Chapter XXXVII: Act II

106. ‘_The beautiful is vanished_,’ _etc._ Coleridge, _The Death
of Wallenstein_, v. I.

113. ‘_Like a faint shadow_,’ _etc._ Cf. _The Faerie Queene_, II.
vii. 29.

152. Note. ‘_The worse, the second fall of man._’ Cf. Windham,
_Speeches_, I. 311 (March 13, 1797).

156. ‘_To warn and scare._’ Rev. Sneyd Davies, _To the Honourable
and Reverend F. C._ (Dodsley, _Collection of Poems_, VI. 138).

189. ‘_The vine-covered hills_,’ _etc._ William Roscoe, _Lines
written in 1788_, parodied in _The Anti-Jacobin_.

211. ‘_Free from the Sirian star_,’ _etc._ Beaumont and Fletcher,
_Philaster_, Act v. Sc. 3.

218. ‘_It was out of all plumb_,’ _etc._ _Tristram Shandy_, Book
III. chap. xii.

225. ‘_Stud of night-mares._’ Cf. ‘I confess an occasional
night-mare; but I do not, as in early youth, keep a stud of
them.’ Lamb, _Essays of Elia_ (Witches, and other Night-Fears).

243. ‘_Tall, opaque words._’ Hazlitt was perhaps quoting from
himself. See vol. VIII. p. 257.

259. ‘_To angels ’twas most like._’ _The Flower and the Leaf_,
St. 19.

308. ‘_Wild wit_,’ _etc._ Gray, Ode, _On a Distant Prospect of
Eton College_.

317. ‘_As much again to govern it._’ This line is not Butler’s,
but Pope’s. See _An Essay on Criticism_, 80–81:

‘There are whom heav’n has blest with store of wit,
Yet want as much again to manage it.’

The couplet was changed in the 4to edition of 1743.

VOL. VII.

189. ‘_Subtilised savages._’ ‘Nor as yet have we subtilised
ourselves into savages.’ Burke, _Refections on the Revolution
in France_ (_Select Works_, ed. Payne, II. 101).

273. ‘_As a saving of cheese-parings_,’ _etc._ See Windham’s
_Speeches_, I. 311 (March 13, 1797).

282. ‘_As if they thrilled_,’ _etc._ _The Faerie Queene_, II.
xii. 78.

VOL. VIII.

93. ‘_Not one of the angles_,’ _etc._ _Tristram Shandy_, Book
III. chap. xii.

164. ‘_Shines like Hesperus_,’ _etc._ _The Faerie Queene_, I.
vii. 30.

371. ‘_A singing face._’ _Bombastes Furioso_, Sc. I.

437. ‘_Such were the joys_,’ _etc._ Bickerstaffe, _Love in a
Village_, II. 1.

VOL. IX.

64. ‘_Play at bowls_,’ _etc._ Hazlitt elsewhere quotes these
words as from ‘an old song.’

106. ‘_To dream and be an Emperour._’ Cf. ‘I am like a man that
dreamt he was an Emperour.’ Fletcher, _The Spanish Curate_, II.
2.

245. ‘_Perceive a fury_,’ _etc._ Cf. _Othello_, IV. 2.

292. ‘_Retire, the world shut out_,’ _etc._ Young, _Night
Thoughts_ (IX.).

429. _The Gods_, ‘_the children of Homer_.’ Lucien Buonaparte,
_Charlemagne_. See vol XI. (_Fugitive Writings_), p. 232.

VOL. X.

187. ‘_Empurpling all the ground._’ Cf. _Lycidas_, 141.

208. ‘_Relegated to obscure cloisters_,’ _etc._ Cf. Burke,
_Reflections on the Revolution in France_ (_Select Works_, ed.
Payne, II. 121).

260. ‘_Yet his infelicity_,’ _etc._ Cf. Webster, _The Duchess of
Malfy_, Act IV. Sc. 2.

314. _The American Farmer’s Letters._ _Letters from an American
Farmer_, by Hector St. John Crevecœur (1731–1813), published
1794.

378. ‘_Hold our hands_,’ _etc._ Cf. Dryden, _Alexander’s Feast_,
72.

VOL. XI.

277. ‘_I take her body_,’ _etc._ These lines are not Suckling’s,
but from a song by Congreve, beginning ‘Tell me no more I am
deceived.’

336. ‘_Loud as a trumpet_,’ _etc._ Dryden, _Palamon and Arcite_,
III. 85.

338. ‘_Like importunate Guinea fowls_,’ _etc._ Burke’s _Regicide
Peace_ (ed. Payne, p. 51).

427 (and p. 501). ‘_Hymns its good god_,’ _etc._ Cf. Thomson,
_The Castle of Indolence_, I. x.

488. ‘_Each other’s beams to share_,’ Collins, Ode, _The
Manners_, 56.

The following printer’s errors may be noted:—

Vol. I. p. 436 (note to p. 142). Read _The Beggar’s Opera_, Act I. Sc. 1.

Vol. II. p. 440 (note to p. 391). For _Huckman_ read _Hackman_.

Vol. V. p. 391 (note to p. 97). Read _The Spirit of the Age_, vol. IV., etc.

Vol. V. p. 406 (note to p. 254). Read _Here be woods_.

Vol. V. p. 410 (note to p. 318). The words ‘The Countess ... in 1690’ belong to the note above.

Vol. VI. p. 519 (note to p. 435). For 1870 _read_ 1780.

Vol. IX. p. 458 (note to p. 247). _Read_ Sir Martin Archer Shee.

Vol. IX. p. 463 (note to p. 317). For Mallard _read_ Mallord.

INDEX
TO THE TITLES OF HAZLITT’S WRITINGS

Abstract Ideas, On, xi. 1.

Acted Drama in London, Essays on, contributed to the London Magazine,
viii. 381.

Actors and Acting, On, i. 153, 156.

—— and the Public, xi. 348.

—— ought to sit in the Boxes? Whether, vi. 272.

Adelaide, or the Emigrants, viii. 308.

All’s Well that Ends Well, i. 329.

Alsop’s Rosalind, Mrs., viii. 252.

American Literature, Dr. Channing, x. 310.

Ancient and Modern Literature, On the Spirit of—On the German Drama,
contrasted with that of the Age of Elizabeth, v. 345.

Angerstein’s Collection, Mr., ix. 7.

Anglade Family, The, viii. 279.

Antiquity, On, vii. 252.

Antony and Cleopatra, i. 228; viii. 190.

Apostates, On Modern, iii. 155.

Application to Study, On, vii. 55.

Arguing in a Circle, xii. 285.

Aristocracy of Letters, On the, vi. 205.

Art, Fragments on, ix. 489.

Artaxerxes, viii. 192.

Arts are not Progressive? Why the, A Fragment, i. 160.

As You Like It, i. 338.

Bacon’s Works, Character of Lord, compared as to style with Sir Thomas
Browne and Jeremy Taylor, v. 326.

Ballads, On the Old English, v. 123.

Ballets, Two New, viii. 353.

Bannister’s Farewell, Mr., viii. 229.

Barbarossa, viii. 372.

Barry, James, ix. 413.

Beaumont, F., v. 295.

—— and Fletcher, Ben Jonson, Ford, and Massinger, On, v. 248.

Beauty, On, i. 68.

Beggar’s Opera, On the, i. 65; viii. 193, 254; xi. 373.

Belief, Whether Voluntary, xii. 439.

Bentham, Jeremy, iv. 189; xi. 411.

Bertram, viii. 304.

Bonaparte, iii. 52; iii. 350.

—— and Muller, iii. 154.

Bonaparte’s Collection, etc., Lucien, xi. 237.

Booth’s Duke of Gloster, Mr., viii. 354;
Iago, viii. 355;
Richard, viii. 357.

Bourbons and Bonaparte, The, iii. 52.

Bowles, Mr., xi. 486.

Boyle’s Rosalind, Miss, viii. 336.

British Institution, xi. 242, 246, 248.

Brougham, Mr., iv. 318.

—— Esq., M.P., The Speech of Henry, iii. 127, 132.

Browne, Sir Thomas, v. 326.

Brunton’s Rosalind, Miss, xi. 396.

Buncle, On John, i. 51.

Burdett, Sir F., iv. 319.

Burke, Character of, Mr., iii. 252, 325.

Burleigh House, Pictures at, ix. 62.

Burns and the Old English Ballads, On, v. 123.

Busy Body, The, viii. 270.

Butler, viii. 49.

Byron, Lord, iv. 253; xi. 486.

—— and Wordsworth, xii. 328.

Campbell, Mr., iv. 343.

Canning, Character of, xi. 334.

Cant and Hypocrisy, On, xii. 330, 336.

Castle of Andalusia, viii. 329.

Catalogue Raisonné of the British Institution, On the, i. 140, 146; ix.
311.

Chalmers, Dr., xii. 275.

Channing, Dr., x. 310.

Chapman, v. 223.

Characteristics in the Manner of Rochefoucauld’s Maxims, i. 351.

Characters of Shakespear’s Plays, i. 165.

Charlemagne: ou l’Église délivrée, xi. 230, 234.

Chatham, Character of Lord, iii. 321.

Chaucer and Spenser, On, v. 19.

Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, xi. 420.

Civil and Criminal Legislation, Project for a New Theory of, xii. 405.

Classical Education, On, i. 4.

Clerical Character, On the, iii. 266, 271, 277.

Cobbett, Mr., iv. 334;
Character of, vi. 50.

Coffee-House Politicians, On, vi. 189.

Coleridge, Mr., iv. 212; xi. 411;
Memorabilia of, xii. 346.

Coleridge’s Christabel, x. 411; xi. 580;
Lay-Sermon, iii. 152; x. 120;
Lectures, xi. 416;
Literary Life, x. 135.

Collins, v. 104.

Comedy of Errors, The, i. 351.

Comic Writers of the Last Century, On the, viii. 149.

Common-Place Critics, On, i. 136.

Common Places, xi. 541.

—— Sense, xii. 377.

Comus, viii. 230.

Conduct of Life, On the; or, Advice to a Schoolboy, xii. 423.

Congress, whether the Friends of Freedom can entertain any sanguine
Hopes of the favourable Results of the ensuing, iii. 103.

Congreve, viii. 70.

Conquest of Taranto, The, viii. 366.

Consistency of Opinion, On, xi. 508.

Controversy, The Spirit of, xii. 381.

Conversation of Authors, On the, vii. 24, 35.

Conversations as Good as Real, xii. 363, 369.

Coriolanus, i. 214; viii. 347.

Corporate Bodies, vi. 264.

Country People, Character of the, xi. 309.

Courier and Times Newspaper, On the, iii. 58.

—— The, and ‘the Wat Tyler,’ iii. 200.

Court Influence, On, iii. 254, 259.

—— Journal, The, A Dialogue, xii. 354.

Cowley, Butler, Suckling, Etherege, etc., On, viii. 49.

Cowper, v. 85.

Crabbe, Mr., iv. 343; xi. 603.

Criticism, On, vi. 214.

Curran, the late Mr., xii. 353.

Cymbeline, i. 179.

Dandy School, The, xi. 343.

Daniel, v. 295.

Dansomanie, The, xi. 299.

Deckar, v. 223.

D’Enghien, The Duke, xi. 577.

Defoe, Wilson’s Life and Times of Daniel, x. 355.

Depth and Superficiality, On, vii. 346.

Didone Abandonnata, viii. 196.

Disadvantages of Intellectual Superiority, On the, vi. 279.

Disagreeable People, On, xii. 173.

Distant Objects Please, Why, vi. 255.

Distressed Mother, The, viii. 334.

Don Giovanni and Kean’s Eustace de St. Pierre, xi. 307.

Don Juan, viii. 362.

Dottrel-Catching, iii. 51.

Double Gallant, viii. 359.

Dowton in the Hypocrite, xi. 395.

Dramatic Literature of the Age of Elizabeth, Lectures on, v. 169.

Drayton, v. 295.

Dreams, On, vii. 17.

Dryden and Pope, On, v. 68.

Duke of Milan, The, viii. 289.

Dulwich Gallery, The, ix. 17.

Dunlop’s History of Fiction, x. 5.

Edinburgh Review, Contributions to the, x. 1.

Editors, A Chapter on, xii. 230.

Edwards’s Richard III., Mr., viii. 247.

Effeminacy of Character, On, vi. 248.

Egotism, On, vii. 157.

Eldon, Lord, iv. 325.

Elgin Marbles, On the, ix. 326.

Elia, iv. 362.

Eloquence of the British Senate, iii. 387.

England in 1798, iii. 241.

English Comic Writers, Lectures on, viii. 1.

—— Grammar, xii. 342.

—— Novelists, On the, viii. 106.

—— Poets, Lectures on the, v. 1.

—— Students at Rome, ix. 367.

Envy, xii. 386;
On, vii. 97.

Essay-Writing, A Farewell to, xii. 321.

Etherege, viii. 49.

Every Man in His Humour, viii. 310.

Exit by Mistake, viii. 321.

Fair Penitent, The, viii. 287.

Fame, On Different Sorts of, i. 93.

Familiar Style, On, vi. 242.

Farquhar, viii. 70.

Fashion, On, xi. 437.

Fear of Death, On the, vi. 321.

Fight, The, xii. 1.

Fine Arts, ix. 377.

—— British Institution, xi. 187.

—— The Louvre, xi. 195.

Flaxman’s Lectures on Sculpture, x. 330.

Fletcher, v. 248.

Fletcher, P., v. 295.

Fonthill Abbey, ix. 348.

Footmen, xii. 131.

Ford, v. 248.

Four P’s, The, v. 274.

Fox, Character of Mr., iii. 337.

France and Italy, Notes on a Journey through, ix. 83.

Free Admission, The, xii. 119.

—— Thoughts on Public Affairs or Advice to a Patriot, in a Letter
addressed to a Member of the Old Opposition, iii. 1.

French Plays, xi. 352, 356.

Fudge Family in Paris, The, iii. 311.

Gainsborough’s Pictures, On, xi. 202.

Gammer Gurton’s Needle, v. 274.

Genius and Common Sense, vi. 31, 42.

—— and Originality, On, xi. 210.

—— is Conscious of its Powers? Whether, vii. 117.

Geoffrey Crayon, iv. 362.

George Barnwell, viii. 268.

German Drama, contrasted with that of the Age of Elizabeth, On the, v.
345.

Gifford, Mr., iv. 298.

—— Esq., A Letter to William, i. 363.

Godwin, William, iv. 200; x. 385.

Going a Journey, On, vi. 181.

Good-Nature, On, i. 100.

Good Old Times, Sketches of the History of the, xi. 582.

Grammar of the English Tongue, Preface to a New and Improved, iv. 387.

Gray, v. 104.

Great and Little Things, On, vi. 226.

Grosvenor’s Collection of Pictures, Lord, ix. 49.

Gusto, On, i. 77.

Guy Faux, xi. 317, 323, 328.

Hamlet, i. 232.

Hampton Court, The Pictures at, ix. 42.

Harley’s Fidget, Mr., viii. 239.

Hartley and Helvetius, Remarks on the Systems of, vii. 434.

Haydon’s ‘Solomon,’ On, ix. 309.

—— ‘Christ’s Agony in the Garden,’ xi. 481.

Helvetius, vii. 434.

Henry IV., i. 277.

—— V., i. 285.

—— VI., i. 292.

—— VIII., i. 303.

Heroes of Romance are insipid, Why the, xii. 59.

Heywood, v. 192.

Hobbes, On the Writings of, xi. 25.

Hogarth’s ‘Marriage a-la-mode,’ Criticism on, ix. 75;
On, i. 25, 28.

Hogarth, On the Works of, On the grand and familiar style of painting,
viii. 133.

Holcroft, Memoirs of the late Thomas, ii. 1.

Honeymoon, The, xi. 409.

Hot and Cold, vii. 169.

Human Action, An Essay on the Principles of, vii. 383.

Humorous Lieutenant, The, viii. 353.

Hunt, Mr. Leigh, iv. 353.

Hunt’s Rimini, Leigh, x. 407.

Hypocrite, The, viii. 245.

Ideal, The, ix. 429; xi. 223.

Ignorance of the Learned, On the, vi. 70.

Imitation, On, i. 72.

—— of Nature, On the, xi. 216.

Immortality in Youth, On the Feeling of, xii. 150.

Indian Jugglers, The, vi. 77.

Iron Chest, The, viii. 342.

Irving, Rev. Mr., iv. 222; xii. 275.

Italian Opera, The, viii. 324.

Jane Shore, viii. 352.

Jealous Wife, The, viii. 316.

Jealousy and the Spleen of Party, On the, vii. 365.

Jeffrey, Mr., iv. 310.

Jews, Emancipation of the, xii. 461.

John Bull, Character of, i. 97.

—— du Bart, viii. 253.

—— Gilpin, xi. 305.

——, King, i. 306; xi. 410.

Jonson, Ben, v. 248; viii. 30.

Judging of Pictures, ix. 356.

Julius Cæsar, i. 195.

Kean, Charles, xi. 362.

—— Mr., viii. 292; xi. 389, 410.

—— and Miss O’Neill, xi. 407.

Kean’s Bajazet and ‘The Country Girl,’ Mr., xi. 274;
Eustace de St. Pierre, xi. 307;
Hamlet, viii. 185;
Iago, i. 14; viii. 190, 211, 215, 559;
Leon, viii. 233;
Macbeth, viii. 204, xi. 404;
Sir Giles Overreach, viii. 284;
Othello, viii. 189; xi. 405;
Richard, viii. 180, 200;
Richard II., viii. 221;
Richard III., xi. 399;
Romeo, viii. 208;
Shylock, viii. 179, 294;
Zanga, viii. 227.

Kemble’s Cato, Mr., viii. 342;
King John, viii. 345;
Sir Giles Overreach, viii. 302;
Penruddock, xi. 205;
Retirement, viii. 374.

King’s Proxy, The, viii. 243.

Knowledge of Character, On the, vi. 303.

—— of the World, On, xii. 297, 301, 306.

Landor’s Imaginary Conversations, x. 231.

Lawyers and Poets, On Modern, iii. 161.

Lay of the Laureate, The, Carmen Nuptiale, iii. 109.

Lay-Sermon, A.... By S. T. Coleridge, Esq., iii. 138.

Lear, i. 257.

Letter-Bell, The, xii. 235.

Liber Amoris or the New Pygmalion, ii. 283.

Libertine, The, viii. 370.

Liberty and Necessity, On, xi. 48.

Literary Character, On the, i. 131.

Living in London, viii. 242.

Living Poets, On the, v. 143.

—— to One’s-self, On, vi. 90.

Locke, Mr., as a great plagiarist, xi. 284.

Locke’s Essay on the Human Understanding, On, xi. 74.

Logic, xii. 350.

Londoners and Country People, On, vii. 66.

Look of a Gentleman, On the, vii. 209.

Lords, On the Conversation of, xii. 38.

Love for Love, viii. 278.

—— of Life, On the, i. 4.

—— of Power or Action as main a principle in the Human Mind as
Sensibility to Pleasure or Pain, The, xi. 263.

—— of the Country, On the, i. 17.

Lovers’ Vows, viii. 249.

Love’s Labour’s Lost, i. 332.

Lyly, v. 192.

Macbeth, i. 186.

Macirone, Francis ... Interesting Facts relating to the Fall and Death
of Joachim Murat, etc., iii. 177, 183.

Mackintosh, Sir James, iv. 279.

Macready’s Macbeth, Mr., xi. 315;
Othello, viii. 338.

Maid and the Magpie, The, viii. 244.

Main-Chance, The, xii. 78.

Malthus, Mr. iv. 287;
a Reply to the Essay on Population by the Rev. T. R., iv. 1.

Malthus’s Doctrines, An examination of Mr., iii. 356;
Essay, On the Originality of, iii. 361;
Principle to the Poor Laws, On the Application of Mr., iii. 374.

Man, Aphorisms on, xii. 209.

Man of the World, The, viii. 318, 350.

Manner, On, i. 41.

Manners, Essay on, xi. 269.

Marlow, v. 192.

Mars, Mademoiselle, vii. 324.

Marston, Chapman, Deckar, and Webster, On, v. 223.

Massinger, v. 248.

Maurice’s Parrot, Prince, iii. 101.

Maywood’s Shylock, Mr., viii. 374;
Zanga, xi. 397.

Means and Ends, On, xii. 184.

Measure for Measure, i. 345; viii. 281.

Merchant of Bruges, The, viii. 264.

—— of Venice, The, i. 320.

Merry England, xii. 15.

Merry Wives of Windsor, The, i. 349.

Merry’s Mandane, Miss, viii. 320.

Methodism, On the Causes of, i. 57.

Middleton, v. 192.

Midsummer Night’s Dream, On the, i. 61, 244; viii. 274.

Milton, v. 44.

Milton’s Eve, On the character of, i. 105;
Lycidas, On, i. 31;
Sonnets, On, vi. 174;
Versification, On, i. 36.

Miscellaneous Poems, F. Beaumont, P. Fletcher, Drayton, Daniel, etc.,
Sir P. Sidney’s Arcadia, and other Works, On, v. 295.

Modern Comedy, On, i. 10; viii. 551.

Monarchy, On the Spirit of, xii. 241.

Money, On the want of, xii. 136.

Moore, Mr. T., iv. 353.

Much Ado about Nothing, i. 335.

Muller, iii. 154.

Munden’s Sir Peter Teazle, xi. 392.

My First Acquaintance with Poets, xii. 259.

My Wife! What Wife?, viii. 237.

My Landlady’s Night-Gown, viii. 328.

New English Opera-House, viii. 314.

New Way to pay Old Debts, A, viii. 272.

Nicknames, On, xi. 442.

Northcote, Esq., R. A., Conversations of James, vi. 331.

Novelty and Familiarity, On, vii. 294.

Old Actors, Some of the, xi. 366.

Old Age of Artists, On the, vii. 88.

—— Customs, viii. 327.

—— English Writers and Speakers, On, vii. 311.

O’Neill’s Belvidera, Miss, viii. 261;
Elwina, viii. 256;
Juliet, viii. 198;
Lady Teazle, viii. 291;
Widow Cheerly, xi. 297.

Opera, The, xi. 426.

—— The Company at the, xi. 369.

Opposition, The, and ‘the Courier,’ iii. 240.

Oratorios, The, viii. 296.

Originality, ix. 423.

Oroonoko, xi. 301.

Othello, i. 200.

Oxford and Blenheim, Pictures at, ix. 69.

‘Pannel, The,’ and ‘The Ravens,’ xi. 303.

Paradox and Common-Place, On, vi. 146.

Parallel Passages in various Poets, xi. 282.

Parliamentary Eloquence, On the Present State of, xi. 464.

Partisanship, On the Spirit of, xi. 521.

Party-Spirit, On, xii. 402.

Past and Future, On the, vi. 21.

Pasta, Madame, and Mademoiselle Mars, vii. 324.

Patriotism, On, A Fragment, i. 67.

Patronage and Puffing, On, vi. 289.

Pedantry, On, i. 80, 84.

Penelope and the Dansomanie, xi. 299.

People? What is the, iii. 283, 292.

—— of Sense, On, vii. 242.

—— with One Idea, On, vi. 59.

Periodical Essayists, On the, viii. 91.

—— Press, The, x. 202.

Personal Character, On, vii. 230.

—— Identity, On, xii. 198.

—— Politics, xii. 456.

Persons One would Wish to have Seen, Of, xii. 26.

Peter Pindar, xii. 348.

‘Peveril of the Peak,’ xi. 537.

Philosophical Necessity, Doctrine of, xi. 277.

Picture-Galleries in England, Sketches of the Principal, ix. 1.

Picturesque and Ideal, On the, vi. 317.

‘Pirate, The,’ xi. 531.

Pitt and Buonaparte, iii. 350.

Pitt, Character of the late Mr., i. 125; iii. 346.

Plain Speaker, The, vii. 1.

Pleasure of Painting, On the, vi. 5, 13.

Pleasures of Hating, On the, vii. 127.

Poetry, xii. 339.

—— in General, On, v. 1.

Poetical Versatility, On, i. 151.

Political Essays, with Sketches of Public Characters, iii. 25.

Pope, v. 68.

—— Lord Byron and Mr. Bowles, xi. 486.

—— was a Poet, On the Question whether, xi. 430.

Popular Opinion, On the Causes of, xii. 316.

Population, On the Principle of, as affecting the schemes of Utopian
Improvement, iii. 367;
Queries relating to the Essay on, iii. 381.

Posthumous Fame, On, Whether Shakspeare was influenced by a love of it,
i. 21.

Poussin, On a Landscape of Nicolas, vi. 168.

Predominant Principles and Excitements in the Human Mind, On the, xi.
258.

Prejudice, On, xii. 391, 394, 396.

Press, The—Coleridge, Southey, Wordsworth, and Bentham, xi. 411.

Priestley, The late Dr., xii. 357.

Prose-Style of Poets, On the, vii. 5.

Public Opinion, On, xii. 311.

Pulpit Oratory, Dr. Chalmers and Mr. Irving, xii. 275.

Punishment of Death, On the, xii. 466.

Quarterly Review, The, iii. 192.

Queries and Answers; or the Rule of Contrary, xii. 296.

Racine, vii. 336.

‘Ravens, The,’ xi. 303.

Reading New Books, On, xii. 161.

—— Old Books, On, vii. 220.

Reason and Imagination, vii. 44.

Recruiting Officer, The, viii. 285.

Reform, The New School of, vii. 179.

Regal Character, On the, iii. 305.

Religious Hypocrisy, On, i. 128.

Respectable People, On, vii. 360; xi. 433.

Return from Parnassus, The, v. 274.

Reynolds, Life of Sir Joshua, x. 172.

Reynolds’s Discourses, Introduction to an account of Sir Joshua, xi.
208.

—— —— On Certain Inconsistencies in Sir Joshua, vi. 122, 131.

Richard Cœur de Lion, viii. 195.

—— II., i. 272.

—— III., i. 298; viii. 298.

Richesse de la langue, xii. 496.

Rochefoucault’s Maxims, On, xi. 253.

Romeo and Juliet, i. 248; viii. 300.

Round Table, The, i. 1.

Rousseau, On the Character of, i. 88.

Rowley, v. 192.

Royal Academy, ix. 434.

Salvator, Lady Morgan’s Life of, x. 276.

Schlegel on the Drama, x. 78.

Scholars, The Shyness of, xii. 68.

School for Scandal, The, viii. 250.

Scotch Character, On the, xii. 253.

Scott, Sir Walter, iv. 241.

—— —— Racine and Shakespear, vii. 336.

Sects and Parties, xii. 360.

Select British Poets, Preface and Critical List of Authors from, v.
365.

Self-Love, On, xi. 132.

—— and Benevolence, xii. 95, 104.

Shakespear, vii. 336;
Doubtful Plays of, i. 353;
On the Dramatic Writers contemporary with, Lyly, Marlow, Heywood,
Middleton, and Rowley, v. 192;
Poems and Sonnets, i. 357.

Shakespear’s Plays, Characters of, i. 165;
Female Characters, xi. 290.

Shakespeare, Historical Illustrations of, xi. 601.

Shakspeare and Ben Jonson, On, viii. 30.

—— and Milton, On, v. 44.

—— [and Posthumous Fame], i. 21.

Shelley’s Posthumous Poems, x. 256.

She Stoops to Conquer, xi. 403.

Sick Chamber, The, xi. 125.

Siddons, Mrs. viii. 312; xi. 381.

Siddons’s Lady Macbeth, Mrs., viii. 373.

Sidney’s Arcadia, Sir P., v. 295.

Single Plays, Poems, etc., The Four P’s, The Return from Parnassus,
Gammer Gurton’s Needle, and Other Works, On, v. 274.

Sismondi’s Literature of the South, x. 44.

Sitting for One’s Picture, On, vii. 107.

Smiles and Tears, viii. 266.

Society, A New View of, iii. 121.

Southey, Mr., iv. 262.

—— Poet-Laureat, iii. 48.

—— Robert.... A Letter to William Smith, iii. 210, 218, 224.

Southey’s New-Year’s Ode, Mr., iii. 49.

Spenser, v. 19.

Spirit of Obligations, vii. 78.

—— of the Age, The, iv. 185.

Spurzheim’s Theory, On Dr., vii. 137.

Spy-System, On the, iii. 232, 234.

Staël’s Account of German Philosophy and Literature, Madame de, xi.
162, 167, 172, 180.

Stafford’s Gallery, The Marquis of, ix. 27.

Stage, The, xi. 191;
A View of the English, viii. 169.

Standard Novels and Romances, x. 25.

State Prisoners, On the Treatment of, iii. 238.

Statesman’s Manual, The, ... by S. T. Coleridge, Esq., iii. 143.

Success in Life, On the Qualifications necessary to, vii. 195.

Suckling, viii. 49.

Sun-Dial, On a, xii. 51.

Swift, Young, Gray, Collins, etc., On, v. 104.

Table-Talk; or Original Essays on Men and Manners, vi. 1.

Taming of the Shrew, The, i. 341.

—— —— and L’Avare, xi. 377.

Taste, Thoughts on, xi. 450, 454, 459.

Tatler, On the, i. 7.

Taylor, Jeremy, v. 326.

Tempest, The, i. 238; viii. 234.

Tendency of Sects, On the, i. 47.

Theatres, The, and Passion Week, xi. 358.

Theatrical Debuts, viii. 341.

Thomson and Cowper, On, v. 85.

Thought and Action, On, vi. 101.

Three Quarters, etc., The, xi. 384.

Times Newspaper, The, iii. 169.

—— —— Illustration of the, iii. 155, 161.

Timon of Athens, i. 210.

Toad-Eaters and Tyrants, On the connection between, iii. 169.

Tooke, The Late Mr. Horne, iv. 231.

Tooke’s ‘Diversions of Purley,’ On, xi. 119.

Touch-Stone, The, viii. 368.

Trifles Light as Air, xii. 370.

Troilus and Cressida, i. 221.

Tucker’s Light of Nature Pursued, Preface to an Abridgment of, iv. 369.

Twelfth Night; or, What you Will, i. 313.

Two Gentlemen of Verona, The, i. 318.

Two Words, viii. 330.

Unknown Guest, The, viii. 224.

Vanbrugh, viii. 70.

Vandyke, On a Portrait of an English Lady, by, vii. 280.

Vatican, The, ix. 359.

Venice Preserved, xi. 402.

Vetus, iii. 57.

—— Illustrations of, iii. 63, 67, 73, 85, 90.

View of the English Stage, A, viii. 169.

Vulgarity and Affectation, On, vi. 156.

Walpole, Letters of Horace, x. 159.

War and Taxes, On the Effects of, iii. 243.

War, On the Late, iii. 96.

Wat Tyler, iii. 192, 200.

Webster, v. 223.

Wellesley, The Marquis, iii. 47.

Western, Esq., M.P., The Speech of Charles C., iii. 127, 132.

West’s Picture of Death on the Pale Horse, ix. 318.

Where to find a friend, viii. 258.

Wilberforce, Mr. iv. 325.

Wilkie’s Pictures, On Mr., xi. 249.

Williams’s Views in Greece, On, ix. 324.

Will-Making, On, vi. 113.

Wilson’s Landscapes, at the British Institution, xi. 198.

Wilton, Stourhead, etc., Pictures at, ix. 55.

Windsor Castle, The Pictures at, ix. 36.

Winter’s Tale, The, i. 324.

Wit and Humour, viii. 1.

Wit, Definition of, xii. 445.

Wonder, The, viii. 332; xi. 401.

Wordsworth, Mr., iv. 270; xi. 411; xii. 328.

Wordsworth’s poem, The Excursion, Observations on Mr., i. 111, 120.

—— new poem, The Excursion, Character of Mr., xi. 572.

Writing and Speaking, On the difference between, vii. 262.

Wycherley, Congreve, Vanbrugh, and Farquhar, On, viii. 70.

Young, v. 104.

Young’s Hamlet, xi. 394.

Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty at the Edinburgh
University Press

-----

Footnote 1:

Those essays which are now republished for the first time are
indicated by an asterisk.

Footnote 2:

This essay was apparently not published in _The Atlas_.

Footnote 3:

Scroggins said of the Gas-man, that he thought he was a man of that
courage, that if his hands were cut off, he would still fight on with
the stumps—like that of Widrington,—

——‘In doleful dumps,
Who, when his legs were smitten off
Still fought upon his stumps.’

Footnote 4:

‘The gentle and free passage of arms at Ashby’ was, we are told, so
called by the Chroniclers of the time, on account of the feats of
horsemanship and the quantity of knightly blood that was shed. This
last circumstance was perhaps necessary to qualify it with the epithet
of ‘gentle,’ in the opinion of some of these historians. I think the
reason why the English are the bravest nation on earth is, that the
thought of blood or a delight in cruelty is not the chief excitement
with them. Where it is, there is necessarily a _reaction_; for though
it may add to our eagerness and savage ferocity in inflicting wounds,
it does not enable us to endure them with greater patience. The
English are led to the attack or sustain it equally well, because they
fight as they box, not out of malice, but to show pluck and manhood.
_Fair play and old England for ever!_ This is the only bravery that
will stand the test. There is the same determination and spirit shown
in resistance as in attack; but not the same pleasure in getting a cut
with a sabre as in giving one. There is, therefore, always a certain
degree of effeminacy mixed up with any approach to cruelty, since both
have their source in the same principle, _viz._ an over-valuing of
pain.[67] This was the reason the French (having the best cause and
the best general in the world) ran away at Waterloo, because they were
inflamed, furious, drunk with the blood of their enemies, but when it
came to their turn, wanting the same stimulus, they were panic-struck,
and their hearts and their senses failed them all at once.

Footnote 5:

The English are fond of change of scene; the French of change of
posture; the Italians like to sit still and do nothing.

Footnote 6:

Bells are peculiar to England. They jingle them in Italy during the
carnival as boys do with us at Shrovetide; but they have no notion of
ringing them. The sound of village bells never cheers you in
travelling, nor have you the lute or cittern in their stead. The
expression of ‘Merry Bells’ is a favourite and not one of the least
appropriate in our language.

Footnote 7:

The strict formality of French serious writing is resorted to as a
foil to the natural levity of their character.

Footnote 8:

See Newgate Calendar for 1758.

Footnote 9:

B—— at this time occupied chambers in Mitre court, Fleet Street.

Footnote 10:

Lord Bacon is not included in this list, nor do I know where he should
come in. It is not easy to make room for him and his reputation
together. This great and celebrated man in some of his works
recommends it to pour a bottle of claret into the ground of a morning,
and to stand over it, inhaling the perfumes. So he sometimes enriched
the dry and barren soil of speculation with the fine aromatic spirit
of his genius. His ‘Essays’ and his ‘Advancement of Learning’ are
works of vast depth and scope of observation. The last, though it
contains no positive discoveries, is a noble chart of the human
intellect, and a guide to all future inquirers.

Footnote 11:

As when a person asks you ‘whether you do not find a strong
resemblance between Rubens’s pictures and Quarles’s poetry?’—which is
owing to the critic’s having lately been at Antwerp and bought an
edition of Quarles’s Emblems. Odd combinations must take place where a
number of ideas are brought together, with only a thin, hasty
partition between them, and without a sufficient quantity of judgment
to discriminate. An Englishman, of some apparent consequence passing
by the St. Peter Martyr of Titian at Venice, observed ‘It was a copy
of the same subject by Domenichino at Bologna.’ This betrayed an
absolute ignorance both of Titian and of Domenichino, and of the whole
world of art: yet unless I had also seen the St. Peter at Bologna,
this connoisseur would have had the advantage of me, two to one, and
might have disputed the precedence of the two pictures with me, but
that chronology would have come to my aid. Thus persons who travel
from place to place, and roam from subject to subject, make up by the
extent and discursiveness of their knowledge for the want of truth and
refinement in their conception of the objects of it.

Footnote 12:

There are few things more contemptible than the conversation of mere
_men of the town_. It is made up of the technicalities and cant of all
professions, without the spirit or knowledge of any. It is flashy and
vapid, or is like the rinsings of different liquors at a night-cellar
instead of a bottle of fine old port. It is without body or clearness,
and a heap of affectation. In fact, I am very much of the opinion of
that old Scotch gentleman who owned that ‘he preferred the dullest
book he had ever read to the most brilliant conversation it had ever
fallen to his lot to hear!’

Footnote 13:

Is this a verbal fallacy? Or in the close, retired, sheltered scene
which I have imagined to myself, is not the sunflower a natural
accompaniment of the sun-dial?

Footnote 14:

‘Once more, companion of the lonely hour,
I’ll turn thee up again.’
_Bloomfield’s Poems—The Widow to her Hour-glass._

Footnote 15:

Rousseau has admirably described the effect of bells on the
imagination in a passage in the Confessions, beginning ‘_Le son des
cloches m’a toujours singulièrement affecté_,’ &c.

Footnote 16:

I have heard it said that carpenters, who do every thing by the square
and line, are honest men, and I am willing to suppose it. Shakspeare,
in the ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream,’ makes Snug the Joiner the _moral_
man of the piece.

Footnote 17:

Mr. Bentham proposes to new-model the penal code, on the principle of
a cool and systematic calculation of consequences. Yet of all
philosophers, the candidates for Panopticons and Penitentiaries are
the most short-sighted and refractory. Punishment has scarcely any
effect upon them. Thieves steal under the scaffold; and if a person’s
previous feelings and habits do not prevent his running the risk of
the gallows, assuredly the fear of consequences, or his having already
escaped it, with all the good resolutions he may have made on the
occasion, will not prevent his exposing himself to it a second time.
It is true, most people have a natural aversion to being hanged. The
perseverance of culprits in their evil courses seems a fatality, which
is strengthened by the prospect of what is to follow. Mr. Bentham
argues that all ‘men act from calculation, even madmen reason.’ So far
it may be true that the world is not unlike a great Bedlam, or answers
to the title of an old play—‘A Mad World, my masters!’ This is our
world, but not his. Life, on looking back to it, too often resembles a
disturbed dream, which does not infer its having been guided by reason
in its progress.

Footnote 18:

[‘Have I not seen a household where love was not?’ says the author of
the ‘Betrothed;’ ‘where, although there was worth and good will, and
enough of the means of life, all was embittered by regrets, which were
not only vain, but criminal?’—‘I would take the _Ghost’s_ word for a
thousand pound,’ or in preference to that of any man living, though I
was told in the streets of Edinburgh, that Dr. Jamieson, the author of
the ‘Dictionary,’ was quite as great a man!]

Footnote 19:

_Certes_ more Whigs become Tories. This may also be accounted for
satisfactorily, though not very rationally.

Footnote 20:

I have said somewhere, that all professions that do not make money
_breed_ are careless and extravagant. This is not true of lawyers, &c.
I ought to have said that this is the case with all those that by the
regularity of their returns do not afford a prospect of realizing an
independence by frugality and industry.

Footnote 21:

‘Il a manqué au plus grand philosophe qu’aient eu les Francais, de
vivre dans quelque solitude des Alpes, dans quelque séjour éloigné, et
de lancer delà son livre dans Paris sans y venir jamais lui-même.
Rousseau avait trop de sensibilité et trop peu de raison, Buffon trop
d’hypocrisie à son jardin des plantes, Voltaire trop d’enfantillage
dans la tête, pour pouvoir juger le principe d’Helvétius,’—_De
l’Amour_, tom. 2. p. 230.

My friend Mr. Beyle here lays too much stress on a borrowed verbal
fallacy.

Footnote 22:

_Waverley_, vol. iii. p. 201.

Footnote 23:

This lady is not, it is true, at Covent Garden: I wish she were!

Footnote 24:

‘Mais vois la rapidité de cet astre qui vole et ne s’arrête
jamais.’—_New Eloise._

Footnote 25:

The thoughts of a captive can no more get beyond his prison-walls than
his limbs, unless they are busied in planning an escape; as, on the
contrary, what prisoner, after effecting his escape, ever suffered
them to return there, or took common precautions to prevent his own?
We indulge our fancy more than we consult our interest. The sense of
personal identity has almost as little influence in practice as it has
foundation in theory.

Footnote 26:

Taylor, of the Opera-House, used to say of Sheridan, that he could not
pull off his hat to him in the street without its costing him fifty
pounds; and if he stopped to speak to him, it was a hundred. No one
could be a stronger instance than he was of what is called _living
from hand to mouth_. He was always in want of money, though he
received vast sums which he must have disbursed; and yet nobody can
tell what became of them, for he paid nobody. He spent his wife’s
fortune (sixteen hundred pounds) in a six weeks’ jaunt to Bath, and
returned to town as poor as a rat. Whenever he and his son were
invited out into the country, they always went in two post-chaises and
four; he in one, and his son Tom following in another. This is the
secret of those who live in a round of extravagance, and are at the
same time always in debt and difficulty—they throw away all the ready
money they get upon any newfangled whim or project that comes in their
way, and never think of paying off old scores, which of course
accumulate to a dreadful amount. ‘Such gain the cap of him who makes
them fine, yet keeps his book uncrossed.’ Sheridan once wanted to take
Mrs. Sheridan a very handsome dress down into the country, and went to
Barber and Nunn’s to order it, saying he must have it by such a day,
but promising they should have ready money. Mrs. Barber (I think it
was) made answer that the time was short, but that ready money was a
very charming thing, and that he should have it. Accordingly, at the
time appointed she brought the dress, which came to five-and-twenty
pounds, and it was sent in to Mr. Sheridan: who sent out a Mr. Grimm
(one of his jackalls) to say he admired it exceedingly, and that he
was sure Mrs. Sheridan would be delighted with it, but he was sorry to
have nothing under a hundred pound bank-note in the house. She said
she had come provided for such an accident, and could give change for
a hundred, two hundred, or five hundred pound note, if it were
necessary. Grimm then went back to his principal for farther
instructions: who made an excuse that he had no stamped receipt by
him. For this, Mrs. B. said, she was also provided; she had brought
one in her pocket. At each message, she could hear them laughing
heartily in the next room at the idea of having met with their match
for once; and presently after, Sheridan came out in high good-humour,
and paid her the amount of her bill, in ten, five, and one pounds.
Once when a creditor brought him a bill for payment, which had often
been presented before, and the man complained of its soiled and
tattered state, and said he was quite ashamed to see it, ‘I’ll tell
you what I’d advise you to do with it, my friend,’ said Sheridan,
‘take it home, and write it upon _parchment_!’ He once mounted a horse
which a horse-dealer was shewing off near a coffee-house at the bottom
of St. James’s-street, rode it to Tattersall’s, and sold it, and
walked quietly back to the spot from which he set out. The owner was
furious, swore he would be the death of him; and, in quarter of an
hour afterwards they were seen sitting together over a bottle of wine
in the coffee-house, the horse-jockey with the tears running down his
face at Sheridan’s jokes, and almost ready to hug him as an honest
fellow. Sheridan’s house and lobby were beset with duns every morning,
who were told that Mr. Sheridan was not yet up, and shewn into the
several rooms on each side of the entrance. As soon as he had
breakfasted, he asked, ‘Are those doors all shut, John?’ and, being
assured they were, marched out very deliberately between them, to the
astonishment of his self-invited guests, who soon found the bird was
flown. I have heard one of his old City friends declare, that such was
the effect of his frank, cordial manner, and insinuating eloquence,
that he was always afraid to go to ask him for a debt of long
standing, lest he should borrow twice as much. A play had been put off
one night, or a favourite actor did not appear, and the audience
demanded to have their money back again: but when they came to the
door, they were told by the check-takers there was none for them, for
that Mr. Sheridan had been in the mean time, and had carried off all
the money in the till. He used often to get the old cobbler who kept a
stall under the ruins of Drury Lane to broil a beef-steak for him, and
take their dinner together. On the night that Drury Lane was burnt
down, Sheridan was in the House of Commons, making a speech, though he
could hardly stand without leaning his hands on the table, and it was
with some difficulty he was forced away, urging the plea, ‘What
signified the concerns of a private individual, compared to the good
of the state?’ When he got to Covent Garden, he went into the Piazza
Coffee-house, to steady himself with another bottle, and then strolled
out to the end of the Piazza to look at the progress of the fire. Here
he was accosted by Charles Kemble and Fawcett, who complimented him on
the calmness with which he seemed to regard so great a loss. He
declined this praise, and said—‘Gentlemen, there are but three things
in human life that in my opinion ought to disturb a wise man’s
patience. The first of these is bodily pain, and that (whatever the
ancient stoics may have said to the contrary) is too much for any man
to bear without flinching: this I have felt severely, and I know it to
be the case. The second is the loss of a friend whom you have dearly
loved; that, gentlemen, is a great evil: this I have also felt, and I
know it to be too much for any man’s fortitude. And the third is the
consciousness of having done an unjust action. That, gentlemen, is a
great evil, a very great evil, too much for any man to endure the
reflection of; but that’ (laying his hand upon his heart,) ‘but that,
thank God, I have never felt!’ I have been told that these were nearly
the very words, except that he appealed to the _mens conscia recti_
very emphatically three or four times over, by an excellent authority,
Mr. Mathews the player, who was on the spot at the time, a gentleman
whom the public admire deservedly, but with whose real talents and
nice discrimination of character his friends only are acquainted.
Sheridan’s reply to the watchman who had picked him up in the street,
and who wanted to know who he was, ‘I am Mr. Wilberforce!’—is well
known, and shews that, however frequently he might be at a loss for
money, he never wanted wit!

Footnote 27:

In Scotland, it seems, the draught of ale or whiskey with which you
commence the day, is emphatically called ‘taking your _morning_.’

Footnote 28:

Shylock’s lamentation over the loss of ‘his daughter and his ducats,’
is another case in point.

Footnote 29:

It is provoking enough, and makes one look like a fool, to receive a
printed notice of a blank in the last lottery, with a postscript
hoping for your future favours.

Footnote 30:

Fawcett’s ART OF WAR, a poem, 1794.

Footnote 31:

Lady Wortley Montague says, in one of her letters, that ‘she would
much rather be a rich _effendi_, with all his ignorance, than Sir
Isaac Newton, with all his knowledge.’ This was not perhaps an
impolitic choice, as she had a better chance of becoming one than the
other, there being many rich effendis to one Sir Isaac Newton. The
wish was not a very intellectual one. The same petulance of rank and
sex breaks out every where in these “_Letters_.” She is constantly
reducing the poets or philosophers who have the misfortune of her
acquaintance, to the figure they might make at her Ladyship’s levee or
toilette, not considering that the public mind does not sympathize
with this process of a fastidious imagination. In the same spirit, she
declares of Pope and Swift, that ‘had it not been for the
_good-nature_ of mankind, these two superior beings were entitled, by
their birth and hereditary fortune, to be only a couple of link-boys.’
Gulliver’s Travels, and the Rape of the Lock, go for nothing in this
critical estimate, and the world raised the authors to the rank of
superior beings, in spite of their disadvantages of birth and fortune,
_out of pure good-nature_! So, again, she says of Richardson, that he
had never got beyond the servants’ hall, and was utterly unfit to
describe the manners of people of quality; till in the capricious
workings of her vanity, she persuades herself that Clarissa is very
like what she was at her age, and that Sir Thomas and Lady Grandison
strongly resembled what she had heard of her mother and remembered of
her father. It is one of the beauties and advantages of literature,
that it is the means of abstracting the mind from the narrowness of
local and personal prejudices, and of enabling us to judge of truth
and excellence by their inherent merits alone. Woe be to the pen that
would undo this fine illusion (the only reality), and teach us to
regulate our notions of genius and virtue by the circumstances in
which they happen to be placed! You would not expect a person whom you
saw in a servants’ hall, or behind a counter, to write Clarissa; but
after he had written the work, to _prejudge_ it from the situation of
the writer, is an unpardonable piece of injustice and folly. His merit
could only be the greater from the contrast. If literature is an
elegant accomplishment, which none but persons of birth and fashion
should be allowed to excel in, or to exercise with advantage to the
public, let them by all means take upon them the task of enlightening
and refining mankind: if they decline this responsibility as too heavy
for their shoulders, let those who do the drudgery in their stead,
however inadequately, for want of their polite example, receive the
meed that is their due, and not be treated as low pretenders who have
encroached on the province of their betters. Suppose Richardson to
have been acquainted with the great man’s steward, or valet, instead
of the great man himself, I will venture to say that there was more
difference between him who lived in an _ideal world_, and had the
genius and felicity to open that world to others, and his friend the
steward, than between the lacquey and the mere lord, or between those
who lived in different rooms of the same house, who dined on the same
luxuries at different tables, who rode outside or inside of the same
coach, and were proud of wearing or of bestowing the same tawdry
livery. If the lord is distinguished from his valet by any thing else,
it is by education and talent, which he has in common with our author.
But if the latter shews these in the highest degree, it is asked what
are his pretensions? Not birth or fortune, for neither of these would
enable him to write a Clarissa. One man is born with a title and
estate, another with genius. That is sufficient; and we have no right
to question the genius for want of the _gentility_, unless the former
ran in families, or could be bequeathed with a fortune, which is not
the case. Were it so, the flowers of literature, like jewels and
embroidery, would be confined to the fashionable circles; and there
would be no pretenders to taste or elegance but those whose names were
found in the court list. No one objects to Claude’s Landscapes as the
work of a pastrycook, or withholds from Raphael the epithet of
_divine_, because his parents were not rich. This impertinence is
confined to men of letters; the evidence of the senses baffles the
envy and foppery of mankind. No quarter ought to be given to this
_aristocratic_ tone of criticism whenever it appears. People of
quality are not contented with carrying all the external advantages
for their own share, but would persuade you that all the intellectual
ones are packed up in the same bundle. Lord Byron was a later instance
of this double and unwarrantable style of pretension—_monstrum ingens,
biforme_. He could not endure a lord who was not a wit, nor a poet who
was not a lord. Nobody but himself answered to his own standard of
perfection. Mr. Moore carries a proxy in his pocket from some noble
persons to estimate literary merit by the same rule. Lady Mary calls
Fielding names, but she afterwards makes atonement by doing justice to
his frank, free, hearty nature, where she says ‘his spirits gave him
raptures with his cook-maid, and cheerfulness when he was starving in
a garret, and his happy constitution made him forget every thing when
he was placed before a venison pasty or over a flask of champagne.’
She does not want shrewdness and spirit when her petulance and conceit
do not get the better of her, and she has done ample and merited
execution on Lord Bolingbroke. She is, however, very angry at the
freedoms taken with the Great; _smells a rat_ in this indiscriminate
scribbling, and the familiarity of writers with the reading public;
and inspired by her Turkish costume, foretells a French or English
revolution as the consequence of transferring the patronage of letters
from the _quality_ to the mob, and of supposing that ordinary writers
or readers can have any notions in common with their superiors.

Footnote 32:

Is it not this that frequently keeps artists alive so long, _viz._ the
constant occupation of their minds with vivid images, with little of
the _wear-and-tear_ of the body?

Footnote 33:

‘Laws are not like women, the worse for being old.’—_The Duke of
Buckingham’s Speech in the House of Lords, in Charles the Second’s
time._

Footnote 34:

An expression borrowed from a voluble German scholar, who gave this as
an excuse for not translating the ‘Critique of Pure Reason’ into
English. He might as well have said seriously, that the _Rule of
Three_ in German was different from our’s. Mr. Taylor (the Platonist,
as he was called) was a singular instance of a person in our time
believing in the heathen mythology. He had a very beautiful wife. An
impudent Frenchman, who came over to London, and lodged in the same
house, made love to her, by pretending to worship her as Venus, and so
thought to turn the tables on our philosopher. I once spent an evening
with this gentleman at Mr. G. D.’s chambers, in Clifford’s inn, (where
there was no exclusion of persons or opinions), and where we had pipes
and tobacco, porter, and bread and cheese for supper. Mr. Taylor never
smoked, never drank porter, and had an aversion to cheese. I remember
he shewed with some triumph two of his fingers, which had been bent so
that he had lost the use of them, in copying out the manuscripts of
Proclus and Plotinus in a fine Greek hand. Such are the trophies of
human pride! It would be well if our deep studies often produced no
other crookedness and deformity! I endeavoured (but in vain) to learn
something from the heathen philosopher as to Plato’s doctrine of
abstract ideas being the foundation of particular ones, which I
suspect has more truth in it than we moderns are willing to admit.
Another friend of mine once breakfasted with Mr. D. (the most amiable
and absent of hosts), when there was no butter, no knife to cut the
loaf with, and the tea-pot was without a spout. My friend after a few
immaterial ceremonies, adjourned to Peel’s coffee-house, close by,
where he regaled himself on buttered toast, coffee, and the newspaper
of the day (a newspaper possessed some interest when we were young);
and the only interruption to his satisfaction was the fear that his
host might suddenly enter, and be shocked at his imperfect
hospitality. He would probably forget the circumstance altogether. I
am afraid this veteran of the old school has not received many proofs
of the _archaism_ of the prevailing taste; and that the corrections in
his History of the University of Cambridge, have cost him more than
the public will ever repay him for.

Footnote 35:

When a certain poet was asked if he thought Lord Byron’s name would
live three years after he was dead, he answered, ‘Not three days,
Sir!’ This was premature: it has lasted above a year. His works have
been translated into French, and there is a _Caffé Byron_ on the
Boulevards. Think of a _Caffé Wordsworth_ on the Boulevards!

Footnote 36:

Is not this partly owing to the disappointment of the public at
finding any defect in their idol?

Footnote 37:

An old friend of mine, when he read the abuse and billingsgate poured
out in certain Tory publications, used to congratulate himself upon it
as a favourable sign of the times, and of the progressive improvement
of our manners. Where we now called names, we formerly burnt each
other at a stake; and all the malice of the heart flew to the tongue
and vented itself in scolding, instead of crusades and
_auto-da-fés_—the nobler revenge of our ancestors for a difference of
opinion. An author now libels a prince; and, if he takes the law of
him or throws him into gaol, it is looked upon as a harsh and
ungentlemanly proceeding. He, therefore, gets a dirty Secretary to
employ a dirty bookseller, to hire a set of dirty scribblers, to pelt
him with dirt and cover him with blackguard epithets—till he is hardly
in a condition to walk the streets. This is hard measure, no doubt,
and base ingratitude on the part of the public, according to the
imaginary dignity and natural precedence which authors take of kings;
but the latter are men, and will have their revenge where they can get
it. They have no longer their old summary appeal—their will may still
be good—to the dungeon and the dagger. Those who ‘speak evil of
dignities’ may, therefore, think themselves well off in being merely
_sent to Coventry_; and, besides, if they have _pluck_, they can make
a Parthian retreat, and shoot poisoned arrows behind them. The good
people of Florence lift up their hands when they are shewn the
caricatures in the Queen’s Matrimonial-Ladder, and ask if they are
really a likeness of the King?

Footnote 38:

Properly, _daubs_.

Footnote 39:

Dr. Johnson has observed, that ‘strong passion deprives the lover of
that easiness of address, which is so great a recommendation to most
women.’ Is then indifference or coldness the surest passport to the
female heart? A man who is much in love has not his wits properly
about him: he can think only of her whose image is engraven on his
heart; he can talk only of her; he can only repeat the same vows, and
protestations, and expressions of rapture or despair. He may, by this
means, become importunate and troublesome—but does he deserve to lose
his mistress for the only cause that gives him a title to her—the
sincerity of his passion? We may perhaps answer this question by
another—Is a woman to accept of a madman, merely because he happens to
fall in love with her? ‘The lunatic, the lover and the poet,’ as
Shakspeare has said, ‘are of imagination all compact,’ and must, in
most cases, be contented with imagination as their reward. Realities
are out of their reach, as well as beneath their notice.

Footnote 40:

Zoffani, a foreign artist, but who, by long residence in England, had
got our habits of indolence and dilatoriness, was employed by the late
King, who was fond of low comedy, to paint a scene for Reynolds’s
_Speculation_; in which Quick, Munden, and Miss Wallis were
introduced. The King called to see it in its progress; and at last it
was done—‘_all but the coat_.’ The picture, however, was not sent and
the King repeated his visit to the artist. Zoffani with some
embarrassment said, ‘It was done all but the _goat_‘—‘Don’t tell me,’
said the impatient monarch; ‘this is always the way: you said it was
done all but the coat the last time I was here.’—‘I said the _goat_,
and please your Majesty.’—‘Aye’ replied the King, ‘the _goat_ or the
_coat_, I care not which you call it; I say I will not have the
picture,’—and was going to leave the room, when Zoffani, in an agony,
repeated, ‘It is the _goat_ that is not finished,’—pointing to a
picture of a goat that was hung up in a frame as an ornament to the
scene at the theatre. The King laughed heartily at the blunder, and
waited patiently till the goat was finished. Zoffani, like other idle
people, was careless and extravagant. He made a fortune when he first
came over here, which he soon spent: he then went out to India, where
he made another, with which he returned to England, and spent also. He
was an excellent theatrical portrait-painter, and has left
delineations of celebrated actors and interesting situations, which
revive the dead, and bring the scene before us.

Footnote 41:

When Lord Byron was cut by the great, on account of his quarrel with
his wife, he stood leaning on a marble slab at the entrance of a room,
while troops of duchesses and countesses passed out. One little, pert,
red-haired girl staid a few paces behind the rest; and, as she passed
him, said with a nod, ‘Aye, you should have married me, and then all
this wouldn’t have happened to you!’

Footnote 42:

If it were a show of wild beasts, or a boxing-match, the reasoning
might be somewhat different; though I do not know that it would. No
people behave better than the _gods_ after the play once begins.

Footnote 43:

‘Of whatsoe’er descent his Godhead be,
Stock, stone, or other homely pedigree,
In his defence his servants are as bold
As if he had been made of beaten gold.’—DRYDEN.

Footnote 44:

They _would_ have a king in spite of the devil. The image-worship of
the Papists is a batch of the same leaven. The apishness of man’s
nature would not let even the Christian Religion escape.

Footnote 45:

‘In fact, the argument drawn from the supposed incapacity of the
people against a representative Government, comes with the worst grace
in the world from the patrons and admirers of hereditary government.
Surely, if government were a thing requiring the utmost stretch of
genius, wisdom, and virtue to carry it on, the office of King would
never even have been dreamt of as hereditary, any more than that of
poet, painter, or philosopher. It is easy here ‘for the Son to tread
in the Sire’s steady steps.’ It requires nothing but the will to do
it. Extraordinary talents are not once looked for. Nay, a person, who
would never have risen by natural abilities to the situation of
churchwarden or parish beadle, succeeds by unquestionable right to the
possession of a throne, and wields the energies of an empire, or
decides the fate of the world with the smallest possible share of
human understanding. The line of distinction which separates the regal
purple from the slabbering-bib is sometimes fine indeed; as we see in
the case of the two Ferdinands. Any one above the rank of an ideot is
supposed capable of exercising the highest functions of royal state.
Yet these are the persons who talk of the people as a swinish
multitude, and taunt them with their want of refinement and
philosophy.’—_Yellow Dwarf_, p. 84.

Footnote 46:

A lady of quality abroad, in allusion to the gallantries of the
reigning Prince, being told, ‘I suppose it will be your turn next?’
said, ‘No, I hope not; for you know it is impossible to refuse!’ What
a satire on the court and fashionables! If this be true, female virtue
in the blaze of royalty is no more than the moth in the candle, or ice
in the sun’s ray. What will the great themselves say to it, in whom at
this rate,

——‘the same luck holds,
They all are subjects, courtiers, and cuckolds!’

Out upon it! We’ll not believe it. Alas! poor virtue, what is to
become of the very idea of it, if we are to be told that every man
within the precincts of a palace is an _hypothetical_ cuckold, or
holds his wife’s virtue in trust for the Prince? We entertain no doubt
that many ladies of quality have resisted the importunities of a
throne, and that many more would do so in private life, if they had
the desired opportunity: nay, we have been assured by several that a
king would no more be able to prevail with them than any other man! If
however there is any foundation for the above insinuation, it throws
no small light on the Spirit of Monarchy, which by the supposition
implies in it the _virtual_ surrender of the whole sex at discretion;
and at the same time accounts perhaps for the indifference shown by
some monarchs in availing themselves of so mechanical a privilege.

Footnote 47:

Some persons have asserted that the Scotch have no humour. It is in
vain to set up this plea, since Smollett was a Scotchman.

Footnote 48:

This may be in part the reason of the blunder they have made in laying
so much stress on what they call the _Cockney School in Poetry_—as if
the people in London were proud of that distinction, and really
thought it a particular honour to get their living in the metropolis,
as the Scottish ‘Kernes and Gallowglasses’ think it a wonderful step
in their progress through life to be able to hire a lodging and pay
_scot and lot_ in the good town of Edinburgh.

Footnote 49:

It was not always so. But by knocking on the head the Jacobite loyalty
of the Scotch, their political integrity of principle has been
destroyed and dissipated to all the winds of Heaven.

Footnote 50:

My father was one of those who mistook his talent after all. He used
to be very much dissatisfied that I preferred his Letters to his
Sermons. The last were forced and dry; the first came naturally from
him. For ease, half-plays on words, and a supine, monkish, indolent
pleasantry, I have never seen them equalled.

Footnote 51:

He complained in particular of the presumption of attempting to
establish the future immortality of man ‘without’ (as he said)
‘knowing what Death was or what Life was’—and the tone in which he
pronounced these two words seemed to convey a complete image of both.

Footnote 52:

He had no idea of pictures, of Claude or Raphael, and at this time I
had as little as he. He sometimes gives a striking account at present
of the Cartoons at Pisa, by Buffamalco and others; of one in
particular, where Death is seen in the air brandishing his scythe, and
the great and mighty of the earth shudder at his approach, while the
beggars and the wretched kneel to him as their deliverer. He would of
course understand so broad and fine a moral as this at any time.

Footnote 53:

Some years ago, a periodical paper was published in London, under the
title of the Pic-Nic. It was got up under the auspices of a Mr. Fulke
Greville, and several writers of that day contributed to it, among
whom were Mr. Horace Smith, Mr. Dubois, Mr. Prince Hoare, Mr.
Cumberland, and others. On some dispute arising between the proprietor
and the gentlemen-contributors on the subject of an advance in the
remuneration for articles, Mr. Fulke Greville grew heroic, and said,
‘I have got a young fellow just come from Ireland, who will undertake
to do the whole, verse and prose, politics and scandal, for two
guineas a week, and if you will come and sup with me to-morrow night,
you shall see him, and judge whether I am not right in closing with
him,’ Accordingly, they met the next evening, and the WRITER OF ALL
WORK was introduced. He began to make a display of his native
ignorance and impudence on all subjects immediately, and no one else
had occasion to say any thing. When he was gone, Mr. Cumberland
exclaimed, ‘A talking potato, by God!’ The talking potato was Mr.
Croker, of the Admiralty. Our adventurer shortly, however, returned to
his own country, and passing accidentally through a town where they
were in want of a ministerial candidate at an Election, the gentleman
of modest assurance offered himself, and succeeded. ‘They wanted a
Jack-pudding,’ said the father of the hopeful youth, ‘and so they
chose my son.’ The case of the Duke of York and Mrs. Clarke soon after
came on, and Mr. Croker, who is a dabbler in dirt, and an adept in
love-letters, rose from the affair Secretary to the Admiralty, and the
very ‘rose and expectancy of the fair State.’

Footnote 54:

The only friends whom we defend with zeal and obstinacy are our
relations. They seem part of ourselves. We cannot shake them off till
they are hanged, nor then neither! For our other friends we are only
answerable, as long as we countenance them; and we therefore cut the
connection as soon as possible. But who ever willingly gave up the
good dispositions of a child, or the honour of a parent?

Footnote 55:

See Ada Reis.

Footnote 56:

This was necessary in Latin, where no order was observed in the words
of a sentence: in English the juxtaposition generally determines the
connection.

Footnote 57:

_Quere_, Is the vocative ever a case?

Footnote 58:

An identical proposition is not an inference; but all reasoning
consists in inference, or in finding out one thing as implied in
another. In comparing any two objects, I have nothing previously given
and cannot predict the result; but having made the comparison, I have
then something determined and fixed to go by; and what else I discover
or imagine must be in conformity with this first knowledge. This
coherence in propositions, or in the mind, is the force of _reason_,
whereby one idea acts as the ground-work or cause of another. If I
apply B as a common measure to A and C, and find it the same with
both, it follows that they are equal to one another; since otherwise I
must suppose the same thing (B) to be equal to unequal things, which
is impossible as long as I retain my senses, or more properly, my
recollection. I have ascertained two lines to be of the length of a
third; that length cannot differ from itself; and therefore having
settled what the two lines are with respect to the third, I cannot
conceive them to be different with respect to one another, without
forgetting myself, or what I know of them. If I had no power of
contemplating different propositions together, I could draw no such
conclusion; the conclusion therefore results from this comprehensive
power of the mind; and reason is the end or band that ties the bundle
of our separate ideas, or the logical _fasciculus_ together.

Footnote 59:

This is the reason that low comedians generally come out in
tragedy—they do not perceive the difference between the serious and
the burlesque.

Footnote 60:

Berkeley, in his _Minute Philosopher_, attacks Dr. Halley, who had
objected to faith and mysteries in religion, on this score; and
contends that the mathematician, no less than the theologian, is
obliged to presume on certain _postulates_, or to resort, before he
could establish a single theorem, to a formal definition of those
undefinable and hypothetical existences, points, lines, and surfaces;
and, according to the ingenious and learned Bishop of Cloyne, _solids_
would fare no better than _superficials_ in this war of words and
captious contradiction.

Footnote 61:

Hobbes is of opinion that men would deny this, if they had any
interest in doing so.

Footnote 62:

The common trick of making an imitation of the human countenance with
a napkin or the ends of the knuckles comes under the head of wit, not
humour.

Footnote 63:

A red beard is not uncommon, but it is odious.

Footnote 64:

Some one compared B——, a tall, awkward country lout to Adam, who came
into the world full grown, but without having ever made any use of his
limbs. This was wit, though true; where then is the ingredient of
incongruity? In altering the idea of Adam at pleasure, or from a mere
possibility to make it answer a ludicrous purpose. Adam is generally
supposed an active, graceful person: a lad grown up with large bones
and muscles, with no more use of them than an infant, is a laughable
subject, because it deranges or unhinges our customary associations.
The threads of our ideas (so to speak) are strong and tightened by
habit and will, just as we tighten the strings of a fiddle with pegs
and screws; and when any of these are relaxed, snapped asunder, or
unstrung by accident or folly, it is in taking up the odds and ends
(like stitches let down) as they hang light and loose, and twisting
them into some motley, ill-assorted pattern, so as to present a
fantastic and glaring contrast to custom (which is plain sense) or the
_ideal_, which strengthens and harmonizes (and which is poetry)—that
the web of wit and humour consists. The _serious_ is that which is
closely cemented together by experience and prejudice, or by common
sense: the ludicrous is the incoherent, or that which wants the cement
of habit and purpose; and wit is employed in finding out new and
opposite combinations of these detached and broken fragments (or
exceptions to established rules) so as to set off the distinction
between absurdity and propriety in the most lively and marked manner
possible. Proof is not wanted here; illustration is enough, and the
more extravagant the better; for the cause being previously condemned
in our prosing judgments, we do not stand upon punctilio, but only
wait for a smart, sly excuse to get rid of it; and hence _tricking is
fair in wit_, as well as in war: where the justice of the cause is not
the question, you have only to fight it out or make the best of the
case you can.

Footnote 65:

Even then I should not despair. The Revolution of the Three Days was
like a resurrection from the dead, and showed plainly that liberty too
has a spirit of life in it; and that the hatred of oppression is ‘the
unquenchable flame, the worm that dies not.’

Footnote 66:

‘In Scotland, at an execution, all appear melancholy, many shed tears,
and some faint away. But executions there are very rare.’—_Burgh._

Footnote 67:

Vanity is the same half-witted principle, compared with pride. It
leaves men in the lurch when it is most needed; is mortified at being
reduced to stand on the defensive, and relinquishes the field to its
more surly antagonist.

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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

1. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in spelling. 2. Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed. 3. Re-indexed footnotes using numbers and collected together at the end of the last chapter. 4. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.