My dear Friend,

LETTER XXIII.

To Alfred West, Esq.

Windermere, June, 1842.

It has been raining here at such a rate for the last four days, that if "Captain Noah" (as he is irreverently called in one of our old "Mysteries") were on earth, he would certainly think it high time to set about the building of another ark.

Can you procure for me, at a moderate price, Heyne's Homer - the nine volumes, I mean? By the way, this seems an odd question after such an exordium. So I must just stop a minute to explain to you the connection between " Captain Noah" and Heyne's Homer; for though the connection may be obvious to you, it is just possible it may not.

I had put down my pen for a moment to contemplate the ceaseless down-pour with that despairing look which we generally cast to the heavens in such cases, when the rain itself, together with the mention of Noah, naturally led me back to the deluge the deluge to the ark of that primeval navigator; and so just stepping in, to get out of the rain, I entered the cabin at that critical moment when Noah had opened the cabin window to leeward, and had the raven on his fist, preparing for his flight. The thought of the raven naturally led to the thought of the dove, the dove to those far less fortunate "Columbæ" in Deucalion's deluge, whose nest, according to Horace, was so inconveniently visited by the fishes; this unaccountable freak of imagination entirely disorganised the whole train of my reverie, and sent me rambling among the Roman classics; the Roman classics, by what metaphysicians call either a suggestion of "resemblance," or a suggestion of "contrast," let the metaphysicians, and, in their default, the critics, decide which, led me to the Greek classics; these to their Coryphæus, Homer, and to my long-coveted copy of Heyne. Procure it for me if you can, but let it be at a moderate price.

The above devious course of thought is about as tortuous as that which Hobbes mentions as a proof of the odd freaks of association. He says that in a company which was occupied in discussing the tragedy of Charles the First's execution, the good folks were startled by one of their number suddenly asking the value of a Roman denarius. It seems that, while they pursued their topic, this absent man had gone on a ramble of associations. The death of Charles had recalled the idea of the traitors who had a finger in it; the traitors, Judas Iscariot; Judas, the thirty pieces of silver; and that, the value of the coin denarius!

On all this I am induced to make the original remark, that the faculty of association is certainly a very strange one. Like every thing else on earth, it has its two handles; its good and its bad sides; its uses and abuses. If it be itself the great auxiliary of memory, it as often puts to flight another ally of the same great faculty, attention; if it be able to intensify, often absolutely create, the beautiful, it can as suddenly destroy it by forcing on us some cruel capriccio of whimsical incongruity; if it can strengthen and fortify virtue, it can perform the same friendly office for vice; if it often suddenly hands us just what we want, or by an unexpected turn brings our wearied thoughts to their journey's end, it as often presents us with ten thousand things that we want not, or sends us out on an idle tour over threefourths of the universe.

The most casual mistake the most innocent inadvertence

nay, even the most appropriate illustration shall send half an orator's audience, especially if it be a Christian congregation, a million leagues from the subject of his discourse. I remember a preacher once innocently but irrelevantly indulging in some "illustrations" derived from "inductive and experimental philosophy." Those unlucky illustrations ruined the attention of as many hearers-to wit of three friends and myself. The most amusing thing was to observe, that they had sent us all off by different routes of association-such is the activity of this versatile faculty. On comparing notes, we found one of us had no sooner heard the words, than he was transported in imagination

to a lecture-room of the Royal Institution,-peeped into two or three jars of chemicals,-received a shock or two from a new galvanic apparatus, - saw two or three young gentlemen cut a caper under the influence of the nitrous oxide, -and could not

get back till the preacher uttered the words "thirdly and lastly." The second instantly found himself deep in the first book of Bacon's "Novum Organum," and unconsciously illustrating the idola tribús. The third was sent instantly into the very midst of the mechanism of a new pump for which he was about to take out a patent, and got so entangled amongst levers, pistons, valves, and tubes, that he did not recover himself till the benediction. For myself, the mention of inductive philosophy sent me to Newton; Newton sent me on a long ramble through the planetary system

comets rushed by, and I went helter skelter on with them into the very thick of the fixed stars-the fixed stars led me up to heaven-heaven, by a very natural reaction, brought me back to my duties on earth; and I found myself in church at my devotions again, just as the preacher was insisting on the duty of keeping our thoughts from wandering during religious service.

Perhaps there was not one of the audience an inch nearer heaven for the illustrations. "The preacher's 'experiment' was a failure," said one of my friends. "It was all naturally induced' by his 'induction,'" said a second. "After all, what has Christianity to do with 'experimental philosophy?'" said the third. "Quite as much as we had," replied I, "or, for the matter of that, the preacher either."

But is it not mortifying to think that a chance word, a passing absurdity, a little inadvertence, may, like a pebble thrown among a flock of pigeons, send half the minds of the audience whir whirring a thousand different ways? Surely the faculty of association is one that a public speaker ought to be well acquainted with.

I begin to think, from that last illustration, that Plato was right when he makes Socrates ludicrously compare the ideas in our minds to a flock of pigeons in a large pigeon-house; they

certainly go flying about with similar volatility, are as easily startled, and as difficult to catch.

If anybody wants hay this year, he must, should this weather continue, "fish for it," as Horace Walpole said.

66

So much in answer to your queries. Forgive me that I did not reply yesterday; but just as I was going to begin, my lodgings were visited by two ladies to solicit a subscription to some new "society" (or some "branch" of one) they are going to establish in this neighbourhood for a local and, no doubt, very humane object, though it appeared to me no more deserving of a separate" organisation" than a thousand and one others. Nay, I fancy the end would be answered a thousand times better if every man that really desires it, would use his private influence and example to aid it, instead of ostentatiously setting up an organisation" to work it out secundum artem. The waste of time and energy in canvassing and speechifying, in gadding, and talk, and gossip (to say nothing of the provocatives to vanity, &c.), occasioned by the needless multiplication of these modern modes of benevolence is prodigious. A "society" against the formation of any needless societies would be an excellent thing, and would be sure to find me a subscriber. The principle of "Division of Labour," in these social forms, is run mad, and ought to be strait-waistcoated.

Of course, all large objects, which really require confederacy, must have such organisations; who doubts it? But they should

be as few as possible; and confined to objects which are too vast and comprehensive to dispense with them. This would economise time, money, agency, everything. But we now see societies formed, not only for all great objects, but for the most trivial local ones; multiplied far beyond necessity, either by excessive subdivision of objects, or by want of consolidation when the objects are nearly identical; all the purposes in view might just as well be secured by half the number. It is quite humiliating to think of the loss of time and patience, of breath, money, and oratory that all this entails. No sooner does some benevolent crotchet enter the mind of some philanthropic gentleman or lady, than straightway a "committee" must be formed, and meetingsweekly, monthly, and annual — held; the post actively plied; placards and reports printed; circulars issued; and, in short, all the usual machinery, set in motion to the infinite plague of quiet souls like myself, and of multitudes who have much more important business to attend to, and cannot find time for it. Nor can it be concealed that the expense of these "organisations," if they multiply at the present rate, will, in due time, swallow up no small portion of the capital of benevolence. No wonder so many of these "societies" languish, and that their whole history is little but a continued series of " appeals."

Inspired by a noble ambition, I think also of starting my own little association. Pray let me have a "branch" in your part of the country. I am not yet decided as to its object — but no matter; there is no lack of them, for any one of "the ills flesh is heir to" may furnish a foundation. I think, however, the "woodenlegged" men have been strangely overlooked, and that I shall entitle my "organisation," "The poor Wooden-legged Men's Friend's Society" (it is well to have a long name), for providing them with that supplementary limb gratis. I delight myself with thinking what an imposing appearance my array of "wooden legs" will make at my "annual meeting," and with what clatter of emphasis they will knock their applause at eloquent periods by means of the timber toe. An array of the "two wooden-legged' might, methinks, grace the front of the platform-seated on