Goodness of temper may be defined, to use the happy imagery of Gray,
"as the sunshine of the heart." It is a more valuable bosom-attendant
under the pressure of poverty and adversity, and when we are
approaching the confines of infirmity and old age, than when we are
revelling in the full tide of plenty, amid the exuberant strength and
freshness of youth. Lord Bacon, who has analyzed some of the human
accompaniments so well, is silent as to the softening sway and
pleasing influence of this choice attuner of the human mind. But
Shaftesbury, the illustrious author of the _Characteristics_, was so
enamoured of it, that he terms "gravity (its counterpart,) the essence
of imposture;" and so it is, for to what purpose does a man store his
brain with knowledge, and the profitable burden of the sciences, if he
gathers only superciliousness and pride from the hedge of learning?
instead of the milder traits of general affection, and the open
qualities of social feelings. I remember, when a youth, I was
extremely fond of attending the House of Commons, to hear the debates;
and I shall never forget the repulsive loftiness which I thought
marked the physiognomy of Pitt; harsh and unbending, like a settled
frost, he seemed wrapped in the mantle of egotism and sublunary
conceit; and it was from the uninviting expression of this great man's
countenance, that I first drew my conceptions as to how a proud and
unsociable man looked. With very different emotions I was wont to
survey the mild but expressive features of his great opponent, Fox:
there was a placidity mixed up with the graver lines of thought and
reflection, that would have invited a child to take him by the hand;
indeed, the witchcraft of Mr. Fox's temper was such, that it formed a
triumphant source of gratulation in the circle of his friends, from
the panegyric of the late Earl of Carlisle, during his boyish days at
Eton, to the prouder posthumous circles of fame with which the elegant
author of _The Pleasures of Memory_, has entwined his sympathetic
recollections. The late Mr. Whitbread, although an unflinching
advocate for the people's rights, and an incorruptible patriot in
the true sense of the word, was unpopular in his office as a country
magistrate, owing to a tone of severity he generally used to those
around him. The wife of that indefatigable toiler in the Christian
field, John Wesley, was so acid and acrimonious in her temper, that
that mild advocate for spiritual affection, found it impossible to
live with her. Rousseau was tormented by such a host of ungovernable
passions, that he became a burden to himself and to every one around
him. Lord Byron suffered a badness of temper to corrode him in the
flower of his days. Contrasted with this unpleasing part of the
perspective, let us quote the names of a few wise and good men, who
have been proverbial for the goodness of their tempers; as Shakspeare,
Francis I., and Henry IV. of France; "the great and good Lord
Lyttleton," as he is called to the present day; John Howard,
Goldsmith, Sir Samuel Romilly, Franklin, Thomson, the poet,
Sheridan,[2] and Sir Walter Scott. The late Sir William Curtis was
known to be one of the best tempered men of his day, which made him a
great favourite with the late king. I remember a little incident of
Sir William's good-nature, which occurred about a year after he had
been Lord Mayor. In alighting from his carriage, a little out of the
regular line, near the Mansion House, upon some day of festivity, he
happened inadvertently, with the skirts of his coat, to brush down a
few apples from a poor woman's stall, on the side of the pavement. Sir
William was in full dress, but instead of passing on with the hauteur
which characterizes so many of his aldermanic brethren, he set himself
to the task of assisting the poor creature to collect her scattered
fruit; and on parting, observing some of her apples were a little
soiled by the dirt, he drew his hand from his pocket and generously
gave her a shilling. This was too good an incident for John Bull to
lose: a crowd assembled, hurraed, and cried out, "Well done, Billy,"
at which the good-natured baronet looked back and laughed. How much
more pleasing is it to tell of such demeanour than of the foolish
pride of the late Sir John Eamer, who turned away one of his
travellers merely because he had in one instance used his bootjack.
[2] May we not, however, say the friendless Sheridan?
_The Author of "A Tradesman's Lays."_
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Probably our correspondent may recollect Sir William and the orange,
at one of the contested City elections. A "greasy rogue" before the
hustings, seeing the baronet candidate take an orange from his pocket,
_put up_ for the fruit, with the cry "Give us that orange, Billy." Sir
William threw him the fruit, which the fellow had no sooner sucked
dry, than he began bawling with increased energy, "No Curtis," "No
Billy," etc. Such an ungrateful act would have soured even Seneca; but
Sir William merely gave a smile, with a good-natured shake of the
head. Sir William Curtis possessed a much greater share of shrewdness
and good sense than the vulgar ever gave him credit for. At the
Sessions' dinners, he would keep up the ball of conversation with the
judges and gentlemen of the bar, in a fuller vein than either of his
brother aldermen. It is true that he had wealth and distinction,
all which his fellow citizens at table did not enjoy; and these
possessions, we know, are wonderful helps to confidence, if they do
not lead the holder on to assurance.--Ed. M.
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