_By J.A. St. John, Esq._
The title of this work leads the reader to expect a regular and connected
series of illustrations of the constitution or frame-work of society, in
which its scheme might be traced through the various ramifications. On the
contrary, we have two volumes of essays of no consecutive interest, but
well written, and in some cases abounding with turns of scholarly
elegance. They seldom flag, or grow vapid, notwithstanding they are on
subjects of common life and experience, upon which moralists have rung the
changes of words for centuries past. Occasionally, however, there are some
new positions and little conceits which have more of prettiness than truth
to recommend them. To call Cowper's line
God made the country, but man made the town!
"a piece of impious jargon" is no proof of Mr. St. John's acumen or fair
comprehension of the poet's meaning, but accords with his unproved
assertion "The mark of man's hand is as visible in the country as in the
town to all those who make use of their eyes." Yet this sentiment is a
fair specimen of the stern stuff of which Mr. St. John's creeds and
opinions are made up.[8] Nevertheless, the volumes are entertaining, and
in proof we have carved out a few laconic extracts:
[8] One of Mr. St. John's lines in the Essay on the Influence of
Great Cities (the worst in the volume,) is "The very name of
London sounds sweetly to me." This is not a whit better than
the man who thought "no garden like Covent Garden, and no
flower like a cauliflower." Captain Morris's "sweet shady side
of Pall Mall," compared to these sentiments, is a piece of
delicious refinement.
_Love of Pleasure_.--The cause why men visit each other and converse,
abstracting all considerations of business, seems to be simply the love of
pleasure. This is the passion truly universal; this is the pivot upon
which the world intellectual, as well as the world of sense, turns.
Philosophers and saints feel it in their speculations and devotions, and
yield to it too, in their way, as completely as the Sybaritish gourmand,
whose stomach is his Baal and Ashtaroth. Nor is this at all surprising, in
reality, for the gratification of this passion is _happiness_--a gem
for which all the world search, and but few find.
_Conversation_.--The persons who shine most in conversation are,
perhaps, those who attack established opinions and usages; for there is a
kind of splendid Quixotism in standing up, even in the advocating of
absurdity, against the whole world.
_Love_.--Do we imagine, when we open some new treatise on Love, that
the author has discovered a fresh vein, and mined more deeply than all
former adventurers? Not at all: we know very well that the little god has
already usurped all beautiful epithets, all soft expressions, all
bewitching sounds; and the utmost we expect from the skill of the writer
is, that he has thrown all these together, so as to produce a new picture.
Love is immortal, and does not grow wrinkled because we and our
expressions fade. His heart is still as joyous and his foot as light as
when he trod the green knolls of Paradise with Eve. He will be young when
he sits upon the grave of the thousandth generation of our posterity,
listening to the beating of his own heart, or sporting with his butterfly
consort, as childishly as if he were no older than the daisy under his
foot. His empire is a theme of which the tongue never grows weary, or
utters all that seems to come quivering and gasping to the lips for
utterance. We think, more than we ever spoke, of love; and if we have a
curiosity when we first touch some erotic volume, it is to see whether the
author has embodied our unutterable feelings, or divulged what we have
never dared.
_Wit in Season_.--The jest of an ex-minister is as flavourless as a
mummy; as unintelligible as its hieroglyphical epitaph. Three days after
his fall, his wit, under the sponge of oblivion, has grown as much a
mystery as the name of him who built the pyramid, or the taste of Lot's
wife.
_Read my book_.--When Hobbes was at any time at a loss for arguments
to defend his unsocial principles, _vivâ voce_, he always used to
say--"I have published my opinions; consult my works; and, if I am wrong,
confute me publicly." To most persons this mode of confutation was by far
too operose; but they might have confoundedly puzzled the philosopher in
verbal disputation.
_In "Vino Veritas."_--Horace with commendation of kings--
--who never chose a friend
Till with full bowls they had unmasked his soul,
And seen the bottom of his deepest thoughts.
But much dependence cannot be placed upon what is wrung out of a man under
the influence of wine, which does not so much unveil as it disarranges our
ideas; and, therefore, whoever contemplates the character from the
combination of ideas produced by intoxication, views man in a false light.
Violent anger has nearly the same effect as wine.
_Cupid_--was painted blind by the ancients, to signify that the
affections prevent the sight, not so much from perceiving outward as
inward defects.
_Character_.--Whoever would study the characters of those with whom
he lives or converses, must keep up the appearance of a kind of
recklessness and frivolity, for the mind closes itself up like the
hedgehog, at the least sensible touch of observation, and will not be
afterwards drawn out. Men have been known in the middle of a discovery of
their character, to be stopped short by a look, which brought them to
themselves, and traced before them in an instant the danger of their
position and the methods of escape. A keen observer, indeed, may always
adjust the temperature of his discourse by the faces of his auditors,
which are saddened or brightened, like the face of the sea in April, as
more or less of the sunshine of rhetoric breaks forth upon them.
_Greatness_.--What renders it difficult for ordinary minds to
discover a great man before he has, like a tree, put forth his blossoms,
is the manner, various and dissimilar, in which such persons evolve their
powers. For as in nature the finest days are sometimes in the morning
overclouded and dark, so the developement of genius follows no rule, but
is hastened or retarded by position and circumstance. But to a keen eye
there always appear, even in the first obscurity of extraordinary men,
certain internal commotions and throes, denoting some _magna vis
animi_ at work within.
_Physiognomy_.--When Atticus advised Cicero to keep strict watch over
his face, in his first interview with Cæsar after the civil wars, he could
not mean that he might thereby conceal his _character_ from Cæsar,
who knew well enough what that was; but he meant, that by such precaution
he might conceal from the tyrant his actual hatred and disgust for his
person. Yet for the character and secret nature of a man, _fronti nulli
fides_.
_Writing_.--It was Addison, we believe, who observed of the
schoolmen, that they had not genius enough to write a small book, and
therefore took refuge in folios of the largest magnitude. We are getting
as fast as possible into the predicament of the schoolmen. No one knows
when he has written enough; but, like a player at chess, still goes on
with the self-same ideas, merely altering their position. This must arise
from early habits and prejudices, from having been taught to regard with
veneration vast collections of common-places, under the titles of this or
that man's _works_. Tacitus may be carried about in one's pocket,
while it will very shortly require a wagon to remove Sir Walter Scott's
labours from place to place. Voltaire's _facility_ was his greatest
fault; better he had elaborated his periods, like Rousseau; who,
notwithstanding, wrote too much. The latter, however, of all modern
writers, best knew the value of his own mind. His prime of life was passed
in vicissitude and study. He did not set himself about writing books for
mankind, until he knew what they possessed and what they wanted. It was
his opinion that a writer who would do any good should stand upon the
pinnacle of his age, and from thence look into the future.
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