goes to the length
of blaming him because "his temper was constitutionally irritable," as
though he constructed himself. Here, again, Mr. Watkinson's is a purely
debit account. He ignores James Mill's early sacrifices for principle,
his strenuous labor for what he considered the truth, and his intense
devotion to the education of his children. His temper was undoubtedly
austere, but it is more than possible that this characteristic was
derived from his forefathers, who had been steeped in the hardest
Calvinism.

John Stuart Mill was infatuated with Mrs. Taylor, whom he married when
she became a widow. But Mr. Watkinson conceals an important fact. He
talks of "selfish pleasure" and "indulgence," but he forgets to tell
his readers that Mrs. Taylor was _a confirmed invalid_. It is perfectly
obvious, therefore, that Mill was attracted by her mental qualities;
and it is easy to believe Mill when he disclaims any other relation
than that of affectionate friendship. No one but a Watkinson could be so
foolish as to imagine that men seek sensual gratification in the society
of invalid ladies.

Harriet Martineau is "one of the unloveliest female portraits ever
traced." Mr. Watkinson is the opposite of a ladies' man. Gallantry was
never his foible. He hates female Freethinkers with a perfect hatred. He
pours out on Harriet Martineau his whole vocabulary of abuse. But it is,
after all, difficult to see what he is in such a passion about. Harriet
Martineau had no sexual sins, no dubious relations, no skeleton in
the domestic cupboard. But, says Mr. Watkinson, she was arrogant and
censorious. Oh, Watkinson, Watkinson! have you not one man's share of
those qualities yourself? Is there not "a sort of a smack, a smell to"
of them in your godly constitution?

We need not follow Mr. Watkinson's nonsense about "the domestic shrine
of Schopenhauer," who was a gay and festive bachelor to the day of his
death. As for Mr. Watkinson's treatment of Comte, it is pure Christian;
in other words, it contains the quintessence of uncharitableness. Comte
had a taint of insanity, which at one time necessitated his confinement.
That he was troublesome to wife and friends is not surprising, but
surely a man grievously afflicted with a cerebral malady is not to be
judged by ordinary standards. Comte's genius has left its mark on the
nineteenth century; he was true to _that_ in adversity and poverty. This
is the fact posterity will care to remember when