The Sun.
London, England, 1868-05-07 00:00:00

THE SUN, LONDON, THURSDAY EVP,NING, MAY 7, 1868,

THE ROYAL LITERARY FUND.

The usual anniversary banquet of this institution
was held at the Freemasons' Tavern last night.
The Right Hon. Benjamin Disraeli presided, and
was supported by a numerous and distinguished
company. On entering the hall Mr. Disraeli was
very warmly received by the company. Between
200 and 300 gentlemen sac down to dinner.
Mrs. Disraeli and a party of distinguished ladies
witnessed the proceedings from the body of the hall,
and the ladies' gallery was also well filled.
The CHAIRMAN.—My Lords and Gentlemen,—l
beg to propose to you a toast which is always drunk
in every society of Englishmen With feelings of re-
spectful cordiality ; but in this assembly of the
Literary Fund it is received with feelings of pecu-
liar enthusiasm, because it is the toast of one who
now for many years has been our munificent patron.
(Cheers.) In proposing to you the health of her
Majesty this year, I cannot forget that since I last
had the honour of dining with the Literary Fund
her Majesty has inscribed her name in the memor-
able list of Royal authors—(Cheers)—and her Ma-
jesty has experienced a fortune which has not
always been the fate of Royal authors, or even
of authors of another description ; for her Ma-
jesty has found thousands and hundreds of thou-
sands of readers for her volumes. (Cheers.)
That is not surprising, since those who have
read those pages must have recognised in them
the touch of nature that makes all hearts kin.
(Cheers.) I propose to you, therefore, with all the
honours, " The Health of our munificent patron her
Majesty the Queen." (Loud cheers.)
The CHAIRMAN—I have now to propose that we
shall drink " The Health of the Prince and Prin-
cess of Wales and the other Members of the Royal
Family." The Royal Family is peculiarly con-
nected with this institution. His Royal Highness
the Prince of Wales has deigned to fill the chair
which I now occupy. (Hear, hear.) In that he
only followed the example of his illustrious father, a
Prince who did more for the refinement of the
taste of this country than any prince who ever
flourished since the days of the Medici. (Cheers.)
But there are peculiar circumstances which on this
occasion must force us to drink this toast with feel-
ings of no common emotion. All of us must have
heard with alarm and indignation of the attempt
recently made in a distant settlement of the Queen
upon the life of one of her children. (Hear, hear.)
That attempt was, .I think, unjustly associated with
the name of Ireland. • But if anything could have
proved more triumphantly than another the injus-
tice of that aspersion on that nation it was the recep-
tion which at that very moment was being accorded
by a loyal and a generous people to another child
of the Queen, whose presence on that soil with the
charming partner of his life and state proved what
I for one never doubted—the entire loyalty of that
gifted people. (Cheers.) Gentlemen, I propose to
you " The Health of the Prince and Princess of
Wales and the other Meinbers of the Royal Family."
(Cheers.)
Earl BEAIJCHAMP proposed " The Church," re-
marking upon the services which the clergy had
rendered to literature, science, and art.
The Bishop of ROCHESTER briefly acknowledged
the toast.
The CHAIRMAN, lu rising to propose the toast of
the evening, was greeted with loud and continued
cheering. He said—My Lords and Gentlemen,—
One of the most illustrious of my predecessors in the
seat which I now occupy regretted that, when he had
to approach the most interesting theme on the even-
ing of o he had to touch upon one
which foru
o
-quarters of a century had
been
illustrious and eminent
men d therefore he drew the
fthandled
h mai
this
no
nrcei country,
by thanue nrst therayrtl mosthesrene
very sound inference that there was no novelty of
treatment of which it was capable, and no new
suggestion which could possibly arise in regard to
it. I myself must admit the justice of that obser-
vation.experience I have a pain-
fulre
colleßctuiotnin my own
that theditficulty is increased and
the disadvantage aggravated, because I cannot for-
get that this is not the first time that I have had the
honour of sitting in this chair, and that there is
upon record my inadequate attempt to vindicate the
constitution of the soeieiy and to advocate the sup-
port of its fortunes. (Hear, hear.) But, alas, my
lords and gentlemen, on the present occasion there
is an additional reason why I should feel my utter
inadequacy to the office whiCh I ant now attempt-
ing to fulfil. I come to this assembly like one who
from the heat of combat
repairs to the pare flow
of some placid stream to slake the thirst of
battle. (Cheers and laughter.) It is an effort
to me to attune my mind to the gracious
and refined offices which I have now to per-
form. If, indeed, I had followed my own im-
pulse, I would have declined the chair which I
once filled and the honours which I so much
enjoyed. But I must trust to your indulgent re-
ception of my desultory remarks, and I feel that I
can be sustained at this moment only by that which
I say will ever endure—namely, my sympathy for
the good old cause. (Cheers.) That observation
of my predecessor to which I have referred reminds
us at this moment that the Literary Fund is an
ancient institution ; but, though ancient, it is not
an obsolete institution, which may easily be proved
by contrasting
the assembly now present with the
first dinner which was held in this metropolis to
commemorate the foundation of this fund. Perhaps
during the 70 or 80
years that have elapsed since
that time some of the greatest events that have ever
occurred in the experience of mankind have hap-
pened. It is possible that within an equal space
no more memorable incidents could be com-
prised, and the great changes which during
that interval have affected the fortunes of
humanity have not spared the position of the author.
At the time when
the Literary Fund was founded
the man of letters had escaped from the patronage
of nobles, and had taken refuge in the more sun-
stautial protection of the bookseller. But the great
feature of our time, that great creation which is
rapidly developing---a reading public—did not exist.
(Hear, hear.) Its growth, however, has exercised
a considerable influence on the position of the
author. It opened immediately a great ar,:a of
literary sympathy which, when this institution was
first established,
was unknown. Instead of the
Grubb-street of Queen Anne's time, literary men
have now founded a compact, a well-organised, and
an honourable profession ; and we know well that
there are many men of letters who, exercising that
professional power;haVe realised. incomes that may
match those that the learned professions, which
have long been admitted to 'an honourable place,
had alone hitherto produced. But it would be
'suppose that because this
a certain extent this happy
position of literary men has oc-
garega great
change,ac
13
change;
:in mistaketeeand tt
oc-
curred since the foundation of this fund, there
is no longer any necessity or a reduced necessity for
the active exercise of its offices. On the contrary,
in the first place we must recollect that this very
increase of the area of literary sympathy has in-
oseased the number of aspirants for literary fame
an&success. But there is something for us to re-
collect beyond that. The author is, as we must
e
of
peculiar organisation. He is a
bevienrg remember,
born with a predisposition which with him is
irresistible, the bent of which he cannot in any way
avoid, whether it directs him to the abstruse re-

searches of erudition, or induces him to mount

II into the fervid and turbulent atmosphere of imagi-
nation. But in either case we know that the
life and career of such men cannot be regulated
by the common rules of prudence which, wisely
and properly, are expected to regulate the con-
duct of ordinary men. Well, then, I say it was
a suggestion beautiful in feeling and profound in
thought that when such characters required assist-
ance—when they wanted aid, and consolation, and
succour—they should not have to appeal to those
common feelings of charity which influence us all
iu our relations with ordinary .men, but that they
should find an institution which, I:ke a, generous
and sympathising friend, should minster to all their ,

wants, and at the same time appreciate their pur-
suits and their idiosyncracies. That was the object
of the Literary Ftwsil, whereby ip lieu of the patron
they find a society which, instead of expecting
gratitude from the individual who iS succoured, feels
that it is hoactacci and-rawarclect ilia acceptance

of the sympathy offered to him. (Cheers.) Ny
lords and gentlemen, I have sometimes asked myself
what is the reason why there is a general sympathy
with the literary character—a character so pecu-
liar in its organisation, and often in its results
one which is not calculated to command the com-
mon sympathies of the world—how is it that even
among those who are little lettered there is- a
respect for authors ? I believe it is because there is
an instinct in man that society is greatly indebted
to literature ; and if you ask yourself for a moment
what society would be without books, I think you
may comprehend this feeling, and arrive at some
conception of its origin. Without books the disco-
veries of science, the inventions of art, the grand
pedigrees and noble precedents of the intellectual
development of man would have no record.; none
of those maxims and household words which illus-
trate, animate, adorn, and cheer life would exist;
those imaginary characters', as they are called, but
which are really much more ital and sub-
stantial than half of our acquaintance—(laughter
and cheers)—who mix with our daily life an
represent our feelings, often give us counsel,
and occasionally cause us merriinent, would no
longer move among us. There would be no Ham-
lets, no Don Quixotes, no Falstaffs. (Laughter.)
And, therefore, I can easily conceive that man-
kind has instinctively felt how much even those who
are unlettered owe to the cultivated record of the
impulses of invention and the discoveries of truth.
(Cheers.) I think, gentlemen, you will see this
very markedly when you observe how much the test
of the condition and the mind of a country is the
state of its literature. If you look at the great
empires of antiquity, the Assyriap, the Babylonian,
and even the Egyptian, why, in the consciousness
of men they are really nothing more than mere
phantoms. We are aware of their names; we
know they possessed power which no longer exists ;
that they perhaps indulged in mysteries which
may never be penetrated ; but they have
no effect upon our active life ; they do not
mould our characters ; they do not illustrate our
feelings; they have not left us human examples
for our instruction. And why not ? Because they
have left us no books ; because they have left us no
literature. We have heard of their conquerors,
their statesmen, and their priests, but never of their
authors. (hear, hear.) And this want of influence
upon living generations is not the consequence of
the lapse of time. There are countries which were
coeval with them—countries that flourished 3,000
years ago ; and yet those countries, composed of
tribes and clans who were content when they
had formed a polity which secured their material
comfort, then gave up their minds to the cultiva-
tion of the intellect, and produced literatures
of startling originality ; those countries, though
they were not the countries of great conquerors,
have at this moment a constant effect upon the
life and conduct of existing generations. (Hear,
hear.) There is not a day that the incidents of
their history do not illustrate our life ; there is
not a day that their household words do not animate
and adorn the hearths round which we live ; and at
this very moment there is no part of the world which
is not influenced by the conduct and the thought of
nations who in population were very small, but who
exercised and will exercise perhaps for ever this
irresistible influence. And why ? Because they
left us literatures and produced authors. Now, if
it be true that the state of a literature is the best
test of the condition of a country, I think I may
say without exaggeration that England may look
with pride and satisfaction to the vernacular litera-
ture with which we are .all conversant, and which
at this time commands the attention and the ad-
miration of the world. (Cheers.) I may say of
our literature that it has one characteristic which
distinguishes it from almost all the other litera-
tures of modern Europe, and that is its exuber-
ant reproductiveness. Other countries at par-
ticular epochs have produced admirable speci-
mens of the thought and expressions of man in
all their forms of philosophy, of history, poetry, and
science. But they have rarely repeated those mo-
dels. Now, I must say of our vernacular tongue
that there is a reproductiveness about it which is
its most remarkable feature, and which, I think,ds
not paralleled in the history, ancient or modern, of
any other nation. Why, it is only 40 or 50 years
ago—l daresay there are some present who remem-
ber the time—when England produced a constella-
tion of poets which rarely has been rivalled by any
other nation. Those poets were not alone in their
glory. At that time there was also a develoi meat
of critical power—the power which is supposed to
be the most contrary to the creative—that was
most remarkable. Indeed, in every department of
literature there was excellence. They have all
passed away, but that period has not been succeeded
by one of long and sterile reaction ; on the con-
trary, though it would be • invidious at this mo-
ment to name instances, I am speaking only the
truth when I say that we live in an ago when
the voice of true poets is heard, when our language
is working with a vigour and a versatility which
has never been exceeded, when historical in-
vestigation has been conducted with an ornate sa-
gacity that very few periods of literary excellence
could equal, when the conclusions of science have
been communicated to the multitude in a classic
style which certainly a century ago was wanting :o
these invaluable labours. Therefore I say we can
boast for our vernacular literature not merely that
it has produced classical authors at a particular
epoch, but that, combined Kith an exuberant repro-
ductiveness, there is a vigour and a versatility in
our literature and in its power of expression which
has sustained the commanding influence of the
English language. (Cheers.) I confess, my lords
and gentlemen, that I am not surprised at this re-
sult, at which every Englishman ought to be proud,
but I think it can be accounted for. I attribute it
in a great degree to the wide circle to which an
English writer appeals. Ho appeals no longer to
the inhabitants of the illustrious island in which he
lives. If he is capable of it he can affect the
feelings and influence the conduct of the inhabi-
tants of every transatlantic city. His prodec-
tions soothe the labour and solace the life of the
workers of the antipodes. It is in this great Bud
expanding tribunal to which the English author
addresses himself that I find the elements of Lis

inspiration. But if this view which I have sketched,

and sketched very imperfectly, has some foundation
in it—if it be, as I believe, true—l think there is an

additional reason why we should seriously and car-
nestly consider the condition of those pale-faced
votaries of the Muse by whose devotion to the cul-

tivation of these arts those great results are in -Soule
instances obtained and in so many instances aspired
to. We must recollect that; although there may be

cases of-dazzling material success combined with in-
tellectual excellence, it is in the nature of things,
and it is the necessary consequence of that very en-

larged sphere of literary sympathy which adds so
much excitement and stimulus to literary effort, that

there must be many and frequent cases in
which sympathy and aid are needed to minister to

the sorrows ana repair the broken fortunes of our
literary brethren. (Hear, hear.) The most popular

author suddenly finds that the literary fashion of
his age is capricious ; and he falls from the high

empyrean in which he thought it was his destiny to

soar for ever. The scholar who devotes his life to

the noble pursuit of some investigation which can-

not bring him any material support, though iu its
results it may influence the character of nations ;

above all, the man who, full of triumph and success,

rails the victim of a shattered nervous system, who

'ust as lie was reaching the zenith of his glory, and

palpitating with the sense of high intellectual

power, sinks into despondency and despair ;--these

are the cases repeatedly occurring, as I have said,
from the excited condition of literary life, in

which this society may afford that remedial aid

which fulfils one of the•ruoit beautiful purposes

of its existence. (Hear.) "Ibis is the cause which

I have to plead to-night. I wish I could have
pleaded it iu a condition of mind more adapted to

an object so worthy of the best feelings of us all.
But I have this advantage—l appeal to those who

at least sympathise with the subject, if they may
not with the speaker. (C,heersl) I spea,k to those
who are a brotherhood, wfro, either by their pro-

fession or by their tastes, are all literary men. If I
cannot- bring Wore- you thorn argumoutit which