at having found a
good laughing-stock. The most unmistakable bit of genuine expression of
his own feelings in Jeffrey's writings is, I think, to be found in his
letters to Dickens. 'Oh! my dear, dear Dickens!' he exclaims, 'what a
No. 5' (of 'Dombey and Son') 'you have now given us. I have so cried and
sobbed over it last night and again this morning, and felt my heart
purified by those tears, and blessed and loved you for making me shed
them; and I never can bless and love you enough. Since that divine Nelly
was found dead on her humble couch, beneath the snow and ivy, there has
been nothing like the actual dying of that sweet Paul in the summer
sunshine of that lofty room.' The emotion is a little senile, and most
of us think it exaggerated; but at least it is genuine. The earlier
thunders of the 'Edinburgh Review' have lost their terrors, because they
are in fact mere echoes of commonplace opinion. They are often clever
enough, and have all the air of judicial authority, but we feel that
they are empty shams, concealing no solid core of strong personal
feeling even of the perverse variety. The critic has been asking
himself, not 'What do I feel?' but 'What is the correct remark to make?'

Jeffrey's political writing suggests, I think, in some respects a higher
estimate of his merits. He has not, it is true, very strong convictions,
but his sentiments are liberal in the better sense of the word, and he
has a more philosophical tone than is usual with English publicists. He
appreciates the truths, now become commonplace, that the political
constitution of the country should be developed so as to give free play
for the underlying social forces without breaking abruptly with the old
traditions. He combats with dignity the narrow prejudices which led to a
policy of rigid repression, and which, in his opinion, could only lead
to revolution. But the effect of his principles is not a little marred
by a certain timidity both of character and intellect. Hopefulness
should be the mark of an ardent reformer, and Jeffrey seems to be always
decided by his fears. His favourite topic is the advantage of a strong
middle party, for he is terribly afraid of a collision between the two
extremes; he can only look forward to despotism if the Tories triumph,
and a sweeping revolution if they are beaten. Meanwhile, for many years
he thinks it most probable that both parties will be swallowed up by the
common enemy. Never was there such a det