Political economy has become, in the hands of Malthus and Ricardo, a school of metaphysics. All seem agreed what is to be done; the contention is, how the subject is to be divided and defined. Meddle with no such matters. Write the lives of the principal Italian poets, of about the same length as Macdiarmid’s ‘Lives,’ mingling criticism and translation with biography: this is the task I assign you.
The Berrys are
slowly rising in this part of the world; I hear of them eighty miles off, and
their track begins to be pointed out. People are out on the hills with their
glasses. I have written to ask them to Foston. Our visit succeeded very well at
Knowsley. The singing of the children was admired, and we all found Derbus and Derbe very kind and
attentive. What principally struck me was the magnificence of
| MEMOIR OF THE REV. SYDNEY SMITH. | 245 |
I am sorry to hear you are likely to have the gout again. Let it be a comfort to you to reflect, that I, who have no gout, have not an acre of land upon the face of the earth.
No Roman vase: we are not worthy—it is out of our line. I have read over your letter again. If the object in writing essays on political economy is to amuse yourself, of course there can be no objection; but my opinion is (and I will never deceive in literary matters), you will do the other much better. If you have a mind for a frolic over the mountains, you know how glad I shall be to see you.
