John Effingham had insensibly imbibed the sentiments of his particular
sect, though the large fortune inherited from his father had left him too
independent to pursue the sinuous policy of trade. He had permitted
temperament to act on prejudice to such an extent that he vindicated the
right of England to force men from under the American flag, a doctrine
that his cousin was too simple-minded and clear-headed ever to entertain
for an instant: and he was singularly ingenious in discovering blunders in
all the acts of the republic, when they conflicted with the policy of
Great Britain. In short, his talents were necessary, perhaps, to reconcile
so much sophistry, or to render that reasonably plausible that was so
fundamentally false. After the peace of 1815, John Effingham went abroad
for the second time, and he hurried through England with the eagerness of
strong affection; an affection that owed its existence even more to
opposition than to settled notions of truth, or to natural ties. The
result was disappointment, as happens nineteen times in twenty, and this
solely because, in the zeal of a partisan he had fancied theories, and
imagined results. Like the English radical, who rushes into America with a
mind unsettled by impracticable dogmas, he experienced a reaction, and
this chiefly because he found that men were not superior to nature, and
discovered so late in the day, what he might have known at starting, that
particular causes must produce particular effects. From this time, John
Effingham became a wiser and a more moderate man; though, as the shock had
not been sufficiently violent to throw him backward on truth, or rather
upon the opposing prejudices of another sect, the remains of the old
notions were still to be discovered lingering in his opinions, and
throwing a species of twilight shading over his mind; as, in nature, the
hues of evening and the shadows of the morning follow, or precede, the
light of the sun.