The Dinner
The sun was now terminating his diurnal course, and the lights were
glittering on the festal board. When the ladies had retired, and the
Burgundy had taken two or three tours of the table, the following
conversation took place:--
_Squire Headlong._
Push about the bottle: Mr Escot, it stands with you. No heeltaps. As
to skylight, liberty-hall.
_Mr Mac Laurel._
Really, Squire Headlong, this is the vara nectar itsel. Ye hae
saretainly discovered the tarrestrial paradise, but it flows wi' a
better leecor than milk an' honey.
_The Reverend Doctor Gaster._
Hem! Mr Mac Laurel! there is a degree of profaneness in that
observation, which I should not have looked for in so staunch a
supporter of church and state. Milk and honey was the pure food of the
antediluvian patriarchs, who knew not the use of the grape, happily
for them.--(_Tossing off a bumper of Burgundy._)
_Mr Escot._
Happy, indeed! The first inhabitants of the world knew not the use
either of wine or animal food; it is, therefore, by no means
incredible that they lived to the age of several centuries, free from
war, and commerce, and arbitrary government, and every other species
of desolating wickedness. But man was then a very different animal to
what he now is: he had not the faculty of speech; he was not
encumbered with clothes; he lived in the open air; his first step out
of which, as Hamlet truly observes, is _into his grave_[5.1]. His
first dwellings, of course, were the hollows of trees and rocks. In
process of time he began to build: thence grew villages; thence grew
cities. Luxury, oppression, poverty, misery, and disease kept pace
with the progress of his pretended improvements, till, from a free,
strong, healthy, peaceful animal, he has become a weak, distempered,
cruel, carnivorous slave.
_The Reverend Doctor Gaster._
Your doctrine is orthodox, in so far as you assert that the original
man was not encumbered with clothes, and that he lived in the open
air; but, as to the faculty of speech, that, it is certain, he had,
for the authority of Moses----
_Mr Escot._
Of course, sir, I do not presume to dissent from the very exalted
authority of that most enlightened astronomer and profound
cosmogonist, who had, moreover, the advantage of being inspired; but
when I indulge myself with a ramble in the fields of speculation, and
attempt to deduce what is probable and rational from the sources of
analysis, experience, and comparison, I confess I am too often apt to
lose sight of the doctrines of that great fountain of theological and
geological philosophy.
_Squire Headlong._
Push about the bottle.
_Mr Foster._
Do you suppose the mere animal life of a wild man, living on acorns,
and sleeping on the ground, comparable in felicity to that of a
Newton, ranging through unlimited space, and penetrating into the
arcana of universal motion--to that of a Locke, unravelling the
labyrinth of mind--to that of a Lavoisier, detecting the minutest
combinations of matter, and reducing all nature to its elements--to
that of a Shakespeare, piercing and developing the springs of
passion--or of a Milton, identifying himself, as it were, with the
beings of an invisible world?
_Mr Escot._
You suppose extreme cases: but, on the score of happiness, what
comparison can you make between the tranquil being of the wild man of
the woods and the wretched and turbulent existence of Milton, the
victim of persecution, poverty, blindness, and neglect? The records of
literature demonstrate that Happiness and Intelligence are seldom
sisters. Even if it were otherwise, it would prove nothing. The many
are always sacrificed to the few. Where one man advances, hundreds
retrograde; and the balance is always in favour of universal
deterioration.
_Mr Foster._
Virtue is independent of external circumstances. The exalted
understanding looks into the truth of things, and, in its own peaceful
contemplations, rises superior to the world. No philosopher would
resign his mental acquisitions for the purchase of any terrestrial
good.
_Mr Escot._
In other words, no man whatever would resign his identity, which is
nothing more than the consciousness of his perceptions, as the price
of any acquisition. But every man, without exception, would willingly
effect a very material change in his relative situation to other
individuals. Unluckily for the rest of your argument, the
understanding of literary people is for the most part _exalted_, as
you express it, not so much by the love of truth and virtue, as by
arrogance and self-sufficiency; and there is, perhaps, less
disinterestedness, less liberality, less general benevolence, and more
envy, hatred, and uncharitableness among them, than among any other
description of men.
(_The eye of Mr Escot, as he pronounced these words, rested very
innocently and unintentionally on Mr Gall._)
_Mr Gall._
You allude, sir, I presume, to my review.
_Mr Escot._
Pardon me, sir. You will be convinced it is impossible I can allude to
your review, when I assure you that I have never read a single page of
it.
_Mr Gall, Mr Treacle, Mr Nightshade, and Mr Mac Laurel._
Never read our review! ! ! !
_Mr Escot._
Never. I look on periodical criticism in general to be a species of
shop, where panegyric and defamation are sold, wholesale, retail, and
for exportation. I am not inclined to be a purchaser of these
commodities, or to encourage a trade which I consider pregnant with
mischief.
_Mr Mac Laurel._
I can readily conceive, sir, ye wou'd na wullingly encoorage ony
dealer in panegeeric: but, frae the manner in which ye speak o' the
first creetics an' scholars o' the age, I shou'd think ye wou'd hae a
leetle mair predilaction for deefamation.
_Mr Escot._
I have no predilection, sir, for defamation. I make a point of
speaking the truth on all occasions; and it seldom happens that the
truth can be spoken without some stricken deer pronouncing it a libel.
_Mr Nightshade._
You are perhaps, sir, an enemy to literature in general?
_Mr Escot._
If I were, sir, I should be a better friend to periodical critics.
_Squire Headlong._
Buz!
_Mr Treacle._
May I simply take the liberty to inquire into the basis of your
objection?
_Mr Escot._
I conceive that periodical criticism disseminates superficial
knowledge, and its perpetual adjunct, vanity; that it checks in the
youthful mind the habit of thinking for itself; that it delivers
partial opinions, and thereby misleads the judgment; that it is never
conducted with a view to the general interests of literature, but to
serve the interested ends of individuals, and the miserable purposes
of party.
_Mr Mac Laurel._
Ye ken, sir, a mon mun leeve.
_Mr Escot._
While he can live honourably, naturally, justly, certainly: no longer.
_Mr Mac Laurel._
Every mon, sir, leeves according to his ain notions of honour an'
justice: there is a wee defference amang the learned wi' respact to
the defineetion o' the terms.
_Mr Escot._
I believe it is generally admitted that one of the ingredients of
justice is disinterestedness.
_Mr Mac Laurel._
It is na admetted, sir, amang the pheelosophers of Edinbroo', that
there is ony sic thing as desenterestedness in the warld, or that a
mon can care for onything sae much as his ain sel: for ye mun observe,
sir, every mon has his ain parteecular feelings of what is gude, an'
beautifu', an' consentaneous to his ain indiveedual nature, an'
desires to see every thing aboot him in that parteecular state which
is maist conformable to his ain notions o' the moral an' poleetical
fetness o' things. Twa men, sir, shall purchase a piece o' grund
atween 'em, and ae mon shall cover his half wi' a park----
_Mr Milestone._
Beautifully laid out in lawns and clumps, with a belt of trees at the
circumference, and an artificial lake in the centre.
_Mr Mac Laurel._
Exactly, sir: an' shall keep it a' for his ain sel: an' the other mon
shall divide his half into leetle farms of twa or three acres----
_Mr Escot._
Like those of the Roman republic, and build a cottage on each of them,
and cover his land with a simple, innocent, and smiling population,
who shall owe, not only their happiness, but their existence, to his
benevolence.
_Mr Mac Laurel._
Exactly, sir: an' ye will ca' the first mon selfish, an' the second
desenterested; but the pheelosophical truth is semply this, that the
ane is pleased wi' looking at trees, an' the other wi' seeing people
happy an' comfortable. It is aunly a matter of indiveedual feeling. A
paisant saves a mon's life for the same reason that a hero or a
footpad cuts his thrapple: an' a pheelosopher delevers a mon frae a
preson, for the same reason that a tailor or a prime meenester puts
him into it: because it is conformable to his ain parteecular feelings
o' the moral an' poleetical fetness o' things.
_Squire Headlong._
Wake the Reverend Doctor. Doctor, the bottle stands with you.
_The Reverend Doctor Gaster._
It is an error of which I am seldom guilty.
_Mr Mac Laurel._
Noo, ye ken, sir, every mon is the centre of his ain system, an'
endaivours as much as possible to adapt every thing aroond him to his
ain parteecular views.
_Mr Escot._
Thus, sir, I presume, it suits the particular views of a poet, at one
time to take the part of the people against their oppressors, and at
another, to take the part of the oppressors, against the people.
_Mr Mac Laurel._
Ye mun alloo, sir, that poetry is a sort of ware or commodity, that is
brought into the public market wi' a' other descreptions of
merchandise, an' that a mon is pairfectly justified in getting the
best price he can for his article. Noo, there are three reasons for
taking the part o' the people; the first is, when general leeberty an'
public happiness are conformable to your ain parteecular feelings o'
the moral an' poleetical fetness o' things: the second is, when they
happen to be, as it were, in a state of exceetabeelity, an' ye think
ye can get a gude price for your commodity, by flingin' in a leetle
seasoning o' pheelanthropy an' republican speerit; the third is, when
ye think ye can bully the menestry into gieing ye a place or a pansion
to hau'd your din, an' in that case, ye point an attack against them
within the pale o' the law; an' if they tak nae heed o' ye, ye open a
stronger fire; an' the less heed they tak, the mair ye bawl; an' the
mair factious ye grow, always within the pale o' the law, till they
send a plenipotentiary to treat wi' ye for yoursel, an' then the mair
popular ye happen to be, the better price ye fetch.
_Squire Headlong._
Off with your heeltaps.
_Mr Cranium._
I perfectly agree with Mr Mac Laurel in his definition of self-love
and disinterestedness: every man's actions are determined by his
peculiar views, and those views are determined by the organisation of
his skull. A man in whom the organ of benevolence is not developed,
cannot be benevolent: he in whom it is so, cannot be otherwise. The
organ of self-love is prodigiously developed in the greater number of
subjects that have fallen under my observation.
_Mr Escot._
Much less I presume, among savage than civilised men, who, _constant
only to the love of self, and consistent only in their aim to deceive,
are always actuated by the hope of personal advantage, or by the dread
of personal punishment_[5.2].
_Mr Cranium._
Very probably.
_Mr Escot._
You have, of course, found very copious specimens of the organs of
hypocrisy, destruction, and avarice.
_Mr Cranium._
Secretiveness, destructiveness, and covetiveness. You may add, if you
please, that of constructiveness.
_Mr Escot._
Meaning, I presume, the organ of building; which I contend to be not a
natural organ of the _featherless biped_.
_Mr Cranium._
Pardon me: it is here.--(_As he said these words, he produced a skull
from his pocket, and placed it on the table to the great surprise of
the company._)--This was the skull of Sir Christopher Wren. You
observe this protuberance--(_The skull was handed round the table._)
_Mr Escot._
I contend that the original unsophisticated man was by no means
constructive. He lived in the open air, under a tree.
_The Reverend Doctor Gaster._
The tree of life. Unquestionably. Till he had tasted the forbidden
fruit.
_Mr Jenkison._
At which period, probably, the organ of constructiveness was added to
his anatomy, as a punishment for his transgression.
_Mr Escot._
There could not have been a more severe one, since the propensity
which has led him to building cities has proved the greatest curse of
his existence.
_Squire Headlong._
(_taking the skull._) _Memento mori._ Come, a bumper of Burgundy.
_Mr Nightshade._
A very classical application, Squire Headlong. The Romans were in the
practice of adhibiting skulls at their banquets, and sometimes little
skeletons of silver, as a silent admonition to the guests to enjoy
life while it lasted.
_The Reverend Doctor Gaster._
Sound doctrine, Mr Nightshade.
_Mr Escot._
I question its soundness. The use of vinous spirit has a tremendous
influence in the deterioration of the human race.
_Mr Foster._
I fear, indeed, it operates as a considerable check to the progress of
the species towards moral and intellectual perfection. Yet many great
men have been of opinion that it exalts the imagination, fires the
genius, accelerates the flow of ideas, and imparts to dispositions
naturally cold and deliberative that enthusiastic sublimation which is
the source of greatness and energy.
_Mr Nightshade._
_Laudibus arguitur vini vinosus Homerus._[5.3]
_Mr Jenkison._
I conceive the use of wine to be always pernicious in excess, but
often useful in moderation: it certainly kills some, but it saves the
lives of others: I find that an occasional glass, taken with judgment
and caution, has a very salutary effect in maintaining that
equilibrium of the system, which it is always my aim to preserve; and
this calm and temperate use of wine was, no doubt, what Homer meant to
inculcate, when he said: _Par de depas oinoio, piein hote thumos
anogoi._[5.4]
_Squire Headlong._
Good. Pass the bottle. (_Un morne silence_). Sir Christopher does not
seem to have raised our spirits. Chromatic, favour us with a specimen
of your vocal powers. Something in point.
Mr Chromatic, without further preface, immediately struck up the
following
SONG
In his last binn Sir Peter lies,
Who knew not what it was to frown:
Death took him mellow, by surprise,
And in his cellar stopped him down.
Through all our land we could not boast
A knight more gay, more prompt than he,
To rise and fill a bumper toast,
And pass it round with THREE TIMES THREE.
None better knew the feast to sway,
Or keep Mirth's boat in better trim;
For Nature had but little clay
Like that of which she moulded him.
The meanest guest that graced his board
Was there the freest of the free,
His bumper toast when Peter poured,
And passed it round with THREE TIMES THREE.
He kept at true good humour's mark
The social flow of pleasure's tide:
He never made a brow look dark,
Nor caused a tear, but when he died.
No sorrow round his tomb should dwell:
More pleased his gay old ghost would be,
For funeral song, and passing bell,
To hear no sound but THREE TIMES THREE.
(_Hammering of knuckles and glasses and shouts of bravo!_)
_Mr Panscope._
(_Suddenly emerging from a deep reverie._) I have heard, with the most
profound attention, every thing which the gentleman on the other side
of the table has thought proper to advance on the subject of human
deterioration; and I must take the liberty to remark, that it augurs a
very considerable degree of presumption in any individual, to set
himself up against the _authority_ of so many great men, as may be
marshalled in metaphysical phalanx under the opposite banners of the
controversy; such as Aristotle, Plato, the scholiast on Aristophanes,
St Chrysostom, St Jerome, St Athanasius, Orpheus, Pindar, Simonides,
Gronovius, Hemsterhusius, Longinus, Sir Isaac Newton, Thomas Paine,
Doctor Paley, the King of Prussia, the King of Poland, Cicero,
Monsieur Gautier, Hippocrates, Machiavelli, Milton, Colley Cibber,
Bojardo, Gregory Nazianzenus, Locke, D'Alembert, Boccaccio, Daniel
Defoe, Erasmus, Doctor Smollett, Zimmermann, Solomon, Confucius,
Zoroaster, and Thomas-a-Kempis.
_Mr Escot._
I presume, sir, you are one of those who value an _authority_ more
than a reason.
_Mr Panscope._
The _authority_, sir, of all these great men, whose works, as well as
the whole of the Encyclopaedia Britannica, the entire series of the
Monthly Review, the complete set of the Variorum Classics, and the
Memoirs of the Academy of Inscriptions, I have read through from
beginning to end, deposes, with irrefragable refutation, against your
ratiocinative speculations, wherein you seem desirous, by the futile
process of analytical dialectics, to subvert the pyramidal structure
of synthetically deduced opinions, which have withstood the secular
revolutions of physiological disquisition, and which I maintain to be
transcendentally self-evident, categorically certain, and
syllogistically demonstrable.
_Squire Headlong._
Bravo! Pass the bottle. The very best speech that ever was made.
_Mr Escot._
It has only the slight disadvantage of being unintelligible.
_Mr Panscope._
I am not obliged, sir, as Dr Johnson observed on a similar occasion,
to furnish you with an understanding.
_Mr Escot._
I fear, sir, you would have some difficulty in furnishing me with such
an article from your own stock.
_Mr Panscope._
'Sdeath, sir, do you question my understanding?
_Mr Escot._
I only question, sir, where I expect a reply; which, from things that
have no existence, I am not visionary enough to anticipate.
_Mr Panscope._
I beg leave to observe, sir, that my language was perfectly
perspicuous, and etymologically correct; and, I conceive, I have
demonstrated what I shall now take the liberty to say in plain terms,
that all your opinions are extremely absurd.
_Mr Escot._
I should be sorry, sir, to advance any opinion that you would not
think absurd.
_Mr Panscope._
Death and fury, sir----
_Mr Escot._
Say no more, sir. That apology is quite sufficient.
_Mr Panscope._
Apology, sir?
_Mr Escot._
Even so, sir. You have lost your temper, which I consider equivalent
to a confession that you have the worst of the argument.
_Mr Panscope._
Lightning and devils! sir----
_Squire Headlong._
No civil war!--Temperance, in the name of Bacchus!--A glee! a glee!
_Music has charms to bend the knotted oak._ Sir Patrick, you'll join?
_Sir Patrick O'Prism._
Troth, with all my heart; for, by my soul, I'm bothered completely.
_Squire Headlong._
Agreed, then; you, and I, and Chromatic. Bumpers! Come, strike up.
Squire Headlong, Mr Chromatic, and Sir Patrick O'Prism, each holding a
bumper, immediately vociferated the following
GLEE
A heeltap! a heeltap! I never could bear it!
So fill me a bumper, a bumper of claret!
Let the bottle pass freely, don't shirk it nor spare it,
For a heeltap! a heeltap! I never could bear it!
No skylight! no twilight! while Bacchus rules o'er us:
No thinking! no shrinking! all drinking in chorus:
Let us moisten our clay, since 'tis thirsty and porous:
No thinking! no shrinking! all drinking in chorus!
GRAND CHORUS
_By Squire Headlong, Mr Chromatic, Sir Patrick O'Prism, Mr
Panscope, Mr Jenkison, Mr Gall, Mr Treacle, Mr Nightshade, Mr Mac
Laurel, Mr Cranium, Mr Milestone, and the Reverend Dr Gaster._
A heeltap! a heeltap! I never could bear it!
So fill me a bumper, a bumper of claret!
Let the bottle pass freely, don't shirk it nor spare it,
For a heeltap! a heeltap! I never could bear it!
'OMADOS KAI DOUPOS OROREI'
The little butler now waddled in with a summons from the ladies to tea
and coffee. The squire was unwilling to leave his Burgundy. Mr Escot
strenuously urged the necessity of immediate adjournment, observing,
that the longer they continued drinking the worse they should be. Mr
Foster seconded the motion, declaring the transition from the bottle
to female society to be an indisputable amelioration of the state of
the sensitive man. Mr Jenkison allowed the squire and his two brother
philosophers to settle the point between them, concluding that he was
just as well in one place as another. The question of adjournment was
then put, and carried by a large majority.