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V In Montreal, three years ago, at tlie suggestion of a few persons interested in Knglisli Literature, a small Society was formed which met once every week to discuss authors who are part of the literary store of all readers. Time has dealt kindly with the social endeavour, and it has been thought advisable to have a memento of the pleasant hours spent during the winter of 1880-81, by printing- tl:e series of Essays read to the Society by its members. It may be added, that in regard to matter, the subsequent pages stand as they were written ; also, that it has been deemed right to preserve even their form, at the risk of irregularity of appearance. The Essays are arranged in order of subject, not of delivery, and although con- taining subjects for the critic's eye, are not published for the eye of the critic. If some motto were needed to indicate the Society's* estimate of the worth of its work, except to itself, these words from Martial wmild suliice : " Nos ha;c novimus esse nihil." The Society has long lacked the convenience of a name r l-y most of its members it has, of late, been known by the title whu h appears on the cover, while to a very few of them that title may still, be a novelty. 303^0 U- CO i\ TENTS. 1. Ai.Ms„N's Essays on Hauads. a. K. 1! '•■»"«. _ 2. AoMsoN-H K«.AVs OK Ma..„ s Paka,>,s. Lo... c. j'k'Z ..Z 8 3. Richaki) Steei,e, A. (;. p 4 J 1') 4. Jonathan Swikt, A. 1). x. ^ ^ 13 6. Daniki, DeFok, W. W. li, .. « ,, 18 0. Iastohal Poetuy, E. Jj, h _ ' " " 22 7. Alkx-andei! Poi'e, G. D ■ • • 25 8. I'oi'E's MouAL Essays, E. H. L ^8 9. PillLOSOPlIY AND Poi-E, C. E. M go 10. COLLEY ClliliEK, E. 1) ,, ,, 39 u. bDWAiU) Young, [. T. G. ... 12. Letteu-Wkh-.k. „.k.xo the E.ghteexth CENxruY, Zn'^ZZ 2 13. Shakespeare and his P.ay RrcHA.u, II., s. G. W. M .'.'''" 43 14. Anonymous Litekature, E. T 53 o .-!- . 3 o CO I'AliK. 5 8 10 l;{ 18 ADDISON'S ESSAYS ON BALLADS. • .V i o 'J 3 CHEW CHACE AND I'HE HAB1<;S IN THE WOOD. "Spectator." Nos. 70, 74, 85. Addison's design in writing thuse Kssays, was to cultivate a purer taste in literature, by calling the publi(! attention to those ballads, once the delight of all men, but, owing to the artificial spirit of the age, now much overlooked or forg)tten. They existed only in mutilated MSS., and printed scraps, scattered about over the country, or hidden away in libraries. It was a bold task, there- fore, to hold up to admiration tiiat which was scorned and neglected by all ; but Addison, sure of his ground, did not shrink from encountering ridicule, and there is no doubt that such criticism from so competent a judge had even moie effect than he anticipated. Fifty-four years later, in 176.5, Hishop Percy, after spending much time in collecting and revising these scattered fragments, published his Reliques, and in hi^ notes made mention of Adlison's criticism. His collection was favourably received, and besides inspiring toany individuals, exerted a very healthful influence over poetry in general, by introducing a new, or rather old, but forgotten element. Others have followed his example, and copies hive been 80 multiplied that in our day an Eisay upon Ballads would need no apology. The following information is taken chiefly from Percy. He tells us that " the minstrels were an order of men in the middle ages, who- subsisted by the arts of poetry and music, and sang to the harp verses com- posed either by themselves or others." The Normans greatly encouraged this class in England, and they flourished for many centuries after the Conquest. The minstrels are generally represented as coming from the '• North Coun- '..ree," which accounts for the prevalence of the Northern dialect in their compo- sitions, as also for a cartain romantic wildaess, and for the fact that many of the subjects related to the Border feuds. Thus the long continued quarrels of the Percy and the Douglas gave rise to the BiUad of Chevy Chace. As the minstrel art declined, many recited only the compositions of others, yet scrupled not to change whole verges or insert new ones at their own con- venience, and thi xplains tha great variation in ditt'erent MSS. In the reign of Elizabeth the old order had died out ; indeed a representation of a bard was a curiosity provided for her entertainment at the great feast given by the Earl of Leicester. A new race of Ballad- makers then sprang up, who wrote narrative songs for the press. Thesj were written in the Northern dia- lect and in exicter measure, with a correctness which sometimes bordered on insipidity, yet they were occasionally very simple and pathetic. To this class we may refer the Babes in the Wood. « Altl„„„|, He ,„ ,^^ '•bly . .^.„,|,„.tiveiy ,,„„ J„''Z '"""'■''" i" '"«'»iy, yrt It I, „, f"...l. b,„.„ tt„ f.,'^ ";;,"■' »' ... ...dJe„. i„ co,„„e.i„„ ,v .r.,' ?■ b.. 1. ho,,,,, Ml. ""• »f "«.rl,„„„,. „a,„^ „,,^^, ^|_^ I "jen- Analy»[h of Eshav —A If ;;-'-«^app.ai;toti;e«;4;::M^^^^^^^^ '■■; -'^^.i-t ..ystati.., that What :r * -"'/'-•^ -on or ..n.:^^,:; ,1'''^^^^^^^ • a„,l that v « ^a . be a,.,,redate.l by all. ^'°^'^'' «""«' J'«ve in it an elemeat which -^. ana .... that 2:^:7'^ ^r'^ -- ^^^"' the ancient "'at an heroic poem .should be founde I '"' *" ^^^^ '^^^^- Firstly a"ty adapted to the constitution o tit; 1"""" '"'^"'^"^ ^'"-1'" -- -ondly. that it .should -vleb.a J .^ rTo sTV''"'' '''' 1'-* -Ite. Cl" th«r own country." while at the san, t^ > "''°"' '^^'^^ e tlioroiighly iuiglish. The siin|(le aid natural way in whi:h the story is told, would of itself lead \is to suppose lliiit it is the aroount of soniH actual occuirence which is here j,'iv('U. Addison introduci's his criticism by giviu;? many examples of the not unconi' luon fate of literary fni^ments, namely, to servo the pur])08B of \vrai>pers, lin- ings, etc., and states that his habit of examining such scraps, led to the discovery of the treasure on wliich his i'.ssuy is written. He represents the beauty of The Children iu the Wood, to consist in it* lieing a true copy of nature, while the simplicity of its style, its genuine and uaaiVectcd sttutiments and toucliiug incidents, would always eusure its popular- ity, notwithstandinjj the want of ornament and the plainness of expression which cliaracterize it. He then instances three f,'reat men who were ballad-lovers, and the Kssay is closed by a parting hit at the conceited wits of tiie day, whose want of apprecia- tion of a touch of nature in her naked simplicity, was not to bo wondered at, as they were incapible of admiring her, even when adorned by art. A. L. U. X ii ADDISON'S ESSAYS ON MILTON'S PARADISE LOST. Tliese Saturday papers are Z "^°° *^' ^"""'^^"g S»nday ^ -rij. and stand LU:;;::;-^^^^^^^ their literary and int^ileotua, .fnvoIo.s Essays of the ^,..,„,,/,,i,;;:^^^^^^^^^^^ the lighter and nacre -^^:tLrer;^:i:::~ - eon^.. ^0 qualif, him to cope with the mS" * t T' "" "" ^""^^ -"teness were designed to foster a taste for a hi.h "l n?" ''^''''^ ^'^^J-'^ -^ch refine public taste and morals. t w'fb; Z . ."*""' ^"'^ ^'^ ^^^^^^ -^^ an elevated yet simple manner, that Addi. , f °^ "^ '^^"^^^-^ ^'»t.jects i„ end. On these Saturday papers Addtn '^ " '"""^ *° ^^''"'np'ih this founded; a reputatio,f Uiirfus Iv r Tt*'°° "^^ chieflJ ass^ociate. ^^'"^ J"^"^ overshadows that of his less profo^d w A^irir::^:;^^:;::;--^ not fol-ow the mode or process of o^T^^ ''' ^'°'^ ''^ these Essays doer ofiu^ingandappreciaCihepoet^r^rf^P"^"^^^^ '^^ P--n dt ."ut he proceeds euMrely by way of el ''^ "^^''' °'' "P^' ^^s o,, merits' - the Milto.ie song, in so'f:! rerdn;!^ f TT '''^'''' ^^^^ and conserves cr departs from the ri« d ci^^^^^^^^ 'nodelled. "^'^ classic r^les by which these poems are Such a mode of criti>i<.», t t. . Milton When singingl:r:o:;T;ri^^'^^^«P^^^^^^^^^ as Wed him from the%bservrc'oVCt" '^"" "' "'°" ^"'^^'^"- c"h^08 insist. ^^'"'^ "n^cer laws" upon which technical - ^s^^^l:::^ Z^T'-v''^'''' -^^-^^^^^^ that take exception to Addison's mo?e of cSl'^'f''^''"^" or Virgil, but I art.tacally a false mode of es^ablishln; iT ^^^'^"r' °" *^« ^--^Vat it i stance, ^mld ever think of utt.mpLVto ^ ? "^ '°^ ^''^^- ^ho. for in tures by comparing them with C^pt^b': B^^^^^^ VT'' '^ ^^« «-^ tive criticism is tho test which should bT , , '^'''°'"*« *nd °ot relL est order. ^^""'^^ ^^ apphed to literary works of the high- es or jects. by tual lore ate eas ch Dd in lis fy id To cne other poiat would I call the attention of the raeetiug, inasmuch as it may be of interest to several of the mt mbers. In speaking of Milton's uneqn.alled powers of iMACiiNATiON, or fancy, Ad- dison again advances the theory first expounded and enunciated by him in the Essiy on the Pleasures of the Imagination, but now universally admitted, "That the Pleasures of the Imagination flow from visible objects only, and tliat the imagination can nrooeed from, or be exercised with regird to tlu-se objects only which are before our eyes or have been taken in through the viiion ;" or to put it more briefly, that loe cannot imagine what is not. The question opens a large field for discussion. And lastly the criticisms on Addison's Essays on Milton have been numerous and not always favourable. They have been adjudged to be "not veiy profound," "to be wanting in logical sequence," "to be austentatiously ptdtntic," but be this as it may : in the opinion of every scholar, of every Christian, and of every Englishmar, they are entitled to a high place in the literature of Britain inasmuch as in them we find tin first public recognition of the grandeur and beauty of Milton's chiefest work, and of the merit of England's greatest poet. C. J. F. ie I KfCHARj) STEE LE. *'«« '-hich n^ark the To\J["'' ""'' ^'•'^'' mothe Ll H ''"'* ^"'^^ ^'^^v the '""^^ ^"^v-e suspend:/:,? ''^'' ^'''^"- ^11 b, t th . '^°'' ^'^"«^-'« st important record we have of his many odd doings. In a letter to her rao on the 3rd September, 1707, he pu's his income at ^1,025 per annum, and, ays he, " I promise myself the pleasure of an industrious and virtue is life in studying to do things agreeable to you." Four days after Dick married the daughter. His mother-in-law had a life in- terest in the estate, and kept him from going too far with that, Among many little similar notes, there was one sent home from a cotfee house the next May, which runs : — ••Deau Wife, — I hope I have done this day what will be pleasing to you ; in the meantime shall lie this night at a baker's, one leg over against the Ojvil Tavern, at Charing Cross. I shall be able to confront the fools who wish me uneasy, «nd shall have the satisfaction to see thee cheerful and at ease. If the printer's boy be at home, send him hithei', and let Mrs. Todd send by the boy my night-gown, sUppars and clean linen. You shall hear from ms early in the morning," etc. On April 12th, 1709, appsarei quietly the first sheet of the Tatler, des- tiuid— it and iti success jrs— to atfdct powerfully the minners of that time, and to open a new era in our literature. Tttougli projected under the alias of Isaac Dickerstatr, the paper's real author was detected by Aidison, reading it in Dab- lin, aad that pirt of his own writings which possess for us the greitest value first came from his pen at the suggestion of his friend. The Tatler was issued ou three mornings in the week, each pamp!- let taking a .subject illustra- tive of some of the light follies of the period, usually s)me comic incident sup- plied by the mind of the writer. Charming wit and good nature filled them all, and yet if in the midst of their enjoyment of the fun, the laughter of our pitched or 1 tvigged ancestors was suddenly broken by the idea that perhaps, after all, they were chuckling at themselves, the Essayist's true aim was gained Vanity was surprised into censure of itself. To the student of manners, Steele's unlaboured and lifelike papers are of great charm, as well as histerical value. Ill the Spectator, the work was evenly sharel with Addison, and became more pretentious. The writer was more a Spectator of mankind than one of the species, as he o«rns in the first .sheet, and was mn-e speculative than practical. He brought p'lilosophy ou!; of cloicts and libraries, schools and colleges, to dwell in clubs and assemblies, at tea-tables, and in cott'ee-houses. Hazlitt says that what Steele wrote "is more like the remirks which occur in sensible conversi- ««tion, and less like a lecture. Tae indications of character and strokes of "humour are more true and frequent, the reflections that suggest themselves "arise from the oc3asion, and are less spun out into regular dissertations." Steele's love for the whole race wa< quite undisguised, and breathes from every lin i he wrote. It never left him, even in daye when he was troubled by very poor health. He worshipped his wife and his friend, and would not be angry at the severe treatment he got from them both, sometimes. Writin,' of hinis df a few months after Addison's death, in his pap„r, the Th satre, he says : "There is not now in his sight that excellent man, whom Heaven made his friend and 12 sup^rior.tobeatacertaia place 'in ,. • . g^ on in hi. farther encourag. Jen 'tL t T' ""' ^'^^-'J -^ or cb. , will " saia to dratv toffoHim. fk attractioa of con gious. loving purity in thought and«,-,! r . ^'^ ''''■'-' ^"th sincere men r.li I!r ?"'*"'"^' '^^^'^""'^ beauite in h. J T"^ '"''^'"'^ "' ^-^I"-«««'°°- in n . ' ^"'^^''°' ^^'^»o had not been lor T^ T"* "^ ^^'"^^ «« ^eep in his A. G. P. JONATHAN SWIFT If there be any truth ia Mr. Forster's remark that it is impossible to form a just opinion of the real character of Jonathan Swift without a deep and thorough knowledge of his works and letters, it may appear presumptuous for one who Ciinuot pretend to more than a very slight aciiuaintauce with the subject, to say anything upon it at all. But there are certain facts in his history which can- not well be disputed, and certain features of his general character which are admitted by all. It is a knotty point whether a man's birthplace stamps lum as belonging to the nation within whoso borders he ftr.st saw the light. Swift's father was of an old Yorkshire family which had done good service in the Koyalist cause, and both his parents were born and bred in England. His father, who was in poor cir- cumstances, had managed to get employment in Dublin. Here, in 1667, a month or two after his father's death, Swift was born, so that he was, undoubt- edly, an Irishman as far as the fact of his birth in Ireland could make him so ; but it is claimed, on the other hand, that his education was begun in England, for his nurse carried him olf to Whitehaven before he was a year old, and kept him there until he was three, so that he was able to rea.l before he returned to the land of his birth. He seems ^to have taken little pains to make the best of what slight advantages he had in the way of education during the years his uncle Godwin kept him at an Irish school ; nor did he attempt to distinguish himself at the University of Dublin, where, in fact, the only branches of study to which he paid any attention were literature and history, neglecting all else to such an extent that he only obtained his degree by special grace, an in- glorious but then not uncommon manner of gaining the necessary title. He remained in Dublin for a time, and on the breaking out of the troubles joined his mother, who had meantime returned to her native place. From her he went, about 1688, to live with Sir William Temple, in a position somewhat akin to that of secretary, a connection from which were woven into his life many threads destined to entwine themselves permanently witli his very exist- ence', and to atVect him during the rest of his days. The families of Temple and Swift had of old been friends ; and the contact with the political world through Sir William was the first step towards elevating Jonathan Swift to the position of importance which he afterwards filled, and which he thought his due from the first moment we have any record of his feelings. One of his chief charac- teristics at this time seems to have been a morbid, passionate resentment acainst the cruel fate wb^ch had placed a man of his vast and brilliant abilities in so subservient and > rendent a position ; this unhealthy frame of mmd appears to have had a pla.a in his nature from his earliest boyhood, completely j-^sjsre^mw. w,*t i'*B3j^«^sir 14 casting out tlint spirit of Immilifv n,. . •'Me.l hin. t. a4t his lo wTh.aLr'f "''""" ^' ^'^''^^ ^"'^ '-« en- fully the„.,vanta,..swhicl, tho.g ^T^"! r^''/'|'"^' ^^ to utili.o „,ore en.low...„ts. have turned to .u.h .r t ; a. " f ' "'f "" ^"^'"""'^ -^-al fully to work au.l doing his best to rh bv is o ''" '"''''" '' ^°'"« '^^^-^^ thought hi„,self worthy of, he sat s tak I "''''°''' '' '''' P^^''^"" In- spirit of thankless ingratitude, and cursinrt'L^UntT' '^''^ ''"' '''''^ ^ to hav . been entirely h.eking in that n.an?y sni fo V" T '°"'- "" '^^""'^ never have allowed hi,a to re«t quiet un if h ,' ""'?^"''""«« ^h'ch wcul.5 another for his very subsistence but he I ^' '^" ^^'^^ '^•-' ^"'^ ^^'yin^ on that it .. not .0. ; that iwld e lidt: t^' "'"^ ^^ ''''' ^"" '--^ed worthy of his own ir-eas, without his W oU T'' '"''' ^"" ^'^ ^ «t"'i^'n the ascent w-hich separated his ide 1 f^l th ' f • /'"'^ "" '^"°^' *« ^"'"b hand, he was rot ungenerous, but "tl TThor .T"' ""^^'^- ^" ^^« «'->• he practised charity with cllcullt n^ tr tl""\'"''' ?'' neces.s,ty, nnd where he could do real g;od b^^ ' T ' '^'"'^ ^''^ ^^^''^"t accon>plish the object he had in view '\^,; so "J ""^:' '"" '"'"^ ^"""^''' *« true charity ; for his assistance was alfonS U ?"" ^' ^'''' ^'^'' ^«l''"t of w.s cither unaware whence it cauie ^ ^ \ ;;t;."'"-^'/^'^^ ^^--'P-t " nght and not a favour. Though careful almost tn '"'''"'"' *'^'' ^^ ^''^^ ^ and personal expenses, he ne^rthes ^'7^ T"""" '''""* "°"^<=^--y -eded. that he died without hav g atcun , ..f"'^' '" '"'^ ^^^^ "«'? -I It rs impossible here to say much about hiT- ^^ "'''■'^' ^"'°""t «f "'oaev lectnal gift, for they are'so ^'lltnln ^ nT!;^' 'l' '"^'^"^"^^"^ -*-'"- author can be foun.l who has borrowed so I'i? T^ ^'' '""^«» ^hat no 'ns claim to be calhd original. S o "ma k^'i "'? '"^ ^° ^^'^^^ "'-"'--d every st>leofcompositiou which he attemf!"d.' '"' ''"* '^ "'^-^^^^ '» But this is aiiticipatirg somewh.i- t Temple's and the inluencls at I H npo, Lm Th" '° "^^ ''' '^^ ^^'^ ^^^"'-» a.e often told by their elders that the c i dl "• "^'^ ^""""' ^^^-^^ion al;^e modern complaints were unheard ofL tb"'"'',?' '"" ''''' ^^^ '^^^-^>-' when the world was happy and tnuMul ^. ^°°'^ °''* ^'^^^^' ^"^ «° 1°"^ »"" and the rapid intercluange /e^ ^ " b f ^"''■'' "^ -'' -h1 iLtle; J^ntroduction of .team, wlen peo, e d „ot " r''" ™°'"" ^^^" ^^^ ". had to talk about something Mt .n mo * " '''"'' ^"'' consr.uentlv and sensations. But, speaking w,: . IT'"""' ''"'^ *'"^ ""^ '^^^^^''M; -y that Swift contracted at ^ir V it ^ V' '"'"' " ''' "'''"'' ' """ -hich is now almo.t a necessitv To „ oln ' .' V'"''"'''' '"^ '"^'^ "-lady Thsmay.seen.asmallpointto OU h b,7 ; "'' """"^^' ''^-I'^I-a'^ -■ ..u.noe of this weakness of body po'E ^1 " T '''' '''■'' ^^^^ -' the a chscplined. patient, thoughtful nature 'l.n T •' ' ■''"■■^- ^" ^ P'-'''«e,u of e.se an ennobling, refining innuenebi,; ^ "^ '''' '""' '' '""'^ -°"I the position he etl hirn, witli a born. Ifc seems ice which wcii](i ^ns relyinrr qm . and lamented i™ to a sta'ion eTort to climb On the other it of liheralitv, 'e was evident >ing enough to ^ith a spirit of the recipient liat it was a t unnecessary lere holp was lit of nioacy. lilicent intcl- wed that no 1 maintained fixcelled in Sir William t generation the fashion- long ago, '" k> ^j^^ ^fter Sir WiUiam ' She had come to I-Und with an aun^ ^J^^^ 8^^^ ^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^^, ,„ Uave nvmpVs d.ath. and was constantly -^ ^^'^^I'l^^^,,, enabled him to gratify. 2^ more than the Platonic ^^J^ ^^^^^'^^^ ^, ,,,p„,,i,e feeling on his Ti there is melancholy evidence t^a^^^; „^, ,,a uncertainty which it ;:?t hastened her death, by the w-^ t o usj ^_^ ^^^^^^.^^^^ * i,<.r This was not the oniy i>*' Wnalnnd. he became threw upon her. ii»-» " . , . , „ absences in liingianu, '^ich Je blame lumDunugon^ of h.on^ ^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^,,^^ , , lauaiuted with a lady named ^ ^^ «°^;'; ^^^^ ^^^^....tion of Swift's wonderfu Is to have been unable to ve-Ule p we ^^^^^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^^ ,^ intellect, and gave ^^f[Xl^e^ry pleasant, and his visits became fie- on his part. He found their hou- v y 1^^^^^^ ^^^ ^^^ ,,,il whose re.uly n.nf for "Vauessa," as he cills ""•/,,• girded the danger to hei lit off, and followed him to Ireland^, .l.ei h 11^.^.^^ ^^^^ ^^. ,^^ ^,,,. despair when she found that ^^ ^^^^^^J^;^^ ^he news of the latter's marriage S she desired, it was felt only for J^^ ^ ^ ^^^^ ^^^^ completely. This is ,id to have been the last straw which broke uer ^^ ^^^^ ^^^ ; 0.J cture. for it is thought by ^o^^^^^^'' ^he did marry Stella he • r tlly it is a point involved ^^^ ^^^^^'X^ was dying. broKen down was too selfish to own ^^^^\Z,,^ had eaused her. he kept away bestow in her last hours. His own end was very melancholy. He felt his powers failing, and cDmpared himself to a tree whase boughs had been shattered by lightning, saying, " I shall be like that tree, I shall die first at the top." These words were most painfully fulfilled, for he sank into a condition of idiocy from which he never recoTered, but failed gradually, until at last in 1745, he was mercifully released from an existence which was merely an existence to him, and only a trial to others. DANIEL DE FOE. Daniel Foe. born in London in 1661. waa the son of a well-to-do butcher, named James Foe. who lived in the parish of St. ^^l- ^"PP^^«^^","" ^!t ^ origin perhaps accounts for the sentiments expressed by hm in The True-born EnglisLan. " Then let us boast of ancestors no more, for fame of fanuhes 18 all acheat ; 'Tis personal virtue only makes us great." It was not until he was about th age of forty that he changed his name to Defoe why he did so. 2s not seem tt have been found out. but it was probab y to ^-tingu-h him- self from his father, whe was known to his friends as Mr. Poe H«'='^";°; Dissenting family and was educated at a Dissenting Academy kept by (.harles Morton at Newington Green. In consequence of this he was often taunted w h whatseemsto have been an unfounded charge, that of ^-« -;-" man. This he always bitterly resented and once replied to b«.,ft. who had Tpoken of him as « an illiterate fellow whose name I forget." that " he.iad been in his time pretty well master of five languages, and had -^\]''\ '''';\^''' though he wrote no bill at his door, nor set Latin .luotations on the front ot the T^." Hisfi,st pamphlet seems to have been written in 1683. at the age of fwen y-one years, theugh no copy of it has been found. In 1685. betook up arms fJr the Duke of Monmouth and on the defeat of that nobleman was lor u.ate nough to escape the clutches of Judge Jetfreys and Kirke's Lamb., a U.ough three of his former fellow students at Newington were hanged. He the took Tp he more peaceful occupation of a hosier in Freeman's Court. Cora all. and from a passage in his Complete KugUsh Tradesman we gath.. that his W nl ocrasio;ally took hi.n to Spain. After .seven years 'l^J'^^;^^^^ to llee from his creditor., to Bristol, but managed, as he boasted, to In all) pay them OIL There is a story told of him that he was known as the Sunday (.en. tie,nan while there, because he appeared on that day only and in fashionable att" bli g kept indoors the rest of the week by the bailills. During the reign of iames II . he, in all probability, wrote other puuphlets but put his name to "Tn the accession of William in 16SS he became, and alway.s continued to be. a strenuous supporter of that King " of glorious memory and was one o avoliuteer regiment composed of the chief citizens and commanded by the celebrated E.ri of Peterborough. wMcii attended ti. ^^^^ ^' "^''^^^M^ Mansion House in 1689. Three years after.ar s he wrote the -t -iddet which we know for certain was his ;- A new discovery ol an Old '"tugue. a latire levelled at Treachery and Ambition. He wrote several o her pamphlets in tvoul of William and was rewarded by being appointed Accountant to the C nmissioners of the Glass Daty. which ofhce he held till the duty was 19 abolishnd in 1699. About this time he Het up a mnnufactory of hri(4{H and pau-tile.s at Tilbury in whicii liu seems to iiivvi' indsperi'd, as he set up a ciirriage and a pleasure) b )at. Hispimphlot iu favour of a standi ug army came rather late, as th-a (lumtion had boim pretty well decided by that time, but he boasted in his preface that *♦ if books iind wntiugH would nut, God be thanked the Pdrliaimmt would coufute" his advrtrsiries, a sentiment which, when iu after years, it was applied to himself he did not parhaps lulniire so much, Mr. Miuto Bays : " Noue of his subseijuent, tracts surpass this as a piece of tri'ncluint and persuasive reasoning. It shows at their very highest his marvellous powers of coniDiuing constructive with destructive criticism.... He makes no parade of logic ; he is only a plain freeholder like the mass whom he addresses, though he knows twenty times as much as many writers of more pretension... Ho wrote for a class to whom a prolonged intellectual operation, however comprehensive and complete, was distateful." At this time (1701) there was a great deal of feeling in England against Wil- liam favouring his Dutch fellow-connlrymen, and t':is was brought toacliniax by Tutchin, au old enemy of Defo^:, pul)lisdiing " a vile pamphlet in al)horred verses entitled The Foreigners." Diffoe retorted in didence of William by Ids celebrated paiiipldct The True-born Englishman in which he somewhat unpatriotically describL's tiie Knglish as the most mongrel race that ever livtil on the face of the earth. "Fur Englishmen to boast of generation, Cancels their knowledge, and lampoons the nation, A true-born Englishmau's a contradiction, In speech au irony, in fact a liction." This production, though contrary to popular prejudice at the tinu', was very succe.ssful, 80,001} copies of it being sold on th'* streets. It also broUi;ht Defoe into the- King's personal favoiir which advautage however was briif, as William died about a year after. Defoe tirst broke with the Dissenters by writing against Occasional Conformity thus placing them in a dilemma wi-.ich they did not relish and bringing persecution upon them, nor did Ue improve matters liy tell- ing them that ror1)idding the practice of Occasional Conformity would do them good by ridding them of lukewarm adherents. All tho.se who held public oflices. were obliged to conform to the rites of the Church of England and the Dissenters avoided this by occasionally going to the Established Chur.di and attending their own Church at other times. When the Bill against Occasional Conformity was brought into the House of Commons, the Dissenters resented Defoe's writing, bitterly, as showing the enemy wliere to strike. When, however, after jiassing the Commons, the Bill was opposed iu the Lords, Defoe suddenly cJianged about, and published his most famous pamphlet. The Shortest Way with the Dis- senters, which was intended, as he said afterwards, as banter on the High flying Tory Churclimen, and not as bearing on the Occasional Conformity Bill at all. This was not at iirst recognized as a satire, and a Cambridge fellow thanked his bookseller for having sent him so excellent a treatise— next to the Holy Bible and the Sacred Comments the most valuable he had seen. Great 20 wasthe wrath of the Church party -'-' ;^,;::,f,t.rtrv\oa°,uul.T.r^^^^^ th.Mn..lveH nor were the DUHentern much -^ jf ^ \;^,,„, ^hroe times in the was not s.iou. Ho w.sinaictod. -^;-;\;t:;l^ Contrary f. their usual pillory ; the Shortest Way wa, ^^-^^y.^^^^s of llowers at the prisoner and Lstom the crowd, instead of garbage, ^^revv ^u- « - ^ .^ ,, ,ho drank to hi. health. Tiunr enthusus n was m.^- y ^^ ,^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^ Pillory ; in whichhe says of those who P"^ ^^ ;' ^ ^„,, ,„ ,,a his guiU, who plac-d hin. here, are trends - oj*^; ^^ ^^ ,,„„ Newgate tiU A.^ust they can-t commit his cnmes. »^7";;^ j^^^ ,,,,i,w. Through Harley's 1704. audit was in that pnson that hh«a..u ^^ ^^^^^^.^^ ^^^^^ innuenc, he was set free. -"-'^'"^ to his own ^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^^ .^^^ ^,^ should keep »ilencB for seven years. In reality no service of the government. ^^ . ,.. ^„,,.i .ivocate of King WiUiam's D.foe was no longer the stratghtto ward . ^^^^^^^^ ^,^^. policy. Ha was engaged ^^-'^\''^'''\:iZZl the uublie, in spite of Lu^geach that ^^.^^^^ s^id^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ '^^^ ''''''' Tof numberless insinuations, that h. ^^J'^^ J „f ^he Government of wrote simply as a free lance under the jealu^^^^^^^^ ^^ ^^^^.^^^ ^i^^„g fh.. dav He used all his mlluence to favour tne y expressed tlmt leti- i" ^^^^^-«^^- '^'"° rrrasrsrof ;fgo:ernU,and while there he was acting as the agent, U ii t ^^^^'^^rJ^^ admitted that though he denied it mo,t strenuously at tl.tm^^^^ ^^^ ^^ ^^^^^^ hewasactingaaanagentof Harley. When ^^ ^^^^ ^^^^ „.issions he could depart wipuighis eye at Ueh^^^^^^^ Uis creditors." On Harleysfall ^^^^^'^^^^^^^'Z^,,^ ,Mch atthat time was on the plea of maintaining a any cost ho^ n^blic <, ^ ^^^^^^ ^^ ^^^^^^ ^,^^^ very low. He admitted his difhculty, and said. VU ^^^^ ^^^^^^ Jd sail North and South, that couUlspak truth -^ ^^^^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^ turn to the right hand and the l!f;^\;.t^X take' part in the contraver- that should now speak" After 1715 "^Jo" J^^ ^ \ -, jous life, but siesofthe times in the way m which he ha^^^^^^^^^^ 1^^^ ^^^^^^ ^.^^^ owing to the exertions ot M. Lee my wo ks^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^^^^ ,^ then, he having written for ^t least seven p \ . crasoe. which met ,e made a new departure and f^^^l^J:, L manuvn-ipt i.s said to with such sudden popularity that the purcha. ^^.^ ^^^^ ^^^^^ .^ ^^^. ^ave made ^1000 by it. and it - - *- ^^^ ^ „/„,,« . . ,,, b.v. been passes any of his subsequent novel, t^*^!' "^^ J ,, ^.^^g i, had hit on a pro- unknown in our day except to studenotH^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^^o^ ^^.^^ this, among fttable business. Defoe wrote about ten oth^r 1 g ^^^ ^^ ^^^ ^^^^ which. inl722, The Plague of London. He d.^d p y ^^^ ^^^^^^^ ^^^^ good ter.s with his family and the res f he woU ^^^^ ^^^^^ ^^.^^ 21 largp. Thoir matter rose in worth, their mnnnor becamo more direct, and there was n gradual iialiiig <•!' Kronoh classical nidonshiiie in the dawn of what may lie calleil an i'.nglisli Popnlar Iniluence." A recent biographer says of him. " He was a great, a truly great, liur, perhap- the greatest liar that ever lived. His dishonesty went too deep U) [w (railed 8Ui)errK!ial, yet, if we go deeper still in hit rich and strangely mixed nature, we c«me upon stubborn foundations of con- science... Shifty as Defoe was, and admirably a<> he used his genius for circura- ■tantiid invention to cover his designs, there was no other statesmau of his generation who remained more true to the principle of the Revolution, and to the cause of civil and religious freedom." Though in many of two hunlied and fifty works he treats of high and lofty aims we do not think that he himself believed that '• there is but one work worthy of a man, the Mrotluction of a truth, to which we devote our.selvets, and in which we believe." W. W. R. PASTORAL POETRY. .„w.n. K„... .n >.i»'»''«^-«"°"x::: Witt?:!;:* "tit „y^ ,„.t A. new .nd .hen unknown „«.t l-f >>;«"„;' ''j^^t, t ,i» kind ot try their abilities." ^^^^^^^ p^^^.y^ the other two The Eclogue is one of the three aivisions ^^^tber being the Bucolic and the Idyll. These terms, ho^vev r, so 1 in nfeanin,. that it is dil.icult to distinguish betweeii hem. Spenser insists on deriving the word Eclog.e fron th « -'^ ^.^^ .^^ talo^ concerning goats, and says n. d.eoce c^ ^^'^,^ ; ..d that he the nearest to the source of Pastoral 1 oeti> , is tne , , t» .c.o«„. in U,is ..... -in« n>.st ^^'^^^^T^. ^>8»''^'"^ The common derivation, « f.om tl c «'« " "» ' ° („„„ „ri,„n e.oi.„. .nd ..em. .... 3 to n,.n ■ • ^^^^^ ,L, ,,,„, .„. rcrKicir;.>"iu.,n,e.,,in«.mtu^^^ „.mhi.,».^, ^«-'- Ec .gue in o d times, tor v ii„u m comedy, for Vossius war.; it must have been applied cluelly \;-;,'^;\'t;^ „ ^it while both thought it necessary to dis.n.u.. describe ordinary a hurs, ^""^^^^^J examination will .show that F.ucohcs lies those of country people. '\*'"^'; ^ "^^^ ^„^^. „(• i.^th, aad that their inay consist of action alone, narration alone , oi, a„ain. forms may be either monologue <-^^^- ^^^^^^^, p^.^ry. may perhaps jr ::tw;:r::i:or;:iory.f.om its source do.n ., ti. Eli..bethanera>rwhicha.ew wc.dsn.M^^^^^ ^_^^^ ^^^^^^ ^^^^^ origin. Tlu- ongm o this . k ot ^^^^ ^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^^^^ ai.rsity of^lnion^^.. .« -'^;.- ^l ^i naturally e.pect to hnd the co.eval with the -f ^^ /f J^ ;,^,,, attiaetiug the attention of any unrehaed unobtrusive occupation of th S.npiie a . ^.^^^^^^.^^^ ^.^^^ „i,.V and there is no good r..oii.o^h^^^^^ .^^^^^ ^^ ^^^^^ ^^^^ any earlier P^d than tl. T lo nt ..^m y ^^ ^_^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^^^^^ ^^ down to us. Inhisdajs, ar.oiu _/. a great degree of civiliz.*tion. 28 The works of Theocritus are results of accurate observation, and as they copy -the manners and the subjects of the description, we find in them, at dill'erent tiines, both rude and elegant simplicity. The great beauty of Sicily and the oi)portunitics atlorded by foreigu travel gave Theocritus every advantage in di'si'ribing natural scenery. His Idyllia are, .so far as we know, the only original Pastorals, for, in form at k'iist, all subsequent poets in this line, from Virgil to Philips, are mere cojiyists. Two other men, Bior. and Moschus, might be mentioned with Theocritus. Mosclius lived in Syracuse, and both were contemporary with Theocritus, but they were not such purely Pastoral poets, .\mong the Latins, Virgil and Auso- nius both wrote Idylls, but the name with tliem was of wider signification than among the Greeks. Modern Times. In modern times, tlio Idyll was revived by the Provengal poets, and especially by Uegnier, but it is to Italy, its ancient home, that we must look for the sources of that impulse, wliich, passing through France, reached England about A. i). 1500. Boccaccio, in his Admeto, sounded tbfl firtit note, which was taken up by Aguolo Poliziano, (1450), who, educated ac the expense of Cosmo de' Medici, became Greek and Latin Pro- fessor at Florence. "A poet as well as teacher," he has left us the first Pastoral {under the title of Orfeo), with a connected story, to be found in modern literature. During the following years, many other pieces appeared as Pastoral Eclogues, Rustic Comedies, etc. ; but the most important work of|this kind was published in 1504. This was the "Arcadia" of Sanazzaro, which contains twelve Eclogues, each witli a preface in prose. This work was written in Latin, The growing taste for Pastoral poetry, as well as the popularity of the authors, is shown by the fact, that .sixty editions were published during the century. The Italian influence on Spain, then paraniuunt, was shown afresh in the Pastorals of Garcilasso de la Vega, the only Spanish author who attained any eminence in this style, and that it t.pread as fur as Poriugal, was evidenced by the imita- tion of Saniizzaro's work, published shortly after, by George of Monte Mayor. In France, in the time of Francis 1, Clement Marot wrote Pastorals, which he converted into religious pieces, showing sympathy with the reformers of the Church. In this respect he was followed by Spenser. The Shepherdes Calender was not, however, the first Pastoral written in English. That was left to us by Robert Ilenryson, when he died about the year 1500, and was named Robene and Mikyne. This production "shows much simple and natural beauty, and underlying religious earnestness." It is noticeable, as showing that the revival of tlie Pastoral was a result of the new attention now given to the Classics, that Greek was first taught in Oxford shortly before this, by William Grocyn, and Henryson himself had compiled into elegant and ornamental metre. The Morall Fables of iEaope, the Phrygian. 24 Eespecting the rise of Pastoral Poetry in England, Taine says, that, contem- porary with Sidney, there arose a great multitude of poets, indicating an extra- ordinary condition of the national mind. Men had no theorifs but new senses. They -^c what is hidden from common eyes ; they saw the .soul in all things, and felt within themselves the sad or delicious sentiment that breathes from a combination cr union, like a harmony or a cry. They " saw an air of resignation in trees, felt the feverish tumult of the waves." * ♦ * " Only a step further is needed, and the old gods reappear, and all the splen- dour and sweetness of nature assembles round them." The rich sunny country, and t,'ods and goddesses as impersonations of grace and .strf ngtl), are objects fitted to give joy, and we find them in abundance in the poetry of the time, whether taking the form of Sonnets or Pastorals, some of which are so lovely, delicate and easily unfolded, that we have nothing to com- pare with them, since like Theocritus and Mosclius, these poets play with their smiling gods and goddesses. Where the power of embellishment was so great, it was natural that they should also paint ideal love, the sentiment which unites all joys, especially artless and happy love, made up of innocence, self- abandonment, and devoid of reflection and effort. Spenser's Shepherdes Calender is a thought-inspiring and tender pastoral, full of delicate loves, noble sorrows, lofty ideas, where no voice is heard but of thinkers and poets : gods, men, landscapes, the world which he sets in motion, is a thousand miles away from that in which we live." L. K. B. NoTK.— The principal English pastorals, written since Spenser's time, are Milton's [inor Poems, Pope's Windsor Forest, Thomson's Seasons, and Goldsmith's Deserted M Village. ALEXANDER POPE. self. B. On the 21at of May, 1688, in Lombard Street, London, was bom Alexander Pope. A coruscation of the age in which he lived, it had been strange had this man been produced elsewhere than in the intense focus of the ideas, business, and somewhat corrupt civili/;ition of his time. To trace through several gene- rations the chain of being which pronounced itself eventually in a Pope would be a most interesting study in mental physiology — or, perhaps, more properly speaking— pathology. As we cannot do this, however, and know little of real importance, even with regard to his parents, it may suffice to state that Lis father was classified with respect to his method of bread-winning as a linen merchant, that he retired early from business with a competence to Bin- field, in the neighbourhood of Windsor Forest, and there devoted himself to his garden and the care of his only child. Pope's parents were Roman Catholics, and therefore somewhat cut off from the busy life of the day, but doubtless yet near enough to feel powerfully its reflex action. Young Pope, a home-bred boy, sickly, weak, precocious, may be supposed to have developed first in an atmosphere more or less morbid, an eddy or backwater to the current of hi» time, nimble in proportion to its force. He missed that early contact and at- trition with others which a public school might have afforded, which rubs off the poor edges and sharp angles, and produces a stately, self-confident man of the world, who, with the ordinary worldly objects in view, is content to follow the beaten track and even tenor of his way toward them. Pope's mind, devel- oping rapidly, crystallized in a finer, more fragile and peculiar form. It may depend on the turning of a straw whether such a nature, united, in Pope's case, with physical weakness, may tread mentally and morally downward or up- ward through life, reaching, perhaps, heights or depths seldom attained. There is scarcely room for that free interaction of influence which leads to the soft mid- dle course ; the mind yields to one dominant idea. Intellectually, Pope, without becoming a Homer or a Shakespeare, achieved a facility, polish, and culture in verse seldom reached by others. But morally, instead of becoming a saint, he appears to have been a rebel against wliatever of formulated good characterized his age, to have said to himself, like the Duke of Gloucester in Richard the Third—" I that am curtailed of this fair proportion. Cheated of feature by dis- sembling nature, Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time Into this breathing world scarce half-made up.... I am determined to prove a villain And hate tb" idle pleasures of those days." To follow Pope's career in detail is, at this date, a matter of little interest. To the catalogue of his works and the dates of their publication might be added the chronicle of appreciation, praise, detraction, calumny, even abuse, which in 26 T,roportion to his prominence he received in due measure. From a very early age ZltZZ hi. delight ; he read Dryden's works, and came personally m con^ tact ^ith t^e aged poft, who, it has been remarked. ..could hardly have looked at he delicate;nd deformed boy. whose preternatural acuteness a- -s.ba.ty were seen in his dark eyes, without a feeling approaching to gnef had he niwn that he was to ti-'ht a battle like that under which he was himself then ^nkl^ e en tlu ^tho Temple of F.me should at length open to receive him " HTsbiographers are constantly reminding one of his extraordinary pre- «ocity. At twelve he wrote the Ode to Solitude, concluding- .. Thus let me live, unseen, unknown, Thus unlamented let me die. Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie." This is surely a strange subject or senti.nent for a boy. but Pope was n-er a boy . At sixteen he wrote the Pastorals (of which more anon) and part of Wind or Forest, and about this time, takni with a new whin, imagined M nt dyU g and wrote farewell letters to his friends. Ilis malady proved, how- IZ to 1 e within the re.nedial influence of good advice and exexnse. A Ctyiree he produced ^'^^ ^^^ ^^ '^^^^f^''::,^^^ ^ maturity of mind, and in the same year printed The Kape of the Lock iwo XsL he began a six year.s' task in the translation of Homer's had, and i: 172 undercook the Odyssey, paying assistants, however to help him in his work, and selling the copyright for a good sum. In 172. appeared the Dm, and in 1732 the first ep.tle of the Essay on Man, and so proved his life filled with multiplying colours to the end. m his early literary days Pope was much in London, and had a part in the CO rser pleasLs of Lat city, but at the age of twenty- -enjic re u^^ Twick.lam, living there in comparative retiremen to ^^^^^ ' ' ^^^^^ ; Ye he was by no means a recluse, but eame in contact with most ot the wits ud poefof lis time, including Swift. Gay. and even Voltaire e su fered keenly under adverse criticism, though endeavouring to conceal his feelings but Lncntrated all his powers of satire, irony, and invective in the D-- ' - ::L he took full vengeance on his critics. It is said that ..some we.^^^^^^^^^^^ mad with rage, others dumb with consternation, some fled foi refuge to ale, Thts ink while not a few fell or feared to fall into the jaws of famine. C i twVsa d "could not drink tea without a stratagem," and was singu- Jy devoid conscientiousness and truth. Witness the discreditable and foolish trLry practised in the matter of the publication of his co-P-^-c fo here seems little doubt that the whole ailair was got up to -y^^i/j;^;!^ ^^^; and arouse curiosity-a ruse altogether unworthy ot a mind so keen and clear, but quite in harmony its jealous and warped character. _^ In May. 1744, at the age of fifty-six. Pope died, ..tired of the wor d. anom- inl; Cattlic. b;t in trutt without belief. .' There is nothing meritorious, he J m 27 ■'I said with his last breath, "but virtue and friendship, and, indeed, friendship itself is only a part of virtue." A word or two on Pope's genius and style. It cannot be denied that Pope was a true poet, and, if popular appreciation be any critc-on of this, it is pro- bable that more pointed sayings of Pope have become common property than of any other poets save Shakespeare and Young. To make a great poet, however, two powers are required in combination, the perceptive or appreciative, and the coTiceptive or idealistic. In the first of these Pope was singularly strong, in the second peculiarly weak. He could describe and embalm in neat, polished, flow- ing verse, any object from the most trivial to the greatest — every word fitly ■chosen, every period carefully studied, his very manuscripts evidencing by their corrections and recorrections the elaborateness of his work. Thoroughly arti- ficial, he could adopt easily, and wear gracefully, the Clastical dress which ill became the other English poets of the Eighteenth century. GilflUan writes, "You would say of Pope, 'He smells of the midnight lamp,' not as of Dante, of whom the boys cried out on the street, ' Lo ! the man that was in hell.' " He wants in original as in sublime thought, but nimbly clothes the teeming fancies of his mind in the most becoming and appropriate garb. He is related to Shakespeare, Milton, or Chaucer, as is an accomplished gallant to an ardent lover, provided for every occasion with an appropriate expression or fitting ges- ture ; he simulates better than the life ; he escapes i;hose bluntnesses into which the very eainestnes,! ol the other may lead him. Pope's mind may be compared to a polished and perfect mirror, reflecting truly and minutely each object on which it turned, but adding nothing. He is an illustrious example of the point which pure art may reach when unendowed with the heaven -descended gift of imagination. The ideal is wanting in his poetry, the power which, emanating from the poet's mind, breathes the breath of life into his objects and raises even the meanest into a fitting emblem of some divine truth. In many of his poems we find an admiration-compellipg Arabesque, but, when the novelty has passed away, turn with relief to the few suggestive master-strokes by which a truer ar- tist represents his ideal. To quote again from Gilfillan, •' Keats would have comprised all the poetry of ' Windsor Forest ' in one sonnet or line ; indeed, has he not done so, where, describing his soul following the note of the nightin- gale into the far depths of the woods, where she is pouring out her heart in song, he says — " And V th thee fade away into the forest dim." His renderings of Homer are not so much translations as trunsmutations, in which he dresses the Odyssey and Iliad in the costume of his time. He strews flowers along the piths of the stern old heroes, tips their spears with tinsel, and reduces the very blood which flows from their wounds to a colour- less ichor. Pope's Pastorals, .with which we are more immediately con- cerned this evening, app ar to be an attempt to clothe ever-living feelings and seBtiments in the masquerade costumes of a bygone age. Of these it has been said with, perhaps, uudue severity, that, " like all well finished common- phases, they were received with instant and unusual applause." U. D. POPE'S MORAL ESSAYS. this eve.ing, to the subject of ^J^^^^ ^ ^ ^ pttorall the product bywhattheypro^sstohe ; J^m^^^^^^^ in Pope's later years, and of an immature mind of sixteen, taey ^^^^ ^^ ^.^^^^^^ immediately after ^^-^7/3;;^^^ -d Women i. the appeared m the ^^^^ly^^lTuLZs originally intended to have beeu a following year. The J!.ssay on m , „ u„„i,„ . the iirst, as it considers much larger .ork. and te have -n-ted o four^^^^^^^ , the ^ ^^^ ^^^^^^^^^_^^ man in the abstract and m every one of his '"^l^tion , wa ^^^ r ^ ^^d^ ' ^:r :^^nru"-n;:::;:y" ^ , i -d The second was to treat ot Man in n a 1 ^^ ^j Man in his social, V^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^ Sole if toligbt were to Practical Morality, of which the four E^Y;-^ ^^ ^^^^ ^„, w„^,„, bean illustration. The two iiist, on tne Liia ,^ were the introductory part of the concludmg book- Jhis w^ th r -^ r^r Hp had siven it long and serious attention. Itwasimt^i favourite work He had given it g ^^ ^^^^^^^^ ^^^^ j^^^,^,^^^ to have been the only wor^ of his riper years, out ,1,. ™»i», theT would larah upon it, might uot be wituarimu wu ^th^^ u uieLm. kuowu. AI.0 the Meud. of To,., who we,. ,u the secn=t ;t°;;ou„. eve^where, Ludiug «ie -'X':^,'- ^ ;."«» d my !" in fact,'it is utterly without a system-an ingenious puzz^. that Lake7« confusion worse confounded." Let u, give a passing glance at a few 29 passages. He sets out " to vindicate the ways of God to mau." What are some of those ways ? " Who knows, but He wliose hand the lightning forms, Who heaves old Ocean, and wings the storms ; Pours fierce ambition in a Ca'sar's mind, Or turns young Animon loose to scourge mankind ' From pride, from pride, our very reas'ning springs, Account for moral, as for nat'ral things ; Why charge we Heav'n in those, in these acquit ? In both to reason right is to submit." Here, then, are some of God's ways ; the evil men do, fierce ambition— the cruelty which makes men the scourges of mankind, are like the storms in the natural worl 1— the direct work of God— the author of Evil as of Good. The same confusion of thought runs through the while, more or less, as he repeats more than once, " whatever is— is right." if I undertake to describe a person's ways, I must surely understand some what of that person's character. I cannot vindicate the ways of a man, unless I know the man hioQself. Pope undertakes to do in the first epistle what in the second he confesses no man able to do, when he says : — " Know then thyself, presume not God to scan, The proper study of mankind is man." And yet, with this acknowledged ignorance, he goes back again and again to the subject only to prove that he is "darkening counsel by words without knowledge." The fact is, the age in which Pope' lived was artificial and utterly skeptical- The English infidels, the precursors of the French skeptics of the last century, held undivided sway over all the cultivated minds of the period. The leading man amongst them was Pope's friend. Lord Bolingbroke, whom he apostrophizes in this Essay as "his genius, master of the poet and the song," his "guide, philosopher, and friend." Let a sentence, perhaps there is no sadder in the Ian. guage, from Butler's preface to his great defence of revealed religion, show us how this moral pestilence had swept over the land, carrying death everywhere in its train. "It is come, I know not how, to be taken for granted, by many persons, that Christianity is not so much as a subject of enquiry ; but that it is now, at length, discovered to be fictitious. And accordingly they treat it, as if in the present age, this were an agreed point among all people of discernment, and nothing remained but to set it up as a principal subject of mirth and ridi- cule, a.s it were by way of reprisals, for its having so long interrupted the pleasures of the world." Let us look, by way of contrast, to those words of deep pathos and beauty which Shakespeare puts into the mouth of Isabella, as she pleads for the life of her brother ; — aMH 30 «• Alas, alas, ^ 4.i>„f xvpre were lorfeit once ; wh,. .11 .i.e .o*«^ r; ;; ,,.^ t.,„ .»k u,,„i,.iu.ti,e-v^7»f»*:n:i; Like mau uew-inade. 1 1 We turn to it tat ana.rn..th th. clothing « '"''y ""* ,„\,„t «„ ,>™cll.l», *! lo" ;-;'t „,he, -y, .ri» '» ^"'"r » J."; " „1„. iWer the he. .. S* ;« for he not only Qinera no" , ^gg qq to siiu" Tvn< or umstances. and at ^^'^--^ ^''^^f'^./Ldr The «-. action, may ";, the. «.,. .™.. .hat - ---^r.tut v:,i:f :^;;j the sec..t-the Ming ?.««»■>-»>> 1™'"»^'|„ ,ifc_.tro„g in death, and h.'« I'd "de, cyery garb " »«' -':XreTf S"!". *» -- '"^ *' ^""t •'^ , • 1 „ -t-iVfi He sees not i'"' s' tt qpps not tue a superficial view he takes, ne ^^^ ^^^^^^^^ He sees n -"- "" tt "*' i"- -■■'•- "*" ^'"""' " esse intial 31 fashioneth their hearts alike." Like the human fac. «hich reflects it, the same features are always present, but what a wonderful variety of form and expression. •' When Massillon. the great French preacher, was asked how he. who was «hut out from the world by his .ows as a priest, coul.l paint such life-like pictures of the passions of n.en, above all, of their self-love, he replied. '< It is from the study of my own heaU, that I derive the power of reading the hearts of others " rope on the other hand, held up a moral looking-glass, and that a distorted one. before his fellows, that be might behold their defects, and gloat over the horrul picture. Nev-r did he look into that glass himself, for a faithful rellec- lon of his own moral nature. Had he ever done so, be mi„Wit have been a humbler and a wiser man, and have locked with a kindlier eye upon the fail- ings of others. And now what about his characters of women ? Has Pope been more happy in his pictures of them ? " Nothing so true as what you once let fall, Most women have no chanict(!rs at all ;" are the opening words of his Epistle. We feel inclined to answr in the words of Shakespeare — " Who steals my purse steals trash— 'tis something, nothing, 'Twas mine, 'tis liis, and lias been slave to thousands ; But be that tilclies from nie my good name, Robs me of that which nut eniiciies him And makes me ])oor indeed." After striving to picture these cbaracterless women, he brings before us one who certainly had character enough, ai.:d who stands out ])rominently in the history of the times, Sarab, Duchess of ]\[iirlborough, under the name of Atossa. It is a powerful satire, and Pope was afraid to publisli it till after her death. As in the characters of men, so here again he takes refuge in the thought of the Master Passion, only witli this dilference, that while men hav© ■nany, women have but two lov<'s— the love of pleasure and the love of sway. Pope has no liigli ideal before liioi, no thought of woman's true position a» an help-meet for man, to cheer him in his sadder hours, to inspire hope when clouds are gathering, witli ready tact to clear a way through every difliculty, and with a strong love to smooth all the roughnesses of life. Why Pope should have chosen such a subject as Moral Philosophy at all, with the idea that he was able to write upon it, we cannot tell. Was it that the Godde.'s of Revenge inspired him with the desire, in order that all unconsciously to himself he might appear at the head of the list of "dunces" he had lashed 82 .. Fools nist in "tere «/igel» tear to Wad." , „„U, bo. .o lb. ...«o.. and B.. Wv. M, »..! Wend- to .-^ •'* • .,L:;:?I.er.v».nta..po.».U.fle.daofM,pU.I.»ph,. ^^ ^^ ^^ i'HILOSOFHY AND POPE. words, we may call th n H T T"^ °* *'^'^« '""'^"•^^ '" Pl-^i" Saxon them in better^ la • '; rhnt ''"' ^'r ^"'^"^^''- ''''' P^^'"' ° ^P^^ ^^ « posteriori. TheT" t ? H f • ?'' "'" """"'* " P''"'' ^^^ ^^e metho.l observation aad expari a n ' U wo '. '^""''" *'"* ^" °''^ «'"''^' ^^en H^arcely existed, tUo phnoso,, r ^^'^ ,yf.^'"«"^«« «f t\i^ a posteriori method, himself and hi. tb lows Z Tf "Tk ' '"^^'"""'^ ^''^ '"'« ^'^''^^'^^ ^etwee^ Po-er which coat oird th , '" ^^,7^' ^'^-'^ and an uaknown. nu.een deemed an et.rnal vX th n er;. • '''•'!' ''""' '^^ '^^'^^^^^^'^ ^^^^ he -bservient to it. . J "l '^it If S ^^"^ T^^^ *^^' ^^ ^^^ ^'-^^^ %ure, said tJie a priori nhilol T ., "'* '"""^ ^" ^'^^ "^"^^ P«''^<=t fore the .stars n. .C iaal 'tIU T"' '7'""* "^"^^ ^« ^ ""'^'^ '^^- -in,. applied to a phrnlta o ^ ^^^ Jwo^r ^^r t"^" '' ''''' ''" not move in a oirclc-thit U nf liffi P"^**'^"' «'°'^'d- ^he star, may or niav «on have you. ex'I IIL'T T"^ ' ''"/ ''«^'"' -PP°- ^^ were, what rea- comes the « rr ^ • ^"^"'■°''''''^'='''''^^«' f^^ your statement v Ther rrZX::^:^':^^:;:^' ^ i-^- p^^^^-p'^^^ -d he !t accordingly. J^ovv a re' o mo '':■!''' T'''' '''''''' ^"'^ P— '-- paramount To-day phTo,,! ! "" ' .T"^'''' "" '^ ^''^'^^'•"^^' '-''^"'^ ^« sophy which deals wiS he diwdlal " " ''T"" °' '''''' '""^^ "^^ P^''^'- knowied,. of physiology^ :;!^:rb:r\rh:ttK^ ^ ^^^^ ttreen the two methods, .as a whole rrT.nf •. / °°^"" '"^'^S''''' ^«- .s the, „e „„„ ; „., p,„,,,„ .,.„,„ .,: .rt„4.. .s ,ll wTl « "™ '"" We see the germ, of „hlch the N-„,ete,mlh ceatury „l.u,it. the fll history of thought was set up not much ,„„re lha„ „„e huudred .„d fif,„ v .«o-th. ser.r.„.u of Theology from Philosophy. ,„ ,he llt^uZl'Z 34 ,HUo.pUy a, exUt.! w. Wj u^U^Uj, in the ^^-J^:^l:X theology as existed, wxs supi.^^ to ''"»'''^" ^" ' ^^^^^^^^^^^ ^,. (jreok and Koman This remark of general character is J^^;* "' « ;^ -j^j,, uter develoi-meut thought, but it especially ap,.he« to the J^ '7-,,^^,,,,^. ,,„,kcrs .howed already hiated at. follow, naturally, ^h.n ? ^.^^^able to experiment a priori sp.culatorB to be unsafe in certau. l-^-*^ ^^ ";^,, ,„,,,,a in other an'lobHer.ation. they .ould deny the val. lay th^^ .^ ^^,,,,^.^,^^^ ,, particulars, not amenable ; would ^-^ /^'';; ,„,,^ Seepticinm and Inlidel- things presumably higher aul mor- mystic. In itv arose. . , viffhteenth century was remarkable •Regarded from a Utetary standpoint, the ^'^^ ^ .lying away ; men could ,,r two reasons. Fir.t. the age o patro..^. ^ wiU it. to write'for it. The a.r>rd to take note of l-H-' t^-''«\^\^;j/;,,\u appeared. T lie second ,,,.! of ple-vsing a. individual or a ^^^l^J^^^^^^,^,^ Krencli specula- feature was that iinglaud soe,ne.l '" -^^ ^^^,7 , ^,,3 ,, asserted that the tion and to French modes and habits ct hie j ^^^^^^ ^.^^^ ^^^^^^ Eighteenth century, --l-d wj ^ -e a P-^^- ^^^^^^ ^^,,,„,, ,,i,eh rfr::r:ri^" ready in case of extremity, and shook ban s ^ ^^^^^^^ ^^^^^ Let us look at literature. ^-^^^^^^ ^w t" woudcrfuU good car for a man endowed with keen --f^^^^ Z'^^,: , the use of language, and it verse-music. ^^^J^^''t^:^^:!:.lLt^rl^^.^nE..^^. Judged would be true to call him a b u,nc Im ^^ ^^_^ best-tempered wax ; by the eye of the literary critic, lop. was as i ,^ u^.^rary the faintest force from the outsi e P- -^ ^^^^ ^^ ^^^^ ,,, J, the Essay work, roughly speaking, lals^nto thee dvsioi J _ ^^^^^^^^^ ^^^ ou Man, a smooth poetical version of th r i i ^^ ^^ translation of Homer^^^-;^ ^Jr^^^y th. social characteris- poetry ; and i-^^^' f^f^ ;;' l^,^ .rrounded the poet. tics. good. bad. and laddlerent. ^^^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^ ^. ^^^ ^^ ^^^^^.^^^ ^^^^^^^^^ To understand the IJ^^^X Descartes was painfully conscious o< lae and be,in with D.scartes (1596 IBSO . D. ^^^^_ ^^ ^^^^^,^. „^^ ,„ imperfection of the a pnon -«\^;^;;;;j'^ ^^^^.^ ^ave some undoubted starting ^uild up . ^^"^"-^^y* ^^'V : f ,1;! "c a med that conscious..ss roa. the one point, he boldly turned on himself nd -d ^^.^^^^^.^^^ ^^ ^ ^^^^^ ^^ ^ lure thin,. This was no discovery • ^ sxm^d ^^^^ ^^^^^ ^^. ^^^^ .^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^ system which Descartes disliKea. ^ i Descartes, consciousness consciousness before the day o Des r^ . but wit ^^ ^^^^^ was only the first link of a long ^^^Zfelse. So Descartes wrote his J I c f I' 2 €£ Ol lit su be tO] stt 36 I"'!"'. n,or,lfei„„ „,„, ,„ ,„„.,,"" ■ '"""FM.v. m.thod „|,,„|, ,„, ' "° '■ more '"PMi.Mv or !>,. . ■ '■■'" "' '"» ''•<"'■ Allh«„„l, I , '" Ast»t„n,„,<.>t,i„6i,|,i,cird..„„' 0., tort ,to«„, „i,,„,„ j„„ ,_ ^. "■ ^. lo divide every question into as n.^nv °° ''^''^"n *« doubt it -ch fact being more easily 1 iv"d^h"'"rf '"'^'""^ - Possible tVa' (Analysis). 3. To conduct 'the ex ^t'aUoI Zitf T '' '"°^« ''^''^^^ I'tt^ by little up to knowledge the most comnT o ""''"' ^"^^ ««<=endin« such exact calculations and r.|r.,L.P"-^- (Synthesis). 4 Tn JZ ^^en omitted. This;;:' J." ^H tws^" '' ^""^^^^ *"^^ -^' -H t tory of Philosophy, is what is called :. ^he I ,"?"';' ^'^^^^^^^ "' ^>« Hi «tructed." t^« ^eJuctive Method completely con. 36 . 1 ii,.,l „r tlip nlivsical world-I need IwrJly remind yon le When De.e.rt.8 talked of the physieal ^ ^^^ ^^, „.. great m,them.tleian-h. .reclamed fteobjee^^^^^ ^^^ g.ide : ,.l..n he stepped ftom the „..l. of '-'''*;°17,^„ „[„„, ., effect.. ^,y guide t. be th. -vet- -'l';^ .f ^.^nlphere : to, the ohjectlye Wise r^"rP'''°T.^lTr^mnt e, .uijeai«- tu-sofMindaudBlC 1^^^^^^^^ P"'»^'^ = ^^at the na- two which was sustaiLT^;;?; .tr:,;^^^^^^^ clocks, each showin<. the sai til ,^''l'^ Harmony "-they were as two Tl..n r. ' ''"'^ "'''^ ^'■'^^'"^ i» '^'^i«on with the other Then arose George Berkeley nfiSi 17^;Q^ , «'"n uie otlier. Mind and Body by becoming a ;,,;^' ?° ''^''I'' '^'^^J^ "'*^ ^"-lity of '"•■a stand oppo'seJin Z^t LT t "^ ft! ^J '°^'^"°" ^'" ^" '' '''-' ^« and affirm that all is Matter ^"''"''''*^' ^'^° ^^^^P ^^^ay the same duality There are are very few rfL'V/7 vn "'^''^' P°'"*^'^' ««lf«atished. -.tters in the whole IT hl'^Tgr ^if 1 tote'^" ^"ffr ^n "'^ ^'''-' Sf inoza looked upon truth as hi iSn ? , ^^"'^''^' ^°' ^^'^'^'t^^ and the remote past iJ form which , ♦'^«™«elves, not as handed down from -trayed sllastic;::stH elTtlXt^^^^^^^^^ ^^^^-' '^^though a the Essay on Man as with the ParadisfLosf In tL P . ; '' '^ "°* ^"^^ creed and the symbolism of a WM ^'"'•^''' ^°'^ ^^''^ '»a^« the further back, the E sayl I „ S' 7""': ''^°'°^^- '" "S^''' '» ^o^k Queeue is fu 1 of phiZpl v fZl T, '""' ^ ^''''' Q^^"-" The Faerie sophy is derived Lm t e^ ^ '^' ^^'-. that philo- was not the a^e of lone, moral ., , Schoolmen. Pope held that his age whom Popo talked mong whom h^' T"" "°' ""*^ °'"'- ^''e men with dical treatment if Jy tlfe c nl 1- r ' r".' '^ """""^ °' P°"'' ^^^ -«*^«- with their comfortable illr^Z Tr > ^^'^ ""^ '^"' ^'' «°* -^A^^t in his writings. ^"^^'f«^«»««- Sensitive and acute Pope reflects all this thunder. Jeremy Taylor's I ibe tv Vf P . "™''' '^''' ^'^°'' the ation just as muclf as John Lotke. falusT '"^' ' '"^ ^^^'^'"^"' ^^ ^oler- Tillotson and Hobbes thought ili^aTt 7 " ^^"'"*/" Chillingworth. Proceeding to Pope's period w flT f f Ai! T^ ^'^^°' ""'' J^'"» ^o^ke. Bernard M^andeviL; 11^ Jl^^^J^l^]^:^'^^ ^ 'T?'''' ^^ John Toland, Matthew Tindal. Pope plastic P nV f '"" "''^' Bohngbroke. and unniistakable. His theology isThe ttoJyTf' ^^ ^T' ^^t of something, but lacking the substance with wWch thf fr.,n ?• ''^ enveloped. Samuel Clarke's Sermons are in h , ! framework is generally axioms and deductions. Pope reZ;, ad pi ces GodMr" /f T^'°"'^' '"^ contemplate, not one .ho ha. H..; sym^^^;'^ ^ "AlUhrr th" I 11 III 38 outcome of much that was deemed unlovely and sev-sre in orthodoxy. Toper could not paint Hell as Milton did ; Hell is a subject ef thought about which the set of men who influenced Pope gave themselves little thought. Critics who blame Pope for the omission do not see that, i:' he had followed their de-ires, he would have run counter to the spirit of his surroundings. To what conclusion, then, does Pope's logic lead him ? IVhatcvcr is, is right. If Pope had been a thorough pantheist or a profound sceptic, he might have written a more powerful Poem, but it would not have been the polished Essay on Man, and it would lixve been at variance with a great deal of current thought. Pope said Homer was "correct." There was something "neat" ii» the old Classics, which critics like Addisou could fall down and worship. As of the Classic*, so of tlie Philosophy. It was "correct" and "neat" also, and not seldom in error. It banished superstition — we might add, enthusiasm ; it was cold, monotonous, and desperately gloomy in reaction. Bjt even Edward Young's Night Thouglits have much in common with the point we have been discussing. Young meant to supplement Pope. "Man, too, he (Pope) sung ; immortal man I sing." Young is no seer who beholdi visions and dreams dreams. He converts nis infidel, as Pope might have done, by aatithesis, epigram, and logic. The Deists of the eighteenth century, although they were as thick as a swarm^ suddenly vanished. Our business is not with these, but it ought to be m^n- tioned here that their opponents often had no very fixed ]irinciples themselves. We can scarcely believe that Swift's theological beliefs were ardent. He detests Djists, n)t hacause he his founded his couvictioas upju inquiry, but because he said that to encourage heterodoxy was to overturn the established order of things, by which he wa^ a gainer. What was established by law was right, and though Swift defends the Church in set terms in sermon and pamph- let, it would be going too far to assert that his t' ^fence means implicit faith in the Thirty-nine Articles. Other men there were who, no doubt, disliked Deism hcai'tily. Robinson Crusoe (D -foe's character is not easy to fathom) is a vehement protester agiint Djism. Samuel Richardson, the norelist, felt a strong compunction against introducing auythiu^ savouring of indfi'^lity. Samuel Johnson, a thoroughly good but bigoted soul, had a d-^ep-s'^ated coi- tempt for unbelievers in sacred matters. One might add to the roll, and then proceed to talk about the powerful reaction agdnst the negativeness of Pope's day, which produced a Wesley and a Whitfidd, but it would be to defeat the- object of this brief paper. C. E. M. C ft COLLEY CIBBER. H«ht and was soon .l,i,, T '«' w' 7 IT "* °" that she.l an nncortain mind abused him in his D u .■ , r , T7 ' '""'' '"'"'" ^«P«'« -^P't'-'-'I to have a prince of .lunces ems t^ \ '"^ 'i-iing that it was n.Lary %in dran.ate power. Popa n.-mtr ™"^ '"''^^*'^«- His g.nin. and indeed u n>a„ who seems t t^T ' T '"'' ^•'""" ^^ *^^ ^'^-'^ = Shakespeare W.S hardly fit to nd tl °'"'^" ""^'"'' ^■'''^"^ "^'^ P--^ in a.no„. the ehair of CibLr' i B,t le^'^f f ' r""*"' '"''^' «'" '^'"'t the details of his life and his mo'; of HWn. '^ ''"''^ '""^'^ ^^'^^^^^ "»'« ~:;^r;:::;i:i^t' -^ ^en. in .nt. ::ra:;:^:fc;:rt^::^^^^^^^^^ The b<.so.relievo on the p de.t d, f t /^i 7"^ "'''' "''^^ *^^* "'' •^^'^tuury. fi.--s of the Innatics ( , ' " ,:^ IfT 7"," ^^-'^ "^"^ the t/o '^'^thlehem Hospital, ari no i mtnme I TTT'' °^^^ ^''« ^^*- ^^ mother was the daughter of a WHii m C W ^" IT "'^ "' ""'''''■ ""'^ familyofCHaistoninRutlan.lshire rr.S' ,,'?;^'^^ '° ^'''^ ---* family name whieh otherwise would h . b " "^ ^°"*^-^' '' P'''''^^' the only .surviving representative. wtnJnr"" 'T''' '''' "°^'"^^ ^^^^ the free .sehool in Lincolnshire. 1^11 J t I T' "" '"^- ^-''^ -"* to a there, but had no iurthercol^^g e -^ . "r';' : ^""'''^ ''""^^^ S'-" proved his store of learning by^.tlr Z t' 1 It:, '^ T'^T' "^"^ -" when at school, as " always in full snirits I '^''^''^- "« «P^'-^k,s of himself but in a more frequent ahnity to do o' T' '"""'^ '"P^^"^' ^° ^" ^i^ht. worse charaeter thin he wlml ^ . 1'" '\ '"tr""!""^'^ "^^^'^ ""''- ^ always possessed him, and even in lat r Kfe thif f ' "' '"T"" """^ ^'^ ''-« of his conduct. He was very ul tlH r"' '" ''''^' ^''''^'^'^d "'"^h ..pothers, even his friends, to n .J T ^T, '"' T'"" °°^ "'^*«* '-''""g at school we find one of h s f i turn "-.^''therof the man. E.en ;• You are always j.ering .:J^£:^:;T^^':1 '""' '^^^ '^-' ^^^ -^i, Cbber confesses that he brought «• nfanvtm s'h '••■ \ '°' " ^'^^ ^^'^°'^'-" -. .. .per .e. He bad not sense e.:ong.:: ^ .X t:^:^ 40 of others by his witty remarks, and they in return hated him because they had not sense enough to know tluit he did not intend to hurt them. One of his strongest characteristics seems to have been pergonal pride — a pride so great that he gloried not only in his virtues l)ut even in his follies and o))Rnly avowed them. It was this that enabled him almost to take pleasure in Pope's Satires against him. Pope of course ridiculed Gibber's weak points ; but in so doing he seems not to have known that in reality ho was pleasing Oibber, for so great was his vanity and egotism that he would rather be known to posterity by his foliins and want of genius, than not be known at all. He almost takes it as a complimeat to be made the central figure, if even among dunces, for he says : " Pof e must consider that my face and name are mere known than those of many thousands of more conseciuence in the kingdom, and that therefore I will be a sure bait to catch him readers." This pride seldom could be wounded, for anything siid against him he considered either false or said through envy or stupidity. But to return to his life. At the age of sixteen having been refused admittance to Winchester College he fn listed under the Earl of Devonshire in support of "William of Orange, but he did not find a soldier's life congenial. P>en this bloodless campaign frightened him • otn the field ; for we have every reason to believe that it was sheer timidity that prevented his regular enlistment. He returned to London, but there found little regular employment. It was at this period that he appers to have first seriously thought of becoming an actor, and it is certain that his want of work led him to become a constant attendant at the theatres. At the age of eighteen, he was first engaged to act a mine- part, but was in receipt of no salary forsomc^ nine months. A curious tale is told of the manner of his first becoming a hired actor. While on the stage one night he became so terrified as to forget his part, causing an awkward hitch in the play. Betterton, the chief aitor, asked in some anger, who the young fellow was who had committed the blunder. He was told, " Master Colley." 'Then forfeit him his wages " replied Betterton. " Why sir," said the other, " he has no salary." •' Then," said the old man, " put him down ten shillings a-week and forfeit him five." His choice of a theatricil life was in direct oppisition to his parants' wishes, for tin profession was then most justly considered one of the lowest ; but he recogiiisKl his own (lualifications for the p)sition: and to do him justice we must own that he did his b?st during his j .blic life to reform the more flagrant abuses connected with the stage. As an actor, his success in the end was great. A we ik voice was against him, but the ])rinciple hindnince in his career was inability to work smoothly with his fellow actors. He was indeed so unpopular, that, some four yeara later, we find him in receipt of only twenty shillings per week Notwithstanding his poverty, in 1693 he ventured on niitrimony, and in order th' better to eke out ^lis livelihooi he begin to write for the stage. Still he won his way but .slowly. By t^e recommendation of Congreve he had the honour of acting a principal part in Tiie Dou')le Dealer, played before Queen 41 own accors ; aad we do not fin 7 '■'^"^''■^^- '^"^ ^^'^^ P'-^f^^^d their time. The produ" ion of a L . T"; ''^'"^ "'^ P"'"^"^'^* P"* *°' -«-« brought hi,u^nt::lrideX^^^^^^ 'ir'r' •^'^^^^^ ^^ ''-• °ext play. This aflbrdedln-m! ""'' ^""'"'^ *° **'^'^*' P^'"' i^^ the The expediency of w^S 1 TTT' '° "^°"^^' ^^^ ^^""^ P-'^"™-. success in portravin,,f),« , "^'f ^^'"- ^^is was produced in 1695, and his withthef^sC^o ; r:r'\°'^-^-'f^. ^^^-^ ^- ^P- a footing popular production. o2l'Z.JylZj7;'': '^°"-'"°^ ^^^ ^^^ ">-' ed the then very unusual nn^^nf V f '''"■"'''' ' ^"^ ^"^ '' '«««iv- against the JacoTite 3' and se . k''"' ^""•'"^- ''^'^ 1^^*^ ^^ ^«-"«'i Gibber's being nude Ctwirr "] '^"'"'"^ *'" ^^^^'P^^ -^^-^ ^^^ laurel of the nation shoud be onf "'' ''"°"'"^' "^^ '^^P--^ ^'^^^ «- Gibber's provoking^ ur Lav w" "f/ ' """''^" ' ^'^'^ ^^^ > "Chaplain. He was afterwards made Dean of Salisbury, and died in the .n 1705, when his son had just completed his twenty-first year. Young was educated at Winchester School and at All Souls' College, Oxford. Tindal, who was a frequent visitor at Oxford, says of him :— "All the other boys I can always answer, because I know whence they have their argunieuts, which I have read a hundred times, bat that fellow Young is always pestering me with something of his own." Whenabiut tW3uty-sixhe bjgan to writ; po- ems, some of which were printed in the Tatler. A few years later he wrote several odes and poems, which he addressed to persons in authority. Of these The Last Day is the most remarkable. It consists of a description of the end of the world, as Young would have it arranged ; but the field here provided for his imagination is too large. He loses himself among the wonders and horrors of his own creation, and spoils the poem by his extravagance of violence. In 1714 he took the degree of B. C. L., and at this time h'j mast have had a considerable reputation, for he was appointed at the foundation of the Cod- rington Library to deliver the Latin oration. He was then tutor to Lord Burleigh, son of the Earl of Exeter, but in 1719 he left his service for that of the Duke of Wharton, whose favour he thought worth cultivating. We notice in his youth, and all through his life, a constant striving for social position, and an earnest perseverance in the matter which was worthy of a nobler aim : his efforts in this direction were crowned nith but small success, though the time allotted him for his operations was uu usually long. We must admire, at least, the durability of a conviction which, at the close of an unsuc- cessful campaign of eighty years, is still as firm and potent as at the outset. The Duke of Wharton persuaded Young to come forward as a political candi- date, providing him with means to defray the necessary expenses, but this was an unsuccessful attempt — Young was defeated, and emerged from the fray con- siderably richer in experience, but not otlierwise benefited. The expenses of the election, also, were found to be largely in excess of the means provided by the Duke, so that pecuniary difficulties were added to the candid ite's other troubles. He continued, however, to write industriously both prose and poetry, taking care always to address his works to one or other of those who sit in high places, and thus, through occasional successe.s, made his livelihood. Out of this literary and political turmoil we are surprised, in 1727, to find Mr. Young steering his bark into the calm haven of the church. 43 T;voVerrsi:tt":etl';;efe:t^^ a Royal Chaplain. Welwyn. i„ Ilertford.hire. ^ ^^o'legeof All Soul^ with the Kectory of years "'Llilirtts^ettei';;!;!'''';^ ^*, "-^^^ "-^^°""g P--d thirty-five ^^s:f^^-er .hence t:\:;;rc^^^^ He was accustomed to resort for ,i -i walked and Meditated a.r; h ^av ^ oTl? .* V'^ ^'"^^'^^^'•''' ^^^^ ^« "3 choice of a promenade ground fs one. . T ^•'^"'^'"— ^^e think told that he was "aturally ofa ivelv and ?T"'"°"' ^"' "'* ^^'^ '^''^ ^-ther that he adopted this habi't in o der fo ''"' '^7'"'''' '' " *° ''^ -PI--! prevent hilarity getting the h^r of n^ " '^'^'^'^^ °^ ^'^^^ -^^ to ^t^^'^^^a^J^^^ o,ari3tocr.3, and chose --- ":;:S::;i!^^^ - ^ido.. orcolonel .. and - him the alioction of a £ nd TthTr^ ""• "^^ ^'^^ ^'^''^-'^ ^^'"^ ^ome. '"^'1 '" the liectory at Welwyn all the joys of Pallmon.°d"e;It Nk^e wl"t£. t'T''!''"'' "'"^ '^^ '"^"^'^'^ '^ «»« of Lord her husband and par 1 ^tn n.' :) '7" '"" '" ''''''''' accompanied by ^741 Lady Elizabeth Young SfTj'^ ^^^^'^ '^^ ^^^ - cut off, and in - -w left alone .ith hisln. a cL-HofTerZ' ^"""^ '" '°""«' "^^ i-r:;:nift^;-- ^^^^^^^ the pn^e of and which, with two or three If h fol '^"' '' "''^'^ ^" '^ best known, in English Literature °'^'' ""'^'^g^' ^^^^ always take high rank ;Bishop. n^arried. lost his ^^27'^^^^^^ tunes to write meditations on Life Del h t ^ r" "'' '' ^"^ '"^«^°'- circumstances which attended the deat and buHirVv "f '""*' ^°^ *^^ ^^ land were calculated to stir into voice a flrless 1 , ^^^^^-g^ter. .n a foreign The principal beauty of the Ni.ht Tl '''^^ ''°""^'^- i-agery with which it'abounds ! d oJitf ! 7 '°"°' ^" ^^'^ -etapho.and good service it has done the ^u oV r iS^ is 7 '-^ ."• '" '' ' '''-' ''^ should not be forgotten ^ '' " P°'°t »" its favour which 44. tragedies, The Revenge, is still sometimes produced on the stage. His Odes -were signal failures, but the Love of Fame, a series of Satires, brought out his peculiar talents, and met with well-deserved favour. Young died at Welwyn at the advanced age of eigUty-oae. We read of him working in his garden and entertaining his visitors with lively conversation when he was too old for public work. Four years before his death he was made Clerk of the Closet to tlie Princess Dowager of Wales. This was no small gratification to him— though late, yet far better than never. This, with the Royal Chap- laincy, was, notwithstanding all his pains, the only preferment he ever reached. In conclusion, we may say Young's influence, both on his own time and by his writings, was a good one. We have to remember that he lived in an age of flattery and insincerity, and his failings were less blameworthy tlian those of many of his contemporaries. la private life he was above suspicion, and it may be supposed that the devotion of the latter half of his life atoned for the wild oats we are told he sowed in his youth. I; T. G. iir des out lim hen erk ;ion lap- led. by ;e of B of may vild LETTER-WRITING DURING THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. writers of the Eighteenth alTfl > ^""°'"^ communication among the The letters of fuch cclelrTteJ F iT""' °' "" '''"«*^'^"^^' -"*-^ field. Horace Wal/i t^y Mar^^^^^^ "l"°'"' ^'^'^'-"' ^«-' ^^'^eater- German. and perhaps better known Iv"^?''"""^ ''^'' '''' French and Stael, Voltaire! Goethe/an^ others ov"^ °' ''"" '^ ''^^«"^' ^^-^ ^e ligiou, and science, but a so d J w Uh t^e " "'^' °"'' *^^"^'^°"^ "^ 1'°"*-^' - and friendship. ^ ""'^^ *^' '""^'^ commonj.lace (!) subjects of love His Abelard and E lol th ,1 "^ ""'' '' '^ "^'^^'^ '' ^l-'«I-3^ «tyle wrought eloquence To' w f e X T ' ^'""', ^^ '"^^ ''^ ^ ^^^^ »' ^^b" in verse. """ """^'^ ^« ^^K'^^^d to write a better love-letter rr.f„„„., ,„!„„ ;t U « :'I,"""'"™ '■" •" "■•' '• '"''. -.1 with other l.,li„„„y thau th em!Ll f °""" ■" " »'"'"" »"<» »<> wish., ,„ .„.i„ ,"; ; ^, ;;'£r;H ' '*';"'°- " "■= ''"'"^- ^"■""-^ Of l,or,l Cheslnll.U' 'l,'''"^ ""Sh's to the volumos of AiMi™." 0.* t, he j„.,ed hj .hf L'::;'„':i';: htr rfrstei-""' t his.„perior,,.„d,,;,.:pe;LTe llUedtZ/'r^^^^ '"' ™°''»"^ "^ though therhad no titles uDd I „« an E.H I .1 """/"V " """'""J'' ""<' their politenes., .„d ,va, fa™„ JC; wt .Uo3 '1 ""' ' ™.r*'^ ">' " ^y ueing auowed to converse with them."^ 46 Are there many noblemen who wouhi say 8o now-adays 1 No, not many Popes, Swifts — nor, 1 1 uoad of worries where you ar n ; !? ? "" '""^^"^^ "^ ^"^^^g off satisfaction of gratified vanity t e ; vhZ T ' /'"' *°°' -'-'-the -••tten. you did not know /ou psse d ^r"' °' "^" "''^' ^^-h. untU example, what a field for il.i^lZTl riot -"'"'" -"-Pondence. for - ^=-- r ::;^^^^ ^^ -so. of wit. whi. . be a chief characteristic ^ '° ''«'"«*'' ^hat brevity need not Oruce .oit rendue . Di n e ce auJu T ] T''"''''' '"^ ''''"'' '^^^^nt ! . ^ ainsi run a I'autre presents ' ' "'^ ^^ '"°^ "^^ ^^ ^^^-d pas d'itr; E. B. SHAKESPEARE AND HIS PLAY RICHARD II. The curiosity, which, inhermt in the human race, finds a lej^itimate gplinre in the domain of letters, has ever been romed liy th) nann of Shake- speare. For over two centurieH and a-half, mani■■ winch We Inv„ ,. 1 ,. ' A 1,1 sou's lh<(-h.,.= "'icon, m ii,g «P'"^'>hes of 8ll ' '"''^ '-^ '^""^''thin. so w.ld ■ '"'""'^ all others." -s that 1'; ^:7'-';' ''^'''' '---. witch:^lr;^,f ;v^^°'""'^ *" ^^^ J>-n.g .1.. tin-ee yea. this iate. r," " '"^ '^^'^ ^^'"--"ted tho,n •'' ' oeea main V diiretr-rl f id '"rer.iry booioty has exi«K„i «ver acconip.ni.,! tl d ' '"''"' '""^'•>- '^ ^he rell -x of "r "'''' "''^'^ '^ «n «» '^'^''^Putable. A writer the most hackneyed phraLs. are co,:;;e:'e , tX:l:l;'T """^'^^ ''''''' ^ '^'Pfi-Leptible ties with the hopes 54 and fears, the reasonings and nflections of bygone men and times." And Arcli- biHhop Trench remarks ;-«Many a single word is itself a concentrated poem." Words, then, would s.em to have a sort of ,.er.sonalitv, and some words, like some people, are to be judged from their surroundings ; "l would like to-night to bespeak a good word) for Anonymous by telUng you where I have met lam A\ hile this m-iuinng circle has sat in j,idgment upon the irreproachable Addison, and has chaff.d the wann-hearted Steele ; while we have eluded ths s.gl)tle..s Milton, and kicked our l.raxen heels on the tomb at Stratfonl. the old- est and m, st prolifi,. of autho.s has hitherto escaped our innocent critici.«.m. \et here we have writers who have taken their undisputed seats, from time to time, amongst the most noble knights of the disordered table Have not L'acon, (.'hatterton, Byron, Scott and Dickens sat beside them- with an uneasy pleasure it may be-proud to share (and perhaps not too reluc- tant to appreciate) the smiles inten.led for their shadowy neighbours ' If. while introducing ^«».i/,no.,v to you to-nigit, I have had to bring along his titled relative P.cndonymoa., 1 beg that you will p.rmit him to re.nain un challenged amongst us. They have both put forth liddles, which learning has sometimes found hard to gue.^s, and sometim,.s wholly unanswerable I do not wish to s.,eak to you of Junius, whose once-dreaded name rises at he ,rst mention of my theme-nor of fhatterton's cekl,rated impostures, sadly fanuhar to you ail-„or yet of the greatest as well as tl.e oldest of Anonymoa; roems-^A. Book of Jol -of which it has b.en said. " As a work both of genius and art It occupies well-uigh the first rnnk in Hebrew literature, and is unsur- passed in sublimity of inui^iuation by any poem of antiquity " Nor do 1 care to say mneh of the numy noble derelicts-sueh a« Auld Robin Gray, RcjccM Addresses, U'averley, Leautifal &now, The Changed Cross- which loated, uuelaimed, upon the sea of publicity, until time iiroved them seaworthy. ^ It is not of these that 1 would speak, but of some of the humbler of the still vizored knlght^. Turning back to childhood we remember who sang us to sleep in the rhymes of Mother iioo^e-- Anonymous. Who penne,'. the tlinlling tales in yellow covers, uhich at the age of fourteen, made Kingston seem tedious and IJallan tyne commonplace '(-Ammymms. Ves, and wuo of xu is there who treasures no favourite lines of this unknown friend, who has f.lt what we feel and spoken as we wish we could ? Touching stories have been told of the popularity of Amiie /.^«m a Scot- tish soag, whicli every Eaglis'i perso.i caa repaab. D^.s not every one re-ret to >^M. It Amaymous I Tnera is aaoth.r «rid.l..k lo.vn poem called tlie Vcni Creator (Come Holy Ghost our souls inspire;, whos. autlior we wouH r^adlv call our friend. What a pleasant fellow must have been the writer of the VicaroJBray. One can faucy the jovial hours llyi.g iu his cnpaay. \Va. the ailecting ballad beginning V- "There were three crows sat on a tree," 56 gathered within the .ovo. of / ICT.j/^"'^'^"' ^^^ '1-"^ conceits „ '^- ^"M.. Yes. and how many e "^ill "", ,'°' '"^""'^ ^^"«'^^'% of ephemeral co,„n„,s of the new.,1 f ^""\'"--" -^ are lost in 'he 4t::^tt:-r:- -^^^^ . t.. dead .. .. . wo^i gathenng of so,„e of the beautiful 7rv a,s wh "^' '' ''^^ "''^'^'""' '" "'« -al. May it be permitted to clos 1 1^ . 'ft', "'"f "'^^'='^^"« ->^^^ - to a skeleton ? '"'"'"^ '^"^^tcii with the celebrated Hues i'. 'J\ ■umwiip nnii W TO A SKELETON. BehoH thia ruin ! 'twai a skull Once of ethereal spirit full. This narrow cell was Life's retreat, This space was Thought's rnv.sterious seat. What bffautous visions (ill'd this spot ! What dreams of pleasure long forgot ! Nor hop!-, nor Joy, nor love, nor fear. Have left one trace of record here. Beneath this mouldering canopy Once shone the bright and busy eye, But start not at the dismal void, — If social love that eye employed ; Tf with no lawless fire it glearn'd. But through the dews of kindne-!s beim'd, — That eye shall be for ever bright When stars and sun are sunk in night. Within this hollow cavern hung The ready, swift and tuneful tongue ; If Falsehood's honey it disdained. And when it could not praise was chain'd ; If bold in Virtue's cause it spoke, Yet gmitle concord never bi'oke, — This silent tongue shall plead for thee When Time unveils Eternity ! Say, did these fingers delve the mine ? Or with the envied rubies shine ? To hew the rock or wear the gem Can little now avail to them. But if the page of truth they sought. Or comfort to the mourner brought, These hands a richf-r meed shall claim Then all that wait on wealth and fame. Avails it whether bare or shod These feet the paths of duty trod ? If from the bowers of Ease they fled, To seek Affliction's humble shed ; If Gran leur's g'lilty bribe they spurned. And home to Virtue's cot returned, — These feet with Angel wings shall vie, And tread the palace of the sky ! The MS. of this poeii was found near a skeleton in the London Royal Col- lege of Surgeons, about 1820. The author has never been found, though a re- ward of fifty guineas was offered for his discovery . \S\ J \\\