ledge 
 of hills gave shelter, — its magnificent woods afforded 
 fuel and building materials, — its grassy bottoms 
 with their rich pastures, — its queen river,* and tri- 
 butary streams, abounding in variety of fish, and 
 supplying mills, — its fair valley of Ringtale (" yield- 
 ing the choicest wheat and barley, such as makes 
 the best mault that serves the King's Court, which 
 caused Queen Elizabeth to boast of her Hitchin 
 grape,") — and its medicinal waters f were peculi- 
 arities, which supplied the deficiencies, and met, 
 half-way, the wants of undeveloped humanity. 
 
 At the very earliest periods, power had disco- 
 vered the capabilities of this beautiful region ; and 
 the Romans, on their arrival in Britain, found, 
 within its boundary, the first attempt at a city, 
 constructed by the rude hands of the half-naked 
 natives^ who had congregated there for defence : 
 an artless hold, defended by " woods, bogs, and 
 
 * " The Thame (the most famous river of England) issues 
 from three heads in the parish of Trin<i;, which, uniting at 
 New Mill, cross Buckingliamshire to Thame, in Oxfordshire. 
 There, the river congratulates the Isis; but, both emulating 
 each other for the name, and neither yielding, they are com- 
 plicated by that of Thamisis." — Ahr.from. Chauncy. 
 
 f One on the common near Barnet, another at Northall, 
 and one at Offley, are mentioned by Chauncy.
 
 ST. ALBAN'S ABBEY. 141 
 
 ditches," deserted in peace, manned in war, and 
 principally used in times of civil dissension of 
 savage against savage, " to put their cattle in for 
 safety."* 
 
 Whether this city of " the golden-locked leader" 
 of the Cassi, was the nucleus of the Roman city of 
 Verulam, of which the remains exist to this day, 
 and which is consecrated to eternal fame, by its 
 association with immortal genius, it were useless to 
 inquire. The supposition, however, comports with 
 the assumed antiquity and early attractiveness of the 
 spot. The clear, sweet, and very wholesome air of 
 the province, certainly invited the earliest Saxon 
 Kings to make it the scene of their residence ; and 
 there they kept their rude courts, and held their 
 parliamentary councils, j- The royal palace of 
 Kingsbury, where Bertolf, King of the Mercians, 
 kept his state, stood " at the west end of the city of 
 St. Alban's, within the walls of the ancient Verulam 
 — the Windsor of the ninth century — as, after- 
 wards, Langley Regis was the Brighton of royal 
 repose, in the time of Henry III. 
 
 The fair sites, improved by the Saxon Princes, 
 were not neglected by the Norman invaders : Wil- 
 liam the Conqueror fell in love with the county of 
 Hertford, seized it into his own hands, and reserv- 
 ing to himself a large part " as the provision of his 
 court," he gave the remainder to his needy, but 
 
 * Pennant's Journey from Chester, 
 f Chauncy.
 
 142 ST. ALBAN'S ABBEY. 
 
 powerful followers. The successors of the Con- 
 queror, influenced by the same motives, made Hert- 
 fordshire the seat of their rural residences, " where 
 they were accustomed to breed and educate their 
 children." Many of the nobility, consequently, 
 " built stately fabricks, pleasant dwellings, and de- 
 licious seats, for their own habitations, which were 
 anciently called buries (the Saxon term for dwell- 
 ing-houses,) and which were mostly lordships." 
 " But since," adds Chauncy, " several of these have 
 lost their lords, and have become now farm- 
 houses."* 
 
 The Doomsday Book has preserved the names of 
 those who profited by the Conquest ; and they af- 
 ford a striking contrast with the simple and homely 
 but picturesque Saxon appellations of the lands 
 which were granted to them. " Bushey" had its 
 Lord De la Ware ; the " Lea'"" its Simon de Flam- 
 bord and Waldrand de Rochefort ; and " Hatfield" 
 (i. e. Heath field) its De Fortescue ; " Honesdone" 
 its De Montgommeri ; while some nameless " soldat 
 
 * "The Enj»lish lands William gave in fee to his soldiers, 
 to hold them under such services as he appointed, by right of 
 succession or inheritance, which right was not very common 
 in those days among military tenants ; for if they failed in the 
 performance of their duty and service to their lord, they for- 
 feited their estates." The philosophy of despotism was well 
 understood by the Normans, who modelled the law and Go- 
 vernment of England on their own, "for all the Judges were 
 Normans, and monks and priests were the counsellors and 
 pleaders that managed causes upon all tryals for the people." 
 — ChatincT/, vol. i.
 
 ST. alban's abbey. 143 
 
 heureux^^ was entered simply as Robert De la Hoo, 
 (a Saxon equivalent for " Hight," in allusion to its 
 elevated position.) The royal " OfRey" fell to the 
 St. Legiers ; and "the Barleys," " Thornbury," 
 " Coldridges," and "Brockets," gave possessions 
 and honours to many who had none in their native 
 land. 
 
 The combinations of one age are, inevitably, des- 
 tined to give place to those of another ; and the 
 " to have and to hold for ever" of the lawyers, 
 like so many other of their fictions, has no warranty 
 from the law of nature. The power of the Norman 
 Barons decreased under the destructive influence of 
 the crusading fanaticism, and of the civil wars of 
 the rival Roses. The descendants of the forresters, 
 huntsmen, falconers, butlers, and other serventes 
 regis, diminished in number and in influence ; 
 while the posterity of the Saxons, socmen, bordars, 
 cotars, * and villains, the victims and slaves of the 
 feudal system, the performers of " base services," 
 (as all works of utility were then termed,) gra- 
 dually resumed their forfeited places in society, by 
 the force of those energies, which even slavery 
 could not obliterate. The Saxon physiognomy 
 again appeared in the high places of social and 
 political distinction ; while the high arched eyebrow 
 and curled lip (the features of haughty, conscious 
 superiority) were oftener found in monumental 
 
 • Bordar, from the Norman-French word Borde, a cottage; 
 the term cotar, or cottier, explains itself.
 
 144 ST. alban's abbey. 
 
 effigies and ancient portraits, than in living ori- 
 ginals. Society, in thus becoming less picturesque, 
 became more equalized ; and it is scarcely hyperbole 
 to add, that never has England, since the Conquest, 
 been so much England, as in the present day.* 
 
 Under the gradual and progressive influence of 
 such causes, tlie ancient manors and stately man- 
 sions of Hertfordshire have slipped from the grasp 
 of the posterity of the Norman nobles, until scarcely 
 a Norman family remained. It is curious to watch 
 the fading away of the De's, Fitz's, and \'^ille's, 
 from William the Conqueror to Henry IV. ; at 
 which period the De Valengies, De Magnavilles, 
 the De Veeres, the De Lucis, the Montfichets, the 
 Belcampos, and other lords of the soil, and of the 
 liberties of the people, had given way to the Bray- 
 brookes, Swinebournes, Engelfields, and Pendra- 
 gons, &:c. &c. Under Edward IV., many of the 
 broad lands of the country were dominated by the 
 Clays, Burlies, Cornburghs, Sturgeons, and Woods. 
 Under Henry VIII., church reform and confisca- 
 tion added to the change. The ancient manors of 
 Goreham, Sandridge, and the Priory of the Prey, 
 (all parcels of the ancient " honour'"', of the monks of 
 St. Alban's,) then fell to the lot of Ralph Rowlet, 
 of Saxon descent. The Brockets, Bacons, Plum- 
 mers, Sadlers, and Millers, came in under Eliza- 
 beth : and the Brands, Bakers, Lambs, and the 
 
 * All the rudiments of Enj^lish liberty will be found ema- 
 natin;^ from the Saxon spirit and institutions; the Normau 
 legislator was of a diflfereut race and temper.
 
 ST. alban's abbey. 145 
 
 owners of other old Saxon names, were found in 
 possession of the fair manors of Hertfordshire, 
 under the Georges. Beauchamp, the fief of the 
 De Montgommeris, was granted to the Taylors 
 and Turners ; and " the stately pallace of Kings- 
 burry, where the Saxon Kings delighted much, and 
 where their nobles and officers so often resorted, as 
 to become a burden and a charge to the abbot and 
 monks of St. Albans," was sold to one John Cox. 
 Merchant-tailors and mercers, and linen-drapers, 
 from the City of London, became lords of those 
 manors, which once gave despotic privileges to 
 " the gentlemen" of Rollo's creation j 
 
 And thus the whirligig of time brings round its revenges. 
 
 Of all these progressing stages of society, the 
 monumental fragments are scattered over the 
 soil, to which they have given such an historical 
 and poetic interest. Of these, the grandest, the 
 most beautiful, and powerful, stands the Abbey 
 of St. Alban's— like the fragment of an illuminated 
 manuscript, telling of the moral and pictorial de- 
 velopment of man, of his ignorance, his know- 
 ledge, his power, and his weakness. 
 
 In the early history of England, when all might 
 be summed up in blood and massacre, the Monas- 
 tery of St. Alban's was founded and endowed by 
 Offa, a murderer of immortal memory, who, by 
 this penitential propitiation, delivered to posterity 
 the record of his crimes, while he unconsciously 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 ST. alban's abbey. 
 
 forwarded that great reform, which began through 
 the resistance of the church to feudal violence. 
 
 Monastic life had been founded under the influ- 
 ence of fear. Adopted as a protection by the per- 
 secuted Christians of Egypt, who retired into the 
 desert for safety and repose, the life grew into re- 
 pute for its own sake, spread through the Greek 
 Church, passed into the Latin, was early embraced 
 in France, and from France was imported into Bri- 
 tain, where its adaptation to the circumstances of 
 the times ensured it a rapid and wide prevalence. 
 
 When St. Augustine arrived in England with his 
 forty monks, at the close of the sixth century, Glas- 
 tonbury and Bangor were already flourishing esta- 
 blishments. The latter had grown up under per- 
 secution ; having, at its foundation, been taxed 
 with a spirit of innovation by the Druids, whom it 
 attacked in their own powerful seat. The Druidical 
 hierarchy raised the cry that their church was in 
 danger ; they accused the new brotherhood of being 
 Christian philosophers — overturners of the social 
 order of human sacrifices, and of the orthodox wor- 
 ship of the miseltoe — the corrupters of the youth 
 of the nation (the old church-and-state cry against 
 Socrates.) Notwithstanding this denunciation, or 
 rather, in consequence of it, the monastery throve, 
 and the monks became exceedingly numerous; but, 
 in after years, persecution was more effectual in its 
 mischievous activity : for the monks, siding with 
 the British people against their Saxon invaders, 
 and maintaining their own usages against the au-
 
 ST. alban's abbey. 147 
 
 thority of the Roman bishops, Ethelfred, instigated, 
 as it is said, by St. Augustine,* massacred no less 
 than 1 200 of them ; an event which was soon fol- 
 lowed by the ruin of the establishment. 
 
 Its gi-eat rival and cotemporary (Glastonbury) 
 more prudent, or less ardent in the cause of reform, 
 survived for nearly seven hundred years, and fell 
 only with the universal wreck, at the Reformation. 
 
 The endowment of an abbey that was to surpass 
 both — the Abbey of St. Alban's — is said to have 
 arisen from the miraculous discovery, by King Otfa, 
 of the body of St. Alban (the first British martyr) ; 
 when a shining light over Verulam directed t!ie 
 monarch to the tomb. The royal penitent having 
 dedicated his manor and palace of Winslow, in 
 Hertfordshire, to the foundation, says Newcome, 
 " thought proper to call together his nobles, pre- 
 lates, and chief personages, to take council on the 
 further execution of his pious design ; and it was 
 then determined that the King should in person go 
 to Rome,t to solicit leave of the Pope, and procure 
 
 * " It is probable that the Monastery of Banchor was found 
 by Austin and his monks to be adverse to their plan and insti- 
 tution, since it is plain that Austin made pretensions to an 
 authority unknown to the British clergy; and that the latter 
 had never acknowledged a depeiidauce on any foreign Pontitf, 
 as head .... Aud this enmity against the British clergy 
 instigated the King of the East Angles, by the persuasion of 
 Austin, to extirpate Banchor." — Newcome'a Hist, of St. 
 Alban's, Tp. 21. 
 
 f An enterprise of vast danger and difficulty in tiiose rude 
 and troubled times. 
 
 h2
 
 148 ST. alban's abbey. 
 
 the desired privileges for his foundation. The 
 King proceeded, in the full intention to make his 
 endowment as far transcend all other monasteries, 
 as St. Alban had surpassed all other martyrs. The 
 Pope, with great commendations of the King's zeal 
 and piety, grants all his requests ; and Offa, in re- 
 turn, granted for the use of the English school at 
 Rome, that Peterpence, or one penny per family, 
 should be collected throughout his dominions ; * 
 and having made confession to the Pope of all his 
 crimes, and received a conditional absolution, he 
 departed with a devout benediction." — [Hist, of 
 St. Alban's, p. 26.] 
 
 The first Abbot of St. Alban's was " one Willi- 
 god," who ascended the abbatial chair in 794 : the 
 last was Cardinal Wolsey, who descended from it in 
 1523. What duration for a system, and what a 
 fall ! By how many fluctuations of power and of 
 opinion was that system (for centuries deemed in- 
 fallible) reduced to its ultimate powerless decay ! 
 How many uses had sunk into abuses, not merely 
 by becoming corrupt, but by their growing inapti- 
 tude to the wants and opinions of after-times. The 
 life and fall of the last immortal abbot is but a type 
 of the great abuses on which he rose, and by which 
 he fell. Bishop, legate, abbot, cardinal, statesman, 
 philosopher, and irresponsible minister (responsible 
 at least to his master alone), his story is a brief 
 abstract of the times in which he lived, when 
 
 • The Popish model of our Evangelical penny subscriptions 
 against Popery.
 
 ST. ALBAN'S ABBEY. 149 
 
 power, wound up to its highest possible pitch, 
 broke by the excess of its own tension, and civil 
 rights began to supersede the despotism of church 
 and state. The crowned and bloated monster, the 
 prostrator of all ties and sympathies, the English 
 Nero, the guardian defender of the Catholic faith, 
 who took to himself the merit of reform, was but 
 the passive agent of events, over which the fluctua- 
 tion of his impulses exercised no permanent control. 
 He could cut off heads, but he could not obliterate 
 ideas. The Reformation emanated not from his 
 decree, nor is it justly reproachable with his vices. 
 It existed in the minds of the people long before it 
 served the purposes of his brutal passions. It is 
 the nature of reform, as of flame, to ascend : the 
 wisest of sovereigns can but direct, the worst cannot 
 extinguish it. 
 
 As a monument, the still beautiful, still splendid, 
 ruin of the Abbey of St. Alban's calls upon the feel- 
 ings, the philosophy, and the poetical nationality of 
 England to rescue it from approaching destruc- 
 tion.* The church has few other such perfect 
 
 * Iq Movember Mr. Cottingham, the architect, after a 
 minute survey of the general state of the building, reported 
 that the foundations, walls, and main arches of this magni- 
 ficent church were in such a substantial state as to last for 
 centuries with a very trifling repair; but that the roofs of the 
 north and south transepts, and the east end of the nave, were 
 extremely insecure ; the ends of many of the main timbers 
 being so perfectly rotten as to lose their geometrical bond and 
 dependence on the walls, thereby endangering the whole 
 fabric. The great window of the south transept, and several
 
 150 ST. alban's abbey. 
 
 relics of its grandeur and influence; art has not 
 many such models of those forms, which seem con- 
 nected with the imagination, and consecrated to all 
 its most romantic associations. 
 
 Will the conservatives of all old things in politics 
 and institutions suffer this beautiful record of the 
 wisdom of their ancestors, this material evidence of 
 their influence, to melt and dissolve away, " like 
 the baseless fabric of a vision?" — Will the extra- 
 vagant contributors of the public money to erect 
 new churches, afford no mite of their own to secure 
 from utter dilapidation this very old one? — Will 
 not the gentry of the shire, the Saxon gentry, who 
 have recovered the lands of their early forefathers, 
 by the industry and talents of their immediate an- 
 tecedents, rescue from decay the shrine of St. 
 Cuthbert and " the lady's chapel," where their 
 mothers worshipped ; or prevent the tombs of their 
 distant progenitors from being confounded with the 
 dust of unhallowed ground ? Even the descendants 
 of the favoured courtiers of Henry the Eighth, who 
 shared so largely in the plunder of the Abbey, are 
 interested in preserving the monument of their own 
 rank and power ; and the newest resident on a pur- 
 chased estate, whose mansion commands a view of 
 the picturesque and beautiful edifice, cannot be 
 indifferent to the permanence of an object from 
 which he derives so much physical enjoyment. 
 
 of the minor windows, are also reported to be in a very 
 ruinous state.
 
 ST. alban's abbey. 151 
 
 ST. ALBAN'S ABBEY. 
 No. 11. 
 
 In the vast and splendid sweep which Philosophy 
 takes over recorded time, from the wondrous me- 
 moranda registered in fossil forms under the earth, 
 the last social results of progressing reform, how 
 many phenomena, influential on the destiny of 
 man, arrest her attention, as marked and promi- 
 nent in their agency, though mistaken and mis- 
 represented by shallow learning, or by interested 
 prejudice ! Among these, the monastic institution 
 — the most picturesque and most singular of the 
 several elements of civilization, stands conspicu- 
 ously forth. Commencing in the fourth century, 
 and terminating (to all effective purpose) in the 
 sixteenth, it has, during twelve hundred years, 
 been an object of exaggerated praise, and of un- 
 merited censure, without having been duly appre- 
 ciated, either in its causes or its effects, save by a 
 gifted few, whose judgments have left scarcely any 
 permanent traces on public opinion. 
 
 Arising out of the wants of society — the result 
 of a necessity over which individual volitions hold
 
 152 ST. alban's abbey. 
 
 no control — the monastic institution, like many 
 others, terminated, by its protracted conservation, 
 in abuse. It began with a few only — men, whose 
 timid nature and intellectual temperament led them 
 to leave the scene of universal carnage, during 
 that epoch of transition, when a worn-out and cor- 
 rupted civilization was relapsing into anarchy and 
 barbarism, and when new races were founding em- 
 pires upon the ruins of all that had once been 
 morally grand and physically powerful. 
 
 Professing the new philosophy, founded by that 
 Divine Reformer, whose agency was so human, 
 they stole from a sanguinary contest with the 
 feeble conservatives of Jupiter, or the northern 
 propagandists of a coarser, but honester, pagan- 
 ism ; and, flying alike from the worst despotism 
 of the worst of the Caesars, and from the devas- 
 tating persecution of the savage invaders, they 
 escaped to deserts, where safety invited to enjoy- 
 ment, and nature solicited meditation. Through 
 the experience and example of a few cautious an- 
 chorets, the practice became general ; and men, 
 called devout, but who represented philosophy as 
 well as religion, continued in greater numbers to 
 separate themselves from the world, and to live by 
 the culture of the earth, and the labour of their 
 hands. 
 
 From the anchoretism of the desert to the seclu- 
 sion of the monastery, the step was short ; and 
 monkish communities, a solecism in language, 
 though consequent in the logic of fact, afforded a
 
 ST. alban's abbey. 153 
 
 new era in the history of the church. The usage 
 seems to liave rapidly spread through the East ; 
 for though, through the ravages of the Saracens, 
 and the conquests of Mahomet, the history of the 
 Eastern and African churches is comparatively but 
 little known, the multitude of monasteries, which 
 flourished among the paradises of oriental solitude, 
 is a fact incontestably established. 
 
 It was, however, in the west of Europe that mo- 
 nachism took the firmest root, and amalgamated 
 the most perfectly with the habits and institutions 
 of the people, with whom it was in great esteem. 
 In this, as in most other instances, the popular in- 
 stinct was right ; for, while among the Asiatics 
 the institution continued to be almost exclusively 
 ascetic and religious in its objects, circumstances 
 had prepared for its devotees in the west, functions 
 of a more worldly, and, at the same time, a more 
 useful character. The masses, accordingly, who 
 most immediately participated in the good thus 
 effected, were not slow to perceive the advantage, 
 and to revere the knowledge of a class, which 
 (placed between themselves and their military op- 
 pressors) exercised a mysterious power over the 
 feudal chief, directed by the closest sympathies 
 with the miserable vassal. 
 
 Monachism also opened a gate to the ambition 
 of the low-born, and a refuge from unremunerated 
 toil, to those of gentle disposition, or of a frail con- 
 stitution ; it met the wishes, and soothed the suf- 
 ferings of the people, who continued steadily to 
 
 H 5
 
 154 ST. alban's abbey. 
 
 adhere to it, as long as its agency remained an item 
 in the inventory of popular wants. By the seventh 
 century, monasteries of both sexes abounded in 
 England ; at first, as appendices to the episcopal 
 see, and in immediate vicinity to the cathedral. 
 Subsequently, monachism acquired a separate, 
 thougli a dependent existence ; and, at length, a 
 divergence of interests, and a rivality for power 
 and for influence, placed the regular and the se- 
 cular clergy in a position of nearly open hostility. 
 
 While the " busy meddling priest," the feudal 
 bishop, the warrior hierarch, the exacter of tithes, 
 were regarded by the lower classes with fear and 
 with aversion, the monks (themselves supported by 
 endowment?, or by voluntary contributions) fed, 
 clothed, and cured the necessitous and the op- 
 pressed, and taught the industrious those arts, by 
 which society exists, and is held together. While 
 the dignitaries of the church shared the councils of 
 kings, associated with nobles, and joined with both 
 in the plunder of the many, the monks were of the 
 people and with the people, sharing their senti- 
 ments, sympathizing with their sufferings, and as- 
 sociating with their pleasures. The secular clergy 
 urged on their hearers the necessity of a holy life ; 
 the monks preached a penitent death ; while the 
 greater " joy of heaven over the one repentant 
 sinner" furnished a text, which filled the coffers 
 of the monastic houses, and proved that their in- 
 mates were deeply imbued with that knowing
 
 ST. ALBAN'S ABBEY. 155 
 
 acquaintance with human nature, which men only 
 acquire who live with men. 
 
 Thus possessed of the secret of governing through 
 their passions those with whom so little can be 
 effected througii their reason, they acquired that 
 immense accumulated wealth, wdiich ultimately 
 enabled them to withdraw from all subjection to 
 their diocesan, and to surpass him in external 
 splendour, as in moral and political influence. In 
 1514, the mitred abbots, who took their seats in 
 the House of Lords, amounted to twenty-eight, 
 while the bishops were but nineteen ; and their 
 houses furnished not only the law courts with 
 officers, but sent forth ambassadors abroad, and 
 supplied men for the highest employments at home. 
 Teachers, mediators, chroniclers of the past, and 
 historians of their own times, they held the mas- 
 tery over the minds, fame, and salvation of the 
 people. 
 
 Notwithstanding all that has been advanced con- 
 cerning the ignorance and the idleness of some 
 particular orders, it is clear that the institution 
 could not have gained its influence with the masses, 
 nor could its members have obtained such weight 
 with the governing classes, without the possession 
 of some lever, with which to move the world : that 
 lever was the monopoly of knowledge. Without 
 pausing to estimate the precise nature of the learn- 
 ing possessed by the monks, it is clear that it gave 
 them a decided advantage over the illiterate mili- 
 tary corps, who disdained it. Whether they ex-
 
 156 ST. alban's abbey. 
 
 erted their sharpened intellects in deluding man- 
 kind, and cheating them of their wealth, or in 
 obtaining tlie administration of secular affairs, po- 
 litical and administrative, they were equally in- 
 debted to the monopoly of learning ; but when, 
 either in their benevolence, or their short-sighted- 
 ness, they gave the key of knowledge to the laity, 
 they destroyed the foundation of their order, long 
 before the spelful word of Reformation had sealed 
 the ruin of the church's power, and given supre- 
 macy to civil influence and to the authority of par- 
 liament. 
 
 On the dissolution of the abbeys in England, 
 their landed property was found to amount to one- 
 third of the soil ; the most improved, best drained, 
 cleared, and cultivated portion of the kingdom. At 
 this period, the Abbey of St. Alban*s stood unsur- 
 passed and unrivalled. Its sumptuous abbot had 
 houses in London " for the safe and honourable 
 abode of himself and his successors, and of his 
 monks, who might have business there." He had 
 also his marine villa at Yarmouth, not only to enjoy 
 the invigorating sea-breeze, but for the more prac- 
 tical purpose of " laying up salten fish at proper 
 seasons, to the unspeakable benefit and comfort of 
 the abbey." They had estates, priories, cells, and 
 other lucrative dependencies, in various counties : 
 of these, Belvoir, Beaulieu, Hatfield-Peverel, and 
 others, still retain traces of their ancient grandeur. 
 But in Hertfordshire were situated their favourite 
 villas and " stations," where they withdrew to lux-
 
 ST. alban's abbey. 157 
 
 Urious retirement, from the state and magnificence 
 of the abbey, from the sohtary dignities of " the 
 Dais," and the necessity of receiving those most 
 troublesome of all visitors, kings and queens, and 
 tlieir idle train of parasites and courtiers.* There, 
 accompanied by a few " familiars and counsellors," 
 (called, in the humility of monkish pedantry, their 
 Bajiili,) the epicurean abbots loved to retreat, for 
 the purposes of literary leisure, of ease, or of enjoy- 
 ment — to lose the superior in the man, or to replace 
 the fawning dependent by the confidential friend. 
 These are the villas which now form the summer 
 (or rather the winter) retreats of some of the lead- 
 ing aristocracy of our own days — the stoutest 
 sticklers for the inviolability of church property ; 
 who (if their new-fangled principle had prevailed 
 at the Reformation) would probably have been, as 
 their ancestors were, ere they drew their wealth 
 from the church's plunder — the waiters upon times 
 and seasons, " the pickers up of unconsidered 
 trifles" in the ante-chambers of th^ great, too 
 proud to work, but not " ashamed to beg." 
 
 * Edward IV. " frequented this part of his kingdom, by 
 repeated visits to his relations and friends ; for at this time his 
 TDother, Cicely, the old Duchess of York, had her residence 
 at Berkhampstead, and lived there till the middle of Henry 
 VII. 's reign. The Dukes of Gloucester and Clarence abode 
 often at the royal Palace of King's Langley. George iNevil, 
 the splendid Archbishop of York, resided at More Park, 
 and the King frequently honoured this place with his resi- 
 dence. The Lord Hastings, Chamberlain to the Court under 
 Edward, dwelt near this abbey, as appears by his transaction 
 writh Wheathauipstead." — Neivcome's Hist.
 
 158 ST. alban's abbey. 
 
 The Reformation of the Anglican Church was 
 made by the people of England ; the mal-appro- 
 priation of its revenues was the act of the king 
 and of his courtiers. The work began under 
 Henry VII., who found his great state lawyers, 
 Empson and Dudley, ready to justify his exactions ; 
 and his two favourite prelates, Morton and Fox, 
 equally prompt to advise, and to sanction them. It 
 was consummated by Henry VIII., who turned the 
 wealth, which thus came into his administration, 
 not to the amelioration of his people''s condition, 
 nor to the advantage of their education, but to the 
 increase of the royal authority, by the formation of 
 a new and devoted aristocracy, of a totally different 
 race from that of the ancient Saxon gentry, or of 
 the bold Barons of the glorious field of Runnymede. 
 
 Among the persons who profited the most largely 
 by the occasion, were the immediate favourites of 
 the royal Blue Beard, and the dependents of his 
 unfortunate friends and wives. " He who lived 
 about the time when happened the Reformation," 
 (says one of its historians) " which was the harvest 
 of estates — however lowly his origin, or humble his 
 office, was in the road to fortune, if he had the 
 promptitude to avail himself of it." " For," (says 
 old Naunton, in his amusing life of Sir William 
 Paulet, 1572,) *' it argued idleness, if any courtier 
 had his barns empty : and he, Sir Robert Paulet, 
 was a younger brotiier, and came to court upon 
 trust ; where, upon the stock of his wit, he trafficked 
 so wisely, and fared so well, that he got, spent, and
 
 ST. alban's abbey. 159 
 
 left, more than any subject since the Conquest ; and 
 he left, at his death (in 1572,) one hundred and 
 tliree descendants." 
 
 The Cliurch Commissioners of the great reform 
 of the sixteenth century scarcely waited for the 
 cooling of their seals upon their patents, when they 
 commenced the work of devastation 5 and taking 
 possession of the religious houses, began to pull 
 down and sell the materials, and to alienate their 
 funds and estates ; for, adds Newcome, " the new 
 source of riches was so acceptable to the king and 
 his court, that he made no application for subsidy 
 or supply to the Parliament." 
 
 V\^hile the great sweep of lands and manors was 
 making, the " visitors" and " Church Commis- 
 sioners," who were sent on their inquisitorial mis- 
 sion to St. Alban's and Godstowe, " to discover the 
 many enormities, not only in the morals^ but in the 
 economy and rule of the houses," discovered also 
 other things, that better repaid the trouble of their 
 inquiries. They committed great violence and 
 injustice ; robbed and carried off all the plate and 
 precious stones found in some of the houses, and 
 committed great outrages in others ; and " as for 
 the goods and moveables, the rich vestments, and 
 splendid ornaments, they were so much the pro- 
 perty of the present monks, when their continuity 
 was to cease, and their trust to expire, that, on all 
 principles of justice, they should not have been 
 robbed and spoiled of them ; and if the voice of 
 humanity could have been heard, in this general
 
 160 ST. ALBAN*S ABBEY. 
 
 clamour of avarice and rapine, these moveables 
 sliould have been sold, and the money reserved for 
 the use of the owners, who were soon to be turned 
 into the wide world, with a very slender pension. 
 But, by the act, all these goods and moveables, 
 together with an amazing quantity of the same 
 from the cathedrals, were carried away by the 
 visitors, and swallowed up by the royal vortex, 
 never to appear or be heard of more." * 
 
 Who that has a taste for the toys of antiquity, 
 but must envy the first plunder of the shrines and 
 cabinets of St. Alban's ! What rummaging of 
 wardrobes, what forcing of caskets, what copes 
 and robes of rich silk, what ewers of pure silver, 
 and goblets of virgin gold, to be converted into lay 
 dresses, and to decorate convivial bouffets ! What 
 gems, plucked from the marble neck of the Ma- 
 donna — what rings, wrung from the finger of the 
 votive statue of St. Alban ! How curious to trace 
 the history, and follow the fate of the holy offerings 
 of one epoch, and the unholy spoliation of another ! 
 How many of the fair Conservatives, who now up- 
 hold the inviolabiUty of church property, may parade 
 on their persons the remnants of its plunder ! The 
 " Lady Anne Tyrell's cup adorned with precious 
 stones," given in the thirteenth century, may have 
 furnished the agraffe that fastens the stomacher of 
 some other Lady Anne in the nineteenth. Lord 
 Thomas of Woodstock's " necklace of gold, adorned 
 
 * Newcome.
 
 ST. alban's abbey. 161 
 
 with saphire stones, and swan expanding its wings," 
 may now compose the star of some " stand -making"" 
 Peer; and the necklace "given by Richard II. for 
 the image of the Holy Mother," and tlie "rich 
 trinkets and holy relics" presented by his father, 
 the Black Prince, may, in the chances and changes 
 of time and events, have come back to the royal 
 toilet, and decorated the person of the most 
 orthodox of Queens. 
 
 Of the magnificent, mitred, parliamentary Abbey 
 of St. Alban's, which once dominated the southern 
 part of ancient Verulam and modern St. Alban's, 
 nothing now remains but its portal or gateway, 
 with its beautiful pointed arch above, and paved 
 court beneath — so often trod by the pilgrim feet of 
 votarists of all nations — so often filled with the 
 gorgeous trains of royal guests, and of princely 
 confraternities. 
 
 The Conventual Church, however, though but a 
 fragment of the once magnificent pile, attests tlie 
 grandeur of the whole, and the perfection of eccle- 
 siastical architecture in England, during the middle 
 ages. There are still extant, in the interior, spe- 
 cimens of genuine Saxon architecture, a part of the 
 original building, the rounded arch, the massy 
 tower, and enormous pillar, whose rude but noble 
 simplicity is forcibly contrasted to the elaborated 
 elegance of the gothic style. Screens of the most 
 minute tabernacle- work, pointed arches, feathery 
 shafts, and a profusion of richly- sculptured tracery, 
 display all the characteristic beauty of that most
 
 162 ST. alban's abbey. 
 
 ])icturesque and fanciful epoch of the art. The 
 high altar, the after-part of the choir, the chapel of 
 Abbot Rambridge, and that of St- Alban, are the 
 most remarkable. In the latter, once stood a superb 
 shrine of beaten gold, studded with gems, and 
 ornamented with sculpture. To guard the relics of 
 the saint, thus preciously enshrined, a trusty and 
 sturdy monk (the custos feretri) was appointed to 
 keep watch and ward in the small wooden gallery 
 still standing near the spot. There are also exist- 
 ing, beneath the fretted roof of this beautiful abbey 
 church, monuments and tombs well suited to revive 
 remote associations with great events, and to 
 awaken a poetic nationality in tlie most phlegmatic 
 temperament. Of these, the tomb of the Protector 
 Duke of Gloucester, familiarly called the good 
 Duke Humphry (the upright minister of a feeble 
 king and an intriguing queen, one who evinced 
 how hard and how dangerous it is to serve man- 
 kind,) stands on the southern side.* 
 
 It has been the privilege of this Abbey, and of its 
 historical neighbourhood, to have fascinated the 
 
 • The seat cf Duke Humpliry was the " Weald House." 
 All that remains of tliis historical edifice is the curious an- 
 tique farm, at a little distance from Porters, a noble mansion, 
 so called from its occupying the site of the porter's lodge, in 
 tlie time of the Lord Protector. The chestnut frees, still stand- 
 ing there, are said to have shaded the favourite walk of Duke 
 Humphry. Porters commands a view of the Abbey, and 
 was, wiien this page was written, the property of Colonel 
 Henry White. Here, it is said, Marshal Wade brought Lord 
 Lovat, on his way to the Tower and the scaffold.
 
 ST. alban's abbey. 1G3 
 
 imaginative, and to have lured to its scenes and 
 time-honoured site the high-minded, and the intel- 
 ligent of all ages. There was a spell hovering over 
 the ruined fragments of ancient Verulam, which 
 led the poetical and the philosophical alike to wan- 
 der over its site, and to repose within its view. 
 Spenser assumed the character of its presiding 
 genius, to sing its grandeur and melancholy glory : 
 
 " I was that city, which the garland wore 
 Of Britain's pride, delivered unto me 
 By Roman victory, which it wore of yore. 
 Though nought at all but ruins now I be. 
 And lie in my own ashes, as ye see. 
 Verlame I was : what boots it that I was, 
 Sith now I am but,iveeds and wasteful grass." 
 
 Ruins of Time. 
 
 The wish of Sir Thomas More was to live and 
 die in its neighbourhood ; * and Bacon chose its 
 little church of St. Michael for his grave, because 
 the ancient pile arose within the precincts of the 
 walls of Verulam. It is but a short time since the 
 author of these articles stood beside that grave, and 
 before the monument of " the greatest, wisest, 
 [and it may yet be doubted], meanest of mankind." 
 The cicerone of one of the most ancient of British 
 
 • Gobions was the patrimonial seat of Sir Thomas More, 
 where he retired with his accomplished family, " when, fore- 
 seeing the uncertainty of the Kinjj's favour, he prevailed on 
 his Majesty to discharge him from the high office of Chancellor. 
 It was," says Chauncy, " a convenient house, not subject to 
 envy, yet magnificent enough, where he pleased himself with 
 his wife and children."
 
 164. ST. ALBAN'S ABBEY. 
 
 churches was a httle chubby peasant boy, who ran 
 with the keys from a neighbouring cottage, to do 
 the honours by Time and Immortahty. 
 
 The church of St. Michael, raised in the tenth 
 century, by the sixth abbot, the Saxon Ulfinus, was 
 built of the Roman brick and tile taken from the 
 ruins of Verulam, and founded " for the utility of 
 the little village of St. Alban's, which began to 
 gather about the abbey and church." Low, mean, 
 and simple, it survives in perfect integrity, the 
 splendid and gorgeous fabric to which it was an 
 appendage. Its tithes afforded only the salary of 
 " the cellarer and coquinar," to whom they were 
 assigned by the arbitrary will of the abbot. Its 
 square embattled tower, low spire, and roof, present 
 the simplest, oldest style of Saxon architecture. 
 
 During the repair of the church, in 1808, on 
 removing the wainscot from the screen which sepa- 
 rated the nave from the chancel, an ancient paint- 
 ing, in distemper, was discovered in the wood-loft, 
 representing the Day of Judgment ; a fearful re- 
 presentation of the simple but terror- striking means 
 by which the mind of man was subdued in dark 
 ages. It is miserably executed, and strongly op- 
 posed to another specimen of the arts, preserved in 
 the front of the gallery, which is erected against the 
 nave — a fragment of carved oak preserved from the 
 old palace of Gorhambury. It is impossible to con- 
 ceive a more solemn, simple, time -touched, or 
 sombre temple of religious worship, than this an- 
 cient little church, scarcely known beyond its own
 
 ST. ALBAN'S ABBEY. 165 
 
 immediate neighbourhood. Its fine monumental 
 remains record the remote times when Norman 
 French was the language of the land ; and the 
 inscription of 
 
 ** John Seacok et Maude sa femme gisunt ici, 
 Dieu de leurs ames ait raerci," 
 
 was the. model of many a memorial of those who, 
 great in their own day, made their offerings to St. 
 Michael, with a fear of the pictured terrors placed 
 before their eyes in the wood-loft. 
 
 Such is the obscure receptacle of the remains of 
 one of the greatest men whom England has pro- 
 duced — the prophet of science, the founder of phi- 
 losophy. The monument of Bacon is finely, but 
 quaintly, executed in white marble. It is, what all 
 monuments should be, a portrait of the person com- 
 memorated ; and it is endowed with all the pecu- 
 liarities of dress and manner of the original. There 
 is.no wearisome enigma of allegorical allusion, no 
 emblem of temporal grandeur. The figure of Lord 
 Verulam is seated in an easy chair, and reclining 
 in an attitude of perfect bodily indulgence, and in- 
 tellectual abstraction. There is an air of living, 
 breathing meditation over the countenance, which 
 communicates its gracious cahn to the spectator. 
 The dress is minute in all the details which charac- 
 terize the costume of Elizabeth's and James's day, 
 — the furred robe, the high-crowned hat, the very 
 rosettes in the shoes. The illusion is so perfect, 
 that the immortal original seems to have been re-
 
 166 ST. ALBAN'S ABBEY. 
 
 moved from his own cryptoporticus , in his favourite 
 summer-house in the orchard of Gorhambury, the 
 retreat of his happiest hours, and the object of his 
 most lavish and elaborate cares. This beautiful 
 monument, so little known to the English public, is 
 not a national tribute, but the grateful memorial of 
 a faithful servant, Thomas Meautys, his secretary. 
 The church of St. Michael, standing perfect at 
 the end of eight hundred years, may triumph over 
 the assault of ages yet to come ; and, in times more 
 sober and intellectual than the present, when per- 
 sonal distinction and the great endowments of 
 nature shall not be obscured by the adventitious 
 circumstances of an artificial society, the monument 
 of Bacon may bring many a pilgrim to its foot, and 
 receive that tribute from the nationality of English- 
 men, which is incompatible with the narrow views, 
 the sordid pursuits, and the habit of regarding 
 whatever is merely intellectual with fear or with 
 contempt — as dangerous to the stability of social 
 order, or, at best, as " stale and unprofitable," — the 
 prevailing characteristics of the influential classes 
 in England, in the nineteenth century.* 
 
 * Since these papers were put together, for the purpose of 
 forwarding the subscription, it has been filled, and the repa- 
 rations of the cathedral completed. A fund is, however, still 
 wanting, it is believed, to provide for the continued main- 
 tenance of the venerable monument.
 
 RURAL PLEASURES. 167 
 
 RURAL PLEASURES. 
 
 Ducere solicitae jucunda oblivia vitse. 
 
 lo credo essere stato ne' piu begli 
 Luoghi di villa, e al giiidizio mio, 
 Gli hanno a far poco, o non nulla . . ." 
 
 Capitolo del Adamo Centurioni. 
 
 To get through life in the country, one must 
 surely be more or less than man ; less, to be satis- 
 fied with the lot — more, to endure it with forti- 
 tude ! I have often tried the experiment, and 
 slaved with all my might and main to endure the 
 ennui, but it would not do. I am not Hercules ; 
 and even if Hercules had been sent, by way of a 
 thirteenth labour, to pass six weeks with a country 
 cousin, the Centaur's shirt might have been cut 
 up into blister-plasters ; for the god would have 
 died on the next willow, without the aid of that 
 dignus vindice nodus. 
 
 What folks mean by their " rural pleasures," I 
 never could understand. The "life exempt from 
 public haunt" is good for nobody, but a hermit, or 
 a man hiding from his creditors. Talk indeed of
 
 168 RURAL PLEASURES. 
 
 " tongues in trees" — commend me to the tongues 
 of Mr. Burgess in the Strand ; and as for " books 
 in running brooks," they are not to be compared 
 with those of the next circulating library; and 
 then, for the " sermons in stones," to my taste, the 
 Macadamization of Regent Street is a more edi- 
 fying text for a discourse, than all Stonehenge 
 and the Giant's Causeway put together. 
 
 This vaunt of half thinkers, concerning the 
 charms of a country life, is one of those pieces of 
 conventional jargon, with which mankind have 
 agreed to humbug each other; and which, occu- 
 pying the place of ideas, in the brains of a large 
 number of Englishmen^ make portion of the esta- 
 blished creed of the community. Unlike, how- 
 ever, to some other portions of the national sym- 
 bol, there is nothing to be got by upholding it; 
 and therefore it is one cannot help being sur- 
 prised that it should maintain its ground. When 
 it is considered that there is really no one, having 
 a direct interest in preaching rusticity, except the 
 steam-boat company, the lodging-house keepers of 
 Margate, &c., it becomes difficult to explain the 
 ready credence, which men, otherwise of sound dis- 
 cretion, bestow upon the " flattering error," after 
 such oft-reiterated experience of its fallacy. 
 
 Every reader may lay his finger upon, at least, 
 some ten or a dozen families, who for many succes- 
 sive years have tried the spitting over bridges, the 
 picking up of cockleshells, the saunterings, the 
 musings, and the snorings, which make up country
 
 RURAL PLEASURES. 169 
 
 life, till they have been in immediate danger of 
 " dying the death of the bored," and who yet re- 
 turn annually to the same watering places, like 
 a foolish perch to the hook from which he has 
 just escaped — leaving their pleasant, commodious 
 town- houses, in some well wooded and picturesque 
 square, to inhabit the narrow, cribbed, hot, cold, 
 damp, and sunbaked tenements, on a leafless sea- 
 coast. There are but too many, also, who go 
 annually into a voluntary banishment, at Camber- 
 well or Clapham Rise, under the false pretence that 
 London is dreary ; though, before they have left 
 town a fortnight, they would give their eyes to be 
 once more in Russell Square. 
 
 A hundred years ago, there might, perhaps, have 
 been some excuse for such fancies, some pretext 
 for carrying on the absurd farce of rural simplicity, 
 when cockneys had no other notions of a country 
 life, than such as .were to be acquired from the pas- 
 toral poets (those impudent impostors), or from 
 boarding-school landscapes worked in chenille, 
 where shepherds play upon pipes instead of smoking 
 them ; and where well-fed shepherdesses, taller 
 than the steeple of the adjoining church, squint 
 horribly on their pot-bellied swains; or (surrounded 
 by sheep, the image of poodle dogs, and by the 
 scenery of a China saucer), lay basking amidst eter- 
 nal sunshine, and never-ending summer. 
 
 In times thus ignorant, that men should be found 
 to put as implicit faith in Pope's Eclogues, as in 
 
 VOL. 1. I
 
 170 RURAL PLEASURES. 
 
 their Bible, and to make the pleasures of the coun- 
 try a sort of fortieth article of religion, is not so 
 surprising ; but now, in the broad glare of intel- 
 lectual illumination of this sceculum mirabile, when 
 a shilling's worth of the Paddington omnibus, or a 
 trip in the steamboat, to Greenwich or to Rich- 
 mond, can bring the matter to the test of sensa- 
 tion — that such an absurdity should be admitted 
 and committed, fairly beats cockfighting ! 
 
 There is, it cannot be disputed, a physical sen- 
 sation, a sort of " pleased alacrity, and cheer of 
 mind," attendant upon the first breath of the pure 
 air of the country, the first glancing over an ex- 
 tensive range of fields, which, on leaving the dusty 
 metropolis, is distinctly agreeable. Granted also 
 (for there is nothing like truth and fairness), that 
 the smell of new-mown hay is sweet, on the cool 
 and refreshing breeze of a June evening ; and 
 that the distant bark of a village dog, or the Hvely 
 song of the nightingale, (why is it called melan- 
 choly ?) are quite as amiable preparatives to sleep, 
 as '• past twelve o'clock," * or the rolling of the 
 
 • To those not well rearl in antiquarian lore, it may be 
 necessary, in explanation of this allusion, to state, that it was 
 the custom of our ancestors to entertain certain functionaries, 
 whilom hijrht " Charlies," or watchmen, whose duty it was 
 to pass the night in wooden boxes and woollen nightcaj-s, 
 sleeping for the good of the parish. At intervals, however, 
 they were required to rouse themselves, and to walk through 
 the street, that thev mi<rht waken the sick people and chil- 
 dren, in order to let them know to a minute what o'clock it
 
 RURAL PLEASURES. 171 
 
 fire-engines. Some allowance must be made too 
 for the luxury of thick cream (real cream, and 
 not snails and chalk), and of newlaid eggs, which 
 are not quite chickens. Such things have their 
 advantage, and they are well calculated to seize 
 on a young imagination ; yet even for these, a 
 week's experience should suffice, to " stale their 
 (not) infinite variety," in the lovestricken fancy of 
 the most romantic cockney : and then, what else 
 remains to make the country endurable ? 
 
 If I were desirous of defining the pleasures of a 
 rural life, I should scarcely know what more than 
 these to enumerate, unless it be the reading of stale 
 newspapers, and the returning in dark, moonless 
 nights, seven miles (on an average) from dinner 
 parties, over crackscull commons, and through the 
 haunts of smugglers, poachers, and gipsies. 
 
 It is a vast pleasure, certainly, to be dependant 
 for a companion to speak to, upon some university 
 prig of a parson, or on the village apothecary, wlio 
 " finds in his heart to bestow all his tediousness" 
 on the nearest householder, " possessed of aught to 
 
 was, and what was the state of the weather. The fact is 
 thu*! commemorated by an observing foreigner. 
 
 " Un gros watchman reste tranquile. 
 
 Pendant que Ton vous assomme ; 
 Mais il dit quelle heure est-il, 
 
 Quaud vous dormez votr' bon somme." 
 
 liBxicographers have not yet determined, whether our 
 pocket chronometers were so called after the Charlies, or the 
 watchmen christened after the watches. 
 
 1%
 
 172 RURAL PLEASURES. 
 
 give ;" nay, to be even grateful to Providence for 
 the welcome avatars of these bores incarnate ! So- 
 litude, it has been said, is a fine thing ; but man 
 requires some one to whom he can say, that solitude 
 is a fine tiling. Yet I never could discover, by 
 direct experiment, how long it requires to live abso- 
 lutely alone, in order to vehemently desire the op- 
 portunity for lecturing a curate or an apothecary 
 on the charms of this pleasure of a country life. 
 
 Let not then the dupe, who has been invited to 
 a country mansion for a battu, or a Christmas 
 party, imagine that the fun and hilarity, the splen- 
 did fea-'ting, deep drinking, and me ry dancing, of 
 those brief epochs, are fair specimens of a country 
 life — they are but the gaieties of the metropolis 
 misplaced, the contrived saturnalia of the slaves of 
 rurality. Even on such occasions, the master of the 
 house is only an hotel-keeper ; and for the rest of 
 the year, he is no better than a hermit, whose 
 solitude is unbroken, save by the curate's aforesaid 
 weekly invasion on the family roast beef, or by an 
 occasional " look in" of the medical practitioner, 
 tempted from a neighbouring town by the prospect 
 of a fee, and a game of chess. 
 
 To those, indeed, who live all their lives in the 
 country, things may not be quite as bad as they 
 seem. There is a principle of compensation in 
 human affairs, or, to use a homelier expression, 
 Providence fits every back for its burden. Thus 
 farmers, I have been assured, derive pleasure from
 
 RURAL PLEASURES. 173 
 
 the smell of a dunghill *, to which a cockney nose is 
 wholly antipathetic. A well filled barn also is, in 
 his contemplation, decidedly picturesque ; and the 
 heaviest day's wet that ever drove a hypochon- 
 driac to a halter, and made Kensington Gardens a 
 desert, is delight to him whose turnips want rain, 
 or whose aftergrass is backward. 
 
 The very vexations of the agriculturist partake of 
 the exciting vicissitudes of gaming, and to him a 
 barometer amply supplies the place of cards and the 
 dice-box. Many a time, when I have sat in list- 
 less despair, tracing the drops of an imperturhahle 
 down-pour, as they chased each other along the 
 panes of the windows, I have envied the agitated 
 countenance and half- suppressed oath of the farmer, 
 as he watched the cloud-covered hill giving new 
 tokens of a protracted visit from Jupiter Pluvius, 
 or has searched the heavens in vain for as much 
 blue sky, as would make a Dutchman a pair of 
 breeches. These are pleasures which the farmer 
 alone can prove, and in which the cockney can 
 never participate. 
 
 The proprietors of estates, also, have some spe- 
 cific pleasures known only to themselves, which 
 seem, if not to compensate for the stupidity of their 
 monotonous existence, at least to enable them to 
 rub on during the periods when they cannot avoid 
 residence. The pleasure of possession is in itself 
 something considerable. " I am monarch of all I 
 
 * Dukis odor liceri ex re qiialibet.
 
 174 RURAL PLEASURES. 
 
 survey," goes to a merrier tune in the rich valleys 
 of Devonshire, or in the highly cultivated plains of 
 Norfolk, than it would upon Selkirk's desolate 
 island. Tlie ovrner of the dreariest fenny flat of 
 Lincolnshire, or of the blackest bog in Ireland, can 
 look from the bow- window of his bleak residence, 
 and find something agreeable in the prospect. 
 
 Besides, there is always for this privileged class 
 of mortals that greatest of all delights — the plea- 
 sure of tormenting. They can bully the tenants, 
 justice the country, and gratify their most malig- 
 nant passions with impunity, simply by preparing 
 an excuse just plausible enough to enable a judge 
 to throw dust into the eyes of the jurymen. Even 
 this proviso is now scarcely necessary; for who 
 would in these days dream of making a magistrate 
 responsible, through an action at law which he is 
 sure to lose ? 
 
 Then again, the proprietor can amuse himself 
 with inclosing the commons ; because it is safer to 
 steal the common from the poor man's goose, than 
 to steal the rich man's goose from the common. 
 In short, there is no end to the ways in which an 
 estatod gentleman can keep a whole population in 
 hot water ; sowing dissentions, awakening jealousies, 
 irritating the indignant feelings, and, consequently, 
 enjoying his otium cum dignitate as a proprietor 
 should do. 
 
 All these country sports, however, are cut off 
 from those inferior persons, whose estates are in tlie 
 Bank books, or floating in an East Indiaman.
 
 RURAL PLEASURES. 175 
 
 That the reader may not imagine this picture 1o 
 be drawn from fancy, or picked up in the stray 
 pages of some fashionable novel or newspaper re- 
 port, it is good that he should know, how once a 
 year I am compelled, for my sins, to make a duty 
 visit to some relations in the country, from whom I 
 have great expectations. Never did " a double 
 letter from Northamptonshire" excite a deeper 
 sensation, than the arrival of this much dreaded 
 invitation produces in my bosom, recurring, as it 
 does, with the punctuality of a tailor's Christmas 
 bill. Imagine the horror merely of leaving town — 
 the dreary hoarseness of the mail-horn — the melan- 
 choly annunciation that " all's right," when one 
 feels within that all is deplorably wrong — the sink- 
 ing of the spirits as the last gas-light disappears — 
 and the yearning of the heart for the Angel at 
 Islington, or the Elephant and Castle, in taking 
 leave of them, perhaps, (as one is tempted to 
 imagine) for ever ! There is something quite awful 
 in this most typical separation from cheerfulness 
 and civilization ; and were it not that I sleep in a 
 coach like a top, I verily believe that I should 
 often have got out at Rarnet; or, at all events, 
 should have shrunk from encountering the Downs 
 of Dunstable. 
 
 When first I embarked on one of these expedi- 
 tions, I was as ignorant as any other native of the 
 banlieu of Bow-bell. Every thing at starting was 
 a source of delight. Every duck-pond was a lake ; 
 and all the little cabbage gardens of the hedge ale-
 
 176 RURAL PLEASURES. 
 
 houses, where we stopped to change horses, were so 
 many paradises. The hens and the chickens were 
 matters of endless speculation and amusement ; and 
 the turkey-cock occupied my imagination during an 
 entire morning, from his striking resemblance to a 
 lord mayor. Picking my own gooseberries was 
 enchanting, till my fingers, covered with scratches 
 and dripping with blood, reminded me of the 
 superior accommodation of buying them hot and 
 hot, out of a pewter pint-pot. Catching my own 
 fish, too, was pleasant, till I discovered that the 
 fish refused to take the hook, and that my own 
 nose did not. 
 
 But, above all things, doing nothing from morn- 
 ing till night but walk about, was extremely amus- 
 ing, until I found out that my walks were without 
 an object. This discovery was not long in the 
 making. I soon ascertained that nothing more 
 closely resembles one green field than another, 
 that rivers are all brothers, and that hills possess 
 the most astonishing family likeness. Inanimate 
 objects (however beautiful) are like French ladies' 
 husbands, and." ne saventjjas remplir Vame ;" while 
 country bumpkins, without being beautiful, are still 
 less interesting. 
 
 At first, I thought the fault was in myself; and 
 I began to be mortified with the idea, that, not- 
 withstanding all my love for Rousseau, and my 
 having Werter by heart, the " gods had not made 
 me poetical." But I was soon convinced that I am 
 not singular in this disgust at rural things, and
 
 RURAL PLEASURES. 177 
 
 that the country affords, even to the natives them- 
 selves, but a miserable sort of existence. This I 
 detected, by the frequency of their meals, and the 
 anxiety with which the hour of their successive 
 advent is anticipated. Eating, in the country, is 
 the great business of life ; and, " Is dinner ready ?" 
 is a question repeated as often, and in as many 
 different keys, as Sterne's, " Alas ! poor Yorick." 
 If it were not for luncheon — a meal of which every 
 genuine countryman may say, '• decies repetita 
 placebit" — time itself would be lost in eternity. 
 
 Now all this is the more remarkable, inasmuch 
 as that, when meal- time does come, the best sup- 
 plied country table is very inferior to those which 
 are furnished from Leadenhall Market. Your fish 
 — but don't mention fish. On the sea-coast, you 
 have the pleasure of seeing delicious turbots, and 
 mackarel with the hues of the rainbow, packed up 
 at your very door, and sent to town : and if your 
 residence be inland, muddy tench, and eels, soles, 
 that the Pope himself could not save, a stale lobster, 
 or a barrel of gaping high-scented oysters, per 
 coach from London, are your greatest dainties. 
 Then the best desserts and ices, which the country 
 affords, are nothing to those provided by Gunter ; 
 while for meat, you are condemned to eat your way 
 from the sheep's nose to his tail, without any other 
 variation, than the eternal boiled fowl, with bacon 
 and greens. Beef never occurs but once a week ; 
 and a joint of veal is as rare, as if all calves were 
 golden. It is, moreover, notorious that a real cook 
 
 i5
 
 178 RURAL PLEASURES. 
 
 will not live permanently out of London, if you 
 would give him the pay of a Lieutenant-general ; 
 and as for a French dish, you might as well look 
 for a French opera. 
 
 The country, we are told, is the place for contem- 
 plative minds ; for those, to whom their own ideas 
 are a sufficient world, and who find in the presence 
 of nature, themes of endless reflection, and ever new 
 delight ; as if a Londoner's mind is not ten times 
 better company to the owner, than a countryman's, 
 who whistles as he drives his plough, " for want of 
 thought;" and as if Fleot Street and the Strand 
 do not furnish a thousand more themes for philo- 
 sophic inquiry, or for devout wonder, than all 
 Chateaubriand felt or fancied, when he roared out, 
 " Taygeta" like a madman. 
 
 The man who candidly admits his preference for 
 a sea-coal fire, and for the society of cultivated com- 
 pani(jns, is looked upon as a common -place person- 
 age, as one who cannot bear to be alone, nor exist 
 without the ball-room and the playhouse. But how 
 stands the fact ? That the country is the especial 
 abode of dulness, is demonstrated beyond yea and 
 nay, by the single circumstance, that every body 
 hurries to London, during the finest months of the 
 year ; during that season, when an out-of-door life 
 is alone endurable, and when nature offers, in her 
 fondest prodigality, sights, sounds, and odours to 
 delight tlie senses, and to intoxicate the imagina- 
 tion. Then it is, if ever, that the country pos- 
 sesses what may be thought a charm. Yet nobody
 
 RURAL PLEASURES. 179 
 
 visits his estate, till the shooting and hunting begin 
 when the days are short, and the trees are disrobed 
 of their mantle of green. 
 
 Thus, then, the truth comes out ; the contem- 
 plative man, the communer with the Deity rendered 
 visible through his works, leaves the fade amuse- 
 ment of the town, to employ his superior intellects 
 in worrying hares, in foundering horses, and in 
 bringing murder and carnage to the haunts of the 
 partridge and the pheasant I Without these inno- 
 cent and intellectual pursuits, Vhortime des champs, 
 is a man of ennui ; and the delights of the country 
 are " as tedious as a twice-told tale." 
 
 Surely it is not arrogance to say that he, whose 
 soul is filled to saturation with field sports, is a man 
 of very little soul indeed ! and in the scale of beings, 
 is not much more elevated than his own pointers ? 
 
 Oh ! but then, there is husbandry, gardening, 
 natural history, study, and other more worthy 
 amusements of a country life ! Oh ! yes, hus- 
 bandry, of course — not meaning the trade of agri- 
 culture, but gentlemen farming, as it is called, 
 which is one of the idlest of means for killing time. 
 If practised for gain, it is a sordid occupation, de- 
 filing alike the mind and the person, and taking 
 the bread out of the mouths of the poorer culti- 
 vators. If practised as a mere pastime, and at a 
 loss, it is a shameful waste of the powers of the 
 soil, in a country which does not produce sufficient 
 food for its inhabitants. The assertion that gentle- 
 man-farming is beneficial to the community, in
 
 180 RURAL PLEASURES. 
 
 the way of experiment, is a sham plea. The 
 real farmer, who must live by his labour, alone 
 makes useful experiments ; because he alone experi- 
 ments at a ruinous personal risk. Playing at farm- 
 ing, is the refuge of those who can neither think 
 nor read ; and who prefer injuring their property, 
 to enduring the load of an existence, which they 
 know not how to enjoy. 
 
 As to gardening, there is something, perhaps, in 
 that. Of all rural pastimes, gardening is the most 
 interesting and rational ; yet the story of our first 
 parents exemplifies that, as a recourse, it is not 
 enough to keep man out of mischief. Eve did not 
 fall the victim of London dissipation ; nor did 
 Adam lose his innocence in taverns and gaming- 
 houses. Besides, a man need not emigrate into 
 the country, to indulge his taste for gardening. 
 The florist may have more pleasure in London, 
 than he can have in the country. The productions 
 of every clime are laid at the Cockney's feet, col- 
 lected in the small space of a nursery ground. 
 There is scarcely a hundred square yards in the 
 suburbs of the metropolis, without its specimens of 
 vegetable rarities, any one of which the country 
 gardener might be proud to possess. The rich 
 only can obtain extensive hothouses in the country ; 
 in London, they may be enjoyed by every one who 
 can afford to buy a pot of mignonette. 
 
 As for natural history, as that is generally pursued, 
 it is merely a pompous inanity, a substitution of 
 sounds for ideas, of nomenclature for knowledge.
 
 RURAL PLEASURES. 181 
 
 With the exception of a very few men of real 
 science, (almost universally the inhabitants of great 
 cities,) your observers of the loves of the cockchafers, 
 your speculators upon the intrigues of snails, are 
 the heaviest mortals that breathe. For one White 
 of Selbourn, we have thousands of "pretenders," 
 fit only to doze on the benches of learned societies, 
 and be the dupes of lying travellers and of mystify- 
 ing venders of curiosities. 
 
 Lastly, as to books : a man may, it is true, 
 read books in the country — if he can get them ; 
 but admitting this very essential datum^ there is 
 no reason why he should be obliged to go into 
 banishment for the sake of reading, while there is a 
 two-pair- of-stairs apartment to be had in Lincoln's 
 Inn or the Temple, to retire to, and be alone. 
 
 But, to smash this long argument of rural intel- 
 lectuality at a blow, did you ever pass an evening 
 with a knot of mere country gentlemen ? If you 
 have not, you may take the ghost's word for it, 
 they are the greatest bores " conversation ever 
 coped with." Their talk is all shop, all locality, all 
 personality — impossible Munchausen leaps, long 
 shots, election squabbles, grand jury work, births, 
 deaths, marriages, disputes for precedence, warn- 
 ings off of preserves, &c. &c. If this be intellec- 
 tual life, give me a city feast, or a meeting of cre- 
 ditors. 
 
 A stranger who drops into such company, is as 
 completely thrown out of all conversation or un- 
 derstanding, as a New Zealander at a lecture on
 
 182 RURAL PLEASURES, 
 
 the atomic theory, or a man of sense at the read- 
 ings of a blue-stocking party. How wearisome life 
 really is to these moral philosophers, may be seen 
 in the dullness of their houses, in the heaviness of 
 their looks, in their early going to bed, their 
 " sleepings on benches in the afternoon ;" to say 
 nothing of their seeking relief in the two sermons 
 on a Sunday, with the cheering variety of all they 
 see, and all they learn, in the village church. 
 
 It was observed in France before the revolution, 
 that a nobleman could not spend six months on 
 his estate, without losing something of the polish 
 and refinement of the court ; and it may be worth 
 wliile to ask yourself, whether your neighbours, 
 old Cash and his family, when they return from 
 their annual trip to Worthing (it is not altogether 
 so bad at Brighton), do not seem to be quite ano- 
 ther sort of beings. Not a trace of the beaux 
 csprits of Finsbury will be found remaining on their 
 persons. Their ideas have become as sunburnt as 
 their faces ; and it would not be surprising if they 
 should be beset by the pickpockets, and hustled, for 
 so many country puts. 
 
 If the country were, indeed, what is pretended, 
 how is philosophy to explain the pains so univer- 
 sally taken to make the summer retreats of our ba- 
 nished citizens as like the town as possible, and to 
 destroy, by every imaginable device, all access of 
 rural ideas? Go to Cheltenham, to Brighton, or 
 to Margate — no two peas are more alike than these 
 are to London. There, will be found balls, pro-
 
 RURAL PLEASURES. 183 
 
 menades, theatres, hackney-coaches and pastry- 
 cooks, niethodist meetings and jewellers, news- 
 rooms and wig-makers. Ere long, too, we shall 
 hear of a stock-exchange, and of provincial branches 
 of Lloyd's being established in all these places of 
 ru-al resort. 
 
 In leaving London, country is the last thing 
 most people think about — cceluniy non animum, mu- 
 tant. By a common consent, too, while the country 
 folks are thus imitating London, the Londoners are 
 driving London out of town ; so that in a short 
 time these extremes, like most others, will meet. 
 The whole island will then be covered with bricks 
 and mortar, till not a green field will be left ; and 
 the landed interest be driven to legislate for the 
 protection of mignonette pots, and the preservation 
 of sparrows on the chimney-tops. 
 
 This were, indeed, a happy consummation ; nor 
 is the aspiration for its speedy completion so selfish 
 as some may imagine. Every one to his liking, and 
 live and let live, are excellent maxims : but if, after 
 the perusal of this paper, there yet remain any ad- 
 vocates for a country life, is there not Switzerland 
 for them to take their pleasure in uninterruptedly ? 
 Let them make a pathway over Mount Blanc, and 
 scribble nonsense in the innkeepers' police books, 
 without let or molestation ; if they are tired of all 
 this, there is very picturesque scenery in New 
 South Wales, and inexhaustible capabilities in Van 
 Dieman's Land.
 
 184 A FEW WORDS IN 
 
 A FEW WORDS IN DEFENCE OF 
 PUNNING. 
 
 Omne tulit pun Tom, qui iniscuit utile dulci. — Swift. 
 
 The man who has not music in his soul, we are 
 told, is fit for treasons ; which is not improbably 
 the reason why some of the crowned heads of Eu- 
 rope are so much more liberal of their diamonds to 
 public singers, than they are in rewarding their 
 most faithful servants ; and why they squander 
 their money upon the opera, when other depart- 
 ments of the public service are suffered to starve. 
 How a fondness for harmony should induce men to 
 submit patiently to the crude modulations, abrupt 
 transitions, and extreme sharps of despotism, is not 
 very clear ; but so it is — it seems an universal law 
 of nature, that the more airs a minister gives 
 himself, the more popular he is ; and his most mis- 
 placed crotchets are rarely bars to the certainty 
 of his success. In all matters of state, men are 
 usually led by their ears. 
 
 But though treason (whether it be the treason 
 of governments against people, or the treason of 
 people against governments) is a very treasonable
 
 DEFENCE OF PUNNING. 185 
 
 thing, yet there are men worse than the unmusical, 
 and more to be avoided than Horace's Mr. Black.* 
 What, for instance, shall be said of the man who 
 has not punning in his soul ? " The motions of 
 his spirit are (indeed) dull as night, and his affec- 
 tions dark as Erebus," with a vengeance. " Let 
 no such man be trusted" — no, not so much as for 
 a halfpenny roll. 
 
 Of all the bores in the infinite regions of bore- 
 dum, there is none against whom an honest man's 
 gorge rises with more disgust, than the villanous 
 spoilsport, who, unblessed with any prominent ex- 
 cellence to distinguish him from the common herd, 
 seeks to make himself considered in society by 
 professing to dislike a pun. Were a punster by his 
 very nature less than the mildest tempered fellow 
 in Europe, the least inveterate must long ago have 
 paid damages on account of these miserable Smell- 
 funguses, — so strongly must he be tempted to 
 smite, when thus thwarted by their croaking, in 
 the career of his humour. 
 
 Nine times out of ten, the professed enemy of a 
 pun is a pure hypocrite, one " well studied in the 
 sad ostent to please — " not " his grandam," honest 
 woman ! but his yokefellows in knavish gravity, 
 whose intellects are of even more spanlike dimen- 
 sions, than those of the arrantest old woman in 
 Christendom. In the tenth instance, the punhater 
 is a blank, a true kinsman of Ariosto's " Cardinal 
 
 • " Hie Niger est; hunc tu, Romane, caveto."
 
 186 A FEW WORDS IN 
 
 Hippolito, and as reaily to demand of a punster, 
 " Dove Diavolo avete trovaio^' &c. 
 
 " There's never any of these demure boys come 
 to any proof." They might, indeed, have served 
 to make a Master in Chancery (when " such things 
 were, and were most rfear") , provided a Chancellor 
 could take a fancy to their politics. They may 
 still do for an evening lecturer to pew- openers in 
 a city church, or may contribute, with two other 
 old women, and a cat, to lay the foundation of a 
 new sect of fanatics : nay, by dint of much grind- 
 ing, they may smuggle a licence to practise physic, 
 and qualify for despatching their patients, and 
 breaking Priscian's head, with the same blow of a 
 huge B:. But what wigblock is of so ligneous a 
 compact, as to be unfit for any of these purposes ? 
 
 A mute at a funeral, an old maid at a love- 
 feast, a college dean at a commemoration of bene- 
 factors, or a clerical pluralist that cannot get his 
 tithes, is quicksilver itself, when compared to the 
 lumpish sadness of a genuine punhater, who sinks 
 " from one sign of dolour to another," as the spi- 
 rits of those around him rise responsive to the 
 quips and quiddities of the wordcatching son of 
 Momus. Tlie awful solemnity with which such a 
 man advances his favourite maxim, that " he who 
 would pun would pick a pocket" (and observe, 
 that the rogue who won't pun, forsooth, can alli- 
 literate) ; the rueful pertinacity with which he 
 purses up his features to a coloquintida acerbity, 
 lest by any chance he should stumble on the joke,
 
 DEFENCE OF PUNNING. 187 
 
 and be seduced into a chuckle ; and the self-com- 
 placency with which he takes credit for superior 
 wisdom, on the score of this owl-like gravity, are 
 worthy of the pencil of Cruikshank, and the pen 
 of Hood. 
 
 Never, in the records of human perversity, did 
 mortal man conscientiously and from the bottom of 
 his heart abuse a pun, who possessed the slightest 
 ability to make one himself, or who had fancy 
 enough to comprehend the reason " why darned 
 stockings are like dead men," which is the very 
 pom asinorum of budding wits and sucking jesters. 
 
 " Omne quod supra nos, nihil ad nos f and dul- 
 ness revenges itself for its inapprehensiveness, by 
 contemning what it cannot understand. The pun- 
 haters, one and all, hypocrites or no hypocrites, are 
 impressed with that true mark of the beast, a per- 
 petual recurrence to the cui bono. They are the 
 fellows who estimate everything by its market price, 
 who hold Shakspeare for a vagabond — think Milton 
 no logician — and cut short a good story which is 
 setting the table in a roar, by asking the narrator, 
 " But, is it all true ?" 
 
 Pope's oft-quoted aphorism, that " gentle dul- 
 ness ever loves a joke," is not only a most unphi- 
 losophical remark, but a scandalous libel. Gentle 
 dulness is essentially a grave personage, and would 
 be as soon found in a house of ill-fame, as in the 
 perpetration of a pun. If ever, in an absurd spirit 
 of imitation, she ventures to be jocose, her jokes are 
 " no jokes" to anybody but herself. The truth is,
 
 188 A FEW WORDS IN 
 
 that though Pope wove Bolingbroke's philosophy 
 into rhyme, and wrote what he called moral Essays, 
 he was but a superficial observer of unsophisti- 
 cated humanity, and dealt largely in common- 
 place. How false is his aristocratic sophism, 
 that *' a little learning is a dangerous thing.'" Is 
 a little money dangerous ? Or a little interest with 
 the Treasury ? Or a little health, or a little temper, 
 a little old wine in one's cellar, or a little woman 
 for one's wife? A great deal of some of these good 
 things may be better than a little, yet, who ever 
 heard " drink deep or taste not," applied in such 
 cases. Methinks I see a man refusing a hundred 
 pounds, because it won't make him a Rothschild ; 
 or rejecting the mistress of his soul, because she 
 is not six feet high, and as round as a barrel ! If 
 a little learning is a dangerous thing, too much 
 (we are told) will drive a man mad — a most 
 felicitous remark, that, of Felixes, and worthy of 
 letters of gold. What a gunpowder Percy this same 
 learning must be ! No wonder the Emperor of 
 Austria is afraid of it. 
 
 Never mind Pope, then, my friends, but pun 
 away, if pun ye can. Men of genuine talent have 
 never refused to desipere in loco, that is, to con- 
 descend to a pun in place and season. From Cicero 
 to Porson,* a series of punsters might be enume- 
 
 • Porson, when supping with a fiieiid in Emanuel, in whose 
 rooms he was to sleep, was asked, after sundry tumblers of 
 spirits and water, whether he would ap;aiii replenish his glass, 
 or have a bed-candle >. He had drunk enough, but his sitting-
 
 DEFENCE OF PUNNING. 189 
 
 rated, embracing some of the brightest names in 
 literature, whose authority might serve to overturn 
 an ecclesiastical canon, in the face of a general 
 council. Judges pun on the bench ; there was one 
 (an Irish judge) who could not even refrain from 
 punning when passing sentence. Orators pun in 
 the House of Commons. Even the Lord's chamber 
 sometimes echoes with a pun. In short, if punning 
 were made a capital offence, the lovers of execu- 
 tions would have their pleasures exalted by meeting 
 a great deal " better company upon Tyburn tree." 
 The dislike of your matter-of-fact men for a pun 
 is the more singular, inasmuch as punning is an art 
 of very remote antiquity, and a very conspicuous 
 part of the wisdom of our ancestors. The immortal 
 gods, it is said, made the world in joke — and a 
 bitter bad joke it was. The first man lost Paradise 
 as a pun-ishment for disobedience (vide Milton) ; 
 and his wife was made out of one of his ribs, in 
 punning allusion to her being a cost-\y commodity. 
 The oldest records of man, the hieroglyphics of 
 ancient Egypt, were a running series of puns ; the 
 phonetic characters were an after-thought. The 
 earlier system perfectly resembled those mysterious 
 writings which serve to introduce the tenants of the 
 nursery to the dogmas of rehgion, and in which a 
 series of pictured signs display the Trinity under 
 
 breeches were still on ; so he rephed in Greek, *' iu reJs. wh 
 TaxXa, which, while it soiiuds " neither toddy nor tallow," 
 signifies neither one nor the other. His puns were ever 
 " marques au bon coin."
 
 190 A FEW WORDS IN 
 
 tlie image of a triangle, in which the pronoun per- 
 sonal is depicted under the likeness of an eye ; and 
 the possessive " your" (ewer) is faithfully repre- 
 sented by a milk-jug. 
 
 From this use of puns as the means of writing, to 
 the abuse of making it the end of writing, the step 
 is not great. It may, therefore, be conjectured, in 
 the absence of a better hypothesis, and, pace tua, Dr. 
 Young, or your's, Monsieur Champollion, that the 
 so called tomb of Alexander is an Egyptian Joe 
 Miller ; and the two needles of Cleopatra an "Esprit 
 Pointu," or a " Laugh and go fat." M'hat con- 
 jecture can be more probable than that the tomb of 
 a great man should set forth the jests (gesta) of its 
 illustrious tenant; for why should not his good 
 sayings, as well as his good deeds, " be remembered 
 in his epitaph:" and as for Cleopatra, are there 
 not thousands of good women whose whole stock of 
 wit lies in their needle ? 
 
 If hieroglyphics were puns, which is at least as 
 likely, as that Solan geese come of a barnacle, then 
 let the sticklers for gravity bear in mind how high 
 in honour were placed the hierogrammatists, or 
 pun- makers, among that wise and pious nation 
 quibus nascuntur in hortis mimina — and which 
 found matter for devotion even in asses and bull- 
 calves. These state punsters —for we can call 
 them no less — were honoris causa exempted from 
 all civil employments ; and it is, perhaps, to this 
 early example, we should refer the professed idle- 
 ness of those modern young men of wit and plea-
 
 DEFENCE OF PUNNING. 191 
 
 sure about town who sing for their suppers, pun 
 for their dinners, and who, as a young actress once 
 declared of herself, " cannot abide work."" With 
 these gentlemen, it is certain, all civil employments 
 are decidedly in ill repute; and, as they would 
 sooner lose a friend than a joke, they are not always 
 civil even in their sport. 
 
 Furthermore, the hierogrammatists were reputed 
 the first persons in dignity, next to the king ; and 
 they bore a kind of sceptre in their hands. In our 
 own times have we not seen a Canning (the most 
 cogent of jokers) prime minister ? And certain 
 secretaries, both of state and Admiralty, have been 
 notorious for making better way on the road to 
 fortune by their wit, than by either their manners, 
 or their honesty. Fox, Sheridan, Courteuay, et hoc 
 genus omne, were famous in their generation ; and 
 if the Tories contrived to keep all the " good 
 things*'" to themselves, the Whigs carried it hollow 
 with the good sayings. * 
 
 This preference for jesters is not without good 
 reason ; for he who has the laugh on his side, is 
 pretty sure to have the nation there likewise. Oh ! 
 " It makes me strange even to the disposition that 
 I owe,"" to note these things, and to mark the little 
 consequence they draw after them, with the pro- 
 fessed traducers of a pun — with whom, in all other 
 matters, authority is reason, and precedent law. 
 That men, whose devotion to all things established 
 
 • This point was better made by a Tory lady, who said to 
 her Whin; friend, " The wit is all on your side, but the joke 
 is on our's."
 
 192 A FEW WORDS IN 
 
 bears a kindred spirit to that of the ape-and-onion- 
 arians of the remotest ages, should be thus recalci- 
 trunt, is absolutely past comprehension I 
 
 Taking leave of the Egyptians with this addi- 
 tional remark, that if their hieroglyphics be puns, 
 Tubal Cain, the first brass-founder, must probably 
 have been the first public punster— or, at the least, 
 the first who applied punning to the purposes of 
 monumental inscription — let us proceed to notice 
 the honour in which punning was held among the 
 Greeks. 
 
 But here, let no unfavourable inferences be 
 drawn against the art, by the Mitfords and his 
 congenial Reviewers, in consequence of its having 
 been practised by those ultra- liberal prototypes of 
 Jacobinism, the Athenians. There are some usages 
 which liberals and absolutists must hold in common : 
 more is the pity. Eating and lying, sleeping and 
 peculating, being politic witli a friend, and smooth 
 to an enemy, are, like hoyno, common to all man- 
 kind, in their gestion of public, as of private affairs. 
 If such things have not always been wholly es- 
 chewed by one party, because they are largely 
 employed by another, it would be absolutely unfair 
 to make a case of exception against punning. 
 
 In point of style, at least, the Greeks are omni 
 exceptione mq/ores, and must be taken as models ; 
 and the best Greek writers have condescended to a 
 pun. Sophocles, with that regard to nature, on 
 which the favourites of the French Academy, the 
 champions of classicism, have so much improved,
 
 DEFENCE OF PUNNING. 193 
 
 does not scruple to make Ajax pun upon his own 
 name, in the very depth of his distress.* We have 
 ourselves seen persons in a very reasonable pa- 
 roxysm of rage, suddenly relieved, and restored to 
 good humour, by the perpetration of a pun ; nor is 
 there any reason wliy the bitterness of grief may 
 not equally be alleviated by the same remedy. 
 Euripides also cracks almost as good a jest upon 
 Polynices ; and ^Eschylus, nearly carrying the joke 
 to extravagance, heaps pun upon pun, when he 
 calls Helen i7\ua<;, Ixav^po?, £?.E7rTo?iK. which a punster 
 would translate, by saying that the ex-wife of 
 Menelaus played Helen (H — 11 &) all with the 
 ships, men, and cities of Troy and Greece. 
 
 Among the Romans, likewise, punning was suc- 
 cessfully cultivated. Quinctilian, it is true, speaks 
 dispraisingly of the art ; but it should be remem- 
 bered that his remark is apropos to oratory ; and that 
 oratory is a humbug, of a nature by far too serious 
 to admit the hazarding a smile, which may as pro- 
 bably be turned against the speaker, as tell in his 
 behalf. The sublime is too near to the ridiculous, 
 to admit of such liberties. If Quinctilian meant 
 more than this, and really intended to insinuate 
 that a pun, like an apple, is malum in se, we can 
 honestly reply that this priggish concoctor of rhe- 
 torical receipts lived in a debased age of literature ; 
 and appeal from his preaching, to the practice of 
 Cicero. 
 
 Marcus Tullius Cicero, the greatest orator of 
 
 • Nnv yap irapiTll, Kal 5if 'Aia^eiv IfAoi Kal Tfif. 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 A FEW WORDS IN 
 
 Rome, its only metaphysician, its pleasantest letter- 
 writer, the hero of the Catiline conspiracy, the 
 scourge of Anthony, he who was saluted " Father 
 of liis country," was an inveterate punster. " In 
 jocis," says INIacrobius, " facundissimus , ut in orri- 
 nilusfuit." His "^e quoque {coque) jure faveho" 
 will outlive his second philippic. Aulus Gellius 
 relates of him, that he used to turn this talent to a 
 good account ; and praises it in him as a part of 
 the perfect orator, that he would get out of a scrape, 
 when lying happened to be not convenient, by a 
 clinch or a bon-mot.^ 
 
 This is here noticed, principally to point out the 
 progress which oratory has made in modern times ; 
 that whereas, in the Roman Senate, every man was 
 left to his own mother wit, to pun himself out of 
 his difficulties, as he best might — in the British 
 Senate, it has been customary to entertain a pro- 
 fessional Jack Pudding to defend his party, and to 
 interpose his jests, like a feather-bed, between the 
 weak points in their defences, and the assaults of 
 the enemy's artillery. 
 
 Ovid, likewise, was a desperate punster ;t not to 
 speak of his thousand and one concetti^ each of 
 
 • " Hsec quoque disciplina rhetorica est callide et cum astu 
 res ciiiTiinosas citia periciiliini confileri ; ut si objectum sit 
 turpe aliquid. quod negari non queat, respousione joculari 
 eludas, et rem facias risu majris dignam quam crimine." — 
 L. xii. cliap. 12. 
 
 f Witness his "cur ego nou dicam, Fuiia, te furiam:" — 
 cum multis aliis.
 
 DEFENCE OF PUNNING. 195 
 
 which is the misprision of a pun. Horace's pun- 
 ning satire on a certain Mr. King, of those days, 
 places him high amongst the Latian Joes. 
 
 Finally, that we may not exhaust the subject, 
 Augustus Cifisar was an arch wag, and, so to speak, 
 the emperor of all the jokers. Like Falstaff, he was 
 not only witty himself, but the cause of wit in 
 others ; as the following epigram on his nautical 
 disasters fully justifies. 
 
 "Postquam bis classe victus naves perdidit, 
 Aliquando ut vincat, ludit assidue aleam." 
 
 So decided a punster was this great man, that 
 according to Suetonius, jesting was almost a part 
 of his court ceremonial. \Mien Vectius, with a 
 zeal worthy of the Agricultural Society's gold 
 medal, ploughed up his father's grave, the affair 
 was made a matter oi grave accusation against him, 
 before the Emperor ; but Augustus facetiously de- 
 fended the Geoponic action, asserting that this was 
 indeed "to cultivate his father's memory."* The 
 pun almost escapes in translation. 
 
 Punning has, in many instances, been of signal 
 service in the arts and sciences. Mythology, if 
 not founded in punning, is closely allied to it. 
 Almost all the great metamorphoses recorded by 
 Ovid, are mere practical puns on the names of the 
 heroes, or something very like it. The oracles, too, 
 could not have gotten on without punning; and 
 he who took their answers at their literal value, 
 
 • " Hoc est vere monumentum patris colere." 
 
 K 2
 
 196 A FEW WORDS IN 
 
 and did not look for some clinch or conundrum 
 belo«^ the surface, was, for the most part, egre- 
 giously duped. 
 
 Law, which is itself a sort of fortune-telling, is 
 equally indebted to quips and quiddities for its best 
 turns. The law definition of agreement {aggrea- 
 mentum, quasi aggregatio mentium) is a pun direct ; 
 and there is this further analogy between law and 
 punning, that as a law is no law till it is broken, 
 so a joke is no joke till it is cracked. 
 
 It is to the praise of punning, that it flourished 
 greatly in the Augustan age of ultra-loyalty and 
 ultra-credulity, under the Solomon of the West, 
 James I. of pious memory. In his time, every 
 judge was a Norbury ; * and the pulpit vied with 
 the stage in fun and fucetiousness. There are, 
 indeed, some straight-laced persons, who disap- 
 prove of this mixture of the sacred and the pro- 
 fane : but who would not prefer being tried by a 
 punning judge, whose points may stand your friend, 
 when all the other points of the law are against you, 
 rather than by a Scroggs or a Jeffries ; and who 
 
 • When this was written, the worthy Peer was yet living; 
 but, alas, I may now say, 
 
 "Multis ille bonis flebilis occidit, &c." 
 He's gone, much lamented by ev'ry good fellow 
 Who loves a Joe Miller, or sober, or mellow. 
 
 His sayings will remain in the fasti of the punster, when 
 the recording angel (it is to be hoped) shall have written non 
 mi recordo, on the subject of his more serious doings ; fur which 
 reason we retain his name in this page.
 
 DEFENCE OF PUNNING. 197 
 
 would not relish a jesting parson, better than a fana- 
 tical blow- coal? As for the nonsense of the affair, 
 it is not necessary to be droll, in order to be non- 
 sensical ; and it is certainly far less irreverent to 
 laugh with the preacher, than, (as one too often 
 must, in the case of your grave proser), to laugh at 
 him. 
 
 Puns may be made the channels for communi- 
 cating valuable precepts, and for insinuating 
 verities, which would recoil on the propounder, if 
 fired in the point-blank manner of a syllogism or 
 an axiom. What agriculturist would not be 
 grateful for the economic hint conveyed by our 
 quondam friend of the Irish Common Pleas, to a 
 reverend acquaintance, who had failed in the ex- 
 periment to feed his horses upon whins ; " although, 
 for the bruising of the thorns, he had," as he in- 
 formed the company, " pounded the esculent for 
 four-and-twenty hours?" His lordship at once re- 
 plied, " Then take my advice. Bishop, and the next 
 time, instead of the whins, pound your horses for 
 four-and-twenty hours ; I'll be bound that they 
 won't leave a stalk." 
 
 Again, what an important political truth is in- 
 volved in another bon-mot of the same great ori- 
 ginal, propounded to the Viceroy of that day, 
 who was complaining that his predecessors had 
 neglected to drain a certain pond in the Phoenix 
 Park, which rendered the Vice-regal residence 
 damp and unwholesome. " They have been too 
 busily employed in draining the rest of the 
 country ;" was the pithy reply.
 
 198 A FEW WORDS IN 
 
 Of the same solid character was Hannibal's re- 
 mark to Antiochus, who at a review, in which his 
 troops were paraded, glittering with gold, silver, 
 and jewellery, asked if these were enough for the 
 Romans. " Ay," replied the jmnnic cliief, " that 
 they are, let the Romans be as avaricious as they 
 may." 
 
 But if wit and wisdom ever housed together 
 under one roof, it was in Pollio''s punning defence 
 of his own silence, when Augustus, like certain 
 modern statesmen who dabble in the reviews, 
 wrote an article against him, rather in the GiflPord 
 style." The scribe who proscribes," he said, " is 
 not easily answered" — '^ At ego taceo ; non est 
 facile in einn scrihere, qui potest jjroscribere." 
 
 The mnemonical system of Professor Feinagle, 
 of quondam celebrity, was hung upon pegs, each of 
 which was a pun, though it must be confessed a 
 cruel bad one. Thus the index to Julius Caesar was 
 a Jew and a pair of scissars ; and that of Henry 
 VHI. a hen and eight chickens 1 Had this learned 
 Theban been a Frenchman instead of a German, 
 he would have matured his plan into something 
 more mercurial, and have edified the world with 
 what might have been called " cours cle mnemonique 
 par calembourys, d. Vusaye des beaux esprits." 
 
 A nearly similar contrivance has likewise been 
 employed by some of our best anatomical teachers, 
 who give pith to their lectures by illustrative 
 drolleries, which jog the flagging attention of the 
 hearer, and fix the facts in his recollection : so that
 
 DEFENCE OF PUNNING. 199 
 
 now-a-days a man may break his bones at less risk 
 of being crippled for life, because the teacher has 
 broken a jest on the anatomy of the injured part. 
 
 The only place in which a pun is not admissible 
 is a king's speech, and the reason is clear. Those 
 documents being got up for the occasion, are cal- 
 culated, as far as possible, to be forgotten, the 
 moment when that occasion is passed ; they are, 
 therefore, not only divested of point, but for the 
 most part, also, of all assignable meaning. 
 
 The practice of punning requires many virtues : 
 *' non cuivis honiini contingit .'"' On ingenuity it is 
 needless to enlarge — cela va sans dire ; but it 
 does not demand less patience than ability, to await 
 the proper occasion for introducing a pun, in order 
 to avoid incurring a rebuff, like his, who, quoting 
 Samson's strength, apropos de bottes, was told, 
 that he himself was stronger than Samson, for he 
 had dragged him in neck and shoulders. 
 
 What a scientific combination does it require to 
 produce a pi'oper opportunity for a preconceived 
 pun, from afar, unaffectedly, and without suspicion. 
 A good pun should spring naturally out of the 
 conversation {naturali pulchriiudine, as Petronius 
 sayeth) ; for if forcibly introduced, it is lost. Nei- 
 ther should it be blurted out, when the minds of 
 the hearers are not predisposed to sympathize : as, 
 for instance, at a funeral, in the midst of a love 
 scene, or when a great man is talking. But as it 
 is well known, that even on the bed of death a 
 genuine punster will say his say, it is impossible to
 
 200 A FEW WORDS IN 
 
 estimate too highly that self-possession, which re- 
 strains the cacciethes on less solemn occasions. 
 This is indeed " animam regere," and a greater 
 virtue than not to strike a servant who breaks a 
 china dish, or to refrain from imitating the Spanish 
 prince, who, Peter Pindar tells us, flung the hot 
 coffee into his princess's face, because she 
 
 " ate a roll, 
 On which the selfish prince had set his soul." 
 
 Punsters are often required to make great per- 
 sonal exertions and sacrifices for the forwarding a 
 joke. So it was with the man who over-ate him- 
 self, to empty a dish of chickens, in order to make 
 way for a pun upon " neck or nothing." At ano- 
 ther time, this gourmand abstained from his two 
 favourite dishes, that he might be able to remark, 
 that he was " not soup-or-fish-al." He would call 
 too for brandy and water, which he detests, in 
 order to say that he is not a rum fellow.* He 
 once caught a dangerous cold by walking bare- 
 headed in the rain, for the sake of a pun on Sir 
 Christopher Hat-on ; and he actually lost a large 
 sum at a hell, which, for security from the police, 
 was held in a garret, that he might form a resolu- 
 tion against playing so high for the future. 
 
 • The celebrated and Rev. S. S. is accused of havinj^ 
 made use of this clinch, when asked if the Wiiinjs had not 
 given him the vacant bisiiopric. " No," he said, " they will 
 give me nothirij^ but Jamaica, because they know I shall 
 make such a rum bishop."
 
 DEFENCE OF PUNNING. 201 
 
 In short, Horace's " sudavit et alsit" is espe- 
 cially applicable to the punster. But the labour 
 is not too much for the reward : for the punster is 
 in argument invincible, and he is never so sure of 
 a victory as when his logic is defeated, and all his 
 graver defences beaten down. The best conducted 
 chain of reasoning, to which a rational answer is 
 impossible, is utterly overthrown by what Shak- 
 speare unwisely calls *' a fool-born jest." The whole 
 company takes a decided part with the joker, though 
 he is decidedly wrong, merely because he raises a 
 laugh at the expence of his antagonist. " Solventur 
 risu tabulcB tu missus abibis" — oh, glorious privilege 
 of punning ! 
 
 k5
 
 202 THE PLEASURES OF HEARING. 
 
 THE PLEASURES OF HEARING. 
 
 "At that instant the abbey bells began to peel so loud, 
 that we could not hear one another speak ; and this peal was 
 for the honour of Mr. Bullock, an eminent cow-keeper of Tot- 
 tenham, who had just arrived, to drink the waters for indi- 
 gestion." — Smollet, Humphry Clinker. 
 
 " Out rogue, and must thou blow thy horn, too ?" 
 
 Be7i Jo7iiion. 
 
 It has been remarked that the blind are mostly of 
 an uncommonly cheerful disposition ; and that they 
 bear up against their lamentable deprivation, better 
 than their fellow-sufferers, the deaf. This difference 
 may afford some measure of the social tendencies 
 of the species ; for, excepting what concerns the 
 craving desire of man to know what is passing in 
 the minds of others, there is no comparison 
 between the relative value of eyes and ears. 
 
 The pleasures we receive from the organs of 
 vision are infinite ; while the disgusts are compa- 
 ratively few. There are few natural forms abso- 
 lutely ugly ; and expression will change the cha- 
 racter of lineaments decidedly unpleasing; while
 
 THE PLEASURES OF HEARING. 203 
 
 the most rude and deformed of inanimate objects, 
 will affect the mind graciously, when they strike 
 the imagination as picturesque. Sight places us 
 in relation with the immensity of the universe ; it 
 contributes, beyond all other faculties, to our sense 
 of security ; and the variety and the intensity of its 
 impressions give it a decided preponderance in the 
 formation of fixed and positive ideas. 
 
 The ear, on the contrary, limited in the sphere of 
 its functional activity, and excepting only in the in- 
 stance of speech, conveying but few, and those vague, 
 ideas — is a source of endless vexations. Over our 
 eyes, we are, in some degree, the masters ; and can 
 turn away from those works of art, which do not 
 satisfy our feelings ; whereas we are at the mercy 
 of every tyrant who chooses to file a saw, or to 
 whistle Rossini, without time, tune, or an idea of 
 the music. Scarcely twice in a twelvemonth does 
 a practised and delicate ear receive the full grati- 
 fication of which it is capable ; while scarce twenty 
 minutes of the day pass without some infliction on 
 the auditory nerve, to disturb the equanimity of 
 the percipient. 
 
 Of all the senses, the ear is the most easily 
 offended, and the most difficult to satisfy. Even 
 in that colloquial intercourse, which seems so per- 
 fectly to reconcile the blind to the absence of ex- 
 ternal forms, the ear is more frequently harassed 
 by impertmence, and shocked by folly, than it is 
 gratified by the melody of good feeling and good
 
 204 THE PLEASURES OF HEARING. 
 
 sense. How often are we forced to envy Sir Joshua 
 Re}'nolds, 
 
 •* To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering, 
 
 Wheu they judged without skill, he was still bard of hearing ?" 
 
 At many a sermon a man of any real religion 
 might be well pleased to find a refuge in " shifting 
 his trumpet," with the President of the Academy ; 
 and there are discourses, as well as sonatas, which 
 the hearer might with justice wish to be impossible. 
 At the theatres there is a lobby to retreat to ; and 
 it is no breach of decorum to quit your box : but in 
 a pew, the preacher has you fast ; and though he 
 preached treason or persecution, you must hear him 
 out ! Miserable, too, is the condition of an unlucky 
 judge, compelled to listen, ad infinitum, to any 
 proser possessed of a wig and a brief, who chuses 
 to bestow his tediousness upon the court ; and there 
 are occasions in which the Speaker of the House of 
 Commons, her Majesty's listener-general, might 
 give his ears to be, in fact, as in seeming, " as deaf 
 as a post." 
 
 But setting aside the intellectual miseries derived 
 through the ear, and sticking to physical annoy- 
 ances, think of the horror of an intimate acquaint- 
 ance with a voice like a corncrake, or of a com- 
 panion through life who cannot produce one perfect 
 intonation, whose tenderest words split the drum 
 of the ear by their harsh vibrations, or insist 
 on making their way into the world through the
 
 THE PLEASURES OF HEARING. 205 
 
 nose ! These are evils, of which every one is a 
 judge ; but the musically organized alone can un- 
 derstand the nervous irritability excited by the 
 failure of a single comma in the pitch of the voice, 
 or even by a passing and accidental roughness in a 
 note, which, though otherwise correct, would dash 
 with gall a Pasta's divine execution. 
 
 Our Norman ancestors seem fully to have appre- 
 ciated this variety, when they appropriated the 
 term " noise," (which originally signified annoy- 
 ance in the abstract,) to those especial grievances, 
 which attack the organ of hearing. This etymology- 
 is conclusive against the ear, as being the most 
 fastidious of the senses, and the common violator of 
 the peace of the soul. 
 
 It may, perhaps, be objected that the majority 
 of natural sounds are pleasing ; that the singing of 
 birds, the murmuring of waters, are gracious ; and 
 that even the mournful sighing of the winds is not 
 without some charm, when it does not precisely 
 pass through a keyhole. The majestic thunder, 
 too, is pealing and solemn ; and the distant echo of 
 the waves, beating on the shore, begets a plea- 
 surable sensation. But then, man ! that eternal 
 noise-maker, that unwearied dealer in dissonances, 
 rarely suffers nature to be heard ; and to give one's 
 ears a fair chance, it would be necessary to abandon 
 all association with one's species. 
 
 In no respect has the liberty of tlie subject dege- 
 nerated to such outrageous license, as in the matter 
 of noise. It should seem as if dissonance was re-
 
 206 THE PLEASURES OF HEARING. 
 
 ganled as a fundamental article of Magna Charta, 
 and silence deemed as unconstitutional as ship- 
 money. A man of any delicacy of ear can hardly 
 endure to live within the bills of mortality. Com- 
 plaints are made, and with good reason, too, 
 against the fogs of London;" but what are these, 
 to the acoustic abominations which prevail there, 
 " from night till morn, from morn till dewy eve." 
 Every itinerant mender of kettles, every rascally 
 knifegrinder, presumes that he has a right to as- 
 sassinate you, like Hamlet's uncle, through " the 
 porches of your ears;" and "Meolc below," as 
 wicked as Macbeth, has "murdered sleep," without 
 rebuke, since the days of oxir Saxon progenitors.* 
 
 From the shrill pipe of the morning sweep, to 
 the deep bass of the Hebrew old-clothes'-man, 
 there is a gamut of dissonant sounds perpetually 
 exercised, in which every trade and calling has its 
 share, -f- 
 
 During the revolutionary war, when victories 
 came in as regularly as the post (would that they 
 
 ♦ It is a curious fact, that the London milkmaid's pronun- 
 ciation of her staple commodity, still answers exactly to the 
 Anjilo-Saxon spelling "Meoic;" and it shows how accurately 
 the original sound of a word cnn be preserved by popular tra- 
 dition, amidst all the progressive refinements in speech of the 
 lipper classes. 
 
 + Many acoustic offences have been attacked by Act of 
 Parliament, "within fifteen miles round the metropolis." 
 But the memory of them is here preserved for the benefit of 
 future generations of antiquaries.
 
 THE PLEASURES OF HEARING. 207 
 
 had not cost such heavy postage,) and when the 
 motto of our admirals might have been " no day 
 without a dispatch," the nuisance of newsmen's 
 horns so far transcended the united noises of all 
 other vociferators, that the magistrates of the city, 
 " those sage, grave men," found it necessary to 
 legislate especially against them. No other trade 
 could gain a hearing, so incessant and obstreperous 
 were their blasts. 
 
 The wits of that day, indeed, would have it, that 
 the ears were not exactly the part of the head 
 which our aldermen desired to protect from out- 
 rage ; but what will not a wit say or do to make 
 good a quibble, or to plant a palpable hit ? Gold 
 may be bought too dearly ; and even the joys which 
 a good batch of "great news, bloody news," must 
 afford to the snug citizen, who " lives at home at 
 ease," and knows nothing of the pleasures of war, 
 beyond taxation and a gazette — were bought at too 
 high a price, by the head-splitting tantararara and 
 noisy ejaculations of the gentlemen of the tin tube. 
 
 Another simple sin which requires legislative in- 
 terference, no less than the horn, is the big- drum. 
 Tambourines and triangles are bad enough, Heaven 
 knows ! — mere noise for the sake of noise, mono- 
 tonous and subversive of all music ; but they are 
 nothing to the big-drum, that uupitying rattler of 
 windows and shaker of houses, that everlasting 
 street-accompaniment to the grave and the gay, 
 the martial and the tender, the sentimental and 
 the spriglitly !
 
 208 THE PLEASURES OP HEAUING. 
 
 Let any one who is an admirer of that popular 
 air, " Home, sweet home," imagine — (no, that is 
 not the word, for he must have heard it a thousand 
 times — let him remember) the ambulant perform- 
 ance of the refrain " Home, home, sweet, sweet, 
 home," squirted through a husky pan's- pipe, and 
 enforced by five confounded bangs, like so many 
 discharges of artillery, and by five vibrations of all 
 the glass in the parish, which seem to prate of an 
 earthquake ! Let him remember the execution of 
 " Patrick's day in the morning," covered by an 
 incessant roll of the drum, more appalling than 
 thunder ; and concluded with three hard blows that 
 threaten to burst the parchment, and to mislead the 
 hearer into fearing the explosion of a powder-mill. 
 
 To ladies in the straw, and to gentlemen with 
 sick headachs, these proceedings are barbarous, 
 cruel, foul, and unnatural. Have the drummers 
 no sympathy for such suffering, or have they no 
 pity on the poor babes, who may be thrown into 
 convulsions by their thumps ? Alas ! " they have 
 no children, butchers ?" and they regard the death 
 of the innocents with hearts of mercenary indiffer- 
 ence, which might indeed become a Herod himself. 
 
 Not less painful is it to the wounded spirit of the 
 amateur who is full of the melody of the Gran 
 MAESTRO, to be compelled to endure " thump, 
 thump, thump, thumpy, thumpy, thump," by way 
 of a new edition of " Di tanti palpiti ;"" or to listen 
 to " di pia bang, mi bulza bang :" it is enough to 
 make a man commit suicide.
 
 THE PLEASURES OF HEARING. 339 
 
 Having entered fully into the contemplation of 
 this flagrant wrong, just conceive it, reader, at the 
 end of some forty minutes, melting into distance, 
 and leaving your aching head and jaded ear at 
 liberty, to receive the varied attack of a debutant, 
 who, from a garret-window, takes his half-hourly 
 lesson on a key-bugle ! ! It might reconcile Swift 
 himself to deafness ! Not all the alphabets in the 
 world could express the horrible combinations of 
 sound attendant on this truculent massacre of Guido 
 of Arezzo. Astolpho's horn loses all poetical cha- 
 racter, in comparison with the reality of that stu- 
 pifying blast. 
 
 Well, you will scarcely have gotten rid of that 
 plague, when you will be beset by a scoundrel per- 
 forming your last favourite melody on a barrel- 
 organ, in which, if there is one note more out of 
 tune than the rest, it is sure to be that in which 
 there is a long pause, to bring back the ritournelle. 
 Verjuice is gracious, when compared to the tooth- 
 edge of that accursed scream ! 
 
 Then succeeds an itinerant clarionet, squeaking 
 forth the mutilated remains of a Scotch reel, or, 
 worse than all, some Highland Orpheus of a bag- 
 piper, whose villanous pibroch would of itself 
 suffice to batter down the walls of another Jericho, 
 or to relieve the moon from the pangs of an eclipse, 
 " labor anti pot erit succurrere luncn." 
 
 In the intervals of this suffering, (if intervals, 
 indeed, it knows) you have the screaming of your 
 neighbour's parrot, the howling of some dog, locked
 
 210 THE PLEASURES OF HEARING. 
 
 up for his sins in an empty house ; or haply the 
 incessantly renewed attempts of a piping bullfinch 
 to master a tune, of which it has caught only the 
 two first bars; while its mistress, within , is not more 
 successful in triumphing over the difficulties of 
 Moscheles, or of Bochsa ! 
 
 After such instrumental nuisances, to dwell upon 
 vocal misdoings may smack of the bathos ; but the 
 deep, hoarse, bass of the sham sailor, roaring out 
 *' Cease, rude Boreas," is not to be passed over; 
 nor the unearthly sounds in which he tells how his 
 " precious sight"" was electrified out of his eyes by 
 a West Indian thunder-storm, or carried away by 
 the wind of a cannon-ball. 
 
 Then, what think you of a French ballad-singer, 
 with a voice like a penny trumpet, and as tuneable 
 as *' a pig in a gate, or a hog in a high wind," 
 chanting " La garde nat'iojiale," or *' C'est 
 T amour f Or how do you like that other pious 
 nuisance, the woman who lays siege to the half- 
 pence of the saints, by drawling out a never-ending 
 repetition of the hundred and fourth Psalm ! 
 
 To add to the harmony, these delectable strains 
 are from time to time crossed by the competing 
 discords of two rival mackarel venders, screaming 
 like emulous macaws from the opposite sides of the 
 street ; and by the monotonous bell and deep dia- 
 pason of a stentorian " Dust ho !" 
 
 Then, again, at night, you were once indulged 
 with a trio of watchmen, crying the hour concur- 
 rently in C natural, C sharp, and E flat, and show-
 
 THE PLEASURES OF HEARING. 21 1 
 
 ing how little concert there was in their efforts to 
 keep the peace. This nuisance is at length abated, 
 but it retains its place in the present enumeration, 
 in order to preserve the memory of a very worthy 
 professor of music, who of himself was " choleric," 
 but whose natural irritability was roused almost to 
 rage, by the slightest deviation from the laws of 
 harmony. Walking home one night from the Opera, 
 he was so worked upon by the discord of " the 
 Charlies," that he actually knocked down the un- 
 tuneful rogue, nearest at hand, by way of a lesson in 
 counter point. This fantasia of the " enraged mu- 
 sician" brought him to the watch-house till he 
 could get bail ; and the next morning Sir R. Birnie 
 read him a most luminous lecture on the moral 
 difference between beating time and beating the 
 time-keeper. Thus brought to the bar for an odd 
 crotchet, after having lost his rest, he was forced, 
 after a most distressing pause, to conclude the 
 broken (headed) cadence, by sliding a few notes 
 into the hand of the guardian of the night, who, 
 being now in the dominant, allowed the discord to 
 be thus resolved, and brought the guilty one back 
 to the keij, which was no longer turned against his 
 liberty. 
 
 The sensible reader will, by this time, begin to 
 wonder how it has happened that no morj than a 
 passing notice has yet been taken of that gigantic 
 acoustic abuse, the bell, or, in the more appropriate 
 language of Othello, '< that dreadful bell." The sub- 
 ject was, indeed, too appalling for ordinary nerves !
 
 212 THE PLEASURES OF HEARING. 
 
 There is in that one word " bell" such a variety of 
 woes, as is not lightly to be encountered ; and even 
 now it is not without reluctance that the pen proceeds 
 to sound the depths of its misery. The erudite in- 
 ventors of the tragi-comedy of Punch (a performance 
 more true to nature, than any that was ever produced 
 by the disciples of Aristotle) have alone evinced a 
 thorough sense of the atrocity of bells ; for after 
 having led that facetious profligate — that immoral 
 preacher of a great moral lesson — through the sub- 
 ordinate gradations of vice, from adultery to mur- 
 der — they have, as the climax of wickedness, in- 
 troduced him in the act of ringing a bell in the 
 ears of his neighbours. No other trait that they 
 could have hit upon, could have m.arked so glaringly 
 the malignity of the man ; and, accordingly, it 
 has passed into a proverbial expression : whenever 
 a person has arrived at the excess of any quality — 
 good, bad, or indifferent — he is technically said to 
 " bear the bell," in that particular. 
 
 The subject of bells may be conveniently divided 
 into its two branches of venial offences, or hand- 
 bells, and of those mortal sins which exalt them- 
 selves in the belfry. Intermediate between these, 
 not long ago, stood the dustman's bell, already men- 
 tioned ; a sin which, if it was less in magnitude than 
 its clerical brethren, was more atrocious, from its 
 propinquity to the nerves of the sufferers. There 
 was a malice prepense in this same " dust ho !" that 
 demanded immediate castigation. Not contented 
 with a vocal announcement of his calling, which
 
 THE PLEASURES OF HEARING. 213 
 
 might awaken all the dust in the parish — the 
 churchyard included — the dustman would pour 
 forth his unceasing peal, to frighten the town from 
 its propriety, without stint or mercy, and in total 
 disregard of the interests of all minor noisemakers ; 
 insomuch, that the veriest shrew that ever scolded, 
 would be unable to make herself heard. 
 
 Did you ever follow down the Strand one of 
 these imperturbables^ these implacable persons, 
 unable to get before him, or to retreat from his 
 annoyance, his long whip playing across your eyes, 
 and his virulent clapper splitting the drum of your 
 ear, while your companion in vain endeavoured to 
 make you comprehend some communication of 
 great and urgent interest ? If not, you have not 
 experienced suffering in its most exquisite form, 
 suffering to which the inquisition knew no parallel. 
 
 In the postman's bell there is a pert flippancy, a 
 jerking reiteration, symbolical of his post haste 
 movements, which is annoying enough ; and the 
 humble tinkling of the muffin-man is, (or rather, 
 we must now say, was) pro tanto a thing to be re- 
 formed ; but these evils sink into utter insignifi- 
 cance, nay, might be accepted as a boon, in com- 
 parison with the deliberate and unpitying continuity 
 of the man of cinders. Even the jangling of tavern 
 bells (never live next door to a tavern), is melody 
 to his music. Thank Heaven, the fellow had no 
 vested interest in his noise, or, at least, he had no 
 parliamentary influence ; so that the nuisance is 
 abated, as many more of far wider import must
 
 214 THE PLEASURES OF IIEARIXG. 
 
 soon be, unless another revolutionary war should 
 arrive, to drive the nation once more out of its wits, 
 to stop the march of mind, and adjourn for another 
 forty years all chance of improvement. 
 
 Of the smaller nuisances, it is matter of just 
 astonishment how any one could have imagined 
 the tinkling of the sheep-bell a pleasant or a poe- 
 tical sound, unless, perhaps, the idea arose with 
 some inditer of cockney pastorals, with whom the 
 association of " hot crumpets and muffins"' had 
 superseded the physical diagreeableness of that 
 sheepish accompaniment. 
 
 Perhaps objection may be taken against this 
 theory, on account of that uniform direction to be 
 found on the hall doors of great men, " knock and 
 ring," an inscription which may be hastily consi- 
 dered as indicating the owner's delight in tintina- 
 bulary vibrations ; but it should rather seem (re- 
 membering the general conduct of masters to 
 servants), that this practice has arisen in a ma- 
 licious pleasure which they may be imagined to 
 take, in tormenting the sons of the livery. Every 
 one knows that the bell is the torment of a footman's 
 life, and that if it were not for that little instrument, 
 he would be as happy as the day is long : it is clearly, 
 therefore, not the delight of listening to the duet 
 between the knocker and the bell that has occa- 
 sioned tliis admonition, but the pleasure of depriving 
 " John'' of the satisfaction of letting his master's 
 visiters cool their heels at the door, till it may suit 
 his humour to hear and obey the call. 
 
 Passing, however, these petty grievances (thank
 
 THE PLEASURES OF HEARING. 215 
 
 Heaven we can no longer say " de minimis non 
 curat lex"), without even a conjecture as to the 
 metaphysical causes which have attributed the bell 
 so exclusively to the muffinman, the dustman, and 
 the itinerant coal-merchant (a subject of much deli- 
 cacy, for which space is here wanting), let us pass 
 at once to the church bell. From this deadly sin 
 there is no hope of relief. He who touches the 
 bell, would shake the establishment. Bells and 
 chimes are part of the wisdom of our ancestors, 
 and to rasp a filing of their brass would bring the 
 constitution about our ears, and put the church 
 into such danger, as would excite Hume and Lord 
 King themselves (were the latter alive) to com- 
 passion. 
 
 On this subject the author of the " Moyen de 
 pai'venir" justly remarks, " J''eusse dit le son, 
 mais les moines rneussent accuse d'heresie, par ce 
 que SON appartient aux cloches.'''' 
 
 The ringing of bells is said to be a purely Eng- 
 lish invention, and it is as sacred as any one of the 
 thirty-nine articles. In vain is the schoolmaster 
 abroad — test acts have been repealed, and Catho- 
 lics may sit in parliament ; but, in the matter of 
 bells, Pandora's box has not even hope left at the 
 bottom. 
 
 To the Russell family England is bound in many 
 a debt of gratitude ; its best blood, lavished on 
 the scaffold in the cause of liberty, has cemented 
 for ever the alliance of that house with the people ; 
 and successive generations of patriots have owned
 
 216 THE PLEASURES OF HEARING. 
 
 the influence of the family example. But not the 
 least among its public benefactors was that provi- 
 dent duke, who, in granting the ground for erect- 
 ing the church of St. George, Bloomsbury, made a 
 saving clause in behalf of the parishioners, that 
 there should be but one bell in the steeple. It is 
 probable, that from this worthy, the house of Russell 
 has inherited its dislike oi church peels , which they 
 manifest with such earnestness upon all lawful 
 occasions. 
 
 That church bells are no real friends of religion 
 it would be easy to prove. The bells of Bow 
 church very nearly pulled that edifice on the heads 
 of the citizens; and the bell of St. Sepulchre's, 
 owing to some defect in its gudgeons, actually did 
 fall with a most ruinous crash.* No wonder then 
 that the " sacring bell" should so have startled the 
 good lord cardinal in his meditations on the coming 
 reformation, as Shakspeare has narrated. 
 
 The sound of bells, as heard in the country, and 
 from a distance, is decidedly melancholy; while, 
 in a great city, it is nothing less than stupifying. 
 
 • That this was symbolical, the following lines will de- 
 clare . — 
 
 " The bell of St. Sepulchre 's fallen to the ground. 
 And never, no more, will it utter a sound ; 
 The canse of this fall, as most people report it. 
 Was, that the bell's gudgeons no more could support it. 
 If this be the truth of the case, in my humble 
 Opinion, the church runs great risk of a tiunble ; 
 For the gudgeons, who long have supported its state. 
 Are bending beneath its inordinate weio^ht."
 
 THE PLEASURES OF HEARING. 217 
 
 How any people could have chosen them as testi- 
 monials of rejoicing, or christened their perform- 
 ance "the merry peel," passeth all understanding. 
 Of all the many offences of Catholicism against 
 human happiness, the fondness for bells should lie 
 the most heavily on its conscience. In the monas- 
 teries there were no less than six sorts of these 
 tormentors, viz. the squilla, which was rung in 
 the refectory. The true character of this bell, 
 maugre its social services, will live for ever in 
 Dante's musical and melancholy line, 
 
 " Paia '1 giorno pianger, die si muore." 
 
 Then there was the cymbalum of the cloister, 
 the nola of the choir, the nolula or dupla in the 
 clock (a striking impropriety), the campana/^ in 
 the steeple, and the signum in the tower. To these 
 some authors add the corregiuncula, which was 
 used to call the monks to be flogged — an invitation 
 far less agreeable than that of the squilla. 
 
 Nobody but he who for his sins has sojourned 
 in an Italian town, can have the remotest idea of 
 the devil's symphony, which the rivalry of these 
 many-named abuses creates, at certain hours of the 
 day, ringing, tolling, and chiming in every key, 
 with, generally, one or two of them cracked, for 
 the sake of variety. Even the night, there, is not 
 
 * Nola and Campana, so called from Nola, in the Cam- 
 pagua, where these tortures were said to have been origi- 
 nally produced. 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 THE PLEASURES OF HEARING. 
 
 sacred to repose ; and in most cases the nuisance is 
 increased by the force of contrast, — these noises 
 being the only audible tokens of living humanity 
 heard within the walls. 
 
 Like the priests, their masters, the bells have 
 contrived to get into the business of every epoch of 
 existence. Is a child born, away go " the college 
 youths'" to work — does he arrive at man's estate, 
 the ding dong is renewed — is he married, ditto 
 repeated — and, lastly, when he dies, the passing 
 bell must frighten all the old folks in the parish, by 
 reminding them of the " next turn^'' which will 
 post them also to another world. 
 
 Of all tintinabulary speculations, however, that 
 concerning the passing-bell is the most natural, its 
 object being to drive away the evil spirit standing 
 at the bed's foot in readiness to seize his prey. At 
 the ringing, of this bell, we are told, (and 'fore 
 George, I believe it), the devil takes flight; and 
 the soul, like a hunted hare, gains a short start, 
 or in sporting language a law, of which, if it has 
 any agility, it may profit, to distance the enemy, 
 and pop into heaven before it can be overtaken. If 
 anything can frighten a devil, besides holy water, it 
 surely must be the infernal melody of a passing 
 bell. There is no distance which one would not go 
 from it, to be out of ear-shot. 
 
 It was probably from this point of church doc- 
 trine, that Lord Byron stole his notion of the effect 
 of the Laureate's hexameters, which he has de-
 
 THE PLEASURES OF HEARING. 219 
 
 scribed, as possessing a precisely similar diabolifuge 
 
 operation : — 
 
 " Tlie devils ran howling, deafen'd, down to bell. 
 The ghosts fled gibbering to their own dominions." 
 
 One consequence of the opinion, extremely agi-ee- 
 able to the sexton is, that an extra sum was usually 
 paid for ringing the great bell, because it drove the 
 devil to a greater distance, and gave a longer start 
 to those whose riches might otherwise have bur- 
 thened them in their flight. We recommend this 
 hint to the serious consideration of those Act of 
 Parliament gentlemen — the attorneys. 
 
 Why bells should be rung on the event of a 
 marriage is less easy to understand, unless it be in 
 a spirit of bitter irony, and as a foretaste of the 
 noise and discord incidental to " God's holy state." 
 On almost every other occasion, bells are the ac- 
 companiment of some horror. They are rung in 
 sieges and in fires, they are tolled at funerals and 
 at executions, as if it were not bad enough to be 
 hanged, without having one's courage beaten down 
 by the sound of one's own passing bell. Bells are 
 rung also to commemorate those scourges of na- 
 tions, miscalled victories, or such public humbugs 
 as gunpowder treason — or that treason without 
 gunpowder, the restoration of the Stuarts. 
 
 Bells, likewise, sound to mark the lapse of time, 
 and to announce the slow but certain approach of 
 death. Every stroke of the clapper is a slice off 
 our life ; no wonder, then, that it should grate so 
 on the ear ! 
 
 T o
 
 220 THE PLEASURES OF HEARING. 
 
 But, happy is ho who has not this unwelcome 
 truth beaten into him by the hammers of a set 
 of musical chimes. The chmax of this auricular 
 woe is to be found at Ghent, where the carillon 
 is not confined to the performances of the clock, 
 but a carillonneur is maintained to torture the 
 ears of the inhabitants. " The carillonnelir,'" says 
 Dr. Burney, " was literally at work ; and hard 
 work it must be. He was in his shirt, with the 
 collar unbuttoned, and in a violent sweat. There 
 ate pedals communicating with the great bells, 
 upon which with his feet he played a bass to 
 several sprightly and rather difficult airs, per- 
 formed with the hands upon the upper species of 
 keys." 
 
 '' It is certainly" (I quote the same authority) 
 " a gothic invention, and, perhaps, a barbarous 
 taste." Geminiani said that the Westminster Ab- 
 bey concerts were good to listen to from West- 
 minster Bridge : but what distance could temper 
 the malice of Burney's energumene working ma- 
 nibus pedihusque.f to drive a whole community mad ! 
 Thank Heaven, we have no such engeance as this in 
 England ; and it is to be hoped that those musical 
 snuff-boxes on the grand scale (the regular chimes) 
 will in time wear out, and leave not a wreck be- 
 hind. 
 
 Another auditory infliction which transcends all 
 powers of description, is the conversion of our best 
 music into quadrille tunes. It is impossible to give 
 the faintest idea of the torture which a genuine
 
 THE PLEASURES OF HEARING. 221 
 
 Rossinist endures from these mutilations of the hap- 
 piest tlioughts of the great composer ! There is no 
 music which escapes the perverse ingenuity of the 
 dancinef master. Even Braham's duet of the " Bird 
 in yonder cage confined" has been estropie for the 
 quadrille, in a manner which, to those who do not 
 much care for tlie original, might convulse them 
 with laughter; so that we may soon expect to 
 dance country dances to Luther's Hymn, to waltz 
 to the Dead March in Saul, and to revive the long 
 minuet, to the tune of the hundred and nineteenth 
 Psalm. 
 
 Among the lesser atrocities of domestic life, the 
 creaking boots of a physician, the snarling, snappish 
 bark of a favourite lapdog, or a whistling fellow- 
 lodger, should not be omitted ; still less, the noc- 
 turnal caterwauling of a convention of amorous 
 eats — a good snorer in the next room — or a bevy of 
 rats practising for the Derby. If you happen to 
 be wakeful, what think you of the ticking of a 
 deathwatch? Or of the pleasures of a neigh- 
 bouring steam-engine, throwing off newspapers by 
 the thousand for the morning's publication ? 
 
 But the theme grows too vast for the paper. 
 These are only the coarser and more vulgar ear 
 grievances. No hint has been given of the hope- 
 less misery of solo playing, the crambo of piano- 
 forte concertos, the trumpet accompaniment to 
 " Let the bright seraphim," a. debutantes " Soldier 
 tired," or that refinement on musical torture, sing-
 
 222 THE PLEASURES OF HEARING. 
 
 ings after supper ! An ungreased wheel is heaven 
 to the least of these miseries. 
 
 Then, there are such things as amateur concerts, 
 exhibiting mothers, and young ladies, who warble 
 of despair and death, with the tame insipidity of 
 sucking doves ; who sigh forth, pianissimo, the 
 most empliatic *' scelerato'' and " ingrato^ with 
 their mouths as fast closed, as a dandy's door 
 against the sheriff's officers : and, above all, and 
 beyond all, there are those quintessences of in- 
 tolerable noise and vulgarity, " Tally ho" and 
 " Old Towler !" 
 
 Whoever has considered tliese things must be 
 convinced, that the ear (at least the musical ear) 
 was not created till after the fall, and that it is 
 among the worst consequences of original sin.
 
 THE ENGLISH MALADY. 223 
 
 THE ENGLISH MALADY. 
 
 "II y a plus de defauts dans I'humeur, que dans I'esprit." 
 
 La Rochefoucauld. 
 
 The English language, amidst its infinite rich- 
 ness and variety, is particularly copious in its 
 expressions for the numerous shades and nuances 
 of intellectual and sensitive characteristics. We 
 have fancy, wit, imagination, humour, fun, drollery, 
 apprehensiveness, quickness, &c., for all which the 
 French possess one common and general expres- 
 sion, V esprit — a banality, compelled to do duty on 
 every emergency, alone and unassisted. 
 
 By virtue of this copiousness of the mother 
 tongue, philosophy is enabled to distinguish no 
 less than three modifications of that principle of 
 malevolence, which the social man brings to bear 
 against his friends and companions, and which 
 keeps alive a reciprocity of bad feelings among 
 the closest connexions : these are — ill-temper, ill- 
 nature, and ill-humour. 
 
 By an ill-tempered man, we mean one who is 
 impatient of trifling annoyances — who is roused 
 by petty provocations to hasty and unmeasured
 
 224 THE ENGLISH MALADY. 
 
 language, or action, but is generally as easily ap- 
 peased — his fire, like that of straw, being as eva- 
 nescent as it is sudden. Such a man, when the 
 corns of his irritability are not trodden upon, may 
 be gay, cheerful, and benevolent : and, if the habit 
 has not been suffered to obtain a mastery, need 
 not be 
 
 " Quite a madman, ihniigh a pasty fell.'' 
 
 But he is not the less an unsafe companion ; and to 
 converse with him is to inhabit over a volcano 
 
 An ill-natured man is one who has a perverse 
 pleasure in the misfortunes of his fellow-creatures, 
 who delights in mischief, and enjoys the vexations 
 and disappointments of his neighbours, not be- 
 cause they afford a whimsical point of view, and 
 provoke an involuntary laugh, but precisely be- 
 cause they give pain to the sufferer. 
 
 The best-natured man in the world may be 
 amused by the perplexity of a diner-out, who is 
 caught in a beau trap, when " figged out" for the 
 occasion, and hurrying on, at the last moment, in 
 his way towards the friendly mahogany. He may 
 smile at a bungling pretender to the off-edge, who 
 brings his own sederunt in contact with the hard 
 ice, with more force than good will. If a plate of 
 hot soup should empty itself on a friend's short 
 tiglits, rendering it doubtful whether the grease or 
 the caloric constitute the predominant portion of 
 what Jeremy Bentham calls " the matter of pu- 
 nishment," he might even indulge his jocularity.
 
 THE ENGLISH MALADY. 225 
 
 and sport the "■ summum jus summa injuria" usual 
 on this emergency ; but his mirth would be tem- 
 pered with a certain sympathy, a friendly appre- 
 hension of enhancing the evil, by an appearance 
 of too much gratification. 
 
 With the ill-natured man, the pleasure on such 
 occasions is ever measured by the injury of the 
 accident. He would prefer a broken leg to a 
 splashed stocking ; a good sound ducking, with 
 danger of life, to a simple fall on the ice ; and he 
 would like :the soup to scald, and the inexpres- 
 sibles to be neither cleansible nor replaceable. He 
 chuckles when his friend gains a blank in the lot- 
 tery, or marries a tartar, or lames a favourite 
 horse, or sees his play damned ; exclaiming, " Oh, 
 now he will be taken down a peg !" " Now he will 
 be off his high horse, I warrant!" or the like ex- 
 pression of spite and malicious triumph. 
 
 Such a fellow was designed by nature to fill the 
 office of the slave in the conqueror's car, and to 
 damp the gratification of successful merit, by re- 
 minding the conqueror of his mortality. Times of 
 public calamity and pecuniary crisis are his harvest- 
 home. The first tiling he looks for in the news- 
 paper is the list of bankrupts ; and, next to that, 
 he enjoys the personalities and calumnies of fac- 
 tion, slanders, elopements, crim cons, or, in general, 
 any show up of human infirmity. He is the first 
 to rip up old stories of failure and disgrace against 
 his equals, who have risen in the world ; to " re- 
 member the time" when my lord mayor's note 
 
 l5
 
 226 THE ENGLISH MALADY. 
 
 would not discount for twenty pounds; when Sir 
 Somebody Something wore a livery ; or to recall 
 the fact, that old Mrs. Graveairs made a slip when 
 she was sixteen, and was stopped by her husband 
 at Dartford, on her way to the Continent, with Cap- 
 tain Lovemore. He sees the judgment of Heaven 
 in every trifling accident, and never loses an oppor- 
 tunity of reading a practical " moral lesson," in 
 order that he may " teach the fellow to know him- 
 self." 
 
 Very different from these personages is the ill- 
 humoured man. The ill-humoured man may be 
 just, generous, and in all real afflictions compas- 
 sionate and friendly : nay, he is often brusque^ to 
 conceal a real tenderness of heart, of which he is 
 ashamed; but, in his ordinary intercourse with 
 society, he overflows with an unceasing stream of 
 bitterness. All his remarks are harsh, severe, and 
 annoying; and in the moments of his relaxation, 
 in the hour of his highest social enjoyment, he is 
 morose, snappisli, and provoking. 
 
 The ill-humoured man differs from the ill- 
 natured in this, that he does not rejoice at his 
 neighbour's misfortunes, but only takes a momen- 
 tary pleasure in seeing his friends uncomfortable; 
 and even in this measure of annoyance he has no 
 delight, unless he himself is the author of it. His 
 motive is not malice, but spleen ; and he is pleased, 
 not so much that his victim is mortified, as that he 
 is himself relieved from the weight of his own un- 
 easiness. While the ill-tempered man must have
 
 •the ENGLISH MALADY. 227 
 
 some one to be angry with, the ill-humoured is 
 only at odds with himself; he lacks no external 
 occasion of excitement, nor goes out of himself for 
 the food of his irritability. 
 
 This last modification of disposition is decidedly 
 English ; and whether it be attributable to les 
 brouillards cV AngleterrCi to the beef and pudding- 
 izing, the anxious money-getting, or to some other 
 circumstance peculiar to England and English- 
 men, it is rarely met with on the Continent, in 
 the same intensity in which it prevails at home. 
 Individuals, indeed, of all nations may be subject 
 to occasional fits of ill-humour ; but among Eng- 
 lishmen, almost exclusively, is it ever found as an 
 etat, a manih'e d'etre, clinging to a man at all pe- 
 riods of life, rather exasperated than appeased by 
 prosperity, and unmitigated alike by the successes 
 of love, of vanity, or of ambition. 
 
 Ill- humour is less a vice than a disease, for it is 
 strictly constitutional ; its occasional paroxysms are 
 rarely brought on by the more serious evils of ex- 
 istence, but rather by certain petty annoyances, 
 which a man of sounder frame of body would laugh 
 at. So the condition itself does not appear to de- 
 pend upon any notable or tangible malady, but 
 arises from some obscure hitch, or embarrassment, 
 in the more intimate movements of the body, which, 
 without tending to sickness or dissolution, is de- 
 structive of that diffusive animal pleasure, derived 
 in happier constitutions from the mere sentiment 
 of existence. It should seem as if, in persons thus
 
 228 THE ENGLISH MALADY. 
 
 put together, the several capillary systems were so 
 many fountains of irritation, from which an accu- 
 mulated torrent of inappreciable impressions flow 
 in upon the sensorium, without indeed engendering 
 direct pain, but yet fretting the disposition " like 
 a gummed velvet," and throwing the mind upon 
 the external world, in search of those causes of 
 uneasiness, which in reality are internal. 
 
 " The humours of the body," says a moral writer, 
 "imperceptibly influence the will, so that they 
 enter, for a large part, into all our actions, without 
 our being aware of it ;" and thus it is that the ill- 
 humoured man punishes, in his friends, the out- 
 rages of some peccant lymph, circulating in his 
 own veins ; and revenges himself nobly on society, 
 for the offences of his own liver and pancreas. Ac- 
 cordingly it happens, that a severe fit of illness, 
 and its concomitant medical treatment, will for a 
 while abate considerably from this congenital dis- 
 ease of the mind, by exchanging the malaise of 
 the body for a good substantial pain, and changing 
 the habitual current of the humours. So, on the 
 other hand, a striking calamity, a fire, the death 
 of a friend, or a heavy pecuniary loss, by calling 
 off" the attention of the ill-humoured man from 
 trifling sensations, will render him, for a season, 
 more civiHzed and amenable in society ; and he 
 will not lose this temporary good-nature, until time 
 and jjliilosophy have restored his ordinary tone of 
 spirits. 
 
 The prevalence of this peculiarity of disposition.
 
 THE ENGLISH MALADY. S29 
 
 is a great defect in the national character ; not only 
 as it occasions much unhappiness in families, but 
 as it bespeaks an equal uneasiness in the subject ; 
 for it never can exist, in concurrence with an ha- 
 bitual relish and enjoyment of life. The happy 
 are ever pleased with the happiness of others, 
 and prompt to promote it : but the miserable feel 
 insulted, as well as shocked, by the aspect of enjoy- 
 ment, with which they cannot sympathize. 
 
 Notwithstanding the oft-quoted *' hand ignora 
 mail" it is unmitigated suffering, much more than 
 boundless prosperity, that hardens the heart, and 
 begets a churHsh and unsociable spirit. The mo- 
 rosity of the English character impresses foreigners 
 with most unfavourable notions of the country 
 and its institutions, and has contributed to recon- 
 cile them to their native despotisms, by forcing on 
 their attention the little real enjoyment which sub- 
 sists in the land of liberty. 
 
 Ill-humour vents itself in a thousand ways. An 
 ill-humoured man sits in the bosom of his family 
 (like a spider in the centre of its web,) in watchful 
 and unceasing grudge against all around him. 
 No sooner does a burst of cheerfulness explode in 
 his presence, than he hastens to repress it, by a 
 sarcasm or a rebuke. He studies the weaknesses 
 of his friends, in order to play upon them with 
 more effect ; and, as the hackney-coachman 
 " makes a raw" on his horse's shoulder, in order 
 to flog the callous animal to a better purpose, so 
 the ill-natured man delights to irritate an outraged
 
 230 THE ENGLISH MALADY. 
 
 feeling, to play upon an imperfection ; and, in one 
 word, to say to every individual the most galling 
 and vexatious things that occur to liis recollection. 
 
 The great pretext for this cantankerous indul- 
 gence is, that tlie party loves to speak his mind. 
 He, forsooth, is a plain, downright man, who always 
 utters what he tliinks; and he is too good an 
 Englishman to make cringes and congees, like a 
 foreigner. Nothing can be more thoroughly detes- 
 table than these provoking truth-tellers ; and a 
 man might almost as soon live with the father of 
 lies himself (provided he might choose the venue 
 of the liabitation) as associate with these very can- 
 did and very impertinent companions ; who, after 
 all, differ from their continental neighbours less, 
 perhaps, in the love of speaking their thoughts, than 
 in not thinking with satisfaction on any subject. 
 
 The worst of it is, tliat these "cross gentlemen" 
 (to use the designation by which an Irish waiter 
 distinguished a certain pettish, unpleasable tra- 
 veller, with whose name he was not acquainted,*) 
 have now and then so many compensating quali- 
 ties, so much friendship, so much benevolence, that 
 you cannot, for the soul of you, bring yourself to a 
 dead cut. For tlie ill-humoured man may at bottom 
 be very good-natured ; and it sometimes happens 
 that he who never said one gracious and agreeable 
 word in his whole life, has never lost an opportunity 
 
 • " A beef-steak and a pint of port for the cross gentleman 
 in the Lion," was his expression.
 
 THE ENGLISH MALADY. 231 
 
 of doing a real and substantial service to the objects 
 of his perpetual annoyance. 
 
 Sir Simon Verjuice is strictly a man of this de- 
 scription. His highly respectable life of industry 
 and integrity, his family affection, and active 
 friendship, conspire to redeem his social defects, 
 and to license to the uttermost his indulgence in 
 the Anglican privilege of finding fault and snap- 
 pishness. He will tell a woman in a large and 
 mixed circle that she is painted, that her wig is 
 awry, or that her jewelry is false. He will make a 
 fond motlier miserable, by calling her husband's 
 attention to the faults of her favourite boy, whom 
 her mismanagement has spoiled, or by vehemently 
 asserting that her daughter's shoulder is growing 
 out. He tells scandalous anecdotes of the popular 
 patriot, to jeer his radical acquaintance ; and will 
 abuse sectarianism to a Dissenter. He has all sorts 
 of gloomy predictions at the service of all his ac- 
 quaintance ; and when, half-joke, half-earnest, he 
 tells his neighbour that he will live to be hanged, 
 he takes little pains to conceal his private opinion 
 that the party may richly deserve it. If you have 
 a spot on your cheek, he will tell you that it is the 
 evil; if your wife coughs, he will abruptly warn 
 you that she is far gone in a galloping consumption. 
 If you indulge in any little expense, he will re- 
 proach you with ruining your family, and he will 
 tell you that you see better company, and give 
 yourself greater airs, than is good for your credit. 
 All proffered civilities Verjuice rejects in the
 
 232 THE ENGLISH MALADY. 
 
 most disgracious manner. If you offer him a place 
 in your carriage, he tells you he is not too old to 
 walk. If you propose to him some delicacy of the 
 table, " he is no epicure." If you yield him the 
 arm chair, or a place next the fire, " he is not sick.'" 
 Thus he gives you ground for believing that your 
 motive is suspected, when he is only vexed at being 
 ousted, for a while, of his right to be surly. So, on 
 the other hand, his first word to every request is 
 " No ;" and though he never fails to serve, when 
 it is in his power, he as seldom grants a favour, till 
 he has quoted every reason he can find, or invent, 
 to warrant his refusal. Remonstrate with him on 
 the rudeness of his speech, and tell him that he has 
 hurt such a man's feelings, his constant answers 
 are, " what do I care ?" " Why is he such a fool 
 as to mind it ?" " Is it not the truth ! — and if he 
 is ashamed to hear the truth, why does he not 
 mend his conduct?" 
 
 After all, however, Verjuice is a much more to- 
 lerable companion than his sister ; first, because 
 she is a woman, and therefore dares be much more 
 savage ; and next, because she is an old maid, and 
 adds some grains of ill- nature to her inborn ill- 
 humour ; but, most of all, because she has seen less 
 of the world, is more full of herself, and is essen- 
 tially less indulgent to the infirmities of her friends 
 and acquaintances. He taunts you with a weak- 
 ness or an absurdity, simply because his pettishness 
 finds an account in doing so j she indulges in this 
 liberty, for the same reason ; and also, because she
 
 THE ENGLISH MALADY. 233 
 
 thinks unnecessarily ill of you, on account of that 
 weakness. With as much bile, she has more ge- 
 nuine malignity ; and to her constitutional waspish- 
 ness, she adds all the sourness of disappointment. 
 Miss Verjuice entertains a thousand petty jealousies 
 of the neglect of friends. Herself the centre of her 
 own circle, she can ill brook the eccentric move- 
 ments of those who are sometimes influenced by 
 other attractions, and dare to omit her in a dinner- 
 party, or to withhold an expected visit. This feel- 
 ing is still deeper, if the person in whose favour 
 she is passed by, is one step higher in life, or has 
 any advantage at her disposition, which she herself 
 cannot boast. 
 
 These feelinafs are but too common with all who 
 have not Vusage du monde, but with the good- 
 natured and the good-humoured they are transi- 
 tory ; or, at worst, self-respect and an honest pride 
 lead such persons to keep the offence to themselves. 
 Miss v., on the contrary, never lets slip an oppor- 
 tunity of " telling her friends a piece of her mind ;" 
 and would think herself a dupe, if she forgot her 
 imaginary grievance without what she calls assert- 
 ing herself — tliat is, reproaching her visitors with 
 all their arrears of expected civilities. 
 
 To her servants, or of them, she never speaks but 
 to find fault ; and, unlike her brother, she does not 
 redeem this vice by a generous regard of their 
 worldly interests. This is the more intolerable, 
 because her servants are a favourite topic of con- 
 versation for the amusement of her guests. In the
 
 234) THE ENGLISH MALADY. 
 
 country she is the scourge of her poor neighbours ; 
 abusing the men for idleness, the wives for sluttish- 
 ness, and the children for tlieir dirty faces, and not 
 saying their Catechism. Her own nephews and 
 nieces she keeps in incessant hot water, by remind- 
 ing them, apropos des bottes^ of their old offences, 
 and reading them improviso lessons before strangers. 
 '^ How do you do, Mrs. Fizackerley ? That's my 
 niece, madam, Miss Clementina Verjuice, a good 
 girl, if she would but hold up her head, and would 
 not pull faces. That young gentleman in the 
 corner is her brother Harry. Come here, sir. Why 
 don't you comb your hair ? He chose to spoil his 
 best trousers by falling in the mud and tearing the 
 knees ; so he must be content to go on with his old 
 ones." 
 
 All the while poor Mrs. Fizackerley sits bored to 
 death, either by no means interested in the qualities 
 of Miss Clementina and Master Harry, or if she be 
 a foolisli mother herself, applying to her own con- 
 duct all the inuendoes against the torment of rude 
 children, and the folly of " sparing the rod to spoil 
 the child." 
 
 These pettish attacks are not confined to the 
 children; all her acquaintance come in for their 
 share. She is the censor-general of fasliions and 
 morals, of caps and carriage, of bonnets and beha- 
 viour : not that she always ventures to be directly 
 personal ; a diatribe on a general proposition will 
 equally serve her turn. If a lady's stays happen to 
 be cut rather low, she wonders how modest women
 
 THE ENGLISH MALADY. 235 
 
 can bring themselves to the fashion of showing 
 their bosoms to every jackanapes. If the curate 
 rides a good horse, she rails against the category of 
 sporting parsons ; or if he preaches morality, she 
 declaims against Arminianism, and vows that the 
 clergy have quite forgotten their theology. On 
 these occasions, too, " some people" is a favourite 
 figure of speech ; and, " I wonder what folks 
 mean," is an ally on whose services she largely 
 draws, when she wants to give what she calls " a 
 good wipe." 
 
 Among better bred persons ill-humour does not, 
 of course, wear this extreme shape of impertinent 
 selfishness ; it is softened down and subdued by an 
 acquaintance with good company. But where the 
 morosity exists, it finds a no less effective vent in a 
 moryuey which is scarcely less annoying. The as- 
 sumption of airs of state and distance in the bosom 
 of the domestic circle is a remain of feudal bar- 
 barism, which has been preserved longer and more 
 rigidly in England than in the other countries of 
 Europe. Formerly the children were not suffered 
 to eat at the same table with their parents, or to sit 
 in their presence ; and much of the spirit of this 
 formality is still preserved in our modern habits, 
 through the incurable ill- humour of the heads of 
 families. Fathers, infected with this vice, sit in 
 the midst of their little ones wrapped up in a silent 
 abstraction ; and they repress by a frown or a 
 rebuke every approach to an affectionate fami- 
 liarity ; while the mother incessantly reminds her
 
 236 THE ENGLISH MALADY. 
 
 children, that " when she was young, girls were not 
 suffered" to do this or the other. 
 
 This carriage towards the objects of affection, 
 while it is the grave of confidence and filial affec- 
 tion, is utterly incompatible with domestic cheer- 
 fulness. When brought to bear upon general 
 society, it is an effectual damper of the ease and 
 comfort of the guests, and as completely destroys 
 all pleasurable company as the acrimony of the 
 Verjuices. 
 
 But by far the more frequent refuge of genuine 
 ill humour in high life is found in a pretence to 
 sanctimonious rigour of exterior, in a scrupulosity 
 of piety, which looks down on music, abhors dan- 
 cing, and holds every idle word, or unquestioned 
 thought, as a sin of the blackest die. A watchful 
 look-out after the soul's health in others, is the most 
 plausible pretext imaginable for tormenting and 
 harassing ; and a zeal for religion affords the most 
 decent excuse for every peevish inroad upon the 
 cheerfulness of society. " Que ferons nous de nos 
 domestiques ce careiheV^ said a French female pietist 
 to her friend ; and the answer of the friend was, 
 " nous les ferons jeuner ." 
 
 Too much of this ill-humoured spirit, it is to be 
 feared, lurks at the bottom, not only of the do- 
 mestic dulness of the over-righteous, but of our 
 more public invasions of the Sunday hilarity of the 
 lower orders. If we are indeed, as we pretend, the 
 most religious people of Europe, it will be well if 
 our piety be not found a consequence of our being,
 
 THE ENGLISH MALADY. 237 
 
 at the same time, the most ill-humoured. Certain 
 it is, that whether we look into the parlour, the 
 nursery, or the servants' hall — whether we examine 
 the dinner party, or the domestic circle — whether 
 we follow the people into their interior, or accom- 
 pany them to their public amusements, there is in 
 England infinitely less cheerfulness, good-humour, 
 and ease, in our social intercourse, than are dis- 
 played in that of any other branch of the European 
 family.
 
 238 LIBERALITY. 
 
 LIBERALITY. 
 
 "Ces services que nous leurs rendons sont, a proprement 
 parler, un bien que nous faisons a nous memes par avance." 
 
 La Rochefoucauld. 
 
 The selfish origin of our most generous affec- 
 tions is a proposition, which, however revolting to 
 human vanity, lias found its way into favour. 
 Twist and turn the matter as we may, "to this 
 conclusion must we come at last," that the benevo- 
 lent man and the solf-centred knave, both ahke, do 
 that which (every thing considered) they like best ; 
 and in so doing, only follow their own dispositions, 
 and gratify themselves. 
 
 If there be any one who imagines that hu- 
 manity gains by the attempt to add a cubit to 
 this their moral stature, they are welcome to the 
 error; and may bring their metaphysics to bear 
 upon the point, in any way that gives them the 
 most satisfaction. Their illusion, if it be one, is an 
 amiable illusion ; and, to say the worst of it, it can 
 do no harm. But, whatever such persons may
 
 LIBERALITY. 239 
 
 think of generosity in the abstract, and of the mo- 
 tives which govern the species at large, the hardiest 
 advocate for the divinity of human nature among 
 them must admit that ah is not gold that glitters, 
 and that a great deal of the liberahty which passes 
 muster in the world is, at bottom, no better than 
 it should be. 
 
 We English, in particular, set up large claims to 
 this virtue, both in matters of opinion and of 
 money : but, if the truth may be spoken without 
 offence, no small part of it is pretty much of the 
 same quality, as that of the French bishop, of whom 
 it was said that " il donnera jAutot un ecu a une 
 garce, qu'nn denier a un pauvre." In this our 
 shopkeeping habits combine with a gentle lean- 
 ing to hypocrisy ; producing that curious moral 
 entity, proverbially called " a generous church- 
 warden," who keeps the silver and gold collected 
 at the church door for himself, and gives the half- 
 pence to the poor. 
 
 Of these, Heaven knows we have too many, in all 
 ranks and conditions of society. Not exactly that 
 they transfer the gold and silver directly from the 
 plate to their breeches-pocket, so as to subject 
 themselves to the animadversion of my lords, the 
 judges ; but they do not the less cause those metals 
 to find their way to the same destination, by cer- 
 tain roundabout by-paths, which, however devious 
 their meanders, all arrive at the same identical 
 duplicature of the nether integuments. With a 
 somewhat similar spirit, is distributed what is
 
 240 LIBERALITY. 
 
 called justice 5 the law being nominally open to all, 
 though in reality it is sold in the very teeth of the 
 " nuUi vendemvs " clause of the great charter, and 
 sold, too, at a higher rate, than it may be pur- 
 chased from the most rascally bashaw in Turkey. 
 Any man, it is true, may sue in forma pauperis, if 
 it be possible that he who is so destitute as to come 
 within the terms of the court's generosity, could 
 possess a right of any sort to defend : and there 
 are plenty of briefless barristers who will liberally 
 plead for the pauper chent, in order to show their 
 zeal and capacity for business to the attorneys. So, 
 also, physicians and surgeons are eager candidates 
 to do the very laborious duties of a great hospital 
 gratuitously, in order to make a connexion ; and 
 rising young apothecaries open domestic dispensa- 
 ries, to " try their 'prentice hand " on the poor, 
 and to get in with parish officers and good ladies, 
 who sometimes take physic themselves. Truly, 
 these are liberal professions ! 
 
 Such persons, indeed, are by no means to blame 
 in this matter ; nor do they often fail in exercising 
 their functions with as much industry and humanity 
 as is necessary to the establishnient of a profes- 
 sional reputation. The national charity forces this 
 duty on the profession, and its members must sub- 
 mit (however hard and unjust) to the necessity im- 
 posed upon them : but the liberality, *' de pari et 
 d' autre" does not the less enter into the general 
 catalogue of fudges and humbugs. 
 
 The clergy, for their part, (all due allowance
 
 LIBERALITY. 241 
 
 being made for honourable exceptions) are not be- 
 hindhand with their lay brethren in this species of 
 generosity. They support all the charitable insti- 
 tutions that are patronized by their bishop, or re- 
 commended by the fashion of the day ; and, their 
 predecessors having appropriated to themselves and 
 to their successors for ever, that portion of the ec- 
 clesiastical revenue v^iiich was originally destined to 
 relieve the distresses of their parishioners, they are, 
 doubtless, as a body sufficiently liberal with their 
 " farthings to the poor." They subscribe, also, 
 largely to all institutions calculated to uphold their 
 political supremacy, and to make inroads on the 
 Dissenters ; and to every public object by which 
 they can prove their " right thinkingness," and 
 their fitness for promotion. 
 
 The members of Parliament are, in their way, 
 also, a most liberal body ; and on the eve of an 
 ('lection, subscribe handsomely to all the charities 
 of the place they would represent. The sums of 
 money they give to poor voters often almost ruin 
 them ; and so truly charitable are they in these 
 donations, that they take the utmost care that their 
 left hand should not know what their right doeth ; 
 for nothing would so much mortify them, as to 
 have their liberality talked of in an election com- 
 mittee. 
 
 But to leave these somewhat invidious class- 
 doings, and to come to something more sweeping 
 and conclusive, the English are the only people on 
 the face of the earth who publish their alms-giving 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 LIBERALITY. 
 
 ill the newspapers, and advertize to all whom it 
 may or may not concern, the pounds sterling be- 
 stowed upon distressed widows, or the victims of 
 calamitous fires ; just as if the founder of their re- 
 ligion had never directly forbidden such childish 
 ostentation ! 
 
 Next to the pleasure of seeing one's name in the 
 diurnal rubricks of opulence and piety, there is no 
 self-seeking motive that stimulates liberality more 
 effectively than sheer gluttony. \\'henever it suits 
 a man's account to get up some new public charity, 
 to manufacture some untried eleemosynary specu- 
 lation, he has nothing better to do than to bait his 
 trap with a dinner at the Freemasons', or the 
 Crown and Anchor. The good Samaritans will be 
 sure to flock in crowds, to pour oil and wine into 
 — their own stomachs ; and if, when " hot with the 
 Tuscan grape," they bleed freely, their maudhn 
 good-nature passes current for a charitable disposi- 
 tion ; and they take free credit with Heaven for a 
 pecuniary advance, the real motive of which is far 
 less a sympathy with their fellow-creatures, than 
 an affection for calipash and cold punch. 
 
 This trap, however, is so far defective, that it 
 embraces only one half of the creation. The fair 
 sex are excluded from public dinners ; and to 
 draw in the ladies, it is necessary to have recourse 
 to charity balls, benefit plays, and concerts. It is 
 inconceivable how much is expended in this mock- 
 species of liberality, by which charity is served only
 
 LIBERALITY. 243 
 
 in the smallest proportions. Fairly stated, the ac- 
 count would stand very nearly in this way : 
 
 £, s. d. 
 
 To a new dress for attending the charity . . 10 10 
 
 To hair-dressing, ribbon, gloves, &c 1 10 
 
 To musicians, lights, refreshments, &c. &c. &c. 10 6 
 
 To actual charity, (the ticket being £1 Is.) . 10 6 
 
 £13 1 
 
 " Oh ! monstrous ! but one halfpenny worth of 
 bread to all this intolerable deal of sack." It is 
 not to be denied that this expenditure is what is 
 called " good for trade," (that is, it forces many to 
 make large expenditures, which they cannot afford, 
 and, therefore, to go in debt ;) that it circulates a 
 great deal of money, and sometimes cheats those 
 into a little charity, who would not bestow a farthing 
 on the poor for their own sake : but, then, let it not 
 be placed to the score of national liberality, and 
 blazoned in the eyes of Europe, as a proof of the 
 superior benevolence of the people. 
 
 But false and fictitious as such pretensions to 
 charity may be, they are milk and honey, when 
 compared with another species of liberality, exclu- 
 sively English, in which proselytism " gives ere 
 charity begins." These only ret forth acts as 
 virtues, which are purely indifferent ; but sectarian 
 liberality is a wolf in sheep's clothing, concealing, 
 under the garb of benevolence, as much rancour 
 and selfishness, as can well enter into the heart of 
 man. This malady in the moral constitution shows 
 
 M 2
 
 2t4 LIBERALITY. 
 
 itself in the distribution of shillings and sermons, 
 of trowsers and tracts, of flannel and foolishness. 
 In Ireland it extends its generosity to educating, 
 that is, frightening out of their rehgion the Catholic 
 poor vi et armis, in separating parent and child, and 
 in calumniating every scheme of instruction which 
 respects liberty of conscience. 
 
 In England such conduct is but folly — in Ireland 
 it arrives at the dignity of crime; for its aim is 
 nothing less than universal supremacy. Proselyting 
 liberality is marked by all thepaielinage and prying 
 curiosity of Jesuitism, by the Jesuit's love of domi- 
 nation, and by his wriggling, insinuating modes of 
 influence and persuasion. Under the notion of a 
 regard for the spiritual welfare of the village, the 
 Lady Bountifuls of this class become mistresses of 
 all its secrets, and hold the strings of all its little 
 intrigues. They thus gratify at the same time their 
 love of scandal, and their lust of power. They con- 
 trive to occupy a burthensome leisure, to banish the 
 ennui of their splendid idleness ; and they secure 
 for themselves an imaginary place in Paradise, all 
 for a few pounds sterling per annum. Leigh Hunt 
 lias somewhere called this procedure by the very 
 appropriate appellation of other-worldliness, consi- 
 dering it as nothing better than what the doctors 
 would call misplaced avarice, as a result of the same 
 sordid selfishness which delights in a miserly accu- 
 mulation of sublunary wealth. 
 
 Cobbett, too, has touched the point, in some one 
 of his multitudinous writings, with his usual coarse
 
 LIBERALITY. 245 
 
 acuteness. " When persons," he says, '' are glutted 
 with riches, when they are surfeited of all earthly 
 pursuits, they are very apt to begin to think of the 
 next world ; and the moment they begin to think 
 of that, they begin to look over the account they 
 shall have to present. Hence the far greater num- 
 ber of what are called ' charities.' " 
 
 Combining a donation for God's sake with the 
 conversion of a stray sheep, is clearly kilHng two 
 birds with one stone, and is a more economical in- 
 vestment on post-obit security, than that which 
 looks only to the temporal wants of a fellow-crea- 
 ture. 
 
 Where religious charity ends, political charity 
 begins ; which is a bird pretty much of the same 
 feather. In its worst form, political charity goes 
 directly to subdue the lower orders, and to keep 
 them in chains : at best, it is but the movement of 
 minds ashamed of the evils of bad government, but 
 without the honesty or the energy requisite for 
 rectifying the abuses out of which bad government 
 arises. To legislate wisely and largely is trouble- 
 some, and it requires knowledge as well as virtue ; 
 but nothing is more amusing, easy, and flattering 
 to self-love, than a round of impertinent interference 
 with the domestic concerns of the lower orders, 
 made in the awkward attempt to find palliatives 
 for misrule, and to conciliate oppression and injus- 
 tice with a wholesome condition of the society in 
 which they flourish. 
 
 The true spirit of this pettifogging and soup-shop
 
 246 LIBERALITY. 
 
 liberality is evinced in the best eleemosynary articles 
 which pass by the name of education. Small, indeed, 
 are the gratuitous attempts to make the poor really 
 wiser or better, to uphold that independence of 
 spirit which is the root of all moral excellence, or 
 even to facilitate the application of industry to the 
 greatest supply of the animal and social wants. 
 The education which directs the poor along the 
 state higliway to heaven, and makes them prostrate 
 before their superiors, is bestowed in abundance ; 
 but that which would ameliorate their condition in 
 this world is not only withheld, but is denounced 
 as dangerous and treasonable. The education 
 given about the time of the Reformation, (if we 
 may judge by its consequences,) was infinitely more 
 honest. 
 
 Amidst all the boasted liberality of the rich, and 
 all their affected zeal for their dependents, they 
 practise every art, legislative and administrative, to 
 keep wages low, that is, to render the poor ignorant 
 and wretched. " If," says Place,* " the rich will 
 not submit to the slightest inconvenience necessa- 
 rily attendant on what they profess to desire, they 
 cannot be in earnest in their professions. Their 
 benevolence to the poor must be either childish play 
 or hypocrisy; it must either be to amuse them- 
 selves, or to pacify the minds of the common people 
 with a mere show of attention to their wants. To 
 wish to better the condition of the poor, by enabling 
 them to command a greater quantity of the neces- 
 • On Population.
 
 LIBERALITY. 247 
 
 saries and comforts of life, and then to complain of 
 high wages, is the act of a silly boy, who gives his 
 cake, and then cries for it." 
 
 True liberality, the only liberality worthy of the 
 name, is that which is founded in justice. The 
 rest is but the benevolence of the hard-hearted cre- 
 ditor, who, having shut up his debtor between four 
 walls, generously bestows on him the bread and 
 water which saves him from starvation. But an 
 enlarged liberality, dictated by pure philanthropy, 
 answers not the purpose of politicians. 
 
 " Mere honest justice suits not with their zeal, 
 A warmer glow the sons of Plutus feel ; 
 So tame, so flat a virtue feeds not pride. 
 Nor throws the ravished gate of heaven wide : 
 And, what's far worse, on earth it is no tool. 
 It wins not place, distinction, wealth, nor rule. 
 No ; placed in leading-strings, the poor must know 
 Nor good nor ill, save as their teachers show. 
 Who make a despotism of heav'n, to prove 
 That tyrants are a sort of earthly Jove, 
 And place a demon on th' eternal throne. 
 To justify, by his defects, their own."* 
 
 Nearly related to this religious and political libe- 
 rality, and directed generally to the same ends, is 
 the active, meddling, fussy, much-ado-about -no- 
 thingness, which displays itself in the superinten- 
 dence of bazaars, the manufacture of pasteboard 
 and paper ornaments, the netting of purses, and 
 the fabric of baby-linen, to be sold for the benefit 
 of some pet schoolhouse, or some fashionable cha- 
 
 * Unpublished Poem.
 
 248 LIBERALITY. 
 
 rity. There is the same massacre of time, the same 
 fouceit, the same forcing into evidence in an inte- 
 resting and becoming attitude, and the same inter- 
 ference with matters beyond tlie sphere, and above 
 the comprehension of the actors. There is, more- 
 over, a very pretty commodity of coquetry and 
 flirtation, which, to ladies who have passed Lord 
 Byron's " certain time of life," is not without its 
 interest. 
 
 If pity be akin to love, charity cannot be very 
 distantly related to it ; and, right or wrong, a wo- 
 man is never so attractive as when her sympathies 
 are warmly engaged, no matter for what. To 
 those, even, with whom " Love's dream is o'er," 
 there is no small triumph in a successful effort to 
 wheedle large sums from the customer, and in 
 making, by force of smiles and insinuations, some 
 simpleton pay a guinea for a gewgaw not worth a 
 shilling. The bazaar ladies, however high their 
 birth and station, understand the tricks of trade as 
 well as the professional higgler. God help any poor 
 gentlefolks, whose evil destiny may lead them on a 
 country visit to these rich inutility brokers ! It 
 were cheaper to dine at the Clarendon, or to sup at 
 Crockfurd's. 
 
 Rich people have no notions of the value of money 
 (especially ladies), nor can they enter into the wants 
 of others, in which they do not themselves share. 
 To say nothing of the bore of being hurried from 
 the girls' school to the spinners and knitters, and 
 from these to the lace-makers and the basket-
 
 LIBERALITY. 249 
 
 weavers, you are compelled by common courtesy to 
 buy stockings which you will never wear, to pur- 
 chase baskets which you can never fill, and to give 
 more for your lace than it would cost at Howell's 
 and James's. 
 
 The fees to servants are hard enough in all con- 
 science upon the humble friends of great families ; 
 but, when the mistress has her perquisites also, no 
 limited purse can stand it. Dirty suspicions are 
 hateful enough ; and an honest man always thinks 
 worse of himself when they cross his imagination ; 
 but it is difficult always to help thinking that some, 
 at least, of these fancy dealers in charity count like 
 the hackney-coachman, " one shilling for master, 
 and two for myself." 
 
 In its direct influence on the poor, for whose pre- 
 sumed benefit such speculations are undertaken, 
 this is indeed no laughing matter. It is incontes- 
 table that numbers of helpless girls, whose industry 
 was their only resource against want and infamy, 
 are thrown out of employment by bazaars, reposi- 
 tories, and ladies' committee-shops, stocked by the 
 strenuous idleness of amateur sempstresses, and em- 
 broiderers for the love of God. Many also are the 
 tradesmen, who, having paid heavy rents and taxes, 
 on the faith of public encouragement, find their 
 counters deserted, in favour of the underselling 
 charity shops, by the lovers of piety and great bar- 
 gains, who flock in crowds to purchase for the con- 
 version of Jews and Hindoos, or to speed the mis- 
 sionary " from Indus to the pole." 
 
 M 5
 
 250 LIBERALITY. 
 
 The quantity of labour which the public can 
 feed is a fixed datum, and not a farthing can be 
 bestowed on the knicknacks of lady workmanship, 
 without throwing some one out of employment ; 
 but when the works offered for sale are objects of 
 utility — shirts, caps, dressing-gowns, &c. — the col- 
 lision with pauper industry is still more direct and 
 mischievous. This reflection may be below the 
 consideration of those superlatively good people, 
 who consider the poor less as objects of sympathy, 
 than as the instruments for working out their own 
 proper salvation ; but to such as can feel for a fel- 
 low man, and who would scarcely purchase heaven 
 itself at the price of human suffering, the fact is 
 important. 
 
 That there is much genuine charity in England, 
 would be folly to deny. A population so abound- 
 
 mcr in wealth cannot but be more indifferent to 
 
 ■ • 1 
 
 small sums than communities, which are less at 
 
 their ease. The middle classes (which in all coun- 
 tries are the most charitable, because they are 
 placed sufficiently near to poverty to understand 
 and feel for its distresses, while they possess the 
 pecuniary means of some indulgence of benevolent 
 feeling), are moreover, in England, a numerous 
 and thriving portion of the population. Their 
 virtue, besides, is fostered by the public spirit, 
 which the popular forms of the British constitution 
 necessarily develop ; and the very fact of an in- 
 ordinate pretence to eleemosynary munificence 
 tends to increase the actual practice of an unselfish 
 charity.
 
 LIBERALITY. 251 
 
 But from this pure and unmixed benevolence, a 
 very large discount must be taken ; for much credit 
 should not be given for the easy virtue of parting 
 with superfluous coin, when the act is not ac- 
 companied by a corresponding liberality of opi- 
 nion. As long as there is little that is generous 
 and enlarged in the mind, pecuniary largess can 
 be justly regarded but as a monkish virtue. When 
 we find the same people, who rushed forward to 
 subscribe three hundred thousand pounds for the 
 relief of the starving Irish, perpetuating the causes 
 of the distress which their charity alleviates, by 
 upholding successive Irish administrations in every 
 species of misrule and oppression — admiration be- 
 comes converted almost into disgust, at the obvious 
 inconsistency. 
 
 One knows not also whether to smile or to weep 
 over that animal instinct of compassion, which re- 
 sponds to the spectacle of physical suffering, while 
 it coolly consigns a fellow-creature to eternal mi- 
 sery for a slight difference of creed ; and then 
 strips him of his civil rights, on the strength of 
 this inconsiderate condemnation.* 
 
 There is likewise among the upper classes a 
 haughty insolence and contempt of the people, 
 
 * The passing of the Catholic Relief Bill might have be- 
 come a means of abating this national bigotr}', but bigotry 
 has only shifted its ground. It is still found convenient to 
 exploit the religious ill-temper of England, and to make the 
 habits of superstitious fear, too deeply rooted in the national 
 character, the ready instrument of political humbug.
 
 252 LIBERALITY. 
 
 which detracts from the merit of their compassion, 
 as being utterly inconsistent with a liberal mind, 
 and as, in reality, producing an infinity cf misery, 
 for which their bounty (were they to give their 
 whole estates to the poor) would be but a small 
 compensation. There is little intrinsic difference 
 between the Blunts, who " damn the poor," be- 
 cause " Heaven cannot love the wretch it starves," 
 and the charitable great, who found almshouses, 
 yet grind the labourer wholesale, by oppressive and 
 monopolizing laws. 
 
 "To be liberal in money," says an author of 
 much originality, " deserves little praise, compared 
 with liberality of sentiment ; the one frequently 
 arises from ostentation and vanity — the other can 
 only be the result of a cultivated mind and a ge- 
 nerous heart : for it respects the feelings, preju- 
 dices, and sufferings of others ; it pays many debts, 
 which are not strictly obligations of justice; it 
 supplies the defects of law ; and where all other 
 motives cease to operate, liberality enjoins purity 
 in our own conduct, and that candid interpretation 
 in other men's, which, more than all our virtues, 
 tends to sweeten and adorn society." * 
 
 In this liberality the English nation as yet has 
 made little progress; the insular situation of the 
 people, and their tradesman's habits, are both against 
 
 • " Materials for Thinkin^r," by W. Burdon. Vol. i. The 
 scope of this paper, it is hoped, will not be taken as a breach 
 of such " candid interpretation." Jt attacks vices in cate- 
 gories, not in persons.
 
 LIBERALITY. 253 
 
 it ; but the greatest obstacle to the development of 
 this virtue lies in the corrupt and exclusive cha- 
 racter, which has grown upon their political insti- 
 tutions. From the combination of these causes, 
 there is little expansive in the thoughts, feelings, 
 or habits of the genuine John Bull. We are not 
 only damnatory in our religion, but are coritinually 
 splitting into categories and predicaments, a_nd shut- 
 ting ourselves up in clubs and coteries, on all man- 
 ner of pretences. Each of these looks on the rest 
 of the species as knaves or fools, if not as heretics 
 and idolaters. The persecutions of fashion, if milder 
 in degree, are not less narrow and bigoted than 
 those of divinity ; and the Lady Patronesses of Al- 
 mack's black-beaned the deficient in bon ton^ exactly 
 on the same principle, on which orator Irving sent 
 poets and reviewers to the regions of weeping and 
 gnashing of teeth. 
 
 In a similar spirit, corporations protect them- 
 selves and their apprentices from rivalry. The 
 Clapham householders too, who keep their car- 
 riages, refuse to fraternize with those of their 
 neighbours, who travel daily " from the Bank" in 
 the stage-coach or the omnibus. Mrs. Grundy, 
 who inhabits a " genteel apartment," maintains her 
 superiority over Mrs. Soapsuds, who is so very 
 " low," as to keep a shop. With equal libera- 
 lity the officer of cavalry looks down on the captain 
 of a marching regiment ; and he of the line pays 
 off the account, by a corresponding disdain of the 
 commander of miUtia-men.
 
 254 LIBERALITY. 
 
 To the same narrow-mindedness belongs the ri- 
 gorous exclusion of strangers from public libraries, 
 or the inconvenient and jealous terms on which 
 they are admitted. We trace it also in the fees 
 exacted on the visitors of public buildings and col- 
 lections, and it reigns paramount over the sporting 
 grounds of country squires. 
 
 There is not tlie slightest grain of liberality in 
 the insolence, coldness, and paltry suspicion, with 
 which a true Bull treats all foreigners, but such 
 as come over to sing for his amusement, or are 
 marked with that seal of all merit, a feudal title. 
 There is not a spark of true generosity in the base 
 envy and remorseless sarcasm, with which too many 
 Englishmen regard the rising prosperity of our 
 brethren in the United States. 
 
 These, and a thousand other similar traits of 
 character, prove that the nation has yet many steps 
 to make, before it escapes from barbarism. '' To 
 acquire sentiments of liberality is not the work of a 
 day nor a month, but of years ; they are, generally, 
 the fruit of early instruction ; for those opinions 
 which we acquire in our youth, make the deepest 
 impression, and are longest retained."* 
 
 It may be doubted whether liberality is not, in 
 some degree, even an affair of temperament, and 
 whether there are not minds which no education 
 could expand ; but the liberality of nations is cer- 
 tainly the slow growth of combined prosperity and 
 
 • Burdon.
 
 LIBERALITY. 255 
 
 education ; and, as it is the fruit, so it is the test of 
 civilization. The multitudes of vulgar-minded 
 Englishmen, who flocked to the Continent after 
 the general peace, betrayed the secret of our weak- 
 ness in this point to foreigners, and forfeited much 
 of the high character which our public acts and 
 commercial integrity had won for the nation. The 
 imputed generosity of Englishmen, which caused 
 their simplest gentlemen to be esteemed above the 
 princes of other countries, has been effaced from 
 the imaginations of our neighbours, not more by 
 the petty haggling and chicanery in the settling of 
 tradesmen's bills, than by our illiberal and insult- 
 ing views of the institutions and habits of the na- 
 tives at large. The fear of being cheated has made 
 our travellers little better than cheats themselves ; 
 but the aristocratic morgue, the running after 
 great men, and the Protestant bigotry of the ma- 
 jority of the " English abroad," have gone further 
 still to abate that admiration, which the valour, 
 resources, and power of the nation had inspired, 
 at the successful termination of a war unparalleled 
 in history. 
 
 Now all this, though strictly true, is not the 
 less atheism, jacobinism, radicalism, and every other 
 ism, rheumatism included ; yet it is not the fault of 
 the writer, more than it is of the actors of such 
 things, that the English are a nation of shop- 
 keepers; or that aristocracy in the constitution, and 
 ascendency in religion, bequeathed to us by gene- 
 rations less enlightened than our own, have done 
 our natural dispositions so much mischief.
 
 ^6 LIBERALITY. 
 
 If these things are hinted to our beloved coun- 
 trymen, it is in the strictest confidence, and 
 should go no further ; still less would we be wil- 
 lingly suspected of the slightest desire to reform. 
 It is not aiked, that Englishmen should practise all 
 the virtues they profess ; but it might be as well, 
 if they rendered their little peccadilloes less salient, 
 by abstaining from such very barefaced boasting — 
 and if, when they are disposed to amuse themselves 
 by lauding the liberality of their own opinions, and 
 the generosity of their own dealings, either at home 
 or abroad, they confide these overflowings of the 
 heart to the family circle, or to some confidant more 
 discreet than the reeds of Midas's barber.
 
 MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW. 257 
 
 MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW OF A LADY 
 OF QUALITY. 
 
 DICTATED BY HIMSELF, 
 AND EDITED BY LADY MORGAN. 
 
 One of the most striking ridicules of that 
 "biped without feathers" — man — is the self-suffi- 
 ciency with which he appropriates to himself the 
 highest qualities of creation. He alone, in his own 
 estimation, has intellectual powers ; he alone is a 
 thinking, talking, laughing, crying animal, and 
 reasons, abstracts, and is possessed of a soul for the 
 sublime and beautiful ! After thirty years' inter- 
 course with this conceited jackdaw of humanity, in 
 both his extremes of civilization, I have not been 
 able to discover the slightest evidence of this 
 boasted superiority, I will not say over the parrot, 
 but over the lowest animal in the ranks of ornitho- 
 logy. The other day, at one of my lady's blue 
 parties, I heard a profound physiologist confess 
 that the whole is a mere question of structure, and 
 that the only difference between man and macaw
 
 258 MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW 
 
 lies in the bumps and depressions, and the poco 
 meno and jaoco piu of the nervous system. " They 
 have both," he said, " passions, perceptions, appe- 
 tites, impulses ; and the vices and crimes of both 
 are pretty much on a par." This was all very well ; 
 but, notwithstanding such resemblances, we natives 
 of the tropics are still the master-works of nature ; 
 and it would take some trouble to convince me that 
 there is not more than a formal difference between 
 a parrot, and the most giddy, inconsistent, and (by 
 fits and starts) the most lunatic animal, in the 
 whole organised creation. 
 
 The parrot tribe, of which we macaws are the 
 natural aristocracy, have, it must be acknowledged, 
 some qualities, not of the most amiable kind, in 
 which we approach towards human nature. Like 
 man, social and gregarious, we are noisy, pert, and 
 clamorous in society ; and every individual of the 
 community wishes to be heard above all his fellows. 
 We love and hate from selfishness or caprice ; and 
 we are as jealous of the favours of our mistress, as 
 an intriguing mamma is of the ball-room prefer- 
 ences of a titled dandy. Rapid in our perceptions, 
 we are (like man) almost always false in our con- 
 clusions. We go on, mimicking in gesture, and 
 reiterating in sound, all that we see and hear ; and 
 we repeat the nonsense that has passed for truth 
 on the foolish world for ages, with such an oracular 
 air, that we might be mistaken for Solons and Bos- 
 suets, in half the private circles and public assem- 
 bhes which occupy the attention of human society.
 
 OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 259 
 
 I remember, one evening, being in an excellent 
 humour in my lady's conservatory (behind the pink 
 boudoir, so well known in the world of fashion,) and 
 talking away in the most fluent and emphatic man- 
 ner to an auditory of birds and butterflies, real and 
 artificial, when some person in the adjoining room 
 exclaimed, " Is that Sir C. W. practising for the 
 house ?" " No, no," said another ; " it is the po- 
 pular preacher rehearsing his next Sunday's dis- 
 course on the beauties of church establishments." 
 The fact is, that I had picked up in my lady's 
 salon so much of the jargon of ban ton sentiment, 
 moral, religious, and political, that the mistake 
 was not unnatural ; for my ordinary discourse is 
 very much made up of the most select and admired 
 passages (which are repeated from mouth to mouth) 
 from the maiden speeches, splendid replies, and able 
 statements of both Houses of Legislature, inter- 
 mingled with scraps of pulpit oratory, table-talk, 
 and " leading articles" of the day, which form the 
 current circulation of all fashionable assemblies. 
 
 But our resemblance to man does not stop here. 
 Mischievous from vengeance, or from idleness, we 
 commit every species of devastation ; yet, like the 
 favourites of human society, we redeem all our 
 vices by the amusement we afford, and the ennui 
 we dissipate. Hating our own species for their 
 success, and ambitious to climb or creep into favour 
 with those who assume a mastery over us, we have 
 all the pride and baseness of humanity, in its 
 highest social perfection. In one particular, how-
 
 260 MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW 
 
 ever, our superiority to man is decided. We are 
 no hypocrites ; and we never stoop to lie. 
 
 In our locomotive faculties, also, our pre-emi- 
 nence is incontestable ; and to what purpose should 
 a greater facility of niotion be conferred on us, if 
 our perceptions were not keener, our desires more 
 varied, and our volitions more sublime and intense, 
 than those of the living clod of the valley, who pre- 
 sumes to dispute with us in intelligence and thought? 
 But though we talk as well as the human species, 
 we are held to talk only at random 1 All our best 
 hits must needs be nothing better than lucky acci- 
 dents ! Who told them this ? Who could give them 
 the slightest information of our moral organization ? 
 Was it Doctor Kennedy, or Mr. Brook who dissected 
 my old friend, the far-famed parrot of Colonel 
 O'Kelly ? 
 
 Those learned anatomists tell us that they found 
 the muscles of his larynx (like those of Signor 
 Strillaforte, who was cut up about the same time 
 by Sir A. Carlisle,) to be enormously developed 
 by practice. But where are their phrenological 
 observations? It does not follow that there was 
 a whit the less meaning in the goryheggiamenti 
 of the Signor, or in the chatter of poor Poll, than 
 in any given oration of a minister of finance ; or 
 that if certain human heads that I know were cul- 
 tivated to the artificial exuberance of a cauliflower 
 or a cabbage, they would attain to a tithe of the 
 meaning of the Colonel's intelligent ^ro/r^e. Look 
 into either House of Parliament, and turn into 
 Cross's Menagerie j listen to the noise and chatter
 
 OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 261 
 
 about nothing of men and birds, and then decide 
 whether language was given exclusively to man to 
 conceal his thoughts, or whether parrots are the 
 only animals who especially employ the gift of 
 speech to show up their incapacity. 
 
 The other morning, as I was pottering about, 
 pecking the housemaid's heels, and preventing the 
 porter from reading his Morning Post in peace 
 and quiet, that grave and reverend personage very 
 unceremoniously drove me into the back hall, and 
 shut the door upon me ; so I hopped up stairs to 
 my lady's dressing-room, and hammered with ray 
 bill, till I gained admittance. Since my dear mis- 
 tress has found her eyes less useful and less dan- 
 gerous, than when they softened the iron visage of a 
 certain great lexicographer, she generally employs 
 her page to read to her in the early part of the day ; 
 and when I had, on this occasion, taken my place 
 on the back of the chair, and commenced one of 
 my noisy accompaniments to the boy's prelections, 
 she bid me be quiet; for "Poll," said she, "we 
 are reading about you." The page continued to 
 read aloud from the works of a naturalist, who has 
 described us tropicals in a style as brilliant as our 
 own plumage. His notions, however, of our moral 
 qualities and native customs are perfectly absurd. 
 He denied us all talent, and attributed our perti- 
 nent answers, as usual, to chance. I could not 
 help uttering one of my sharp loud laughs ; which 
 was at once placed to the account of coincidence ; 
 though it was as sincere and sardonic, as ever a
 
 262 MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW 
 
 follower of M'CuUoch bestowed upon the econo- 
 mical declamations of Mr. Sadler. " So, Poll," said 
 her ladyship, " that laugh is as much as to say you 
 don't beUeve a word of it " " Don't believe a word 
 of it," I repeated ; and the tittering page was sent 
 to the housekeeper's room for a plate of maringues 
 to reward the apropos. At that moment the door 
 opened, and the groom of the chambers announced 
 
 Lady , one who enjoyed the privilege of an 
 
 early admittance to my lady's dressing-room. 
 
 This lady and myself had made our debut in 
 high life together many years back at the same 
 assembly, and nearly with the same success, which 
 placed us at first in the ranks of rivalry. But time, 
 which softens all antipathies, and the similitude of 
 our fates (for we had both somewhat survived our 
 fashion) had finally reconciled us, and we were now 
 on terms of great familiarity and friendship. In 
 my classifications of human varieties, I had long 
 assigned her a place with the Parus Coeruleus, or 
 blue titmouse. She resembled, in many points, 
 that diminutive but lively bird. The titmouse is 
 remarkable for a superabundance of vitality, and a 
 reckless courage disproportionate to its size and 
 powers, which impels it to assault birds of far su- 
 perior bulk and strength. It has also the faculty 
 of picking holes in dense sculls, and of sucking out 
 the brains, where there are any. It wages a spor- 
 tive, but mischievous war with owls and buzzards ; 
 and has a decided antipathy to caterpillars, which it 
 hunts out of buds, blossoms, and the ears of corn ;
 
 OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 2C3 
 
 gaining only for its useful services the persecution 
 of that human vulture — man, who cannot distin- 
 guish between the destruction of the reptile, and a 
 real injury to the fruit. I am always glad to see 
 
 my little Lady Titmouse drop in, in B Street, 
 
 for her vivacity excites me ; and we chat and flutter 
 about so like each other, that it is quite wonderful. 
 
 " Bon jour, grande princesse," she said on enter- 
 ing ; " I am glad to see your ladyship in such 
 spirits," for my mistress was still laughing at my 
 last impromptu, which she forthwith repeated to 
 explain her hilarity. " So then, Poll, you are in 
 favour once more," was the reply. " Oh ! she is 
 most amusing," continued my mistress, " and says 
 and does things so like humanity, it is quite shock- 
 ing." " What a libel on the poor bird !" said Lady 
 Titmouse. 
 
 *' You would have thought by her attention to 
 BufFon, and the meaning of her laugh, that the 
 animal understood everything it heard." 
 
 " To be sure it did," said Lady Titmouse, has- 
 tily ; " why should it not ? It has ears, eyes, 
 memory, association, everything that goes to make 
 up mind — " " Hush," said the Countess, putting 
 her hand on the speaker's mouth ; " don't be pro- 
 fane, child, it is quite mauvais ton." " My Lady 
 — hear me out. I am sure, if the macaw were to 
 write her own story, she would — " " Do you write 
 it for her, then," interrupted the Peeress. " With 
 all my heart," replied Titmouse; " and if the bird 
 will relate all it has seen and heard for the last
 
 264 MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW 
 
 twenty years, the memoir would be worth all the 
 autobiographies that have been puffed into public 
 notice by the egotism of authors, or the speculation 
 of intriguing booksellers." 
 
 At this observation my every feather stood an 
 end ; I shuddered and screamed. I had heard 
 many foolish and many conceited persons say on 
 my lady's blue and grey parties, (for she had 
 parties of every colour), that they hoped Lady Tit- 
 mouse would not " put them in her book ;" and 
 though I did not exactly know what this meant, 
 yet as it seemed (on their own evidence) to be a 
 punishment reserved for the silly and the vain, I 
 expressed my aversion to the process so clearly, 
 that the little blue cap exclaimed, " But you see 
 the macaw declares off; yet we understand each 
 other so well, and we have lived so much in the 
 same set, that I should like to write her life under 
 her own dictation." My lady seemed much amused 
 by the fancy ; and they both said so many odd and 
 amusing things on the subject, and ran over so 
 many names and anecdotes with which I was ac- 
 quainted, that the idea of writing my own life 
 grew upon me amazingly. 
 
 Authorship is the most fashionable passe par 
 tout to notoriety; and, to say the truth, I had 
 long been jealous of certain honourable and right 
 honourable personages, whose conversational powers 
 were far below my own ; but who, by putting the 
 shreds and patches, which their parroty memory 
 supplies, into black and white, had rather cut me
 
 OF A LADY OF QUALITY. il65 
 
 out with the dispensers of ton. So watching my 
 opportunity to ensure co-operation and secrecy from 
 my co-biographer, I opened my proposition. We 
 were soon agreed ; and perched together one sum- 
 mer's morning, when the weather was wet and the 
 town empty, we proceeded to business. I narrated 
 in my own way, and she translated and prepared 
 for press in her's. For the style, therefore, I beg 
 not to be answerable ; but for the events and their 
 circumstances I stand or fall by their truth, and, 
 by the honour of a macaw, I have neither sup- 
 pressed nor altered a tittle of it. 
 
 I am a native of one of the most splendid 
 regions of the earth; where Nature dispenses all 
 her bounties with a liberal hand ; and where man 
 and bird are released from half the penalties to 
 which, in other climes, their flesh is heir. I was 
 born in one of those superb forests of fruit and 
 flowers, so peculiar to the Brazils, which stood at no 
 great distance from an Indian village, and was not 
 far removed from an European settlement. This 
 forest was impervious to human footsteps. A na- 
 tion of apes occupied the interior, and the dynasty 
 of the Psittacus Severus, or Brazilian queen macaw, 
 inhabited the upper regions. Several subject states 
 of green and yellow parrots constituted our colonial 
 neighbours. My family held the highest rank in 
 the privileged classes of our oligarchy ; for our pride 
 would not admit of a king, and our selfishness (so 
 I must call it) would allow of no rights. We 
 talked nevertheless in our legislative assemblies of 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 2C6 MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW 
 
 our happy constitution, which by tacit agreement 
 we understood to mean "happy for ourselves;" but 
 the green and yellow parrots too plainly showed a 
 strong disposition to put another interpretation on 
 the phraseology. My paternal nest was situated in 
 the hollow of one of the most ancient and lofty 
 trees in the forest. It had once been rich in fruit 
 and flowers, gums and odours, and all in the same 
 season ; and though it was now scathed at the top, 
 hollow in the trunk, and was threatened with total 
 ruin from the first hurricane, we still preferred it, 
 because it ivas the oldest. I owed all my early im- 
 pressions, and much of my acquired superiority, to 
 ray great grandfather, who lived to an extreme old 
 age, and attained a celebrity, of which we were 
 ourselves at that time unaware. He was the iden- 
 tical bird which was brought from Marignan to 
 Prince Maurice, Governor of the Brazils, and whose 
 pertinent answers to many silly questions are re- 
 corded in the pages of the greatest of English phi- 
 losophers. 
 
 My great-grandfather was soon disgusted with 
 the folly and cruelty of what is called civilized life; 
 and having seen an Indian roasted alive for a false 
 religion's sake, he thought that some day they 
 might take it into their heads to do as much by a 
 macaw, for the same reason : so he availed himself 
 of an early opportunity of retiring without leave 
 from the service, and returned to his native forest, 
 where his genius and learning at once raised him 
 to the highest honours of the Psittacan aristocracy. 
 Influenced by his example, I early felt the desire
 
 OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 2(J7 
 
 of visiting foreign countries. My mother too (who 
 though fond and indulgent, like all the mothers of 
 our race, was as vain and foolish as any that I 
 have since met with in human society), worked 
 powerfully on my ambition, by her constant endea- 
 vours to " push me up the tree," as she called it, 
 in her way. I was already a first-rate orator, and 
 a member of the great congress of macaws, while 
 in our social re-unions I left all the young birds of 
 fashion far behind me ; and as I not only articu- 
 lated some human sounds, picked up from the In- 
 dians, but could speak a few words of Portuguese 
 and Dutch, learned by rote from my great-grand 
 father, I was considered a genius of high order. 
 
 With the conceit, therefore, of all my noble fa- 
 mily, I was prompted to go forth and visit other 
 and better worlds, and to seek a sphere better 
 adapted to the display of my presumed abilities, 
 than that afforded by our domestic senate and 
 homespun society. On one of those celestial nights, 
 known only in the tropical regions, I set forth on 
 my travels, directing my course to the Portuguese 
 settlement, which the youthful vigour of my wing 
 enabled me to reach by the break of morning. 
 
 Having refreshed myself with a breakfast of 
 fruit, after the exhaustion of my nocturnal flight, 
 I ascended a spacious palm-tree, which afforded an 
 admirable view of the adjacent country, and a de- 
 sirable shelter from the ardours of the rising sun. 
 My first impulse was to take a bird's-eye view of 
 the novel scene which lay before me, and I gazed 
 
 N 2
 
 268 MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW 
 
 around for some minutes with intense delight ; but 
 fatigue gradually obtained the mastery over curio- 
 sity, and, putting my head unconsciously beneath 
 my wing, I fell into a profound sleep. 
 
 How long this continued I know not ; but I was 
 suddenly awakened by a strange muttering of un- 
 known voices. I looked, and beheld two creatures, 
 whose appearance greatly surprised me. They had 
 nothing of the noble form and aspect of our Indian 
 neighbours. One of them considerably resembled 
 the preacher- monkey in countenance and deport- 
 ment : his head was denuded of hair, and his 
 person was covered by a black substance, which 
 left no limb visible except his ancles and feet, 
 which were very much like those of an ape. The 
 other had all the air of a gigantic parrot — he had 
 a hooked bill, a sharp look, a yellow head : and all 
 the rest of his strange figure was party-coloured — 
 blue, green, red, and black. I classed him at once 
 as a specimen of the Psittacus Ochropterus. 
 
 The ape and the parrot seemed, like myself, to 
 have taken shelter beneath the palm-tree, for the 
 purposes of shade and repose. They had beside them 
 a basket filled with dead game, fruit, and honey; 
 and the parrot had a long instrument near him on 
 the ground, which I afterwards learned was a 
 fowhng-piece. They talked a strange jargon of 
 different intonation, like that of the respective 
 chatter of the green and the grey parrots. Both 
 seemed to complain, and, by the expression of 
 their ugly and roguish faces, to interrogate each 
 other.
 
 OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 2G9 
 
 As soon as they went away, I endeavoured to 
 mutter to myself the sounds they had uttered, but 
 could retain only two phrases. The one had been 
 spoken by the ape, and ran thus : " Shure it was 
 for my sweet sowl's sake, jewel ;" the other was, 
 " Eh, sirs, it was aw' for the love of the siller." I 
 was extremely amused by my acquisition ; and, 
 being convinced that I was now qualified to pre- 
 sent myself at the settlement, was about to descend 
 from my altitude, when the two strangers returned. 
 They had come back for the gun, which they had 
 left behind them. As they picked it up it went off, 
 and I was startled into one of my loudest screams. 
 
 The strangers looked at me with great delight, he 
 whom I likened to the parrot exclaiming, " Weel, 
 mon, what brought you here ?" I answered in his 
 own words, for want of better, " Eh, sirs, it was 
 aw' for the love of the siller." He dropped his 
 piece, and fled in consternation, calling lustily, 
 *' It's auld clooty himsen, mon — it's auld Horny, I 
 tell ye ; come awa, come awa." 
 
 His friend, who seemed more acquainted with our 
 species, encouraged him to return, and offering me 
 some fruit from his basket, said, " VVhy, Poll, you 
 cratur, what brought you so far from home ?" I en- 
 deavoured to imitate his peculiar tone, and replied, 
 " Why thin it was for my sweet sowl's sake, jewel." 
 "Why then," said my interlocutor coolly (for I 
 never forgot his words), " that bird bates cock- 
 fighting," They now both endeavoured to catch 
 me : it was all I wanted, and I perched on the
 
 270 MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW 
 
 preaching-monkey's wrist, whilst he took up the 
 basket in his left hand, and in this easy and com- 
 modious style of travelling, we proceeded. 
 
 On approaching the settlement, a fierce dispute 
 arose between the friends, of which, by each tear- 
 ing me from the other, I was evidently the object ; 
 and I am quite sure that I should have been torn 
 to pieces between them, but for the timely ap- 
 proach of a person, v^^ho i>sued from a lofty and 
 handsome edifice on the road side, attended by a 
 train of preacher-monkeys, of which he was the 
 chief. He was quite a superior-looking being to 
 either of my first acquaintance, who cowered and 
 shrunk beneath his eagle look. They seemed hum- 
 bly to lay their case before him ; when, after look- 
 ing contemptuously on both, he took me to himself, 
 caressed me, and giving me to an attendant, said, 
 " This bird belongs to neither — it is the property 
 of mother church :" and the property of mother 
 church I remained for some years. 
 
 Of my two friends of the palm-tree, one, the 
 preacher-monkey, turned out to be a poor Irish lay 
 brother of the convent of which my new master 
 (an Irishman too) was the superior; my yellow 
 parrot was a Scotch adventurer, who came out to 
 give lectures on j)oleetical economy to the Bra- 
 zilians; and who, finding that they had no taste 
 for moral science, had become a servant of all-work 
 to the brotherhood. My dwelling was a missionary 
 house of the Propaganda, established for the pur- 
 pose of converting (i. e. burning) the poor Indians.
 
 OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 271 
 
 The Superior, Father Flynn, had recently arrived 
 from Lisbon with unhmited powers. He was clever, 
 eloquent, witty, and humorous ; but, panting for 
 a bishopric in his native country, he was princi- 
 pally employed in theological writings, which might 
 bring him into notice, and hasten his recall to 
 Europe. 
 
 Next to the servants' hall of a great English 
 family, the first place in the world for completing 
 the education of a macaw of genius, is a convent. 
 Its idleness and ennui render a monkey or a parrot 
 a valuable resource : and between what I picked up, 
 and what I was taught by the monks of the Propa- 
 ganda, my acquirements soon became stupendous. 
 Always following my kind master from the refec- 
 tory to the church, assisting at mess or at mass, 
 being near him in the seclusion of the oratory, and 
 in the festivities he frequently held with his more 
 confidential friends, I had loaded my astonishing 
 memory with scraps of theology and fun. I could 
 sing a French drinking-song, taught me by the 
 sub-prior, Frere Jacques, and intonate a " Gloria 
 in Excelsis," with a true nasal twang. I had ac- 
 tually learned the Creed in English ; * and could 
 call all the brothers by their names. I had even 
 learned the Savoyard's dance from my friend Fr^re 
 Jacques ; and sung " Gai Coco" at the same time, 
 like Scaliger's parrot ; from whose history Frere 
 
 • " Rhodoginus mentions a parrot wliich could recite cor- 
 rectly the whole of the Apostles' Creed." — Animal Bio- 
 graphy, bij the Rev, W. Bingley.
 
 272 MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW 
 
 Jacques took the idea of teaching me. I did this, 
 it must be acknowledged, with great awkwardness, 
 turning in my toes, and often tumbhng backwards, 
 in a clumsy and ludicrous way. But this amused 
 my religious friends more than all the rest ; for, 
 like the great, they loved a ridicule quite as well 
 as a talent ; and, provided they were amused, were 
 not nice as to the means. My fame soon began to 
 spread on all sides ; and the anecdotes told of the 
 macaw of the Propaganda soon reached the circles 
 of the Governor of the Brazils, who wrote to re- 
 quest the pleasure of my company for a few weeks 
 at the palace. This was a compliment which he had 
 never paid to the learned superior of the order ; and 
 my master was evidently hurt. He declined, there- 
 fore, the invitation for me, on tlie plea that he 
 would soon visit Rio Janeiro himself, when I should 
 accompany him into the Vice- regal presence. 
 
 This visit shortly took place, not for the object 
 supposed by the community (who parted with me, 
 even for a short time, with great regret,) but for 
 another purpose. The British Ambassador, Lord 
 
 , who had recently arrived at Rio, was a 
 
 countryman of Father Flynn's. He enjoyed emi- 
 nent literary celebrity, was a delightful poet, and 
 well acquainted with the Portuguese language. 
 The superior had no doubt that his own literary 
 and theological merits were equally known to his 
 r^xcellency, whom he visited with a view to nego- 
 ciating a passage in the British man-of-war; for 
 he had been called on a secret mission to Ireland, 
 and wished to depart without notifying his inten-
 
 OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 273 
 
 tion to the subalterns of the Propaganda. I was 
 not included in the muster-roll of this expedition ; 
 but, anxious to lose no opportunity of seeing the 
 world, and desirous of beholding the Governor, 
 who had shown his taste and politeness, by inviting 
 me to his court, I contrived to nestle myself in the 
 carriage, without the superior's knowledge, and 
 followed his steps to the very ante-room of the 
 embassy. 
 
 It was too late to send me back ; for I was in- 
 stantly seized by a company of pretty young 
 animals, the very reverse in appearance of the 
 preacher- monkeys of the Propaganda; they all 
 seemed to find in me a kindred soul : my master 
 was ushered into the cabinet, and I was left with 
 my new acquaintance, who were called " at- 
 taches," whom I at once classed with the secretanj- 
 birds;* while here and there, I thought, was 
 mingled among them a specimen of the booby or 
 Pelicanus Sula. Two of these mischievous creatures 
 seemed to delight in tormenting me, from mere 
 idleness and ennui, which I bore for some time 
 with great patience, as I saw the boobies pay them 
 mucli respect. One v.as called Lord Charles, and 
 the other the Hon. Mr. Henry. I learned these 
 names with facility, and contrived to repeat them, 
 as they had been taught me, by the frequent itera- 
 tion of one of the boobies. 
 
 • " The Dutch," says Le Vaillant, " give this bird the 
 name of Secretary, on account of the bunch of quills behind 
 its head." — Bingley, Animal Biography. 
 
 N 5
 
 274 MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW 
 
 Meantime, Father Flynn, with a Jesuit's adroit- 
 ness, was endeavouring to gain his object, as I 
 afterwards learned ; but, on alluding to his works 
 and celebrity, he discovered that the ambassador 
 had never so much as heard of him; though he 
 had heard wonders of his parrot, which he requested 
 might be sent for. I was immediately ushered into 
 the cabinet as the superior went out, and I never 
 saw my dear master more. Perhaps he could 
 " bear no rival near the throne ;" perhaps, in his 
 pre-occupation, he forgot to reclaim me. Be that 
 as it may, he sailed that night, in a Portuguese 
 merchantman, for Lisbon ; and I became the pro- 
 perty of the representative of his British Majesty. 
 
 After the first few days of favouritism, I sen- 
 sibly lost ground with his Excellency ; for he was 
 too deeply occupied, and had too many resources of 
 his own, to find his amusement in my society. 
 During the few days I sat at his table, I enter- 
 tained his diplomatic guests with cracking nuts, 
 extracting the kernels, peeling oranges, talking 
 broad Scotch and Parisian French, chanting the 
 "Gloria," dancing "Gai Coco," and, in fact, ex- 
 hibiting all my accomplishments. I was, however, 
 soon sent to the secretary's office to be taught a 
 new jargon, and to be subjected to new tricks, 
 from the underlings of the embassy. 
 
 Here I picked up but little ; for there was but 
 little to pick up. I learned, however, to call for 
 *' Red tape and sealing-wax" — to cry "What a 
 bore !" " Did you ever see such a quiz 1" — to call 
 *' Lord Charles," "Mr. Henry/' and pronounce
 
 • OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 275 
 
 " good for nothing ;" a remark applied by the 
 young men to the pens, which they flung away by 
 hundreds, and which the servants picked up and 
 sold, witli the other perquisites of office, incidental 
 to their calling. Whenever I applied these acqui- 
 sitions with effect, it was always attributed to 
 chance ; but I was so tormented and persecuted by 
 Lord Charles and Mr. Henry, who, being unpaid 
 attaches, had nothing to do, and helped each other 
 to do it, that I took every opportunity to annoy 
 them. One day, when the ante-room was filled with 
 young officers of the British frigate, one of the 
 boobies, pointing to Lord Charles, called to me, 
 " Poll, who is that ?" I answered, " Red tape and 
 sealing-wax ;" and raised a general shout at the 
 expense of the little diplomatic pedant. An Irish 
 midshipman present, a Mr. O 'Gallagher, pointing 
 to Mr. Henry, asked me, "Who is that, Poll? ' 
 " Good for nothing'" I replied ; and Mr. Henry flew 
 at me in a rage, swore I had been taught to insult 
 him, and that he would wring my neck off. This 
 he would have done, but for the protection of the 
 chaplain, to whose breast I flew, and who carried 
 me away to his own room. 
 
 In a few days I was consigned to Mr. O'Gallagher, 
 the midshipman, as a present to the chaplain's 
 patroness, a lady of high rank and celebrated sanc- 
 tity in Ireland, near to whose Propaganda the 
 family of O'Gallagher resided. I was the bearer of 
 a letter of introduction, in which my pious educa- 
 tion and saintly acquirements were set forth, my
 
 276 MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW 
 
 knowledge of the Creed exposed, and myself recom- 
 mended as a means of aiding her ladyship's prose- 
 lyting vocation, as animals of less intelligence had 
 done before. I embarked, therefore, on board the 
 British frigate — an honour wliich had been refused 
 my old master, and was treated with great care and 
 attention during the voyage. On arriving in a 
 British port, my young protector got leave of ab- 
 sence, and took a passage in a vessel bound for 
 Dublin. 
 
 On the morning of our coming to anchor, my 
 cage was put on shore on the quay, while O'Ghal- 
 lagher returned to look after his luggage. Thus 
 left to myself, I soon attracted the attention of a 
 wretched, squalid-looking animal, something be- 
 tween a scarecrow and a long -armed gibbon. His 
 melancholy visage dilated into a broad grin the 
 moment he saw me ; and, coming up and making 
 me a bow, he said, " Ah ! thin, Poll, agrah, you're 
 welcome to ould Ireland. Would you take a taste 
 of potato, just to cure your say-sickness?" and he 
 put a cold potato into my cage, which he had been 
 gnawing with avidity himself. The potato was 
 among the first articles of my food in my native 
 paradise, and the recollection of it awakened asso- 
 ciations which softened me towards the poor, hos- 
 pitable creature who presented it. Still I hesitated, 
 till he said, " Take it, miss, and a thousand wel- 
 comes ; take it, agrah, from poor Pat." I took it 
 with infinite delight, and, holding it in my claws, 
 and peeling it with my beak, began to mutter.
 
 OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 277 
 
 "Poor Patl poor Pat!" "Oh musha, musha! 
 oh, by the powers !" he cried, " but that's a great 
 bird, any how — just Uke a Christian — look here, 
 boys." A crowd now gathered round my cage, and 
 several exclamations, which recalled my old friends 
 of the Propaganda, caught my attention. " Oh ! 
 queen of glory !" cried one ; " Holy Moses !" ex- 
 claimed another; " Blessed rosary !" said a third. 
 I turned my head from side to side, listening ; and 
 excited by the excitement I caused, I recited 
 several scraps of litanies in good Latinity. There 
 was first an universal silence, then an universal 
 shout, and a general cry of " A miracle ! a miracle !"" 
 " Go to Father Murphy," said one ; " Oft' with ye, 
 ye sowl, to the Counsellor," said a second ; " Bring 
 the baccah to him," cried an old woman; " Mrs. 
 Carey, where is your blind son ?" said a young one. 
 Could faith have sufficed, I should indeed have 
 worked miracles. 
 
 In the midst of my triumphs, Mr. O'Gallagher 
 returned, and carried me off", put me in a carriage, 
 and drove away, followed by the shouting multi- 
 tude That night we put up at an hotel in Sack- 
 ville Street, and the next morning the street re- 
 echoed with cries of " Here is a full account of the 
 miraculous parrot just arrived in the city of Dublin, 
 with a list of his wonderful cures, for the small 
 charge of one halfpenny." 
 
 Shortly after we set oft" by the Ballydangan heavy 
 fly, for Sourcraut Hall. I was placed on the top 
 of the coach, to the delight of the outside pas-
 
 278 MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW 
 
 sengers ; where I soon made an acquaintance with 
 the customary oratory of guards and coachmen, 
 which produced much laughter. I rapidly added 
 to my vocabulary many curious phrases, among 
 wliioh the most distinct were, " Aisy row, aisy ;" 
 *' Get along out of that ;" " All's right," &c. &c. 
 &c. ; with nearly a verse of " The night before 
 Larry was stretched," tune and all; and the air of 
 " Polly, put the kettle on," which the guard was 
 practising on his bugle, to relieve the tedium of the 
 journey. 
 
 Like all nervous animals, I am extremely sus- 
 ceptible to external impressions ; and the fresh air, 
 movement, and company, had all their usual ex- 
 hilarating effects on my spirits. Our lady of Sour- 
 
 craut Hall, Lady C , received myself and my 
 
 protector with a ceremonious and freezing polite- 
 ness ; asked a few questions concerning my treat- 
 ment, gentleness, and docility ; and, desiring my 
 kind companion to put me on the back of a chair, 
 she bowed him out of the room. When he was 
 gone, the lady turned to a gloomy-looking man, 
 who sat reading at a table, and who looked so like 
 one of the Portuguese brothers of the Propaganda, 
 that I took him for a frate — " What a poor be- 
 nighted creature that young man »eems to be!" 
 she said. The grave gentleman, who I afterwards 
 found was known in the neighbourhood by the title 
 of her ladysbip's " moral agent," replied, " What, 
 madam, would you have of an O'Gallagher — a 
 family of the blackest Papists in the county ?" My
 
 OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 279 
 
 lady shook her head, and threw up her devout eyes. 
 — Dinner was now announced, and the moral agent 
 giving his hand to the lady, I was left to sleep 
 away the fatigue of my journey. 
 
 I awoke very hungry, and consequently disposed 
 to be very talkative, but was silenced by finding 
 myself surrounded by a crowd of persons of both 
 sexes who were eagerly gazing on me. A certain 
 prostrate look of sly, shy humility, lengthened their 
 pale faces, to the exclusion of all intellectual ex- 
 pression. They formed a sort of religious meeting, 
 called a tea-and-tract party; but the open door 
 discovered preparations for a more substantial con- 
 clusion to the ohliyato prayers and lecture of the 
 evening. My new mistress was evidently descanting 
 on my merits, and read that paragraph from the 
 chaplain's letter which described my early associa- 
 tions, my knowledge of the Creed, and announced 
 me as a source of edification to her servants. 
 
 Two or three words of this harangue operating 
 on my memory, I put forth my profession of faith 
 with a clearness of articulation and fidelity really 
 wonderful for a bird. What exclamations ! what 
 tuming-up of eyes ! I was stifled with caresses, 
 intoxicated with praises, and crammed with sweet- 
 meats. The moral agent grew pale with jealousy, 
 when Doctor Direful was announced. He rushed 
 into the room like a whirlwind, but stood aghast at 
 beholding the devout crowd that encircled me. In- 
 stead of the usual apophthegms and serious dis- 
 course, he heard nothing but " Pretty Poll,"
 
 280 MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW 
 
 " Scratch a poll," « What a dear bird,^ &c. The 
 malicious moral agent chuckled, and explained that 
 the bird had, for the moment, usurped the attention 
 which should exclusively belong to his reverence, 
 who had taken the pains to come so far to enlighten 
 the dark inmates of Sourcraut Hall. Dr. Direful 
 stood rolhng his fierce eye (he had but one) on the 
 abashed assembly ; and, pushing me off my perch, 
 drove me with his handkerchief into the dense 
 crowd which filled the bottom of the room, and 
 consisted of all the servants of the house, with 
 some recently converted Papists from among the 
 Sourcraut tenantry. All drew back in horror, to 
 let one so anathematised pass without contact. I 
 coiled myself up near a droll-looking little postil- 
 lion, who, while turning up the whites of his eyes, 
 was coaxing me to him with a fragment of plum- 
 cake, which he had stolen from the banquet-table. 
 
 Dr, Direful returned to the centre of the room, 
 and mounted a desk to commence his lecture. The 
 auditory crowded and cowered timidly round him, 
 while he, looking down on them with a wrathful 
 and contemptuous glance, was about to pour forth 
 the pious venom which hung upon his lips, when a 
 sharp cry of " Get along out of that," struck him 
 dumb. Inquiry was useless, for all were ready to 
 swear they had not uttered a word. Dr. Direful 
 called them " blasphemous liars," and proceeded 
 one and all to em])ty the vials of his wrath tlirough 
 the words of a text of awful denunciation, which I 
 dare not here repeat ; but his words were again
 
 OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 281 
 
 arrested by the exclamation of " Aisy now, aisy — 
 what a devil of a hurry you are in !" uttered in 
 quick succession. He jumped down from his alti- 
 tude ; and, in reply to his renewed inquiries, a 
 serious coachman offered up to the vengeance of 
 this Moloch of methodism the mischievous postil- 
 lion, who had that morning detected the not always 
 sober son of the whip in other devotions than those 
 to which he professed exclusive addiction. When 
 I saw the rage of all parties, I thought of the 
 roasted Indians of the Brazils, and shuddered for 
 the poor lad. 
 
 After a short but inquisitorial examination, in 
 which he in vain endeavoured to throw the blame 
 on me, he was stripped of his gaudy dress, and, in 
 spite of his well-founded protestations of innocence, 
 turned almost naked from the house. When peace 
 was restored, a hymn was sung as an exorcism of 
 the evil spirit that had gotten among the assembly ; 
 when, being determined to exculpate the poor pos- 
 tillion, I joined with all my force in the chorus, 
 with my Catholic " Gloria in excelsis," which I 
 abruptly changed into " Polly, put the kettle on." 
 
 Thus taken in the fact, I was, without ceremony, 
 denounced as an emissary from Clongowes, brought 
 to Sourcraut Hall by the Papist O'Gallagher, with 
 a forged letter, to disturb the community. I was 
 immediately cross-examined by a religious attorney, 
 as if I had been a white-boy, or a ribbon-man. 
 " Come forward," he said, " you bird of Satan 1 — 
 speak out, and answer for yourself, for it's yourself
 
 282 MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW 
 
 can do it, you egg of the devil ! What brought you 
 here?" I answered, " It was all for my sweet 
 sowl's sake, jewel ;" — and the answer decided my 
 fate, without more to do. And now, loaded with all 
 the reproaches that the odium theologicum could 
 suggest, I was cuffed, hunted, and finally driven 
 out of the gates by the serious coachman, and left 
 to perish on the highway. 
 
 On recovering from my fright, I found myself at 
 the edge of a dry ditch, where the poor shivering 
 postillion sat lamenting his martyrdom. I went up 
 to him, cowering and chattering; and, at the sight 
 of me, the tears dried on his dirty cheeks, his sobs 
 changed to a laugli of delight ; and when I hopped 
 on his wrist, and cried " Poor Pat," all his suffer- 
 ings were forgotten. 
 
 While thus occupied, a little carriage drawn by 
 a superb horse, with the reins thrown loose on his 
 beautiful neck, ascended the hill ; at the sight I 
 screamed out, " Get along out of that !" which so 
 frightened the high-blooded creature that he started, 
 and flung the two persons in the carriage fairly into 
 the middle of the road. One of them, in a military 
 dress, sprung at once on his feet, and laying the 
 whip across the naked shoulders of the postillion, 
 exclaimed, " I'll teach you, you little villain, to 
 break people's necks." " Oh ! murthur ! murthur !" 
 cried the poor boy, " shure, it was not me, plase 
 your honour ; only the parrot. Captain." " What 
 parrot, you lying rascal ?" " There, Captain, sir, 
 look forenenst you." The Captain did look up
 
 OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 283 
 
 and saw me perched on the branch of a scrubby 
 hawthorn tree. Surprised and amused, he ex- 
 claimed, " By Jove ! how odd ! — What a magni- 
 ficent bird ! — Why, Poll, what the deuce brought 
 you here?" " Eh, sirs," I replied at random, " it 
 was aw' for the love of the siller." The Captain, 
 and his little groom Midge, who had picked himself 
 up on the other side of the cabriolet, shrieked with 
 laughing. " I say, my boy," said the Captain, 
 " is that macaw your's?" " It is," said the little 
 liar. " Would you take a guinea for it?" asked 
 the Captain. " Troth, would I ; two," said the 
 postillion. " Done," said the Captain ; and pulling 
 out his purse, and giving the two guineas, I suf- 
 fered myself to be caught and placed in the cabrio- 
 let: the young officer sprang in after me, and, 
 taking the reins, pursued his journey. 
 
 We slept that night at a miserable inn in a 
 miserable town : the next morning we arrived at 
 my old hotel in Sackville Street, and shortly after 
 sailed for England. 
 
 The Honourable George Fitz- Forward, my new 
 master, was a younger brother of small means and 
 large pretensions. He had been quartered at Kil- 
 mac-squabble with a detachment, where he had 
 passed the winter in still-hunting, quelling ruc~ 
 tions, shooting grouse and rebels, spitting over the 
 bridge, and smoking cigars ; and having obtained 
 leave of absence, pour se decrasser, was on his way 
 to London for the ensuing season. We travelled 
 in the cab by easy stages, and halted only at great
 
 284 MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW 
 
 houses on the road, beginning with Plas Newyd, 
 and ending at Sion House. 
 
 My master's rank, and my talents, were as good 
 as board-wages to us ; and as the summer was not 
 yet sufficiently advanced for the London winter, we 
 found every body at home, and had an amazingly 
 pleasant time. My master was enchanted with his 
 acquisition. I made the /rais of every society, and 
 my repartees and bon-mots furnished the Lord 
 Johns and Lady Louisas with subjects for whole 
 reams of pink and blue note-paper. My master 
 frequently said, " That bird is wonderful ! he is a 
 great catch !" and my fame had spread over the 
 whole west end of the town a full week before our 
 arrival in London. 
 
 The Honourable George Fitz-Forward and myself 
 arrived, on a fine May evening, in a gloomy little 
 street in the heart of London, and took possession 
 of a very humble lodging. The want of comfort, 
 cleanliness, and fresh air, was the more remarkable, 
 from its contrast with the sumptuous rural palaces 
 which we had lately visited. This was ray master's 
 habitual abode when in town ; here he slept, but 
 he might be said to live in his cab ; and he left his 
 address at the club. My delicate organs took of- 
 fence at all that surrounded me, and, above all, at 
 a fat, dirty Irish maid, whose odour and aspect 
 were alike my antipathy. The first night, as she 
 lighted us up to our room, I cried out contemptu- 
 ously, *'Get along out of that !" She turned on 
 me with a look of astonishment and vindictiveness,
 
 OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 285 
 
 which 1 shall never forget, exclaiming, " Get along 
 out of that yourself, you dirty spalpeen ! it is you, 
 and the likes of you, that takes the bread out of 
 honest people's mouths, you furreign baste, you I" 
 To all this tirade I slowly rolled out from my 
 closed beak a reiteration of the offensive " Get 
 alonof out of that T' She turned in concentrated 
 rage to Midge, who stood laughing till his sides 
 shook, and said, " Troth, I'll lave my mark on 
 your poll- parrot before he quits the place. Now, 
 mind my words, Mr. Midge." Mr. Midge did 
 mind them, and he was so persuaded of the sin- 
 cerity of the threat, that he always locked me up 
 on going out ; and as this was every day, and for 
 the whole day, I became a state prisoner for the 
 indiscretion of a single phrase, as many a too- 
 demonstrative genius has done before me. 
 
 Silent, desolate, and neglected, left for days 
 without food, except what I picked up at Midge's 
 breakfast, for my master always breakfasted at his 
 club, my natural cheerfulness faded into sullen 
 gloom, and all the miserable consequences of my 
 foolish and ill-directed ambition came upon me, 
 with vain regret and deep remorse. When I re- 
 called the brilliant region I had abandoned, the 
 magnificent forest-home I had left, the proud posi- 
 tion I held among my own species, the joyous sen- 
 sations that then thrilled through my whole being, 
 resulting from the happy and natural state of 
 things in which I was placed — and when I com- 
 pared all this with the gloom, solitude, close atmo-
 
 286 MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW 
 
 sphere, and privation of light and liberty of my 
 present condition, I was overwhelmed with misery 
 and despair. This was, perhaps, the most painful 
 period of my chequered existence ; and it was for- 
 cibly recalled to my recollection the other day, 
 while hearing my lady's page read aloud the dis- 
 covery of my native hemisphere, and the kidnapping 
 of the noble and happy savages by that great man, 
 who brought them in chains to Spain, because 
 (says the author) he saw in them that which would 
 make them " worthy members of the church, and 
 loyal subjects of the king." 
 
 I was struck with the parallel between their fate 
 and ray own. The mild and benevolent chiefs of 
 the Bahamas must have felt, on their arrival at 
 Madrid, something as I felt on my arrival at 
 London ; but their misfortunes arose from their 
 virtues. Never would they have been chained, 
 and tortured, and occasionally roasted, had they 
 not possessed those talents and qualities, which 
 rendered them worthy of the notice of church and 
 state. I indeed had no such utilities — I was nei- 
 ther loyal nor devout by nature. My little gleam 
 of reason had only served to lead me astray ; and 
 every acquirement I had made, every word I ut- 
 tered, to my last attack upon Irish Molly, had 
 been the source of my ill-luck, and the cause of 
 my suffering. Had I not been more intelligent 
 than my species, more prone to fun, and inclined 
 to laugh at the follies of others, than to correct my 
 own, I might have been the happiest of macaws.
 
 OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 287 
 
 Owls, boobies, and buzzards — how I envied you your 
 organic deficiencies ! To add to the misery of the 
 epoch to which I now allude, the moulting season 
 came on : I pined and sickened, my crest fell, my 
 feathers dropped, my sufferings were acute, be- 
 yond what the egotism of man, who thinks that 
 none suffer but himself, could imagine. I was 
 soon reduced to a skeleton, and looked like a scare- 
 crow. All my intelligence fell into abeyance, my 
 mind was gone, my speech was inarticulate, and 
 my memory failed me. The only phrase I could 
 remember, was one taught me by my great-grand- 
 father in my infancy, " Povero papagay ;" and 
 this I repeated in every tone of complaint and self- 
 commiseration. 
 
 My master came home so late at night, that he 
 scarcely observed me ; and Midge, when he at last 
 perceived the change in my appearance, accused 
 Irish Molly of poisoning me ; but I proved the 
 falseness of the charge by my convalescence. Youth 
 and strength triumphed, and I was beginning to 
 recover my spirits and speech, when, one evening, 
 my master returned home earlier than usual, and 
 so changed in appearance, as to strike even me ; I 
 thought that he too was moulting. Midge had 
 not yet come in, and Irish Molly had lighted the 
 Honourable George to his room with a dirty tallow 
 candle, which she placed on the table before him. 
 He sat pale and shivering, and endeavouring to 
 stir up the dead embers on the hearth, but they
 
 288 MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW 
 
 were extinct. Here was another aristocratic scion 
 no better off than myself. 
 
 It is allowed even by the enemies of our race, 
 the heaven -born haters of macaws and parrots, 
 that we are extremely susceptible of kindness and 
 unkindness, that we love and hate intensely, and 
 that we are capable of the most devoted attach- 
 ment to our masters, as long as they show us any 
 signs of friendship ; but that, when deprived of 
 their attention and caresses, we become sensible of 
 their neglect, irritable, ill-humoured, and vindic- 
 tive, if provoked by their capricious notice, or idle 
 tricks. This was my present position with my 
 master. As he could not bring me to his club, and 
 was always afraid of having his shabby home dis- 
 covered, he had no longer the same occasion for 
 my amusing qualities ; and, having once bitten his 
 finger in jealous irritability, when he began to 
 teaze me, after a week's neglect, I fell into utter 
 disgrace ; or rather, no longer wanted, I was no 
 longer remembered. 
 
 His suffering appearance, and desolate situation, 
 however, as he sat sighing and moaning, and putting 
 his hand to his forehead, awoke all my former sym- 
 pathies. I descended from my perch, gradually ap- 
 proached him, and cowering and creeping round him, 
 endeavoured to offer consolation through every pa- 
 thetic tone and phrase I knew, uttering alternately, 
 " Povero Papagay," " Poor Poll," *' Poor Pat.'' My 
 master smiled, patted my head, and said with bit- 
 terness, " Add poor younger brother, Poll." " Poor
 
 OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 289 
 
 younger brother/' I replied, fluttering my wings, 
 and perching on liis arm. My master laid me 
 gently on the table, and, covering his face with his 
 hands, wept bitterly. 
 
 The entrance of Midge roused him — he hurried 
 into the slovenly little bed-chamber at the back of 
 his drawing-room, shut the door, and appeared no 
 more that night. The next day all was bustle in 
 the little drawing-room. My master kept his bed ; 
 I heard his moans ; Midge, the landlady, and Irish 
 Molly, held a conference ; and shortly afterwards 
 arrived an animal, which, to my fancy, had a close 
 affinity with the jackdaw. He was all black and 
 white, with an erect head, and a jerking gait, a 
 pert solemnity of look, and a crafty dulness of 
 aspect, which perfectly impersonated that ill- 
 omened bird, which had always been my favourite 
 aversion. I was shocked at the appearance of this 
 creature. I remembered that the occurrence of a 
 jackdaw was considered at the Propaganda as the 
 sign of approaching death, and that three of them 
 portended a funeral. 
 
 I trembled for my poor master, and took my 
 station near the head of his bed, from which nei- 
 ther threats nor caresses could detach me. I soon 
 gathered that he was not moulting, but sick of 
 some disorder caught in the bogs of Ireland. I 
 endeavoured to make myself as amusing and con- 
 solatory as possible. I repeated all his complain- 
 ings; I chattered at the jackdaw, and frequently 
 anticipated his wonted questions, to his great an- 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 290 MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW 
 
 noyance.* I was particularly pleased with a phrase 
 which my master, in his impatience, had more than 
 once applied to him, when ordered to swallow some 
 horrible black stuff: " I'll not touch a drop of it — 
 he is an old quack, and a regular humbug." I 
 repeated after him, " He is an old quack, and a 
 regular humbug." " So he is, Poll," said my 
 master, laughing for the first time since his illness, 
 from which he was now recovering, in spite of the 
 jackdaw and the black draughts. 
 
 When able to leave his bed, he carried me on 
 his arm into the little drawing-room, placed me on 
 the back of his chair, and I had the distinction of 
 sharing his first chicken, and pecking at his grapes. 
 My attention during his illness had quite replaced 
 me in his affections, or at least among his re- 
 sources. A few days afterwards. Midge was sent 
 with a note to the Horse-Guards, and immediately 
 after his return, he was followed by one of the pret- 
 tiest young human animals I had ever seen. He 
 was announced by the name of Mr. Alfred Mount 
 Martre. His appearance quite dazzled me ! At 
 first I took him for a noble specimen of the scarlet 
 flamingo — the same erect bearing, the same bril- 
 liant colours, the same gentle look in the eyes, yet 
 warlike aspect. Of all the ornithological world, I 
 
 * Willoiighby tells us of a parrot which had grown old 
 with its master, and shared with him the infirmities of age. 
 Being accustomed t(j liear nulliing but the words " I am sick," 
 when a jjer.'-on asked it " How do you do, Pull?" it replied in 
 a doleful tone, and stretching itself along, " I am sick." — 
 Animal Biography.
 
 OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 291 
 
 was best acquainted, after my own tribe, with the 
 flamingo, with which we macaws thought we had 
 something in connnon. Tlie flamingo is in its na- 
 ture gentle and brave, and full of confidence and 
 trust in the whole living creation, till civilised man 
 teaches it better, and forces it to become ferocious 
 and wary in its own defence. From the moment 
 these birds become acquainted with that great 
 enemy of creation, whose vocation is to enslave or 
 to destroy, the flamingoes keep together in troops, 
 place a sentinel to watch the approach of the foe, 
 and send forth a note of danger, which is their na- 
 tural war-trumpet. Social and gay when at peace, 
 they are only pugnacious when aroused by danger 
 or insult. When young they are easily caught, 
 and carried away, upon slight temptation ; but 
 they catch in their turn when more experienced, 
 and many of the prettiest little birds of the tropics 
 become their victims. 
 
 IVIy heart warmed to this human flamingo, who 
 stood armed cap-a-pied before my master. He said 
 he was on guard at the palace, and had but a 
 quarter of an hour to stay. In that quarter of an 
 hour my master poured forth his confidence to him, 
 and gave a brief history of his adventures, from his 
 joining the regiment at Kil-mac-squabble, till his 
 arrival in town. They had been schoolfellows at 
 Harrow, whence both of them had proceeded to 
 finish their education in that " house of refuge for 
 the destitute" — the army ; the one in a regiment 
 of the line, the other in the Life- Guards. Each 
 
 o2
 
 292 MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW 
 
 had a hundred and fifty pounds a-year for his menus 
 plaisirs, and an occasional ten guineas from grand- 
 mammas for clean gloves — a luxury not always 
 within the reach of younger brothers. These were 
 their own words, in the course of their mutual auto- 
 biographic confessions ; and having once dropped 
 in tliat great preserve — my memory — they were 
 never forgotten. " Your grade as a Life- guardsman 
 places you beyond the reach of social degradation/' 
 continued my master ; " and your sister. Lady 
 Augusta, takes care of you with the exclusives. 
 But, since my late arrival in London, I have never 
 got further than a Dowager dinner in Portman 
 Square, or a second-rate rout, made up of the 
 sweepings of the porter's book. For it is one thing 
 to be let in to the dull circles of country houses, on 
 the strength of family connexions, and another to 
 have the entre in that very refined society, from 
 which ambitious fashion will even exclude a father 
 that is a bore, or a mother that dresses ill. In 
 short," he said, almost choking with emotion, " my 
 position in London is too painful ; and, unless I 
 can do something to extricate myself from obscu- 
 rity, I shall not stay out my leave of absence, 
 but return at once to still-hunting and the typhus 
 in Ireland, as a matter of preference." 
 
 " But cawnt you do something to announce 
 yourself?" drawled out the flamingo — " cawnt you 
 write a book, or something ?" 
 
 '' Write a book ! — I can scarcely read one — 
 besides, what could I write about?"
 
 OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 293 
 
 «i 
 
 Oh ! I rather fancy that don't much signify. 
 Lord Frederick says his publisher will bring out 
 any thing by an Honourable : — he does not in the 
 least care what trash it is ; it puffs and sells all 
 the same." 
 
 " Still one must have that trash ; and, since I 
 left Harrow, I have seen nothing in Ireland but 
 bogs and beggars." 
 
 " Well, but arn't that vastly funny ? The Irish, 
 you know, are so droll and merry?" 
 
 "Droll and merry! — poor wretches — about as 
 merry as the nightmare. Where I am quartered 
 they are wandering about like spectres, and living 
 upon roots and nettles, which they find in the 
 ditches," 
 
 " Indeed ! How very tiresome !'* 
 
 *' Poor Pat 1 I am quite sorry . . ." 
 
 " Poor Pat !" I re-echoed in my deepest tone 
 of pathos, delighted to have an opportunity of 
 making myself known to the flamingo. 
 
 " Poor Pat ! Why what the devil's that ?" said 
 the flamingo, turning about in surprise. 
 
 " Oh ! that's only the macaw." 
 
 "Only the macaw!" said the flamingo, rising 
 and patting my head, which I bent forward to his 
 delicate hand. " What a treasure ! What can 
 he do ?" 
 
 " Do ! not a great deal ; but he can say every 
 thing ; and is much more amusing and intelligent 
 than half the subalterns of our's, I can tell you. 
 My poor macaw/' he added, with a deep sigh.
 
 294 MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW 
 
 *' was my only friend and comforter in my recent 
 illness.'* 
 
 " By Jove ! — and with such a bird as this, you 
 want to be ticketed ! Why, Colonel O'Kelly, you 
 know, went upon the reputation of his parrot for 
 twenty years ; and Mrs. Doldrum, I heard my mo- 
 ther say, would never have got on, but for her 
 wonderful bullfinch, which went through the sword- 
 exercise with a straw. Even last week all the 
 
 world were making interest to get into house, 
 
 where the learned pig was exhibited, and threw 
 
 the Opera into neglect : and Lady ""s delightful 
 
 soirees owed every thing to Le Compte's canaries." 
 
 My master laughed. " Oh ! then, you think I may 
 get into fashion, under the patronage of my macaw? 
 That did very well in the country ; but in London, 
 Poll is of as little consequence as myself." 
 
 " Why, you know, there are so many Fitz- 
 forwards of three generations, that you must have 
 something to distinguish you, if you mean to get 
 on, and the parrot, properly brought out, will do 
 as well as any thing. For instance, if I was to 
 mention you, and was asked which of all the Fitz- 
 forwards you are, it would be something to be 
 enabled to say, 'the macaw Fitzforward,' just as 
 one says, ' Poodle Beryl,' ' Parrot O'Kelly,' or 
 'Jerusalem Whaley.""' 
 
 My master was silent for a moment, and then 
 said, smilingly, " But who is to present Polly to 
 this discerning world ! How is she to get into 
 fashion herself, in order to introduce her master ?"
 
 OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 295 
 
 ** Leave that to me : I'll go this moment to my 
 
 old friend, the Dowager Countess of , and puff 
 
 Poll to the skies, as a lion of the first quality. 
 You will get an invite to her first pink parties; 
 and once booked there, your business is done.'' 
 
 My master laughed, and turned the thing into a 
 joke ; but it was evident that the proposition had 
 made a due impression ; for, after the young 
 guardsman^'s departure, he actually put me through 
 all my manoeuvres, aired my vocabulary, rehearsed 
 my Savoyard dance, exercised my slang, and added 
 to my fashionable acquirements, by teaching me to 
 go through the manual of smoking a cigar, which I 
 held in my claw with the air of a Pacha. All this 
 amused my poor master amazingly, and procured 
 me caresses and luxuries, to which I had long been 
 a stranger. 
 
 The next day he even took me with him in his 
 cab to the Park. As I sat smoking my cigar beside 
 him, every eye followed us ; and we soon became 
 the sole objects of attraction. A hundred bright 
 eyes shone on us through their lorgnettes, and the 
 flamingo riding up to us said, " All the world are 
 inquiring who you are : Lady J has just ob- 
 served to De R that, since Lord Byron and his 
 
 bear, there has been nothing seen so odd and ori- 
 ginal as that man and his macaw. I have promised 
 to present you to her. The cigar was a great hit. 
 Oh ! here comes my Dowager — I have done the 
 needful for you there ; and I see she has found you 
 and Poll out already."
 
 29G MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW 
 
 A coronetted carriage drove up beside the cab, 
 and a fair and fashionable-looking old lady, putting 
 out her head with a nod and an air of familiar 
 
 acquaintance, said, " How do you do, Mr. . 
 
 How stupid ! I can't recollect your name ; but I 
 knew one of your grandmother's well — the great 
 beauty, not the stupid one. Dear, how like her 
 you are— I mean the beauty. Young Mr. What's- 
 your-name, come here — do now, and let your 
 wretched horse alone. Can't you tell me your 
 friend's name ?" 
 
 " Fitzforward, ma'am," said the flamingo, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Ay, to be sure, I know all the Fitzforwards. 
 My dear Mr. Fitzforward, you must come to my 
 parties, and bring your macaw. Don't come to- 
 morrow night ; that's my blue party : don't bring 
 the parrot on a blue night. The blues hate par- 
 rots ; and they will think it an epigram, for a 
 reason they have. Don't come till I send you a 
 card. Never come without your macaw — do you 
 mind. You have your grandmother's pretty eyes 
 — Good bye — Home." 
 
 The next morning my master received the pro- 
 mised card. " The Dowager Countess at 
 
 home Wednesday evening. — To the Hon. G. Fitz- 
 forward and his macaw." My master read the 
 invitation with a bitter smile, and then, flinging it 
 into'the fire, rose, walked about the room in great 
 emotion, and pausing before my perch, said, " So, 
 Donna Papagay, I am to be indebted to you for
 
 OF A LADY OF QUALITY. ^97 
 
 my place in fashionable life. Four hundred years 
 of nobility, and an alliance with half the British 
 aristocracy, will not alone suffice to bring a man 
 into notice, and efface the insignificance of younger 
 brotherhood, without wealth, or without celebrity." 
 I fluttered, and cowered, and muttered, " Poor 
 younger brother !" " Poor younger brother, in- 
 deed !" said my master, shrugging his shoulders ; 
 " you certainly were a great catch, Poll." " A 
 great catch, a great catch," I reiterated. " And I 
 really do believe," he added, " have every requi- 
 site to succeed. You can cant, and slang, sing, 
 dance, chatter, and smoke a cigar. — Well, we shall 
 see." He then gave me in charge to Midge, with 
 a precaution unusual to him. He desired him to 
 supply me with a warm bath, and went forth to 
 breakfast with his friend at Knightsbridge Bar- 
 racks. 
 
 When the evening of our debiit arrived, my 
 master could not bring himself to accompany me to 
 
 Lady 's rout. He was well aware that he 
 
 would not be welcome without me, and he had too 
 much pride, if not too much feeling, to place him- 
 self on a level with a bird-fancier from Exeter 
 Change, or to exhibit as a tiger in the train of a 
 fashionable macaw. He resolved, therefore, at once 
 to satisfy his own amour propre, and not offend the 
 Countess by disappointing her of her lion, and ac- 
 cordingly to send me alone. 
 
 The idea amused him beyond measure, and my 
 toilet was the occupation of the evening. I was 
 
 o5
 
 298 MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW 
 
 painted under the eyes, and up to the eyes — a 
 relief which gave them the brightness and the 
 ferocity of a hawk's. A cigar-case was hung over 
 my neck with a rose-coloured ribbon; and I was 
 perfumed with eau cle millefieurs^ and fed with 
 quintessential coflfee-lozenges (of which I was ex- 
 tremely fond) as an additional exhilaration of my 
 natural spirits and loquacity. 
 
 Thus armed for conquest, I was given into the 
 custody of the delighted Midge, with due orders as 
 to my style and title. We stepped into the cab, 
 and in a few minutes found ourselves in the line of 
 carriages leading to the Countess's assembly. 
 
 It happened that the carriage immediately pre- 
 ceding us was that of the Portuguese ambassador ; 
 our announce, therefore, was made in the same 
 breath. " The Due d'Albuquerque and Donna 
 Papagay" was echoed from the porter to the foot- 
 men in the hall, to the groom of the chambers on 
 the stairs, and to the page and maitre d'hotel at 
 the drawing-room door. I was handed up imme- 
 diately after his excellency, from the arm of one 
 servant to another, amidst the stifled titter of all. 
 " Who is Donna Papagay?" asked the group 
 nearest the door. " The Portuguese ambassadress," 
 was the general answer ; when my appearance im- 
 mediately behind the representative of majesty 
 caused an unusual ebullition of mirth ; and his ex- 
 cellency remaining a ridicule ineffa^able, shrunk 
 into a corner, while I was received with raptures by 
 my noble hostess, and borne through the suite of 
 rooms on the page's arm to the conservatory.
 
 OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 299 
 
 I was followed by the whole assembly; and I 
 have often heard my lady since say that, with the 
 exception of the first night of the young Roscius's 
 appearance, such a sensation had never been created 
 by any clebiit in the capital of the most thinking 
 people of the world. It seemed that every thing 
 had been prepared for my reception, with the most 
 appropriate scenic effect. The conservatory, the 
 destined scene of my triumphs, was fitted up to the 
 best of her ladyship's conception as a Brazilian 
 forest. Palm-trees cut in green tin, paper parrots 
 perched on Indian roses, and a rock in the centre, 
 with '' an alligator stuffed" basking at its foot, and 
 a tall cacique (stuffed too) leaning sentimentally on 
 the summit — gave, or were intended to give, an 
 imitation of those mighty regions whence it was 
 announced I had recently arrived. In short, it was 
 a ^gallantry for the macaw. I was placed on a 
 branch of an upas-tree, fresh from Forster's, the 
 artificial florist, who had made it to order ; and the 
 tree soon became a tree of knowledge to the whole 
 assembly. The crowd, the crush, the squeeze, and 
 pressure were beyond description. I began to think 
 myself the greatest creature in the world, and that 
 man was made only to adore me ; while the noise, 
 the lights, the brilliant variety of objects, operated 
 powerfully on my nerves and senses. 
 
 As in moments of excitement I always have re- 
 course to the last trick that has been taught me, I 
 drew forth a cigar and put it in my bill. The up- 
 roar and shouts of laughter were now quite deafen- 
 ing. The whole scene put me in mind of one of
 
 SOO MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW 
 
 tliose great congresses of parrots, in wliich I had cut 
 so brilliant a figure at home. There was the same 
 noise, the same chatter, the same glittering plumage 
 and flutter of movement, that distinguished our 
 own assemblies. Many even of the heads recalled in 
 their facial line the conformation of our tribe ; and, 
 to complete the illusion, there was the same eternal 
 reiteration of the same sounds. 
 
 As soon as one pretty Poll had said, " Charm- 
 ing!" "Wonderful!" "Most curious!" all the 
 others repeated the phrase a hundred times. From 
 this I concluded that their vocabulary was much 
 more limited than my own ; and, in my excited 
 vanity, I dropped my cigar, fluttered my wings, 
 and burst forth into a long tirade of incoherent 
 sentences, which sounded well, though it meant 
 nothing; but it evidently passed for superhuman 
 wit and intelligence. When, however, I got through 
 my rhetoric, and fell into mere slang, the applause 
 of the assembly was stupendous. " That's my 
 hearty," " Bang up," " All's right," " Aisy, aisy," 
 *' Get along out of that," with a certain jerk with 
 my tongue, and the imitation of the crack of a 
 whip, produced more effect, than the most brilliant 
 witticism ever uttered by the first diner-out of his 
 day. " W^here is the Duke of Boxborough ?" said 
 the Countess;" he must hear this. He will be 
 delighted ; this is quite in his way." " He is not 
 here ; he drives the heavy Birmingham to-night,'* 
 said somebody. " No, he doesn't," replied a voice 
 from the crowd.
 
 OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 301 
 
 The crowd instantly gave way ; a look of defer- 
 ence was visible in every eye ; and a tall young 
 person, with a crane neck and a shambling gait, 
 approached me. I saw at once that he was a bird 
 of note. Several old cackling hens, each with a 
 lively young bird of paradise under its wing, 
 crowded round the phoenix of the evening. His 
 unexpected appearance drew upon him all those 
 bright glances which had hitherto been so exclu- 
 sively directed to myself. In a word, the crane 
 carried it hollow, and it was evidently in his power 
 to keep me in or put me out of fashion by a word. 
 
 Like all shallow animals, I am extremely cun- 
 ning in my own way. I at once, therefore, felt the 
 necessity of toadying this ducal bird ; and, accord- 
 ingly, descending from my upas, and crawling 
 towards him, I placed myself familiarly on his arm. 
 " Bravo, Poll \" re-echoed on every side. " He 
 certainly knows you, Duke," said a pretty creature, 
 sideling up to him ; " he has found you out as the 
 most distingue of his auditors, and has taken pos- 
 session of you with true savoir faired " The 
 deuce he has !" said the Duke, laughing and flat- 
 tered ; " well, let us see : who am I, Poll ?" " A 
 great catch, a great catch," was my immediate 
 reply; and before the sensation had subsided at the 
 pertinence of an answer which covered the fair 
 young flatterer with blushes, the good-humoured 
 Duke had seized my friend the flamingo by the 
 shoulder, and pushing him into the middle of the 
 circle, asked me, " Well, Donna Papagay, and who
 
 302 MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW 
 
 is this — h he a. great catch ?" Influenced by the 
 association of idea awakened by the flamingo's pre- 
 sence, I repeated, in a plaintive tone, " Poor younger 
 brother." 
 
 It would be in vain to attempt giving any idea 
 of my success. Among the number of my admir- 
 ing audience, there was one, however, who wit- 
 nessed my triumph with a look of suppressed rage 
 that did not escape me. He had attracted my no- 
 tice by a painful personal feeling not likely soon to 
 be forgotten ; for in my passage from the upas to 
 the Duke's arm, he had put out his foot to crush 
 me, and I was only saved from a horrible death by 
 the usual subtlety of my movements : still, he had 
 trod on one of the long feathers of my tail, and had 
 hurt me severely. This creature struck me as 
 closely resembling the carrion-vulture in his ap- 
 pearance. I afterwards found that he had an in- 
 stinctive antipathy to successful merit of all kinds, 
 and lived by hiring out his great foot to all who 
 stood in need of its crushing assistance. Like the 
 whole tribe of vultures, he was exceedingly ill- 
 looking ; and I was quite surprised to find him in 
 such good company ; but I soon learned that he 
 made himself useful every where, and that, like his 
 congener the vulture, which feeds on reptiles, he 
 was a toad-eater. He was called by some a re- 
 viewer, by others a newspaper editor ; but the car- 
 rion-vulture seemed to me to be his most appro- 
 priate appellation. 
 
 In the brilliant group by which I was surrounded,
 
 OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 303 
 
 I thought I recognised many others of the bird 
 family. There were cock-sparrows and water- 
 wagtails in abundance, several Solan geese, and 
 not a few gulls. With the exception of the vul- 
 ture, who evidently waited for another pounce, I 
 was praised, caressed, and admired by all; and 
 when, at the Duke's request, I was, as he worded 
 it, " trotted out" by my friend the flamingo — when 
 I had danced my " Gai Coco/' sung, chanted, and 
 preached, my fashion was miraculous, and I believe 
 I may fairly say that no lion, human or animal, 
 ever obtained in so short a time the same vogue. 
 
 At last the heat, excitement, and fatigue, became 
 too powerful for my delicate frame; my head 
 dropped, my wings flagged, and I fell lifeless. A 
 great actress had fainted with less effect in the ad- 
 joining room, an hour before, (some said of jealousy 
 at my drawing off the crowd from her altars). The 
 vulture made another attempt, but my noble hostess 
 was too nimble for him ; she saved me in her arms, 
 exclaiming, " I would not for the world have any 
 thing happen to this bird. Je perdrai en lui mon 
 meilleiir causeury 
 
 My poor master was now, for the first time, 
 remembered and called for, but in vain. '* He had 
 not," said the groom of the chambers, " come at 
 all ; but my carriage stopped the way, and my ser- 
 vant was in waiting." I was accordingly conveyed 
 down on the Duke's arm, who took me from the 
 Countess, and gave me to jMidge. 
 
 The air at once revived me ; and I was alive and
 
 304 MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW 
 
 merry on my perch the next morning, devouring 
 the words of the young Mont Martre, who came to 
 recount to my master the particulars of my grand 
 sncces the night before — " when," he said, " She- 
 ridan was witty, Siddons was sublime, and Moore 
 deliglitful in vain !" I pitied these poor birds, 
 whom, it appeared, I had thus prematurely put out 
 of fashion ; but I was quite unconscious that my 
 own anti-apotheosis (as my little Lady Titmouse 
 called it) was yet to come. 
 
 The next day, my master received a very polite 
 note of thanks from the Countess, with an invita- 
 tion to dinner to meet a few rational people. " We 
 will keep the macaw for the world," she said, *• for 
 whom it is quite good enough " My poor master 
 was pleased at my not being included in this invita- 
 tion, and I have frequently heard him say that this 
 was the most agreeable dinner he had ever been 
 present at ; for no one gave better dinners than the 
 Countess, when she chose to assemble the agreeable 
 and the interesting. 
 
 My master now became universally known as 
 " Macaw Fitzforward," and was at once included 
 among the exclusives ; not that he brought me 
 with him always, for he did so very rarely, and 
 only when there were a very select few indeed. It 
 was a mark of supreme bon ton to be able to say 
 in a note of invitation, " We shall be few and 
 good ; you will meet Macaw Fitzforward and Donna 
 Papagay."" My master's principal label of noto- 
 riety was his manner of telling his first meeting
 
 OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 305 
 
 with me in Ireland. He took off the Irish brogue 
 with great effect, and imitated the httle postilhon 
 
 so much to the life, that Lady J used to say 
 
 " If you have not heard George Fitzforward tell 
 his Irish story, you have heard nothing." 
 
 But a higher honour awaited my master and my- 
 self than any yet conferred on us. The highest 
 person in the state expressed a desire to make our 
 acquaintance ; and we received a command to attend 
 an aquatic party on Virginia Water. What passed 
 on the occasion of this most distinguished visit my 
 master and myself were bound never to reveal. The 
 silence of the seraglio, the mystery of the harem 
 hung over the sublime retreat of the greatest of 
 European potentates, whose existence alone was 
 occasionally notified to his adoring and uninquiring 
 subjects. 
 
 My master returned to town in high spirits, with 
 a splendid snuffbox, enriched by a royal portrait, 
 and I, with a medallion hung round my neck by a 
 blue ribbon. The great personage, who thus de- 
 corated me, wore just such another ribbon, and 
 seemed very proud of it. He was a grave and 
 very gentle looking animal, and more resembled 
 the horned owl than any other bird with which I 
 was acquainted. Notwithstanding the secrecy of 
 our movements, tliis flattering visit got into the 
 papers, the greater number of which turned us 
 into ridicule, while some of them asked, why were 
 
 not Mr. , Mr. * * *, and Messrs. X Y Z, the 
 
 most brilliant writers and the best company in his
 
 306 MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW 
 
 Majesty's dominions, admitted into the royal circle ? 
 This, however, was pure envy, and disloyal invec- 
 tive ; as another paper observed, " Is a king not to 
 have the privilege of a private person, and to live 
 with those who suit him best ? If he prefer ma- 
 caws and parrots to wits and philosophers, who are 
 neither loyal nor religious, has he not a public duty 
 to perform, and the public morals to protect?" 
 
 It was thus that our visit was defended by a 
 journal, which my master read aloud to his young 
 friend ; and to my surprise, I found that the vul- 
 ture, who had endeavoured to crush me at the 
 Countess's assembly, on my first entr^ into high 
 life, was the identical defender of royal favourites, 
 macaws, parrots, and horned owls. 
 
 From this time forth I became a rage ; presents 
 of great value were made me ; my perch was a 
 throne, and my cage a museum ; but, in the midst 
 of these triumphs, and shortly after my master had 
 obtained a renew^ed leave of absence, his regiment 
 was ordered to Canada. A winter in Canada was 
 a sentence of death to this young scion of a noble 
 stock, in which a pulmonary complaint was here- 
 ditary. I heard his young friend argue with him 
 on the necessity of leaving his regiment. " What!" 
 he replied, reddening, " the first time it is ordered 
 upon distant service ?" His Honour took the 
 alarm, and nothing could induce him to try for an 
 exchange. 
 
 The day before his departure, his friend came 
 to take leave of him ; my master was much de-
 
 OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 307 
 
 pressed, and he vainly endeavoured to struggle 
 with his feelings. " Should I never see you again, 
 my dear Mont Martre," he said, " iseep this in 
 memory of the pleasant evenings we have smoked 
 together," and he presented him witli his meer- 
 schaum ; " but I have a parting favour to ask of 
 you" — (and he strove to check his tears as he 
 added), " my poor, faithful, affectionate macaw !" 
 He paused; I came fluttering towards him, ca- 
 ressed his forehead, and muttered, " Poor younger 
 brother." " No, Poll," he continued, " I will not 
 risk your life, by transporting you to the icy re- 
 gions of Canada — it would be a bad return for 
 devotion hke your's."" " A great catch, a great 
 catch !" I repeated, endeavouring to recommend 
 myself. " Yes, but not on board a transport-ship, 
 Poll, nor amongst the snows of Canada. Take 
 her away, Mont Martre, in your cab ; I will not 
 give her to you ; you are too giddy, and Poll would 
 
 be a bore ; but take her to your friend, Lady , 
 
 Poll and I owe our fashion and our success to her ; 
 she is kind to animals, and steady in her attach- 
 ment to friends. If I live to return, I will reclaim 
 my macaw ; if I do not, she cannot fall into better 
 hands." My master kissed my head, placed me 
 on my perch, threw himself for a moment into the 
 flamingo's arms, and then, seizing his hat, rushed 
 out of the house, leaving his schoolfellow, meer- 
 schaum, and myself in the room, from which every 
 other trace of his existence had been removed by 
 Midge in the previous morning.
 
 308 MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW 
 
 It was about a year after the occurrence of this 
 little scene, that, seated on the back of my lady''s 
 cliair, I heard her ladyship read from a morning 
 paper the following paragraph : — " Died in Upper 
 
 Canada, the Hon. George Fitzforward, of the 
 
 regiment, more known in the fashionable world by 
 the name of Macaw Fitzforward. Captain F. was 
 the tenth son of the late Earl of Rottentown, and 
 brother of the present Earl, who has for some years 
 resided for his health at Naples. This distin- 
 guished young soldier fell a victim to the severity 
 of the climate, to which his military duties had 
 exposed him." I listened attentively to this re- 
 cital, and faintly uttering, " Poor younger brother," 
 fell on my lady's shoulder. When I recovered, she 
 was more than usually kind and caressing, and she 
 said in a tone of satisfaction, " Never mind. Poll, 
 you shall not suffer by this change of masters ; 
 you are mine now for life, and we shall reach pos- 
 terity together." No doubt her ladyship's pro- 
 phecy will be verified in my " forthcoming Me- 
 moirs," of which I liave this day heard the pre- 
 liminary puff, sent me by my kind friend the 
 publisher. 
 
 I had been more than two years an inmate in 
 the family of the Countess, and, in the interval, 
 had seen more of the world, political and fashion- 
 able, than any or all the macaws that ever existed. 
 The flower of my fashion, it is true, had budded, 
 blown, and faded, in the course of a single season ; 
 but though I no longer monopolised the whole no-
 
 OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 309 
 
 toriety of the day, I still retained a considerable 
 share of vogue and influence. It was possible to 
 give a party, without making interest with my 
 mistress to allow me to grace it with my presence ; 
 it was possible to obtain a hearing for Jekyl, Lut- 
 terell, and other wits, even though I was by ; but 
 though my position was less brilliant, it was more 
 respectable. I was no longer a lion ; I was one of 
 the set, and waddled in and out of my lady's li- 
 brary, or drawing-room, with dowager duchesses 
 and dowager wits, as if I belonged by birthright to 
 " the order.'' 
 
 Envy was, as usual, at work, and I was dis- 
 paragingly compared with the parrots, so largely 
 quoted by Locke and Goldsmith, both of whom 
 were said to be my superiors in the pertinence of 
 their replies ; but I really believe that their sole 
 superiority was, that they were dead, and / was 
 living. It is true, that when Henry VII. 's parrot 
 (who had been educated in his palace of West- 
 minster, beside the Thames) fell into the water, he 
 called " A boat ! twenty pounds for a boat !" but 
 was not I, every day, making applications of equal 
 felicity? I had, besides, one faculty, which placed 
 me at an immeasurable distance above my tribe — 
 my love of fun. Whenever I made a hit, I felt 
 and enjoyed it, and I testified that I did so by my 
 loud laugh, and clapping my wings — a demonstra- 
 tion of self-approbation common to most human 
 wits and humorists, who generally laugh both be- 
 fore and after the utterance of their good things.
 
 810 MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW 
 
 The public papers, too, made use of me as a sort 
 of Pasquin ; and, like him of Rome, I was made 
 to answer for all the wicked, slanderous things, 
 which the writers were paid for inditing. This 
 kept up my consequence, and if it made me ene- 
 mies, it made me also admirers ; for the fabrica- 
 tions ascribed to me, all wicked as they were, ap- 
 peared in papers under the especial patronage of 
 the church. 
 
 It was thus that my name and bon-mots became 
 so familiar to a dignitary, who always read the 
 Sunday papers before the morning service, that, 
 conceiving a high opinion of my loyalty and right 
 thinking, he expressed a wish to make my acquaint- 
 ance. My lady was delighted, and cards went out 
 for a grey dinner-party, consisting, as she said, of 
 some of the noblest pillars of social order. When 
 these grave and illustrious personages were as- 
 sembled before dinner, I was brought in as an 
 amusement, to pass away that mauvais quart 
 (Theure. The library, on the ground -floor, where 
 the guests were seated, looked so like a rookery, 
 and there was something in the party so ravenish 
 and jackdaw -like, that 1 fancied myself in the Pro- 
 paganda, or among the Protestant bi-otherhood of 
 Sourcraut Hall ; and I forthwith struck up my 
 Gloria in excehis, which I followed by an audible 
 enunciation of my confession of faith. 
 
 A general exclamation of surprise and edifica- 
 tion burst from every lip. He, who seemed the 
 chief of the company, and whom my lady called
 
 OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 311 
 
 my lord, descanted for a considerable time on the 
 wonderful power of Providence in producing such 
 a bird ; saying many things, which struck me as 
 being not very curious or original, but which 
 seemed to affect the listeners with great awe and 
 reverence. Perched on my lady's arm, I turned my 
 head from side to side with a look of inquiry, being 
 greatly amused by the double likeness of the 
 speaker to Father Flynn, and to the jackdaw of the 
 Honourable G. Fitzforward's sick chamber. So, 
 when this orator took me on his arm, and the 
 Countess cried out, " Oh ! Poll, you are not aware 
 of the honour done you ; you little know whose is 
 the arm that supports you ;" I screamed out "He 
 is an old quack, and a regular hmnbug."" 
 
 His lordship started, as if electrified, and let me 
 fall on the ground. By the fall my leg was broken, 
 and I became immediately as silent as the rest of 
 the companj^, and insensible of all that was passing 
 around me. 
 
 Wlien I came to myself I was lying before the 
 fire in the housekeeper's room — a subterranean 
 apartment — from which, during three tedious years, 
 I was never permitted to emerge. In short, I was 
 pronounced to be socially dead ; my want of all 
 judgment and discretion, my too ready and fatal 
 wit, had nearly proved my destruction. His lord- 
 ship, whom I had so grossly insulted, would hear 
 of no apology from my mistress ; and the chaplain, 
 who was present, declared that I had been crammed 
 for the occasion. Had not the piety of my poor
 
 312 MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW 
 
 dear lady been well known, she too would have 
 been involved in my disgrace ; as it was, she was 
 attacked in the Sunday papers ; and only appeased 
 her calumniators by a friendly paragraph, inserted 
 by the vulture, stating that she had sacrificed her 
 macaw to public opinion ; and that this clever, but 
 ill-taught bird, had been handed over to her lady- 
 ship's chicken-butcher, and by him put to death ; 
 that its body had been sent to Surgeons' Hall for 
 dissection, and its skin stuffed and transmitted to 
 a public museum for the study of future ornitho- 
 logists. In the course of the ensuing season, I was 
 as much forgotten, as if I had never lived; and 
 when, after three years' incarceration, I crept up 
 to the back- hall, and was accidentally seen by Lady 
 Augusta, she said to my lady, " So you have got a 
 macaw ; by the by, had not you a parrot or a 
 monkey, or something that made a great sensation 
 some years back, and used to talk ?" '< Probably," 
 said my lady drily ; " but I am taking great pains 
 to teach this macaw not to talk." 
 
 I took the hint ; and, painfully aware of the 
 penalty that waits on wit, I tried hard to be as dull, 
 and as common-place, as a neighbour of our's,whom 
 my mistress, by constantly citing as a model of 
 prudence, had made mi/ " Mrs. Grundy." This 
 neighbour, in the course of a long and tranquil life, 
 had excited neither envy nor hatred, had got into 
 no scrapes, suffered no persecution, and had never 
 risked being killed by a Secretary-bird, kicked by 
 a preacher-monkey, having its leg broken by a
 
 OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 313 
 
 raven-jackdaw, or being imprisoned for three years 
 only, for being superior to the generality of its 
 species. 
 
 This fortunate creature was the pet tortoise of 
 our near neighbour, Lady Dorothy Dawdle, an old 
 lady who was herself of the tortoise tribe, and 
 possessed many good qualities in common with 
 her favourite reptile. The tortoise was a constant 
 subject of reference for my lady, on the occasion of 
 any of my unlucky hits, or mischievous quid pro 
 guo's. I never broke a china cup, gnawed a buhl 
 clock, choked a kitten, or pecked at the house- 
 maid's heels, but the Lady Dorothea's tortoise 
 (whom, by the by, I was frequently brought to 
 visit) was instantly held up to me as an example 
 and a reproach. 
 
 His story was indeed exemplary. Brought, 
 while young from the West Indies, by a legacy- 
 hunting nephew, whom Lady Dorothea had long 
 survived, it was placed in her ladyship's little 
 garden ; and it had managed to travel through the 
 circumference, twelve feet by ten, in the space 
 of ten years. The movements of its feet answered 
 to those of the hour-hand of a clock. In the course 
 of its long life, it had shown no sign of sympathy 
 with any living thing, nor any token of intelligence, 
 beyond its own personal wants, which were few, 
 and its appetites, which were voracious. Loving 
 warmth, but hating light, it passed the sultry 
 hours of summer under the umbrella of a larsfe 
 cabbage ; and remained, during the winter, torpid 
 
 VOL, I. P
 
 314 MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW 
 
 in a hole, which it had formed with slow and stupid 
 assiduity — its sole amusement and occupation. 
 Still its dullness was alive to whatever interfered 
 with its own interests ; and disliking the shower 
 that refreshed, as much as the beam that illumi- 
 nated, it shuffled oflf on the first gathering of a 
 cloud above its ponderous shell, over which the 
 wheel of a loaded cart might have passed without 
 injury. 
 
 Supplied, independently of any effort of its own, 
 with every species of food and comfort, the only 
 sign of recognition it ever showed was to Lady 
 Dorothea Dawdle herself; who, every summer's 
 morning for thirty years, had fed it from her parlour 
 window with meal-cakes. It then hobbled from its 
 cabbage-leaf with awkward alacrity towards its 
 benefactress ; and this was the only intercourse that 
 ever subsisted between them. They both died in 
 the same year. The lady was first conveyed to the 
 tombs of her ancestors, having bequeathed her 
 tortoise to her physician. This gentleman, a cele- 
 brated anatomist, tried the horrible experiment of 
 Redi upon the poor animal ; and having made a 
 hole in its skull, and taken out the brains, was sur- 
 prised to find it continue alive. The tortoise, set 
 at liberty in this condition, moved off without suf- 
 fering the slightest injury from the operation. It 
 lived on for many months without brains, as well as 
 with them, and at last died in one of its fits of 
 torpidity, merely because it had forgotten to 
 awake.
 
 OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 315 
 
 This was the model, the bright particular star 
 of discretion, so often quoted for my edification by 
 my mistress, who used to finish her admonitions 
 with, " Oh, Pol], Poll, when will you have the 
 prudence of Lady Dorothea Dawdle's tortoise?" 
 " When he ceases to be Lady 's macaw," re- 
 plied, one day, my little Lady Titmouse, who was 
 always my champion and friend on these occasions 
 of obloquy and reproof. 
 
 Since my resuscitation, after my three years' 
 imprisonment and retirement from society, my life 
 has gone on calmly and rationally enough. My 
 lady had made a vow never again to run the risk 
 of admitting me into parties, and she has kept it. 
 Banished from the drawing-room and boudoir, I 
 am still welcome in the dressing-room and library, 
 and am sometimes tolerated at the breakfast and 
 dinner-table, or suffered to follow my mistress 
 about her pretty little garden. Time has done by 
 me as by the human species, and though I am 
 really the Ninon of my race, and occasionally dance 
 " Gai Coco," and sing " Polly, put the kettle on,'' 
 to the delight of the old housekeeper and the guests 
 of the steward's room, still diminished animal spi- 
 rits and a better taste incline me to conceal, rather 
 than exhibit, my surviving talents and capabilities. 
 I have long since put off" paint, and have even had 
 thoughts of becoming serious, especially since my 
 lady occasionally gives a tea and tract party, be- 
 cause, like a true philosopher, she will go avec son 
 siecle. Here then I shall terminate my memoir, 
 
 p2
 
 31 C MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW. 
 
 for the good are seldom amusing, the wise never ; 
 and I have entered into a formal agreement with 
 my publisher to forfeit half the price of my copy- 
 right, if this autobiography is found to contain 
 more sense, wisdom, or information, than shall 
 prove palateable to the public, or to exceed the 
 standard measure of those " fashionable produc- 
 tions," by which the polite world are accustomed 
 to form Vesprit et le cceur, to cull their tastes, and 
 select their opinions.* 
 
 * The hero of the above auto-biography was the Macaw, 
 well known in the circles of London fashion, of the late 
 Dowager Countess of Cork and Orrery. Her ladyship, 
 having written to me from a country-house, complaining of a 
 dearth of amusing literature, and royalty commanding that I 
 (forsooth) should write something to meet the occasion, I 
 answered, that I was to the full as dull as the rest of the 
 trade; but if her Macaw would dictate its memoirs, I should 
 be happy to prepare them for the press. Such was the origin 
 of the foregoing bagatelle.
 
 LUXURIES AND NECESSARIES. 317 
 
 LUXURIES AND NECESSARIES. 
 
 *'En fait d'inutilites, il ne faut que le necessaire." 
 
 Champfort. 
 
 Luxury is a very ambiguous term, a thing of 
 circumstance, equally puzzling to moralists, legis- 
 lators, and political economists ; — an eel, no sooner 
 grasped than gone, a chameleon, changing its hue 
 in every different aspect. Like the ignis fatuus, 
 it is here, and there, and every where, except pre- 
 cisely the spot to which it has been hunted down 
 and followed. 
 
 In Ireland, the accompaniment of salt to a potato 
 is a luxury, not always within the reach of the in- 
 dustrious. Among the Cossacks, a clean shirt is 
 more than a luxury — it is an effeminacy ; and a 
 Scotch nobleman is reported to have declared, that 
 scratching one's self is a luxury too great for any 
 thing under royalty ! The Russians, it should seem, 
 (there is no disputing tastes) hold train oil to be a 
 prime luxury, and they prefer a tallow candle to 
 white bait.
 
 SIS LUXURIES AND NECESSARIES. 
 
 A group of the autocrat's lieges were once seen 
 following an exciseman, on the quays of Dover, to 
 plunder the oil-casks, as they were successively 
 opened, for that functionary's mystical operations : 
 so, too, a poor Finland woman, who, for her sins, 
 had married an Englishman, and followed him to 
 his nati\e country, was very glad to avail herself 
 of her husband's death to leave a land, where the 
 people were so miserably off, as to be without a 
 regular supply of seal's flesh for their daily dinner. 
 Her affection for him had longf balanced her han- 
 kering after this native luxury ; but no sooner was 
 he removed, than her lawyer-like attachment for the 
 seals resumed its pristine force, and, like Proteus 
 released from his chains,* she abandoned civilized 
 life, and all its blandishments, to get back to her 
 favourite shores, and "the meat she delighted to 
 feed up'jn/' 
 
 '' If I were rich," said a farmer's labouring boy, 
 " I would eat fat pudding, and ride all day on a 
 gate.'' This was his highest idea of luxury ; and 
 small as his imaginative powers may appear, the 
 luxuries of many of the great are not less strange 
 or monotonous. Fat pudding is, at least, as gO(<d 
 as overkept venison ; and as for riding all day on a 
 gate, it is, out of all doubt, as amusing as riding 
 from London to York against time, or walking a 
 thousand miles in a thousand hours. 
 
 It is, however, less the quality of the indulgence 
 
 * np»Tev( pwxai, x«) 0fu5f <uv, |y«/x;. — ThcocritUS.
 
 LUXURIES AND NECESSARIES. 319 
 
 than its extent, that forms the debateable ground 
 of discussion. It is not so much whether the thing 
 be in itself fitted to give pleasure, as whether, be- 
 ing agreeable, the indulgence be, or be not, fit 
 and lawful. Diogenes, who prided himself on 
 cutting his coat according to his cloth, and thought 
 himself a greater man in proportion to the priva- 
 tions to which he submitted, placed his luxuries in 
 idleness and sunshine — just as our modern Gnathos 
 do in " any yiven quantity of claret"" — because it 
 costs nothing ; and he seems to have relished these 
 enjoyments with as much sensuality, as Plato did 
 his fine house and his delicate fare. Alexander, 
 however, who had something else to do with his 
 time, probably thought this basking in the sun a 
 very luxurious extravagance. 
 
 It is recorded of the same philosopher, that 
 seeing some one drink from the hollowed palm of 
 his hand, he threw away his cup as a luxurious 
 superfluity ; but even in this he did not carry his 
 definition of luxury so far as those sectarians, who 
 have prevailed in almost all religious communities, 
 and who, believing that the Deity created man for 
 the express purpose of inflicting on him every spe- 
 cies of torture, have inveighed against the most 
 innocent gratifications, and have termed every thing 
 that administers to the senses, a luxury. These 
 theologians will not allow a man to eat his break- 
 fast with a relish; but impute it as a vice if he 
 smacks his lips, though it be but after a draught 
 of water. Nay, some there have been, who have
 
 320 LUXURIES AND NECESSARIES. 
 
 thought good roots and Adam's ale too great lux- 
 uries for a Christian, and they have, " of malice 
 aforethought," ill cooked their vegetables, and 
 mixed tliem with ashes (or even more disgusting 
 condiments), to mortify the flesh, as they called it; 
 i. e. to offer a sacrifice of their natural feelings to 
 the daemon, which they have mistaken for their god. 
 
 " Thoy manage these things much better" 
 among the saints of our latter times, who by no 
 means put the creature comforts under a ban, 
 whatever objections they may entertain against the 
 luxury of a dance, or of a laugh at Liston. The 
 orthodox clergy, who give a more liberal construc- 
 tion to things, and deem few articles luxuries, for 
 wliich they can afford payment, consider port wine, 
 roast beef, and plum pudding, as mere necessaries 
 of life ; nay, there are those who hint that these 
 articles of religion are the things really understood 
 to be in jeopardy, whenever the University of Ox- 
 ford, and other true Protestants, sound the alarm, 
 that the church is in danger. 
 
 A certain king having told a bishop reproach- 
 fully, that the apostles did not ride in coaches, the 
 prelate replied (making a small hole in chrono- 
 logy), " True, sire, but that was in the time of 
 tlie shepherd kings." Other times, other opinions, 
 and it would certainly be false logic to pin the 
 right reverend barons of the upper house down 
 to the letter of St. Paul, and to christen the neces- 
 sary splendour of the modern church by the odious 
 appellation of luxury.
 
 LUXURIES AND NECESSARIES. 321 
 
 Whatever may be the notions of luxury enter- 
 tained by the anchoret, or the Protestant pluralist, 
 whatever may be their differences in the application 
 of the term, they both agree as to its being essen- 
 tially wrong ; and tliey uniformly apply the epithet 
 to the habits of their neighbours in the worst sense, 
 as a thing to be reprobated, " be the same,'"' (as the 
 lawyers say), " more or less." Not so the political 
 economists, who being mostly either atheists, or, 
 what is worse still, dissenters, stoutly maintain that 
 luxury is not a thing malum in se ; that con- 
 sumption (thereby meaning enjoyment) is the great 
 business of human life ; and that whatever a man 
 vehemently desires, is to him a necessary, and is 
 dangerous only in the use, when the indulgence is 
 purchased at the price of an ultimate superior gra- 
 tification. 
 
 Between these extremes there is an infinite va- 
 riety of middle terms, in which different indivi- 
 duals take their stand ; insomuch, that there are 
 scarcely any two persons v?ho unite in their classi- 
 fication of the things which are necessary, and 
 those which are luxurious. This is one of the 
 points on which the French and English disagree, 
 toto ccelo : the French utterly despising many in- 
 dulgences, which we consider as first necessaries ; 
 and esteeming as necessaries many things which 
 we deem superfluous. This leading difference 
 gives a decided bias to the industry and ingenuity 
 of the respective populations. We have the autho- 
 rity of our nurses for declaring, that the French 
 
 p5
 
 322 LUXURIES AND NECESSARIES. 
 
 invented ruffles (lace and cambric), and that the 
 English superadded the shirt ; as also that the 
 English improved on the feather, by appending to 
 it the hat. Many old ladies, of much higher intel- 
 lectual pretensions than the honest women from 
 whom we derive these facts, assign this difference 
 as the reason why the artists of Paris are expert 
 in gilding and gewgaws, without being able to 
 construct a lock of any cunning for their doors, 
 or a fastening for their windows, fit to be seen in 
 a Christian country. — Vide the " Loyal English 
 Tourists," j)ttssim. 
 
 Of these things no reasonable man will doubt. 
 " Un liomme de ban sens croit toujours ce gu'on lid 
 dit, et qu'il trouve par ecrit ;" -^ but it must not, 
 on tliat account, be set down as a reproach against 
 our excellent neighbours and "natural enemies;" 
 for, as Voltaire has justly remarked, the super- 
 fluous is a most necessary consideration, f and its 
 cultivation is the very test and criterion of civi- 
 lization. It is, therefore, a great consolation to 
 know, that the English are making rapid strides 
 to overtake the Parisians, and are growing as ex- 
 pert at superfluities, as the most refined Frenchman 
 can be, for the soul of him. 
 
 Since the general peace, the Englishman's ideas 
 on this subject have been marvellously enlarged ; 
 and they have arranged a long catalogue of ar- 
 ticles as primary necessaries, which their more 
 
 • Rabelais. 
 f " Le superflu, chose tres necessaiie.
 
 LUXURIES AND NECESSARIES. 323 
 
 modest ancestors ranked as luxuries, fit only for 
 sybarites, or des marquis a talons rouges. This 
 should be a matter of sincere rejoicing to all true 
 patriots. Venimus ad summam fortuncc ; and Bir- 
 mingham is as great in buhle as in steam-engines, 
 in false jewellery as in counterfeit halfpence ! 
 
 A civilized gentleman differs from a savage prin- 
 cipally in the multiplicity of his wants; and Man- 
 deville has proved, in his " Fable of the Bees," 
 that extravagance is the nursing mother of com- 
 merce, just as the enormity of the national debt 
 proves the national prosperity. What, indeed, 
 are railroads and macadamisation, rnan-traps that 
 break no bones, patent corkscrews, and detonating 
 fowling-pieces, safety coaches, and cork legs, but 
 luxuries at which the wisdom of our ancestors 
 would have scoffed ; yet how could the nation now 
 get on without them ? 
 
 It is perfectly true, that our " Henrys and Ed- 
 wards" contrived to beat their enemies unassisted 
 by such inventions ; but so they did, without Pro- 
 testant ascendency, an article confessedly of pri- 
 mary necessity. Books, too, which were a luxury 
 almost unknown in former times, are now so indis- 
 pensable, that there is hardly a mechanic who has 
 not his little library ; while a piano-forte has be- 
 come as necessary to a farmhouse, as a mangle or 
 a frying-pan ; and there are actually more copies 
 printed of " Cherry ripe," than of " Tull's Hus- 
 bandry." Is not a silver fork also characteristic of 
 a civilized establishment ? and is not a Mussulman.
 
 S24 LUXURIES AND NECESSARIES. 
 
 who dispenses both with knife and fork, a bar- 
 barian and a savage ? 
 
 It is no answer to this remark that the Turk, 
 though as yet but a dabbler in European refine- 
 ments, is luxurious in the number of wives he 
 thinks necessary to a decent menage, while the 
 Englishman finds one to be more than essential to 
 enjoyment. The difference is rather formal than 
 real ; for if the European stints himself most stoi- 
 cally in the article of wives, taking only one (of 
 his own) at a time, he finds ample compensation 
 for the self-denial, in the liberties he takes with the 
 wives cf his neighbours. 
 
 Henry IV., of France, had but one coach be- 
 tween himself and his queen ; whereas, in these our 
 happier days, no respectable couple can dispense 
 with separate conveyances ; besides a travelling 
 chariot, a barouch, a cab, and a dennet, at the 
 very least ; to which, if they be at their ease, they 
 must add a pony phaeton, and a state chariot for 
 court 
 
 \\'ithin the memory of the present generation, 
 the necessaries of the table have received a notable 
 increase. Champagne and ices are no longer the 
 luxuries of the aristocrat, but have taken their places 
 at the tables of the middle classes, as the indispen- 
 sable complements of a family dinner ; and they 
 figure in establishments, in which a bottle of hum- 
 ble port, and a supernumerary pudding, were for- 
 merly esteemed luxuries, fit only for honouring the 
 more solemn rites of festival hospitality. 
 
 A cigar and a meerschaum, again, are necessary
 
 LUXURIES AND NECESSARIES. 325 
 
 to the existence of a well appointed man of fashion ; 
 and a gentleman cannot possibly show at Melton, 
 without a dozen hunters, and two or three hacks, 
 to ride to cover. 
 
 No one in his senses would tax these things as 
 luxuries, or would blame a friend for getting into 
 the King's Bench, in order to obtain them. Even 
 the judges of the land, " those sage, grave men," 
 and numerous juries of tradesmen, have borne ample 
 testimony to the reasonableness of indulging in 
 such indispensable wants of life, by the large measure 
 they have given to the term " necessaries," in 
 their verdicts between^ extortionate creditors and 
 guardians litigating in behalf of the minors their 
 wards. 
 
 Some one has found, or invented, a story of a 
 shipwrecked traveller hailing a gallows as a sure 
 token of a civilized community ; and, in a certain 
 sense, this may be the case, else why should moral 
 England have remained so long the hanging nation 
 par excellence? Still there is a better criterion, a 
 more genuine and indisputable test of polity, to be 
 found in a well contrived system of insolvent laws, 
 which succeeds perfectly in discharging a maximum 
 of debts with a minimum of assets, " cito, tuto, et 
 jucunde." When luxuries become necessaries, in- 
 solvency is the best safety-valve to discharge the 
 surplus dishonesty of the people. It is much better 
 that a gentleman should thus annually get rid of 
 his duns with the smallest possible quantity of cor- 
 poreal inconvenience, than that he should be driven
 
 326 LUXURIES AND NECESSARIES. 
 
 to seek his freedom on the king's highway, or com- 
 mit Nature's great act of bankruptcy, by paying 
 her debt, and all others at the same time, with the 
 trigger of his own pistol. 
 
 From these considerations it is clear that luxury 
 is at once the cause and the exponent of civi- 
 lization ; that the more a man consumes, the 
 more he is a man ; and that the affixing a subau- 
 dition of reprobation in the application of the 
 term, is not only a j)Gtitio principii, but a downright 
 calumny. 
 
 But though necessity be a conventional idea that 
 expands and contracts with circumstances, (like the 
 tent in the Arabian Tales, which, when folded, 
 would lie in the hand, and, when opened, would 
 shelter an army,) still the thing has its limits, de- 
 termined by the physical capabilities of the animal. 
 There is a point at which the inconvenience of 
 superfluities so far exceeds their utility, that luxury 
 becomes converted into a perfect nuisance. The 
 most splendid feast that ever a corporator sat before, 
 would be nothing but an annoyance to the guest 
 whose stomach is already overladen with food ; and 
 the Roman invention of emetics never took root 
 among even the most extravagant nations. The 
 most enlarged experience shows that it is utterly 
 impossible to add one more superfluous meal to 
 those already established by universal usage j and 
 many are the victims who have paid with their lives 
 in a fit of apoplexy, for their persevering zeal to 
 enlarge the necessities of the stomach.
 
 LUXURIES AND NECESSARIES. SST 
 
 In dress, also, the muscular force of the body sets 
 bounds to superfluity of decoration. Ear-rings 
 must not be too heavy to be carried, nor can a 
 bracelet, by its size, be suffered to impede the mo- 
 tion of the arm between the plate and the mouth. 
 " Barbaric pomp and gold" is an imposing spec- 
 tacle, but a medallion as large and as cumbrous as 
 a shield, appended to a lady's bosom, would be any 
 thing but a luxury. So, in the other extreme, a 
 watch should not be so small as to render the dial- 
 plate illegible, nor should a shoe be so tight as to 
 lame the wearer for life. 
 
 Beauty, it has been said, should rise above such 
 considerations ; for there are resources in vanity 
 that will reconcile man, and woman too, to martyr- 
 dom. But these should not be exhausted wantonly ; 
 and, in the search after gratification, as in economy, 
 it is ill policy to light the candle at both ends. The 
 true philosopher extracts the greatest good from 
 all things : fools alone, as Horace has it, run into 
 one vice in trying to avoid the other. In super- 
 fluities, as in every thing else, a wise man will 
 confine himself (in the words of the motto) to what 
 is necessary ; and reserve alike his purse and his 
 person for other occasions of enjoyment, which will 
 never be wanting, while there is wealth to stimu- 
 late industry, and imagination to diversify con- 
 venience. 
 
 There is one point of luxury on which modern ca- 
 price has passed the bounds of enjoyment, and that 
 is, in the vast increase of superfluities, which, of late
 
 328 LUXURIES AND NECESSARIES. 
 
 years, have become primary necessaries in a well 
 furnished house. Here, for the nonce, is a revolu- 
 tion, indeed ! — a revolution more formidable than 
 the French emancipation from slavery and wooden 
 shoes, or the reform in Parliament itself! We, 
 most of us, remember the time when one tea-table, 
 two or three card-tables, a pier-glass, a small de- 
 tachment of chairs, with two armed corporals to 
 command them, a square piece of carpet in the 
 middle of the room, and two or three narrow strips 
 of stuff or of silk for curtains, pulled up and down 
 with a cord like the green siparium of a theatre, 
 made a very decent display in the drawing (or as it 
 was then preposterously called the dining) room. 
 As yet rugs for the hearth were not, and twice a 
 day did Betty go upon her knees to scour the naked 
 marble slab. 
 
 In the bed-rooms of those days, a paltry slip of 
 carpet round the bed was the maximum of woollen 
 integument allowed to the floor, for protecting the 
 feet of the midnight wanderer from his couch. 
 Multiplied vases for ablution were unknown, and 
 mahogany boot-jacks unthought of. Psyches were 
 not introduced to the " lady's chamber," much less 
 to the dressing-room of the beau. The staircase 
 was not thoroughly covered with the richest pro- 
 ducts of the loom, and flowing draperies before tiie 
 doors were not deemed necessary " to expel the 
 winter's flaw." No golden serpents then twisted 
 their voluminous length across the entire wall of 
 the room, nor did richly carved cods' heads and
 
 LUXURIES AND NECESSARIES. 329 
 
 shoulders (under the denomination of dolphins), or 
 glittering spread eagles, with a brass ring in their 
 mouths, support fenestral decorations, rivalling the 
 display of a Waterloo- House vender of printed 
 calicoes. 
 
 Thus far the change is, I admit, an improve- 
 ment. Nay, ladders to go to bed with may be tole- 
 rated ; though many a man has broken his shins 
 against them in the dark. Neither is it wise to 
 object to sofas and ottomans in any reasonable pro- 
 portion ; but the most liberal may protest, and that 
 in the strongest terms, against such a multiplica- 
 tion and variety of easy chairs, as effectually ex- 
 clude the possibility of easy sitting j and against 
 that overweening increase of spider tables, which 
 interferes with rectilinear progression. 
 
 A harp, mounted on a sprawling sounding-board, 
 (although it be a stumbling-block to the feet of the 
 short-sighted,) must be considered as an absolute ne- 
 cessary ; and a piano-forte resembling a coffin should 
 occupy the centre of the smallest possible drawing- 
 room ; '' the court awards it, and the law doth give 
 it" — but why multiply foot-stools, till there is no 
 taking a step in safety ? An Indian cabinet, also, 
 or a Buhl armoh-e, are either, or both of them, fit 
 and becoming ; but it cannot be right to make a 
 broker's shop of your best apartment. 
 
 A library table that might dine a dozen of 
 guests, with an inkstand as large as a pastrycook's 
 shew twelfth cake, are just and lawful. A machine 
 like a dumb waiter to hold \^^alter Scott's novels.
 
 SSO LUXURIES AND NECESSARIES. 
 
 or a cabinet edition of French, English, and Italian 
 poets, is a sine qua non. Ditto, an ornamental es- 
 crutoire ; and a necessaire for needlework is, (if 
 there be meaning in language,) perfectly necessary. 
 These, with an adequate contingent of musical snuff- 
 boxes, or-molu clocks, Chinese beakers, porcelain 
 figures, alabaster vases, flower-pots, pots pourris, 
 stuffed birds and butterflies, and a discreet super- 
 fluity of cut-paper nondescripts, screens, albums, 
 toys, prints, caricatures, novels, souvenirs, and illu- 
 minated folios, must be allowed to the taste and 
 refinement of the times. But surely some space 
 should be left for depositing a coffee cup, or placing 
 aside a useful volume, when the hand may require 
 to be relieved from its weight ; or when it may be 
 desirable to take a pinch of snuflP, or agreeable to 
 wipe one's forehead. Josses and torsos have the 
 entree into a genteel apartment ; but they are not 
 entitled to a monopoly of the space : nor are Roman 
 antiquities, or the statues even of Chantrey or of 
 Canova themselves, to be justified in usurping the 
 elbow-room of living men and women. 
 
 Most unfortunately for the peace of mind of 
 mankind, there are too many husbands, who, with 
 houses of the smallest possible dimensions, possess 
 wives of the most enlarged taste ; and the disj)ro- 
 portion between these domestic blessings is so great, 
 that the owners cannot move without the risk of a 
 heavy pecuniary loss from breakage, and the heavier 
 personal infliction of perpetual imputations of awk- 
 wardness. It is no easy matter to put on a smiling
 
 LUXURIES AND NECESSARIES. 331 
 
 countenance, whenever a friend, accustomed to 
 some reasonable latitude of motion, runs his devas- 
 tating chair against a high-priced work of art, or 
 overturns a table laden with " an infinite thing," in 
 costly bijouterie. 
 
 It is becoming daily more indispensable to make it 
 a point with one's wife to exclude from her visiting 
 list ladies who pay their morning calls with a retinue 
 of spoiled children : but the rule cannot always be 
 observed ; and one urchin with his whip will destroy 
 more in half an hour, than the worth of a month's 
 average domestic expenditure. Oh ! how hateful 
 are the little fidgeting, fingering, dislocating imps ! 
 A bull in a china shop is innocuous, to the most 
 orderly and amenable of them. 
 
 The general merits of nick-nacks is unquestion- 
 able. Ornaments surely are ornamental ; and works 
 of art afford amusement of the highest order. But 
 then perfection is every thing in them ; and a crack 
 or a flaw destroys all the pleasures of an intelligent 
 beholder. Yet how few are the collectors, exposed 
 to these visitations, who have a statue, with all its 
 members, a Chelsea-china shepherdess, with her 
 full complement of fingers, a vase with both its 
 handles, a snuff-box that performs its waltz, or a 
 volume of prints that is not dogs-eared, stained, 
 and inkspotted ! These are serious evils ; but they 
 are among the lightest which flow from the aliquid 
 plus quam satis est of decoration. 
 
 Perpend the matter well, reader, bear it ever in 
 mind, that houses are made to live in, and not for
 
 332 LUXURIES AND NECESSARIES. 
 
 museums ; set the toyman at defiance ; keep vertu 
 at arm's length ; and, in matters of superfluity, let 
 nothing tempt you to exceed what is strictly neces- 
 sary.
 
 ANECDOTES AND CONVERSATIONS, ETC. 333 
 
 ANECDOTES AND CONVERSATIONS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE REV. THOMAS BOTHERUM, S.T.P., 
 
 ARCHDEACON OF LEATHEKHEAD, RECTOR OF 
 BRxMNTOWN PARVA CUm MUCKLE PUDDIKG, F.S.A., 
 
 &c. &c. &c. 
 
 " Cosi s'en vanno I'arfi, ed i mawisteri, 
 Tutti in rovina, e non e chi sollevi, 
 Chiaro ingegno, di cui iama si speri." — 
 
 Ariosto. Satire. 
 
 " Quis desiderio sit pudor aut modus 
 Tam cari capitis." — Hor. 
 
 It is now many years since I first promised myself 
 the pleasure of committing to paper those passages 
 of the life of an ever-to-be-lamented friend, which 
 came within my own notice, and of preserving for 
 posterity a slight sketch of the domestic habits and 
 table conversations of a great man. But procras- 
 tination (it has been well observed) is the thief of 
 time : and the numerous memoranda I collected in
 
 334 ANECDOTES AND CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 those happy days in which he was yet amongst us, 
 still lay untouched in the drawers of my bureau. 
 
 I take shame to myself for this neglect ; and the 
 more so, when I reflect that, in the present dege- 
 nerate times, in which steam-engines have taken 
 precedence of classical lore, and " rude unwashed 
 mechanicals" hold their heads above the doctors of 
 our universities, the reverence for illustrious public 
 characters has so much diminished. If "a great 
 man's memory may outlive his life," it certainly 
 is not now by " building churches," no, nor by 
 adorning them either, that he will reach posterity. 
 " Virtus laudatur et alyet^ principle is disregarded, 
 and Popery and Dissent overspread the land. 
 
 At the eleventh hour, therefore, I take up my 
 pen ; and while every paltry playwright and actor is 
 permitted to thrust forward his two octavo volumes 
 of presumptuous auto-biography, I shall, ere I 
 descend to the grave, consign to the press a pre- 
 cious record of the gesia et dicta of Archdeacon 
 Botherum, leaving behind me, for the benefit of my 
 children, a monument of that intercourse, which, 
 like the friendship of Sir Philip Sydney, may be a 
 boast and an ornament to the end of time. 
 
 Thomas Botherum was, as he himself assured 
 me, the son of an honest, but small farmer, residing 
 in Cumberland, near to the borders of Scotland. 
 His father had been deeply implicated in " the 45,'" 
 and never, to his dying day, totally abandoned all 
 hope of the good cause. It was a boast in the 
 family that his house was for years a principal link
 
 THE REV. THOMAS BOTHERUM, S.T.P. 335 
 
 in the chain of communication between the Pre- 
 tender and his friends in the north. 
 
 Having a numerous offspring, he determined to 
 bring one son, at least, up to the church ; and 
 Thomas being a child of grave habits, regular in 
 his devotional responses, from the time he could 
 first read, and moreover of a sickly habit, and unfit 
 for farming-work, he was selected to study at an 
 endowed grammar-school in an adjoining county, 
 famous as the sucking mother of many illustrious 
 churchmen. 
 
 Here, under the instruction of an able divine, he 
 laid the foundation of that profound erudition, 
 which afterwards raised him to such enviable dis- 
 tinction. " I was not," he was wont to say, mo- 
 destly, " a lad of precocious parts ; and am indebted 
 for any little fame I may have acquired, to the as- 
 siduity of the doctor's right arm. I never knew 
 an eminent man in the university, who had not 
 been bred at a flogging school." 
 
 From this seat of discipline, in due time, he 
 moved to Cambridge, where he was principally 
 noted, as I have learned from more than one co- 
 temporary, for his persevering industry, his blue 
 woollen hose (knitted by his mother,) by his pe- 
 culiarly broad Cumberland accent, (which a long 
 intercourse with the world never totall)^ obliterated,) 
 and for a sly practise of stealing into the fields 
 towards sun-set, to shoot partridges, after the 
 manner of our ancestors, on the ground. 
 
 He mixed very little with his fellow-students,
 
 336 ANECDOTES AND CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 read hard, and gained no prizes, (never having, 
 indeed, sat for any,) but took a good senior optima 
 degree, which, in the fulness of time, led to a fel- 
 lowship. 
 
 I was but seven 3'ears old, when the decease of 
 old Zachary Bluebottle prepared the way for Arch- 
 deacon Botherum's (he was not then archdeacon) 
 collation to the parish, in which my father had his 
 habitual residence. The presentation to the living 
 is in Saint John's College ; and Botherum, who had 
 already an eye to the mastership, accepted of this 
 collegiate ostracism, I believe, with regret; but the 
 income was considerable, the parishioners orthodox, 
 and the doctor, with the characteristic shrewdness 
 of the north, not insensible to the merits of a bird 
 in the hand. 
 
 Still, however, when a man has been accustomed 
 to be capped by sizers, and to have his jokes 
 laughed at by complaisant fellow- commoners, the 
 obscurity of a remote country village is any thing 
 but flattering ; and I fear the doctor was more 
 pressed by the " res angmta domi," than by any de- 
 cided preference, when he accepted the preferment. 
 Botherum had likewise inveterate college habits; 
 and was so unprepared for housekeeping, that, (as 
 he used facetiously to repeat,) when he left the col- 
 lege gate, one fine summer's morning, to take pos- 
 session, having four shirts, a pair of black cassimere 
 small clothes, and a set of sermons strapped in a 
 portmanteau behind the saddle of his dapple mare,
 
 THE REV. THOMAS BOTHERUM, S.T P. 837 
 
 he cried out to the dean, " mea omnia niecum 
 porto'' 
 
 This dapple mare, by the by, was the identical 
 subject of that excellent jest, the memory of which 
 is not lost to this day in Cambridge. The doctor 
 was in the habit of preaching half-guinea sermons 
 for the incumbents of the parishes of the Isle of 
 Ely, during their occasional absences from home ; 
 a practice not unusual among the poorer members 
 of the university : and in the pride or the indolence 
 of his heart, he had bought the animal to carry 
 him on his Sunday expeditions. " Our master" — 
 so the doctor often told me the story — "rated me 
 for this extravagance, which (he said) was ill suited 
 to the narrowness of my means." " That," I re- 
 plied, " was the very reason why I bought the 
 animal, in obedience to the Horatian precept — 
 JEquam {equa)ii\ memento rehus in arduis." The 
 combination-room re-echoed with laughter, and all 
 St. John's rung with the joke during the remainder 
 of that term. 
 
 The arrival of the new rector was a great event 
 in our parish. A merry peal was sounded from the 
 steeple ; and it was upon this occurrence, that the 
 curate, a Trinity man, and moreover about to lose 
 the curacy, vented his spleen in a pun, which was 
 afterwards embodied in a well-known Cambridge 
 epigram : — for Squire Breakneck, happening to ride 
 through the town at the moment, and asking wlsat 
 all that noise meant, (it being' neither the anniver- 
 sary, as he expressed himself, of the king's ascen- 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 S38 ANECDOTES AND CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 sion, nor of the gunpowder plot) the curate con- 
 temptuously replied, " they are only ringing a 
 hog." * 
 
 My father, who was, like the rest of the parish, a 
 zealous high churchman, and old-fashioned enough 
 to fear God and honour his king, was not the last 
 to call on his pastor ; and, on the next Sunday after 
 liis arrival, our worthy rector gave his blessing to 
 our plenteous table ; where, ever afterwards, on the 
 return of the Lord's day, he was a constant guest. 
 On these occasions, " Church and King," it may 
 be supposed, was never forgotten ; and congeniality 
 of opinion, not less than the substantial fare of our 
 hospitable and truly English board, contributed to 
 procure for the family the unceasing and affec- 
 tionate friendship of this great, but humble-minded, 
 man. 
 
 " The members of St. John's Collej^e, Cambridj^e, are 
 nicknamed "hogs." The epijjram alhided to was made by 
 tlie late Sir B. Harvvood, on the knij^hting of Sir J. Penning- 
 ton, Professor of Physic, and Harwood's mortal foe. It ran 
 as follows : 
 
 " When the knight of St. John's from St. JJpmes's came down. 
 
 The bells were set ringing throughout the whole town : 
 
 A blue-stocking'd Sizer, alarmed at the noise. 
 
 Asked one of the starve-gutted bedmaker's boys 
 
 What the cause of it was. ' What ?' replied the arch dog, 
 
 ' Why, there's always a noise, when they're ringing a hog.' " 
 
 The biographist does not, iiowever, mean to assert that 
 Sir B- Harvvood stole the jest. Great wits often jump ; and he 
 has no special reason for supposing that the curate's bon-mot 
 liad reached the ears of the facetious Professor of Anatomy. 
 This observation is due to justice.
 
 THE REV. THOMAS BOTHERUM, S.T.P. 339 
 
 Even now, at the distance of nearly fifty years, I 
 remember the consternation which his first vi?it oc- 
 casioned in the nursery. No episcopal visitation of 
 Horsley, or of Majendie, ever struck greater awe 
 into the assembled curates. The authoritative tone 
 of a voice long accustomed to command attention 
 in the lecture-room, and the stern contraction of 
 Botherum's bushy eyebrows, when patting us on 
 the head, and asking each a question from the 
 catechism, were almost too much for our tender 
 nerves. Fortunately, we answered without much 
 hesitation, or being very wide of the mark ; and 
 he called us good children. Turning to my father, 
 he continued, with much complacency, " Mr. Tom- 
 lins, you have made a great way in my esteem. 
 Parents are too apt to neglect the timely inculca- 
 tion of a prejudice in favour of the church's dogmas 
 into the infant mind. He who fails to sow the 
 seeds of orthodoxy early in the spring, will be sure 
 to reap in the autumn a harvest of sectarianism 
 and indifference." 
 
 The doctor, I have said, brought into rural life 
 many college habits. He had, among others, no 
 objection to a glass of good port : and, though he 
 never disgraced the cloth by a positive unsteadiness 
 either of head or foot, yet sometimes, " induhjeiis 
 geniOi' he would in safe society, and among men of 
 sound principles, take a cheerful glass ; and then it 
 was that he would open the storehouse of his erudi- 
 tion, pouring forth ample quotations from Longus 
 or Tertullian, Tryphiodorus or Origen, St. Chry- 
 
 q2
 
 3-iO ANECDOTES AND CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 sostom (whose verses he greatly praised) or Dr. 
 Sacheverel ; now and then cracking a merry jest 
 from Aristophanes, to the great dehght of the 
 country squires, who were wont to declare that 
 since Latin was no longer quoted in sermons, they 
 did not wonder at the increase of sectarians ; and 
 that the Archdeacon's Greek did them good to 
 hear, though they did not undei'stand a word of it. 
 I must do his good-nature the justice to add, that 
 he never spared to translate, when properly re- 
 quested, — that is, if the passage had nothing inde- 
 licate in it. True genius is ever condescending ! 
 
 The Archdeacon, who justly thought that there 
 is a time for all things, and that too much severity 
 is a misprision of Presbyterianism, was fond of a 
 game at backgammon. He wrote a treatise to 
 prove that this was the game invented by Pala- 
 mede?, and not chess ; averring that, in his own 
 person, it had often made him forget his supper till 
 it was quite cold. He confessed that he played, on 
 an average, twelve hundred hits in a year ; and so 
 great was the hold the game had obtained over his 
 imagination, that he not unfi'equently illustrated 
 his discourse by metaphors taken from its technica- 
 lities. I remember that when he was once sorely 
 pressed in an argument by a malignant, who had 
 clearly proved an oversight in the military opera- 
 tions of the cabinet of the day, which might have 
 ruined the campaign if properly taken advantage 
 of, he triumphantly repHed with a voice of thunder, 
 " Like enough, sir ; every body mistakes sometimes
 
 THE REV. THOMAS BOTHERUM, S.T.P. 341 
 
 « — humanum est errare — but, whatever you, sir. may 
 think of the matter, a blot is no blot till it is hit :" 
 the reply was unanswerable. 
 
 The Archdeacon's temper, like that of his father, 
 was equable and bland. Two things alone were 
 apt to disturb his equanimity ; a Whig and* a 
 Papist. Hence he was puzzled what consideration 
 to give to the Scotch rebels. Though his father, as 
 I have said, had been out in the rebellion, the son 
 had so far submitted to the influence of Cambridge 
 politics, as to have relaxed somewhat from the 
 family jacobitism. The attachment of the High- 
 landers to the divine right of the Pretender he could 
 not deny to have been commendable, but, then, that 
 Pretender was a Papist, and the Pope was anti- 
 Christ ! I remember his telling me, in a confidential 
 conversation, in which he opened his whole heart, 
 that he never could altogether make up his mind 
 concerning those " aTrE^ilwjaaro* politicians;" but, 
 he added in a forgiving tone, " the breechless dogs 
 loved their king after all." 
 
 The Archdeacon, like many of the Cambridge- 
 men of his day, was given to tobacco ; and never 
 said better things, than when he puffed care away 
 after dinner. Had he lived to the present times, 
 he would doubtless have delighted in the estimation 
 which his favourite weed has attained ; but he 
 would not have encouraged the modern innovation 
 of cigars. The true Virginia, as he himself used 
 to say, " ascends into the brain," and " favours 
 contemplation J " whereas it is well known in both
 
 342 ANECDOTES AND CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 Universities, that the under-graduates who smoke 
 cigars, never trouble themselves to think at all; and 
 if they are not always plucked^ never get out of the 
 ranks of the at na^.Mi. 
 
 Who knows but that this difference may be an 
 instrument in the hands of Divine Providence for 
 blinding the perverse people of South America, who 
 have so long provoked its wrath by their idolatrous 
 adherence to the *' slough of a slavish superstition ?" 
 
 My mother, who by long intercourse with the 
 Archdeacon had ceased to hold him in that awe 
 with which the other females of the parish were 
 accustomed to regard him, (so much does familia- 
 rity breed contempt) , used often to lecture him for 
 what she called his beastly habit of smoking before 
 the women ; and she once carried her vituperation 
 so far, (the clergyman of a neighbouring parish 
 being present), that the doctor lost his temper, and 
 replied with such caustic severity, that a shyness 
 took place between them. After a long tirade, 
 which reminded us of the sixth satire of Juvenal, 
 he terminated by launching against her the follow- 
 ing epigram : — 
 
 " Aspide quid pejus? tigris; quid tigride? daemon; 
 Diemone quid 'i mulier : quid muliere ? nihil." 
 
 Which being maliciously interpreted to my mother, 
 she vowed that she would never forgive it. 
 
 For three Sundays, notwithstanding all my fa- 
 ther's authority, she sulked, and retired to her bed- 
 room immediately after dinner. We were all sorry
 
 THE REV. THOMAS BOTHERUM, S.T.P. 343 
 
 for the breach, and the doctor as much as any of 
 us ; but his clerical dignity would not suffer him to 
 own himself in the wrong. At length, with mucii 
 difficulty, we brought my mother to apologize ; and 
 this she did with such a truly feminine resignation, 
 tliat our friend gladly availed himself of the excuse 
 to make his peace. It was on this event, that she 
 presented him with a silver tobacco-box, with his 
 own porti-ait engraved on the lid, and a pipe in his 
 mouth, to which I furnished the motto " ex fwno 
 dare lucem." The good man was highly pleased 
 with the compliment, and gallantly saluting the 
 back of her hand, he assured her he was well 
 pleased so unpleasant a dispute should end in 
 smoke. The next Sunday I remarked that he chose 
 for his text the passage which declares, that the 
 price of a good woman is above rubies. 
 
 In the summer of the year 1786, all the world, in 
 our part of the country, went over to the county- 
 town to witness, what was then a novelty, the 
 ascent of an air-balloon. The Archdeacon, how- 
 ever, would not budge. At this time, the natu- 
 ralists and chemists were beginning to take the 
 lead over the mathematicians in the Royal Society, 
 and the doctor, though not a fellow, was, as in duty 
 bound, a staunch partizan of the supremacy of the 
 mathematicians ; and he accordingly regarded these 
 exhibitions of modern science as nothing better 
 than mere quackery. Besides, the invention was 
 French ; and he added, with his accustomed justice 
 of reflection, " timeo danaos et dona ferentes."
 
 344? ANECDOTES AND CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 When pressed to join a party from our village, he 
 asked, " Where is the pleasui-e of seeing two fools 
 setting Providence impiously at defiance?" — a re- 
 mark I have frequently had occasion to recall. 
 
 Our village surgeon, whom the doctor particu- 
 larly disliked, on account of his having studied at 
 Edinburgh, and been intimate with Hume, pre- 
 sumed somewhat too jocosely to reply, ** You are 
 afraid lest they should get too near heaven, and 
 discover how little you doctors of divinity know 
 about the matter." I never saw our friend so 
 seriously angry as then. Rebuking the surgeon for 
 his levity and indifference to religion, which he said 
 belonged to his cloth, he added with prophetic 
 solemnity, " This reigning taste for experiment 
 bodes no good : Franklin's rods, and his blasphe- 
 mous boast of ' eripuit fulmen ccelo,' have deeply 
 injured the world. Men no longer can say, ' caelo 
 tonantem credimus.'' He who is over-solicitous con- 
 cerning second causes, is but too apt to overlook 
 the first." 
 
 For the rest of that evening he sat silent, nor did 
 he ever afterwards hear balloons mentioned, with- 
 out launching forth some contemptuous sarcasm on 
 the subject. 
 
 Another fashionable folly, which roused the in- 
 dignation of the archdeacon, was the unlimited 
 vogue of " Tristram Shandy." Sterne he per- 
 sonally disliked. " That fellow," he would say, 
 *' is a disgrace to the church, his religion is full of 
 levity, and his levity is not full of religion." The
 
 THE REV. THOMAS BOTHERUM, S.T.P. 345 
 
 antithesis is striking. I have a paper in the doc- 
 tor's hand-writing, containing many palpable in- 
 stances of Sterne's plagiarism, though he never 
 could be brought to own that he had read his 
 works. 
 
 At the breaking out of the French revolution, 
 the archdeacon, in common with all right-thinking 
 men, was seriously alarmed, lest the principles of 
 the people of England should be injured; and 
 when Burke published his diatribe against that 
 insane and atheistical ebullition of a stiff-necked 
 generation, he made a journey to London, solely to 
 see and converse with the author : availing him- 
 self of the opportunity to solicit the then vacant 
 archdeaconry — an energy wonderful in a person of 
 his years and infirmities. 
 
 Burke received him as he deserved, and invited 
 him to Beaconsfield. Pitt was of the party, and 
 port and politics were the order of the day. The 
 port was as sound as the politics, and the politics 
 as old as the port ; so the doctor, we may be sure, 
 enjoyed not a little this " feast of reason and flow 
 of soul." Indeed the occurrences of that evening 
 were a constant theme of conversation with him 
 for the rest of his life. 
 
 Among the many anecdotes that he was in the ha- 
 bit of relating, apropos to this subject, I shall repeat 
 only one or two. The French armies were at that 
 time in rapid advance, and the funds were falling. 
 Pitt, for once in his life, spoke despondingly, and 
 Burke said something of the chivalry of stock- 
 
 q5
 
 3-1-6 ANECDOTES AND CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 jobbing being gone ; but Botherum reminded the 
 minister of the just confidence which a British pre- 
 mier ought ever to place in Divine Providence, which 
 would not suffer a set of miscreants to prosper, 
 who had not only killed their king, but had actually 
 abolished tithes. A foreign ambassador, who was 
 at table, whispered something about " gros batail- 
 lons,"" which the doctor was not Frenchman enough 
 to understand, but which made Pitt smile. Bo- 
 therum, however, was not discouraged, and pledging 
 the master of the house in a bumper, he thundered 
 forth, with an air of inspiration, 
 
 f2 •rra.i^ii; 'E>\>\yivuv, 'Ire, iXev^B^ovle TrarpJa, &C. 
 
 Pitt immediately rose from his seat, and shaking 
 him very heartily by the hand, replied, " With 
 such right-thinking persons on our side, we are 
 confident against the world in arms ; and so, doctor, 
 I hope for the honour of your vote at Cambridge 
 on the approaching election." The doctor lamented 
 that the distance of his living, and his advancing 
 years, had prevented his voting the last time, but 
 that being now in London, he would certainly re- 
 visit Cambridge, expressly to vote. Pitt repeated 
 the word " distance," and significantly shaking his 
 head, said, " that might be remedied ere long." 
 
 The conversation turning, during dinner, on tax- 
 ation, Burke, I think it was, defended a lavish public 
 expenditure, as the best encouragement to national 
 inilustry ; and many instances were adduced by the 
 company in confirmation of the remark. " Still,"
 
 THE REV. THOMAS BOTHERUM, S.T.P. 347 
 
 said Dundas, holding his glass to the light, to look 
 for tlie bee's wing, " it is a thousand pities, so it 
 is, that such wine as this should be taxed, when a 
 halfpenny a pot on porter would raise a greater 
 revenue." Pitt replied, that something now and 
 then must be conceded to please the populace ; but 
 he added facetiously, that " he was sorry to lean so 
 hard upon Harry's ^jrime article of consumption;" 
 " at which," said Botherum, " we all laughed very 
 heartily ; and I ventured to add, that the port 
 being under the protection of the church, ought to 
 possess a privilege of exemption ; and that I was 
 sure Mr. Pitt was too high-minded to regard the 
 civium ardor prava juhentiumy A certain bishop, 
 who was present, observed, that he did not see who 
 the people were concerned with the matter — they 
 have nothing to do with the taxes but to pay them. 
 Botherum replied, " Very true, the imposition of 
 taxes rests with the Chancellor of the Exchequer," 
 and turning to Mr. Pitt, he quoted Virgil's " hae 
 tibi erunt artes," &:c. ; and nothing could exceed the 
 emphasis with which he ejaculated the " tu regere 
 imperio populos." The bishop begged to drink 
 wine with the doctor, and thus commenced a 
 friendship, which only ended with the lives of the 
 parties. 
 
 Three days after this visit. Dr. Botherum got 
 his archdeaconry, and on his return home he wrote 
 his famous pamphlet against Priestley, to shew his 
 gratitude to the administration. An angry and 
 acrimonious polemical discussion was the conse-
 
 3-i8 ANECDOTES AND CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 quence, in which there was no lack of abuse on 
 either side ; but the archdeacon used to say, that 
 Priestley was not worth the powder and shot : " he 
 is a shabby fellow, sir, and not orthodox even in 
 vituperation." In his heart, however, he was far 
 from despising his antagonist, and was even flat- 
 tered by the idea that the controversy had been 
 the remote cause of the destruction of Priestley's 
 house; "though," he would add jocosely, "if the 
 dog's own books were in his library, I am sorry for 
 their fate — they should have been burnt by the 
 public executioner." 
 
 While in London, Botherum was elected fellow 
 of the Society of Antiquaries, and put in his ela- 
 borate account of Braintown Parva ; in which he 
 proved it to have been a Roman station, and the 
 site of a druidical college. On this occasion, he 
 presented the society with three fragments of 
 broken pottery and a pike-head, which he had him- 
 self due from a barrow : and he received the thanks 
 of that learned body. 
 
 About this time also the archdeacon supplied to 
 Sylvanus Urban, Gent., an accurate description of 
 the monumental inscriptions in Muckle Pudding 
 churchyard, together with a picturesque view of 
 the ruins of the chancel (Gent. Mag. V. ccccxxiii) ; 
 which, truth to tell, was drawn by the parish clerk, 
 as was the fac-simile of a stone, bearing a Celtic 
 record, written in the tree character. This latter 
 drew upon the archdeacon an unpleasant contro- 
 versy: for the surgeon before-mentioned (probably
 
 THE REV. THOMAS BOTHERUM, S.T.P. 349 
 
 out of pique in the matter of the balloon), pri- 
 vately conveyed intelligence to a rival antiquary, 
 that what the doctor took for " Divus Belus," was 
 merely the initials of a stonemason's name (who 
 was yet living in the memory of the older pa- 
 rishioners), turned upside down ! * 
 
 Upon turning the stone (as the archdeacon would 
 have it) topsy-turvy, or, as his opponent main- 
 tained, the right side upwards, there did certainly 
 manifest itself a provoking resemblance to the 
 Roman capitals and Arabic numerals, necessary to 
 establish the hostile hypothesis, which caused the 
 wicked wits of the day a horse-laugh at the doctor's 
 expence. But he made an excellent defence, and 
 clearly proved that Ms inscription ouglit to have 
 been erected in the very place where it was found ; 
 and strengthened his case with great erudition, by 
 many pregnant analogies. In the appendix to this 
 paper he gave an account of the bowl of a tobacco- 
 pipe, found five and twenty feet below the surface 
 of a peat-bog, in the neighbourhood of a Roman 
 station ; which distinctly proves that the Romans 
 were in the habit of smoking, if not tobacco, at 
 least some indigenous weed; a neglected verity, 
 corroborated by many classical texts, especially by 
 Virgil's account of Cacus — 
 
 " Ille autem 
 Faucibus ingentem fiimum, tniiabile dictu, 
 Evomit ;" 
 
 * This mistake is said also to have been made by an Irish 
 antiquary.
 
 350 ANECDOTES AND CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 and by the satirists '^ fumum et opes strepitumque 
 Rojiicc." The '•\fumus et vapor Balnearum,''' also 
 mentioned by Valerius Maximus, shews that smok- 
 ing was among the luxuries of the bath ; and Mar- 
 tial speaks of cigar selling — " vendere vanos circum 
 Palatia /tanos," as a common mode of getting 
 bread. 
 
 I have little to add to what the world already 
 knows concerning the doctor's Greek translation of 
 Chevy Chase, which drew upon him the ill-natured 
 epithet of " seventh form schoolboy" from IVIatthias, 
 a reproach which he felt very keenly. " Many 
 wise and good men," he remarked to me, witli tears 
 in his eyes, " had exercised themselves in Greek 
 translations from the English poets, nor could he 
 think it unworthy of a divine to write the lan- 
 guage of the New Testament ; but," he added, 
 with a tone of voice singularly awful, " the run 
 which is made against Greek is part of the Jaco- 
 binical conspiracy against social order, and it was 
 inconsistent in Mattliias thus to assist it. He who 
 reviles learning, wars with his superiors, and is 
 wanting in that humility and prostration of intel- 
 lect, without which there can be no true religion." 
 
 The archdeacon was among those who believed in 
 the authenticity of Ireland's Shakespearian MSS. ; 
 and, as he had been intimate with Dr. Farmer at 
 Cambridge, and was an enthusiast in all that con- 
 cerned the great poet, he could not bear with pa- 
 tience to be jeered on his mistake. " Sir," he 
 would say, " if the play were not written by Shake-
 
 THE REV. THOMAS BOTHERUM, S.T.P. 351 
 
 speare, it ought to have been ; not indeed for the 
 matter (tliough " Vortigern" is as good as " Titus 
 Andronicus"), but on account of the evidence, 
 which he who doubted, might as well have doubted 
 the thirty-nine articles." 
 
 Another point on which he was sore, was Pitt's 
 resignation about the Catholic question. He had 
 never believed that statesman in earnest on the 
 matter, and to the last declared his conduct on this 
 occasion an hallucination wholly inexplicable. 
 
 Though he had given his support to the Ad- 
 dington administration, he could not but forgive 
 his old favourite, as soon as he found him once 
 more at the head of affairs. " Nemo/'' he said, 
 " nemo 07nmbus horis scqnt ; but in any other man 
 the thing would have been unpardonable." 
 
 The archdeacon holding good preferment, it was 
 often thought that he would marry ; and when he 
 new painted the parsonage-house, we all set it 
 down that his friendship for a certain maiden lady 
 would have terminated in a conjugal alliance. 
 Whether through the doctor's fault, or the lady's, 
 I could never learn, but the marriage did not take 
 place. That he would have made a good family man, 
 is barely possible. He was a professed misogamist, 
 and never was at a loss for a quotation from Euri- 
 pides, or a sly hit from Juvenal against the sex ; 
 from which I more than suspect he had in early 
 life received a slight. " Sir," he would say, " there 
 is one thing in which I think the Papists are right, 
 and that is, in representing their good women
 
 352 ANECDOTES AND CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 without a head ; a piece of humour in which, by 
 the by, he rarely indulged before the ladies, so 
 great was his sense of propriety. 
 
 Of the great men of his own times, Parr was the 
 especial object of the archdeacon's dislike. He 
 said he knew about as much of Greek as an Athe- 
 nian blacksmith j * and that he was only not a 
 Manichean, because he would not have acknow- 
 ledged a good princijjle (punning on the word), 
 if he had been acquainted with it. Porson, he 
 said, was a sot and a buffoon, and worse still — a 
 whig ; " but the scoundrel understood metres.*" 
 With neither of them would he condescend to 
 be personally acquainted. His reviews of Gilbert 
 Wakefield were models of causticity, — for the writ- 
 ings of this schismatic he treated with a memorable 
 severity. 
 
 About the time when Sir S. Romilly was endea- 
 vouring to overturn our judicial institutions, the 
 archdeacon preached his celebrated assize sermon 
 before the judges. In this sermon he laid it down, 
 that as Christianity is part of the law of the land, 
 it must follow that the law of the land cannot be 
 contradictory to Christianity, and consequently, 
 that to alter the law is as bad as to alter the 
 Gospel. He praised the wisdom of the Medes and 
 Persians, and eulogized the then existing govern- 
 ment, wliose hostility to all amelioration was truly 
 Asiatic. 
 
 • Said by Bentley of Anacreon Barnes.
 
 THE REV. THOMAS BOTIIERUM, S.T.P. 353 
 
 For this sermon, which he printed with the 
 motto of " stare super vias antiquas," he was so 
 unmercifully handled by the opposition journals, 
 that he once told me with great glee, " he was not 
 without good hopes of being kicked into the prelacy." 
 Whether this promotion was, indeed, contemplated, 
 it is now hard to say ; for death deprived the parish 
 of Braintown Parva of its ornament, and the world 
 of its luminary, somewhat suddenly, just as he was 
 putting a finishing hand to his treatise, " De Inu- 
 tilitatis Prccstantid in DiscipUnis Academicis," in 
 which he ably vindicated the British universities, 
 and proved by the equation a + b—io^ — 0, that the 
 whole genius and talent of the English country 
 gentlemen were exclusively due to a discipline, 
 that palpably refuted the maxim of " non ex quovis 
 ligno." 
 
 Upon this point the archdeacon was urgent in 
 season and out of season, and nothing vexed him 
 more than to hear Cambridge called a Whig uni- 
 versity. " No, sir," he would say, " Glasgow is a 
 Whig university, Edinburgh is a VMiig university, 
 but an English university cannot be Whig, for it 
 is essentially prelatical. Cambridge may be a 
 shade less Tory than Oxford, but every day the 
 distinction is wearing out (and he would add, with 
 a deep expression of devotion and gratitude), I 
 thank God for that." 
 
 It was with a view to strengthening the weak 
 in this particular, that he wrote the treatise above 
 mentioned. In the Scotch universities, he con-
 
 354 ANECDOTES AND CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 tended, where they taught the useful sciences, the 
 pupils and professors were all democrats and infi- 
 dels ; whereas the more abstract pursuits of Oxford 
 and Cambridge, having no bearing on every-day 
 life, preserved a gentleman from low sympathies, 
 and prevented convenient prejudices from being 
 too closely examined by the students. The king, 
 he justly observed, could make a peer of whom he 
 pleased ; but Oxford and Cambridge could alone 
 form a truly aristocratic mind, and level genius to 
 the senatorial calibre. 
 
 Thus did this truly great man die, as he had 
 lived, the steady and able advocate of the wisdom 
 of our ancestors — the studious cultivator of all 
 those inapplicable sciences, which preserve man- 
 kind in innocence, docility, and obedience, to the 
 powers that be — and the opponent of that ignis 
 fatuus illumination, which, under the modest name 
 of innovation, is in reality nothing less than revo- 
 lution. It cannot be sufficiently lamented, that he 
 passed so much of his life in the obscurity of a 
 country living ; and however beneficial the acci- 
 dent might have been to myself, which was the 
 c^use of my friendship and converse with such a 
 mind, I cannot but regret that his acceptance of a 
 college preferment should have separated him from 
 his Alma Mater. As head of St. John's, his abi- 
 lities would have found a more congenial appli- 
 cation ; and his influence would not have been 
 without weight, in checking that flood of soidisant 
 liberality, which has changed the character of par-
 
 THE REV. THOMAS BOTHERUM, S.T.P. 355 
 
 liament, and, by repealing the penal laws, has 
 given a death-blow to our glorious constitution. 
 
 But " dlis aliter visum;'"' and against the de- 
 crees of Providence, however inscrutable, it be- 
 comes not a Christian (as the Doctor would have 
 said) to recalcitrate. The people have imagined 
 a vain thing, and out of the very idolatry of their 
 affection for Popery a rod has been formed, to 
 punish their backslidings. Most fervently do I 
 pray, however, that a time for penitence is left to 
 this nation ; and in the idea that the example of 
 such a life as Doctor Botherum's cannot be without 
 its use upon the rising generation, I here present 
 to my countrymen this faithful portraiture of him, 
 who (as there is too much reason to fear) will 
 prove the last of the old race of genuine English 
 churchmen. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 F. SHOBERL, JUN. 51, RUPERT STREET, HAYMARKET, 
 
 PRINTER TO H. R. H. PRINCE ALBERT.
 
 13, Great Marlborough Street . 
 
 POPULAR 
 NEW WORKS OF FICTION, 
 
 JUST PUBLISHED BY 
 
 Mr. COLBURN, 
 
 TO BE HAD AT ALL THE LIBRARIES. 
 
 I. 
 
 THE MONEYED MAN; 
 
 OR, THE LESSON OF A LIFE. 
 
 By HORACE SMITH, Esq. 
 
 One of the Authors of " Rejected Addresses." 3 vols, post 8vo. 
 
 II. 
 
 GREVILLE; 
 
 OR, A SEASON IN PARIS. 
 By Mrs. GORE. 3 vols, post 8vo. 
 " As every body goes to Paris, every body should read Mrs. Gore's 
 new novel, Greviile ; or, a Season in that delightful metropolis — by 
 the publication of which, the authoress has conferred a real benefit 
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 The manner in which Mrs. Gore has introduced her readers at once 
 into the heart of society in the French capital, is admirable. In 
 short, it could scarcely be thought possible that a single work could 
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 capital, as this novel of ' Greviile;' and no English person intending 
 to visit Paris should fail to study its sparkling details." — Sun. 
 
 III. 
 
 POPULAR TRADITIONS OF ENGLAND, 
 
 By JOHN ROBY, Esq., M.R.S.L. 
 3 vols., post 8vo., with numerous Engravings on Wood. 
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 in them much food for meditation. Such a collection of English tra- 
 ditions supplies valuable additions to our existing stock of knowledge, 
 either as materials for illustrating English history, and manners and 
 customs now obsolete, or as legends having truth for their basis. As 
 relics of the past rescued from oblivion, they are a most interesting 
 addition to the literature of our country." — Conservative Journal.
 
 2 NEW NOVELS JUST PUBLISHED. 
 
 IV. 
 
 PETER PRIGGINS, 
 
 THE COLLEGE SCOUT. 
 
 Edited by THEODORE HOOK, Esq. 
 
 3 vols., post 8vo., with Illustrations, by Phiz. 
 
 " An admirable sketch of a College Scout, whose sayings and 
 
 doings are the Sam Slickiana of Alma RIater. These sketches are, 
 
 indeed, the most laughter-provoking we ever read." — ^ge. 
 
 V. 
 
 THE NAVAL SURGEON. 
 
 By the Author of " Cavendish," " The Flying Dutchman," &c. 3 vols. 
 " We consider this novel to be the best that Mr. Neale has yet 
 written. It is a very admirable transcript of naval life, told with 
 great truth and feeling, and abounding both in incident and character. 
 One of its chief attractions to those who remember the original, will 
 be the life-like portrait which the author has drawn, in the character 
 of Captain Howard, of one of the finest fellows that ever trod the 
 deck of a man-of-war. The salient points of Captain Howard's cha- 
 racter, as a bold and accomplished sailor, are finely brought out in 
 the spirit-stirring and animated description of the running fight 
 between the Epaminondas and the strange seventy-four, whose his- 
 tory remains a mystery to the end. We have rarely read any thing 
 more interesting than the account of this chase. Mr. Neale's powers 
 are very various, and he sketches character with great freedom and 
 rapidity; his Dr. Caustic is an excellent specimen of dry humour and 
 singularity. Nor is he less at fault in the more romantic portions of 
 his narrative, happily blending a very interesting story with the shift- 
 ing adventures of a naval surgeon's life. We should be glad to see 
 that the case of the assistant-surgeons of the navy had received the 
 attention from the Lords of the Admiralty, which the author very 
 justly claims for that meritorious class of officers." — Morning Herald. 
 
 VI. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF A FLIRT. 
 
 RELATED BY HERSELF. 
 
 Second Edition. 3 vols., post 8vo. 
 "A very superior novel." — Times. 
 
 "Among the best novels of its kind for many years given to the 
 world by the English press." — AxHENyEUM. 
 
 VII. 
 
 LEGENDARY TALES OF THE HIGHLANDS. 
 
 By SIR THOMAS DICK LAUDER, Bart., 
 With Engravings by Phiz. Illustrator of " Nicholas Nickleby." 
 
 3 vols., post 8vo. 
 "These volumes contain the best tales of the north countrie 
 which we have looked into for a long period." — Athenaeum.
 
 NEW NOVELS JUST PUBLISHED, 3 
 
 LOVE AND WAR; 
 
 OR, THE ROMANCE OF MILITARY LIFE. 
 Comprising Stories of, and Scenes in, France, Switzerland, 
 Spain, Portdgal, &c. 
 By Capt. QUILLINAN. 3 vols. 
 " The most clever and spirited production of its kind that has 
 hitherto proceeded from the many gifted men who have been tempted 
 to exchange the sword for the pen. We know of nothing of the kind 
 which more pleasantly blends the attraction of high romance with 
 the force and truth of real life."— iVatia/ and Military Gazette. 
 
 OLIVER c'r O M W E L L. 
 
 AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE. 
 Edited by HORACE SMITH, Esq. 
 Author of " Brambletye House," &c. 3 vols. 
 "The most powerful historical romance we have perused since the 
 light of Scott's genius was extinguished in rayless night." — Cale- 
 donian Mercury. 
 
 " We may commend the battle-scenes in this work as about the most 
 spirited and thrilling since Scott described the gathering at Loudon 
 Hill and Bothwell Brigg." — AthenjEum. 
 
 THE SECRETARY OF MACCHIAVELLI ; 
 
 OR, THE SIEGE OF FLORENCE. 
 
 By DANIEL MACARTHY, Esq. 
 3 vols., post 8vo. 
 
 " A most powerfully written novel." — Weekly Chronicle. 
 
 " This clever novel is little, if at all, inferior to the most popular of 
 Mr. James's productions." — Naval and Military Gazette. 
 
 " This very spirited romance, abounding with events of great his- 
 torical interest, lays claim to a high place amongst the works of 
 fiction of the present day. There are passages in it that are not ex- 
 ceeded in beauty or power by any romance writer of our time." — 
 MoRNiNfir Herald. 
 
 THE CASHMERE SHAWL. 
 
 By Captain WHITE. 
 Author of " The King's Page," " Almack's Revisited," &c. 3 vols. 
 
 " We welcome the reappearance of this highly-gifted author in the 
 literary ranks. Wo predict a great success for this ' Cashmere 
 Shawl' — the Ladies especially should envelop ther minds for sf)me 
 few hours with this visionary and magnificent article of gorgeous 
 adornment. In these volumes the reader will tlnd a variety as 
 charming as it is abundant; he will be reminded by their humour of 
 Rabelais, and by their poetry of Thomas Moore, with a troop of Peris 
 in his imagination." — Metropolitan.
 
 COMPANION TO THE >VAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 Now in the course of Publication, each Work complete in a single 
 volume, elen;antly bound in cloth, price 6s., printed uniformly with 
 Byron and Scott, and beautifully embellished with the Portraits of 
 the Authors, and other Engravings, by the Findens and other 
 eminent Artists, 
 
 COLBURN'S 
 
 MODERN 
 
 STANDARD NOVELISTS: 
 
 A SELECT COLLECTION OF 
 
 €i)c bcsit ©tlorfe^ o! iTtttion 
 
 OF THE MOST DISTINGUISHED ENGLISH WRITERS, WHICH CANNOT 
 BE PROCURED IN ANY OTHER COLLECTION. 
 
 'Works already published in this Collection, 
 
 Either of which may be had separately, price only 6s. each. 
 
 SIR E. L. BULWER's PELHAM I MR HOOK's SAYINGS AND DO- 
 
 SIR E. L. BULWER's DEVEREUX INGS — FIRST SERIES 
 
 SIR E. L. EULWER S DISOWNED 
 
 MR. ward's TREMAINE 
 
 MR. H. smith's BRAMBLETYE 
 
 HOUSE 
 MR. H. smith's ZILLAH 
 CAPTAIN MARRYAT's FRANK 
 
 MILDMAY 
 MR. lister's GRANBY 
 
 MR. James's richelieu 
 
 MR. HOOK S sayings AND DO- 
 INGS — SECOND series 
 
 MR. hook's sayings AND DO- 
 INGS THIRD SERIES 
 
 LADY morgan's FLORENCE 
 MACARTHY 
 
 LADY MORG,\n'S o'dONNEL 
 
 MR. GLEIG's CHELSEA PENSION- 
 ERS 
 
 Opinions of the Press. 
 
 '* ' Colburn's Modem Standard Niivclists' present a series of those works of 
 fiction that have most tended, with tlie wriliu<is of Sir Walter Scott, to elevate 
 this description of litciature. Tills publication presents a concentration of 
 imaginative f;enins." — (ilohe. 
 
 '' Tlie collection continues to realize the most sanfjuine expectations of that 
 large class of readers who, with ourselves, are anxious to have all the best mo- 
 dern works of fiction brought out on the ))lan which Mr. (Jolburn has so judi- 
 ciously adopted, and in which elegance and economy are so happily combined." 
 — Sunday Times. 
 
 " A truly popular undertaking. The series so got up and embellished, and so 
 cheap, must extend the fame even of the author of ' Pelham." " — Literary Gazette. 
 
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 GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 agents: for SCOTLAND, Blil.L and bRADFUTE, EDINBURGH ; FOR 
 IRELAND, JOHN GUMMING, DuisLIN. 
 
 To be hud of all Booksellers throughout the Kingdom.
 
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