stated, and too hardy and high-toned for the nervous effeminacy of
many modern moralists. But Walking Stewart was a man who thought nobly
of human nature; he wrote therefore at times in the spirit and with
the indignation of an ancient prophet against the oppressors and
destroyers of the time. In particular I remember that in one or more
of the pamphlets which I received from him at Grasmere he expressed
himself in such terms on the subject of Tyrannicide (distinguishing
the cases in which it was and was not lawful) as seemed to Mr.
Wordsworth and myself every way worthy of a philosopher; but, from the
way in which that subject was treated in the House of Commons, where
it was at that time occasionally introduced, it was plain that his
doctrine was not fitted for the luxuries and relaxed morals of the
age. Like all men who think nobly of human nature, Walking Stewart
thought of it hopefully. In some respects his hopes were wisely
grounded; in others they rested too much upon certain metaphysical
speculations which are untenable, and which satisfied himself only
because his researches in that track had been purely self-originated
and self-disciplined. He relied upon his own native strength of mind;
but in questions, which the wisdom and philosophy of every age
building successively upon each other have not been able to settle, no
mind however strong is entitled to build wholly upon itself. In many
things he shocked the religious sense--especially as it exists in
unphilosophic minds: he held a sort of rude and unscientific
Spinosism; and he expressed it coarsely and in the way most likely to
give offence. And indeed there can be no stronger proof of the utter
obscurity in which his works have slumbered than that they should all
have escaped prosecution. He also allowed himself to look too lightly
and indulgently on the afflicting spectacle of female prostitution as
it exists in London and in all great cities. This was the only point
on which I was disposed to quarrel with him; for I could not but view
it as a greater reproach to human nature than the slave-trade or any
sight of wretchedness that the sun looks down upon. I often told him
so; and that I was at a loss to guess how a philosopher could allow
himself to view it simply as part of the equipage of civil life, and
as reasonably making part of the establishment and furniture of a
great city as police-offices, lamplighting, or newspapers. Waiving,
however, this one in