THE FEET OF CLAY.

Otago Witness, Issue 1650, 7 July 1883, Page 26

THE FEET OF CLAY.

Part 11. ; Richard Steel was more fortunate than Goldsmith, in that his patron was a gentleman. Addison might direct and rule the little w<#m at Will's or St. James' Coffee House, but ht used his power with politeness , and < urbanity. Not such, however, was Dr Samue} Johnson, Any one who reads BosweU'B inimitable biography must admit that though Johnson, was rery good and very great, he was as decidedly very rude. How would you like to peceiyeas a guest %t your, refined and hospitable ho%rd,a,^aian whq would roll his fat body, carelessly- arrayed, into the room; would devour hisifpod like a. famished dog, grunting' and puffings all the while ; and if the viands happenedntfl please him, would eat till, as Sam" vyjellef 'remarked, he " was a, swelling wi&ibjy, afore, y,o,ur worry eyes"; and would, swill yqur ; w{ae.,f' by hug« tumbler! uls. A man who would thjnkjnothing ot flatly contradicting your, wife;pand calling you a liar to your face. „One r Mnairvels how such men as the accomplished B.urkeV the reliced aud courtly Reynolds, .the .polished and sarcastic Beauclerc, ,ans -.such: • women as Mrs Thrall, Mrs" Horneck,,. and her daughters could have endured- his insults »nd tyranny, familiar though they were./with his talents,, his piety, and his charity;- -Fancy the feelings of a man who, being' seated next to the doctor, remarked to him :, " Sir,-: drinking drives away care and mak^s us forget what is disagreeable. Would not you ajlqw a man t» drink for. that reason?',' was, met? -with' the reply — " Yes, sir, if - h,e , sat .'.next you." It would require. ,a 'great/ ■• deal ' of wisdom and goodness', to .escape thi consequences of so undeserved > .an 1 insult How is it, I- wonder,' that there ««. men whose struggles against - pqv.erty a>nJK energy of character deaerve. bur, esteem, whose early difficulties move oiu\ wonder, whose woika gain our respectful praise,", vet whom we could neither like nor love ?, Wliam Cobbett was one ot these. His example js such as any man would do well to imitate, t but; his vanity ia so plain in every book ho wrote, his etfotiam so quite irrepressible, hits co.'trtjOiie.KS— wlnoh ho calls plain speaking — so riul« and iuvne,ce--s/iry, that, I imagine, 'fow readers ot cnuavfltod taste cave much for Ins wor,k.N. Hut i)ofc s lo mud. £hem is to .wins' knowing tho- s.tfcngtlj and vigour qf which pur. language is , capable, th« excellence of much graphic word-'palntinjf as in his American pictures, arid > some -ro,ugh bqt genuine humour. '. ' Another author, differing, in eve'rjsi respept from Cobbett, but who is m,ore admired for hii genius than loved for his goodness, is Wttli»n| Hazlett. A marvellous power Tof garcarai, 5. grea,t love of nature and ability to, reprodu.M m words her lovlieat .scenes, a depth ef poetry that walla up. in every arfeiojo Y\b \yrote, a mastery of language equal iq every respect to his co-temporary, Tie Quincy ; bin. :ill , thos<e fair gifta , marred by hia bittuf, turbulent heart. iHe was a lii^p who could make 1 no , friendß, ,wbo win looking at ihu dark side of the • picture, who w;h iviiely yle&seri, rarely satisfiod, happy ha uevor w;-.s. How different from his contemporary, jjeigh Ruut, who, hi spite of many trials, many lCiverses, many curious faults, way always ourene, nearly always gay, and who seemed to uiuke a trieiid of every^oue with whom ho camin contact.;, I have, already stated my convit* tion of the- unrelUblencsa of .aq^&QiftgiPrs and I do not know » more excellent plreM ffffnis

fact than Leigh Hunt's Life. A more entertrancing book was never penned ; it has all the playful humour and airy grace of his most •Bnished essay, it contains excellent pictures of many friends, but of Leigh Hunt himself, it tells us nothing, except that he was fond of reading, and liked music. We learn nothing from it of his own musical powers, but he played the piano and organ well, and sang delightfully. Neither do we discern any trace of his painful and most serious failings, which Lord Macaulay thus sums up : — "That he had looae notions of mtum and tuum, that he had no high feelings of independence, that he had no tonse of obligation, that he took money wherever he could get it, that he felt no - gratitude for it, that he was juat as ready to defame a person who had relieved him in his distress as a person who had refused him relief." Let it, however, be remembered that the above is an extract from Macaulay'a journal, and not intended for public reading ; indeed Mr G. O. Treyellyan would have made his pleasant book 'still more pleasant had he omitted all such extracts. But Leigh Hunt, to do him justice, has candidly acknowledged his inability to understand money matters^ and laments the defect in 1 his education which mature age showed him prevented any man from being successful. But I venture, with all due reverence, to doubt his lordship's insinuation that the author of " Rimini " was capable of either dishonesty or ingratitude. There never yet was a man more tender-hearted than he, more loving, or more widely loved. Thomas Oarlyle was not likely to be » too partial judge, and he wrote of him in these words:— "He is a man of the mojst indisputably superior worth — a man of genius in a very strict sense of 'that word, and in all the Mnses which it bears or implies ; of brilliant, varied gifts, of graceful fertility, of- clearness, lovingness, truthfulness ; of childlike, ;open character, also of most exemplary private , deportment; a man who can be other jthan , loved only by those who have not! seen him, or seen him from a distance through a false medium." But of all the men who made their mark at this period of the world's history, decidedly the most praiseworthy, the ;most lovable, the most heroic, was Charles Lamb ; for is not he a hero who fulfils the heavy duties •f % sad responsibility in the face of many difficulties and trials ? Let anyone read the Md tale of Charles' lifelong devotion and unremitting love to his afflicted Bister, and say if h* were not % truly good man. His very faults endear him to us. He waß impertinent soinetimei, as when he tweaked the nose of the grave and dignified Wordsworth with the greeting, "How d'ye do, old Lake P6et!" And he Was addicted to the same weakness as Mr Addison ; and once when he had taken a little too much wine, and was annoyed {with ■omething that a gentleman said, interrupted the unfortunate man every time he opened his " mouth with the absurd rhyme — I - Hey, diddle, diddle ! my man John Went to bed with hit breaches on ! Coleridge, who was also of the party, endeavoured to soothe him with his jmoat honeyed accents, "Now, Charles I ,now, ' ' GharUt I really, you know " But Charles was deaf to remonstrance, and the terrible chant of "Hey, diddle, diddle," rose louder and louder the more the foolish gentleman displayed his folly. At length James or Horace Smith went up to the diaturber of the peace, and said, " I am very thirsty, Lamb, and'want a pot of porter; I'm aure you'll acconipany me, ' and so got him out without more ado. I am indebted for the above story to Mr Edmund Ollier's pleasant memoir of his friend Elu .. Poets nave always been acknowledged as an irritable genus. The disappointments, delays, want of appreciation, poverty, insults, and criticisms which have little or no effect on ordinary beings, jar the too delicately adjusted nature of the»e sons of song, and soon the Silver cord is loosened, the golden bowl for ever! shattered. It was perhaps an exaggeration to; say a Quarterly Review article killed Keats, but, undoubtedly, it caused him exquisite suffering. It was lack of encouragement, and the want of a firm, guiding hand, ; that induced the rash act of the • poet Ohatterton, "that marvellous boy ". who perished in his pride," a very foolish jprids however, that would not allow him to accept charity, even when he was almost destitute. The poet Burns is a sad but instructive example of how the faults of genius may destroy and overshadow the virtues pt a naturally impulsive, kind-hearted, most lovable man. We have of late years heard rather too much of the vices and faults of Lord Byron, and there is now again a disposition to set him up as an idol. In truth, however, his genius was just about in proportion to hie weakness, and undoubtedly he made his life miserable by Mb vanity, his peevishness, his pride, and' his dissipations. A contemporary of his, on the other hand, who, during his lifetime was supposed to have been compounded of all wickedness, is now only beginning to have justice done to him, and we acknowledge that though Shelley may have been a visionary, he was neither atheist, libertine, nor drunkard. Indeed, as far as his religious opinions %o f he is not a whit more blameable than the disciples of Ereethought, who now-a-days promulgate their creed without any danger of being ostracised: It is not -always fair nor reliable to judge of ' an author's character by his works. Burton, the author of " The Anatomy of Melancholy," was one of the merriest fellows you could wish to meet ; and just as jolly and as free from gloom ta his ordinary deportment was Young, who penned the dismal "Night Thoughts." Macaulay in his admirable "Essay " has shown how little the character of Machiavel is understood, and that he was both an upright and fairly righteous man in the age in which he lived. Petrarch's love for Laura was quite Platonic, and she was a truly estimable married woman, incapable of intrigue or duplicity. Disraeli the elder informs us that Margaret of Navarre was "a princess of irreproachable habits, and had given proof of the most rigid virtue"; but anyone who has perused her writings will feel inclined to take this yulogium cum grano salia. And the readera of Smollett will be surprised to l earn that he himself was a most worthy and proper man. Rousseau, who by his confessions had been guilty of the most base and revolting crimes could write beautiful and devotional Bonds' and Montaigne, though he professed to scoff at ' piety and religion, yet in his last hours had mass, performed in his chamber, and died in the arms of a priest. I do not think that Charles Dickens nor the author of "The Caxtons" would either of them have been pleasant household companions. But a great many things must be taken into consideration before we can dare to •peak dogmatically of the character of any ' ?^ m i? n heia S' Most of all should we be careful how we censure those who have done so much to delight and instruct their fellow men. We know how hard it is to do our duty even R ™ectly, to fulfi l even the simple demands of the common round, the daily task," and remembering our weakness, vanities and ill-tempers, be very careful how we fling stones at those who by natural genius, varied