SECTION XXII.

"There is a sickness

Which puts some of us in distemper, but

I cannot name the disease."

WINTER'S TALE.

"Quel grand homme! Rien ne peut lui plaire."

CANDIDE.

How poor Yawn became so irritable, if ever he had been otherwise, was now a curious question; for, from all I could gather from many at Bath who knew his history, though much respected for integrity and abilities, and therefore with many friends, he had few companions. Of this he was himself sensible, and that very sense of it only irritated him more. Blame was laid upon his health, which was certainly not good, but made infinitely worse by his discontents. I wondered at myself, therefore, in persevering to cultivate him; but his conversation when in tolerable temper, and the confidence that seemed, as he said, due to me for being the only person who, for a long time, could bear with him, gave me hopes that I might, in the end, find out the real cause of his malady. My patience was rewarded, if not by discovering the cause, yet, at least, by a short history of its rise and progress. This he once, in a favourable interval, gave me from his own mouth.

"Yes!" said he, "I confess I am what every body calls. me, blasé; for every source I ever had of interest or pleasure is dried up. I have been so regularly disappointed in every thing I undertook, that I can undertake no more. The elasticity of mind which I believe I once had, is gone, I fear, for ever; and my body being

bloated, as I feel, with constitutional ill-health, my existence is a burthen to me."

"Yet you seem,” said I, "to know the world so well, that I should have hoped some, if not many things, would have rewarded you for living in it. With not half your experierce, I should be sorry to have met with universal disappointment."

"Your feelings," said he, "though so much younger, are perhaps not so acute as those with which, for my sins, I have been tormented. Oh! of all human evils, (and there are enough of them,) guard me from too much sensibility."

"Yet sensibility," said I, "is one of the greatest sources of delight."

"And also," returned he, "of misery. Mine I pushed to the utmost in everything, till it became too attenuated to sustain itself, and it broke under me from very weakness. Why was I so born? Why not with feelings. blunted like other and happier people?-those porters, for example, whom we see merry under their burthens, because sure to be relieved from them, and then all the jollier for the exertion. It is nothing to them where they go, or whom they carry."

"And are we not at liberty," said I, "to imitate these porters?"

"No! The porter and the gentleman are two different beings, and unfortunately I was a gentleman. Had I had to work for my bread, or known less than I do, I might have been happier.

"This," said I, "is surely not the creed of men of education. Yours, for example, must have given you a taste for every thing liberal: conversation, the arts, the court, the muses, the song, and the dance; the last, if only as exhibited at that classical spectacle, the Opera.”

"Alas! Sir," said he, "how I wish my faculties had been as blunted as those that can find pleasure in any of the classifications you have mentioned. As to conversation, what is it but an effort for wit, which perhaps will not come, unless prepared for, and then its flavour is lost."

"But suppose a sober discussion."

"What, over a bottle, which inflames argument into temporary dislike, and sometimes lasting hatred!" "Suppose politics!"

"Worse and worse!-all personal rancour, and no truth."

"Well, then, elegant literature and taste!"

"Yes! to let in the quarrels of authors, and irritable wasps, their abettors in point of taste; a subject which immediately becomes personal, and therefore offensive." "But surely it is the character of literary merit to create mutual respect!"

"Yes!" said he. "Witness the struggles in the literary club,-Johnson! Beauclerk! Goldsmith! Witness Swift and Prior!* Be assured, Sir, the soul of conver sational pleasure is good breeding, and to this everything personal is an enemy."

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"Agreed," said I, "but here your situation must have given you advantages which many others have not. You have known drawing-rooms, and royal banquets, and balls; in short, refined elegance in every shape."

"Bah!" cried he, "the whole a painted mask; not a child of nature among them."

"You had a resource, then, against this, by your residence among country neighbours."

"Country clowns!" he answered, "and quite as dishonest."

"But the arts and the stage!"

"Miserable, and worst of all. Who can sit five hours long, over a drawling hero, or a puling heroine? No good company left in the boxes; no good taste in the pit. The genius of tragedy and comedy expelled for the silly foolery of Punchinello, or elephants, or horses, better seen in a menagerie. No! Sir; Goethe was right for

*I suppose Yawn alludes to Swift's journal to Stella, i. 62. "Prior came in after dinner, and the secretary said, 'The best thing I ever read is not your's, but Dr. Swift's on Vanburg.' Prior was damped, till I stuffed him with two or three compliments."

Again: "Mr. Harley made me read a paper of verses of Prior. I read them plain, without any fine manner, and Prior swore I never should read any of his again; but he would be revenged, and read some of mine as bad."-i. 105.

forswearing the theatre, when a dog commanded more attention than the poet."

"Of course, then," said I, pushed out of everything, "the Opera had no charms for you."

"For whom, Sir," returned he, "can it have charms, if, like myself, they love genuine music and graceful dancing? The music all mannerism, the dancing all spinning. I was sickened to death by them both, and still more with the fools, my countrymen, who run after them with open mouth and vacant stare, the very emblems of shallowness and affectation."

I had nothing now left for it, by way of argument with such universal prejudice; so, not to lose my object, I observed, it was a pity he had been born so rich, for that a profession might, by necessary employment, have hindered him from brooding over the dark side of things.

"Sir," said he, "I was not born to the fortune I possess; though I had too much money, as well as sensibility, for the profession 1 chose; which was the law, but for which I was spoiled before I came to it."

"How so?"

"I was educated at a school where I had no competition, and afterwards at a college where there was no discipline. I was therefore, at both, left to my baneself-indulgence. Still I was fond of letters, and so far a classic, that I obtained prizes, and enjoyed, for awhile, a University reputation. I say for awhile, because my success was soon forgotten; and the most dull Boeotian I ever knew, in other respects, beat me in mathematics; which, giving the crown imperial of science to the successful competitor, I was reduced to a second-rate order. I was, however, an adept in logic, and took so high a degree, that I would not go to London for six months, for fear of the plague of congratulations. When I did venture, to my astonishment, not one of my acquaintance knew any thing about it. I immediately took my name off the college books, and turned my back upon the University for ever.

"At the Bar I had as great aspirations, and still greater disappointments. The logical head which had

made me so good a wrangler at Cambridge, together with my classical taste, fitted me, I thought, peculiarly for the profession. I watched and criticised the most eloquent pleaders, and those who revelled most in business. Their fame, and also their golden briefs, inspired me; for I thought myself better than some, and as good as most. I dissected the most eloquent speeches; and thought there were faults in them which I could have avoided. Many rolled in guineas,-nobody, at least from apparent merit, could tell how, and least of all, myself. But I found these were, most of them, the sons, brothers, or cousins of attorneys, who were the great dispensers of briefs. By them my Cambridge reputation had never been heard of, and if it had, would not have availed. Well;-I was told not to despair; and illustrious instances were mentioned, of Chancellors who had toiled ten years before they got a brief. If I would but wait one single opportunity of distinguishing myself, my fortune would be made. The opportunity did come. A chance but important trial brought on an intricate question, which I was to argue. was against me; but I shook, and, in the end, converted them. Here was one triumph; but this even was exceeded by another. A great county cause on the circuit was entrusted to me, my leader having been taken ill. The senior of the circuit, and many others, senior to me, were my antagonists. The eyes of the whole court were upon me. The fight lasted ten hours, I was proclaimed victor by the jury, and, as if nothing should be wanting, not only was I complimented in open court by the judge, but my liberal opponent whom I had beaten bore tribute to my exertions. My fortune was now certain, and on the next circuit I went down to take possession of it. Will it be believed? Not only did I not get a brief, but the party whose cause I had gained gave the only case he had to one of my opponents!

The court

Was I not right in believing there was huggery in this?* But right or wrong, could flesh and blood bear

Huggery. Vide law slang. An expressive word much used by barristers without briefs against those who have plenty, and