The day after our hero’s return to London, he went in quest of Sir Edward Hamden, and had the pleasure to learn that he was in town. Hearing at what hour he was to be at home, he returned to his house, and had an interview. Sir Edward told him, that his chief object in visiting the metropolis, at such a season, was to solicit the advice and assistance of his friend Hamilton. He had only arrived the day before, and finding Hamilton was out of town, had resolved to remain a few days, in hopes of his return. The subject on which he wished to consult him, he said, was of the most delicate nature, and filled him with great anxiety and distress. He then opened to his friend the fall of his unhappy sister, and among many circumstances, which Hamilton well knew before, mentioned that Raymond was so passionately attached to his wife, that notwithstanding all that happened, he was disposed to forgiveness, and to impute her misconduct to his own want of caution, in not preventing an intimacy between her and a notorious directress of gambling fraud. “Indeed I so far agree with him, that poor Caroline owes her ruin to the baneful example of this unprincipled banditti. Every woman that defrauds at gaming will and must be wicked in any other way that temptation may happen to prompt; and she who cheats at cards to gratify her avarice, will, if opportunity offer, and fear do not restrain, make as free with her chastity as with her honesty.” “I hope, Sir Edward, for the honour of female continence, that your theory is erroneous; because, if true, it would make so many now of fair character no better than prostitutes.” “Nay, there are degrees in both, and I should reason by analogy; there are many who would finesse or shuffle, or pack at cards, who would not venture to use loaded dice. These I should conclude might intrigue with a friend, without publicly exposing their reputation; but mine is more than theory, I never yet met a lady who cheated at cards, but would have done something else, except old women that have passed these kinds of amusements. But to return to our subject. Raymond is very desirous of bestowing forgiveness on his misguided wife; he, however, cannot bring himself immediately to live with her. He proposes going for some time to the continent, and that she should retire to the country, but an obstacle for the present has arisen, the unhappy woman has eloped, and we in vain have endeavoured to discover her retreat. It is for that purpose I wish your advice and assistance.” While the baronet was about to explain in what way Hamilton could render service, our hero interrupted him, and informed him of all that had happened upon the road, and very strongly testified the penitence of Mrs. Raymond. He could not prevail on Hamden immediately to see her; nevertheless the proposed arrangement was soon concluded, and the repentant sinner repaired to her asylum.
After the completion of this business, Hamilton returned with increased vigour to his literary pursuits. The lives of men of letters, though often instructive in operation, progress, and result, are commonly barren in incident: while he was preparing the first part of his grand essay for the public, no private occurrences happened of sufficient importance to constitute a part of our narrative. One benefit he found, an author of sense may derive from writing on a continuous subject, within the reach of his abilities, and the range of his knowledge; while he attempts to inform and instruct others, he informs and instructs himself. The task which he undertook happened to require research and investigation, as well as deduction and exhibition, and improved his own knowledge and power of reasoning, whilst he endeavoured to communicate knowledge and instruction to others. At length the work made its public appearance, and established the literary character of its author. It demonstrated to the public the force and extent of his talents, the accuracy and range of his knowledge, the depth of his philosophy, which though yet more theoretical in several doctrines and opinions, than is consistent with fact and practice, manifested on the whole, that strength of discrimination, completeness of comprehension, boldness of conception, and fertility of invention, which when matured by experience, becomes soaring genius, guided by beneficial wisdom. The arrangement evinced a mind that at once perceived the relations and dependencies of parts, and grasped the whole. The language to the essential qualities of clearness, strength, and expressiveness, added the agreeable accompaniments of elegance and harmony. Fame and emolument did not fail to follow distinguished merit, arising from exertions on a subject which had been judiciously chosen, with a view at once to temporary popularity and permanent importance. With the public voice concurred those private individuals, whose opinions he chiefly regarded. A Robertson and a Gibbon, a Watson, a Fergusson, and a Burke, spoke its praises, while jackalls only of jacobinism barked disapprobation. A Strongbrain bore his testimony to the excellence of the production with discriminate applause; while detractors and envy attested the same truth in the obloquy of the dunces, the impotent babbling of the enraged and contemptible Doctor Dicky Scribble. Scribble lost a good deal of his own time in going from coffeehouse to coffeehouse, to abuse Hamilton’s production, and in the same period might have manufactured two or three books, by his usual drudgery. Hamilton enjoyed the feeling so pleasing to an author, in the assurance that his literary fame was established. Most of the reviews bore high testimony to the merits of Hamilton’s work; two, indeed, censured it, one the property of a bookseller, who was bringing out a publication on the same subject; and another that was supported by a club of democratic dissenters; but many of the contributors having either gone, or been sent to parts beyond seas, and Tom Paine and Thelwal being less in vogue, it has since been crushed. The jacobins, both French and English, reviled the book for its political principles, nevertheless they could not avoid allowing it literary excellence.
About this time Hamilton observed that Charlotte was often pensive, and even to dejection. Making this observation to Maria, she told him she conjectured the reason to be the absence and silence of John Mortimer. The fact was, Mortimer was a very aspiring, ambitious young man, and having in France rendered essential service to the British government, especially by developing schemes of political missionaries for the propagation of revolutionary principles, he had become a great favourite with the British ambassador, and was not without hopes of a seat in parliament. He had been captivated by the charms of Miss Hamilton, but he was not so deeply enamoured that ambition did not give him a contrary pull. He was a very handsome fellow, and much admired among the French ladies, in whom political regeneration had not produced moral: he was greatly addicted to gallantry, and nothing is more destructive of virtuous love than habitual dissipation when at a distance from the beloved object.
Louisa Primrose had been extremely affected by the marriage of Hamilton, and her mother, to amuse her by change of scene, took a trip to the continent. At Paris she frequently met with young Mortimer; by degrees became much more chearful; and at last was extremely fond of his company. Mortimer thought her a fine girl, though not equal to Charlotte, and he knew she had such a fortune as could raise him to the height that he wished; but though a man of the world, Mortimer was also a man of honour, and therefore resolved to adhere to his promises to Charlotte, unless released by herself. He therefore very fairly stated to her his situation in a letter. Dignity, pride, and every elevated sentiment combined in determining her to grant the release that he appeared to desire, and she did it without any reproach, or a single expression that could indicate either regret or displeasure. Her magnanimity, however, was extremely painful to herself, and was the source of the disconsolation that her friends remarked; but she would not communicate either her sentiments or their cause; a vigorous understanding, and firmness of mind, by degrees enabled her to regain her chearfulness. Mortimer in the course of the winter married Miss Primrose and her five thousand a year.
Our hero stuck very close to his literary and juridical pursuits. He kept very little company of a Sunday; Sir Edward Hamden generally spent the day at his house, or he at Sir Edward’s. Often they prevailed on Strongbrain to be one of the company, and well as they knew him, he at every visit astonished them by the grasp of his genius. They all were friendly to the French revolution, though in different degrees. Hamilton, who besides being a literary man by profession was young, regarded what he considered the triumph of liberty with exultation, and was pleased with a state of things in which he apprehended that intellect was obtaining its native superiority, and trampling every distinction but wisdom and virtue. Hamden, with all his personal merit, not without a sense of rank and birth, was inimical to the destruction of privileged orders. Strongbrain thought the revolution too violent to suit the gradual variations of the human character, and too democratical to suit the mad volatility of the French. Hamilton observed, that a very rapid change now took place in the political sentiments of the country, and with the action and re-action of the press, affected our literature; that though one of its chief objects was innovation in the church and state, its influence extended much farther; and that not only in institutions, but manners, principles, sentiments, thoughts, and even the powers of nature, the great object was innovation. He traced this spirit of boundless change from its first origin, in that superstition and despotism which genius discovered; but observed, that in avoiding great evils it ran into much greater. He reviewed the efforts of Rousseau, Voltaire, and Helvetius, and the various concurring causes of the French revolution, and marked the progress in other parts of Europe, but especially in England, of the innovating spirit which it was now calling into action, and attended peculiarly to the literature which it excited. He admired the genius of Priestly and Price; and though he disapproved of their enmity to the establishment, yet he revered their high spirit of liberty; and if he questioned their prudence, he gave them full credit for sincerity. Though a friend to the church his regard to it was rather political than religious; if he venerated some, and respected many of its members, it was for individual qualities, and not official situation. He profoundly admired Watson, without doing homage to the Bishop of Landaff. He highly estimated the force and science of a Horseley, without adopting in every case the authority of the hierarch. In the classical elegance of a Douglas, the critical acuteness of a Hurd, and the christian simplicity of a Porteous, he valued the men, and not simply the mitre. He himself was rather attached to literary dissenters, whom he conceived to be zealous promoters of that liberty which Cambridge had taught him to prize. Deeply conversant in philosophy, and thoroughly acquainted with the laws and practice of reasoning, he was extremely fastidious in matters of authority, and in assaying an opinion paid little regard to its currency. If he erred it was from misinformation of fact, and not feebleness of investigation, or falsity of principle. Conceiving that political freedom was necessary to the best exertions of men; and that the French had long been the victims of civil and ecclesiastical tyranny, he rejoiced at what he thought their emancipation. He admitted that some of their proceedings were extremely violent, but imputed the outrages to a ferment of enthusiasm, which would gradually subside into rational freedom. As many of the wars of the French monarchs had arisen from the ambition of the court, he hoped that when that cause was removed no other would operate in hostility to his country. Somewhat tinged with the doctrines of the œconomique philosophers, he thought the human race susceptible of much greater perfection than it had hitherto attained, and in the refinement of speculation conceived such intellectual and moral improvement might result from the dissemination of liberty, as would prevent the frequent recurrence of wars. Though he disapproved of Price’s exultation over the fallen monarch, as indiscreet and liable to misconstruction, yet he himself derived it from a liberal spirit and comprehensive benevolence; which regarding an individual on the one hand, and twenty-five millions of individuals on the other, preferred the happiness which he conceived to be attained by the many to the power which he saw to be wrested from the one. He therefore approved of the motives and spirit of Price, without implicitly assenting to his positions. Such was the state of his political sentiments when Burke produced his extraordinary work. Captivated by the poetry, and charmed by the eloquence of this wonderful production, he in his first reading hurried through it without waiting to examine its reasoning and philosophy. Like the magic pen of Shakespeare this performance, whithersoever it expatiated, carried with it his fancy and passions. He saw English votaries of the French revolution, in one page terrible, in the next contemptible, and in the third disgusting, now as tigers panting after slaughter and carnage, now as grashoppers teasing with their importunate chink; then a loathsome object full of blotches and putrified sores. Here he regarded chivalry as the great parent of social happiness, lamented its age as for ever gone; there he viewed Marie Antoinette as in beauty beyond the lot of human excellence; and next as in pity beyond the lot of human suffering. By the author’s luminous torch he saw her bearing her son to the loyal officers; he viewed the Parisian mob breaking into her apartments, and the swords of ruffians drawn for her destruction, and lamenting followed her dragged in triumph by a banditti of ruffians. The scene being changed he was carried into the National Assembly. There the dramatist exhibited pedlars and excisemen engaged in financial legislation; country curates as new modelling the church, and country attornies as establishing a code of laws for the government of an empire; with a side prospect of fishwomen taking their seats in the senate, while a mob hallooed behind the scenes. The imagery and pathos of the bard and orator made the first impression. Reflecting, however, that the production was not exhibited for the purpose of theatrical effect, but intended to present facts, enforce conviction, and influence conduct, he returned to examine it in those lights. He acknowledges that when he first reviewed his own fascination he imputed it to the spell of the author’s genius, and supposed that investigation would convince him that its merit was merely poetic and oratorical. He therefore resolved, in his next reading, to view it as a series of reasoning and of philosophy. The connection of argument he did not immediately perceive; separate links were very massive and strong, but he frequently could not discover the juncture; and as the links lay huddled before him, with a vast variety of colouring and decorations, he thought them detached and unconnected pieces; but unfolding and viewing the whole, he saw that they formed one continuous chain, which might have been more simple and regular, but could not well be stronger. Expanded and profound wisdom he saw in the principles and deductions respecting intellectual, moral, political processes and operations, and the influence of religion on the wisdom, virtue, and happiness of individuals and societies. He was by no means, however, convinced that the French revolutionists were such men, either in character or condition, as the author described, and therefore could not entirely admit the justness of his conclusions, or the probable fulfilment of his predictions. He was, however, staggered in his opinion of the French revolution, and resolved to avoid forming any final judgment until it should be farther known by events. He still had no apprehensions that it could possibly produce any bad effects upon Britain. If it were to prove the excellent system of mixed liberty, an order which some of its earliest votaries had sought, the British must love and cherish it, as if not similar in detail, analogous in principle and object to their own. If on the other hand it proved the bloody and ferocious anarchy which Mr. Burke predicted, no Briton, of either patriotism or property, could be so frantic as to wish a change from happiness to misery. But as he attended to the varying state of opinion and sentiment, he began to apprehend that not a few in the prevalent eagerness for change were becoming votaries of revolution.
Among literary men, with very few exceptions, even able and learned writers were friendly to a change of political system, and of the much more numerous class of writers that were neither able nor learned, at least three-fourths of writers became enemies to the establishment. Among these were the lowest retainers of learning. Book-makers, news-gatherers, paragraph-joiners, collectors and retailers of puns, poetry, and jokes, scrap-rakers, and other pioneers of literature, were to a man democratic. In the jacobin clubs literary men possessed great influence, and many who were, or fancied themselves literary men, here expected, that if a revolution should take place in England, they should have the direction of affairs. But the work of Thomas Paine, which now made its appearance, most completely unhinged loyalty and patriotism in the breasts of great numbers of professed votaries of literature, and many others who made no claims to learning; and the effect of that noted production contributed much more powerfully to wean our hero from approbation of revolutionary doctrines, than the deepest wisdom of Burke himself. Perhaps, indeed, there never was a writer who more completely attained the art of imposing and impressing nonsense on ignorant and undistinguishing minds, as sense and sound reasoning; more fitted for playing on the passions of the vulgar, for gaining their affections by gratifying their prejudices, and through those affections procuring their assent to any assertion which he chose to advance. His manner was peculiarly calculated to impress and affect such objects. The coarse familiarity of his language was in unison with vulgar taste; the directness of his efforts, and boldness of his assertions, passed with ignorance for the confidence of undoubted truth. But it was not only the manner of his communication, but the substance of his doctrine, that was peculiarly pleasing to the lower ranks. Vanity, pride, and ambition, are passions which exist with as much force in the tap-room of an ale-house as in a senate. When peasants, labourers, and journeymen mechanics were told that they were as fit for governing the country as any man in parliament, it was a very pleasing idea; it gave an agreeable swell to their self-importance. When farther informed that they were not only qualified for such high appointments, but also, if they exerted themselves, had the means of attaining them; this was still better: it brought power, money, and luxury within their fancied reach, and might induce them to call for an extraordinary pot, to be afterwards paid from the proceeds of their preferment. Besides the completely ignorant and vulgar, there was another numerous set, to whom Paine’s works were peculiarly gratifying; and that was those who, without any original education, got hold of scraps of learning; who, having no general idea of the circle of arts and sciences, of the compartments of literature, fancied that the little knowledge in their own possession constituted the principal portion of human learning.
The generosity of the English, notwithstanding the distinguishing good sense of the nation, renders them peculiarly liable to imposture. Hence arises a temptation to quacks of every kind, and numbers of that species arise that know no more of what they profess, than Drs. Solomon and Brodum know of medicine; the coal-heaving teacher of methodism knows of morality and religion; or the missionary jugglers, who pester Scotland, and endeavour to sow discord, do of the gospel of peace; or the hymn manufacturers for the Evangelical Magazine, know of sense and poetry; or Dr. Dicky Scribble of the many and every subject which he undertakes to handle. In literature, quackery is not less common than in vending either pills or methodistical exhortations. A shopkeeper or mechanic finds his craft not answer his purpose, he takes to the literary line, begins with collecting the lower branches of intelligence for newspapers, enquires whose horse ran away in Hyde Park, what chaise was damaged by a stage-coach on the road between Kentish-town and Mother Redcap’s, what drunken bricklayer fought with a drunken blacksmith near the Jews’s Harp. These articles reviewed and respelt by the editor, constitute the first step of the literary novitiate. Next he scrapes acquaintance with footmen; when grand dinners, routes, balls, or assemblies are bestowed, he attends in the halls, takes a lift of the company, and in his report informs the public, among many distinguished personages of both sexes, we particularly noticed the following, &c. &c. Going from place to place, our scholar may, in the course of an evening, acquire a great variety of such learning. This is a more advanced post, but there are higher in store; he is next promoted to be nomenclator of the persons who resort to court. He makes acquaintance with the yeomen of the guards, they, on proper application, repeat to him the names; on the stairs he enlarges his acquaintance with footmen, and is able to pick up anecdotes of families; he learns who and who are together, and becomes such an adept in composition as to dress out a bit of scandal. He is able to fetch and carry for Blackball, and besides his periodical labours can venture a little in the anecdote way. Having become well acquainted with fashionable faces, he is next sent to the theatres, and by reading the newspaper criticisms becomes something of a critic himself. To extend his views of dramatic literature, he betakes himself to the Garrick’s Head, and becomes a humble listener of the players, afterwards retails their jokes as his own; there he forms his estimate of dramatic poetry, studies the dramatic censor, and becomes a theatrical critic. Perhaps now he may rise to be a parliamentary reporter, and if he do, of course he becomes a political philosopher and a statesman; and in those days when debating societies were in vogue, he was also an orator, or we still may be if admissible to public meetings, especially those in which dinner and wine precede deliberation and eloquence. Now he undertakes political essays, or even pamphlets; behold our journeyman, without any learning, human or divine, set up for an author, and many are such members of the republic of letters.
Another sets out from a point somewhat more akin to learning, begins as porter’s boy in the vestibule of the muses, or to speak less figuratively, opens as a printer’s devil. He takes one of two courses, or both, aspires at being a compositor, or a reader. In such occupations, if tolerably sharp, he acquires a much better education than many professed men of letters; he becomes acquainted with spelling, and even receives an insight into higher parts of grammar; is tolerably correct in ordinary language. A person of this kind, if he be steady, becomes extremely useful in his own line; but should he not be steady, he has recourse to the profession of letters, offers his services to a magazine, and not for mere collections of occurrences, like the recorder of run-away horses, and boxing matches, but deals in selections, and also originals. He becomes a literary critic and a reviewer, nay, even rises to be an editor, and gradually acquires such celebrity in that occupation, that he is run upon, and perhaps distinguished by the title of Editor Atall. Somewhat higher than these in their outset, are persons who having been bred to learned professions, especially law and medicine, in which it is very difficult to get on without ability, knowledge, and skill, find things will not answer, and being unoccupied by briefs or consultations, betake themselves to the profession of letters. A man has been called to the bar, but finds that at Westminster-hall, though many are called but few are chosen, therefore he takes to the instruction of mankind through newspapers and magazines. A professor of medical art and science becomes a doctor of medicine, but finds his degree does not procure a demand for his prescriptions, therefore he offers his advice, not to the sick, but to those who are in health. Numerous are the recruits in the literary ranks, from counsellors and physicians, who, unable to procure clients and patients, have sought refuge in the occupation of authors. It may be naturally asked, Are not unsuccessful clergymen in the same situation? To this the answer is obvious, and indeed trite. Success, good or bad, is not in a clergyman the consequence of qualifications, good or bad, with the same probability as in the other learned professions; the recovery or defence of our property we will not trust to an insufficient lawyer; the recovery of our health we will not trust to an incapable physician; but our spiritual concerns we readily entrust, without much investigation of the competency of the guide. High fees are bestowed on the most eminent professional men, but rich livings are often bestowed upon blockheads, and besides, clergy who are not able to rise by their abilities, and have not interest to compensate the deficiency, have a never-failing resource in becoming masters of academies. Another reservoir, that for many years has diffused plentiful supplies of authors, is dissent from the established church. Scarcely a dissenting minister is to be found, who is not a professed author. Of these, two were very able and learned men, and a few others respectable, but much the greater number are far from having any pretensions to genius and erudition, and most of them, whether able or weak, the votaries of visionary reveries, instead of solid and substantial wisdom; and no one class has been so productive of incapable, illiterate, and trifling authors, as the non-conformists. In addition to these, were your sentimental writers, who regarded the supreme happiness of mankind, as consisting in the possession and gratification of fine sensibility, who decried all restraint as irksome to the feelings; these figured away in plays and novels, and poems and fables and tales, abounded in prettinesses and pathos, and many other qualities, and merely wanted sense, virtue, and piety. Instances of these and many other kinds, will readily suggest themselves, and scarcely one of the literary quacks, but had knots of admirers, who regarded him or her as a shining light, and implicitly followed as a guide. In such a predisposition for the reception of nonsense, and especially innovating nonsense, Tom Paine’s book was wonderfully adapted for circulation.
Many were dabblers in what they supposed metaphysics, for whom Paine provided his distinctions and definitions, in such a way as to give them a notion, that when they were repeating his words, they were pouring forth philosophy. He bestowed on them, with a liberal hand, his imprescriptible rights, organization, general will, attaint upon principles, and many other phrases, from which his votaries thought themselves as much instructed, as the under grave-digger in Hamlet supposed himself from the learned distinctions of the upper. To a man who should estimate the probable reception of opinions, solely by their truths, it would appear extremely wonderful how so nonsensical jargon came ever to have any currency. Recollection of history, however, and attention to mankind, prevents surprise, that even Paine’s declamations were applauded. History, indeed, and even the history of our own country, shews us, that Tom Paine, extravagant as he is, is far from being new. Our hero remarked, that there was a wonderful resemblance between Tom Paine and John Cade; Jack maintained the same doctrine of equality and rank, and as he could not raise himself to the level of men of merit and abilities, his next best expedient was to pull them down to his level. Shakespeare, who so thoroughly knew the human mind in all its vagaries, describes John Cade, John Holland, George Bevis, &c. as speaking not only the sentiments, but almost the very language which Paine has since used. Says Paine, “All men are equal; all artificial distinctions, such as rank, title, and corporate bodies, are contrary to natural equality, and the rights of man!” Hear we John Holland and George Bevis.
“Holland. Well, I say, twas never a merry world in England since gentlemen came up.