"I shall have satis pecuniæ, dum tu habeas opportunitatem, mittendi aliquam partem mihi.

"Tuesday morning.

"I have this morning gotten my French for to-morrow, and thirteen Verses of the Testament;' I have also written out the contractions, and can tell any of them. I said my lessons very well last night; I had only one word wrong in my fable, and not any one in my two verbs. I am to go to the concert to-night. I have written two verbs, and trans

lated my French task. How ineffectual are all pleasures, except those

which arise from a knowledge of having done as far as one knew, that which was right, to make their possessors happy. The people who possess them, at night, lie down upon their beds, and after having spent a wearisome night, rise up in the morning to pursue the same pleasures,' or, more properly, vain shadows of pleasure, which, like Jacks with lanthorns, as they are called, under a fair outside, at last bring those people who are so foolish as to confide in them into destruction, which they cannot then escape. How different from them is a man who wisely in a time of peace, lays up arms, and such like necessaries in case of a war? Mrs. Tracey desires me to give her respects."

From early boyhood my father had had impressed upon him the great principles of moral and political truth, and his willing mind received the fine lesson which taught him to sympathise in the sufferings and to labor to the utmost in asserting the rights of his fellow-creatures. One of the authors most carefully studied by him was Dr. Priestley, and it was the outrages offered at Birmingham to that great and good man by an ignorant and misled multitude that occasioned my father's first, literary production. This was in the shape of a letter to the Shrewsbury Chronicle' (1791), and I am sure the reader will rather thank than blame me for inserting the curiosity.

“MR. WOOD,

""Tis really surprising that men-men, too, that aspire to the character of Christians should seem to take such pleasure in endeavoring to load with infamy one of the best, one of the wisest, and one of the greatest of

men.

"One of your late correspondents, under the signature of OYAEIE, seems desirous of having Dr. Priestley in chains, and indeed would not perhaps (from the gentleman's seemingly charitable disposition) be greatly averse to seeing him in the flames also. This is the Christian!

"This the mild spirit its great Master taught. Ah! Christianity, how art thou debased! How am I grieved to see that universal benevolence, that love to all mankind, that love even to our enemies, and that compas-, sion for the failings of our fellow-men, that thou art contracted to promote, contracted and shrunk up within the narrow limits that prejudice and bigotry mark out. But to return: supposing the gentleman's end to be intentionally good, supposing him indeed to desire all this, in order to extirpate the Doctor's supposedly impious and erroneous doctrines, and promote the cause of truth; yet the means he would use are certainly wrong. For may I be allowed to remind him of this (which prejudice has hitherto apparently prevented him from seeing), that violence and force can never

promote the cause of truth, but reason and argument or love, and whenever these fail, all other means are vain and ineffectual. And as the Doctor himself has said, in his letter to the inhabitants of Birmingham, 'that if they destroyed him, ten others would arise, as able or abler than himself, and stand forth immediately to defend his principles; and that were these destroyed, an hundred would appear; for the God of truth will not suffer his cause to lie defenceless.'

"This letter of the Doctor's also, though it throughout breathes the pure and genuine spirit of Christianity, is, by another of your correspondents, charged with sedition and heresy; but, indeed, if such sentiments as those which it contains be sedition and heresy, sedition and heresy would be an honor; for all their sedition is that fortitude that becomes the dignity of man, and the character of Christian : and their heresy, Christianity; the whole letter, indeed, far from being seditious, is peaceable and charitable, and far from being heretical, that is, in the usual acceptance of the word, furnishing proofs of that resignation so worthy of himself. And to be sensible of this, 'tis only necessary, that any one laying aside prejudice read the letter itself with candor. What, or who, then, is free from the calumniating pen of malice, malice concealed, perhaps, under the specious disguise of religion and a love of truth?

66

Religious persecution is the bane of all religion; and the friends of persecution are the worst enemies religion has; and of all persecutions, that of calumny is the most intolerable. Any other kind of persecution can affect our outward circumstances only, our properties, our lives; but this may affect our characters for ever. And this great man has not only had his goods spoiled, his habitation burned, and his life endangered, but is also calumniated, aspersed with the most malicious reflections, and charged with every thing bad, for which a misrepresentation of the truth and prejudice can give the least pretence. And why all this? To the shame of some one, let it be replied, merely on account of particular speculative opinions, and not any thing scandalous, shameful, or criminal in his moral character. 'Where I see,' says the great and admirable Robinson, a spirit of intolerance, I think I see the great Devil.' And 'tis certainly the worst of devils. And here I shall conclude, staying only to remind your anti-Priestlian correspondents, that when they presume to attack the character of Dr. Priestley, they do not so much resemble the wren pecking at the eagle, as the owl, attempting by the flap of her wings, to hurl Mount Etna into the ocean: and that while Dr. Priestley's name 'shall flourish in immortal youth,' and his memory be respected and revered by posterity, prejudice no longer blinding the understandings of men, theirs will be forgotten in obscurity, or only remembered as the friends of bigotry and persecution, the most odious of all characters.

“EAIAEON.”

In 1793, my father, now fifteen years old, with a view to the calling destined for him-that of a Dissenting Minister-was entered as a student at the Unitarian College, Hackney. It was soon after this that his mind first became directed to the prosecution of philosophical inquiry,-to him, at least

"Not harsh and crabbed as dull fools suppose,

But musical as is Apollo's lute."

After having diligently studied the works of some of the most eminent metaphysicians, the youthful enthusiast set about forming in his mind a comparison of their various theories and arguments; and his next step was an endeavor to embody his own crude speculations upon some of the subjects in the shape of several short preliminary essays, which, with a palpitating heart, he forwarded to his father, himself not meanly skilled in the abstruser branches of knowledge.* He, however, though naturally proud and gratified at the proof thus afforded him of his son's early development of comprehension and power, became fearful least a perseverance in these abstract inquiries should have the two-fold ill effect of undermining his health, and of diverting him from the great object which it was his paternal wish and prayer that his son might attain, a distinguished name among the Ministers of Dissent. With these feelings he entered into a correspondence with his son, in which he earnestly sought to dissuade him from proceeding either with the essays or with the studies which led to them. Among my father's letters in answer were the following:

"London, Oct. 6th, 1793.

"DEAR FATHER, "I received your very kind letter yesterday morning. With respect to my past behavior, I have often said, and I now assure you, that it did not proceed from any real disaffection, but merely from the nervous disorder to which, you well know, I was so much subject. This was really the case; however improbable it may appear. Nothing particular occurred from the time I wrote last, till the Saturday following. On the Wednesday before, Corrie had given me a theme. As it was not a subject suited to my genius, and from other causes, I had not written any thing on it: so that I was not pleased to hear his bell on Saturday morning, which was the time for showing our themes. When I came to him, he asked me whether I had prepared my theme. I told him I had not. You should have a very good reason indeed, sir, says he, for neglecting it. Why really, sir, says I, I could not write it. Did you never write any thing, then, says he? Yes, sir, I said; I have written some things. Very well, then, go along and write your theme immediately, said he. I accordingly went away, but did not make much progress in my theme; an hour after, when his bell rang for another lecture. My eyes were much swollen, and I assumed as sullen a countenance as I could, intimating that he had not treated me well. After the lecture, as I was going away, he called me back, and asked me very mildly if I had never written any thing. I answered, I had written several things. On which he desired me to let him see one of my compositions, if I had no objection. I immediately took him my Essay on Laws, and gave it to him. When he had read it, he asked me a few questions on the subject, which I answered very satisfactorily, I believe. Well, sir, says he, I wish you'd write some more such things as this. Why, sir, said I, I intended to write several things which I have planned, but that I could not write any of them in a week, or two or three weeks. What did you intend to write? says he. Among other things, I told him that I intended to enlarge and improve the essay he had been reading. Aye, says he, I wish you would. Well, I will do it then, sir, said I. Do so, said he; take your own time now; I

* Of these Essays I deeply regret to have been unable to discover any trace.

shall not ask you for it; only write it as soon as you can, for I shall often be thinking of it, and very desirous of it. This he repeated once or twice. On this I wished him a good morning, and came away, very well pleased with the reception I had met. The Greek class which I have been in this week consists of two old students, J. Mason, and myself. I think that I translate more correctly, and much better, than any of them. The other day, Mason was laughing at me, while I was translating a passage, on account of my way of speaking. Says Corrie to him, "Mr. Mason, you should be sure you can translate yours as well as Mr. Hazlitt does his, before you laugh at your neighbors.'

"I believe I am liked very well by the students, in general. I am pretty intimate with one of them, whose name is Tonson. F. Swanwick has been hitherto in a different class; but on applying to Corrie he has been put into the same class with me. Farewell! "I am your affectionate son, "W. HAZLITT."

"Sunday evening.

"DEAR FATHER,

"I received your letter safely on Monday. On the preceding Saturday I finished the introduction to my Essay on the Political State of Man,' and showed it to Corrie. He seemed very well pleased with it, and desired me to proceed with my Essay as quickly as I could. After a few definitions, I give the following sketch of my plan:

"In treating on the political state of man, I shall, first, endeavor to represent his natural political relations, and to deduce from these his natural political duties, and his natural political rights; and, secondly, to represent his artificial political relations, and to deduce from these his artificial political duties and his artificial political rights.' This I think an excellent plan. I wish I could execute it to my own satisfaction. I hope, however, to do it tolerably by Christmas. I have already got the greatest part of the ideas necessary, though in a crude and undigested state; so that my principal business will be to correct and arrange them. But this will be a terrible labor, and I shall rejoice most heartily when I have finished it.

"Corrie seemed much pleased with some of my translations this week. "I passed the Ass's Bridge very safely and very solitarily on Friday. I like Domine (that is the name by which Dr. Rees goes here) and his lectures very much.

"DEAR FATHER,

"I am your affectionate son,
"WILLIAM HAZLITT."

"I was sorry to hear from your two last letters that you wish me to discontinue my Essay, as I am very desirous of finishing it, and, as I think it necessary to do so. For I have already completed the two first propositions, and the third I have planned, and shall be able to finish in a very short time; the fourth proposition, which will be the last, will consist only of a few lines. The first section you know I have done for some time; and the first and fourth propositions are exactly similar to the first, second,

and fourth of the second section, so that I have little else to do than to alter a few words. The third will consist principally of observations on government, laws, &c. most of which will be the same with what I have written before in my Essay on Laws. My chief reason for wishing to continue my observations is, that by having a particular system of politics, I shall be better able to judge of the truth or falsehood of any principle which I hear or read, and of the justice or the contrary of any political transactions. Moreover by comparing my own system with those of others, and with particular facts, I shall have it in my power to correct and improve it continually. But I can have neither of these advantages unless I have some standard by which to judge of, and of which to judge by, any ideas or proceedings which I may meet with. Besides, so far is my studying this subject from making me gloomy or low-spirited, that I am never so perfectly easy as when I am or have been studying it. With respect to themes, I really think them rather disserviceable than otherwise. I shall not be able to make a good oration from my essay. It is too abstruse and exact for that purpose. I shall endeavor to write one on Providence, which will, I think, be a very good subject. I shall certainly make it my study to acquire as much politeness as I can. However, this is not the best place possible for acquiring it, I do not at allay that the fellows who are here do not know how to behave extremely well, but the behaviour which suits a set of young fellows, or boys, does not suit any other society. This circumstance, however, is of very little consequence, as little else is necessary to politeness than ease and a desire f pleasing.

"I forget to tell you that Corrie has not returned me the first part of my Essay.

"I am, dear father,

"Your affectionate son,

"WILLIAM HAZLITT."

I have mentioned that the profession destined for my father was that of the Dissenting Ministry, but to this at a very early period he manifested an extreme distaste. This, in spite of persuasion and remonstrance, deep`ened with his years and became at length insurmountable. My grandfather, who with a natural subtility of apprehension, observed the point at which prejudice outgrew all power of reasoning, at length consented to give up all further idea of his favorite project, and my father accordingly left College, and returned home in the year 1795. The disappointment and vexation which this circumstance created on the mind of my grandfather, has been touched upon very feelingly in several passages in the TableTalk.' The point now to be considered was what other profession should be selected, or rather what other would be followed; and my father, who had always, as a child, exhibited a strong love of pictures and a taste for drawing, determined upon devoting himself to the study of painting as a profession, and he accordingly set ardently to work.* His success in the

*I need not pause here to expatiate on my father's great passion-his love of art. It colored all his speculations, save those of the severest cast, over which even the dazzling glories of painting were powerless. I may, however, refer to two of his performances which he has himself alluded to-the Head of an Old Woman, and the Portrait of my Grandfather. Of the first of these he says-"The first head I ever tried to paint was an old woman with the upper part of her face shaded by her bonnet, and I certainly