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.
_Bevis._ O miserable age! Virtue is not regarded in handicraftsmen.
_Holland._ The nobility think scorn to go in leather aprons.
_Bevis._ Nay more, the King’s council are no good workmen.
_Holland._ True, and yet it is said--labour in thy vocation; which is
as much as to say, let the magistrates be labouring men, _and therefore
should_ WE _be magistrates_.”
We may observe a vast similarity of policy between John Cade himself
and Tom Paine. Says Paine, “Down with your lords and commons, and
kings and bishops, destroy them all: pull down your universities, and
cathedrals, and corporations; down, down with them all!” Cade had long
before anticipated the same exhortations. “Go, (says he,) and set
London-bridge on fire; and, if you can, burn down the tower too.--Go,
some, and pull down the Savoy; others to the Inns of Court; down with
them all.--Burn all the records of the realms; _my mouth shall be
the Parliament of England, and hence-forward all things shall be in
common_.”
The arguments of Tom Paine were totally inapplicable, not only to
this, but to any existing society. The proposed experiment could not
be tried but among savages; and among them equality could not long
be preserved. The strong, the courageous, active, and enterprising,
would have the means of subsistence, accommodation, and security, in a
greater degree, than the feeble, the timid, the inert, and indolent.
This absurdity easily escaped detection by the class of readers among
whom the work was most studiously circulated. When John Cade proposed
that the conduit should run with claret for the first year after his
subversion of the existing government, John Holland and George Bevis
were not struck with the impossibility of the proposal being put in
execution, but delighted with the idea that they might now drink
wine, and be as great as lords. “Be brave then,” says Cade, “for your
captain is brave, and vows REFORMATION. There shall be, in England,
seven halfpenny loaves sold for a penny; the three-hoop’d pot shall
have two hoops; and I will make it felony to drink small-beer! All
the realm shall be in common, and in Cheapside shall my palfrey go to
grass. And when I am king, as king I will be--(_All._ God save your
majesty!)--there shall be no money; ALL shall eat and drink on my
score; and I will apparel them ALL in one livery, that they may agree
like brothers, and worship me their lord.” Cade’s admirers were, no
doubt, delighted at the thought of having meat, drink, and raiment,
at free cost, and in their joy forgot to enquire how Cade was to have
means of so extensive beneficence. As Paine, as well as Cade, _vowed
reformation_, every one’s fancy framed reforms in what particularly
concerned himself: the journeyman shoe-maker found that hitherto his
wages were in proportion to his work; through Tom Paine he expected
great wages with very small work. The amateurs of gin and whisky
expected, that through Tom Paine the revenue would be abolished, and
they would have their favourite beverage at less cost. The division
of property, too, many of them expected would not only lessen their
work, and increase their favourite enjoyments, but enable them to live
and revel without working at all. In short, weakness, and ignorance of
understanding, vanity, pride, love of idleness, and luxury, and the
hope of plunder, concurred with the active and incessant endeavours of
democratic underlings, in rendering so extravagant, impudent, absurd,
and mischievous, a publication palatable among numbers of the lower
ranks. Discontent, malignant hatred of a government in which they
themselves were not promoted according to their fancied merits, made
others encourage the writings and principles of Paine, however much
they might have despised his illiterature and sophistry. But not the
ignorant only, writers of respectable talents and erudition declared
the ravings and vagaries of Paine to be the invincible energy of truth
and sense, to combine history and philosophy. Such especially was the
opinion of the Analytical reviewers, who had great influence among
numerous classes of British subjects; and the following contrast
between Burke and Paine exhibits the prominent features of the
sentiments and opinions which in the last ten years of the eighteenth
century had such a powerful effect on the literature of our country.
“Each of them interests our feelings, but in a different manner;
elegant and declamatory, Mr. Burke seduces us along by the charms of
his eloquence: plain, but forcible, Mr. Paine carries us away with him
by the invincible energy of truth and sense. Fanciful and excursive,
Mr. Burke delights the imagination by the beauty of his metaphors, and
the splendour of his ornaments; while his opponent holds our judgment
captive by the native vigour of his arguments, the originality of
his sentiments, and the pointedness of his remarks. Mr. Burke is the
polished and playful courtier, who dances in his chains; Mr. Paine is
the stern republican, who exults in his liberty, and treats with equal
freedom the monarch and the peasant. In a word, without subscribing
implicitly to every principle which our author advances, we cannot
in justice withhold this testimony to the work before us, that it
is one of the most curious, original, and interesting publications,
which the singular vicissitudes of modern politics have produced.
Independent of its value as a polemical work, it is truly excellent
and useful in an historical view. In it the springs and sources of the
French revolution are traced with the acuteness and perspicacity of
a Tacitus; his information bears its authority upon the face of it,
and almost convinces by the weight of its internal evidence.” Such
notions disseminated among great numbers that were totally incapable
of judging, produced very general impression. “Nobility, (it was
said,) is an institution that could only be reconciled to a state of
barbarism. It is a distinction equally impolitic and immoral, worthy
of the times of ignorance and of rapine, which gave it birth; is a
violation of the rights of that part of the nation that is deprived of
it; and as equality becomes a _stimulus_ towards distinction, so on the
other hand this is the radical vice of a goverment, and the source of
a variety of evils. It is impossible that there should be any uncommon
instances of virtue in a state, when recompences belong exclusively
to a certain class of society, and when it costs them no more to
obtain these, than the _trouble of being born_. Amongst this list
of privileged persons, virtues, talents, and genius, must of course
be much less frequent than in the other classes, since without the
possession of any of these qualities, they who belong to it are still
honoured and rewarded. Those who profit by this absurd subversion of
principles, and those who lose by this unjust distribution of favours,
which seem to have grown into a right, cannot have any other than
false, immoral, and pernicious ideas concerning _merit_. The clergy are
a body which subsist by deception. The establishment of a predominant
church is prejudicial to the peace and welfare of a country. Whoever
has any knowledge of the human heart; whoever is convinced of the right
every man has to think for himself, though there are many who renounce
it; whoever has remarked the impression which a superstitious education
makes upon mankind, how it weakens the understanding, fosters holy
pride, and pious hatred; whoever attends to the great abuse, which many
of those who call themselves ministers of the true church, frequently
make of exclusive privileges, which the law confers upon them, will
readily acknowledge, that it would be much better for the community, if
every man were permitted, without interruption or controul, to follow
the dictates of his own fancy, whatever these might be. The church
wants reform, and they never will be brought to reform themselves,
therefore the surest care for their defects is their subversion as a
separate order. The destruction of the clergy is one necessary means
for the perfection of society.--Monarchy is a most absurd institution,
it is quite inconsistent with that equality that is both the right and
the perfection of human nature. Why should any one man be superior
to another?” Is it not very hard that one man should be six feet two
inches high, with broad shoulders, and muscular limbs, when another
is only five feet, with narrow shoulders, and puny limbs? It may
be answered, God and nature have ordered it so, and have made great
inequalities in all their works; but it is the business of philosophers
to correct God and nature; and effectually to prevent civil and
political inequalities, let there be none in nature. Buffon informs us,
that five feet seven is the average height of adult Europeans: then
get the bed of Procrustes, so only can you equalize stature; and the
experiment would not be more impracticable than an attempt to equalize
talents for government.
But a noted argument in favour of the destruction of established
governments was, that complete democracy would be much cheaper than
any mixed government which contained a portion of monarchy. If the
chief perfection of society were cheapness, by living in hovels,
feeding on roots, drinking water, the house and window tax might be
saved, also the land and malt tax, and both ordinary and extraordinary
imposts upon port-wine; but habit and civilization have produced a
liking for accommodations that may be not absolutely necessary. In
civil society we do not estimate smallness of cost as a supreme good,
the same holds in political establishments. Institutions are not good
merely for being low priced, their goodness depends upon the aggregate
of secure and permanent benefit, which they admit. The great proof of
the benefit of revolution as an expedient of economy, was the savings
that the new order of things had produced from France. “In consequence
of the revolution,” said the prophets of economy, “the people will
have much less to pay, and republican France, for cheapness, is a
model for the imitation of other countries. For all these reasons the
nobility, hierarchy, and monarchy, ought to be entirely destroyed. But
such subversion is only a partial establishment of equality; every
species of separate right implies inequality, and therefore ought
to be abolished. All things should be in common; the destruction of
kings, lords, and bishops, is only a means leading to division of
property, and unrestrained gratification of passions, as the great
end:” But as in Britain there was a very strong attachment to the
establishments of the country, of which the aggregate result was by
experience demonstrated to be supremely beneficial by the votaries of
revolution, the first and grand object to be compassed was, to render
the people desirous of change; while therefore the more profound and
designing sought to effect subversion of establishments, in order to
erect new fabrics, that might be subject to their own command, they
found most active instruments in enthusiastic partisans of indefinite
innovation, and especially in literary associates, who readily joined
in supporting theories which appeared to them well fitted to extend
the sway of intellectual powers, and to attach power and pre-eminence
to that species of talents which they conceived themselves to possess.
Proceeding on the simple principle, that good was constituted by
alteration, various writers, including some of considerable ingenuity,
chiefly directed their attention to change, that is all the change
which their literature could effect. Ingenuity, decorated nonsense and
absurdity, the fine spun theories of Joel and Anne, Croft and German
literature, powerfully contributed to the deviation of very inferior
writers, from common sense and experience. In the literary, as in
other classes, a very great number judged and acted not from original
conviction and determination, but from example; and many were merely
driven round in Tom Paine’s political mill, without any comprehension
of the tendency and effects of the labours in which they were employed.
They declaimed against the usurpation of establishments, merely because
others did so before them. These pretended investigators of human
right, and explainers of human happiness, considered the Rights of Man,
merely because the consideration was fashionable; and if the doctrines
of the Pope’s supremacy had been in vogue, would have been the ardent
partizans of a Guise, a Lorrain, and an Alva, and would have praised
the massacres of August 24th, 1572, as readily as of August 10th,
1792. In literature, indeed, aristocracy is very prevalent; there
are chieftains, and there are numerous tribes of retainers, whose
intellectual nourishment is derived from some lord paramount. At this
time, Voltaire, Rousseau, and Priestley, were the liege lords of many
literary vassals, while Paine and others acted as the trumpeters to
collect the powers, and summon them to the charge. The vassals did not
enquire into the justice of the cause, they deemed it their chief glory
to swell the muster-roll of their commanding officer. Hence there was
such a number of combatants on the side of the innovating champions.
The leaders of subversion attacked the bulwarks and defenders of
our political fortress, because they wished to lay it prostrate;
the followers, because their commanders prompted and encouraged
their efforts. Helvetius, or Price, fought for victory, their humble
coadjutors for Helvetius, or for Price--_Principes pro victoria
pugnant; comites pro principe_. In the same way it was in the reign of
Anne, and George I. some eminent writers took to poetry and criticism,
and many scores took to poetry and criticism after them, and humbly
tried to ape their betters, as waiting-maids and milliners, footmen or
hair dressers, endeavouring to imitate the deportment of ladies or of
gentlemen, and would have you suppose them to be persons of fashion.
Lord Bacon has observed, that as people that have no substance of their
own, and are unable or unwilling to labour, must either beg or steal
from somebody else, so must those who undertake to deliver judgment,
or write books without a knowledge of the subject; and if persons do
steal, they will certainly try to lay their hands on the goods that
may be most readily disposed of among the receivers of their stolen
commodities. Tom Paine stole many of his materials from the French
writers, and some from their able co-operators in England; but Tom was
really so dexterous a manufacturer, that he made his political pieces
have the appearance of originals. But most of his successors merely
copied and repeated his sayings. Whitfield hitting the temper of the
times, framed a new theory of religion, which found many votaries:
Whitfield had genius, but a hundred speakers and writers retailed his
commodities from tabernacles, joint-stools, cart-sheds, or written
sermons, pamphlets, or exhortations. So were the new theories of
politics, which originated in misemployed genius, bandied about among
speakers and writers of no genius; and as a transmogrified coal-heaver,
or a vender of quack medicines, might retail from his chapel the
doctrines of Whitfield, and bring in, as a proof of providence, a pair
of breeches instead of a leg of mutton[6]; so a blacksmith could leave
his anvil for his political pulpit, and vend the quack medicines of Tom
Paine.
But though revolutionary politics diffused themselves over great
numbers of the ignorant votaries of literature, they extended to many
others of a very contrary description, and efforts of talents and
erudition were wasted in supporting extravagant paradoxes, pernicious
principles, and wild theories, that could have informed and instructed
mankind by valuable reasonings and inculcations; and our hero had
occasion to see the effect of the Turgot theory of the perfectibility
of man fully exemplified. The English champion of this doctrine was
St. Leon, a writer of very considerable ingenuity, who, with the
œconomique philosophy of the French school, undertook to join some
of the metaphysical tenets of David Hume, as they were interpreted
by St. Leon himself, especially his opinions on the foundations of
morality; and whereas Mr. Hume has asserted, that the qualities and
actions which the mind approves as virtuous, are those which are found
either agreeable or useful to society, St. Leon asserted, that in every
individual action the merit depends on its being performed by the
agent, with a view to the aggregate benefit of all sentient beings,
or, as he phrases it, what is best upon the whole. On this best upon
the whole, together with the perfectibility of man, he constituted a
very singular system that he delivered to the world, in a book which
made a very extensive impression on minds predisposed for boundless
innovation. Our hero was at great pains to make himself master of
a production in which the establishment of the most extravagant
nonsense was the end, for compassing which, acuteness and ingenuity
were the means, and he was at a loss whether most to wonder at the
folly of the propositions which were to be demonstrated, or the skill
and ability of the intermediations; and he could not help thinking
that St. Leon richly deserved to rank with the ancient Pyrrho, with
the modern Hobbes, Spinosa, Mandeville, or any others who misemployed
brilliant talents, in framing absurd or mischievous hypotheses. Powers
which a refined state of society only could have produced, were by St.
Leon exerted in recommending the rudest barbarity and incivilization.
Metaphysical acuteness, and concatenated argumentation, were exercised
in controverting truths, which the grossest stupidity can perceive to
be undeniable, while profound wisdom regards them as the foundation
of society. Polished elegance of composition attempted to effect
the restoration of chaotic ignorance, chaste purity of language
recommended the promiscuous intercourse of the sexes, the calmness of
philosophical disquisition inculcated the destruction of peace and of
order, in the overthrow of property and of law; the ardent pursuer of
the happiness of mankind sought to destroy the tendered endearments
and best affections of the human heart. The votary of benevolence
endeavoured to destroy the sentiments and actions which conduce most
powerfully to the well-being of the human race. Man he asserted to
be perfectible; and professed to stimulate him to the attainment of
that perfection which he affirmed to be in his power; but instead
of affording new motives to intellectual and moral improvement, he
inculcated a system that would have degraded him to the level of
beasts. To complete the downfal of human nature from that reason and
conscience by which it has been distinguished from the brute creation,
he projected to annihilate religion. Lest the fine-spun deductions of
abused logic should be unsuccessful in conveying doctrines so absurd,
and practices so destructive, the powers of fancy are super-added to
render them picturesque and impressive. Subtle sophistry alone could
hardly establish the inutility of criminal justice, but an affecting
fable setting forth the punishment of innocence, and the escape of
guilt, strongly interests the feelings; and the emotions of the heart
are mistaken for the conclusions of the head. A fictitious tale of
an individual case is so skilfully managed, as, to many, to appear
a fair and general exhibition of penal law, and its operation.
Virtuous sensibility is excited against the necessary muniments of
property, and the correctives of crimes. Such was the mis-application
of great literary powers, that sprung from the boundless love of
innovation. Speculative men have often, in theory, supported principles
inconsistent with the common sense of mankind, and the well-being of
society, without reducing their speculations to practice! A reader of
these singular works must have reprobated doctrines that tended, if
admitted, to destroy our respect for marriage, property, promises;
our conviction of the immortality of the soul; the ties of natural
affection, gratitude, friendship; every cement of civil and social
duty; to overturn monarchy, laws, government, and every political
institution. But it might have been supposed that the author merely
advanced paradoxes for the sake of displaying ingenuity; that he
himself was convinced, as much as any other, endowed with reason
must be, of the total incompatibility of such _ravings_ with any
thing that could actually exist. But he followed his speculation by
a practical model, and exhibited as a pattern of perfection a real
character, who, according to his account, systematically deviated
from the chief virtues of her sex. This singular example of female
perfection, whom the writer exhorted her sex throughout the world to
imitate, was a concubine. But of her various qualifications, a few
specimens may serve--First we have her chastity; Miss resorted to
France, and became a kept-mistress; this, according to her panegyrist,
was a species of connection for which _her heart secretly panted_,
and which had the effect of diffusing an immediate tranquillity and
cheerfulness over her manners. The beneficial consequences accruing
to this _exemplary_ lady from _concubinage_ did not always last. Her
keeper forsook her; she followed him to England. Afterwards she lived
on a similar footing with her encomiast himself, who in a few words
exhibits the practical conduct which his lessons inculcated, “We did
not marry. It is difficult to recommend any thing to indiscriminate
adoption, contrary to the established rules and prejudices of mankind;
but certainly nothing can be so ridiculous upon the face of it, or
so contrary to the genuine march of sentiments, as to require the
overflowing of the soul to wait upon a ceremony; and that which,
wherever delicacy and imagination exist, is of all things most sacredly
private, to blow a trumpet before it, and to record the moment when
it arrived at its climax.” When recording her excursion to England,
her orator gives us a sample of her patriotism. “England was a country
for which she expressed a repugnance that almost amounted to horror.”
To her moral and political virtues, he adds the account of her
religious attainments. “She had received few lessons of religion in
her youth, and her religion was almost entirely of her own creation.
She could not recollect the time when she had believed the doctrine
of future punishments.” As she advanced in philosophy, her attendance
on public worship became less and less constant, and was soon wholly
discontinued. Her disregard for the ordinances of piety, drew from her
champion the following reflection:--“I believe it may be admitted as
a maxim, that no person of a well-furnished mind, that has shaken off
the implicit subjection of youth, and is not the zealous partizan of
a sect, can bring himself to conform to the public and regular routine
of sermons and prayers.” Such doctrines and lessons made a very deep
impression on the inferior votaries of literature. The ingenuity of
the author rendered absurdity plausible in his theories, and poison
palatable in his inculcations. The perfectibility of man to be
consummated by a political justice, which should overthrow religion,
government, property, marriage, good faith, patriotism, and all the
relative duties of society, was rung in an infinite number of changes.
The spirit of St. Leon was diffused through books, and pamphlets, and
periodical publications. It met us at the theatre, or popt on us in
the form of novels. Catching as it went the follies of its various
bearers, it babbled in spouting clubs, howled from the tribune, or
by its importunate prattle disturbed the tranquillity of private
companies. So pernicious it is to common sense, reason, truth, virtue,
order, and religion, when men of genius and learning employ their
pens in spreading nonsense, absurdity, and falsehood; vice, disorder,
and irreligion. If a writer of this sort were to take a cool and
dispassionate view of the talents he has received, and the acts which
he has done, the amount might probably be, nature has bestowed on him
a mind competent to the acquisition of valuable and deep knowledge.
Instruction and assiduity operating on these gifts of nature, have
enabled him to communicate his conceptions, thoughts, and discoveries,
agreeably, forcibly, and impressively. What has he done? He exhorted
men and women to avoid the first link of a rational community,
marriage, and to mingle with promiscuous intercourse, according to
temporary impulse, and after the fashion of beasts. Respecting their
offspring, the next gem of civil society, he exhorted them to descend
below beasts, which have a care for their young. He instigated parents
to disregard their children, and children their parents; he carried his
proscription of natural affection through the relation of brother and
sister. Lest this attempt to prevent the formation of a family, and
so to arrest society in its first stage, should prove unsuccessful,
he attacked it in more advanced progress, and endeavoured to destroy
faith between man and man, to proscribe adherence to promises, to
annihilate property, one of the great cements of society, and to banish
religion, the grand security of human happiness. His practical lessons
teach, that the restraints on unmarried women are not conducive to the
welfare of society; that chastity is not a virtue, and concubinage
a vice; that women are not likely to be better members of society,
domestic, civil, and political, for being continent than prostitutes.
He set up an immoral and impious model for the sex, and if all women
were to follow the example of his heroine, universal profligacy and
irreligion would ensue. As far, therefore, as the literary authority
and power of these writings reach, they tend to increase debauchery and
impiety. He has written a metaphysical work, of which the theoretical
propositions are chimerical, absurd, and totally irreconcileable to
human nature, as known to us by experience and induction, the only
guides to just intellectual and moral speculation; and the practical
doctrines, inculcated by precept and example, lead to the most unwise
and immoral conduct, and to consequences that would unhinge all
domestic, social, civil, political, and religious society. Such will
a fair and impartial review of his literary efforts present to St.
Leon the use and improvement of his talents and acquirements. That he
intended such consequences, I by no means assert. I think it probable
he did not. I should rather impute his work to an understanding so
perverted by a favourite hypothesis, as to be unable, however acute
and ingenious on other subjects, to distinguish truth whenever that
hypothesis was concerned. We have no reason to suppose that St. Leon,
who is in private life said not to be unamiable, would be guilty of
such gratuitous wickedness, as to be intentionally a strenuous promoter
of the most destructive profligacy. But whatever his intentions may
have been, the tendency is the same.
Equally absurd is the physical as the moral and political philosophy
of the singular St. Leon. What opinion can we entertain of a man who
seriously thinks that, at some future period, the necessity of sleep to
an animal may cease, who has even asserted that death may be postponed
at pleasure; who maintains that inanimate nature may move without
any animate cause, and even move to certain definite and beneficial
purposes; that a plough may till the ground without any direction from
men, and aid from horses, or any other animals; who, by confounding
the qualities and operations of matter and mind, would afford pretexts
for an inference, that the universe may exist and be directed in its
present system and order without the guidance of an intelligent cause;
who has employed his ingenuity in endeavouring to establish atheism.
Whatever may be St. Leon’s private habits of life, however temperate
in pleasurable indulgence, or fair and equitable in his transactions of
business, his doctrines tend to disseminate profligacy and iniquity;
and as his works are read in a much wider circle than his conduct
is seen or known, the mischief of his precepts and exhortations is
infinitely greater than the benefit of his example and practice. The
author of the “Political Justice,” and the biographical vindication of
concubinage, from his agreeable and persuasive manner, has spread a
great quantity of poison, against which feeble is the antidote to be
found in the private life and conversation of St. Leon.
That singular theorist no doubt possesses genius; subtle indeed rather
than solid and vigorous, fanciful and refining without being profound.
Such a man generally steers out of the walk of common sense and views,
both the natural and moral world, through some other medium than plain
observation and experience.
The eccentric movements of St. Leon, have done all the evil that his
powers and sphere would admit. It is true, he has not done nearly so
much evil as Rousseau, because though resembling that father of false
morals and politics, in deviation from common sense, impressive as St.
Leon is, he is far, very far beneath the author of Eloisa, in force and
fertility of invention; in extent of views, and in the fascination of
eloquence. The whole of his sceptical compositions, (that is the chief
part of his writings) have not done nearly so much evil as the few
essays of Hume, for promoting pyrrhonism and infidelity; because acute
and subtle as St. Leon is, he is much farther beneath Hume in depth of
philosophy and powers of reasoning, than beneath Rousseau in creative
fancy and persuasive eloquence; and twenty pages of Hume could effect
more towards any purpose he chose, than a thousand pages of St. Leon;
and St. Leon’s chief work is a mere expatiation on a principle of Hume,
carried to greater extravagance than Hume himself ever attempted; but
as St. Leon has imitated Hume, in attempting to sap the foundations of
morality and religion, let him remember that such writings constitute
but a small part of Hume’s literary labours; and that he has left one
work of unusual magnitude replete with sound wisdom, and (with certain
exceptions) one of the most beneficial to mankind, that graced the
eighteenth century. Meaning no sneering insult to St. Leon, I shall not
affect to compare him to Hume, but immeasurably below that philosopher,
as this ingenious sciolist may be, he is certainly a writer of very
considerable efficiency. As he has hitherto employed his talents for
the detriment of mankind, let him for once try to exert them for the
benefit of mankind. A very interesting tale he has told to disparage
fair fame, and high consideration in the community; to vindicate
thieves and robbers; and to inculcate that the inmates of jails for
crimes, are more virtuous than the most eminent characters in civil and
political society; and that penal laws are an intolerable grievance
to freemen: in short, to confound all distinctions between reputation
and infamy, virtue and vice, innocence and guilt. Let him endeavour to
write a tale of equal interest, to exhibit the necessary connection
between crimes and punishment, to promote obedience to the laws; and to
advance virtue and religion. The attempt might be at first aukward,
but perseverance and practice would soon render it easier; and St.
Leon’s powers are fully adequate to the task of impressing sense and
utility, as well as absurdity and mischief.
While St. Leon, with various coadjutors and ministers, endeavoured
to effect such moral, religious, and political changes, among human
beings, another very noted person laboured with equal activity, and
greater ardour, to fashion one half of mankind to the new doctrines.
This was Jemima, the celebrated propounder of a new theory, and a new
system of practice, for the information and use of women.
Ever desirous of tracing moral effects to moral causes, Hamilton was
at great pains to enquire into the parentage, education, temperament,
habits, and conduct of Miss Jemima, in the hopes of being able to
discover whence sprang her aberrations from common sense, and from
the principles and sentiments which the experience of mankind, in all
ages, has found it most beneficial to society to cherish among women.
Of this female champion, he found means to learn the history, as well
as the doctrines and opinions. Jemima, it seems, was a woman of strong
and lively parts, and ardent feelings; who, not having found the
world to her mind, proposed to model it to her wishes. She had lived
to the age of thirty, without any invitation to marriage, although
very strongly disposed to that state, and finding little chance of
getting a man married to herself, had cast her eyes upon a man that was
married to another. But the intervention of a wife, either stopped or
limited the proposed converse with this object; and finding celibacy
no longer tolerable, she was filled with rage at the restraints which
all civilized societies have imposed upon women; the rigour of
which was strongly enhanced, by the contrast that it exhibited with
the free and uncontrouled range of the ladies of Otaheite. She had
hitherto conformed to the absurd and aristocratical ideas respecting
female reputation; but these she now resolved to renounce, and to
live openly in a state for which _she had long secretly panted_[7],
and having before abjured religion, without regarding its precepts,
she took to herself a mate; or in the language of the vulgar, became
a kept mistress. It was neither a new nor extraordinary occurrence in
itself, for a woman tired of being a maid, and that had not succeeded
in becoming a wife, to become a concubine; but an event intrinsically
not very material, may be important in its consequences. Like Dr.
Sangrado, she was not content with practicing herself according to
the line which she had marked, but must prescribe the same course of
medicine to all others. She must construct a theory, and write a book.
But as chastity was not the only restraint which civilized society
requires to be imposed on women, she proceeded at once to change their
condition in the community, and in freedom of conduct, as well as the
nature of their pursuits, to place them on the same footing with men.
To compass this purpose, Jemima’s first care was in this her book,
to instruct the understandings of the sex in the _rights of women_.
These, in a few words, were _to act in every case according to their
own pleasure_; and to share in all the prerogatives of men. They were
to be soldiers, sailors, senators, politicians, scholars, philosophers,
and rakes; they were also to be coachmen, postillions, blacksmiths,
carpenters, coal-heavers, &c. She addressed herself to the love of
glory, by which so many of the fair are eminently distinguished, to
incite them to rivalry. She trusted the time would soon arrive, when
the sex would acquire high renown in boxing matches, sword and pistol;
and when nails, the weapons at present employed in deciding their
contests, should be no longer in occupation. Not only the instruments
of war, but the military tactics should be changed; the hair, caps,
and cloaths, were to be no longer the points of attack; women were
to use knock-me-down blows, tierce and cart, point give point, St.
George’s guard. If a lady at a rout, for instance, happened to quarrel
about an odd trick, instead of tearing her own fan, let her challenge
her antagonist, “Damn your eyes, I will darken your day-lights; let
us strip to our dickies this instant, as the fashion goes, the way
is not far: the Countess of Coniac shall be bottle-holder; it is an
office she likes.” By Jemima’s orders they might use dexterity, as well
as prowess, and sometimes fall without a blow. At wrestling let them
bar tripping, unless the antagonist be a man, for then it is fair. To
illustrate, by example, the characters which she wished to form, as
the Squaws and Otaheites were at too great a distance, she mentioned
the ladies that attended the fruit-markets at Covent-Garden, and the
fish-markets at Billingsgate. These, however, were far surpassed by
their sisters in France, the _dames du Halles_, and the _poissardes_.
The English fair above-mentioned, only unsex themselves as far as
feminine softness extends; but the French fair laid aside all feminine
tenderness, and being as ferocious as the most savage soldier of Attila
or Kouli Khan, were much more complete models of the hardened state
which Jemima proposed women to attain. To divest English women entirely
of delicacy and tenderness, sanguine as the projectress was, she feared
would be impracticable; but still she trusted she might have partial
and considerable success.
Hamilton, admiring the genius which beamed through this excentricity
of pernicious inculcation, sought the acquaintance of Jemima, and was
received with great complacency. She saw he was not yet a convert to
her doctrines, or to those of her friends, Topsiturvy and St. Leon;
she hoped that her philosophy would at length prevail over his present
prejudices, that he might become a powerful cooperator in the grand
work of _transmogrifying_ human nature; and she judged him peculiarly
qualified for the conversion of women. Ever since Jemima undertook
to form a new sect, she, in imitation of Whitfield, the coalheaver,
and other _pattern makers_, held private meetings to discuss with the
pupils the symptoms of conversion, their progress in the new faith,
and the probability of complete proselytism. Though a woman presided
at these assemblies, they did not resemble the secrecy and mystery
of the Bona Dea of ancient Rome, to whose festivals no male creature
was suffered to enter; and where a Clodius must disguise himself in a
woman’s habit before he could be admitted. To be received into Jemima’s
meetings, a Clodius need only avow his proper character, than which
none could be better fitted for the practical extension of Jemima’s
doctrines. To one of these meetings our hero received an invitation.
He found a considerable number of guests, but chiefly females. Jemima,
having unfortunately forgotten that an assembly was held at a tavern,
to deliberate _after_ dinner upon politics and philosophy, the last
subject not to begin till after the _sixteenth_ round of toasts, and
that some of her particular friends must be of the party, had fewer
visitors than usual. The first quarter of an hour shewed no kind
of revolution in manners and customs, being occupied by the fair
attendants in the same way as if they had been at church before the
service began, that is, in critical remarks on the bonnets, cloaks,
and handkerchiefs of each other; the dress, face, and figure of the
men. Under the two last heads our hero received great commendation.
One lady that was near him declared, in an audible whisper, that he
was an Adonis, Apollo, and Hercules, in one; “but then,” said another
lady, “he is married;” “married!” replied the first, with great
contempt, “you, a disciple of Jemima, and a votary of St. Leon, talk
of marriage! Marriage is a shameful aristocratical monopoly. Why should
so charming a man be _engrossed_?”--“Pray do not talk so loud, Madam,”
said the other. “There again,” said the first, “you forget the precepts
of the adorable Jemima, and the divine St. Leon, that in converse
between the sexes nothing is more unbecoming than secrecy.” “You
yourself,” said a third, “forget the precepts of our great instructors;
you used the term divine, a sound without meaning.”--“I stand
corrected; but the language of old prejudice and darkness will intrude
insensibly into new philosophy and light.” The second lady, observing a
cloak with a very broad border of fine lace, said, in a half jest, she
wished she had an opportunity of getting hold of that cloak. “What,”
said the third, “would you steal?”--“Steal,” said she; “is this your
progress; are not we taught that property is an absurd institution?
She has a surplus of lace; I have a deficiency. Have I not a right
to equalization?” Monrose, who happened to overhear this dialogue,
observed, “women, you are yet only advancing, without having reached
the end of your journey. I shall lend you a spur myself.”--“Thanks,
Monrose, you will interpret and familiarize the profound wisdom of St.
Leon. But hold, here comes our sublime instructress.”