NOTES

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THE PLAIN SPEAKER

ESSAY I. ON THE PROSE STYLE OF POETS

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1. Do you read, etc. See vol. viii. p. 319 (A View of the English Stage).

5. Feathered, two-legged things.

‘That unfeather’d two-legged thing, a son.’
Dryden’s Absalom and Achitophel, l. 170.

Unpleasing flats and sharps. Cf. 4 ‘Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps.’ Romeo and Juliet, III. 5.

His Muse has been silent. Waverley was published in 1814, the Lord of the Isles in 1815; other novels followed, and, with the exception of Harold the Dauntless, published in 1817, Sir Walter’s work was confined to novels until the issue of Halidon Hill in 1822. Scott publicly acknowledged his authorship of the Waverley Novels on Feb. 23, 1827.

6. The translation of Ossian’s poems. James Macpherson’s (1736–1796) so-called translations were published in 1761–1763.

Shaftesbury’s Characteristics. Characteristics of Men, Manners, Opinions and Times (1711), a collection of the works of Anthony Ashley Cooper (1671–1713) third Earl of Shaftesbury, who, says Sidgwick, was ‘the first to make psychological experience the basis of ethics.’ Mr. W. C. Hazlitt says that Hazlitt’s attention was drawn to this work in Baskerville’s edition, which his father is represented as reading in the oil painting executed in 1804.

Foregone conclusion. Othello, III. 3.

Horne Tooke. John Horne Tooke (1736–1812) was elected Member for Old Sarum in 1801, after unsuccessfully contesting Westminster in 1790 and 1797.

The Portraits of Kneller, Richardson, and others. Sir Godfrey Kneller (1648–1723), painter of the Kit-Cat Club Portraits, and Jonathan Richardson (c. 1665–1745), who, after Kneller’s death, was considered the head of his profession.

7. He murmurs by the running brooks. Wordsworth’s ‘A Poet’s Epitaph.’

Charles Fox. Charles James Fox (1749–1806).

Lord Stormont. David Murray (1727–1796), diplomatist and statesman, second Earl of Mansfield (1793) and eldest son of David, sixth Viscount Stormont, who died in 1748.

8. To come trippingly off the tongue. Hamlet, III. 2.

Invita MinervÂ.Tu nihil invita dices faciesve Minerva,’ Horace, De Arte Poet., 385.

9. Like Goldsmith ... a Noble Lord. Prior, in his Life of Goldsmith, II. pp. 66–68, refers to this as a ‘ludicrous story’ which has ‘long been told.’ He describes it as ‘wholly a fabrication.’

10. Treads the primrose path. Hamlet, I. 3.

The highest [brightest] heaven of invention. King Henry V. Prologue.

He is nothing if not fanciful [critical]. Othello, II. 1.

Bristol-stones. Brilliant crystals of colourless quartz, found on St. Vincent’s Rocks near Bristol, go by the name of Bristol Diamonds.

On the unstedfast footing of a spear. 1 King Henry IV., I. 3.

11. To make us heirs. Wordsworth’s ‘Personal Talk,’ Poems of Sentiment XIII. [by heavenly lays].

Like beauty making beautiful old rime. Shakespeare’s Sonnets, 106.

Letter to a Noble Lord. Published 1796.

12. Buttress, frieze ... pendant bed. Macbeth, I. 6.

At one fell swoop. Macbeth, IV. 4.

Sharp and sweet. Cf. ‘As sweet as sharp.’ All’s Well that Ends Well, IV. 4.

13. From Windsor’s heights. Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College. [‘Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey’].

The so much admired description. Speech on the motion made for papers relative to the directions for charging the Nabob of Arcot’s private debts to Europeans on the Revenues of the Carnatick, February 28th, 1785.

The Abbe Sieyes ... ‘pigeon-holes.’ Burke’s A Letter to a Noble Lord, p. 142 (Works, Bohn, V.).

The comparison of the Duke of Bedford. A Letter to a Noble Lord, (Ib.) p. 129.

That sea-beast. Paradise Lost, I. 200–2.

Put his hook in the nostrils. The Book of Job, xli. 1–2.

The death of Lord Castlereagh. Robert Stewart (1769–1822), Viscount Castlereagh 1796, and second Marquis of Londonderry 1821. See vol. III., Political Essays, note to p. 36. He committed suicide in a fit of insanity.

14. Mr. Montgomery. James Montgomery (1771–1854) began the Sheffield Iris in 1794, and edited it until 1825.

15. Poets have been said to succeed best in fiction. The reply of Edmund Waller to Charles II., who had complained of the inferiority of the poet’s verses on the Restoration as compared with his panegyric on Cromwell.

Forlorn way obscure. Cf. Paradise Lost, II. 615. ‘In confused march forlorn.’

16. Old Fuller, and Burton, and Latimer. Thomas Fuller (1608–1661) of the Worthies (1662); Robert Burton (1577–1640) of the Anatomy of Melancholy (1621); and Hugh Latimer (1491–1555), Bishop, and writer of The Ploughers (1549).

The poet-laureat. Robert Southey (1774–1843) was made poet-laureate in 1813.

Extravagant and erring spirit. Hamlet, I. 1.

Stoops to earth. Cf. ‘But stoop’d to Truth, and moraliz’d his song.’ Pope, Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot, l. 341.

The words of Mercury. Love’s Labour’s Lost, v. 2.

16. Wat Tyler. Published 1817.

The Author of Rimini, and Editor of the Examiner. Leigh Hunt’s poem, The Story of Rimini, was published in 1816. The first number of The Examiner, a Sunday Paper on Politics, Domestic Economy and Theatricals, appeared on Jan. 3, 1808.

17. His effusions in the Indicator. This paper lasted from Oct. 13, 1819 to March 21, 1821. A second series lasted from March 28, 1821 to Oct. 13, 1821.

ESSAY II. ON DREAMS

From The New Monthly Magazine, ‘Table Talk, VI.,’ ‘Dreaming,’ No. 27, Vol. 7, 1823.

17. Dr. Spurzheim. J. G. Spurzheim, phrenologist (1776–1832). See The Physiognomical System of Drs. Gall and Spurzheim, founded on an Anatomical and Physiological Examination of the Nervous System in general, and of the Brain in particular, 1815. See also the Essay on p. 137, et seq., ante, ‘On Dr. Spurzheim’s Theory.’

18. Imparted in dreadful secresy. Hamlet, I. 2.

21. That which was now a horse. Antony and Cleopatra, IV. 14.

22. Heat-oppressed brain. Macbeth, II. 1.

24. Bishop Atterbury. Francis Atterbury (1662–1732), Bishop of Rochester, Jacobite and controversialist, and correspondent of Pope and Swift. See also vol. VIII. Lectures on the English Comic Writers, p. 14.

Intus et in cute. Persius, Sat. III. 30.

The New Eloise. Rousseau’s Nouvelle HÉloÏse (1760), SixiÈme Partie, Lettre XII.

ESSAY III. ON THE CONVERSATION OF AUTHORS

From The London Magazine, ‘Table Talk, III.,’ Sep. 20, 1820, signed ‘T., Winterslow Hut,’ vol. 2. The footnote which follows was not reprinted from the Magazine. The Essay was also published as ‘Table Talk, V.The New Monthly Magazine, No. 24, Vol. 5, 1822. See the Essay ‘On Persons one would wish to have seen.’

‘Of all persons spouters at Debating Societies are the most intolerable and troublesome as acquaintance. They have a constant desire to hear themselves talk, and never know what any one else wishes to hear. They talk incessantly, and say nothing. They are loud, offensive, and common-place. They try to get the ear of the company as they get the ear of the Chair, which, having got, they will not let go. They bait some unpretending individual (as if it was a case-hardened antagonist) with gross and vapid assurance, and turn a drawing-room into a bear-garden. They have all the prolixity and unwieldiness of authorship, without any of the solidity, and have all the ambition of orators to shine, without the ability, the excuse, or the inclination on the part of others to attend to them. I know one of this class in particular who has no more business in any party of ladies and gentlemen, with his splay-foot manners and long train of awkward speeches, than the Dragon of Wantley.’

25. And of his port. Prologue to the Canterbury Tales, 69.

He is one that cannot make a good leg. The Return from Parnassus, II. 6. See vol. V., Lectures on the Dramatic Literature of the Age of Elizabeth, p. 284.

Tull’s Husbandry. New Horse-hoing Husbandry, or an Essay on the Principles of Tillage and Vegetation; wherein is shewn a sort of Vineyard Culture into the Corn Fields, in order to increase their Product, and diminish the Common Expense by Instruments described in the Cuts. By Jethro Tull (1733). The Fourth edition contained an Introduction by William Cobbett. See also vol. VI., Table Talk, p. 102 and note.

The Philosopher of Botley. William Cobbett (1762–1835), who settled at Botley, Hampshire, in the early years of the nineteenth century.

26. Dilworth’s Spelling Book. ? Thomas Dilworth’s A New Guide to the English Tongue, an eighteenth century book.

Fearn’s Treatise on Contingent Remainders. Charles Fearne’s (1742–1794) An Essay on the Learning of Contingent Remainders and Executory Devises (1772). a book which made him an authority.

Etherial mould, sky-tinctured. Cf. Paradise Lost, II. 139, and V. 285.

Breathe in other air less pure. Paradise Lost, XI. 284.

Confined and cabin’d in. Macbeth, III. 4; ‘cabined, cribbed, confined, bound in.’

Verily we have our reward. S. Matthew, vi. 2.

27. Should go about to cozen fortune. Merchant of Venice, II. 9.

Because we are scholars [virtuous]. Twelfth Night, II. 3.

27. The wretched slave. King Henry V., IV. 1.

28. Tell his tale. Milton’s L’Allegro.

Stocks and stones. ‘You blocks, you stones, etc.’ Julius CÆsar, I. 1.

29. Miss ——. The reference is probably to Fanny Burney (1752–1840), and her novels Evelina (1778) and Cecilia (1782).

Whose is the superscription? S. Matthew, xxii. 20.

G—— C——. Probably Godwin and Coleridge.

32. The fear of being silent strikes us dumb [‘makes us mute’]. Cowper, Conversation, 352.

33. Grimm’s Memoirs. Colburn published in 1813 an abridgment in 4 vols. of the MÉmoires historiques, littÉraires et anecdotiques of Frederic Melchior, Baron de Grimm (1723–1807). They are full of entertaining information concerning eighteenth century French writers. See Vol. I. The Round Table, p. 131 et seq.

We had good talk, sir. Boswell’s Johnson, ed. G. B. Hill, II. 66.

I once knew a very ingenious man. Probably Sir John Stoddart, Hazlitt’s brother-in-law. He was a friend of the Bourbons. See vol. III. Political Essays, p. 169 et seq.

Sterne ... Yorick. A Sentimental Journey: The Passport, Versailles.

34. Villainous, and shews a pitiful ambition. Hamlet, III. 2.

When Greek meets Greek. ‘When Greeks joined Greeks, then was the tug of war.’ Nathaniel Lee’s (1655–1692) Alexander the Great, IV. 2.

C——. Coleridge.

ESSAY IV. THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED

35. L——‘s. Lamb’s. See the chapter entitled ‘Lamb’s Wednesdays’ in the Memoirs of W. Hazlitt, Vol. I. p. 271 et seq.

The Small-coal man’s musical parties. Thomas Britton (1654–1714), a dealer in small coal and a collector of every musical book he could meet with. He was frightened to death by a ventriloquist.

John Buncle. See Vol. I. The Round Table, p. 51 et seq., and Lamb’s Essay on ‘Imperfect Sympathies.’

36. And, in our flowing cups.

‘Then shall our names,
Familiar in their mouths as household words ...
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember’d.’
King Henry V. IV. 3.

The cartoons at Hampton Court. See Hazlitt’s essay on ‘The Pictures at Hampton Court.’

A list of persons. See the essay entitled ‘On Persons one would wish to have seen.’

36. C——. Coleridge, here and throughout the essay.

37. Ned P——. Edward Phillips, secretary to Charles Abbott, Speaker of the House of Commons. See Lamb’s Letters, ed. Hazlitt, I. pp. 76, 419, etc.

Captain ——. Rear-Admiral James Burney (1750–1821), brother of Fanny Burney and author of the famous Chronological History of the Voyages and Discoveries in the South Sea or Pacific Ocean (1803–1817), 5 vols. He sailed with Captain Cook in two of his voyages.

Jem White, the author of Falstaff’s Letters. Original Letters, etc., of Sir John Falstaff and his Friends, now first made public by a Gentleman, a descendant of Dame Quickly, from genuine MSS. which have been in the possession of the Quickly Family near four hundred years (1796). See Lamb’s Letters, ed. Hazlitt, I. 10, 90, etc. and The Lambs, 1897, pp. 24–6.

Turning like the latter end of a lover’s lute. Letters of Sir John Falstaff, etc. (see above), in a letter from ‘Davy to Shallow.’ Said of Master Abram, who dies of love for sweet Anne Page. See Lamb’s review of the Letters in The Examiner, Sep. 5, 1819, and Leigh Hunt’s reprint of it in The Indicator, Jan. 24, 1821. Lamb was suspected of having had a share in his friend and schoolmate’s book.

A——. William Ayrton (1777–1858), musical critic and editor of Charles Knight’s Musical Library.

Mrs. R——. Mrs. Reynolds, Lamb’s ‘sage woman.’

M. B. Martin Charles Burney, Lamb’s friend, the son of Admiral Burney.

The author of ‘the Road to Ruin.’ Thomas Holcroft. See Vol. II. p. 121 et seq.

The Critique of Pure Reason. Immanuel Kant’s work was published in 1781.

Mitre-court. In the Temple, where the Lambs resided for eight years at the beginning of the nineteenth century.

38. The Biographia Literaria. Coleridge’s book was published in 1817.

Like Angels’ visits. ‘Like those of angels, short and far between.’ Blair’s The Grave, 582. Cf. Vol. V. Lectures on the English Poets, p. 150.

Mr. Douce of the Museum. Francis Douce (d. 1834), antiquarian, Shakespearian scholar, and keeper of manuscripts in the British Museum.

L. H—— ... tropical blood. Leigh Hunt’s father, Isaac Hunt, was a Barbadian.

Aliquando sufflaminandus erat. Probably quoted from Ben Jonson’s Discoveries, LXIV., De Shakespeare Nostrati. See Vol. IV. The Spirit of the Age, note to p. 336.

39. Mr. Northcote. James Northcote (1746–1831).

40. Hear a sound so fine. James Sheridan Knowles’s Virginius (1820), V. 2.

41. Fuseli. Heinrich Fuessly or Henry Fuseli, portrait-painter and art critic (1741–1825). Cf. Vol. IV. The Spirit of the Age, p. 233.

Curran. John Philpot Curran (1750–1817), the Irish advocate.

Mrs. Inchbald. Elizabeth Inchbald (1753–1821), novelist, dramatist and actress.

Mary Woolstonecroft. Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin (1759–1797), of the Vindication of the Rights of Women (1792).

From noon to dewy eve. Paradise Lost, I. 743.

A Table Talk. See note on source of this essay, above.

Peter Pindar. John Wolcot, ‘Peter Pindar’ (1738–1819), physician, satirist and poet.

Mrs. M——. Mrs. Montagu, Basil Montagu’s third wife, the widow of Thomas Skepper and mother (by Skepper) of Mrs. Bryan Waller Procter. She married Montagu about 1806.

42. H—t’s. Hunt’s.

N——‘s. Northcote’s.

H—y—dn’s. Haydon’s.

A Doctor Tronchin. Theodore Tronchin (1709–1781), Genevan physician and friend of Rousseau.

Sir Fopling Flutter. In Sir George Etherege’s comedy The Man of Mode.

For wit is like a rest. Master Francis Beaumont’s Letter to Ben Jonson, printed in Beaumont and Fletcher’s Comedies (1647) [the best gamesters].

L—— once came down. To Winterslow. See Vol. VI. Table Talk, notes to pp. 90 and 188.

Like the most capricious poet [honest] Ovid. As You Like It, III. 3.

Walked gowned. Lamb’s Sonnet, written at Cambridge, August 15, 1819.

The person I mean. Undoubtedly George Dyer. See Lamb’s description of him in ‘Oxford in the Vacation’ (Essays of Elia).

ESSAY V. ON REASON AND IMAGINATION

44. This breathing world. King Richard III., I. 1.

45. In the world’s volume. Cymbeline, III. 4. ‘Seems as of it.’

There are more things. Hamlet I. 5.

46. The shadows in Plato’s cave. The Republic, Book VII.

As mice in an air-pump. Burke, A Letter to a Noble Lord (Works, Bohn, V. p. 142). Cf. also Young, Love of Fame, V. 177, and The Spectator, No. 21.

All the mighty world of eye and ear. Wordsworth’s Tintern Abbey.

The Last Moments of Mr. Fox. Circumstantial details of the Long Illness and last moments of the Rt. Hon. Charles James Fox, together with some strictures on his Public and Private Life, 1806. The remark about Burke’s style does not seem to have been made by Lord Holland.

Lord Holland. Henry Richard Vassall Fox, third Lord Holland (1773–1840).

Words that glow. ‘Thoughts that breathe and words that burn.’ Gray’s Progress of Poesy, 110.

48. Granville Sharp. The abolitionist (1735–1813), whose Memoirs by Prince Hoare were published in 1810.

49. Mr. Bentham. See Vol. IV. The Spirit of the Age, pp. 189, et seq.

Paley’s Moral Philosophy. William Paley’s (1743–1805) Moral and Political Philosophy was published in 1785.

Tucker’s Light of Nature. Abraham Tucker’s (1705–1774) The Light of Nature Pursued (7 vols., 1768–1778) was abridged by Hazlitt. See Vol. IV. of the present edition, pp. 371–385.

50. The tyrant’s plea. Paradise Lost, IV. 393.

Casts its shadow before. Campbell’s Lochiel’s Warning.

51. The classical administration of Mr. Canning. The oratory of George Canning (1770–1827) was noted for its classical turn.

Ex uno omnes. Cf. ‘ab uno disce omnes,’ Virgil’s Æneid, II. 65–6.

What can we reason. Pope’s Essay on Man, Ep. I. 18.

52. A breath can mar [make] them. Goldsmith’s Deserted Village, 54.

His Social Contract. Published 1762.

54. ‘Duchess of Malfy.’ Webster’s tragedy (1623).

Give the mind pause. Cf. ‘Give us pause.’ Hamlet, III. 1.

One touch of nature. Troilus and Cressida, III. 3.

Thou hast no speculation. Macbeth, III. 4.

55. Both at the first and now. Hamlet, III. 2.

To feel what others are. Gray, Ode to Adversity.

ESSAY VI. ON APPLICATION TO STUDY

From The New Monthly Magazine, No. 35, Vol. VIII., 1823, ‘Table Talk, X.

55. Wilson the Painter. Richard Wilson (1714–1782), ‘The English Claude.’

56. Morland. George Morland (1763–1804), painter of country scenes and humble life.

Invita MinervÂ. See ante, note to p. 8.

The labour we delight in. Macbeth, II. 1.

Denner. Balthasar Denner, a German portrait painter (1685–1749).

To him a kingdom was. Cf. ‘My mind to me a kingdom is,’ by Sir Edward Dyer.

A lucid mirror. Cowper, The Task, I. 701–2.

Begun in gladness. Wordsworth’s Resolution and Independence, St. 8.

57. The Children in the Fiery Furnace. Daniel, iii. 6.

TerrÆ filii. Cf. Persius, Sat. VI. 59, ‘TerrÆ est jam filius.’

Highest [brightest] Heaven of invention. King Henry V. Prologue.

58. Nice customs curtesy. King Henry V. V. 2.

A jest’s prosperity. Love’s Labour’s Lost, V. 2.

59. The random, blindfold blows.

‘Strike in the dark, offending but by chance,
Such are the blindfold blows of Ignorance.’
Dryden, The Hind and the Panther, I. 323–4.

Had drawn in their breath and puffed it forth again.

‘As fast
As I had puffed it forth and sucked it in
Like breath.’
Beaumont and Fletcher’s Philaster, V. 5.

The sounding cataract. Wordsworth, Tintern Abbey.

60. Propulsive force. Cf.

‘Like to the Pontic sea
Whose icy current and compulsive course
Ne’er feels retiring ebb, etc. Othello, III. 3.

Grows with our growth. Pope’s Essay on Man, Epis. II. 136.

61. The Prince of Painters. The title is generally given to Parrhasius, the Greek painter (c. 400 B.C.), but Hazlitt refers to Raphael.

Salvator. Salvator Rosa, Neapolitan painter, musician and poet (1615–1673).

Sir Joshua Reynolds’s Discourses. Published 1771, etc.

The Rev. W. Shepherd. His Life of Poggio Bracciolini was published at Liverpool in 1802.

62. Unfold the book. Hamlet, I. 5.

Spiritus precipitandus est. See Vol. IV. The Spirit of the Age, note to p. 309.

Mr. Cobbett. See Vol. IV., The Spirit of the Age, pp. 334 et seq.

63. Perseverance, dear my lord. Troilus and Cressida, III. 3.

64. Ned Softly, in the Tatler. See No. 163, April 25, 1710.

65. Never ending, still beginning. Dryden, Alexander’s Feast, 102. Also cf. ‘Still ending and beginning still,’ Cowper’s The Task, III. 627.

Physician, heal thyself. S. Luke, iv. 23.

66. Dr. Burney. Charles Burney the elder (1726–1814), historian of music.

ESSAY VII. ON LONDONERS AND COUNTRY PEOPLE

From The New Monthly Magazine, No. 32, vol. VIII. 1823, ‘Table Talk, VII.

66. Mr. Blackwood ... Cockney. See Vol. VI. Table Talk, note to p. 98.

67. Beyond Hyde Park. Etherege’s The Man of Mode, V. 2.

68. He is owner of all he surveys. ‘I am monarch of all I survey.’ Cowper’s Verses supposed to be written by Alexander Selkirk.

69. A barker in Monmouth Street. A shop-tout or sham auctioneer. See vol. VI. Mr. Northcote’s Conversations, note to p. 459.

A slop-seller in Radcliffe Highway. It will be remembered that the Marrs kept a lace and pelisse warehouse, 29 Ratcliffe Highway. See De Quincey’s Murder considered as one of the Fine Arts.

Pennant. Some Account of London, 1790. 4to. A well-known and much appreciated topographical account that passed through several editions in the early years of last century.

Where Hicke’s Hall formerly stood. Hicks’s Hall, formerly in St. John Street, Clerkenwell. The milestones on the Great North Road were measured from here.

70. Cider-Cellar. The tavern at 20, Maiden Lane, a favourite resort of Porson’s, who furnished the Latin motto over the door, ‘Honos erit huic quoque homo.’

Shorter excursions tries. Pope, An Essay on Criticism, 737–8.

White-conduit House. For this (Pentonville) and Bagnigge Wells (King’s Cross) see Vol. IV. note to p. 108.

Rosemary Branch. At Peckham. See Vol. VI. Table Talk, note to p. 88.

Catch the breezy air. Wordsworth, ‘Lines written in Early Spring’ (Lyrical Ballads, 1798).

There’s nought so sweet on earth. One of Moore’s ‘Irish Melodies.’

Brahams. John Abraham, tenor singer (1774–1856). ‘He was,’ said Sir Walter Scott, ‘a beast of an actor, but an angel of a singer.’ He began life by selling lead pencils in London streets as a boy, made an enormous fortune as the greatest tenor singer of his day, and squandered it in building St. James’s Theatre and buying the Colosseum in Regent’s Park (See Vol. VI. Mr. Northcote’s Conversations, note to p. 429).

Durusets. J. B. Duruset, singer (See the Literary Gazette of June 26 and July 3, 1824).

71. An hour by St. Dunstan’s clock. Cf. ‘We rose both at an instant, and fought a long hour by Shrewsbury clock.’ 1 King Henry IV. V. 4.

Copenhagen-house. A tavern and tea-garden in North London between Maiden Lane and Hogbush Lane. See Vol. VI. Table Talk, p. 86–89.

72. For how should the soul of Socrates. The Road to Ruin, Act III. 2.

Hole in the Wall. In Chancery Lane, kept by Randall the pugilist. See Vol. VI. Table Talk, note to p. 202.

The poet Jago. Richard Jago (1715–1781), author of Edge Hill.

Anthony Collins. The deist (1676–1729), author of a Discourse of Freethinking (1713).

73. Mr. Dunster ... the fishmonger in the Poultry. See Memoirs of W. Hazlitt. II. 310. His real name was, apparently, Fisher, of Duke Street, St. James’s.

74. The Story of the King of Bohemia. Tristram Shandy, viii. 19.

76. See Round Table, Vol. II. p. 116. See Vol. I. pp. 122, et seq.

This bottle’s the sun of our table. R. B. Sheridan’s The Duenna, III. 5. 76. Bannister, King. John Bannister (1760–1836), Thomas King (1730–1805).

Mr. Justice Shallow. 2 King Henry IV., III. 2.

77. A species alone. ‘The Phoenix Pindar is a vast species alone.’ Cowley, The Praise of Pindar.

ESSAY VIII. ON THE SPIRIT OF OBLIGATIONS

From The New Monthly Magazine, ‘Table Talk, XI.,’ No. 37, Vol. X. 1824.

78. Nihil humani. Terence, Heautontimorumenos, I. 1.

80. Make mouths at the invisible event. Hamlet, IV. 4.

Born for their use, etc. Young’s The Revenge, V. 2.

81. Wise saws. As You Like It, II. 7.

82. Mr. Wilberforce. William Wilberforce (1759–1833), the parliamentary leader of the anti-slavery cause. See Vol. IV. The Spirit of the Age, pp. 331, et seq.

83. If to their share. Pope, The Rape of the Lock, II., 17–18.

A Howard. John Howard (1726–1790), prison philanthropist.

A Sir Hudson Lowe. 1769–1844. As jailor of Napoleon in St. Helena he endured much obloquy.

Charity covers a multitude of sins. 1 Peter, iv. 8.

The meanest peasant on the bleakest mountain. Sterne’s Sentimental Journey. The Bourbonnois.

Talma. FranÇois Joseph Talma (1763–1826), one of the greatest of French tragic actors.

84. Mr. Justice Fielding. William, eldest son of the novelist (1748–1820). He was magistrate for Westminster.

Colonel Bath. In Amelia.

Administer to a mind diseased. Macbeth, V. 3.

85. A little lower than the angels. Psalms viii. 5.

And when I think that his immortal wings. Heaven and Earth, Part I. Scene 1.

The person whose doors I enter with most pleasure. ? Northcote’s.

86. Enter [Open] Sessami. The words that opened the cave door in Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves.

87. The late Mr. Sheridan. Richard Brinsley Sheridan died in 1816.

Coin his smile for drachmas. ‘I had rather coin my heart, and drop my blood for drachmas.’ Julius CÆsar, IV. 3.

ESSAY IX. ON THE OLD AGE OF ARTISTS

From The New Monthly Magazine, No. 33, Vol. VIII., 1823, ‘Table Talk, VIII.

88. Mr. Nollekens. Joseph Nollekens, died in 1823.

A man’s a man for a’ that.’ Burns, ‘Is there for honest poverty.’

89. Chantry. Sir Francis Legatt Chantrey (1781–1841). The wealth he accumulated by means of his art was given to the Royal Academy for the purchase of works of art executed in Great Britain.

Have wrought himself to stone. Cf. ‘I have not yet forgot myself to stone.’ Pope, Eloisa to Abelard, 24.

As when a vulture on Imaus bred. Paradise Lost, III. 431.

89. Bernini. Giovanni Lorenzo Bernini (1598–1680), painter, sculptor and architect. He was called the Michael Angelo of his times.

Roubilliac. Louis Francis Roubilliac, French sculptor (d. 1762). He executed the statue of Sir Isaac Newton, Trinity College, Cambridge. The monument to the Duke of Argyle, in Westminster Abbey, is his.

Day. Alexander Day, miniature painter and picture-dealer (1772–1841).

Barry. James T. Barry, painter and art critic (1741–1806), who was patronised by Burke.

And by the force of blear illusion.

‘As by the strength of their illusion
Shall draw him on to his confusion.’
Macbeth, III. 5.

See also ‘blear illusion,’ Comus, 155, and vol. IV. The Spirit of the Age, p. 214, where the same combination occurs.

90. Flaxman. John Flaxman (1755–1826), sculptor and designer.

Cosway. Richard Cosway (d. 1821), the miniaturist.

Bears a charmed life. Macbeth, V. 7.

Exhibition at Somerset-house. The Royal Academy’s rooms were there. See vol. VI. Conversations of James Northcote, note to p. 435.

91. His life spins round on its soft axle.

‘Or she from west her silent course advance
With inoffensive pace that spinning sleeps
On her soft axle.’
Paradise Lost, VIII. 165.

Age cannot wither. Antony and Cleopatra, II. 2.

92. Captain Englefield and his crew. ‘Captain Englefield and his crew escaping from the wreck of the Centaur’ was Northcote’s first ‘historical’ picture.

One Jeffrey ... artist. ? James Jeffreys (1757–1784), who obtained the gold medal for the best historical picture in 1774, and whose ‘Destruction of the Spanish Batteries before Gibraltar’ was engraved by Woollett.

93. His story of Isabella. The Decameron, Fourth Day, Fifth Novel.

West (the late President of the Royal Academy). Benjamin West, who was elected P.R.A. on the death of Sir Joshua Reynolds in 1792. He died in 1820.

94. Of no mark or likelihood. 1 King Henry IV., III. 2.

95. Loutherbourg. Philip James Loutherbourg (1740–1812), landscape painter.

Blake. William Blake, poet and artist (1759–1827).

Sharp. William Sharp, engraver (1740–1824). He was a follower of Mesmer, Swedenborg and Joanna Southcott.

Varley. John Varley, landscape-painter (1778–1842).

96. Mr. Cipriani. Giambattista Cipriani, a painter of Florentine birth and one of the original members of the Royal Academy (1727–1785).

Shall look upon his like again. Hamlet, I. 2.

97. Present no mark to the foe-man [enemy]. 2 King Henry IV., III. 4.

Defy augury. Hamlet, V. 2.

ESSAY X. ON ENVY (A DIALOGUE)

Teniers. David Teniers, the younger (1610–1694). See vol. VIII. Lectures on the English Comic Writers, pp. 139 and 141 and notes.

Wilkie. Sir David Wilkie (1785–1841).

98. Hoppner. John Hoppner (1759–1810), portrait and landscape painter, who excelled in portraits of women and children.

——. Mr. W. C. Hazlitt suggests that Godwin is meant.

99. Turner. J. M. W. Turner, the greatest English landscape painter (1775–1851).

The wisest, meanest of mankind. Pope’s Essay on Man, Ep. IV. 281, applied to Bacon.

W***. Wellington.

100. Lord Castlereagh. See ante, note to p. 13.

To throw a cruel sunshine on a fool. Armstrong, The Art of Preserving Health, Book IV.

The Miss Hornecks. See vol. VI. Table Talk, note to p. 93.

Mr. C——. Croker.

101. Note. Richard Cumberland (1732–1811), the dramatist, described by Goldsmith as ‘the Terence of England.’

102. Incredulus odi. Horace, De Arte Poet., 188.

103. Acis and Galatea. A serenata by John Gay (1688–1732), produced at the Haymarket with Handel’s music, 1732. See the 1st chorus in part II.

104. Mr. Croley. George Croly (1780–1860), author of the romance of Salathiel (1829), and numerous other works.

105. The Royal Society of Authors. Probably the Royal Society for the advancement of General Literature, founded 1823. Croly was on the council.

Sir Andrew Wylie. John Galt’s (1779–1839) novel, Sir Andrew Wylie of that Ilk, was published in 1822.

107. Galled his kibe. Hamlet, V. 1.

Sir Peter Lely. Pieter Van der Faes (1618–1680), whose father changed the family name to Lely; painter (of Westphalian birth) of the Beauties of the Court of Charles II.

ESSAY XI. ON SITTING FOR ONE’S PICTURE

From The New Monthly Magazine, No. 35, Vol. VIII., 1823, ‘Table Talk, IX.

107. The beggar in the street. The Author himself painted a small portrait in oils of a poor old woman whom he met near Manchester in 1803. [W. C. H.]

108. When he sat to me. In 1804, when the sitter was in his 67th year, and Unitarian Minister at Wem in Shropshire.... The picture is still in a fair state of preservation. [W. C. H.]

109. The late Mr. Opie. John Opie (1761–1807), historical painter.

Invisible or dimly seen. Paradise Lost, V. 157.

111. The Bunburys. See vol. VI. Mr. Northcote’s Conversations, note to p. 454.

Happy alchemy of mind. Cf. vol. V. Lectures on the English Poets, note to p. 107.

Vandyke married a daughter of Earl Gower. He married, about 1639, Maria Ruthven, granddaughter of the first Earl of Gowrie. See Conversations of James Northcote, R.A., with James Ward, p. 92, where Northcote is reported as wroth with Hazlitt for having given the Earl’s name as Cowper. The change from Cowper to Gower, as given in the present text, is because of an erratum-direction to that effect behind the ‘Contents of the First Volume,’ in the original edition.

A painter of the name of Astley ... Lady ——. John Astley, portrait-painter (?1730–1787), married Lady Daniell. See Redgrave’s Dictionary.

112. Had Petrarch gained his Laura, etc.

‘Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch’s wife,
He would have written sonnets all his life?’
Don Juan, Canto III. Stanza 8.

112. St. Preux. In Rousseau’s Julie ou la Nouvelle HÉloÏse (1760).

113. Till the sense aches at it. Othello, IV. 2.

Amorous toys of light-winged Cupid.

‘Light-wing’d toys of feather’d Cupid.’
Othello, I. 3.

Canova. Antonio Canova (1757–1822), Venetian sculptor.

114. The world forgetting. Pope’s Eloisa to Abelard, 208.

Or stock-dove plain amid the forest deep. Thomson, The Castle of Indolence, I. 4.

Think of its crimes. Thomson, An Hymn on Solitude.

115. Lord Keppel. Augustus Viscount Keppel (1725–1786), one of the English Admirals. He and his second in command, Sir Hugh Palliser, were court-martialled for permitting the French fleet to escape after an indecisive battle off Ushant, 27th July 1778. Both were acquitted.

Mr. C——r ... made the House stare. See Hansard, N. S., IX., 1211, June 25, 1823, for Croker’s remarks.

116. To lie like Whitfield. Whitfield was buried in 1770. When the coffin was opened in 1784, the body was found to be perfect. See L. Tyerman’s Life, II. 602–3. Possibly it is to this that Hazlitt refers.

Warm, kneaded motion to a clog.

This sensible warm motion to become
A kneaded clod.
Measure for Measure, III. 1.

ESSAY XII. WHETHER GENIUS IS CONSCIOUS OF ITS POWERS

117. Bolingbroke. Henry St. John, Viscount Bolingbroke (1672–1751), statesman, writer and friend of Pope.

Sir William Temple. Diplomatist and essayist (1628–1700).

Sees not itself. Julius CÆsar, I. 2.

A phoenix gazed by all. Paradise Lost, V. 272.

118. Materiam superabat opus. Ovid, Met., II. 5.

Our poesy is a gum which issues [oozes]. Timon of Athens, I. 1.

119. Invita MinervÂ. See ante, note to p. 8.

120. The glory, the intuition, the amenity. Lamb’s ‘Lines on the Celebrated Picture by Leonardo da Vinci, called “The Virgin of the Rocks.”’

Through happiness or pains. Pope’s Epistle to Mr. Jervas, l. 68.

I write this at Winterslow. See vol. VI. Table Talk, note to p. 90.

My mind to me a kingdom is. From Sir Edward Dyer’s lyric in Byrd’s Psalms and Sonnets (1588).

That character of Millimant. See vol. VIII. Lectures on the English Comic Writers, pp. 73–4.

Signior Orlando Friscobaldo. In Dekker’s The Honest Whore, Part II. See vol. V. Lectures on the Literature of the Age of Elizabeth, pp. 335, et seq.

122. Webster or Deckar. John Webster (? d. 1625) and Thomas Dekker (c. 1570–c. 1637). See vol. v. Lectures on the Dramatic Literature of the Age of Elizabeth.

Schlegel. In his Lectures on Dramatic Art and Literature. See vol. I. Characters of Shakespear’s Plays, note to p. 171.

The Descent of Liberty. Leigh Hunt’s Mask, with a dedication from Surrey Jail was published in 1815.

122. When the mighty fell. Napoleon.

123. Cried out upon in the top of the compass. Cf. Hamlet, III. 2.

‘You would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass.’

and II. 2.

‘An eyrie of children, little eyases, that cry out on the top of question.’

Mr. Jerdan recommends the volume of Characteristics. See vol. III. of the present edition for Hazlitt’s Characteristics, and particulars of their publication. The book was favourably reviewed in the Literary Gazette for July 12, 1823.

The Story of Rimini. Published in 1816, and savagely reviewed in Blackwood’s Magazine, May 1818.

An Adonis of fifty. See vol. IV. The Spirit of the Age, note to p. 358.

Return, Alpheus. Lycidas, 132–3.

Look abroad into universality. Bacon, Advancement of Learning, Book I.

124. A. P. E. Alexander Pope, Esquire.

They take in vain. Exodus, XX. 7.

It is all one as we should love. All’s Well that Ends Well, I. 1.

125. Fast-anchored in the deep abyss of time [space]. Cowper, Retirement, l. 84.

The face of heaven so bright. See Romeo and Juliet, II. 2, 20–2.

Bartlemy-Fair. A famous fair was held at West Smithfield, 1133–1855 about the time of the festival of St. Bartholomew, August 24.

The high endeavour and the glad success. Cowper, The Task, V. 901.

126. Bis repetita crambe.Occidit miseros crambe repetita magistros,’ Juvenal, VII. 154.

Annibal Caracci. Annibale Caracci (1560–1609), painter of the Farnese Gallery, in Rome.

127. ‘Love for Love.’ Congreve’s comedy, 1695.

Miss Mellon. Harriet Mellon (1775–1837), later, Duchess of St. Alban’s. She began on the stage as a child in boys’ parts, was introduced by Sheridan to London, where she played ‘Lydia Languish’ in The Rivals, at Drury Lane, January 1795, and became a popular hoyden. Mr. Coutts, the banker, fell in love with her, and married her soon after the death of his wife in 1814, and when he died in 1822 his wealth passed to her. In 1827 she married William, Duke of St. Alban’s, whose age was 27. After providing handsomely for him, she left the bulk of her property to Mr. Coutts’ granddaughter, Miss Angela Burdett.

Bob Palmer. (1757–?1805.)

Bannister. John Bannister (1760–1836).

ESSAY XIII. ON THE PLEASURE OF HATING

Lines to a Spider. Probably those in The Liberal (Byron, Shelley and Hunt’s Quarterly), vol. II. 177.

128. The milk of human kindness. Macbeth, I. 5.

As Mr. Burke observes. Sublime and Beautiful, Part I. § 15. Last line but one, matter, ? a slip for ‘nature.’

129. We subscribe to new editions of Fox’s Book of Martyrs. A folio edition was published by subscription by Thomas Kelly, London, 1811.

Off, you lendings! Lear, III. 4.

Panopticons. Jeremy Bentham’s name for his method of prison supervision. See vol. IV. The Spirit of the Age, note to p. 197.

129. Mr. Owen’s impassable Parallelograms. Cf. vol. III. Political Essays, pp. 121–7.

Mr. Irving ... Caledonian Chapel. See vol. IV. The Spirit of the Age, p. 222, et seq.

’Tis pretty, though a plague. All’s Well that Ends Well, I. I.

Upon this bank and shoal of time. Macbeth, I. 7.

130. Outdo [o’er doing] termagant. Hamlet, III. 2.

A most. ? A misprint for ‘almost.’

That which was luscious as locusts. Othello, I. 3.

131. Epistle to Robert Southey, Esq. See the Letter of Elia to Robert Southey, Esq., in The London Magazine, Oct. 1823.

That I myself have celebrated. See ante, the Essay ‘On the Conversation of Authors.’

132. H—— ? Joseph Hume of the Pipe Office, not the Radical M.P. (See Lamb’s Letters, ed. W. C. Hazlitt, I. 361, note 1).

Carve them as a dish fit for the Gods. Julius CÆsar, II. I.

L—— H—— Leigh Hunt.

John Scott. ? John Scott (1783–1821), Editor of The London Magazine, who died from a wound received in a duel from Christie, Lockhart’s friend.

Mrs. —— Montagu.

B—— ? Burney.

Sans intermission, for hours by the dial. As You Like It, II. 7.

Fellows of no mark. 1 King Henry IV., III. 2.

——‘s ? Hume.

133. Mr. Washington Irvine a very fine writer. Cf. vol. IV. The Spirit of the Age.

Mr. Liston. John Liston (1776–1846).

134. Gone into the wastes of time. ‘But thou among the wastes of time must go.’ Shakespeare’s Sonnets, XII.

Mr. Moore’s Loves of the Angels. Of Mr. Moore’s poem, published on Jan. 1, 1823, five editions were exhausted in one year.

Sitting in my window. Beaumont and Fletcher’s Philaster, V. 5.

[Heaved from a sheepcote].

The wine of poetry is drank.

‘The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees
Is left this vault to brag of.’
Macbeth, II. 3.

135. Play [sport] with Amaryllis in the shade. Lycidas, 68.

Fonthill. The residence of ‘Vathek’ Beckford.

To every good work reprobate. Epistle to Titus, i. 16.

136. Of whom the world was not worthy. Epistle to the Hebrews, xi. 38.

This was some time a mystery. ‘This was some time a paradox, but now the time gives it proof.’ Hamlet, III. 1.

The rose plucked from the forehead of a virtuous love.

‘Takes off the rose
From the fair forehead of an innocent love
And sets a blister there.’
Hamlet, III. 4.

137. Note. The Sentinel. See vol. VI. Conversations of James Northcote, p. 518, and footnote.

Daddy Ratton. In Scott’s Heart of Midlothian.

ESSAY XIV. ON DR. SPURZHEIM’S THEORY

137. Drs. Gall and Spurzheim. See ante, Essay On Dreams.

138. A book where men may read strange matters. Macbeth, I. 5.

Draws the curtain. Twelfth Night, I. 5.

139. Whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders. Othello. I. 3.

140. Here be truths ... dashed and brewed with lies. Dryden, Absalom and Achitophel, I. 114. Cf. also a similar passage in Addison (The Spectator, 580).

With other matters of like pith and moment. Cf. ‘enterprizes of great pith and moment.’ Hamlet, III. I.

If these things are done in the green tree. S. Luke, xxiii. 31.

141. The Alchemist. By Ben Jonson, 1610.

144. Malebranche. Nicolas Malebranche (1638–1715), whose De la Recherche de la VÉritÉ was published in 1674.

146. Gaubius Gobbo. ‘Good Launcelot Gobbo,’ Merchant of Venice, II. 2.

147. There needs no ghost to tell us that. Hamlet, I. 5.

149. The Wonderful Magazine. The Wonderful Magazine, or Marvellous Chronicle, or New Weekly Entertainer, a journal of the latter half of the eighteenth century, with varying titles.

King Ferdinand. Possibly the reference is to the Cortes having let Ferdinand leave Cadiz (whither they had carried him) during the siege by the French on Oct. 1, 1813, in order to make terms with the French.

153. It follows, as the night the day. Hamlet, I. 3.

155. So as with a difference. Hamlet, IV. 5.

156. Note. Dr. Combe of Edinburgh. The phrenological Combes were George (1788–1858), W.S. and moral philosopher, and his brother, Andrew (1797–1847), doctor of medicine.

Fancy in himself. ‘I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men.’ 2 King Henry IV., I. 2.

157. Note. Squandering glances. As You Like It, II. 7.

ESSAY XV. ON EGOTISM

158. King Cambyses’ vein. 1 King Henry IV., II. 4.

Vain and self-conceit. ‘Self and vain conceit,’ King Richard II., III. 2.

Getting the start of the majestic world. Julius CÆsar, I. 2.

160. Mr. —— Mill. See post, note to p. 183.

The present Lord Chancellor. John Scott, Lord Eldon (1751–1838), who had no love for literature or art.

Madame Catalani. Angelica Catalani (1779–1849) the popular Italian singer. She made £10,000 in four months in London.

161. The late Chancellor (Erskine). Thomas Erskine, 1750–1823.

162. Et propter vitam vivendi perdere causas. Juvenal, VIII. 83.

163. Wisdom is justified of her children. S. Matthew, xi. 19.

Throw our bread upon the waters. Eccles., xi. 1.

When Goldsmith was talking one day. See Boswell’s Johnson (ed. G. B. Hill), II. 231.

Hervey’s Meditations. The Rev. James Hervey’s (1714–1758) Meditations and Contemplations were highly esteemed in their day.

164. Westall. Richard Westall (1765–1836).

Angelica Kauffman. Maria Anna Angelica Kauffmann (1741–1807), a Swiss painter of (chiefly) female characters, many of which were engraved by Bartolozzi.

165. Arkwright. Sir Richard Arkwright (1732–1792).

166. A cell of ignorance. Cymbeline, III. 3.

The only great man in modern times. Napoleon, of course. He died on May 5, 1821, of cancer in the stomach.

Mandeville. Bernard Mandeville (1670?–1733) author of The Fable of the Bees (1714).

167. Forget the things that are behind. Philippians, iii. 13.

168. Nothing is but what is not. Macbeth, I. 3.

Goldsmith was ever jealous of beauty in the other sex. See ante, p. 100.

Through listening [wond’ring] senates. Pope’s Moral Essays, I. 184–5.

ESSAY XVI. HOT AND COLD

169. Hot, cold, moist, and dry. Paradise Lost, II. 298.

Neat-handed Phyllises. L’Allegro, 86.

Native and endued into that element. Hamlet, IV. 7.

172. Whose name signifies love.

‘It is a familiar beast to man, and signifies love.’
Merry Wives of Windsor, I. 1.

To be supped upon. Cf. Hamlet, IV. III. 18.

King. At supper! where?
Ham. Not where he eats, but where he is eaten.’

173. Here all is conscience. Chaucer, Prologue, 150.

The quills upon the fretful porcupine. Hamlet, I. 5.

So drossy and divisible are they. Dryden, The Hind and the Panther, I. 319.

Voltaire’s traveller. See Histoire des Voyages de Scarmentado.

174. Note. Mr. Scarlett. Probably James Scarlett, afterwards Lord Abinger, who practised in the Northern Circuit and Lancashire Sessions till 1807. Hazlitt received a complimentary letter from Scarlett on the publication of Principles of Human Action. (See Four Generations of a Literary Family, I. 92–3, and Memoirs, I. 112, and post, note to Principles of Human Action).

Sterne asks why a sword. Tristram Shandy, Bk. IX. chap. 33.

Note. Mr. Shepherd. See ante, note to p. 61.

175. The sovereign’st thing on earth. 1 King Henry IV., I. 3.

Makes the odds all even. Measure for Measure, III. I.

Hacquet’s Travels in Carpathia. Balthasar Hacquet’s (1740–1815) book was published in 1790–6 at NÜrnberg.

176. Dull, cold winter does inhabit here. ‘But dead-cold winter must inhabit here.’ The Two Noble Kinsmen, Act II. 1.

Long purples. Hamlet, IV. 7.

Take the good the Gods provide them. Dryden, Alexander’s Feast, 105.

Appliances and means to boot. 2 King Henry IV., III. 1.

‘A man,’ says Yorick, ‘finds an apple.’ Tristram Shandy, III. 34.

ESSAY XVII. THE NEW SCHOOL OF REFORM

180. Good haters. Mrs. Piozzi, in her Anecdotes of the late Samuel Johnson (Johnsonian Miscellanies, ed. G. B. Hill, I. 204), writes: ‘Dear Bathurst (said he to me one day) was a man to my very heart’s content: he hated a fool, and he hated a rogue, and he hated a Whig; he was a very good hater.’ See also vol. I. The Round Table, p. 103.

181. Right-hand defections. Scott’s Heart of Midlothian, vol. I. chap. XII.

A consummation. ‘Devoutly to be wished.’ Hamlet, III. 1.

What more felicity can fall to creature? Spenser’s Muiopotmos, or the Fate of the Butterflie, 27.

183. Good oeillades. Cf. Merry Wives, I. 3, ‘judicious oeillades,’ and King Lear, IV. 5, ‘strange oeillades.’

Mr. Hobhouse. John Cam Hobhouse (1786–1869), Byron’s friend.

One of them has a place at the India House. James Mill (1773–1836), who, in spite of his radical opinions, was appointed Assistant-Examiner of Indian Correspondence in 1819.

Their attacks on the Edinburgh Review. The Westminster Review, financed by Bentham and edited by Bowring, was founded in January 1824. Its first numbers contained a series of assaults on the Edinburgh (Cf. post, p. 381); Redgauntlet was damned in the third number (July 1824, vol. II. p. 179); and the article on Moore’s Life of Sheridan appeared in the number for October, 1825, vol. IV. pp. 371–407. The allusion to Sheridan as an unsuccessful adventurer will be found on p. 404.

184. A discipline of humanity. Bacon’s Essays, Of Marriage and Civil Life.

The treatment of Mr. Buckingham. James Silk Buckingham (1786–1855) established at Calcutta in 1818 a paper called The Calcutta Journal, which censured the abuses of the Indian Government, and was suppressed by John Adams, temporary Governor-General, in April, 1823.

Mr. Hall. Robert Hall, the celebrated Baptist preacher (1764–1831). His removal from Leicester, where he had served as pastor of the Baptist congregation for twenty years, to Bristol, took place in 1826, when he succeeded Dr. Ryland as head of the Baptist College at Bristol and pastor of Broadmead Chapel.

185. Sir Richard Blackmore. Court physician to William and Anne. He died in 1729, after having written six epics in sixty books.

186. Sir Robert Peel ... calico printing. 1750–1830. He carried on a cotton factory at Bury with great success, and devoted much time to the improvement of machinery.

Elements of Political Economy, by James Mill. James Mill’s work was published in 1821.

Principles of Political Economy. By John Ramsay M’Culloch (1789–1864). Published 1820.

Strange! that such difference there should be. John Byrom, On the Feuds between Handel and Bononcini.

Mr. M——. ? James Mill (1773–1836).

Mr. P. Is Thomas Love Peacock is meant? He was the author of Rhododaphne (1818), the poem possibly referred to as Rhodope in Hazlitt’s note to p. 187. Peacock attacked poetry in his Four Ages of Poetry, contributed to Ollier’s Literary Pocket Book in 1820, and was answered by Shelley in his Defence of Poetry. Though Peacock has not been associated with Utilitarianism, yet his place at the India-House, where he was a fellow-clerk of James Mill’s, may have lent colour to the assumption that he was ‘one of them.’

Mr. Pl——. Francis Place, radical reformer (1771–1854).

The Last Man. Thomas Campbell’s poem The Last Man was printed in the New Monthly Magazine, vol. 8, No. 33, 1823. Perhaps Hazlitt had its title in mind.

188. Thereafter as it happens. 2 King Henry IV., III. 2. ‘Thereafter as they be.’

Primrose paths. Hamlet, I. 3.

The Hypocrite. Bickerstaff’s comedy (1768), based, through The Nonjuror (1717), on MoliÈre’s Tartuffe (1664).

192. Swear, with Lord Peter. The Tale of a Tub, Section IV.

Its quality is not strained. Merchant of Venice, IV. 1.

193. Dignum (the singer). Charles Dignum (1765?–1827), of Drury Lane.

Suett. Richard Suett (d. 1805), a comic actor, very popular at Drury Lane.

No Song, No Supper.’ A musical entertainment of Hoare’s (1790), with music by Storace. See a letter from Hazlitt to his father (Memoirs, I. 17–18), from which it appears that it was at Liverpool in 1790 (not 1792) that he saw this piece.

The false Florimel. The Faerie Queen, Bk. III. canto 8.

The grinding law of necessity. The reference here and elsewhere is to Malthus. See vol. IV. A Reply to Malthus and The Spirit of the Age.

194. Opens all the cells where memory slept. Cowper, The Task, VI. 11–12.

Who enters there. Dante’s Inferno, III. 1. 9.

ESSAY XVIII. ON THE QUALIFICATIONS NECESSARY TO
SUCCESS IN LIFE

From The London Magazine, vol. I., June 1820, ‘Table Talk, 1.’

195. The race is not to the swift. Eccles. ix. 11.

A Minister of State. Probably Castlereagh, who led the House of Commons until, upon his father’s death in April 1821, he became Lord Londonderry.

196. Aspiring to be Gods. Pope’s Essay on Man, I. 127–8.

Appliances and means to boot. 2 King Henry IV., III. 1.

Some trick not worth an egg. Coriolanus, IV. 4.

There’s but the twinkling of a star. Butler’s Hudibras, Part II. Canto III. 956.

197. Constrained by mastery. Cf. Wordsworth, The Excursion, VI.

198. George Psalmanazar. The literary impostor (1679–1763). He was a native of France and pretended to be a Formosan. To keep up the imposition he invented an alphabet and a Formosan grammar.

Enquiry concerning Political Justice. Godwin’s book (1793).

Diversions of Purley. John Horne Tooke’s book was published in 1786–1805. See vol. IV. The Spirit of the Age, p. 231.

Interminable babble.Intarissable babil’ in the Magazine.

Tongue with a garnish of brains. Goldsmith, Retaliation, 6.

Wimbledon. Where Horne Tooke lived.

With a nostrum in his mouth. See Alexander Stephens’s Memoirs of John Horne Tooke, Esq., vol. II. p. 445, ‘While yet in perfect possession of his senses, and uncertain of his impending fate, although conscious it could not be long protracted, the patient eagerly inquired’ [of Sir Francis Burdett] ‘concerning the effect produced on the House of Commons by the motion relative to the punishment of soldiers?...

‘As he had once more been relieved by cordials, notwithstanding he was told it was now in vain, the member for Westminster prepared to administer one with his own hand. Having knelt for this purpose, the dying man opened his eyes for the last time, and seeing who it was that presented the potion, he swallowed it with avidity.’

The late Professor Porson. Richard Porson (1759–1808), Greek scholar and critic.

198. The Member for Old Sarum. See ante, note to p. 6.

The man of perhaps the greatest ability now living. Coleridge. Cf. The Spirit of the Age.

199. Duns Scotus to Jacob Behmen. John Duns, the ‘subtle doctor’; Jacob Boehmen (1575–1624), German mystic.

Discoursed in eloquent music. Hamlet, III. 2.

Ten thousand great ideas. Thomson’s Castle of Indolence, I. lix.

Non ex quovis ligno fit Mercurius. Erasmus, Adagiorum Chiliades, ‘Munus aptum.’

Though he had all knowledge. 1 Corinthians, xiii. 1, 2.

200. You cannot gather grapes of thorns. S. Matthew, vii. 16.

Respice finem. See vol. VI. Table Talk, note to p. 27.

To get the start of the majestic world. Julius CÆsar, I. 2.

201. Mens divinior. Horace, Sat. I. IV. 43.

202. Vox faucibus hÆsit. Vergil, Æneid, II. 774.

With a confident brow. 2 King Henry IV., II. 1.

Too deep for his hearers. Goldsmith’s Retaliation, 35.

A soul as fair. Thomson, Castle of Indolence, II. 33.

Fell flat, and shamed their worshippers. Paradise Lost, I. 461.

How he cuts up in the caul. Burke, A Letter to a Noble Lord (Works, Bohn, V. 145).

203. Sterne’s description of Mr. Hammond Shandy. Tristram Shandy, III. 10.

On that point. The Magazine adds ‘Petulant set his mark.’ Congreve, The Way of the World, V. 3.

For women, born to be controll’d. Waller: Of Love, 13–16:

‘For women (born to be control’d)
Stoop to the forward and the bold:
Affect the haughty and the proud,
The gay, the frolic, and the loud.’

Scrub in the farce. In Farquhar’s Beaux’ Stratagem.

204. Doubtless, the pleasure is as great. Butler’s Hudibras, Part II. Canto III. 1.

The art of being well deceived. See vol. I. The Round Table, p. 84.

A writer whom I know very well. Himself.

Sup at the Shakespeare. The noted theatrical tavern in the Piazza, Covent Garden. See Timbs’ History of Clubs and Club-Life in London, ed. 1886, p. 427.

205. His next answer to Vetus. See vol. III. Political Essays, p. 57 and note.

The graceful ornaments, etc. Cf. Burke, Reflections on the Revolution in France (Select Works, ed. Payne, II. 164).

‘Don’t you remember,’ says Gray. Letter to Richard West, May 27, 1742.

A man of genius a coxcomb in dress. Cf. vol. I. The Round Table, p. 95.

Prince Prettyman. In the Duke of Buckingham’s Rehearsal (1671).

206. Nihil humani. Terence, Heautontimorumenos, I. 1.

The flattery that soothes the dull cold ear of death. Gray’s Elegy, 11.

207. Lady Mary Wortley Montague. (c. 1690–1762), the correspondent of Pope and Addison.

A. P. E. Alexander Pope, Esquire.

Ere we have shuffled off that mortal coil. Hamlet, III. 1.

The real story of David Ritchie. David Ritchie, a dwarf, of Manor, Peeblesshire, was the original of Elshender, the Black Dwarf, in Scott’s novel so called. See The Life and Anecdotes of the Black Dwarf, or David Ritchie, commonly called Bowed Davie, by William Chambers, Edinburgh, 1820.

207. Note. Sir John Suckling, 1609–42. The two lines quoted are part of The Session of the Poets (20).

So Mr. Gifford dedicated these verses to Mr. Hoppner. Hoppner became R.A. in 1795, and Gifford dedicated the Second Edition of his Baviad and MÆviad to him in 1797.

208. Quite chop-fallen. Hamlet, V. 1.

Such a poor [bare] forked animal. King Lear, III. 4.

They did it for his good. See No. XXXVII. of the Quarterly Review, April 1818, published in September.

209. These are the doctrines, etc.

‘These are the volumes that enrich the shops,
These pass with admiration through the world,
And bring their author an immortal name.’
Roscommon, Horace’s Art of Poetry, 385–7.

Embalms and spices. Timon of Athens, IV. 3.

The spital and the lazar-house. ‘The spital-house and ulcerous sores would cast the gorge at.’ Timon of Athens, IV. 3.

ESSAY XIX. ON THE LOOK OF A GENTLEMAN

From The London Magazine, vol. III. Jan. 1821, ‘Table Talk VI.,’ signed T.

Causa latet, res ipsa [vis est] notissima. Ovid. Met. IV. 287.

210. Familiarity of regard. ‘Quenching my familiar smile with an austere regard of control.’ Twelfth Night, II. 5.

Nice conduct.

‘Sir Plume, of amber snuff-box justly vain,
And the nice conduct of a clouded cane.’
Pope, The Rape of the Lock, IV. 122.

The Clandestine Marriage.’ By Colman the Elder and Garrick (1766). This comedy is about to be revived at the Haymarket Theatre (March 17, 1903).

Wound up for the day. The Clandestine Marriage, Act II. Scene 1.

Sir Joseph Banks. The celebrated naturalist (1743–1820). He accompanied Cook in his first circumnavigation of the world.

211. Sir Charles B—nb—ry. See vol. VI. Mr. Northcote’s Conversations, note to p. 454.

Lady Sarah L—nn—x. Ibid.

How tall his person is. Hudibras, Part I. Canto iii., 83–4.

The old one-eyed Duke of Queensberry. William Douglas, 3rd Earl of March and 4th Duke of Queensberry (1724–1810).

The late Admiral Byron. The Hon. John Byron, the poet’s grandfather (1723–1768).

N——. Northcote.

Subdued to the very quality. Othello, I. 3.

212. Dress makes the man. ‘Worth makes the man,’ etc. Pope’s Essay on Man, Ep. IV. 203.

Wycherley. William Wycherley (1640–1715). He was a man of fashion as well as a writer of comedies.

Lord Hinchinbroke. Sir Edward Mont- (or Mount-) agu, first Viscount Hinchinbroke and first Earl of Sandwich (1625–1672).

Note. The Duchess of Cleveland. ‘Her graceless grace’ of the Court of Charles II.

213. Alcibiades threw away a flute. See Plutarch’s Life of Alcibiades.

213. Ferdinand in the Tempest. Act III. 1.

214. Sergeant Atkinson. In Fielding’s Amelia, Book V. chap. 2.

Lord C——. Castlereagh.

Hatching vain empires. Paradise Lost, II. 378.

Voluminous and vast. Paradise Lost, II. 652.

215. Marquis Wellesley. Richard Cowley, Marquis Wellesley (1760–1842). Governor-General of India. He was made a Knight of the Garter and Foreign Minister on his return from Madrid whither he went as Ambassador in 1809.

Stores of ladies. Milton’s L’Allegro, 120.

Lord Erskine. Thomas Erskine (1750–1823), Advocate and Lord Chancellor.

Lord Stanhope. Charles, Earl Stanhope (1753–1816). He was a strenuous supporter of republican ideals and a man of many inventions.

The Orson of debate. The bear-suckled hero of the fifteenth century romance, Valentine and Orson, otherwise the Wild Man of France.

A Satyr that comes staring from the woods. Earl of Roscommon, translation of Horace’s Ars Poetica, 281–2. Cf. Ars Poetica, 244, et seq.

Lord Eldon. See ante, note to p. 158.

216. Gave him good oeillades. See ante, note to p. 183.

Foote’s Farce of Taste. 1752.

218. All tranquillity and smiles. Cowper, The Task, IV. 49.

219. Of mimic statesmen. Pope, Moral Essays, iii. 309–10.

God Almighty’s gentleman. Dryden’s Absolom and Achitophel, Part I. 645.

G—— D——. George Dyer (1755–1841), miscellaneous writer. See Lamb’s Amicus Redivivus, Elia, ed. Ainger, p. 281.

ESSAY XX. ON READING OLD BOOKS

From The London Magazine, Feb. 1821, vol. III. p. 128, ‘Table Talk, VII.,’ signed T.

220. Lady Morgan. (1783?–1859) A writer of Irish stories and of other miscellaneous work in the early years of the nineteenth century. Before her marriage in 1811 her works bore her maiden name, Sydney Owenson. Her story, The Wild Irish Girl, a national tale, published in 1806, passed through seven editions in two years.

Anastasius. Thomas Hope’s (1770–1831) Eastern romance published 1819, and warmly praised by the Edinburgh Review.

Delphine. Madame de StaËl’s novel was published in 1802.

In their newest gloss. Macbeth, I. 7.

Andrew Millar. Thomson’s and Fielding’s publisher (1707–1768). ‘I respect Millar, sir,’ said Dr. Johnson; ‘he has raised the price of literature’ (Boswell’s Johnson, ed. G. B. Hill, I. 287). He was succeeded by his partner, Thomas Cadell the elder.

Thurloe’s State Papers. A Collection of State Papers (seven vols. folio, 1742) by John Thurloe (1616–1668). He was Secretary of State during the Protectorate.

Sir William Temple’s Essays. Published as Miscellanea in 1680 and 1692. He was the first writer, says Dr. Johnson, who gave cadence to English prose.

221. For thoughts and for remembrance. Hamlet, IV. 5.

Bruscambille. Sterne’s Tristram Shandy, Book III. chap. 35.

The Memoirs of Lady Vane. In Peregrine Pickle.

The adventures at the masquerade. Tom Jones, Book xiii. chap. 7.

221. The disputes between Thwackum and Square. Ibid. Book iii. chap. 3.

The escape of Molly Seagrim. Ibid. Book iv. chap. 8.

The incident of Sophia and her muff. Ibid. Book v. chap. 4.

Her Aunt’s lecture. Ibid. Book vii. chap. 3.

222. The puppets dallying. Hamlet, III. 2.

Ignorance was bliss. Gray On a Distant Prospect of Eton College, 10.

The Minerva press. A publishing house in Leadenhall Street, which issued, in the end of the eighteenth and the beginning of the nineteenth centuries, popular highly-coloured romances.

Cooke’s pocket-edition. See vols. I.-IV. of Cooke’s Select Edition of British Novels (1792). Mr. W. C. Hazlitt says Hazlitt became acquainted with this book through his father being an original subscriber to the series.

Mrs. Radcliffe’s Romance of the Forest. Ann Radcliffe’s (1764–1823) book was published in 1791.

Sweet in the mouth. Revelation, x. 9.

Gay creatures. Comus, 299.

223. Tom Jones discovers Square behind the blanket. Book V. chap. 5.

Parson Adams ... Mrs. Slip-Slop. Book IV. chap. 14.

Chubb’s Tracts. Thomas Chubb’s (1679–1747) Tracts and Posthumous Works were published in six vols. 8vo., 1754. He was a deist.

Fate, free-will, etc. Paradise Lost, II. 560.

‘In wandering mazes lost.’

224. Note. A friend, who had some lottery puffs. Charles Lamb. See vol. VI. Table Talk, p. 291.

Would I had never seen Wittenberg. Dr. Faustus, Scene 19.

Hartley, Hume, Berkeley. David Hartley (1705–1757) whose Observations on Man were published in 1749; David Hume (1711–1776); George Berkeley, Bishop of Cloyne (1685–1753).

Locke’s Essay on the Human Understanding. 1690.

Hobbes. Thomas Hobbes (1588–1679) of the Leviathan (1651).

The Social Contract. Published 1762.

I have spoken elsewhere. See vol. I. The Round Table, ‘On the Character of Rousseau.’

Scattered like stray gifts. Wordsworth, Stray Pleasures.

The Emilius. Published 1762.

Sir Fopling Flutter. In Sir George Etherege’s comedy The Man of Mode (1676).

225. Leurre de dupe! An expression of Rousseau’s, Confessions, Liv. IV.

A load to sink a navy. King Henry VIII., III. 2.

Marcian Colonna is a dainty book. Lamb’s Sonnet to the author of poems published under the name of Barry Cornwall.

Mr. Keats’s Eve of Saint Agnes. Published 1820.

Come like shadows. Macbeth, IV. i.

Tiger-moth’s wings. Keats, Eve of Saint Agnes.

Blushes ... with blood of queens and kings. Ibid.

Words, words, words. Hamlet, II. 2.

The great preacher in the Caledonian Chapel. Irving. See ante, p. 129.

226. As the hart that panteth for the water-springs [brooks]. Psalm xlii. 1.

GoËthe’s Sorrows of Werter. Finished in 1774. Cf. vol. V. Lectures on the Dramatic Literature of the Age of Elizabeth, p. 362.

Schiller’s Robbers. 1781. See Ibid.

Giving my stock [sum] of more. As You Like It, II. 1.

Valentine Tattle or Miss Prue. Characters in Congreve’s Love for Love (1695). Valentine was Betterton’s great part, and F. Reynolds declared that the love scene between Jack Bannister as Tattle and Mrs. Jordan as Miss Prue was ‘probably never surpassed in rich natural comedy.’

226. Know my cue.

‘Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it
Without a prompter.’
Othello, I. 2.

Intus et in cute. See ante, note to p. 24.

The celebrated Sir Humphrey Davy. Sir Humphry Davy (1778–1829), natural philosopher.

227. The divine Clementina. In Richardson’s Sir Charles Grandison (1753).

With every trick and line. ‘line and trick.’ All’s Well that Ends Well, I. 1.

Graven [draw ...] in my heart’s table. Ibid.

Mackenzie. Henry Mackenzie’s (1745–1831) Julia de RoubignÉ was published in 1777, six years after the Man of Feeling.

Miss ——. Probably the lady of Liber Amoris.

That ligament, fine as it was. Tristram Shandy, Book VI. chap. 10 (The Story of Le Fever).

His story of the Hawk. Boccaccio’s Decameron, 5th day, 9th story. See vol. V. Lectures on the Dramatic Literature of the Age of Elizabeth, note to p. 347.

Farquhar ... Recruiting Officer. 1706.

At one proud [fell] swoop. Macbeth, IV. 3.

Embalmed with odours. Paradise Lost, II. 843.

His form had not yet lost. Ibid. I. 591.

228. Falls flat upon the grunsel edge. Ibid. I. 460.

He, like an eagle. Coriolanus, V. 6.

An Essay on Marriage. No such essay by Wordsworth is at present known to exist. It would seem either that ‘Marriage’ is a misprint for some other word, or that Hazlitt was mistaken in the subject of the essay referred to by Coleridge. Hazlitt is probably recalling a conversation with Coleridge in Shropshire at the beginning of 1798 (cf. ‘My First Acquaintance with Poets’), at which time A Letter to the Bishop of Llandaff (1793) was the only notable prose work which Wordsworth had published.

Note. Is this the present Earl? James Maitland, eighth Earl of Lauderdale (1759–1839), succeeded his father in August 1789.

229. Worthy of all acceptation. 1 Timothy, i. 15.

Clarendon’s History of the Grand Rebellion. 1704–7.

Hollingshed. Ralph Holinshed’s Chronicles of Englande, Scotlande, and Irelande, 1577, and later issues.

Stowe. John Stow’s (1525?–1605) Englysh Chronicles, 1561, and later issues, and A Survay of London, 1598, and later issues.

Fuller’s Worthies. Thomas Fuller’s (1608–1661) The History of the Worthies of England, 1662.

A Wife for a Month.’ 1623.

Thierry and Theodoret.’ 1621.

Guicciardini. Francesco Guicciardini (1483–1540), author of a History of Italy from 1494 to 1532.

The Loves of Persiles and Sigismunda. Cervantes’ last work, the dedication of which was written four days before his death. A translation from the French was printed in London in 1619, and from the Spanish in 1854.

Galatea. Cervantes’ first work, a pastoral romance, printed at Alcala in 1585.

Another Yarrow. Wordsworth’s Yarrow Unvisited.

ESSAY XXI. ON PERSONAL CHARACTER

From The London Magazine, March 1821, vol. III. p. 291, ‘Table Talk, VII.,’ signed T.

As the flesh and fortune shall serve. Measure for Measure, II. 1.

And feels the ruling passion. Pope’s Moral Essays, Ep. I. 262.

Mr. Nicholson. William Nicholson (1753–1815). He is often referred to in Hazlitt’s Life of Holcroft. See vol. II. p. 91, etc.

Hot, cold, moist, and dry. See ante, note to p. 169.

It is not in our stars. Julius CÆsar, I. 2. ‘That we are underlings.’

231. To beguile the time. Macbeth, I. 5.

The child’s the father of the man. Wordsworth’s ‘My heart leaps up.’

232. Fairfax and the starry Vere. Marvell’s ‘Appleton House.’

He saw the Chief-Justice Jeffries. See Evelyn’s Diary (ed. Bray, 1859), vol. II., p. 199.

233. An old hair-brained uncle. Loftus, brother of Mrs. Hazlitt, wife of the Rev. W. Hazlitt.

Mark or likelihood. 1 King Henry IV., III. 2.

Instinct, Hal, instinct. A misquotation from 1 King Henry IV., II. 4.

Beneath the hills. Wordsworth’s Excursion, Book VI. [‘Amid the groves, under the shadowy hills.’]

234. Like that ensanguined [sanguine] flower. Lycidas, 106.

As the flies of a summer. Cf. Burke, Reflections on the Revolution in France (Select Works, Ed. Payne, II. 112).

Most women have no character [characters]. Pope’s Moral Essay, Ep. II. 2.

Mary Wolstonecraft. See ante, note to p. 41.

Not to speak it profanely. Hamlet, III. 2.

235. Fideliter didicisse. Ovid, Ex Ponto Epist., Lib. II. Ep. 9, 47.

237. Fiery quality. King Lear, II. 4.

The shot of accident. Othello, IV. 1.

Quip, or crank. Milton’s L’Allegro, 27.

238. Have his nothings monstered. Coriolanus, II. 2.

Teres et rotundus.Fortis, et in se ipso totus, teres atque rotundus.’ Horace, Sat. II. 7, 86.

A friendly man will show himself friendly. Proverbs, xviii. 24. ‘A man that hath friends must show,’ etc.

Richardson. Jonathan Richardson (c. 1665–1745), author and portrait-painter, whose works on painting fired the early enthusiasm of Sir Joshua Reynolds.

239. ‘The Honey-Moon.’ Tobin’s comedy, 1805.

240. Can the Ethiopian change his skin? Jeremiah, xiii. 23.

Villainous low. The Tempest, IV. 1.

Panopticon. See ante, note to p. 129.

241. The author of the year 2500. Louis SÉbastien Mercier (1740–1814). See Vol. II. The Life of Thomas Holcroft, p. 107 and note.

Servum pecus imitatorum.O imitatores, servum pecus,’ etc. Horace, Ep. I. 19, 19.

ESSAY XXII. ON PEOPLE OF SENSE

From The London Magazine, April 1821, vol. III. p. 368, ‘Table Talk, IX.,’ signed T.

242. Cabbala. The oral law of the Jews.

The demure, grave-looking. ‘The grave, demure, insidious, spring-nailed, velvet-pawed, green-eyed philosophers.’ Burke, A Letter to a Noble Lord (Works, Bohn, V. 142).

243. Baxter. Richard Baxter, the Nonconformist Divine (1615–1691). See vol VI. Mr. Northcote’s Conversations, p. 364.

244. Torn to tatters, to very rags. Hamlet, III. 2.

The pillar’d firmament. Comus, 598.

Note. The Spanish Inquisition. See vol. III. Political Essays, note to p. 33, and vol. VI. Table Talk, note to p. 156.

246. Mr. Shelley’s Prometheus Unbound. Published in 1820. Shelley was drowned in 1822 (See footnote).

Gorgons and Hydras. Paradise Lost, II. 628.

With eye severe. As You Like It, II. 7.

When he banished the poets. The Republic, Book X.

Full of wise saws. As You Like It, II. 7.

247. Chrestomathic School. See vol. IV. The Spirit of the Age, note to p. 190.

Princes’ palaces. ‘Poor men’s cottages, princes’ palaces.’ Merchant of Venice, I. 2.

The tailors at Laputa. Gulliver’s Travels, A Voyage to Laputa, chapter 2.

249. What can we reason. Pope’s Essay on Man, I. 18.

When [where] thieves break through. S. Matthew, vi. 19.

Dyot-street, Bloomsbury-square. See vol. VI. Table Talk, Note to p. 120.

An aerie of children. Hamlet, II. 2.

A Panopticon. See ante, note to p. 129.

So work the honey-bees. King Henry V., I. 2.

Shedding [casting] a dim, religious light. Il Penseroso, 160.

Their speech bewrayeth them. S. Matthew, xxvi. 73.

250. Mankind act from calculation. Bentham’s Principles of Morals and Legislation, chap. xiv. § 28. See vol. IV. The Spirit of the Age, p. 196 and note.

251. So runs [says] the bond. Merchant of Venice, IV. 1.

The author of St. Leon. Godwin’s Tale of the Sixteenth Century appeared in 1799.

The author of the Political Justice. Godwin.

Norma loquendi. Horace, De Arte Poet., 72.

252. Astolpho’s voyage. Orlando Furioso, Book XVIII.

Highest [brightest] Heaven of invention. King Henry V., Prologue.

ESSAY XXIII. ON ANTIQUITY

From The London Magazine, May 1821, Vol. III. p. 527, ‘Table Talk X.,’ signed T.

Auld Robin Gray. Believed at first to be a ‘relique.’ Lady Ann Barnard (1750–1825) acknowledged the authorship to Sir Walter Scott in 1823.

253. Lively, audible and full of vent. ‘Waking, audible and full of vent.’ Coriolanus, IV. 5.

Amadis de Gaul. A prose romance of knightly adventures of Portuguese origin (Vasco de Lobeira, d. 1403).

The seven Champions of Christendom. By Richard Johnson (1573–1659?). Published 1596–97. It was one of the books of Thomas Holcroft’s boyhood.

254. The dark rearward. Cf. ‘In the dark backward and abysm of time.’ The Tempest, I. 2.

The wars of old Assaracus. Spenser, The Faerie Queene, II. IX. 56.

Triple bob-majors. A term in church-bell ringing.

Chaos and old night. Paradise Lost, I. 543.

Cimabue, Giotto, and Ghirlandaio. Giovanni Cimabue (1240–c. 1302), the first great artist of the Florentine School; Giotto di Bondone (c. 1266–1336), Cimabue’s pupil, one of the greatest of the early Italian painters; and Domenico Curradi, nicknamed Il Ghirlandajo (the garland-maker) (1449–1494).

255. The Chronicle of Brute. Spenser’s Faerie Queene, Book II. Canto X.

The Ghost of one of the old kings of Ormus. Fulke Greville’s Alaham.

The Chiron of Achilles. Iliad, XVI. 143, and XIX. 390.

The priest in Homer. Iliad, I. 8, et seq.

Why proffer’st thou light. Troilus and Criseyde, Book III. 1461–2.

The Travels of Anacharsis. The Scythian who travelled far and wide in quest of knowledge, in the times of Solon.

Coryate’s Crudities. Hastily gobled up in Five Moneths Travells in France, etc. (1611), by Thomas Coryate (? 1577–1617).

256. When we become men. 1 Corinthians, xiii. 11.

The first time of my seeing Mrs. Siddons act. See vol. I. The Round Table, note to p. 156; Characters of Shakespear’s Plays, p. 189 and note; and Hazlitt’s Dramatic Essays.

257. Mr. Burke’s Refections. These were published in 1790, not 1791.

Lord John Russell’s Letter. See The Times, August 5, 1820. It was an appeal to Wilberforce to use his great influence in averting the crisis caused by the appearance of the Queen.

260. Grim-visaged, comfortless despair. Gray’s Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College. See also vol. VI. Lectures on the Dramatic Literature of the Age of Elizabeth, note to p. 296.

261. The glory hereafter to be revealed. Romans, viii. 18.

ESSAY XXIV. ON THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN WRITING
AND SPEAKING

From The London Magazine, July 1820, Vol. II. p. 22, ‘Table Talk II.,’ signed T.

262. ‘Some minds,’ etc. Bacon, The Advancement of Learning, Book II., xxii. 4.

263. F——. Mr. W. C. Hazlitt states this was George Fletcher, who, with his brother Joseph, came up from Nottingham about 1826, and became a contributor to periodical literature.

Wart his caliver. 2 King Henry IV., III. 2.

Hear him but reason in divinity. King Henry V., I. 1. [‘Is still’]

264. Moved the very stones of Rome. Julius CÆsar, III. 2.

Fraught of aspic’s tongues. Othello, III. 3.

Wielded at will the fierce democracy. Paradise Regained, IV. 269.

Roared you in the ears of the groundlings. Cf. ‘to split the ears of the groundlings,’ Hamlet, III. 2; and Midsummer Night’s Dream, I. 2.

264. Create a soul. Milton’s Comus, 561.

265. Bottom! thou art translated! Midsummer Night’s Dream, III. 1.

Windham. William Windham (1750–1810). Secretary of State for War under Pitt, and again after Pitt’s death.

Mr. Coleridge’s Conciones ad Populum. Two addresses against Pitt, 1795, republished in Essays on his Own Times.

Mr. Thelwal’s Tribune. The Tribune ... consisting chiefly of the political lectures of J. Thelwall, taken in shorthand by W. Ramsay, and revised by the lecturer, 3 vols. 1795–6. Thelwall (1764–1834) was a lecturer on elocution as well as a reformer.

The self-same words. Macbeth, I. 3.

Those brave sublunary [translunary] things. Drayton, Elegy to Henry Reynolds, Esq.

Fire and air. Antony and Cleopatra, V. 2; and King Henry V., III. 7.

Sound and fury. Macbeth, V. 5.

266. A Commonplace, etc. Cf. Burke, Reflections on the Revolution in France (Select Works, ed. Payne, II. 103).

With good emphasis and discretion. Cf. ‘with good accent and good discretion,’ Hamlet, II. 2.

By most admired disorder. Macbeth, III. 4.

Lay the flattering unction. Hamlet, III. 4.

Hear a cat mew.

Not harsh and crabbed. Comus, 477.

267. A robusteous, periwig-pated fellow. Hamlet, III. 2.

Gives us pause. Hamlet, III. I.

268. He repeated the famous lines in Milton. Though these words are referred to admiringly by Burke in The Sublime and Beautiful he does not seem to have quoted them in the House of Commons. Is not Hazlitt thinking of the occasion upon which Brougham used the quotation with immense effect at the Queen’s trial, 1820? (See Greville’s Memoirs, 1899 edit., I. 40.)

What seem’d its head. Paradise Lost, II. 672.

Fell still-born. Cf. vol. VI. Table Talk, p. 65 and note.

Lord Liverpool. Robert Banks Jenkinson, Earl of Liverpool (1770–1828), Premier of England 1812–1827.

Mr. William Ward. ? William Ward, financier (1787–1849), who was returned to Parliament as a Tory in 1826 for the city of London.

Native to [‘and endued unto’] that element. Hamlet, IV. 7.

Subdued to the [‘even to the very’] quality. Othello, I. 3.

The late Lord Chatham (1708–1778). He began life as a cornet of dragoons (See p. 269).

That Roan shall be my throne. 1 King Henry IV., II. 3.

269. He spoke [taught] as one having authority. S. Matthew, vii. 29.

270. A few termes coude [hadde] he. The Prologue, 639. But the lines are told of the Somnour not the Monk.

Will halt for it. Hamlet, II. 2.

271. Mr. Place of Charing Cross. Francis Place (1771–1854) the radical tailor.

Trampled under the hoofs. Burke’s Reflections on the French Revolution.

Sir Francis Burdett (1770–1844). He was the most popular politician of his day.

271. Dr. Johnson had a wish. See Boswell’s Life, ed. G. B. Hill, (II. 138–9).

Sir William Curtis. The ‘father’ of the corporation of London, for which city he was M.P. for thirty-three years. He made his money in the Greenland fisheries, and then became a member of the banking firm of Robarts, Curtis and Co. (1752–1829).

The Speaker (Onslow). Arthur Onslow (1691–1768) was elected Speaker of the House of Commons in 1728 and re-elected in 1735, 1741, 1747 and 1754. He retired in 1761 with the reputation of being the firmest and most dignified holder of his office and authority.

272. Give his own little Senate laws. Pope’s Prologue to Mr. Addison’s Cato and also Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot, 209.

They look only at the stop-watch. Sterne’s Tristram Shandy, Book III. chap. 12.

Hit the house between wind and water. See vol. IV., The Spirit of the Age, 227.

273. Servile ministers. King Lear, III. 2.

Jack Davies. See vol. VI. Table Talk, p. 89.

Note. Making the worse appear the better reason. Paradise Lost, II. 113.

274. An indifferent History of James II. Charles James Fox’s A History of the early Part of the Reign of James the Second was published by Lord Holland in 1808.

A colleague of Lord Grenville. Fox was Foreign Secretary in the ‘Broad-bottomed’ or ‘All the Talents’ ministry, formed by Lord Grenville on the death of Pitt in 1806.

Like proud seas under him. Two Noble Kinsmen, II. 1.

It was in the Louvre. In 1802. See Memoirs of William Hazlitt, I. 91, and vol. III. of the present edition, The Eloquence of the British Senate, p. 421.

Guercino. Gianfrancesco Barbieri or Guercino da Cento, because of his squint (1590–1666), of Bologna.

Domenichino. Domenicho Zampieri (1581–1641), also of Bologna.

275. Does he wind into a subject like a serpent? Boswell’s Johnson, ed. G. B. Hill (II. 260).

Letter to a Noble Lord. Burke died two years after the publication of his Letter, his only important further writing being the Letters on a Regicide Peace, 1796.

Note. Tom Paine. Thomas Paine (1737–1809) the deist.

276. The Leviathan. A Letter to a Noble Lord (Bohn, V. 129).

The AbbÉ Sieyes’s pigeon-holes. Ibid., p. 142.

The proud keep of Windsor. Ibid., p. 137.

Shut the gates of genius [mercy] on mankind. Gray’s Elegy, 17.

To leave no rubs or botches. Macbeth, III. 1.

277. Learn to write slow. Cf.

‘Take time enough—all other graces
Will soon fill up their proper places.’

Byron’s ‘Advice to the Messrs. H—— and H—— to preach slow,’ 8. And also

‘Learn to read slow; all other graces
Will follow in their proper places.’
William Walker’s Art of Reading.

The phrase of Ancient Pistol. 2 King Henry IV., and King Henry V.

278. Fancies and good nights. 2 King Henry IV., III. 2.

Dull as the lake that slumbers. Goldsmith, The Traveller, 312.

Made fierce with dark keeping.’ Bacon, The Advancement of Learning, Book I., iv. 7.

279. Became his glittering bride. Wordsworth, The Excursion, III. 735–6.

Dilettanti Society. An association founded in 1734 to promote the study of antique art in England.

Note. Stentor. Iliad. V. 783.

Note. Political House that Jack Built. A squib of William Hone’s, published in 1819.

Note. Mr. C. Wynne. Charles Watkin Williams Wynne (1775–1850). He was proposed for Speaker June 2, 1817, but Manners-Sutton was preferred to him. Canning said that the only objection to him was that ‘one would be sometimes tempted to say Mr. Squeaker,’ alluding to his voice. See vol. III. Political Essays, note to p. 213.

ESSAY XXV. ON A PORTRAIT OF AN ENGLISH LADY,
BY VANDYKE

280. Where all is conscience. Chaucer’s Prologue, 150.

Last recesses of the mind. Dryden, Translation of Second Satire of Persius, line 133.

282. This hand of yours requires. Othello, III. 4. [‘Sweating devil.’]

283. Qualified ... very craftily. Othello, II. 3.

Mind’s eye. Hamlet, I. 2.

284. Trod the primrose path. Hamlet, I. 3.

285. Stupidly good. Paradise Lost, IX. 465.

An eye to threaten and command. Hamlet, III. 4.

287. Leave stings. Cf.

‘Who, for the poor renown of being smart,
Would leave a sting within a brother’s heart?’
Young’s Love of Fame, II. 113.

290. While by the power. Wordsworth’s Tintern Abbey.

Come then, the colours and the ground prepare. Pope, Moral Essays, Ep. II.

292. The whole gallery at Fonthill. ‘Vathek’ Beckford’s place. See the volume of Hazlitt’s writings on art.

The taste of the great in pictures. The rest of the essay from this point appeared in Hazlitt’s Commonplaces, taken from The Examiner, 1823.

Note. Day’s garish eye. Il Penseroso, 141.

293. Mr. Holwell Carr. William Holwell Carr (1758–1830), art connoisseur. He exhibited at the Royal Academy from 1797–1820 as an honorary exhibitor.

Sir George Beaumont. Sir George Howard Beaumont, Bart. (1753–1827), amateur painter and patron of artists.

Bosoms and businesses of men. Bacon, Dedication to Essays.

Trifles light as air. Othello, III. 3.

Tintoret. Jacopo Robusti or Tintoretto (from his father’s trade, dyeing), (1518–1594), one of Ruskin’s ‘five supreme painters.’

ESSAY XXVI. ON NOVELTY AND FAMILIARITY

From The New Monthly Magazine, vol. XIII., No. 50, 1825, with additions.

294. Custom hath made it in him. Hamlet, V. 1.

295. Give us pause. Hamlet, III. 1.

297. Send the hearers weeping. King Richard II., V. 1.

298. They best can paint them. Pope’s Eloisa and Abelard.

Talma. FranÇois Joseph Talma (1763–1826). See ante, p. 83.

299. ‘The Gamester.’ By Edward Moore (1753).

300. Die of an encore in operatic pain. ‘Die of a rose in aromatic pain.’ Pope’s Essay on Man, Ep. I. 200.

L. ... M. These blanks are filled in ‘Liston’ and ‘Mathews’ by Mr. W. C. Hazlitt.

Lamb’s wool. A beverage of apple juice and spiced ale.

Rosinante and Dapple. Don Quixote’s steed and Sancho Panza’s donkey.

There is no living with them. Martial, Epigrams, Bk. XII. Ep. 70. See Addison’s Spectator, No. 68.

The late Mr. Kemble ... Richard III. Macbeth and King Richard III., an answer to [Whately’s] Remarks on some of the Characters of Shakespeare (1817). See vol. I. Characters of Shakespear’s Plays, note to p. 171. Kemble died in 1823.

301. The silver-voiced Anna. Cf. J. P. Kemble’s Fugitive Pieces, York, 1780, the ‘Ode to the Memory of Mrs. Inchbald’s Husband,’ lines 14, 15,

‘... widow’d Anna’s voice,
Sweet as the harps of Heav’n....’

Tamerlane. Rowe’s tragedy (1702). Mrs. Siddons acted in it at Drury Lane, Feb. 3, 1797.

Alexander the Great. The second title of Lee’s tragedy, The Rival Queens (1678).

302. Hope travels through [‘when we die’]. Pope’s Essay on Man, Ep. II. 273.

The dregs of life. Dryden, Aureng-zebe, IV. 1.

Compacted of imagination. Midsummer Night’s Dream, V. 1. ‘Of imagination all compact.’

Reason panders will. Hamlet, III. 4.

303. Dallied with the innocence of love. Twelfth Night, II. 4.

The story of Federigo Alberigi. Boccaccio, Decameron (Fifth Day, Novel IX.).

Those notable discoveries that Pope was a poet. See vol. IV. The Spirit of the Age, note to p. 259; vol. V. Lectures on the English Poets, pp. 69–71; and vol. VI. Table Talk, notes to pp. 210 and 223. See also Hazlitt’s Essay ‘On the Question whether Pope was a Poet’ in The New Scots Magazine, February 1818.

Her Simple Story. Elizabeth Inchbald’s (1753–1821) A Simple Story was published in 1791. Cf. a letter of Hazlitt’s to Miss Stoddart, Memoirs of W. Hazlitt, I. 153.

304. Simple movement of her finger. Les Confessions, Partie I. Liv. II.

The letter in the New Eloise. PremiÈre Partie, Lettre XXIII.

Glassy essence. Measure for Measure, II. 2.

Love’s golden rigol. 2 King Henry IV., IV. 4.

And bade the lovely scenes. Collins, Ode on the Passions, 32.

305. Mr. Kean stamped himself the first night in Shylock. See vol. I. Characters of Shakespear’s Plays, note to p. 298.

Mrs. Siddons did not succeed the first time. See vol. I. The Round Table, note to p. 156.

306. Old Dr. Chauncey. Charles Chauncey, M.D., F.S.A. (1706–1777).

Goodman’s Fields ... Richard. See vol. I. Characters of Shakespear’s Plays, note to p. 298.

Queen Katherine. In Shakespeare’s King Henry VIII.

Belvidera. In Otway’s Venice Preserved (1682).

306. Jane Shore. In N. Rowe’s tragedy (1713).

Calista. In N. Rowe’s The Fair Penitent (1703).

The Mourning Bride. Congreve’s tragedy (1697).

When I first came from Bath. Mrs. Siddons was a member of the Cheltenham Company when she was recommended to the notice of Garrick, and then obtained an engagement at Drury Lane (1775).

Lord Byron says. See Medwin, Conversations of Lord Byron, 1824 (p. 106).

Sir Isaac Newton was not twenty. He seems to have been twenty-four. See Voltaire’s Lettres sur les Anglais.

Harvey ... at eighteen. The first lectures in which he set forth his views were delivered in 1616, in his 38th year.

Berkeley ... Essay on Vision. Bishop Berkeley’s Essay towards a New Theory of Vision was published in 1709. He was born in 1685.

Hartley’s great principle. David Hartley’s (1705–1757) great work, Observations on Man (1749), was begun when he was about twenty-five.

Hume ... Treatise on Human Nature. David Hume’s (1711–1776) Treatise was published in 1739.

Galileo. Galileo Galilei (1564–1642) was appointed mathematical professor at Pisa when he was twenty-four.

Leibnitz. Gottfried Wilhelm Leibnitz (1646–1716). He was refused a Doctor’s Degree at Leipzig in his twentieth year on the ground of his youth.

Euler. Leonard Euler (1707–1783), of Basel. At the age of nineteen he was second in a competition projected by the Paris Academy for the best treatise on the masting of ships.

307. With heedless haste. ‘With wanton heed and giddy cunning.’ L’Allegro, 141.

308. Like the sweet south. Twelfth Night, I. 1.

Like poppies spread [‘the snow falls’]. Burns, Tam o’ Shanter.

Mandeville. Bernard Mandeville (1670?–1733), author of The Fable of the Bees (1714).

310. Defoe’s romance: i.e., Robinson Crusoe.

Round which, with tendrils. Wordsworth, Personal Talk, III.

ESSAY XXVII. ON OLD ENGLISH WRITERS AND SPEAKERS

From The New Monthly Magazine, vol. XIII., No. 49, 1825, with additions.

311. Marmontel. Jean FranÇois Marmontel (1723–1799), author of the Contes Moraux (1761).

Crebillon. Prosper Jolyot de CrÉbillon (1674–1762), dramatic poet.

Marivaux. Pierre Carlet de Chamblain de Marivaux (1688–1763), author of Marianne (1731–1741), a romance and many comedies. Voltaire said he knew all the bye-paths of the human heart, but not the highway.

La Harpe. Jean FranÇois de la Harpe (1739–1803), whose works have acted as a standard of literary criticism.

To this obscure and wild. Paradise Lost, XI. 284.

On that fair fountain. Hamlet, III. 4.

Note. A splendid edition of Goldsmith. Washington Irving edited a 4–volume edition of The Miscellaneous Works of Oliver Goldsmith in 1825 (Paris).

312. The proper study of the French. ‘The proper study of mankind is man,’ Pope’s Essay on Man, Ep. II.

St. Evremont. Charles Marguetel de Saint-Denis Seigneur de Saint-Evremond (1613–1703), one of the most brilliant of French satirists. He is buried in Westminster Abbey.

312. Note. What’s he that wishes for more men from England. King Henry V., IV. 3.

313. Marlowe’s. Christopher Marlowe’s Dr. Faustus (1604).

Captain Medwin or his Lordship must have made a mistake. See Conversations of Lord Byron, p. 105.

Jonson’s ‘Every Man in his Humour.’ Acted 1596.

Massinger’s ‘A new Way to Pay old Debts.’ (1633.)

Ford’s ... ’Tis Pity She’s a Whore.’ Printed 1633.

Grows with our growth. Pope’s Essay on Man, Epistle II. 136.

314. Mr. Shee. Sir Martin Archer Shee (1770–1850), portrait painter from the age of 16 onwards. He was knighted upon being made President of the Royal Academy in 1830.

Burnt the Memoirs. Moore sold the Byron Memoirs to Murray, November 1821, and in May 1824 rebought and burned them.

Note. Tales of the Crusaders, i.e. The Betrothed and the Talisman, published in 1825.

315. Leave all and follow it. Cf. S. Matthew, xix. 21.

De omne scibile et quibusdam aliis. See vol. VI. Table Talk, note to p. 214.

316. Selden’s notes on Drayton’s Poly-Olbion. ‘The learned John Selden’ edited Drayton’s work in the folio of 1613–22.

Stowe. See ante, note to p. 229.

Holinshed. See ante, note to p. 229.

Camden. William Camden (1551–1623), whose Britannia was published in 1586.

Saxo-Grammaticus. The greatest of the early Danish chroniclers (fl. end of 12th century).

Dugdale. Sir William Dugdale (1605–1686), antiquarian, whose Monasticon Anglicanum was published 1655–1673.

Job Orton, (1717–1783). His reputation rests on his Letters rather than on his preaching.

317. Caryl’s ‘Commentaries upon Job.’ Probably the folio edition of 1676–7 of An Exposition with Practical Observations on the Book of Job. By Joseph Caryl, 2 vols.; the 1648–1666 quarto edition was in 12 vols.

The Cabbala. See ante, note to p. 242.

Warton. Thomas Warton (1728–1790), author of The History of English Poetry (1774–1781). The same sonnet is quoted in vol. V. Lectures on the English Poets, p. 120.

318. Della-Cruscan. See vol. V. Lectures on the English Poets, note to p. 148.

Calm pleasures there abide, majestic pains. Wordsworth’s Laodamia.

Earth destroys those raptures. Ibid.

319. Even to the crack of doom. Macbeth, IV. 1.

Poor Peter Peebles. The litigious drunkard in Redgauntlet.

The last and almost worst of them. Redgauntlet was published in 1824.

Nanty Ewart. Captain of the smuggler’s brig in Redgauntlet.

And her whose foot. Redgauntlet, Book II. chap. viii.

Old true-penny. Cf. ‘Art thou there, true-penny?’ etc. Hamlet, I. 5.

The catch that blind Willie and his wife, etc. Redgauntlet, Letter X.

320. Elysian beauty, melancholy grace. Wordsworth’s Laodamia.

At the birth of nature. Paradise Lost, VII. 102.

Pawing to get free. Paradise Lost, VII. 464.

Whose body nature was. Pope’s Essay on Man, Ep. I. 268 [‘and God the soul’]

Pym, Hampden, Sydney. John Pym (b. 1584), one of the ‘five members’; John Hampden (1594–1643), the opponent of ship-money; and Algernon Sidney (1622–1682), executed for his share in the Rye-house Plot.

321. Mr. Southey’s Book of the Church. Published 1824.

Pure well of English undefiled. ‘Dan Chaucer, well of English undefyled’ The Faerie Queene, IV. ii. 32.

Baxter. See ante, note to p. 243.

Calamy’s Non-Conformist’s Memorial. See vol. III. Political Essays, note to p. 265.

Note. The author of Virginius. James Sheridan Knowles (1784–1862). Macready produced Virginius, his best play, in 1820, at Covent Garden, after it had appeared in the provinces.

322. Mr. Irvine. Edward Irving.

Prick-eared. Cf. ‘prick-eared cur of Iceland,’ King Henry V., II. 1. The word was commonly applied to Roundheads because of the tight black skull-cap drawn over the head, which left the ears exposed.

Sir J. Suckling. (1609–1641.)

Wycherley, Congreve, Rochester, and Waller. See vol. V. Lectures on the English Poets and Dramatic Literature of the Age of Elizabeth.

323. Mr. Tracey’s ‘Ideologie.’ Antoine Louis Claude Comte Destutt de Tracy (1754–1836), whose ÉlÉmens d’ IdÉologie was published in 1817–1818.

ESSAY XXVIII. MADAME PASTA AND MADEMOISELLE MARS

From the New Monthly Magazine, vol. XIII. No. 49, 1825.

324. Mademoiselle Mars. Anne FranÇoise Boutet-Monvel (1779–1847), the clever impersonator of MoliÈre’s heroines at the ThÉÂtre FranÇais. Her father, Moutet, was an actor, and her mother, Mars, an actress.

Madame Pasta. Giuditta Pasta, a Jewish opera-singer of Milanese birth (1798–1865). Her greatest triumphs were in Paris and London between 1825 and 1833.

325. Nina. An Italian opera, produced at Naples, May 1787, and played at the King’s Theatre, London, May 26, 1825, with Pasta as ‘Nina.’

326. Shepherdess. The Winter’s Tale, IV. 3.

327. Though that their art be nature. ‘Though that his joy be joy, etc.’ Othello, I. 1.

328. Schiller’s Robbers. 1781.

Klopstock’s Messiah. Friedrich Gottlieb Klopstock’s (1724–1803) poem was published in 1748–1773.

329. Those noble outlines ... at Hampton Court. The Cartoons of Raphael.

Chantry. See ante, note to p. 89.

Guiderius and Arviragus. Cymbeline, III. 6, and IV. 2.

330. Note. Valeria. A comedy of Scribe’s, produced in 1822 with Mlle. Mars in the title-rÔle.

331. Girodet. Anne Louis Girodet-De-Roussy-Trioson, French historical painter and writer (1767–1824), a pupil of David.

Monsieur Chateaubriand. FranÇois RenÉ, Vicomte de Chateaubriand (1768–1848), of noble Breton extraction, Royalist and writer of perfect prose.

333. Merrimee. J. F. L. MÉrimÉe. See Memoirs of William Hazlitt, I. 87, 89. See also vol. VI. Table Talk, note to p. 319.

334. Foregone conclusion. Othello, III. 3.

ESSAY XXIX. SIR WALTER SCOTT, RACINE, AND SHAKESPEAR

336. The still small voice is wanting. 1 Kings xix. 12.

337. Four lagging winters. King Richard II., I. 3. [‘End in a word.’]

Come home to the bosoms. Bacon, Dedication to Essays.

The perilous stuff. Macbeth, V. 3.

Give sorrow words. Macbeth, IV. 3.

338. Gabble most brutishly. The Tempest, I. 2.

‘But wouldst gabble like
A thing most brutish.’

339. Sailing with supreme dominion. Gray, Progress of Poesy, III. 3.

David Ritchie. See ante, note to p. 207.

The Maid and the Magpye. See vol. VIII. A View of the English Stage, p. 244.

Mrs. Inchbald’s ‘Nature and Art.’ Published 1796.

340. O’er informing power. Cf. ‘And o’er-inform’d the tenement of clay.’ Dryden, Absolom and Achitophel, I. 158.

341. Globose. Cf. Paradise Lost, V. 753 and VII. 357.

A Dukedom to a beggarly denier. King Richard III., I. 2.

The little dogs and all. King Lear, III. 6.

Chronicle of the line of Brute. Spenser’s Faerie Queene, Book II. canto X.

342. Lay my head to the East. ‘Na, na! Not that way, the feet to the east.’ Guy Mannering, chap. XV.

Nothing but his unkind daughters. King Lear, III. 4.

By making Madge Wildfire ascribe. The Heart of Midlothian, ? vol. II. chap. v. and vi.

They are old like him. Cf. King Lear, II. 4.

The earth hath bubbles. Macbeth, I. 3.

And enjoin’d silence.

[‘You seem to understand me
By each at once,’ etc.]
Macbeth, I. 3.

And then they melted into thin air.

[‘Whither are they vanished?
Into the air.’]
Macbeth, I. 3.

But cf. The Tempest, IV. 1.

343. The geese of Micklestane Muir. The Black Dwarf, chap. ii.

Five editions deep in Captain Medwin’s Conversations. Two editions of Captain Thomas Medwin’s Conversations of Lord Byron, noted during a Residence with his Lordship at Pisa in the years 1821 and 1822, appeared in 1824, and editions followed in Paris, New York and Germany.

There’s magic in the web. Othello, III. 4.

All appliances and means to boot. 2 King Henry IV., III. 1.

Sees Helen’s beauty. Midsummer Night’s Dream, V. 1.

’Tis common. Othello, III. 3.

344. Not a jot. Ibid.

344. By yon marble heaven. Othello, III. 3.

Like the Propontic. Ibid.

The dialogue between Hubert and Arthur. King John, IV. 1.

That between Brutus and Cassius. Julius CÆsar, I. 2.

Bertram. In Guy Mannering.

ESSAY XXX. ON DEPTH AND SUPERFICIALITY

347. A great but useless thinker. ? Coleridge.

Dr. Spurzheim. See ante, note to p. 17.

348. Spin round on its soft axle. ‘Spinning sleeps on her soft axle,’ Paradise Lost, VIII. 165.

350. Compunctious visitings of nature. Macbeth, I. 5.

The ‘wicked’ Lord Lyttleton. Thomas, Lord Lyttelton (1744–1779), renowned for his profligacy. He seems to have died three days after a nocturnal warning. See Chambers’s Book of Days, II. 625.

Mother Brownrigg. Elizabeth Brownrigg, who was executed in 1767 for whipping an apprentice to death. See vol. III. Political Essays, notes to pp. 220 and 238.

351. Credo quia impossibile est. A phrase of Tertullian’s.

353. Sweet oblivious antidote. Macbeth, V. 3.

354. Unquenchable fire. S. Mark, ix. 44.

Note. Search’s ‘Light of Nature Pursued.’ See vol. IV. The Spirit of the Age, note to p. 371.

ESSAY XXXI. ON RESPECTABLE PEOPLE

362. Buys golden opinions. Macbeth, I. 7.

The learned pate ducks to the golden fool. Timon of Athens, IV. 3.

Otway was left to starve. Thomas Otway, one of the greatest of English tragedians, was choked by eating too ravenously bread bought after a long fast.

Spenser, kept waiting. See Fuller’s Worthies. The story is that Spenser petitioned Elizabeth thus:—

‘I was promis’d on a time
To have reason for my rhyme;
From that time unto this season,
I receiv’d nor rhyme nor reason.’

363. His favourite poet Butler. Samuel Butler (1612–1680). He was buried in St. Paul’s Churchyard, Covent Garden, at the expense of his friend William Longueville of the Temple.

The time gives evidence of it. See ante, note to p. 136.

Parson Adams drinking his ale. Joseph Andrews, Book I. 2.

Peter Pounce. In Joseph Andrews.

The character of Captain Blifil. Tom Jones, Book II. 9.

Pope somewhere exclaims. [‘Or slaves or cowards’]. Pope’s Essay on Man, Ep. IV. 215.

364. All honourable men. Julius CÆsar, III. 2.

ESSAY XXXII. ON THE JEALOUSY AND THE SPLEEN OF PARTY

365. It is michin-malico. Hamlet, III. 2.

With the Levite, that ‘he is not one of those.’ Cf. the story of the Pharisee, St. Luke, xviii. 2.

The snow-falls in the river. Burns’ Tam o’ Shanter. Cf. ante, note to P. 308.

The mighty dead. Thomson’s Seasons, Winter, 431.

366. So shall their anticipation. Hamlet, II. 2.

The gaze and shew [‘show and gaze’] of the time. Macbeth, V. 7.

Elysian beauty. Wordsworth’s Laodamia.

367. This, this is the unkindest cut of all. Julius CÆsar, III. 2.

Mr. Chantry. See ante, note to p. 89.

It will never do. See vol. III. Political Essays, note to p. 361.

Rash judgments. Wordsworth, Tintern Abbey (Lyrical Ballads, 1798).

368. But ’tis the fall. Pope, Epilogue to Satires, I. 143.

Madame Guyon. Jeanne Marie BouviÈres de la Mothe Guyon, the French Quietist (1648–1717).

Canova’s marble. See ante, note to p. 113.

Guido’s canvas. Guido Reni, of the school of Bologna (1575–1642).

Thomas Little. Thomas Moore’s (1779–1852) early erotic verses appeared (1801) as the ‘Poetical Works of the late Thomas Little.’

Now in glimmer. Coleridge’s Christabel, 169.

369. From Paraclete’s white walls. Pope’s Eloisa to Abelard, 348.

Swan-like end. Merchant of Venice, III. 2.

’Tis my vice [‘It is my nature’s plague’] to spy into abuses. Othello, III. 3.

370. Can the Ethiopian change his skin? Jeremiah, xiii. 23.

Married to immortal verse. L’Allegro, 137.

Thoughts that glow [breathe]. Gray, The Progress of Poesy, III. 3.

But his soul is fair. Thomson, Castle of Indolence, II. 30.

371. Give us reason with his rhyme. See ante, note to p. 362.

His dear Charmettes. Where Rousseau’s happiest years were spent with Madame de Warens.

I care not, Fortune. Thomson’s Castle of Indolence, canto II. 3.

Books, dreams [dreams, books]. Wordsworth, Personal Talk, [will grow].

Note. Ah! voila de la pervenche. Rousseau’s Confessions, part I. book VI.

Reveries of a Solitary Walker. Published in 1777.

373. A witchery in the soft blue sky. Wordsworth’s Peter Bell, part I. 15.

Not by the sufferance of supernal power. Paradise Lost, I. 241.

Squeaked and gibbered in our streets. Hamlet, I. 1.

In his Treatise of Government. Published in 1689–1690.

374. Blackstone and De Lolme. Sir William Blackstone (1723–1780), whose Commentaries on the Laws of England were published in 1765–1769, and John Louis Delolme, a Genevan (1740–1806), whose work on The Constitution of England was published in French in 1771, and in English four years later.

The right divine of kings. Pope, The Dunciad, IV. 188.

Age of chivalry. Burke, Reflections on the Revolution in France (Select Works, ed. Payne, II. 89).

Mr. Ricardo. David Ricardo (1772–1823), stockbroker and political economist.

With the laurel wreath. Southey was made poet-laureate in 1813.

374. Carnage as ‘God’s Daughter.’ See vol. I. Characters of Shakespear’s Plays, note to p. 214.

Written the Friend. Coleridge’s Series of Essays (1809–1810), ‘to aid in the formation of fixed principles in politics, morals and religion.’

Like a devilish engine. Paradise Lost, IV. 17.

With looks commercing. Il Penseroso, 39.

375. Doth part the flux. As You Like It, II. 1.

The powers that be. Romans, xiii. 1.

Chop-fallen. Hamlet, V. 1.

For the good of the country. Cf. ‘’Twas for the good of my country that I should be abroad.’ Farquhar, The Beaux’ Stratagem, III. 2.

376. The Bills of Mortality. Weekly burial reports, first supplied by parish clerks in 1592–3.

Mr. Theodore Hook will cry ‘Cockney.’ See vol. VI. Table Talk, note to p. 98.

One-eyed M——. Probably John Murray, who had lost the sight of one eye through an accident.

377. When they censure the age. The Beggar’s Opera, Air XII.

Done the State some service. Othello, V. 2.

378. Like poor Morgan. Roderick Random, chap. xxxiv.

Come betwixt the wind and their nobility. 1 King Henry IV., I. 3.

The Liberal. The quarterly review which lasted for four numbers (1822–3). See vol. IV. The Spirit of the Age, the Essay on Lord Byron, and notes to pp. 258 and 359.

The John Bull. Theodore Hook’s Tory paper.

Mr. Jerdan. William Jerdan (1782–1869), editor of the Tory Sun (1813–17), and then identified for thirty-three years with the Literary Gazette.

The Examiner-Officer. ? a misprint for Examiner Office.

379. Mr. Shelley’s father. Hobhouse’s father, Sir Benjamin, was made a baronet in 1812. The Shelley baronets of Castle Goring, Sussex, were created in 1806.

Illustrations of Childe Harold. Historical Illustrations of the fourth canto of Childe Harold; containing Dissertations on the Ruins of Rome, and an Essay on Italian Literature (1818).

The member for Westminster. Hobhouse was elected in 1820 by a large majority.

The Essay on the Spirit of Monarchy. Hazlitt’s essay was published in the second number of The Liberal.

This gentleman wrote off to Lord Byron. See Byron’s Letters and Journals (ed. Prothero), VI. 167. Cf. vol. IV. The Spirit of the Age, p. 359 and note.

His Vision of Judgment. Byron’s poem was published in No. 1 of The Liberal.

380. I had spoken against Lalla Rookh. Published in 1817. See vol. V. Lectures on English Poets, p. 152.

Fudge Family.’ Published in 1818.

Hulling on the flood. Paradise Lost, XI. 840.

Whistle me down the wind. Othello, III. 3.

Proved haggard. Ibid.

Tricksy. Cf. ‘My tricksy spirit.’ The Tempest, V. 1.

To view with scornful. Pope, Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot, 199–200.

381. The account of the ‘Characters of Shakespear’s Plays.’ See vol. I. Bibliographical Note on p. 166.

381. The Gods ... had made me poetical. As You Like It, III. 3.

Not a true thing. Ibid.

The first thing the Westminster Review did. See ante, note to p. 183. In the very first number (Jan. 1824), the article being written by James Mill, assisted by his son John Stuart Mill. See Sir Leslie Stephen’s The English Utilitarians, vol. III. p. 18.

382. As Mr. Place lost Mr. Hobhouse his first election. Hobhouse unsuccessfully contested Westminster as an advanced Liberal in 1818.

Note. But not till then. For this remark of Porson’s see vol. VII., Lectures on the English Comic Writers, p. 17.

AN ESSAY ON THE PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN ACTION

Hazlitt had made the ‘discovery’ set forth in this essay and had begun to write the essay itself as early as 1798, when he had his memorable meeting with Coleridge. See the essay ‘My First Acquaintance with Poets.’ He did not, however, succeed in making himself understood by the poet, and when the book came to be published, its sale was slow and small, though Mr. W. C. Hazlitt (Memoirs, I. 112) relates that according to a tradition in the family it won the admiration of Mr. Scarlett, afterwards Lord Abinger. Hazlitt himself was proud of the essay, and continually refers to it in his later writings. See especially A Letter to William Gifford, vol. I. pp. 403 et seq., where he explains the nature of the argument. Cf. also the essay on ‘Self-Love’ and the fragments of lectures on English Philosophy first published in Literary Remains. The variations made in the second edition from marginal notes in the author’s copy (see Bibliographical Note) are few and trifling.

395. An airy, notional good. Cf.

‘——fugitive theme
Of my pursuing verse, ideal shade,
Notional good, by fancy only made.’
Prior, Solomon, or the Vanity of the World, I. 15–7.

398. Note. Usher. James Usher’s (1720–1772) An Introduction to the Theory of the Human Mind, was published in 1771.

409. Note. ‘Eros, thou yet behold’st me,’ etc. Antony and Cleopatra, Act IV. Scene 14.

410. Note. Rousseau ... not a Frenchman. Rousseau was born at Geneva, whither his ancestors had removed from Paris as far back as 1529.

415. Note. Berkeley’s Essay towards a New Theory of Vision, published in 1709.

427. Junius has remarked, etc. In his letter to George III. (Dec. 19, 1769).

429. ‘Short-lived pleasure,’ etc. Cf.

‘——O fleeting joys
Of Paradise, dear bought with lasting woes.’
Paradise Lost, X. 741–2.

Note. See Preface to The Lyrical Ballads (2nd edition, 1801), reprinted with variations in the succeeding editions of the poet’s works. (Poetical Works, ed. T. Hutchinson, p. 940.)

430. To add, etc. This sentence, which seems obscure, should perhaps begin ‘I may add that,’ etc.

The Essay on the Inequality of Mankind. Rousseau’s Discours sur l’origine et les fondements de l’inÉgalitÉ parmi les hommes, 1755.

Faithful remembrancer.’ Cowper, On the Receipt of My Mother’s Picture, 11.

His high endeavour,’ etc. Cowper, The Task, V. 901.

The System of Nature. Hazlitt wrongly attributes to Jean Baptiste de Mirabaud (1675–1760) the SystÈme de la Nature of Baron d’Holbach (1723–1789), published in 1770.

REMARKS ON THE SYSTEMS OF HARTLEY AND HELVETIUS

434. Hartley. David Hartley (1705–1757), whose Observations on Man, containing his famous principle of the Association of Ideas, appeared in 1749.

Helvetius. Claude Adrien HelvÉtius (1715–1771), whose famous work De L’Esprit appeared in 1758.

Note. Butler in the Preface to his Sermons. The Fifteen Sermons preached at the Rolls Chapel were published in 1726.

441. As has been explained, etc. An imperfect sentence. Probably Hazlitt wrote, ‘This has been explained,’ etc.

443. Note. Sir Kenelm Digby’s (1603–1665) Observations upon Religio Medici were published in 1643, and were afterwards frequently reprinted in editions of that work.

446. Note. Published in 1780.

447. Mr. Mac-Intosh. Sir James Mackintosh’s lectures on ‘The Law of Nature and Nations’ were delivered at Lincoln’s Inn Hall in 1799.

450. ‘In subduing,’ etc. Othello, Act I. Scene 3.

453. ‘Sentir est penser.’ This well-known aphorism of the Sensational School is attributed to Destutt de Tracy. See ante, note to p. 323.

More drossy and divisible. Dryden, The Hind and the Panther, I. 319.

454. Note. Condillac. Etienne de Condillac (1715–1780), whose TraitÉ des Sensations appeared in 1754.

Note. The book De l’Esprit. See ante, note to p. 434.

Note. ‘Me voici,’ etc. Émile, Liv. IV. (Profession de Foi du Vicaire Savoyard).

457. ‘Discourse of reason.Hamlet, Act I. Scene II.

464. ‘Theory of Moral Sentiments.’ Published in 1759.

465. Don Quixote. See Part I., Book III., chaps. 25 and 26.

Edinburgh: Printed by T. and A. Constable

1. Is it not a collateral proof that Sir Walter Scott is the Author of Waverley, that ever since these Novels began to appear, his Muse has been silent, till the publication of Halidon-Hill?

2. See the Portraits of Kneller, Richardson, and others.

3. Goldsmith was not a talker, though he blurted out his good things now and then: yet his style is gay and voluble enough. Pope was also a silent man; and his prose is timid and constrained, and his verse inclining to the monotonous.

4. As a singular example of steadiness of nerves, Mr. Tooke on one occasion had got upon the table at a public dinner to return thanks for his health having been drank. He held a bumper of wine in his hand, but he was received with considerable opposition by one party, and at the end of the disturbance, which lasted for a quarter of an hour, he found the wine glass still full to the brim.

5. I have been told, that when Sheridan was first introduced to Mr. Fox, what cemented an immediate intimacy between them was the following circumstance. Mr. Sheridan had been the night before to the House of Commons; and being asked what his impression was, said he had been principally struck with the difference of manner between Mr. Fox and Lord Stormont. The latter began by declaring in a slow, solemn, drawling, nasal tone that ‘when he considered the enormity and the unconstitutional tendency of the measures just proposed, he was hurried away in a torrent of passion and a whirlwind of impetuosity,’ pausing between every word and syllable; while the first said (speaking with the rapidity of lightning, and with breathless anxiety and impatience), that ‘such was the magnitude, such the importance, such the vital interest of this question, that he could not help imploring, he could not help adjuring the House to come to it with the utmost calmness, the utmost coolness, the utmost deliberation.’ This trait of discrimination instantly won Mr. Fox’s heart.

6.

Templum in modum arcis.
Tacitus of the Temple of Jerusalem.

7. The topics of metaphysical argument having got into female society in France, is a proof how much they must have been discussed there generally, and how unfounded the charge is which we bring against them of excessive thoughtlessness and frivolity. The French (taken all together) are a more sensible, reflecting, and better informed people than the English.

8. See Memoirs of Granville Sharp, by Prince Hoare, Esq.

9. The Rev. W. Shepherd, of Gateacre, in the Preface to his Life of Poggio.

10. School-boys attend to their tasks as soon as they acquire a relish for study, and apply to that for which they find they have a capacity. If a boy shows no inclination for the Latin tongue, it is a sign he has not a turn for learning languages. Yet he dances well. Give up the thought of making a scholar of him, and bring him up to be a dancing-master!

11. This circumstance did not happen to me, but to an acquaintance.

12. Lavender.

13. Mr. C****r made his first appearance in this country as a hack-writer, and received this surname from the classic lips of Mr. Cumberland.

14. Sir Joshua may be thought to have studied the composition of his female portraits very coolly. There is a picture of his remaining of a Mrs. Symmons, who appears to have been a delicate beauty, pale, with a very little colour in her cheeks: but then to set off this want of complexion, she is painted in a snow-white satin dress, there is a white marble pillar near her, a white cloud over her head, and by her side stands one white lily.

15. ‘No man lives too long, who lives to do with spirit, and suffer with resignation, what Providence pleases to command or inflict: but indeed they are sharp incommodities which beset old age. It was but the other day, that in putting in order some things which had been brought here on my taking leave of London for ever, I looked over a number of fine portraits, most of them of persons now dead, but whose society, in my better days, made this a proud and happy place. Amongst these was the picture of Lord Keppel. It was painted by an artist worthy of the subject, the excellent friend of that excellent man from their earliest youth, and a common friend of us both, with whom we lived for many years without a moment of coldness, of peevishness, of jealousy, or of jar, to the day of our final separation.

‘I ever looked on Lord Keppel as one of the greatest and best men of his age; and I loved and cultivated him accordingly. He was much in my heart, and I believe I was in his to the very last beat. It was after his trial at Portsmouth that he gave me this picture. With what zeal and anxious affection I attended him through that his agony of glory; what part, my son, in early flush and enthusiasm of his virtue and the pious passion with which he attached himself to all my connexions, with what prodigality we both squandered ourselves in courting almost every sort of enmity for his sake, I believe he felt, just as I should have felt, such friendship on such an occasion.’—Letter to a Noble Lord, p. 29, second edition, printed for T. Williams.

I have given this passage entire here, because I wish to be informed, if I could, what is the construction of the last sentence of it. It has puzzled me all my life. One difficulty might be got over by making a pause after ‘I believe he felt,’ and leaving out the comma between ‘have felt’ and ‘such friendship.’ That is, the meaning would be, ‘I believe he felt with what zeal and anxious affection,’ &c. ‘just as I should have felt such friendship on such an occasion.’ But then again, what is to become of the ‘what part, my son?’ &c. With what does this connect, or to what verb is ‘my son’ the nominative case, or by what verb is ‘what part’ governed? I should really be glad, if, from any manuscript, printed copy, or marginal correction, this point could be cleared up, and so fine a passage resolved, by any possible ellipsis, into ordinary grammar.

16. The only exception to the general drift of this Essay (and that is an exception in theory—I know of none in practice) is, that in reading we always take the right side, and make the case properly our own. Our imaginations are sufficiently excited, we have nothing to do with the matter but as a pure creation of the mind, and we therefore yield to the natural, unwarped impression of good and evil. Our own passions, interests, and prejudices out of the question, or in an abstracted point of view, we judge fairly and conscientiously; for conscience is nothing but the abstract idea of right and wrong. But no sooner have we to act or suffer, than the spirit of contradiction or some other demon comes into play, and there is an end of common sense and reason. Even the very strength of the speculative faculty, or the desire to square things with an ideal standard of perfection (whether we can or no) leads perhaps to half the absurdities and miseries of mankind. We are hunting after what we cannot find, and quarrelling with the good within our reach. Among the thousands that have read The Heart of Midlothian there assuredly never was a single person who did not wish Jeanie Deans success. Even Gentle George was sorry for what he had done, when it was over, though he would have played the same prank the next day: and the unknown author, in his immediate character of contributor to Blackwood and the Sentinel, is about as respectable a personage as Daddy Ratton himself. On the stage, every one takes part with Othello against Iago. Do boys at school, in reading Homer, generally side with the Greeks or Trojans?

17. There is a fellow in Hogarth’s Election Dinner, holding his wig in one hand, and wiping his bare scalp with the other. What a peep for a craniologist! Let him look well to it, and see that his system is borne out by the gesture, character, and actions of the portrait! A celebrated Scotch barrister being introduced to Dr. Spurzheim without his wig, said—‘It is dangerous to appear before you, Doctor, at this disadvantage.’ To which the Doctor replied—‘Oh! you have nothing to fear. Your head——’ ‘At least,’ interrupted the other, ‘you will not find the organ of credulity there!’

18. It appears, I understand, from an ingenious paper published by Dr. Combe of Edinburgh, that three heads have caused considerable uneasiness and consternation to a Society of Phrenologists in that city, viz. those of Sir Walter Scott, of the Duke of Wellington, and of Marshal Blucher. The first, contrary to the expectation of these learned persons, wants the organ of imagination; the second the organ of combination; and the last possesses the organ of fancy. This, I confess, as to the two first, appears to me a needless alarm. It would incline me (more than any thing I have yet heard) to an opinion that there is something like an art of divination in the science. I had long ago formed and been hardy enough to express a conviction that Sir Walter’s forte is a sort of traditional literature (whatever he accumulates or scatters through his pages, he leaves as he finds it, with very few marks of the master-mind upon it)—and as to the second person mentioned, he has just those powers of combination which belong to a man who leads a bull-dog in a string, and lets the animal loose upon his prey at the proper moment. With regard to Prince Blucher, if he had not ‘fancy in himself, he was the cause of it in others,’ for he turned the heads of many people, who ‘fancied’ his campaigns were the precursors of the Millennium. I have at different times seen these three puzzling heads, and I should say that the Poet looks like a gentleman-farmer, the Prince like a corporal on guard, or the lieutenant of a press-gang, the Duke like nothing or nobody. You look at the head of the first with admiration of its capacity and solid contents, at the last with wonder at what it can contain (any more than a drum-head), at the man of ‘fancy’ or of ‘the fancy’ with disgust at the grossness and brutality which he did not affect to conceal. These, however, are slight physiognomical observations taken at random: but I should be happy to have my ‘squandering glances’ in any degree confirmed by the profounder science and more accurate investigations of northern genius!

19. The books that we like in youth we return to in age, if there is nature and simplicity in them. At what age should Robinson Crusoe be laid aside? I do not think that Don Quixote is a book for children; or at least, they understand it better as they grow up.

20. I do not speak of poverty as an absolute evil; though when accompanied with luxurious habits and vanity, it is a great one. Even hardships and privations have their use, and give strength and endurance. Labour renders ease delightful—hunger is the best sauce. The peasant, who at noon rests from his weary task under a hawthorn hedge, and eats his slice of coarse bread and cheese or rusty bacon, enjoys more real luxury than the prince with pampered, listless appetite under a canopy of state. Why then does the mind of man pity the former, and envy the latter? It is because the imagination changes places with others in situation only, not in feeling; and in fancying ourselves the peasant, we revolt at his homely fare, from not being possessed of his gross taste or keen appetite, while in thinking of the prince, we suppose ourselves to sit down to his delicate viands and sumptuous board, with a relish unabated by long habit and vicious excess. I am not sure whether Mandeville has not given the same answer to this hackneyed question.

21. Women abroad (generally speaking) are more like men in the tone of their conversation and habits of thinking, so that from the same premises you cannot draw the same conclusions as in England.

22. This circumstance is noticed in Ivanhoe, though a different turn is given to it by the philosopher of Rotherwood.

‘Nay, I can tell you more,’ said Wamba in the same tone, ‘there is old Alderman Ox continues to hold his Saxon epithet, while he is under the charge of serfs and bondsmen such as thou; but becomes Beef, a fiery French gallant, when he arrives before the worshipful jaws that are destined to consume him. Mynheer Calf too becomes Monsieur de Veau in like manner: he is Saxon when he requires tendance, and takes a Norman name when he becomes matter of enjoyment.’—Vol. 1, Chap. 1.

23. Hence the peculiar horror of cannibalism from the stronger sympathy with our own sensations, and the greater violence that is done to it by the sacrilegious use of what once possessed human life and feeling.

24. Thomas Cooper of Manchester, the able logician and political partisan, tried the experiment some years ago, when he invited a number of gentlemen and officers quartered in the town to dine with him on an ass’s foal instead of a calf’s-head, on the anniversary of the 30th of January. The circumstance got wind, and gave great offence. Mr. Cooper had to attend a country-meeting soon after at Boulton-le-Moors, and one of the country magistrates coming to the inn for the same purpose, and when he asked ‘If any one was in the room!’ receiving for answer—‘No one but Mr. Cooper of Manchester’—ordered out his horse and immediately rode home again. Some verses made on the occasion by Mr. Scarlett and Mr. Shepherd of Gateacre explained the story thus—

‘The reason how this came to pass is
The Justice had heard that Cooper ate asses!’

25. What a plague Moses had with his Jews to make them ‘reform and live cleanly!’ To this day (according to a learned traveller) the Jews, wherever scattered, have an aversion to agriculture and almost to its products; and a Jewish girl will refuse to accept a flower—if you offer her a piece of money, of jewellery or embroidery, she knows well enough what to make of the proffered courtesy. See Hacquet’s Travels in Carpathia, &c.

26. The dirt and comparative want of conveniences among Catholics is often attributed to the number of their Saints’ days and festivals, which divert them from labour, and give them an idle and disorderly turn of mind.

27. Lord Bacon, in speaking of the Schoolmen.

28. This is not confined to the Westminster. A certain Talking Potatoe (who is now one of the props of Church and State), when he first came to this country, used to frighten some respectable old gentlewomen, who invited him to supper, by asking for a slice of the ‘leg of the Saviour,’ meaning a leg of Lamb; or a bit of ‘the Holy Ghost pie,’ meaning a pigeon-pie on the table. Ill-nature and impertinence are the same in all schools.

29. One of them has printed a poem entitled ‘Rhodope;’ which, however, does not show the least taste or capacity for poetry, or any idea corresponding to it. Bad poetry serves to prove the existence of good. If all poetry were like Rhodope, the philosophic author might fulminate his anathemas against it (floods of ghastly, livid ire) as long as he pleased: but if this were poetry, there would be no occasion for so much anger: no one would read it or think any thing of it!

30. ‘Old Lady Lambert. Come, come: I wish you would follow Dr. Cantwell’s precepts, whose practice is conformable to what he teaches. Virtuous man!—above all sensual regards, he considers the world merely as a collection of dirt and pebble-stones. How has he weaned me from temporal connexions! My heart is now set upon nothing sublunary; and, I thank Heaven, I am so insensible to every thing in this vile world, that I could see you, my son, my daughters, my brothers, my grandchildren, all expire before me, and mind it no more than the going out of so many snuffs of a candle.

Charlotte. Upon my word, madam, it is a very humane disposition you have been able to arrive at, and your family is much obliged to the Doctor for his instructions.’—Act ii. Scene 1.

31. It is more desirable to be the handsomest than the wisest man in his Majesty’s dominions, for there are more people who have eyes than understandings. Sir John Suckling tells us that

He prized black eyes and a lucky hit
At bowls, above all the trophies of wit.

In like manner, I would be permitted to say, that I am somewhat sick of this trade of authorship, where the critics look askance at one’s best-meant efforts, but am still fond of those athletic exercises, where they do not keep two scores to mark the game, with Whig and Tory notches. The accomplishments of the body are obvious and clear to all: those of the mind are recondite and doubtful, and therefore grudgingly acknowledged, or held up as the sport of prejudice, spite, and folly.

32. Written in June 1820.

33. Quere, Villiers, because in another place it is said, that ‘when the latter entered the presence-chamber, he attracted all eyes by the handsomeness of his person, and the gracefulness of his demeanour.’

34. Wycherley was a great favourite with the Duchess of Cleveland.

35. The writer of this Essay once saw a Prince of the Blood pull off his hat to every one in the street, till he came to the beggarman that swept the crossing. This was a nice distinction. Farther, it was a distinction that the writer of this Essay would not make to be a Prince of the Blood. Perhaps, however, a question might be started in the manner of Montaigne, whether the beggar did not pull off his hat in quality of asking charity, and not as a mark of respect. Now a Prince may decline giving charity, though he is obliged to return a civility. If he does not, he may be treated with disrespect another time, and that is an alternative he is bound to prevent. Any other person might set up such a plea, but the person to whom a whole street had been bowing just before.

36. Nearly the same sentiment was wittily and happily expressed by a friend, who had some lottery puffs, which he had been employed to write, returned on his hands for their too great severity of thought and classical terseness of style, and who observed on that occasion, that ‘Modest merit never can succeed!’

37. During the peace of Amiens, a young English officer, of the name of Lovelace, was presented at Buonaparte’s levee. Instead of the usual question, ‘Where have you served, Sir?’ the First Consul immediately addressed him, ‘I perceive your name, Sir, is the same as that of the hero of Richardson’s Romance!’ Here was a Consul. The young man’s uncle, who was called Lovelace, told me this anecdote while we were stopping together at Calais. I had also been thinking that his was the same name as that of the hero of Richardson’s Romance. This is one of my reasons for liking Buonaparte.

38. He is there called ‘Citizen Lauderdale.’ Is this the present Earl?

39. ‘I know at this time a person of vast estate, who is the immediate descendant of a fine gentleman, but the great-grandson of a broker, in whom his ancestor is now revived. He is a very honest gentleman in his principles, but cannot for his blood talk fairly: he is heartily sorry for it; but he cheats by constitution, and over-reaches by instinct.’—See this subject delightfully treated in the 75th Number of the Tatler, in an account of Mr. Bickerstaff’s pedigree, on occasion of his sister’s marriage.

40.

Fideliter didicisse ingenuas artes
Emollit mores, nec sinit esse feros.

The same maxim does not establish the purity of morals that infers their mildness.

41. Richardson’s Works, On the Science of a Connoisseur, p. 212.

42. The reputation is not the man. Yet all true reputation begins and ends in the opinion of a man’s intimate friends. He is what they think him, and in the last result will be thought so by others. Where there is no solid merit to bear the pressure of personal contact, fame is but a vapour raised by accident or prejudice, and will soon vanish like a vapour or a noisome stench. But he who appears to those about him what he would have the world think him, from whom every one that approaches him in whatever circumstances brings something away to confirm the loud rumour of the popular voice, is alone great in spite of fortune. The malice of friendship, the littleness of curiosity, is as severe a test as the impartiality and enlarged views of history.

43. Mercier.

44. It appears, notwithstanding, that this sophistical apology for the restoration of the Spanish Inquisition, with the reversion of sovereign power into kingly hands, was false and spurious. The power has once more reverted into the hands of an abused people, and the Inquisition has been abolished.—Since this was written, there has been another turn of the screws, and——But no more on that head.

45. This was written in Mr. Shelley’s life-time.

46. ‘The Gothic architecture, though not so ancient as the Grecian, is more so to our imagination, with which the artist is more concerned than with absolute truth.’—Sir Joshua Reynolds’s Discourses, vol. ii. p. 138.

Till I met with this remark in so circumspect and guarded a writer as Sir Joshua, I was afraid of being charged with extravagance in some of the above assertions. Pereant isti qui ante nos nostra dixerunt. It is thus that our favourite speculations are often accounted paradoxes by the ignorant,—while by the learned reader they are set down as plagiarisms.

47. ‘Rosalind. Time travels in divers paces with divers persons: I’ll tell you who time ambles withal, who time trots withal, who time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal.

Orlando. I prythee, who doth he trot withal?

Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between the contract of her marriage and the day it is solemnized: if the interim be but a se’nnight, time’s pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven years.

Orl. Who ambles time withal?

Ros. With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich man that hath not the gout; for the one sleeps easily, because he cannot study; and the other lives merrily, because he feels no pain; the one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning; the other knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury. These time ambles with.

Orl. Who doth he gallop withal?

Ros. With a thief to the gallows; for though he go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there.

Orl. Who stays it withal?

Ros. With lawyers in the vacation; for they sleep between term and term, and then they perceive not how time moves.’—As You Like It, Act III. Scene II.

48. ‘On the other point, namely, the dark and sceptical spirit prevalent through the works of this poet (Lord Byron), we shall not now utter all that we feel, but rather direct the notice of our readers to it as a singular phenomenon in the poetry of the age. Whoever has studied the spirit of Greek and Roman literature, must have been struck with the comparative disregard and indifference, wherewith the thinking men of these exquisitely polished nations contemplated those subjects of darkness and mystery which afford at some period or other of his life, so much disquiet—we had almost said so much agony, to the mind of every reflecting modern. It is difficult to account for this in any very satisfactory, and we suspect altogether impossible to do so in any strictly logical, manner. In reading the works of Plato and his interpreter Cicero, we find the germs of all the doubts and anxieties to which we have alluded, so far as these are connected with the workings of our reason. The singularity is, that those clouds of darkness, which hang over the intellect, do not appear, so far as we can perceive, to have thrown at any time any very alarming shade upon the feelings or temper of the ancient sceptic. We should think a very great deal of this was owing to the brilliancy and activity of his southern fancy. The lighter spirits of antiquity, like the more mercurial of our moderns, sought refuge in mere gaietÉ du coeur and derision. The graver poets and philosophers—and poetry and philosophy were in those days seldom disunited—built up some airy and beautiful system of mysticism, each following his own devices, and suiting the erection to his own peculiarities of hope and inclination; and this being once accomplished, the mind appears to have felt quite satisfied with what it had done, and to have reposed amidst the splendours of its sand-built fantastic edifice, with as much security as if it had been grooved and rivetted into the rock of ages. The mere exercise of ingenuity in devising a system furnished consolation to its creators, or improvers. Lucretius is a striking example of all this; and it may be averred that down to the time of Claudian, who lived in the fourth century of our Æra, in no classical writer of antiquity do there occur any traces of what moderns understand by the restlessness and discomfort of uncertainty, as to the government of the world and the future destinies of man.’—Edinburgh Review, vol. xxx. p. 96, 97, Article, Childe Harold, Canto 4.

49. It must be granted, however, that there was something piquant and provoking in his manner of ‘making the worse appear the better reason.’ In keeping off the ill odour of a bad cause, he applied hartshorn and burnt feathers to the offended sense; and did not, like Mr. Canning, treat us with the faded flowers of his oratory, like the faint smell of a perfumer’s shop, or try to make Government ‘love-locks’ of dead men’s hair!

50. Tom Paine, while he was busy about any of his works, used to walk out, compose a sentence or paragraph in his head, come home and write it down, and never altered it afterwards. He then added another, and so on, till the whole was completed.

51. Just as a poet ought not to cheat us with lame metre and defective rhymes, which might be excusable in an improvisatori versifier.

52. That is essentially a bad style which seems as if the person writing it never stopped for breath, nor gave himself a moment’s pause, but strove to make up by redundancy and fluency for want of choice and correctness of expression.

53. I have omitted to dwell on some other differences of body and mind that often prevent the same person from shining in both capacities of speaker and writer. There are natural impediments to public speaking, such as the want of a strong voice and steady nerves. A high authority of the present day (Mr. Canning) has thought this a matter of so much importance, that he goes so far as even to let it affect the constitution of Parliament, and conceives that gentlemen who have not bold foreheads and brazen lungs, but modest pretensions and patriotic views, should be allowed to creep into the great assembly of the nation through the avenue of close boroughs, and not be called upon ‘to face the storms of the hustings.’ In this point of view, Stentor was a man of genius, and a noisy jack-pudding may cut a considerable figure in the ‘Political House that Jack built.’ I fancy Mr. C. Wynne is the only person in the kingdom who has fully made up his mind that a total defect of voice is the most necessary qualification for a Speaker of the House of Commons!

54. I may be allowed to mention here (not for the sake of invidious comparison, but to explain my meaning,) Mr. Martin’s picture of Adam and Eve asleep in Paradise. It has this capital defect, that there is no repose in it. You see two insignificant naked figures, and a preposterous architectural landscape, like a range of buildings over-looking them. They might as well have been represented on the top of the pinnacle of the Temple, with the world and all the glories thereof spread out before them. They ought to have been painted imparadised in one another’s arms, shut up in measureless content, with Eden’s choicest bowers closing round them, and Nature stooping to clothe them with vernal flowers. Nothing could be too retired, too voluptuous, too sacred from ‘day’s garish eye;’ on the contrary, you have a gaudy panoramic view, a glittering barren waste, a triple row of clouds, of rocks, and mountains, piled one upon the other, as if the imagination already bent its idle gaze over that wide world which was so soon to be our place of exile, and the aching, restless spirit of the artist was occupied in building a stately prison for our first parents, instead of decking their bridal bed, and wrapping them in a short-lived dream of bliss.

55. The Duke of Wellington, it is said, cannot enter into the merits of Raphael; but he admires ‘the spirit and fire’ of Tintoret. I do not wonder at this bias. A sentiment probably never dawned upon his Grace’s mind; but he may be supposed to relish the dashing execution and hit or miss manner of the Venetian artist. Oh, Raphael! well is it that it was one who did not understand thee, that blundered upon the destruction of humanity!

56. I remember Mr. Wordsworth saying, that he thought we had pleasanter days in the outset of life, but that our years slid on pretty even one with another, as we gained in variety and richness what we lost in intensity. This balance of pleasure can however only be hoped for by those who retain the best feelings of their early youth, and sometimes deign to look out of their own minds into those of others: for without this we shall grow weary of the continual contemplation of self, particularly as that self will be a very shabby one.

57. A splendid edition of Goldsmith has been lately got up under the superintendence of Mr. Washington Irvine, with a preface and a portrait of each author. By what concatenation of ideas that gentleman arrived at the necessity of placing his own portrait before a collection of Goldsmith’s works, one must have been early imprisoned in transatlantic solitudes to understand.

58. I would as soon try to remove one side of the Seine or of the Thames to the other. By the time an author begins to be much talked of abroad, he is going out of fashion at home. We have many little Lord Byrons among ourselves, who think they can write nearly, if not quite as well. I am not anxious to spread Shakespear’s fame, or to increase the number of his admirers. ‘What’s he that wishes for more men from England?’ &c. It is enough if he is admired by all those who understand him. He may be very inferior to many French writers, for what I know; but I am quite sure he is superior to all English ones. We may say that, without national prejudice or vanity.

59. I have heard the popularity of Sir Walter Scott in France ingeniously, and somewhat whimsically traced to Buonaparte. He did not like the dissipation and frivolity of Paris, and relegated the country-gentlemen to their seats for eight months in the year. Here they yawn and gasp for breath, and would not know what to do without the aid of the author of Waverley. They ask impatiently when the ‘Tales of the Crusaders’ will be out; and what you think of ‘Redgauntlet?’ To the same cause is to be attributed the change of manners. Messieurs, je veux des moeurs, was constantly in the French Ruler’s mouth. Manners, according to my informant, were necessary to consolidate his plans of tyranny;—how, I do not know. Forty years ago no man was ever seen in company with Madame sa femme. A Comedy was written on the ridicule of a man being in love with his wife. Now he must be with her three-and-twenty hours out of the four-and-twenty; it is from this that they date the decline of happiness in France; and the unfortunate couple endeavour to pass the time and get rid of ennui as well as they can, by reading the Scotch Novels together.

60. The author of Virginius.

61. In Paris, to be popular, you must wear out, they say, twenty pair of pumps and twenty pair of silk stockings, in calls upon the different Newspaper Editors. In England, you have only to give in your resignation at the Treasury, and you receive your passport to the John Bull Parnassus; otherwise you are shut out and made a bye word. Literary jealousy and littleness is still the motive, politics the pretext, and blackguardism the mode.

62. Buonaparte got a committee of the French Institute to draw up a report of the Kantean Philosophy; he might as well have ordered them to draw up a report of the geography of the moon. It is difficult for an Englishman to understand Kant; for a Frenchman impossible. The latter has a certain routine of phrases into which his ideas run habitually as into a mould, and you cannot get him out of them.

63. Even her j’existe in Valeria (when she first acquires the use of sight) is pointed like an epigram, and put in italics, like a technical or metaphysical distinction, instead of being a pure effusion of joy. Accordingly a French pit-critic took up the phrase, insisting that to exist was common to all things, and asked what the expression was in the original German. This treatment of passion is topical and extraneous, and seldom strikes at the seat of the disorder, the heart.

64. See also Search’s ‘Light of Nature Pursued,’ in which the same sophism is insisted on.

65. I have said before that this is a study, not a perfect demonstration. I am no merchant in metaphysics.

66.

‘Out on the craft—I’d rather be
One of those hinds that round me tread,
With just enough of sense to see
The noon-day sun that’s o’er my head,
Than thus with high-built genius curs’d,
That hath no heart for its foundation,
Be all at once that’s brightest—worst—
Sublimest—meanest in creation.’
Rhymes on the Road.

67. The poet himself, standing at the bottom of it, however diminutive in appearance, was a much greater proof of his own argument than a huge, shapeless lump of ice. But the immensity, the solitude, the barrenness, the immoveableness of the masses, so different from the whirl, the tinsel, the buzz and the ephemeral nature of the objects which occupy and dissipate his ordinary attention, gave Mr. Moore a turn for reflection, and brought before him the abstract idea of infinity and of the cause of all things.

68. Madame Warens resided for some time at Turin, and was pensioned by the Court.

69. What the nature of his attachment was is probably best explained by his cry, ‘Ah! voila de la pervenche!’ with which all Europe has rung; or by the beginning of the last of the ‘Reveries of a Solitary Walker,’ ‘Aujourd’hui jour de PÂques fleuries, il y a prÉcisÉment cinquante ans de ma premiÈre connaissance avec Madame de Warens.’ But it is very possible our lively Anacreon does not understand these long-winded retrospects; and agrees with his friend Lord Byron, who professed never to feel any thing seriously for more than a day!

70. Mr. Pitt and Mr. Windham were not so nice. They were intimate enough with such a fellow as Cobbett, while he chose to stand by them.

71. One of them tried the other day to persuade people to give up the Classics and learn Chinese, because he has a place in the India House. To those who are connected with the tea-trade, this may be of immediate practical interest, but not therefore to all the world. These prosaical visionaries are a species by themselves. It is a matter of fact, that the natives of the South Sea Islands speak a language of their own, and if we were to go there, it might be of more use to us than Greek and Latin—but not till then!

72. The question whether abstract or merely intellectual ideas have ever much influence on the conduct has not been fairly stated. The point is not whether an abstract proposition (no matter whether true or false) of which I became convinced yesterday, will be able to overturn all my previous habits, and prejudices, but whether ideas of this kind may not be made the foundation of inveterate prejudices themselves and the strongest principles of action. The ideas concerning religion are of a sufficiently abstract nature: and yet it will not be disputed that early impressions of this kind have some influence on a man’s future conduct in life. Two persons accidentally meeting together, and who had never seen one another before shall conceive a more violent antipathy to each other in consequence of a dispute on religion or politics than they might have done from having been personally at variance half their lives. It is objected that this proceeds from wounded vanity. But why is our vanity more easily irritated upon these subjects than upon any other but from the importance attached to them by the understanding? Questions of morality do not always excite the same violent animosity; and this I think is because they do not so properly admit of dispute in themselves, also because they are not so often made the instruments of cabal, and power, and therefore depend less on opinion, or the number of votes, and because every one appealing to his own breast for the truth of his opinion attributes the continuance of the contest not to any want of force in his own arguments, but to a want of proper feelings in his opponent.—I will add here a remark in some measure connected with the last-mentioned observation, that the reason why men are generally more anxious about the opinion entertained of their understanding than their honesty is not so much that they really think this last of less consequence as that a man always believes himself to be the best judge of what passes in his own breast. He therefore thinks very little the better of himself for the good opinion of others. Indeed he considers their suffrages in this respect as a sort of impertinence at best, as implying some doubt upon the subject: and as to their direct censures, he will always find some feelings, or motives in his own mind, or some circumstances with which they are not acquainted, which will in his opinion make a total difference in the case. With respect to manners, and those moral qualities which are denominated pleasing, these again depend on the judgment of others; and we find the same jealousy of the opinions of others manifested with respect to these as with respect to our sense, wit, &c.

73. The distinction between the motives to action and the reasons for it cannot affect the argument here insisted on. When it is said, that though I am not really governed by such and such motives, I ought to be governed by them, this must mean (or it means nothing) that such would be the effect of a proper exertion of my faculties. The obligation to act in this or that manner must therefore be deduced from the nature of those faculties, and the possibility of their being impressed in a certain manner by certain objects.

74. Similarity has been defined to be partial sameness. Curve lines have a general resemblance, or analogy to one another as such. Does this resemblance then consist in their being partially the same? This may be said where the difference arises from drawing out the same sort of curve to a greater extent because by adding to the shorter curve I can make it equal to the other. But I cannot by adding any other line to an oval convert it into a circle, because these two sorts of curves can never coincide even in their smallest conceivable parts. It should seem then that their similarity is not to be deduced from partial sameness, or their having some one thing exactly the same, common to them both. But they have the same general nature as curves. True: but in what does this abstract identity consist? Is it not the same with similarity? So that we return to the same point from which we set out. I confess no light appears to me to be thrown on the subject by saying that it is partial identity. The same sort of reasoning is applicable to the question whether all good is not to be resolved into one simple principle, or essence, or whether all that is really good or pleasurable in any sensation is not the same identical feeling, an infusion of the same level of good, and that all the rest is perfectly foreign to the nature of good and is merely the form or vehicle in which it is conveyed to the mind. I cannot however persuade myself that our sensations differ only as to more, or less; or that the pleasure derived from seeing a fine picture, or hearing a fine piece of music, that the gratification derived from doing a good action and that which accompanies the swallowing of an oyster are in reality and at bottom the same pleasure. The liquor tastes of the vessel through which it passes. It seems most reasonable to suppose that our feelings differ in their nature according to the nature of the objects by which they are excited, though not necessarily in the same proportion, as objects may excite very distinct ideas which have little or nothing to do with feeling. Why should there be only two sorts of feeling, pleasure and pain? I am convinced that any one who has reflected much on his own feelings must have found it impossible to refer them all to the same fixed invariable standard of good or evil, or by throwing away the mere husk and refuse without losing any thing essential to the feeling to arrive at some one simple principle, the same in all cases, and which determines by it’s quantity alone the precise degree of good or evil in any sensation. Some sensations are like others; this is all we know of the matter, and all that is necessary to form a class, or genus. The contrary method of reasoning appears to proceed on a supposition that things differing at all in kind must differ in toto, must be quite different from each other; so that a resemblance in kind must imply an absolute coincidence in part, or in as far as the things resemble one another.—See Usher on the Human Mind.

75. It is a gross mistake to consider all habit as necessarily depending on association of ideas. We might as well consider the strength which is given to a muscle by habitual exertion as a case of the association of ideas. The strength, delicacy, &c. given to any feeling by frequent exercise is owing to habit. When any two feelings, or ideas are often repeated in connection, and the properties belonging to the one are by this means habitually transferred to the other, this is association.

76. ‘Ainsi se forment les premiers liens qui l’unissent’ [le jeune homme] ‘À son espÈce. En dirigeant sur elle sa sensibilitÉ naissante ne craignez pas qu’elle embrassera d’abord tous les hommes, & que ce mot de genre-humain signifiera pour lui quelque chose. Non, cette sensibilitÉ se bornera premiÈrement À ses semblables, & ses semblables ne seront point pour lui des inconnus, mais ceux avec lesquels il a des liaisons, ceux que l’habitude lui a rendus chers, ou nÉcessaires, ceux qu’il voit Évidemment avoir avec lui des maniÈres de penser & de sentir communes, ceux qu’il voit exposÉs aux peines qu’il a souffertes, & sensibles aux plaisirs qu’il a goutÉs; ceux, en un mot, en qui l’identitÉ de nature plus manifestÉe lui donne une plus grande disposition À aimer. Ce ne sera qu’aprÈs avoir cultivÉ son naturel en milles maniÉres, aprÈs bien des rÉflections sur ses propres sentimens, & sur ceux qu’il observera dans les autres, qu’il pourra parvenir À gÉnÉraliser ses notions individuelles sous l’idÉe abstraite d’humanitÉ & joindre À ses affections particuliÈres celles qui peuvent l’identifier avec son espÈce.’ Emile, t. 2, p. 192.—It is needless to add any thing on this passage. It speaks for itself.

L’amour du genre-humain n’est autre chose en nous que l’amour de la justice.’ Ibid. p. 248.

77. This account is loose enough. I shall endeavour to give a better, as to the manner in which ideas may be supposed to be connected with volition, at the end of this essay. In the mean time I wish the reader to be apprized, that I do not use the word imagination as contradistinguished from or opposed to reason, or the faculty by which we reflect upon and compare our ideas, but as opposed to sensation, or memory. It has been shewn above that by the word idea is not meant a merely abstract idea.

78. I take it for granted that the only way to establish the selfish hypothesis is by shewing that our own interest is in reality brought home to the mind as a motive to action by some means or other by which that of others cannot possibly affect it. This is unavoidable, unless we ascribe a particular genius of selfishness to each individual which never suffers his affections to wander from himself for a moment; or shall we suppose that a man’s attachment to himself is because he has a long nose or a short one, because his hair is black or red, or from an unaccountable fancy for his own name, for all these make a part of the individual, and must be deemed very weighty reasons by those who think it self-evident that a man must love himself because he is himself?

79. See the last note but one.

80. The general clue to that Ænigma, the character of the French, seems to be that their feelings are very imperfectly modified by the objects exciting them. That is, the difference between the several degrees and kinds of feeling in them does not correspond as much as it does in most other people with the different degrees and kinds of power in the external objects. They want neither feeling nor ideas in the abstract; but there seems to be no connection in their minds between the one and the other. Consequently their feelings want compass and variety, and whatever else must depend on the ‘building up of our feelings through the imagination.’ The feelings of a Frenchman seem to be all one feeling. The moment any thing produces a change in him, he is thrown completely out of his character, he is quite beside himself. This is perhaps in a great measure owing to their quickness of perception. They do not give the object time to be thoroughly impressed on their minds, their feelings are roused at the first notice of its approach, and if I may so express myself, fairly run away from the object. Their feelings do not grapple with the object. The least stimulus is sufficient to excite them and more is superfluous, for they do not wait for the impression, or stop to inquire what degree or kind it is of. There is not resistance sufficient in the matter to receive those sharp incisions, those deep, marked, and strongly rooted impressions, the traces of which remain for ever. From whatever cause it proceeds, the sensitive principle in them does not seem to be susceptible of the same modification and variety of action as it does in others; and certainly the outward forms of things do not adhere to, do not wind themselves round their feelings in the same manner. For any thing that appears to the contrary, objects might be supposed to have no direct communication with the internal sense of pleasure or pain, but to act upon it through some intermediate, very confined organ, capable of transmitting little more than the simple impulse. But the same thing will follow, if we suppose the principle itself to be this very organ, that is, to want comprehensiveness, elasticity, and plastic force. (It is difficult to express this in English: but there is a French word, ressort, which expresses it exactly. This is possibly owing to their feeling the want of it; as there is no word in any other language to answer to the English word, comfort, I suppose, because the English are the most uncomfortable of all people). It will rather follow from what has been here said than be inconsistent with it that the French must be more sensible of minute impressions and slight shades of difference in their feelings than others, because having, as is here supposed, less real variety, a narrower range of feeling, they will attend more to the differences contained within that narrow circle, and so produce an artificial variety. In short their feelings are very easily set in motion and by slight causes, but they do not go the whole length of the impression, nor are they capable of combining a great variety of complicated actions to correspond with the distinct characters and complex forms of things. Hence they have no such thing as poetry. This however must not be misunderstood. I mean then that I never met with any thing in French that produces the same kind of feeling in the mind as the following passage. If there is any thing that belongs even to the same class with it, I am ready to give the point up.

Antony. Eros, thou yet behold’st me.
Eros. Ay, noble Lord.
Ant. Sometimes we see a cloud that’s Dragonish,
A vapour sometimes like a Bear, or Lion,
A tower’d Citadel, a pendant Rock,
A forked Mountain, or blue Promontory
With Trees upon’t, that nod unto the World
And mock our Eyes with Air. Thou hast seen these Signs,
They are black Vesper’s Pageants.
Eros. Ay, my Lord.
Ant. That which is now a Horse, even with a Thought
The rack dislimns, and makes it indistinct
As Water is in Water.
Eros. It does, my Lord.
Ant. My good Knave, Eros, now thy Captain is
Even such a body, &c.

It is remarkable that the French, who are a lively people and fond of shew and striking images, should be able to read and hear with such delight their own dramatic pieces, which abound in nothing but general maxims, and vague declamation, never embodying any thing, and which would appear quite tedious to an English audience, who are generally considered as a dry, dull, plodding people, much more likely to be satisfied with formal descriptions and grave reflections. This appears to me to come to the same thing that I have said before, namely, that it is characteristic of the French that their feelings let go their hold of things almost as soon as the impression is made. Except sensible impressions therefore (which have on that account more force, and carry them away without opposition while they last) all their feelings are general; and being general, not being marked by any strong distinctions, nor built on any deep foundation of inveterate associations, one thing serves to excite them as well as another, the name of the general class to which any feeling belongs, the words pleasure, charming, delicious, &c., convey just the same meaning, and excite the same kind of emotion in the mind of a Frenchman, and at the same time do this more readily, than the most forcible description of real feelings, and objects. The English on the contrary are not so easily moved with words, because being in the habit of retaining individual images and of brooding over the feelings connected with them, the mere names of general classes, or (which is the same thing) vague and unmeaning descriptions or sentiments must appear perfectly indifferent to them. Hence the French are delighted with Racine, the English (I mean some of them) admire Shakespear. Rousseau is the only French writer I am acquainted with (though he by the bye was not a Frenchman) who from the depth of his feelings, without many distinct images, produces the same kind of interest in the mind that is excited by the events and recollections of our own lives. If he had not true genius, he had at least something which was a very good substitute for it. The French generalise perpetually, but seldom comprehensively: they make an infinite number of observations, but have never discovered any great principle. They immediately perceive the analogy between a number of facts of the same class, and make a general inference, which is done the more easily, the fewer particulars you trouble yourself with; it is in a good measure the art of forgetting. The difficult part of philosophy is, when a number of particular observations and contradictory facts have been stated, to reconcile them together by finding out some other distinct view of the subject, or collateral circumstance, applicable to all the different facts or appearances, which is the true principle from which, when combined with particular circumstances, they are all derived. Opposite appearances are always immediately incompatible with each other, and cannot therefore be deduced from the same immediate cause, but must be accounted for from a combination of different causes, the discovery of which is an affair of comprehension, and not of mere abstraction.

81. Berkeley’s Essay on Vision.

82. See page 392, and the following pages.

83. The sum of the matter is this. Individuality may relate either to absolute unity, to the identity, or similarity of the parts of any thing, or to an extraordinary degree of connection between things neither the same nor similar. This last alone in fact determines the positive use of the word, at least with respect to man, and other organized beings. (Indeed the term is hardly ever applied to other things in common language.) When I speak of the difference between one individual and another, this must refer ultimately to the want of such connection between them, or to my perceiving that a number of things are so connected as to have a mutual and intimate dependence on one another, making one individual, and that they are so disconnected with a number of other things as not to have the least habitual dependence upon or influence over them, which makes them two distinct individuals. As to the other distinctions between one individual and another, namely those of number and properties, the first of these subsists as necessarily between the parts of the individual, as between one individual and another, and the second frequently subsists in a much greater degree between those parts, than between different individuals. Two distinct individuals can certainly never be the same: that is, supposing the number of parts in each individual to be as 10, 10 can never make 20. But neither can 10 ever be made into an unit; so that we should have ten individuals instead of one by insisting on the absolute distinction of numbers. When I say therefore that one individual differs from another, I must be understood by implication to mean, in some way in which the parts of that individual do not differ from each other or not by any means in the same degree. The mind is however extremely apt to fasten on the distinctions of number and properties where they co-exist with the other distinction, and almost loses sight of those distinctions between things that have a very close connection with each other. When therefore we include the distinctions of number and properties in our account of the difference between one individual and another, this can only be true in an absolute sense, and not if it be meant to imply that the same distinctions do not exist in the same individual.—This account is altogether very crude and unsatisfactory.

84. I remember a story somewhere in the Arabian Nights of a man with a silver thigh. Why may not a fable serve for an illustration as well as any thing else? Metaphysics themselves are but a dry romance. Now suppose this thigh to have been endued with a power of sensation and to have answered every other purpose of a real thigh. What difference would this make in its outward appearance either to the man himself or to any one else? Or how by means of sight would he know it to be his thigh, more than it was? It would still look just like what it did, a silver thigh and nothing more. It’s impression on the eye would not depend on it’s being a sensible substance, on it’s having life in it, or being connected with the same conscious principle as the eye, but on it’s being a visible substance, that is having extension, figure, and colour.

85. To avoid an endless subtlety of distinction I have not here given any account of consciousness in general: but the same reasoning will apply to both.

86. Suppose a number of men employed to cast a mound into the sea. As far as it has gone, the workmen pass backwards and forwards on it, it stands firm in it’s place, and though it recedes farther and farther from the shore, it is still joined to it. A man’s personal identity and self-interest have just the same principle and extent, and can reach no farther than his actual existence. But if a man of a metaphysical turn, seeing that the pier was not yet finished, but was to be continued to a certain point and in a certain direction, should take it into his head to insist that what was already built and what was to be built were the same pier, that the one must afford as good footing as the other, and should accordingly walk over the pier-head on the solid foundation of his metaphysical hypothesis—he would argue a great deal more ridiculously, but not a whit more absurdly than those who found a principle of absolute self-interest on a man’s future identity with his present being. But say you, the comparison does not hold in this, that the man can extend his thoughts (and that very wisely too) beyond the present moment, whereas in the other case he cannot move a single step forwards. Grant it. This will only shew that the mind has wings as well as feet, which of itself is a sufficient answer to the selfish hypothesis.

87. See Preface to Wordsworth’s Poems.

88. I do not mean that Helvetius was the first who conceived the hypothesis here spoken of (for I do not think he had wit enough to invent even an ingenious absurdity) but it was through him I believe that this notion has attained it’s present popularity, and in France particularly it has had, I am certain, a very general influence on the national character. It was brought forward in the most forcible manner by the writers of the last century, and it is expressly stated, and clearly answered by Bishop Butler in the Preface to his Sermons at the Rolls’ Chapel. After Berkeley’s Essay on Vision, I do not know of any work better worth the attention of those who would learn to think than these same metaphysical Discourses preached at the Rolls’ Chapel.

89. No doubt the picture is always looked at with a very different feeling from what it would have been, if the idea of the person had never been distinctly associated with it.

90. Consciousness is here and all along (where any particular stress is laid upon it) used in it’s etymological sense, as literally the same with conscientia, the knowing or perceiving many things by a simple act.

91. Those of the touch admit of the greatest variety in this respect from the general diffusion of that sense over the whole body, and those which depend on hearing from the small part of the ear which is in general distinctly affected by sound at the same time. As to the taste and smell, the stimulants applied to these senses are such as for the most part to act on a large proportion of the organ at once, though only at intervals. The direction of smells is hardly distinguishable like that of sounds.

92. The method taken by Hartley in detailing the associations, which take place between the ideas of each of the senses one by one, saves him the trouble of explaining those which take place between the ideas of different senses at the same time.

93. I have always had the same feeling with respect to Hartley (still granting his power to the utmost) which is pleasantly expressed in an old author, Roger Bacon, quoted by Sir Kenelm Digby in his answer to Brown. ‘Those students,’ he says, ‘who busy themselves much with such notions as relate wholly to the fantasie, do hardly ever become idoneous for abstracted metaphysical speculations; the one having bulky foundation of matter or of the accidents of it to settle upon, (at the least with one foot:) the other flying continually, even to a lessening pitch, in the subtil air. And accordingly, it hath been generally noted, that the exactest mathematicians, who converse altogether with lines, figures, and other differences of quantity, have seldom proved eminent in metaphysicks or speculative divinity. Nor again, the professors of these sciences in the other arts. Much less can it be expected, that an excellent physician, whose fancy is always fraught with the material drugs that he prescribeth his apothecary to compound his medicines of, and whose hands are inured to the cutting up, and eyes to the inspection of anatomized bodies, should easily and with success, flie his thoughts at so towring a game, as a pure intellect, a separated and unbodied soul.’—I confess I feel in reading Hartley something in the way in which the Dryads must have done shut up in their old oak trees. I feel my sides pressed hard, and bored with points of knotty inferences piled up one upon another without being able ever to recollect myself, or catch a glimpse of the actual world without me. I am somehow wedged in between different rows of material objects, overpowering me by their throng, and from which I have no power to escape, but of which I neither know nor understand any thing. I constantly see objects multiplied upon me, not powers at work, I know no reason why one thing follows another but that something else is conjured up between them, which has as little apparent connection with either as they have with one another;—he always reasons from the concrete object, not from the abstract or essential properties of things, and in his whole book I do not believe that there is one good definition. It would be a bad way to describe a man’s character to say that he had a wise father or a foolish son, and yet this is the way in which Hartley defines ideas by stating what precedes them in the mind, and what comes after them. Thus he defines the will to be ‘that idea, or state of mind which precedes action,’ or ‘a desire, or aversion sufficiently strong to produce action,’ &c. He gives you the outward signs of things in the order in which he conceives them to follow one another, never the demonstration of certain consequences from the known nature of their causes, which alone is true reasoning. Nevertheless, it is not to be forgotten, that he was also a great man. See his Chapter on Memory, &c.

94. See Priestley’s Letters to a Philosophical Unbeliever.

95. See Essays by T. Cooper of Manchester. This very curious analysis was also delivered with great gravity by Mr. Mac-Intosh to the metaphysical students of Lincoln’s-Inn. I confess I like ingenuity, however misapplied, if it is but a man’s own: but the dull, affected, pompous repetition of nonsense is not to be endured with patience. In retailing what is not our own, the only merit must be in the choice, or judgment. A man, however, without originality may yet have common sense and common honesty. To be a hawker of worn-out paradoxes, and a pander to sophistry denotes indeed a desperate ambition.

96. This subject of consciousness, the most abstruse, the most important of all others, the most filled with seeming inexplicable contradictions, that which bids the completest defiance to the matter-of-fact philosophy and can only be developed by the patient soliciting of a man’s own spirit has been accordingly passed over by the herd of philosophers from Locke downwards. There is a short note about it in Hartley in which he flatly denies the possibility of any such thing. Lest what I have already said should therefore be insufficient to fix the attention of the reader on a subject which he may think quite exploded, I will add the account which Rousseau has given of the same subject, whose authority does not weigh the less with me because it is unsupported by the Logic of Condillac, or the book De l’Esprit.

‘Me voici dÉjÀ tout aussi sÛr de l’existence de l’univers, que de la mienne. Ensuite je rÉflÉchis sur les objets de mes sensations, et trouvant en moi la facultÉ de les comparer, je me sens douÉ d’une force active que je ne savois pas avoir auparavant.

‘Appercevoir, c’est sentir; comparer, c’est juger: juger et sentir ne sont pas la mÊme chose. Par la sensation, les objets s’offrent À moi sÉparÉs, isolÉs, tels qu’ils sont dans la Nature; par la comparaison, je les remue, je les transporte, pour ainsi dire, je les pose l’un sur l’autre, pour prononcer sur leur diffÉrence ou sur leur similitude, et gÉnÉralement sur tous leurs rapports. Selon moi, la facultÉ distinctive de l’Être actif, ou intelligent est de pouvoir donner un sens À ce mot, est. Je cherche en vain dans l’Être purement sensitif cette force intelligente, qui superpose, et puis qui prononce; je ne la saurois voir dans sa nature. Cet Être passif sentira chaque objet sÉparÉment, ou mÊme il sentira l’objet total formÉ des deux, mais n’ayant aucune force pour les replier l’un sur l’autre, il ne les comparera jamais, il ne les jugera point.

‘Voir deux objets À la fois, n’est pas voir leurs rapports, ni juger de leurs diffÉrences; appercevoir plusieurs objets les uns hors des autres, n’est pas les nombrer. Je puis avoir au mÊme instant l’idÉe d’un grand bÂton et d’un petit bÂton sans les comparer, sans juger que l’un est plus petit que l’autre, comme je puis voir À la fois ma main entiÈre sans faire le compte de mes doigts. Ces idÉes comparatives, plus grande, plus petite, de mÊme que les idÉes numÉriques d’un, de deux, &c. ne sont certainement pas des sensations, quoique mon esprit ne les produise, qu’À l’occasion de mes sensations.

‘On nous dit que l’Être sensitif distingue les sensations les unes des autres par les diffÉrences qu’ont entr’elles ces mÊmes sensations: ceci demande explication. Quand les sensations sont diffÉrentes, l’Être sensitif les distingue par leurs diffÉrences: quand elles sont semblables, il les distingue parce qu’il sent les unes hors des autres. Autrement, comment dans une sensation simultanÉe distingueroit-il deux objets Égaux? Il faudroit nÉcessairement qu’il confondÎt ces deux objets, et les prÎt pour le mÊme, sur-tout dans un systÊme oÙ l’on prÉtend que les sensations reprÉsentatives de l’Étendue ne sont point Étendues.

‘Quand les deux sensations À comparer sont apperÇues, leur impression est faite, chaque objet est senti, les deux sont sentis; mais leur rapport n’est pas senti pour cela. Si le jugement de ce rapport n’Étoit qu’une sensation, & me venoit uniquement de l’objet, mes jugemens ne me tromperoient jamais, puisqu’il n’est jamais faux que je sente ce que je sens.

‘Pourquoi donc est-ce que je me trompe sur le rapport de ces deux bÂtons, sur-tout s’ils ne sont pas parallÈles? Pourquoi, dis-je, par exemple, que le petit bÂton est le tiers du grand, tandis qu’il n’en est que le quart? Pourquoi l’image, qui est la sensation, n’est elle pas conforme À son modÈle, qui est l’objet? C’est que je suis actif quand je juge, que l’opÉration qui compare est fautive, et que mon entendement, qui juge les rapports, mÊle ses erreurs À la vÉritÉ des sensations qui ne montrent que les objets.

‘Ajoutez À cela une rÉflexion qui vous frappera, je m’assure, quand vous y aurez pensÉ; c’est que si nous Étions purement passifs dans l’usage de nos sens, il n’y auroit entr’eux aucun communication; il nous seroit impossible de connoÎtre que le corps que nous touchons, et l’objet que nous voyons sont le mÊme. Ou nous ne sentirions jamais rien hors de nous, ou il y auroit pour nous cinq substances sensibles, donc nous n’aurions nul moyen d’appercevoir l’identitÉ.

‘Qu’on donne tel ou tel nom À cette force de mon esprit qui rapproche et compare mes sensations; qu’on l’appelle attention, mÉditation, rÉflexion, ou comme on voudra; toujours est-il vrai qu’elle est en moi et non dans les choses, que c’est moi seul qui la produis, quoique je ne la produise qu’À l’occasion de l’impression que font sur moi les objets. Sans Être maÎtre de sentir ou de ne pas sentir, je le suis d’examiner plus ou moins ce que je sens.

Je ne suis donc pas simplement un Être sensitif et passif, mais un Être actif et intelligent, et quoi qu’en dise la philosophie, j’oserai prÉtendre À l’honneur de penser, &c.’—Emile, beginning of the third, or end of the second volume.

97. I here speak of association as distinct from imagination or the effects of novelty.

98. See preface to Butler’s Sermons.

99. As far as the love of good or happiness operates as a general principle of action, it is in this way. I have supposed this principle to be at the bottom of all our actions, because I did not desire to enter into the question. If I should ever finish the plan which I have begun, I shall endeavour to shew that the love of happiness even in the most general sense does not account for the passions of men. The love of truth, and the love of power are I think distinct principles of action, and mix with, and modify all our pursuits. See Butler as quoted above.


                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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