A very irreverent wag wrote--
How blest was he who'd ne'er consent
With Wilberforce to walk,
Nor dined with Soapy Sam, nor let
The Bishop hear him talk!
and this crude epigram expressed the feelings of numbers of enraged and
scandalized individuals. The wretched book gave us an ugly picture of a
hollow society where kindness seemed non-existent, and where every man
walked with his head in a cloud of poisonous flies. As more memoirs
appeared, it was most funny to observe that, while Wilberforce was
occupied in scarifying his dear friends, some of his dear friends were
occupied in scarifying him. Thus we find Abraham Hayward, a polished
leader of society, writing in the following way of Wilberforce, with
whom ostensibly his relations were of the most affectionate
description--"Wilberforce is really a low fellow. Again and again the
committee of the Athenaeum Club have been obliged to reprove him for
his vulgar selfishness." This is dreadful! No wonder that petty cynics
snarl and rejoice; they say, "Look at your great men, and see what mean
backbiters they are!" Alas!
Thomas Carlyle's memoirs are a kind of graveyard of reputations; and we
can well understand the rage and horror with which many individuals
protested against the fierce Scotchman's strictures.
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