"And to think. Grey, that the Tory Administration and the Tory party of Great Britain should never, by one single act, or in a single instance, have indicated that they were in the least aware that the exertions of such a man differed in the slightest degree from those of Hunt and Hone!
Of all the delusions which flourish in this mad world, the delusion of that man is the most frantic who voluntarily, and of his own accord, supports the interest of a party. I mention this to you because it is the rock on which all young politicians strike. Fortunately, you enter life under different circ.u.mstances from those which usually attend most political debutants. You have your connections formed and your views ascertained. But if, by any chance, you find yourself independent and unconnected, never, for a moment, suppose that you can accomplish your objects by coming forward, unsolicited, to fight the battle of a party.
They will cheer your successful exertions, and then smile at your youthful zeal; or, crossing themselves for the unexpected succour, be too cowardly to reward their unexpected champion. No, Grey; make them fear you, and they will kiss your feet. There is no act of treachery or meanness of which a political party is not capable; for in politics there is no honour.
"As to Gifford, I am surprised at their conduct towards him, although I know better than most men of what wood a minister is made, and how much reliance may be placed upon the grat.i.tude of a party: but Canning; from Canning I certainly did expect different conduct."
"Oh, Canning! I love the man: but as you say, Cleveland, ministers have short memories, and Canning"s; that was Antilles that just pa.s.sed us; apropos to whom, I quite rejoice that the Marquess has determined to take such a decided course on the West India Question."
"Oh, yes! curse your East India sugar."
"To be sure; slavery and sweetmeats forever!"
"But, aside with joking, Grey, I really think, that if any man of average ability dare rise in the House, and rescue many of the great questions of the day from what Dugald Stuart or Disraeli would call the spirit of Political Religionism, with which they are studiously mixed up, he would not fail to make a great impression upon the House, and a still greater one upon the country."
"I quite agree with you; and certainly I should recommend commencing with the West India Question. Singular state of affairs when even Canning can only insinuate his opinion when the very existence of some of our most valuable colonies is at stake, and when even his insinuations are only indulged with an audience on the condition that he favours the House with an introductory discourse of twenty minutes on "the divine Author of our faith," and an eloge of equal length on the Genie du Christianisme, in a style worthy of Chateaubriand."
"Miserable work, indeed! I have got a pamphlet on the West India Question sent me this morning. Do you know any raving lawyer, any mad Master in Chancery, or something of the kind, who meddles in these affairs?"
"Oh! Stephen! a puddle in a storm! He is for a crusade for the regeneration of the Antilles; the most forcible of feebles, the most energetic of drivellers; Velluti acting Pietro l"Eremita."
"Do you know, by any chance, whether Southey"s Vindiciae is out yet? I wanted to look it over during the holidays."
"Not out, though it has been advertised some time; but what do you expect?"
"Nay, it is an interesting controversy, as controversies go. Not exactly Milton and Salmasius; but fair enough."
"I do not know. It has long degenerated into a mere personal bickering between the Laureate and Butler. Southey is, of course, revelling in the idea of writing an English work with a Latin t.i.tle! and that, perhaps, is the only circ.u.mstance for which the controversy is prolonged."
"But Southey, after all, is a man of splendid talents."
"Doubtless; the most philosophical of bigots, and the most poetical of prose writers."
"Apropos to the Catholic Question, there goes Colonial Bother"em trying to look like Prince Metternich; a decided failure."
"What can keep him in town?"
"Writing letters, I suppose, Heaven preserve me from receiving any of them!"
"Is it true, then, that his letters are of the awful length that is whispered?"
"True! Oh! they are something beyond all conception! Perfect epistolary Boa Constrictors. I speak with feeling, for I have myself suffered under their voluminous windings."
"Have you seen his quarto volume: "The Cure for the Catholic Question?""
"Yes."
"If you have it, lend it to me. What kind of thing is it?"
"Oh! what should it be! ingenious and imbecile. He advises the Catholics, in the old nursery language, to behave like good boys; to open their mouths and shut their eyes, and see what G.o.d will send them."
"Well, that is the usual advice. Is there nothing more characteristic of the writer?"
"What think you of a proposition of making Jockey of Norfolk Patriarch of England, and of an ascertained _credo_ for our Catholic fellow-subjects? Ingenious, is not it?"
"Have you seen Puff"s new volume of Ariosto?"
"I have. What could possibly have induced Mr. Partenopex Puff to have undertaken such a duty? Mr. Puff is a man dest.i.tute of poetical powers, possessing no vigour of language, and gifted with no happiness of expression. His translation is hard, dry, and husky, as the outside of a cocoanut. I am amused to see the excellent tact with which the public has determined not to read his volumes, in spite of the incessant exertions of a certain set to ensure their popularity; but the time has gone by when the smug coterie could create a reputation."
"Do you think the time ever existed, Cleveland?"
"What could have seduced Puff into being so ambitious? I suppose his admirable knowledge of Italian; as if a man were ent.i.tled to strike a die for the new sovereign merely because he was aware how much alloy might legally debase its carats of pure gold."
"I never can pardon Puff for that little book on Cats. The idea was admirable; but, instead of one of the most delightful volumes that ever appeared, to take up a dull, tame compilation from Bingley"s Animal Biography!"
"Yes! and the impertinence of dedicating such a work to the Officers of His Majesty"s Household troops! Considering the quarter from whence it proceeded, I certainly did not expect much, but still I thought that there was to be some little esprit. The poor Guards! how nervous they must have been at the announcement! What could have been the point of that dedication?"
"I remember a most interminable proser, who was blessed with a very sensible-sounding voice, and who, on the strength of that, and his correct and constant emphases, was considered by the world, for a great time, as a sage. At length it was discovered that he was quite the reverse. Mr. Puff"s wit is very like this man"s wisdom. You take up one of his little books, and you fancy, from its t.i.tlepage, that it is going to be very witty; as you proceed, you begin to suspect that the man is only a wag, and then, surprised at not "seeing the point," you have a shrewd suspicion that he is a great hand at dry humour. It is not till you have closed the volume that you wonder who it is that has had the hardihood to intrude such imbecility upon an indulgent world."
"Come, come! Mr. Puff is a worthy gentleman. Let him cease to dusk the radiancy of Ariosto"s sunny stanzas, and I shall be the first man who will do justice to his merits. He certainly tattles prettily about tenses and terminations, and is not an inelegant grammarian."
"Our literature, I think, is at a low ebb."
"There is nothing like a fall of stocks to affect what it is the fashion to style the Literature of the present day, a fungus production which has flourished from the artificial state of our society, the mere creature of our imaginary wealth. Everybody being very rich, has afforded to be very literary, books being considered a luxury almost as elegant and necessary as ottomans, bonbons, and pier-gla.s.ses. Consols at 100 were the origin of all book societies. The Stockbrokers" ladies took off the quarto travels and the hot-pressed poetry. They were the patronesses of your patent ink and your wire-wove paper. That is all past. Twenty per cent difference in the value of our public securities from this time last year, that little incident has done more for the restoration of the old English feeling, than all the exertions of Church and State united. There is nothing like a fall in Consols to bring the blood of our good people of England into cool order. It is your grand state medicine, your veritable Doctor Sangrado!
"A fall in stocks! and halt to "the spread of knowledge!" and "the progress of liberal principles" is like that of a man too late for post-horses. A fall in stocks! and where are your London Universities, and your Mechanics" Inst.i.tutes, and your new Docks? Where your philosophy, your philanthropy, and your compet.i.tion? National prejudices revive as national prosperity decreases. If the Consols were at 60 we should be again bellowing, G.o.d save the King! eating roast beef, and d.a.m.ning the French."
"And you imagine literature is equally affected, Grey?"
"Clearly. We were literary because we were rich. Amid the myriad of volumes which issued monthly from the press, what one was not written for the mere hour? It is all very well to buy mechanical poetry and historical novels when our purses have a plethora; but now, my dear fellow, depend upon it, the game is up. We have no scholars now, no literary recluses, no men who ever appear to think. "Scribble, scribble, scribble" as the Duke of c.u.mberland said to Gibbon, should be the motto of the mighty "nineteenth century.""
"Southey, I think, Grey, is an exception."
"By no means. Southey is a political writer, a writer for a particular purpose. All his works, from those in three volumes quarto to those in one duodecimo, are alike political pamphlets."
"We certainly want a master-spirit to set us right, Grey. We want Byron."
"There was the man! And that such a man should be lost to us at the very moment that he had begun to discover why it had pleased the Omnipotent to have endowed him with such powers!"
"If one thing were more characteristic of Byron"s mind than another, it was his strong, shrewd, common sense; his pure, unalloyed sagacity."
"You knew him, I think, Cleveland?"
"Well, I was slightly acquainted with him when in England; slightly, however, for I was then very young. But many years afterwards I met him in Italy. It was at Pisa, just before he left that place for Genoa. I was then very much struck at the alteration in his appearance."
"Indeed."
"Yes; his face was swollen, and he was getting fat. His hair was grey, and his countenance had lost that spiritual expression which it once eminently possessed. His teeth were decaying; and he said that if ever he came to England it would be to consult Wayte about them. I certainly was very much struck at his alteration for the worse. Besides, he was dressed in the most extraordinary manner."
"Slovenly?"