r defence. Whatever the affectionate alarm of
my dear mother may lead her to apprehend, I am not one of the "sons of
anarchy and confusion" with whom she classes me. My opinions, good or
bad, were learnt, not from Hunt and Waithman, but from Cicero, from
Tacitus, and from Milton. They are the opinions which have produced
men who have ornamented the world, and redeemed human nature from the
degradation of ages of superstition and slavery. I may be wrong as to
the facts of what occurred at Manchester; but, if they be what I have
seen them stated, I can never repent speaking of them with indignation.
When I cease to feel the injuries of others warmly, to detest wanton
cruelty, and to feel my soul rise against oppression, I shall think
myself unworthy to be your son.

I could say a great deal more. Above all I might, I think, ask, with
some reason, why a few democratical sentences in a letter, a private
letter, of a collegian of eighteen, should be thought so alarming an
indication of character, when Brougham and other people, who at an age
which ought to have sobered them talk with much more violence, are
not thought particularly ill of? But I have so little room left that I
abstain, and will only add thus much. Were my opinions as decisive as
they are fluctuating, and were the elevation of a Cromwell or the renown
of a Hampden the certain reward of my standing forth in the democratic
cause, I would rather have my lips sealed on the subject than give my
mother or you one hour of uneasiness. There are not so many people in
the world who love me that I can afford to pain them for any object of
ambition which it contains. If this assurance be not sufficient, clothe
it in what language you please, and believe me to express myself in
those words which you think the strongest and most solemn. Affectionate
love to my mother and sisters. Farewell.

T. B. M.

Cambridge: January 5, 1820.

My dear Father,--Nothing that gives you disquietude can give me
amusement. Otherwise I should have been excessively diverted by the
dialogue which you have reported with so much vivacity; the accusation;
the predictions; and the elegant agnomen of "the novel-reader" for which
I am indebted to this incognito. I went in some amazement to Malden,
Romilly, and Barlow. Their acquaintance comprehends, I will venture to
say, almost every man worth knowing in the university in every field of
study. They had never heard the appellation applied to me by