verything which it is impossible to believe in,--in the danger of
Parliamentary Reform, the danger of Catholic Emancipation, the danger of
altering the Court of Chancery, the danger of altering the courts of
law, the danger of abolishing capital punishment for trivial thefts,
the danger of making land-owners pay their debts, the danger of making
anything more, the danger of making anything less. It seems as if he
maturely thought, "Now, I know the present state of things to be
consistent with the existence of John Lord Eldon; but if we begin
altering that state, I am sure I do not know that it will be
consistent." As Sir Robert Walpole was against all committees of inquiry
on the simple ground, "If they once begin that sort of thing, who knows
who will be safe?" so that great Chancellor (still remembered in his own
scene) looked pleasantly down from the woolsack, and seemed to observe,
"Well, it _is_ a queer thing that I should be here, and here I mean
to stay."

TASTE

From 'Wordsworth, Tennyson, and Browning'

There is a most formidable and estimable _insane_ taste. The will has
great though indirect power over the taste, just as it has over the
belief. There are some horrid beliefs from which human nature revolts,
from which at first it shrinks, to which at first no effort can force
it. But if we fix the mind upon them, they have a power over us, just
because of their natural offensiveness. They are like the sight of human
blood. Experienced soldiers tell us that at first, men are sickened by
the smell and newness of blood, almost to death and fainting; but that
as soon as they harden their hearts and stiffen their minds, as soon as
they _will_ bear it, then comes an appetite for slaughter, a tendency to
gloat on carnage, to love blood (at least for the moment) with a deep,
eager love. It is a principle that if we put down a healthy instinctive
aversion, nature avenges herself by creating an unhealthy insane
attraction. For this reason, the most earnest truth-seeking men fall
into the worst delusions. They will not let their mind alone; they force
it toward some ugly thing, which a crotchet of argument, a conceit of
intellect recommends: and nature punishes their disregard of her warning
by subjection to the ugly one, by belief in it. Just so, the most
industrious critics get the most admiration. They think it unjust to
rest in their instinctive natural horror; they overcome it, and angry
nature gives them over