The Bolivar bulletin. [volume] (Bolivar, Hardeman County, Tenn.) 1865-1888, 1873-06-13

most pleasant and harmonious usherng
in of a new day, it had seemed to me.
Our conversation ended, I reioined
Neal. Some schooI-master, was it
not ?" he asked IN an Indifferent tone.
'No, indeed" said I; ''that was
Henry Brougham. I should have in
trodueed you, if you hadn't walked of. "
Neal stopped dead short, and stared at
me. Henry Brougham p he cried
out at last. SThe man of all Others I
wanted to see and know What an ass
was not to see, in his face, the pow
er and talent he has,-to mistake him
for some old pedagogue -
Henry Brougham, though then with,
out title, had been, for years, a dis
tinguished member of Parliament, emil
nent for his passionate eloquence and
vehement invective; famous, too, as
the legal defender of Queen Caroline.
He had also been chosen q year or two
before, though Walter Scott was his
competitor, lord rector of the universi-
ty of Glasgow, and his recent work
" On the Education of the People" was
attracting universal attention. No
wonder, then, that my friend Neal, san
guine- impossible, and q worshipper of
genius, was provoked with himself for
having missed an introduction.
may state here that there was, be
tween Brougham and my father, so
great a personal resemblance, alike in
face and person, that the one was fre-
quentIy mistaken for the other. a year
or two after Brougham obtained his
title, my father, passing through Mac
cIesfieId in the maiI-coach, was accosted
while it stopped there, by gentleman
who said he was glad to see his lordslfip
again so soon. Ny father, guessing
the mistake, protested that he was not
Lord Brougham ;; but the other reioin-
ed, "You wish to travel incognito but
you forget that I had the honor of din=
ing with your lordship three weeks
ago" This was noised about a crowd
collected; and when the coach started
again, they gave three hearty cheers for
Lord Brougham, the peoples friend.
My father, while was with him in
London, introduced me to a noted
author, already known to me through
two of his works,-Political Justice
and Caleb Williams,-and as the hus-
band, thirty years before that time,
however, of the celebrated Mary Woll-
stonecraft. William Goodwin was then
70 years old; but he seemed to me old
er than Bentham. Feeble and bent, he
had neither the bright eye ror the elast-
ic step of the utilitarian philosopher.
In person he was small and insignificant.
His capacious forehead, seeming to
weigh down the aged head, alone re-
manned to indicate the talent which
even his opponents confessed that he
had shown, alike in his novels and in
his graver works. His conversation
gave me the impression of intellect
without warmth of heart it touched on
great principles, but was measured and
unimpulsive; as great a contrast TO
Bentham's as could well be imagined.
His face, however, twenty years be
fore, if one might Judge by what seem
ed a capital oil-painting that hung over
the mantel-piece, must have had a noble
expression. A head Of Mary WollstOn-
craft, in another part of the room, was
inferior as picture. But the face, less
masculine than L had figured it to my
self, was very beautiful peculiar soft
and loving expression about the eyes
mingling with look of great intelli-
gence. Goodwin assured me that it was
an excellent likeness. I gazed at it,
calling to mind some of the sad pass
ages Of her life as recorded by her hus-
band, and wondering whether her brief
union with him had made up for pre-
vious suffering