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

THE SUN, LONDON, THURSDAY EVENING, MAY 7, 1868.

•of the sympathy offered to him. (Cheers.) My
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—bow 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
pedigrses and noble precedents of the intellectual
developinent 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 vital and sub-
stantial than half of our acquaintance—(laughter
and cheers)—who mix with our daily life and
represent our feelings, often give us counsel,
and occasionally cause us merriment, 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 Assyrian, 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

,est of the condition of a country, I think I may
wsaiythEngland may look
tthe vernacular litera-
ture with which we are all conversant, and which
withoutpride and exaggerationsatisatisfaction
ioo tthoa
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, is
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 produeed a constella-
tion of poets which rarely has been rivalled by any
other nation. Those poets were not alone iu their
glory. At that time there was also a development
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 is au 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 to
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 eith 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. He 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-
dons soothe the labour and solace the life of the
workers of the antipodes. It is in this great and
expanding tribunal to which the English author
addresses himself that I find the elements of his
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 au
additional reason why we should seriously and ear-
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 some
instances obtained and in 80 many instances aspited
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 and 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 in its
results it may influence the character of nations ;
above all, the man who, full of triumph and success,
falls the victim of a shattered nervous system, who
just as he 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 conditiou of literary life, in
which this society may afford that remedial aid

which fulfils one of the most beautiful purposes
phis is the cause which
of its existence. (Hear.)

I have to plead to-night. I wish I could have

pleaded it in 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. (Cieers.) I speak to those
who are a brotherhood, who, either by their pro-
fession or by their tastes, are all literary men. If I
cannot bring before you those aromenta which

ought to influence your intelligence. I make an
appeal to you which I am sure will at least ti >uch
your hearts. (Cheers.) I therefore beg to pro-
pose to you, " Prosperitf to the Royal. Liter,lry
Fund," and I connect with the toast tha name of
Earl Stanhope, the chairman and great supporter
of the society. (Loud and prolonged cheering.)
Lord STANHOPE responded to the toast, and pro- ,
posed the health of the chairman, who responded.
The remaining toasts were —"Poetry and Imagi-
native Literature," proposed by Sir Stafford North-
cote, and responded to by Mr. Venables ; "The
Judges and Legal Literature," proposed by Lord
Houghton, and acknowledged by Chief Justice
Bovill ; " Classical and fliAorical Li teriture," pro-
poscel by Lord Raverisworth, and acknoNleclged
by Dean Stanley ; "The Stewards," and "The
La ies."

The subscription lint amounted, ag announced
the course of the evening, to £1.400.

POLICE lATELLICIEM,VI.-1 ELLS DAY

MARL BO ROUGII-STRE ET.
THE STREET FIGHTING NUISANCE AMONG THE
INHABITANTS OF Soto,—John Iligerty, a boy, was
charged, before Mr. D'Eyncourt, with beho.ving in
a disorderly manner in King-street, Soho.
Police-constable Thomas Pieklts, 217 C, said—
About half-past eight yesterday evening I saw
about 150 boys in Princes-street, Leicester-
square, all of them armed with bludgeonS and sticks.
They were stopping passengers and flourishing their
sticks in their faces. The prisoner, who was armed
with a thick stick, with his named carved on it, and
intended to imitate a staff, was very active in the
affair, and I took him into custody. One young
man who was passing was knocked down and
rendered insensible by a blow from a large stick.
Mr. D'lLyneourt —llo you mean to say that they
used such a thing as that produced (the bough of a
tree) ?

Constable—Yes.
Mr. IYEyncourt—What is the meaning of it ?
Constable —The lads call them " stroot fights."
Inspector Ilarrison—The nuisance has become so seri-
ous that the inhabitants cannot carry on their business
without some steps are taken to put an end to it.

The prisoner—l did not hit any one with my stick.

An inhabitant of Princes-street said—ln common with
my fellow tradesmen, I am much annoyed by assemblages
of boys every night armed with sticks, and we frequently
have our windows broken. Last night about 15 of
the boys collected, and there was a fresh disturb-
ance. I saw a young man struck with one of the
sticks. The boys called them sham fights, and
there were different parties, who set to fighting—
there is the Dales' party fighting the Leicester-
square party, and there is a disgraceful tumult, and
it is time a stop was put to it.
Mr. D'Eyncourt—Such conduct is likely to ter-
rify persons, and must be very annoying to trades-
men, and must be put down. The prisoner will
have to find a surety to keep the peace for six
months.