The Spirit of the Age - 
Contemporary Portraits 
 
The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Spirit of the Age, by William 
Hazlitt This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and 
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Title: The Spirit of the Age Contemporary Portraits 
Author: William Hazlitt 
Release Date: February 12, 2004 [EBook #11068] 
Language: English 
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 
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THE 
SPIRIT OF THE AGE: 
OR 
CONTEMPORARY PORTRAITS. 
 
"To know another well were to know one's self." 
 
CONTENTS.
JEREMY BENTHAM 
WILLIAM GODWIN 
MR. COLERIDGE 
REV. MR. IRVING 
THE LATE MR. HORNE TOOKE 
SIR WALTER SCOTT 
LORD BYRON 
MR. CAMPBELL--MR. CRABBE 
SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH 
MR. WORDSWORTH 
MR. MALTHUS 
MR. GIFFORD 
MR. JEFFREY 
MR. BROUGHAM--SIR F. BURDETT 
LORD ELDON--MR. WILBERFORCE 
MR. SOUTHEY 
MR. T. MOORE--MR. LEIGH HUNT 
ELIA--GEOFFREY CRAYON 
 
THE 
SPIRIT OF THE AGE. 
 
* * * * * 
 
JEREMY BENTHAM. 
 
Mr. Bentham is one of those persons who verify the old adage, that "A 
prophet has no honour, except out of his own country." His reputation 
lies at the circumference; and the lights of his understanding are 
reflected, with increasing lustre, on the other side of the globe. His 
name is little known in England, better in Europe, best of all in the 
plains of Chili and the mines of Mexico. He has offered constitutions 
for the New World, and legislated for future times. The people of 
Westminster, where he lives, hardly know of such a person; but the 
Siberian savage has received cold comfort from his lunar aspect, and 
may say to him with Caliban--"I know thee, and thy dog and thy bush!"
The tawny Indian may hold out the hand of fellowship to him across 
the GREAT PACIFIC. We believe that the Empress Catherine 
corresponded with him; and we know that the Emperor Alexander 
called upon him, and presented him with his miniature in a gold 
snuff-box, which the philosopher, to his eternal honour, returned. Mr. 
Hobhouse is a greater man at the hustings, Lord Rolle at Plymouth 
Dock; but Mr. Bentham would carry it hollow, on the score of 
popularity, at Paris or Pegu. The reason is, that our author's influence is 
purely intellectual. He has devoted his life to the pursuit of abstract and 
general truths, and to those studies-- 
"That waft a thought from Indus to the Pole"-- 
and has never mixed himself up with personal intrigues or party politics. 
He once, indeed, stuck up a hand-bill to say that he (Jeremy Bentham) 
being of sound mind, was of opinion that Sir Samuel Romilly was the 
most proper person to represent Westminster; but this was the whim of 
the moment. Otherwise, his reasonings, if true at all, are true 
everywhere alike: his speculations concern humanity at large, and are 
not confined to the hundred or the bills of mortality. It is in moral as in 
physical magnitude. The little is seen best near: the great appears in its 
proper dimensions, only from a more commanding point of view, and 
gains strength with time, and elevation from distance! 
Mr. Bentham is very much among philosophers what La Fontaine was 
among poets:--in general habits and in all but his professional pursuits, 
he is a mere child. He has lived for the last forty years in a house in 
Westminster, overlooking the Park, like an anchoret in his cell, 
reducing law to a system, and the mind of man to a machine. He 
scarcely ever goes out, and sees very little company. The favoured few, 
who have the privilege of the _entrée_, are always admitted one by one. 
He does not like to have witnesses to his conversation. He talks a great 
deal, and listens to nothing but facts. When any one calls upon him, he 
invites them to take a turn round his garden with him (Mr. Bentham is 
an economist of his time, and sets apart this portion of it to air and 
exercise)--and there you may see the lively old man, his mind still 
buoyant with thought and with the prospect of futurity, in eager 
conversation with some Opposition Member, some expatriated Patriot, 
or Transatlantic Adventurer, urging the extinction of Close Boroughs, 
or planning a code of laws for some "lone island in the watery waste,"
his walk almost amounting to a run, his tongue keeping pace with it in 
shrill, cluttering accents, negligent of his person, his dress, and his 
manner, intent only on his grand theme of UTILITY--or pausing, 
perhaps, for want of breath and    
    
		
	
	
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