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With Introduction by Prof. Mutton, Prof. Claasici, University Coll., Toronto, [in press.] ^ OTHERS IX rKKCAHATION, m. J. 6agt & Co'c, english School (Ulassks. rn rilE DESERTED VILLAGE, THE TASK, AND SIR ROGER DE COVERLET. WITH INTRODUCTION, LIVES OF AUTHORS, OHARACTETl OF 'J'HEIR WORKS, ^TO. , fflTH COPIOUS EXPLANATORY NOTES, GRAMMATICAL, HIS I'OUICAL, BIOGRAPHICAL, ETC. B¥ JOHN MILLAR, R.V, ifead ^Uuitter of St Thomas Collegiate Institute THIRD EDITION. TORONTO: W. J. GAGE & COMrAKY. 1881. No Entered according to Act of Parliament of Canaiia in the year 1881, by ir. J. Gage db Company in the Office of the Minister of Agriculture. ^i^ PREFACE. Lfirpjely increased attention has been given of )at<* years to the study of English Literature in our High Schools and Collegiate Institutes. In the hands of the teacher it has been found a most valuable discipline, and no subject has been taken up with greater interest by students. In regard to the matter found in the following work no ])retensions are made to much ori- ginality. With such a large number of books already published that deal with the writings of Addison, Goldsmith and Cowper, to write much new matter would be a presumptuous and unnecessary task. It has been the object of the author to collect, con- dense, and methodically arrange whatever he has found suitable for his purpose as a teacher. The aim has been to put in book form such informatic n as he has been accustomed to prepare for his own classes. The division of the chapters into appropriate para- graphs will, it is thought, prove a satisfactory feature in the arrangement In the introduction defini- tions of the principal "figures v-' speech" have been given, more for the sake of reference than with the od- ject of attaching much importance to them in or- dinary High School work. Collegiate Institute, St. Thomas, July, 1881. INTRODUCTIOK -♦♦- L LITICK^TURE AND ITS DEPARTMENTS. 1. Literature in its widest sense embraces all kinds of literary productions whicli have been preserved in writ- ing ; but is generally restricted to those- works that come within tl:e sphere of the literary art or rules of rhetoric. 2. Classilication. -Literature, in regard to its form^ is divided into (1) l*rose and (2) Poetry. In regard to matter^ it has three divisions : (1,) Comi)Osition, designed to inform the understanding by descripti<))iy nanatioHj or exposition ; (2) Oratory ; {'^) Poetry. 3. Description, or descriptive composition, is of two kinds : (1) Objective, wliere tlie observer pictures what he describes as it is perceived by his senses or realized by his fancy ; (2) Subjective, where the observer, referring to the feelings or thoughts of his own mind, gives his im- pressions as they have been excited by the outward scene. Scott is a good example of an objective^ and Jiyron of a suhjective writer. 4. "Narration is that kind of composition which gives an account of the incidents of a series of transactions or events. It may also be subjective or objective. INTRODUCTION. or 5. Exposition iiicbidea those literary productions vvhoro fiictfl or priiicipl(3a are dibcussed and conclusions roachcd by a process of roiis(»ninima is a name applied to an Italian stanza consisting of eight lines, of which the first six rhyme alternately, and the last two form a couplet. 28. The Rhyme Royal consists of seven heroic lines, the first five recurring at intervals and the last two rhyming. 20. The Ballad Stanza consists of four lines, the first and thi' t * >eing iambic tetrameters, and the second and fourth iambic trimeters. 30. Pauses. — Besides the usual pauses indicated by the punctuation and called aeniential pauses, there are in poetir VIII INTRODUCTION. diction the Final pause at the cud of each line and the GvRsural pause. 31. The CsBsural Pause is a suspension of the voice somewhere in the line itstslf. It is not found in short lines, and in long verses i« movable. It generally occurs near the middle, but may come after the 4th, 5th, 6th, or 7th syllable. It is often found in the middle of a foot, but never in the middle of a word. Sometimes a secondary pause called demicoi&ural is found before and also after the cvRsural. 32. Scansion i^ a term .applied to the division of a verse into the feet of Avhicli it consists. 33. Classification of Poetry. — In respect to form and mode of treatment, poetry may be divided into (1) Epic, (2) Dramatic, and (3) Lyric. 34. Epic poetry is that variety in which some great event is described, or wliere the exploits of heroes are treated of. The leading forms of Epic poetry are these : — (1) The Great Epic, as the Iluul^ the JEiieid^ Paradise Lost; (2) The Romance, as the Faerie Qiieene, The Lady of the Lake; (3) The Ballad, as Chevy Chase, Macaulay's Lay of Horathis; (4) The Historical Poem, as Dryden's Annus Mirahilis ; (5) The Tale, as Byron*s Corsair, Enoch Arden; (6) The Mixed Epiu, as Byron's Ghilde Harold ; (7) The Pastoral, Idyll, ifcc-, as the Cotters Saturday Night, the Excursion) (8) Prose Fiction, including sentimental, comi- cal, pastoral, historical, philosophical, or religious novels. 35. Dramatic Poetry deals also with some important events, but difiers from Epic poetry where the author him- self narrates the events forming its subject, in having the various characters represent, in action or conversation, the story to be described. Dramatic poetry is of two kinds, (1) Tragedy, where the human passions and woes or mis- fortunes of life are represented in such a manner as to eX' INTRODUCTION. IX cite pity, as Shakespeare's Marhefli or Hamlet ; (2) Comedy, where the lighter faults, passions, actions, and follies are represented, as the Merchant of Venice. 30. Lyric Poetry is so called because originally writ- ten to be sung to the Lyre. Its principal kinds are : (1) The Ode, as Gray's Bard ; (2) The Hymn, as those of Cowper ; (3) The Song, as those of Burns or Moore ; (4) The Elegy, as Gray's ; (5) The Sonnet, as those of Shake- speare or Wordsworth ; (6) The simple Lyric, as Burns' Mountain Daisy. 37. Further Classification as to object will embrace ; (1) Descriptive poetry, as Thomson's i:^.easons; (2) Didac- tic, as Wordsworth's Eo'curnon; (3) Pastoral, as Ram- say's Gentle ^Shepherd ; Satirical, as Butler's Hudihras; (5) Humorous, as Cowper's Jo/in Gilpin. n. FIGURES OFSREECH. 38. A Figure is a deviation from the ordinary form or construction or application of words in a sentence for the purpose of greater precision, variety, or elegance of ex- pression. There are three kinds, viz., of Etymology ^ of Syntax^ and of Rhetoric. 39. A Figure of Etymology is a departure from the usual form of words. The principal figures of etymology are : Aphceresis, Prosthesis^ Syncope^ Apocope^ Faragoge^ Dio'.renSy SynoiresiSy Tmesis. 40. Aphseresis. — The elision of a syllable from the beginning of a word, as ^nea,th for beneath. 41. Prosthesis. — The prelixing of a syllnble to a word, as agoing for going. If the letters are placed in the middle, EpenikesiSy nfi farther iov farer. 42. Syncope. — The elision of a letter or syllable from the body of a word, as med'rine for medicine. ^NTRODUCTIO^•. 43. Apocope. — The elision of a letter or syllable from the end of a word, as tJio' for though. 44. Paragoge. — The annexing of a syllable to the end of a word as deai-y for dear. / 45. Diserosis. — The divison of two concurrent vowels into different syllables, as co-oj^erate. 46. Syn09resis. — The joining of two syllables into one, in either orthography or pronunciation, as dost for duestf loved for lov-ed. 47. Tmesis. — Separating the parts of a compound word, as " JVJiat time soever." When letters ir the same word are interchanged, as brunt for burnt, nostrils for nose- thirleSy the figure is called Metathesis. 48. A Figure of Syntax is a deviation fnuP. the usual construction of a sentence for greater beauty or force. The principal figures of syntax are : Ellipsis, Pleonasm^ Syllepsis, Jj^nallaye, Hyperbaton, Periphrasis, Tautology. 49. Ellipsis. — An omission of words with a rlietorical purpose, as '* Impossible f" Asyndeton is the omission of connectives. 50. Pleonasm. — The employment of redundant words, as "Thy rod and thy staff, ihcy comfort me." 51. Syllepis. — An inferior species of personification, aa " The moon gives her li^ht by night. " 52. Enallage. - The substitution of one part of speech for another, as — " Whether charmer sinner it or saint it If folly grow romantic I must paint it. " — Pope. 53. Hyperbaton. — The transposition of words in a sentence, as ** J[ wian he tvas to all th« ^^f$>Htry dear." 54 Periphrasis or Circumlocution. — The employment of more words than are necessary to convey the sense, as the use of a definition or dcbcriptive phrase instead of a INTRODUCTION. noun, as ** He was charmod with the i(Lct of takiruj up armiin Hie service of his conntri/." 55. Tautology. — Tho repetition of the siuue aense ii* diilerent words, as — " The dawn is overcast — the morninfjj lowers, And heavily in clouds brings on the day." — Addison. 56. A Figure of Rhetoric is a form of speech art- fully varied from the direct and literal mode of expres- sion for the purpose of greater etl'ect. Rhetorical figures may be divided into three classes. 57. I. Figures of Relativit j. — Antitheds, Simile, Metaphor, Allegory^ Persoidjication, Apostrophe^ Vinon, Allusion, Irony, Sarcasm, Sy7iccdoche, Metonymy, Euphem- ism, Litotes, Epithet, Catachresis. 68. n. Fig-^^f es of Gradation. — Climax, Hyperbole. 69. III. Figures of Emphasis. — Epizeuxis, Anaphora, Epiphorr^, Anadlplosis, Epanalepsis, AUiteration, Anacola- thon, Aposiopesis, Faraleipsis, Erutesis, Epanorthosis, Syl- lepsis, Ecphonesis. 60. Antithesis. — The statement of acontrast of thoughts and words, as *' The wicked flee when no man pursueth, but the righteous are bold as a lion. " Under this figure may be mentioned Oxymoron, or a contradiction of terms, as ** a pious fraud" ; AntimetaboU, where the words are reversed in each member of the anti- thesis, as '* A wit with dunces, and a dunce with wits." 61. Simile or Comparison. — A formal expression o resemblance, as : '* He shall be like a tree planted by if rivers of water. " 62. Metaphor. — An implied comparison or a simile without the sign, as '* Pitt was the pillar of the State." 63. Allegory.— A continuation of metaphors,or a story having a figurative meaning and designed to convey in- xu INTRODUCTION. struction of a moral character, as Bunyan'8 Pilgrinis Fro* gresa 04. Personification. — A figure in which some attri- bute of life is fiscribed to inanimate objects, as *' The mountains sing together, the hills rejoice and clap hands. " 65. Apostrophe. — A turning off from the subject to address something absent, as '* Death is swallowed up in victory. O Death, where is thy sting ?" 6(>. Vision. — The narration of i)asfc or absent scenes as though actually present, as **I see before me the gladia- tor lie," etc. 67. Allusion. — That figure by which some word or phrase in a sentence calls to mind something which is not mentioned, as *'Tt may be said of him that he came, he saw, he conquered." ()8. Irony. — A figure by which we mean to convey a meanin;j; the contrary of what we say, as wliere Elijah ad- dresses he worshippers of Baal, " Cry aloud, for he is a god." 69. Sarcasm. — A m(Kle of expressing vituperation under a somewhat veiled form, as the Letters of Juniits, 70. Synecdoche. — A figure where — 1. A part is put for the whole, as '* A fleet of twenty sail" 2. The species for a genus, as **our daily bread/* 3. The concrete for the abstract, as * * The patriot comes forth in his politics. " 4. The whole for a part, as " Belinda smiled and all the world w&ii gay/* 5. The genus for the species, as ** The creature wasi sad." 0. The €abstract for the concrete, as — *' Belgium's capital had gathered then Her beauty and her chivali-y. ' IKlRODUCTiON. xni Antonomasia is a form of synecdoche where a proper lionii is used to designate a class, us — *' Some village Ilampden, that with dauntless breast, TKe little tyrant of his fields withstood." 71. Metonomy . —A figure where one thing is described by another thing in substituting — 1., The cause for the eliect, as ** A time there was, ere England's griefs begjin, When every roo(Z of ground maintained its man." 2. The effect for the cause, as " tr-ra]/ /tairs should be respected. '* 3. The sign for the thing signified, as ** He cari-ied away the palm. " 4. The container for the thing contained, as *' The toper loves his bottle. " 6. The instrument for the agent, as ** The pp.n is mightier than the sword. " 6. An author for his woi'ks, as *'We admire Addi- son. >i 72. Euphemism. — A figure by means of which a harsh expression is set aside and a softer one substituted in its place, as " The merchant prince has stopped payment.^' 73. Litotes. — A figure in which by denying the con- trary, more is implied than is expressed, as " Immortal names, Thnt wove not born to die." 74 Tr&nsfferred Epithet. — An epithet joined to an- othei tc explain its character, as *'The suriny South " 75. Catachresis. — A figure where a word is wrested from its original application and made to express some- thing at variance with its true meaning, as ''Her voice was but the shadow of a sound. " 76. Clim.ax. — An ascending series of thoughts or state- ments increasing in strength, as *'What apiece of work uv INTRODUCTION. 18 m«an ! how noble in reason ! how infinite in faculties • in form and moving, how express and admirable ! in ac . tion, how like an angel ! in apprehension, how likea God ! — Hamlet. Wlicre the series is descending we have an Anti- clima.r, as "If once a man indulges himself in murder, v'.'ry soon he comes to think little of robbing ; and from robbing he comes next to drinking and Sabbath-breaking, and from that to incivility and procrastination." — De Quincy. 77. Hyperbole. — A figure by which more is expressed than the truth and where the exaggeration is not expected to be taken literally, as '* They were swifter than eagles, they were stronger than lions." (Referring to David's statement concerning Saul and Jonathan. ) 78. Epizeuxis. — The immediate repetition cf *^>ine word or words for the sake of emphasis, as — *^ Restore him, reatore him if you can from the dead." 79. Anaphoi l. — The repetition of a word or phrase at the beginning of each of several sentences or parts of a sentence, as — *' JS'o more the fainior's revVs, the barber's tale, No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail, No mx)re the smith his dusky brow shall clear." 30. Epiphora. — Where the repetition is at the end, and Anadiplosis. — Where the repetition is in the middle : ** Has he a gust for hinndl Blood shall fill his cup." 81. Epanalepsis. — Where there is a repetition at th<- end of the sentence of the word or words at the beginning 82. Alliteration. — The repetition of the same lettei or letters, as ^' Apt alliteration's artful aid." 83. Anacoluthon. — A figure by which a proposition is left unfinished and something else introduced to finish the sentence, as — IN PRODUCTION XV **Tf thou be'st he— but oh, how fallen, how ''hanged from him who," etc. 84. Aposiopesis. — A siiddfen pause in a sentence by which the conclusion is left un^.nished, as — " For there I picked up on the heather, And there I put within my breast, A moulted feather, an eagle's feather — Well — I forget the rest." — Browning. 85. Paraleipsis or omission.*— A figure by which a speaker pretends to pass by what at the same time he real- ly mentions, as " I do not speak of my adversary's scan- dalous venality anu capacity ; I take no notice of his bru- tal conduct.'' 8G. Erotesis. — An animated or passionate interroga- tion, as — " Hath the Lord said it ? and will He not do it ? Hath He spoken it ? and shall He not make it good ?" 87. Epanorthosis. — A figure by which an expres- Rion is recalled and a stronger one substituted in its place, as " Why should 'f speak of his neglect — neglect did / say ? call it rather contempt. " 88. Syllepsis. — The use of an expression which is taken in a literal and metaphorical sense, as — " Lie h^avy on him, Eartli, for he Laid many a heavy load on thee." 89. Ecphonesis. — An animated exclamation, as— Othello. — 0, my soul's joy, If after every tempest come such calms, May the winds blow till they l.ave wakened death." 90. Other figures are often found, as zeugma^ whereby a verb, etc. , applicaolo to only one clause does duty for two, as — * * They wear a garment like the Scythians, but a lan- guage peculiar to themselves. " — Sir J. Mandeville, xvi INTRODUCl'ION. AnaccenoxiSf where the speaker appeals to the judg- ment of his audience on the point in debate, as if they had feelings common with his own. Tlie Eniqma or riddhj. The Epigramy where the mind is roused by a conflict or contradiction between tlie form of the language and the meaning to bo conveyed, as " The child is father oi the man. " Personal Metaphor ^ where acts are attributed to inanimate objects, The Paroaoma^ia or pun. The Para- bie, Proverbf Jlepartecj etc. ) r TTI. LIST OF PRINCIPAL WRITERS. Dryden, John (1G30— 1700). Annus Alirabilis, Ahsa- om and Ahltaphely Mac FleckncHy Tlie Hind and P anther ^ Translation of Vinjilf Ode for iit. Cecilia's JJay, Alexan- der s Feast. Locke, John (1632—1704). Essay on Human TJnder- standing. Letters concerning Tideratio7Ly Treatise on Civil Government^ Thouglits concerrung Education. Newtpn, Sir J. (1642 — 1727). Principia, Optics. Wycherly, William (1040- 1715). Several innnoral Comedies. De Foe, Daniel (1661—1731). Besides editing The Re- vieiv, wrote Hohinson Crusoe^ Moll Flanders, History of the Ch'eat PlaguCj Captain Singleton, Mrs. VeaVs Apparition. Bentley, Richard (1662—1742). Editions oi Horace, Terence, PhoedrnSy and other classical works. Prior, Mathew, (1665—1721). The Town and Country Mouse, Solomon. Swift, Jonathan (1666— 1745). Tale of a Tub, Drapier's Letters, Culliver's Travels, and poems including Morning, The City Shower, Rhapsody on Poetry y Verses on My Own Death. CongrevG, William (1669—1728). Several comedies of INTRODUCTION XVll a very immoral tendency, and the tragedy The Moiniinq Bride. Gibber, Colley (1071—1757). The Comedy Careles» Hm^and. Steele, Richard (1071—1720;. Besides writinsf for the TatleVf Spectator^ Guardian^ Eiujlishiruin^ etc. , he wrote comedies — The Funeral^ Tlie Tender Husband^ The Lying Lover J TJie Conscious Lovers. Addison, Joseph (1072—1719). Contributions to the TatlcTy Spectdtor, Guardian^ Whirj^ Examinar^ etc. Poems — Letter from Italy ^ Campaign^ Hymn^Sy Rosamond^ The Drmmner^ Cato. Vanbrugh, John (1072—1720). The Provoked Wife. Rowe, Nicholas (1073—1718). The Fair Penitent and Jane Shore. Watts, Isaac (1074 — 1748). Ilymns^ Logic, The Im- procament of the Mind. Philips, Ambrose (1075 — 1749). The Didressed Mother. Philips, John (1070—1708). The Splendid Shilling. Parquar, Geo. (1078—1707). The Becniiting Officer, The Beaw£ Stratagem. Parnell, Thomas (1079—1717). The Sermit. Young, Edward (1081—1765;. Night Thoughts, The Revenge, The Love of Fame. Berkeley, George (1084—1753). Thecrry of Vision. Tickell, Thomas (1080—1740). Besides writing for Spectator and Guardian, wrote the ballad of Colin and Lucy, and the poem Kensington Gardens. Gay, John (1088—1732). The Shepherd's Week, Trivia, The Fan, Black-eyed Stisan, Beggars^ Opera. Pope, Alexander (1088 — 1744). Essay on Criticism, The Messiah, Elegy on an Unfortunate Lady, The Rape of the Lock, The Epi.ttle of BUrsa to Abelard, The Temple of XVI 11 INTRODUCTION. i ; Fame^ translation of Hiad and Odyssey, The Du7iclad, Es- laj/ on Mcoij Windaor Forest. Richardson, Samuel (1081*— 1701). Pamdu, Clarisna Lfadowe, Sir CJiarles Grmuilson. Savage, Richard (1090—1743). The mmdercr. Thomson, James (1700—1748). Seasom, Liberty^ The Castle of Indolence. Wesley, John (1703—1701). IIym)ks and Serinons, Jourual. Fielding, Honry (1707 — 1754). Joseph Andrewny Torn Jones, Jonathan Wild. Johnson, Samuel (1709—1784). Wrote for the Ram- bler, Idler; and^ Life of Savage, Dictionary of the Enon our own. Chaucer, though plainly the poet of ch^r^ctei' and of practical life, writes largely after the manner of the Provingals, but improved by ^^-dian models. Spenser's manner is also that of the Provineals, but guided by the authors of a later Italian school. The chaiactor of (merman literature influenced Scott, and iu our own day, Carlylc. I I THE DEVELOPMENT OF ENGLISH POETRY. «5 Milton, aa we have seen, was the great representjitive of the Classical school, now to be followed by the writers who moulded their works after the tastes of I*aris. i'he social mischiefs of the Restoration were the worst fruits of the French influence. The Court and the society of the metropolis began to exercise a powerful influence on the various departments of literature. The corrupt and profligate manners of the Court tainted too easily a people whohad felt the restraints of Pnrit.in rule. The lighter kinds of compositicm mirrored faithfully the surrounding black- ness, which required no sliort period of time, no little exertion and a religious revival to clear it away. The drama sank to a frightful degree of shame and grossness. Other forms of poetry were marked by no higher object than that to which satire aspires. Writing verse was degraded from a high and noble art to a mere courtly amusement, or pander to the immorality of a degenerated age. Tho Artificial School of Poetry. The poets already considered belonged to the * * school of nature. " Influences were now at work which gave rise to another phase of )oetic genius. The Gothic and Romance literature of the Middle Ages gave its inspiration to Chaucer, Spenser, Shakespeare and Milton. The study of the Greek and Roman Classics gave an impetus to a class of writers who, influenced by causes of another kind, developed a new style of poetry. The great masters possessed artistic as well as natural powers. The secondary poets of the Elizabethan period, though fresh and impassioned, as a result of the strong feelings that inspired them, were ex- travagant and unrestrained because of their want of art. When the national life grew chill, the poets inspired by no warm feelings became lavish in the use of "far-fetched meanings," and fanciful forms of expression. With poetry iiTtravagant in words and fantastic in ima^s, the sense i6 THE DEVELOPMENT OF ENGLISH >ETR' , became often obscure. The natural style unregulatf i by art assumed an unnatural character. Milton, in vnf iition to the inspiration derived from Gothic and Romati' 3 liter- ature, by his knowledge and imitation of the grey' .classical models, gave the first example in England of a pure, Cn- ished and majestic style. Those who felt during the Restoration period the power of his genius were also influenced by the ** school of inquiry," which all over Europe showed its work in science, politics and religion. In France this tendency to criticise was well represented in poetry by Boileau, LaFontaine, and others, whose elfort after greater finish and neatness of expression told on Emrlish writers at a time when French tastes becran "even to mingle with the ink that dropped from the poet's pen." The new Fren'jli school was founded on classical models, which had already become fashionablo in England. The admirers of Charles II. were also admirers of that great nation so friendly to the Stuarts, which under Louis XIV. had reached the highest point of civilization then attained by any European state. It would be a mistake to con- clude that the Restoration was the origin of the "artificial School. " The work had already been begun and had made much progress before the death of the Protector. The accession of the "merry monarch" gave it a mighty im- pulse, and in accelerating the adoption of "cold, glittering mannerism, for the sweet, fresh light of natural language" added at the same time the poisonous colouring of an immoral court. Dryden. Milton the great leader of the setting age, had scarcely given to the world his Paradise Losty when Dryden, the leader of tlie rising age, appeared before the public. As a poet his is the great name of the period that followed the Restoration. He had fallen upon evil times. The poet must retleet his age. There waa little noble to IHE DEVEF.OPMENT OF ENGLISH POETRY. 17 refloct. The poetry of the passions of the human lioart, the poetry of the affection, and the poetry of ruligiou hmi shown evident indications of decline. Satire, didactic and philosophical poetry came to the front. Living in a most infamous period of English history when the most flagrant corruption was rampant in church .vnd state, Drydon, in want of better subjects turned satirist. There his wit and sarcasm turned against his opponents rendered him unsur- passed by Horace or Juvenal. Our literature possesses no more vigorous portrait-painter. His ch(jice of words and forms of expression are most appropriate. In versification he is one of our greatest masters. He was a diligent student of the best models. He carried to the highest per- fection the rhymed heroic couplet of ten syllables By tlie occasional introduction of a triplet and the skilful use of the Alexandrine at the end of a paragraph, ho knew well how to break the uniformity of the couplet and give to his versification that *" Long-resounding march and energy divine." which gave to his poetry of this metre such vigour, sonor- ousness and variety. Pope. The glitter of Dryden's poetry dazzled the public mind from the death of Milton till his own in 1700. His most distinguished pupil was Alexander Pope, who as a poet surpasses his master in the most characteristic features of the artificial school. In mechanical execution Pope is without a peer. His neatness and correctness of expression, pointed and courtly diction, harmony of versi- fication and melody of rhyme rank him par excellence the artist of poetic style. In his polished heroic couplets are found sparkling wit, strong sense, good taste and terse and vigorous command of the choicest English. We find, however, that coldness of sentiment and disregard of tlit THE DEVLLUPMfcN i OF ENGLISH POETRY. emotions and pRssions of the soul which Dryden had ob- '«»?rved, carried to such perfection by Pope that the nublic soon after longed for a return to nature. The age was not desi'^'ned to cultivate the highest poetic genius. Matter was regarded of less importance than the form ot the words by which it was expressed. We look in vain through Po[ie'3 elaborately polished verses for those qual- ities that would place him among the greatest masters of the lyre. Ho has none of the universality of Shakesppare or sublimity of Milton. Of the varying shades and gradations of vice and virtue, wisdom and folly, he was a nice observer and an accurate describer Had he studied the great English poets more, and p.iid less attention to the school of Horace and Boileau, his memory would have been hallowed with still more atTe(;tionate and permanent interest. His great object was toexpi*esd himself smoothly. Attractive and lucid utterance was his aim. With a desire to **set" genia ratheuthan create them, to make '"correct" verso his "study and aim," it is no wonder that "truth " was often '*cut slxort to make a sentence round." In the first half of the eighteenth century no name is more bril- liant than that of the author of The Hape of tJie Lock^ Windsor Forest, The TernjAe of Fame, The Duncid^ and the translation of Homer. In his Epistles and Essay on Man we have numerous passages that havt upplied to our current literature more phrases and sentiments re- markable for theiv mingled truth and beauty than are to be found probably in any other pieces of equal length. Decay of the Artificial School, The greater part of the eighteenth century was, in a literary poiiit of view, cold, dissatisfied and critical. It valued forms more than substance. Warm feelings, grand thoughts and creative genius, were less esteemed than elegance of phrase and symmetry of proportion. In a period when philosophy THE DEVELOPMENT OF ENGLISH POEIRY. 19 was essontially utilitarian, and religion a aystom of priic- tical nior.iiity, it is not surprising that poutry was largely didactic and mechanical. With bucIi attention to form, an active criticism rendered our English prose, wlien employed by such masters as Addison, for the first time, absolutoly simj^le and clear. For similar rcaHonn during the same period. Nature, Passion, and Imagination de- cayed in poetry. But matters were coming to a crisis. Hume and Robertson were beginning their career as historians. Richardson. Fielding and Smollet aroused a taste for light literature. In moral philosophy Jonathan Edwards and Joseph Butler were laying the fouridutions of systems on a sounder basis. New thoughts moved men. The poets felt the impulse of the transition period. The publication of Warton's liidory of Poetry and Percy's Eeliqiia revived a taste for the bold, free style of our earlier writers. The inspiration seized the writers of verse, and a return from the classical to the romantic, from the arti- ficial to the natural, soon began to manifest itself. Pope's name stood highest until his death in 1744, but the most distinguished of his contemporaries departed widely from the style of their great master. Thomson made no attempt to enter the school of polished satire and pungent wit. Equal originality is shown by Young in his startling denunciations of death and judgment, stirring appeals and choice epigrams. Gr.ay and Collins in aiming at the dazzl- ing imagery and magnificence of lyrical poetry show the *' new departure." The former is not without the polish and exquisitely elaborated verse of Pope, but as well as Collins, he shows the freshness, the spirit of imagination, and the sprightly vivacity of the older poets. Akenside iri strains of melodious and original blank verse, expatiated on the operations of the mind and the associated chnvm of taste and genius. Johnson alone of the t^mtu'^^n'^ h'i m i 20 T^f1? DEVELOPMENT OF ENGLISH POETRY. lil! ■k r: I Mi lie . l. authors of this period seems to have adopted the style of Dryden and Pope. But his ponderous Latinized composi- tion was counteracted in part by the simplicity of Gold- smith and Mackenzie. Many of the poets of the transi- tion period show the didactic tendency of the times. It required in some ca,ses an effort to brejik off from what had been popular. To such a low ebb had the public taste been reduced that Gray was ridiculed and Collins was neglected. The spirit of true poetry was not, however, dead. The conventional style was destined to f-^ll, leaving only that taste for correct language and polished versification which Pope had established. The seed was sown and the next generation was to see under Cowper that work com- pleted which Thomson had begun. The System of Patronage. During the Elizabethan period and considerable time afterwards the social stand- ing of literary men was far from encouraging. Tiie names of Spenser, Butler and Olway are sufficient to remind us that warm contemporary recognition was not enough to secure an author from a positiStill it had many authors who deserved better treatment than they received. As the system of party government developed, the political partisans were sufficient to absorb all the sinecures at the disj^osal of the leaders. Authors were rewarded by no munificent pa- tronage from the Crown or ministers of state. Harley and Bolingbroke were succeeded by Sir Robert Walpole, a wise tactician, but a man with no taste for learning, no admiration of genius. His liberality to the extent of £50,000 was extended only to obscure and unscrupulous partisans, the supporters of a corrupt government, whose names might have passed into oblivion but for the satire 7.#: ■r- " r-n m 22 THE DEVELOPMENT OF ENGLISH POETRY. J lit'! m-::i of Pope. Scribbling for a party in pamphlets and news- papers was rewarded, while genius was neglected. The considerable sums bpent on literature were given for ser- vices equally degrading to giver and receiver. Men of talent, who would not stoup to the ** dirty work" of sustaining witli their j^ens a base administration, might starve in Grub Street, or be pilloried in the Dimciad, although had they lived thirty years before, they might have been entrusted with an embassy o/.- appointed Com- missioners, Surveyors or Secretaries. Men like Churchill, who turned their pens to political satire, were well re- munerated. Young obtained, in time^a pension, and Thomson, after tasting the worst miseries of author-life, was rewarded with a sinecure. But Collins, Fielding, and even Thomson and Johnson, were arrested for debt, and the wretched and precarious lives of many, ha.ve made Grub Street, in which they herded together, suggestive of rags, hunger and misery. Tiie age of dedication was intolerable to men of independence of spirit. Authors by profession must either starve or become parasites. The reading public ^ras very limited, and the booksellers, in consequence, were not to be blamed for the small sums given to authors. A better day was dawning. The right of the Press to discuss public affairs created a class of writers of higher moral and literary qualifications. Tlio time was rife for the emancipation for ever, of literature from the *' system nf flatt(jiy." The letter of Johnson to Chesterfield gay 3 tlio "knock-down" blow. It was, as Carlyle calls it, "the far-famed blast of doom proclaiming into the ear of Lord Cliesterficld, and through him, of the listening world, that ]iatronage should be no more." The period between the old and the new system, was one of much privation and sutiering. In tliat period lived Gold* smitn. (( iThe Iser- II of of ,'glit ght THE DEVELOPMENT OF ENGLISH POETRY. 23 Revival of the Natural School. From about the middle of Pope's life to the de^tth of Johnson, was a time of transition. The influence of the didactic and satiric poetry of the critical school, lingered among the new elements which were at work. The study of Greek and Latin classics revived, and that correct form for which Pope sought, was blended with the beautiful forms of " natural feeling and natural scenery. " The whole course of poetry was taken up with greater interest after the publication of Warton's History of English J*oetry, and Dr. Percy's Beliqucs of Ancient English Foetry. in 1765. Shakespeare was studied in a more accurate way, and the child-likeness and naturalness of Chaucer began to give delight. The narrative ballad and the narrative romance, afterwards perfected by Sir Walter Scott, took root in English verse. Forgeries such as Fingal, an Ancient Epic Foem, by Macpherson, and the fabrications of Chat- terton, " the marvellous boy. The sleepless soul, that perish'd in his pride," indicate the drift of the new element. It was felt that the artificial school did not exhibit fully the noble sentiments, emotions and thoughts of the human soul. Man alono had ioeeii treated of by the poets. Nature now was taken u p. The polish andaccuracy of Pope is fully preserved by such writers as Gray, Collins and Goldsmith, but their verse is also " instinct with natural feeling and simplicity." jSTatural description had appeared already in the poems of the Puritans, Marvel and Milton ; but Thomson, in the Seasons, was the *' first Poet who led the English people into the new world of nature in poetry, which has moved and enchanted us in the works of Wordsworth, Shelley, Keats and Tennyson, but which was entirely impossible for Pope to understand." The real and actual were, as m m » !'■■ fii i 'If m ■'I 24 THE DEVELOr^MExXT OF ENGLISH POU'/RV. 1! ii "■'!■ 'Hi ijl^ .4!! ilT^ ilij Ii .111 subjects of song, to be substituted for the abstract and remote. Tlie increase in national wealth and population, led to the improvement of literature and the aits, and to the adoption of a more popular style of composition. The h\iman intellect and imagination, unhampered by the conventional stiffness and classic restraint imposed upon former authors, went abroad upon wider surveys and with more ambitious designs. The age of Cowper. Of all poetical writers of the last twenty years of the eighteenth century the name of Cowper casts the greatest illustration upon the period in which he lived. The hard artificial brilliancy of Pope standing r ' the head of that list, which included Gibbon and Hume, Chesterfield and Horace Walpole had scarcely ceased to dazzle the poets of the Johnsonian era. The death of ''king Samuel" in England, like that of Voltaire in France, was not followed by the accession of another to the throne of literature. The reaction which followed the Kestoration did not readily subside, and the approach of the French Revolution was marked by movements of great social as well as of great political importance. In England the forces which had been silently gathering strength ushered in a revolution no less striking than that whioli convulsed the continent. The attention of the community was arrested by changes of a moral and re- ligious character, which are stil! running their course. The earnestness of the puritan had almost disappeared, and the forms of religion were found with little of its power. Scepticism widely pervaded the wealthy and educated classes. The progress cf free inquiry had produced a general indifterence to the great questions of Christian speculation. It arose partly from an aversion to theological strife, i%^ a result of the civil war, and partly from the new intellectual and material channels H ^ TH DEVEI.OPMEMT OK KNGLISH POETRY. 25 and Ition, [id to The the to which human energy was directed. The spiritual decay of the great dissenting bodies had gone liand in hand with that of the establishment. It was an age of gilded sinfuhiess among the higher classes, and of a sin- fulness ungilded, but no less coarse, among the lower classes. Drunkenness and foul language were not sufficient to render the politician guilty of them unfit to be prime minister. The purity and fidelity of woman were sneered at, as out of fashion. The vast increase of population which had followed the growth of towns, and the rapid development of manufactures had been met by little effort to improve the moral or intellectual condition of the masses. Without schools the lower orders were ignorant, and brutal to a degree which it is hard to conceive. The rural peasantry who were fast being reduced to a state of pauperism by the abuse of the poor- law had in many cases no moral or religious training of any kind. Within the towns matters were v/orse. There was no effective police to withstand the outbreaks of ignorant mobs. It was the age of the old ci'iminal law when cutting a pear-tree or stealing a hare, was re- garded as a capital crime, while the "gentleman" might with impunity be guilty of duelling, gambling, or outrages on femala virtue. It was the age of the old system of prison discipline, which aroused the philanthropy of Howard. It was a period which has associated with it fagging and IjuUying in school and the general applica- tion of the rod as the most potent aid in the process of instruction. It was the period with which the names of Walpole and Newcastle are identified, and which has associated with it rotten boroughs, political corruption, party without principle, and all the rancourness of faction warfare. The sights that indicate cruelty and hardness of heart, such as bull-rings, cock-pits and whippins-oosta \i.: i\ ■^ '. he 26 THE DEVELOPMENT OF ENGLISH POETRY. ill b m r. li; ill II were quite as common as the fumes that indicate intem- perance. It wa,s the age of great reforms. Johnson ]\iu\ left his imi^ress on the improved tone of society and had overthrown the system of patronage ; Wilberforce and Clarkson were coming forward to abolish the slave trade. Burke and Pitt were to restore the higher principles of statesmanship, and to redeem the character of public men. A more important reform and one wjiich gave an impulse to all the others, was of a religious character. In the middle classes, the piety of a former period had not completely died out; From that quarter issued the " Methodist movement," which awakened a spirit of moral zeal, that softened the manners of the people, called forth philanthropists and statesmen who infused clemency and wisdom into our penal laws, reformed our prisons, abolished the slave trade, gave to popular education its first impulse, discussed measures for arresting the evils of intemperance, and adopted various methods of a Christian character for bettering the social condition of the humbler classes. (See Green's English History.) The enthusiasm of th i Wesleys and Whitefield was not kindled against the rules of the Church or State, but only against vice and irreligion. The results of their zeal are not confined to the denomination which owes its origin to the movement, and no body is more ready than the English Church to acknowledge the great advantages of the religious revival of the last century. If Wesley came to revive religion and impress upon his followers that Christian worship was *'of the heart," Cowper, who was imbued with the spirit of the movement came to regenerate poetry, to Christianize it, to elevate it, and to fill it again with feeling and with truth. If the ballads of a nation have, as in the case of Burns, a lasting effect in arousing patriotism, the religious poems of Cowper may be regarded no less intiuential in extending *' that religion which exalts and ennobles man." ti i n m mum-i i H ty ia' i M » t <^ LIFE OP ©•LIVER GOLDSMITH. ♦•» Birth 1728. In the village of Pallas, or Pallasmore, in the parish of Ferney, county of Longford, Ireland, was born on the 10th of November, 1728, Oliver Goldsmith. The Goldsmiths were a respectable Protestant family of English descent, which had long been settled in the coun- try without acquiring wealth or fame. In an unpretending parsonage lived the father of the poet, the Rev. Charles Goldsmith, who had married Anne, the daughter of the Rev. Oliver Jones, master of the diocesan school at Elphin. Oliver was the second son in a family of four sons and two daughters. Though * 'passing rich with £40 a year," Mr. Goldsmith found it necessary to devote his attention partly to the cultivation of land. Two years after the poet's birth, he exchanged the curacy of this out-of-the-way and almost inaccessible hamlet for a more lucrative living near the village of Lissoy, in the county of Westmeath. Removal to Lissoy, 1730. In his life-long banish- ment, Oliver Goldsmith often, no doubt, looked back to m ;■ « It; tr y IBS !|'; ii 'ilr w 28 LIFE OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 1'^' .• the home of his childhood, his early friends and his boyish occupations, and to Lissoy we turn for the source of those impressions which have given us " Sweet Auburn, " with its charming associations. To magnify delight of the mind in wliat is long remembered and remote, and to overlook the defects of the past is a common feature of human nature. With this understanding, it is not to be wondered at that we fail to find the dark side of Lissoy exhibited in the "loveliest village of the plain." Young Goldsmith's education was begun at home by Elizabeth Delap, a maid sei vant, who taught him his alpha- bet, and pronounced him a dunce. At Mr. Byrne's School, 1734. The means of the poor clergyman having been taxed very heavily to bestow' a classical education on his eldest son Henry, whom he intended for the church, the same amount of cultivation was not bestowed on the genius of the gifted second son. Oliver was accordingly sent to a kind of hedge school, where he was tauglit reading, writing and arithmetic with a view to becoming prepared for earning his future live- lihood in a merchant's ofllce. Tliis parish school was taught by Thomas Byrne, an old soldier, who, though educated for a teacher, had seen service in the war of tlic Succession in Spain, under the chivalrous and romantic Earl of Peterborough. He professed to teach nothing but the rudiments of learning ; and, probably, occui)ied much of his time with his pupils in entertaining them with stories about ghosts, banshees and fairies, and marvellous adventures in whicli the hero was the master himself. Oliver's vivid imagination kindled at these recitals, and the impresstvms formed on his mind tinged all his afterlife. Byrne not only spoke the Celtic language, but was a pas- sionate admirer of the compositicms of Carolan, and otlu r Irish bards, whom he tried to imitate. At the age of LIFE OF OMVER GOLDSMITH. 29 seven or eight years Oliver attempted to write poetry, and showed precocious signs of poetical genius — "he lisped in numbers, for the numbers came." To scribble verses is not always a sign of coming greatness, but Mrs. Gold- smith detected in her son's poetry the germ of future powers, and pleaded that he might receive better in- struction. At Mr. Griffin's School, 1736. The mother's earn- est solicitations prevailed, and it was resolved to give Oliver a university education. He was therefore place d, after his recovery from an attack of small-pox, which had pitted him with more than usual severity, under the care of the liev. Mr. Griffin, of Elphin. An incident occu;;red at this time which is said to have changed the future career of the young genius. His uncle, Mr. John Gold- smith, at whose house he resided while attending Mr. Griffin's school, was entertaining a juvenile party, and Oliver was requested to dance a hornpipe. The fiddler, struck by the odd look of the boy capering about the room, called out "^sop," and Goldsmith instantly replied, "Our herald hath proclaimed this saying, See iiisop dancing and his monkey playing !" This quickness of repartee raised him nmch in the esti- mation of his uncle, the Rev. Thomas Contarine, who was present, and the father was induced to remove Oliver to tJie school of Athlone, where he remained two years under the car© of the Rev. Mr. Campbell. On the resignation of this gentleman through ill health, the boy was removed to the Rev. Patrick Hughes's school at Edgeworthstown, county of Longford. His life at these schools was far from happy. Awkward and unprepossessing in appear- ance, his idle disposition and blundering manner only ex- cited the ridicule of his thoughtless schoolmates. As a school boy lie exhibited more than average ability, but ( u ^ii m v-S?; 30 LIFF. OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH. i| '; f much less thcan average application. Notwithsfindinghis want of industry, he gavo sufficient promise of excellence to induce some wealthy friends, especially Mr. Contarine, to ollbr assis.tance towards the expenses of a University education. The father had crippled his means so much in giving a marriage dowry of £400 to one of his daughters, that wore it not for the kindness of his uncle. Goldsmith's college course would have been out of the question. Eators Trinity College, 1745. The embarrassed circumstances of Mr Goldsmith made it necessary that Oliver should enter college as a sizar. The young gentle- man, now in his seventeenth year, at first revolted against this proposal, and consented only after his uncle Contarine, who himself had been a sizar, used his persuasions. The sizars paid notliing for board or tuition, and very little for lodging, but were obliged in those days to perform various menial services around the college, such as sweep- ing the court, carrying up the dinner to the fellows' table, arranging the plates and pouring out the ale. The tutor under whom he was placed was rough and unsympathetic, and poorly fitted to train a proud, thoughtless and eccen- tric pupil. When Oliver entered his name was the lowest on the list, and during his college career at Dublin he continually neglected his studies, and invariably stood low at the examinations. He was turned down to the bottom of the class for playing the buflbon in the lecture room, received a public reprimand for pumping water on a con- stable, I voice the college rules by stealing out of gates at nic'lit to hear sung street-ballads whicli he had written him- self and sold for five shillings a-piece, and was caned by his savage tutor, the Rev. Mr. Wilder, for giving, in the attic story of the college, a ball and supper to some gay youths and damsels from the city. To be knocked down by his tutor in the midst of the high jinks which he had provided ) LIFE OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 3-* his [nee Ine, jitj> in )rs, th'a for his friends with the thirty shillings, the value of an exhibition gained, was an insult too much for the unlucky eizar, who, the very next day ran away from college, sold 'his books and clothes, and ultimately, after being on the brink of starvation, returned home. His brother Henry comforted, fed and clothed him, and persuaded him to go back to college, and the escapade was condoned and a hol- low reconciliation effected. Goldsmith showed no lack of ability according to the testimony of his celebrated fellow- student, Edmund Burke ; but through iiulolence, and probably on account of the dissentions with Mr. Wilder, he did not graduate until 1749 — two years after the regular time. While he was leading at Dublin a life divided between squalid distress and constant profligacy, his excellent father died. The poet preserved a tender recollection of this good man, and has immortalised his virtues in the exquisite portrait of the '* Village Preacher" a the Deserted Village, and the ' * Man in Black " in the Citizen of the World, had the same original. Receives his B.A., 1749. VNMien Go]t fame" it is not probable that he gained .any pecuniary benefit from the growing popularity of the work. To have found the book dedijated to Johnson would not have been a surpri'^o. To inscribe it to his brother accorded well with the author's nature. It was to his brother Henry, ten years before, that he had sent the first sketch of the poem, and the very first line **Kemote, unfriended, melancholy, slow" strikes a key note that pervades the whole composition. The Vicar ofWakefield, 1766. The effect pro- duced by the publication of the Traveller was soon visible. The obscure essayist became the first poet of the age. He moved into better quarters in Garden Court, hired a man- servant, and appeared in very fine clothes with wig, sword, and gold-headed cane. At the suggestion of ■; -t :i* ."■'I ; • I t ? i 40 LIFE OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH. '3< Reynolds he resumed the medical profession ; but dis- appointment caused him to return again to literature. Many of his essays that had appeared anonymously were now republished. In ITGS he published his beautiful ballad of the Hermit, which appeared the next year in the Vicar of Wakefield. The plan of the novel is full of wild improbabilities. No definite plot appears to have been concocted by the author, when he began to write. Many of the incidents are quite unnatural and incredible. The expedients by which events are brought about as shown in the latter part of the work are nothing short of desperate. Sfcill it is a charming picture of domestic life, full of sly humor, tenderness and pathos. Its true delineation of the better side of human nature and its striking contrasts of good features of character with traits of an opposite kind, have made the work admired by hundreds who pay little attention to the intricacies of the story. Scarcely a feeling of malignity or ill-nature, or even of satire is to be found from beginning to end. The style is always expressive, harmonious and pleasing. With all its blunders and inconiiiistencies the story not only amuses, but takes root in the memory and aflfoctions, and has obtained a wider popularity than any novel relating to domestic life. The Good-Natured Man, 1768. Goldsmith was still compelled to toil for the book-sellers. His celebrity as a poet and novelist had not relieved him from debt and drudgery. Amid much miscellaneous work, consisting mainly of compilations, his leisure was devoted in a channel that ''soon established his fame in another depart- ment of literature. He resolved to try his fortune as a dramatist. His first attempt, The Good-Natured Man, was not as successful as from its merits it deserved. Though Johnson had written the Prologue, and Burke mmm IS )f LIFE OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 41 . If i^'i and Reynolds had recommended it, the comedy was rejected by Garrick. It was accordingly assigned to Colman, the manager of the rival theatrt in Oovent Garden, where it was acted in 1768. The author cleared £500 for his benefit nights, and the sale of the copyright. Like all plots, constructed by Goldsmith, the plot of *^^he play is very imperfect ; but it possesses passages that render it excelled by few comedies. The sentimentalism of the period caused the finest scene of The Good-Natnted Man to meet with marked disapprobation. In the opinion of the pit it was "low. " The critics professed to be shucked, and Goldsmith was obliged to cut out the ludicrous pass- age where Miss Richland finds her lover attended by the bailiffs. So successful were Cumberland, Kelly, and the sentimental comedy, that after nine or ten nights the play was withdrawn, and its author did not appear again as a theatrical writer for five years. Gk>ldsmith in Society. The appearance of Th Good Natv/red Man ushered in a halycon peri^ in the author's life. As a poet and novelist he had gained fame. As a dramatist he secured £500, a sum too large for him to keep long. The greater part was expended in pur- chasing and decorating a set of chambe'^ in Brick Court, Middle Temple. Gay entertainments, raore remarkable for their mirth than their decorum were begun. These parties were generally of a most nondescript character, but; occasionally, formal entertainments were held at which Johnson, Percy and similar distinguished persons were present. Goldsmith himself was asked out to dine with Burke, Nugent, Kelly and other notabT '. The style he assumed would have embarrassed a better financier. The course entered upon burdened him with debts and mental distress the rest of his life. His fame now secured him plenty of labor from the book-sellers, who liberally re* .1' il.rU m m i .;;;■; W^ iT- ; ' 1 Br^^^ k- . 1^.^ .' t J , Wr\^ ■ ; I ,; Pi'' '■% ly V ■ m tei 1 :y::' j "■■k'. '. \ ^-i 1 % 1 ''' \ i .,V:t I w ■.■',1.'' 1 U;''; % ;'f} ",-'-•'*■ -^m «■ t,"f.1 42 LIFE OF OLIVER GOT.DSMITIi. f 'ill : nuneralod him for his servicos. It would have been well had he denied himself the pleasure of so many dinner engagements. Thoy severely taxed his time and encour- aged extravagant aims. At uimes in company he assumed grand airs, but his manner never imposed on anybody. His friends treated him with a familiarity which occasionally he was prompted to resent, but his good-nature rendered any eftbrt of the kind unsuccessful. In the "high jinks " to which he good-humoredly resorted for the amusement of his guests the familiarity he permitted, it was not easy afterwards to discard. Many a joke was played off on poor "Goldie," who was naturally too sensitive not to feel il3 effects. .A.nxious to have the ostoeni of his friends, denunciation or malice, the product of envy, which men like Johnson would have passed unheeded, wounded him to the quick. " The insults to which he had to submit, Thackeroy wrote, " are shocking to read of — slander, contumely, vulgar satire, brutal malignity, perverting his commonest motives a-ad actions ; he had his share of these, and one's anger is roused by reading of them, as it is at seeing a woman insulied, or a child assaulted ; at the no- tion that a creature so very gentle and weak, and full of love should have had to suffer. " But while he enjoyed the esteem oi: Burke, Johnson and Reynolds, he could well aflford to forget the " Henricks, Campbells, Mac- Nicols and Hendersons," who, in the case of Johnson, as Lord Macaulay says '* did theii' best to annoy him, in the hope that he would give them importance by answering them." 'Fae D3 verted Village, IT 70. By ioui-ting the muses I shall starve," was a sts/,tement of Goldsmith to Lord Lisburn, which has much truth when the sums re- ceived from his poems are considered. While, for four tr five years, ho was collectin.n; the materials ^^y his most LIFE OF OLIVER GOLDSMllU. 43 ' rm popular puoni, it was on his numerous prose worlds that ho depended for daily bread. For his Animated NaturCy GriiHn agreed to pay him 800 guineas. A writer, whose acquaintance with Animated Nature would make the "insidious tiger" a denizen of Canada, was not a very safe authority. Griffin had probably consulted Johnson before making his bold ol^br, and the great Cham, though continually remarking on Goldsmith's extraordinary ignor- ance of facts, was of opinion that the History of Animated Nature would be "as entertaining as a Persian tale." He received £300 for a History of Rome^ and its rapid sale made Davies, the publisher, offer him £500 for a History of England, His histories, though inaccurate, are written in a. pleasing and interestinof style. That the reputation of Goldsmith as an historian must have been considerable, is shown by the opinion of Johnson, who ranked him above Robertson, and by his appointment to the honorary office of Professor of Ancient History on the establishment of the Royal Academy of Painting. The leading idea of the Deserted Village had already been thrown out in certain lines of the Traveller (lines 393 — 412) and in his recorded convernaiions. When this charm- ing didactic poem was published, it became immediately so popular that it passed through five editions the first three months. Every thing that Goldsmith now wrote was read by the public. He had no need to wait for the re- commendation of the reviews, which, in the case of the Deserted Village^ bestowed nothing but praise. What the author received from Griffin for the new book is not ac- curately known, and we are therefore unable to judge whether a poet at that time might court the "draggle-tail muses" without risk of starvation. If fame was his chief object, he was rewarded, not nnlyby thousands of readers in his own time, but by tons or the usduds from that period C'fi H ■m 44 LIFE OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH. to fhe present. The delij^htful picture where his youth had been p. ssed, tlie preacher, the school-master, the iged bo'ga.', the ale-house, will ev er live in his melodious lines. Its lovoly description , its touching appeals to hunitan sympathy, it'j delightful images, stamp the poem wi^ih a vitaliiy which will probably preserve it in its pre- sent h 3-h place, as Io))g as the English language exists. Its reasoning may be erroneous, and its theory adverse to the recognized principles of political economy, but the exquisite finish and polish of the verses, the graceful and tender manner in wl^ich our feelings are enlisted in the interests of a race, who, he supposes, is driven from its native soil by the inroads of wealth, have been noticed and admired, without any danger of the fluctuations of poetic fashion altering the verdict invariably pronounced in its favor. She Stoops to Conquer, 1773. Happily for his pecuniary circumstances Goldsmith did not de^nd on his poems. In the course of fourteen years he probably received upwards of £8,000 as the price of his prose works. Large sums were received for an abridgment of his History of Rome, a Life of Pamell, a History of Greece md a Life of Bolinghroke. it was to the stage that he looked £or assistance out of the financial slough, into which his extravagance plunged him, and for this purpose She Stoops to Conqtier was composed. Sentimental comedy still reigned. The manage^: of Co vent Garden theatre was with difficulty induced to bring out the piece. In this case genuine humor triumphed ; both actors and managers were agreeably dicappointed when pit, boxes and galleries were in a constant roar of laughter. The fun of The Good-NaiAired Man had only been hissed by the admirers of the canting, mawkish plays of its time. On this occasion any friend of Kelly or Cumberland that ven bef( LIFE OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 45 ventured to groan wiia greeted with the general cry, **Turn him out." Tlio verdict of the first night kept it before the public for the remainder of the season, and throe generations have nob reversed the decision pro- nounced on its appearance the 15th of March, 1773. It is worthy of note that this comedy which still retains possession of tlie stage was pronounced by Horace Walpole as no comedy at all but "the lowest of farces," and with such criticism we can well understand the envy displayed by Henrick and others that infested th^ journalism of that day. Increasing Difficulties. The £800 which Gold- smith received for She Stoops to Conquer did but little to satisfy the demands of his creditors. His engagements were becoming more and more burdensome. The high spirits that formerly enabled him to laugh off the cares of debt were insufficient to brighten his prospects for the future. His health became disordered ; he began to suffer severe fits of depression ; and he grew irritable and capricious of temper. He frequently endeavored to forget his troubles, by attendance at the Club, visits to the country and mixing in gay society. Though never out of debt, he spent much in various pleasures, especially in his early vice of gambling. Incessant toil was kept up. His AnirruUed Nature was almost completed, though not published till after his death. He worked hard at a History of Greece, tor two volmnes of which he received from Griffin £250, and was preparing a third edition of his History of England, Besides revising his Enquiry, and translating Scarron's Comic Romance, he thought of bring- ing out a Fopular Dictionary of Arts and Sciences, having been offered assistance from Johnson, Reynolds, Burke, and Dr. Bumey, The booksellers were afraid, and the project wfl* never completed. About this time were 'i^3. m fin i 46 LIFE OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH. m- written two Bhort poems — The Haunch of Vvniaon and JRetalliaiion — tlie last scintillation that flashed from that bright and happy genius that was soon to be extinguished for ever. The origin of this jeu d' esprit has been ascribed to the epitaph which Garrick produced in the following well-known couplet : *'Here lies Nolly Goldsr ith, for shortness called Noll, Wlio wrote like an ungel, but talked like poor Poll. " Goldsmith being unable to reply at the time, went to work, and after some weeks sketched in clear and vigorous language the character of some nine or ten of his most inti- mate friends. It is more probable, however, that the busi- ness of writing epitaphs was started at the coflfee-house by the whole company and that after Goldsmith's death these fugitive linos which he had previously collected were pub' lished. Death, 1774. Long intervals of heavy work, with little exercise, and reckless dissipation after it, joined to his pecuniary anxieties, brought on a fever. Contrary to the advice of his fr; jnds, he persisted in taking powders from which he had formerly in a similar illness obtained relief. The . mental disquietude arising from a debt of £2000 was not easily allayed. Nothing could stop the progress of the fever. With a mind disturbed, sleep left him. and his appetite departed. Convulsions set in and continued for more than an hour. Then the troubled brain, and aching heart of the poet, historian, novelist and essayist found rest forever. At the news of the sad event, which took place Monday, April 4th, Burke, it is said, burst into tears, and Reynolds put aside his work for the day. A public funeral was talked of but subsequently abandoned. He was privately buried in the ground of the Temple Church. Some two years after a cenotaph was erected to his memory in West- LIFE OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 47 oil, minster Abbey. The monument was executed by Nollekens and the inscription was written by Johnson. When he consented to write *Hlie poor Doctor's epitaph" the members of that famous circle in which Goldsmith had figured were so anxious that a just tribute should bo paid to his genius, that they even ventured to desire the great Cham to amend his first draft. It is thus pleasing to notice, in addition to the groat man's estimate of his genius — containing as it does the famous Nullum quod tetigit non ornuvit — the incidents which tell of the honor paid to his memory by the love of his companions and the faithfulness of his friends. Johnson's opinion that "he was a very great man" has been corroborated by the testimonies of innumerable critics. In an admir^ able article from Sir Walter Scott are these words : " The wreath of Goldsmith is unsullied ; he wrote to exalt virtue and expose vice ; and he accomplished his task in a manner which raises him to the highert rank among British authors. We close this volume with a sigh, that such an author should have written so little from the stores of his own genius, and that he should have so prematurely been removed from the sphere of literature which he so highly adorned." "i M .1: 4 \m GOLDSMITH'S LITEBAKY CHARACTER. o As an Httstorian Goldsmith was highly praised b^ contemporary critics, including Dr. Johnson, and his works readily secured much popularity. His style as a prose writer is simple and natural. Where grasp and depth are expected he is deficient. No writer of the class\c school surpasses him in freedom from artificial restraints. If an easy, narrative form o| composition may be rega* led as the principal qualification for writing History, he fully meets the requirements. He possessed a remarkable readiness in the art of compilation, and no historical compilations rank higher than those of Gold- smith. Few writers have done more to make the subject interesting to the young, and for a long time his histories were valuable school books. In facility of selection and condensation he had perhaps no equal ; but we miss in his writings that painstaking research, that deep and careful invostii^ation which are albo necessary to constitute a great historian. Natural History never received from him that elaborate study which is expected at the present day in denlmg with a -vi ork of science. Goldsmith was not a deep observer of what he saw, and liis writings are often in consequence far from profound. His Artimatcd Nature like his liiBtories has some strange blunders. The most goldsmith's LrrERARY CHARACTER. 49 I'fi amusing inaccuracies are to be found in his discriptions of animals, and anecdotes are told to prove liia slight acquaintance with physical science. "If he can tell a horse from a cow," s^id Johnson, "that is the extent of his knowledge of zoology.' StiH he managed to makb the subject interesting by his clear, pure and flowing language at a time when scarcely a beginning had been made to impart information in this direction. As a Novelist, Goldsmith takes high rank among the reformers of thisde])artment of literature. Previous writer^ of fiction had generally giveuan unnatural aspect to human life, and the moral tone was, especially during the Res- toration period, defective. With the exception of De Foe's Bobinson Crusoe, the men and women painted in these writings failed to reach the tastes of all classes. Even the works of Richardson, Fielding, and Smollett deal with characters belonging to the "upper ten." The Vicar oj Wakcfieldy notwithstanding all its iiiipi-ohabilities (which we forget while captivated with its charming simpli- city) has an interest for all classes. The delightful character of tlio "Vicar;" the exquisitely drawn portraits of his family; the simple incidents; the true and tender pathos, and the gentle, whole- souled humour maintained in the story, have given the author a prominent position among painters of English domestic life. By its picturesque descviptions of the habits and feelings of daily life, Goethe was lirst led tc study English literature. From beginning to end it scarcely possesses a word of satire or ill -nature, and as Craik remarks : " Notwithstanding all its improbabilities, the story not only amuses us wliile we read, but takes rout in the memory and ali'ections as much almost as any story that was ever written." As a Dramatist Goldsmith could scarcely be expected I . I .f> ■(! IP i so goldsmith's literary character. to take the highest place. A good writer of this kind of literature should possess marked ohjectiveness. Goldsmith's style was remarkably subjective. In whatever ho wrote he put a great deal of himself. Unlike Shakespeare, the prince of dramatists, who could assume any individuality he chose, Goldsmith's individuality was his weakness as well as his strength — his strength inasmuch as it lifted him above a lar^e class of writers; and his weaknt's inas- much as it could not ue thrown off, but held him from going any which never forsook him, "no speck ever sullied the robe of his modest and graceful muse." In the miry paths of life which he trod, the innate purity and goodness of his nature never assimilated to vice and vulgarity. The lessons of infancy under the paternal roof, the gentle, benevolent, elevated, unwordl^' maxims of his father, the conversations of a cultivated chaiacter heard in the household of the amiable and generous Contarine breathed a grace and refinement into his mind that continued through life, and found expression in language and sentiments pure and digniticd. Beligious Feeling. "It has been questioned whether he really had any religious feeling. Those who raise the question have never considered well his writings; his Vicar of IVakeJield and his pictures of the village pastor present religion under its most endearing forms, and with a feeling that could only flow from the deep convictions of the heart. When his fair travelling com panions at Paris urged him to read the Church Service on a Sunday, he replied that ' he was not worthy to do it. ' He had seen in early life the sacred ofHces performed by his father and brother, with a soleninity which had sanctified them in his memory ; how could he presume to undertake such functions? His religion has been called in question by Johnson and Boswell; he certainly hjid not the glocmy hypochondriacal piety of the one, nor the babbling mouth-piety of the other ; but the spirit of GOLDSiMI'l'H'S f-ITF.RARY CHARACTER. 55 Cb.ristian charity breathed forth in his writings, and illustrated in his conduct, ji^ivo us reason to believe he had the indwelling religion of the soul." — Irmnij. Was his genius recognized P The sufferings which ho undoubtedly endured hiive generally "been made a whip with which to lash the ingratitude of a world not too quick to recogni/iC the claims of genius." On this point Black {EwjJlsh Men of Letters) remarks : — "His experiences as an author have been brought forward to swell the cry about neglected genius — that is, by writers who assume their genius in order to prove the neglect. The misery that occasionally befell him during his wayward career has been made the basis of an accusation against society, the English Constitution, Christianity, — Heaven knows what. It is time to have done with all this nonsense. Goldsmith resorted to hack-work of literature when everything else failed him ; and he was fairly paid for it. Wlien he did better work,^ when he 'struck for honest fame,' the nation gave him all the honor that he could have desired. With an assured reputation, and with ample means of subsistence, Jiu obtained entrance into the most distinguished society then in England — he was made the friend of England's ureatest in the arts and literature — and could have confined himself to that society exclusively if he had clu)sen." Joh) s(m s wise summing up of his character fs well suited in an estmiate of "Poor Goldsmith." "He had raised money and squandered it, by every artifice of acquisition and iolly of e^nense. B^tt Jet iivi his frailties ha reintiubered : he was a very great man.'* V -.,y vi : \ )> M 3 Mv^ THE DESERTED VILLAGE. * ^i eviration. ~~e.-^>a- TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. DxAR Sin, I can have no expectation in an address of this kind, either to add to your reputation, or to establish my own. You dan fijain nothing from my admiration, as lam ignorant of that art in which you are said to excel ; and I may lose much by the severity of your judgment, as few have a justor taste in poetry than you. Setting interest, therefore, aside, to which I never paid much attention, I must bo indulged at present in following my affections. The only dedication I ever made was to my brother, because I loved him better than most other men. Ho is sin-je dead. Permit me to inscribe this ^^oem to you. How far you may be pleased with the versification and mere mechanical parts of this attempt, I do not pretend to inquire ; but I know you will object (and indeed several of our best and wisest frien^ls concur in the opinion), that the depopulation it deplores is no where to be seen, and the dis- orders it laments are only to be found in the poet'.s own imagination. To this I can .scarcely make any other answer, than that I sincerely believe what I have written ; that I UEUICA'IION. 57 have taken all possible pains, in my country excursions, lor Uiese tour or five years past, to be certain of what I allege ; juul tlint all my views and inquiries have led me to belipve those miseries real, which I here attempt to display. But tJiis is not the place to enter into an inquiry whetlier the country })e depopulating or not ; the discussion would take lip muc'i room, «,ni.' I eliould prove myself, a best, an indifler- ent politician, to tire the reader with a long preface, when I vnnt his unfatigued atten+i ,xi to a long poem. In regretting the d. ^population of the country, I inveigh ? -gainst th increase of our luxuries; and here also I expect the shout of modem politicians against me. For twenty or thirty years past, it lias been the fashion to consider luxury as one of the greatest national advantages ; and all the wisdom of .antiquity in that particular, as erroneous. Still, however, I must remain a professed ancient on that head, d continue to think those luxuries prejudicial to states by w^Ac' o many vices are "introduced, and so many kingdo^^ h.;\ j been undone. Indeed, so much has been poured . .t o. late on the other side of the question, that merely for the sake of novelty and variety, one would sometimes wish to :- '" ^ho right, I am, dear sir. Your sincere friend, and ardent admirer, OLIVER GOLDSMITH. ^iH « 'i , ■■■' k' . Vr \:9 !»>■■ *t^'W?^^ THE DESERTED VILLAGE. -o- AUBrRN IN T'ROSPRRITY. Sweet Auburn ! loveliest village of tlie j)lain, Where health and plenty cheor'd the labouring awain, Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, And parting summer's lingering blooms delay'd ; Dear Icvely bowers of innocence and ease. Seats of my youth, when every sport could please. How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green, Where humble happiness endear'd each scene ! How often have I pauaVl on every charm, The shelter'd cot the cultivated farm, The never failing brook, the l)usy mill, The decent church that tt^^t the ncighbouvincc hill, The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath tlio shade, For talking age and whispering lovers made ! JTow often have I blest the coming day, Wlien toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree ; While many a pastime circled in the shade, The young contending as the old survey'd ; And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground, 10 15 20 THE DESER'I'ED VIIJ-AGE. 59 And sleights of ai*t and feats of strength went round ; And still as each repeated })leasure tir'd' Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired ; The dancing pair that simply sought ronowii, 25 \)y holdiiig out, to tire oacli other down ; The swain, mistrustless of his smutted face, While secret laughter tit'.or'd round the place ; The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love, The matron's glance that would those looks reprove ; 30 These were thy charms, sweet village ! sports like these, With sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please ; These round thy bowers their cheerfiU induence shed ; Those were thy charms — but all these cii.irma are lied. AUBURN DESERTED. Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, 35 Thy sport?^ are fled, and all tliy ch«,rins withdrawn ; Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, And desolation saddens all thy green : One only master grasps the whole domain. And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain ; 40 No more thy glassy brook reflects the day, But, chok'd with sedges, works its weedy way ; Alonvj thy glades, a solitary guest The hollow sounding bittern guards its nest ; Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flicg, 45 And tires their echoes with unvaried cries. Sunk are thy bowers 'i shapeless ruin all, And the lor?g grass o''*rtops the mouldering wall, And, trembling, slirinking fron the spoiler's hand, Far, far away thy children leave the land. 60 THE l'A8T AND PRESENT CONDITION OF ENGLAND CUNTltASTKD in furea the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth acciunulates, and men decay : ■t r. i It ♦ 6o THE DESIikTEb VII.I.ACE. Princes and lords may tiourish, or may fade ; A breath can make tliom, as a broatii has made ; But a bold peasantry, tlieir country a pride, 6ft When once dostroy'd can never be supplied A time tJioro was, ore England's griefs began, When every rood of ground maintaiii'd its man ; For him light labour spread her wholesome store, Just gave what life requir'd but gave no more : CO His best companions, innocence anrl wealth ; And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. But times are alter'd : trade's unfeeling train UBur2> the land, and dispossess the swain : Along the lawn, where scattered hamlets rose, 06 Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pon\p repose ; And every want to opulence allied, And every pang that folly pays to pride. Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, Those calm desires that ask'd but little room, 70 Those healthful sports that grac'd the peaceful scene, Liv'd in each look, and brighton'd all the gieen ; These, far departing, seek a kinder shore, And rural mirth and manners are no more. THE COMrLAINT OF THE POET. Sweet Auburn ! parent of the blisaful hour, 76 Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power. Here, as I take my solitary rounds, Amidst thy tangling walks, and ruin'd grounds, And, many a year elaps'd, return to view Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, 80 Remembrance wakes with all her busy train, dwells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. In all my wanderings round this world of care. In all my griefs — and God has given my share — THE miSKRTKI) VII.IAGE. 6i I atill lincl hopes my latest liours to crown, Amidst those humble bowers to lay me down ; To husband out life's taper at the close, And keep the flame from wasting by repose : I still had hopes, for pride attends us st'U, Amidst the swains to show my book-learn'd skill, Around my lire an evening group to draw, And tell of all I felt, and all I saw ; And, as a hare whom hounds and horns pursue, I*ants to the place from whence at first he flow, I still had hopes, my long vexations past, Here to return — and die at home at last. A SAGE WITHDRAWN FKOM PUBLIC LIFE, blest Retirement, friend to life's decline. Retreats from care, that never must be mine, Jtlow happy he who crowns, in shades like these, 1 youth of labour with an age of ease ; Who quits a world where strong temptations try, And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly ! For him no wretches, born to work and weep. Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep : Nor surly porter stands in guilty state. To spurn imploring famine from the gate ; But on he moves to meet his latter end. Angels around befriending Virtue's friend ; Sinks to the grave with unperceiv'd decay, While Resignation gently slopes the way ; And, all his prospects brightening to the last. His Heaven commences ere the world be past ! 85 90 95 100 105 110 Tm. PAST AND PKESBNT CONDITION OV AUBURN CONTRASTED. Sweet was the sound, when oft, at evening's close. Up yonder hill the village murmur rose ; There, as I pass'd w ith careless st^ps and slow, 116 m 62 THiS DESERTED VILLAGE. The itiingling notes cf^me soften'd from below ; The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung, The sober herd that low'd to meet their young ; The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the p ol, TJie playful children just let loose fi'oni school ; 120 The watch-dog's voice, that bay'd the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind; These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And filled each pause the nightingale had made. But now the sounds of population fail, 125 No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale ; No busy steps the grass-grown fo(jtv>-ay tread, But all the bloomy flush of life is fled : All but yon widow'd, solitary thing. That feebly bends beside the plashy spring ; 130 She, wretched matron ! forc'd, in age, f -)r bread, To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, To pick her wintry faggot from the thorn. To seek her nightly shed, and weep t'U morn ; She only left of all the harmless tra^i, 1^5 The sad liistorian of the pensive p::;in. THE VILLAGE PREACHEE. Near yonder copse, where once the garden smil'd, And still where many a garden flower grows wild ; Tliere, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 14C A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year ; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had chang'd, nor wisli'd to change his place ; Unpraclis'd he to fawn, or seek for power, 145 By doctrines fasliion'd to the varying hour ; Far other aims his Iieart had learu'd to prize, More skiird to raise the v. retched than to rise. THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 63 His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their wanderings, but reliev'd their p;iin ; 1 50 The long-remember' d beggar was his guest, Wliose beard descending swept his aged breast : The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, Clami'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd ; The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, 155 Sat by his fire, and talked the night away ; Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done, Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields wero won. Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow. And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; * 160 Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began. Tlius to relieve the wretched was his pride. And e'en his failings lean'd to Virt\ie's side; But in his duty prompt at every call, lCu> He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt for all ; And, as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reprov'd each dull delay, Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way. 170 Beside the bed wliore parting life was laid, And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismay'd, The reverend champion stood. At !iis control, Despaii and anguisli fled the struL,'gling soul ; Comfort came down the treml)ling wretch to I'aise, 175 And his last faltering accents whisper'd praise. At church, with meek and unafl*ected grace. His looks a.doru'd the venerable ])]ace ; Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway, And foolp. who came to scoff, remain'd to pray. 180 The service past, around tlie pious man, I rw u THE DESERTED VILI.AGK. With ready zeal, each honest rustic ran ; E'en chihlren foUow'd wiUi endearing wile, And i»l;iok'd his gown, to share the good man's smile. His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest, 185 Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distrest ; To tliem his licart, his U)ve, his griefs were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. As some t;vll clitl" that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, i'Jf Tho' round its breast the rolling clouds are spread. Eternal sunshine settles on its head. THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER. Bemde yon strairgling fence that skirts the way, With blossom'd furze unprolitably gay. There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule, 195 The village master taugjit his little school; A man severe he was, and stern to view, I know hiui well, and every truant knew ; Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to tra(;e TJie day's disasters in his morning face ; 200 Full well tiioy laugli'd with counterfeited glco At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ; Full well the busy whisper circling round, Convoy'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd *, Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught, 205 The love he bore to learning was in fault ; The village all dcclar'd how much he knew, 'TA-as certain he could write, and cipher too ; Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, And e'en the slory ran—that he could gauge; 210 In arguing too, the parson own'd his skill, For e'en though van(|uish'd, he could argue still ; While words of learned length and thundering sound, THE DESERTED VIM.AfiE. 6s Amaz'd the i^azini^ rustics ranc^'d around, And still tliv^y i^az'd, and still the wonder grew, 215 rhi*-. one small head could carry all he knew. But j)ast is all his fame. The very spot Where many a time he triumph'd, is forgot. * THE VTLLAOE ALKTTOUSE. Near yon'^'cr thorn, that lifts its. head on high. Where once the signpost caught the passing eye, 220 Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspir'd, Where grey-beard mirth, .and smiling toil retir'd. Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound. And news much older than their ale went round. imagination fondly stoops to trace 225 The parlour splendors of that festive place ; The wliite-washed wall, the nicely sanded floor. The varnish'd clock that click'd behind the door ; The chest contriv'd a double debt to pay, A. bed by night, a chest of drawers by day ; 5^30 The pictures plac'd for ornament and use. The twelve gofjd rules, the royal game of goose ; The hearth, except when winter chill'd tlie day, With aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel gay; While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show, 235 Rang'd o'er the chimney, glisteu'd in a row. Vain transitory splendours ! could not all Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fall ? Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart An hour's importance to the poor man's heart ; 210 Thither no more the peasant shall repair To r'.veet oblivion of his daily care ; "Nr, more the tamper's news, the barber'p tale, N"o more the woodman's ballad shall prevail; No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear, 245 it! *.■! ^si WU i 66 THE DESERTED VIIAACE. Relax his pc^nderous strength, and loan to hoar ; The host hinvself no longer sliall be fou'id Careful to see the mantling bliss go round ; Nor the coy maid, half willing to be prest, Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. A. COXTUAST BETWEKX THK ** SI>TPLE BLFSSINOS " rOOK, AND THK *' BARKEN SI'LENDOUR" OF THE Yes I let the rich deride, the proud disdair Tliese simple blessings of the lowly train, To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm, than all tlie gloss of art : Spontaneous joys, where Nature has its play, The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway ; Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, Unenvied, unmolested, unconfin'd. But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, Witli all the freaks of wanton wealth array'd, In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, The toiling pleasure sickens into pajn ; And e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy, The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy V Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who survey The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 'Tis yours to judge, how wide the limits stand Between a splendid and a happy land, f roud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore. And shouting Folly hails them from her shore ; Hoards e'en beyond the miser's wish abound, And rich men flock from all the world around. Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name, That leaves our useful product still the same. Not 80 the loss. The man of Avealth and pride Tfl^ker uy> a space that many poor supplied ; 255 2C0 265 270 275 SpaJ SnaJ ■ The 250 1 Has op THE I Ind RICH. I Aro I For ' 1 ^^^ I Inl THE DESERTED VHJ.AGE. 6*i Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, Soace for his horses, equipage, and hounds ; Tlie robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth, Has robb'd the neighbouring fields of half their growth; 28<» His seat, where solitary sports are seen, Indignant spurns the cottage from the green ; Around the world each needful product Hies, For all the luxuries the world supplies. While thus the land, adorn'd for pleasure all, 285 In barren splendour feebly waits the fall. THE POOR ARE DRIVEN FROM THEIR RURAL HOMES. As some fair female, unadorn'd and plain, Secure to please while youth confirms her reign, Slights every borrow'd charm ^^hat dress supplies, Nor shares with art the triumph ol her eyes ; 290 But when those charms are past, ior charms are frail, When time advances, and when lov <^rs fail, She then shines forth, soliciious to b^esa. In all the glaring impotence of dress. Thus fares the land, by luxuiy l^etray'd. In nature's simplest charms at first array' d. But verging to decline, its splendours rise, [ts vistas strike, its p{xlaces surprise ; While, scourg'd by famine from the smiling land, The mournful peasant leads his humble band : And while he sinks, without one arm to save, The country blooms, a garden, and a gra' . 2D5 300 THE EJECTED COTTERS CAN FIND NO I'LACE »>l< REFUOK. Where then, ah ! where, shall poverty resid- To 'scape the pressure of contiguous prido If to some common's fenceless limits stra} i, 305 He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, Those fenceless tioJds the sons of wealth diVide. ''r»'l'ifl,- ■ \ 'V'l ■ /' m I 68 THE DESERTED VILLAGE. And ovoii the bare worn common is denied. If to the city sped — What waits hi.a there? To see profusion that he must not sliare ; 310 To see ton thousand baneful arts combin'd To pamper luxury, and thin mankind; To see those joys the sons of pleasure know, Extorted from his fellow creature's woe. Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade, 315 There the pale artist plies the sickly trade ; Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomps display, There the black gibbet glooms beside the way. The dome where pleasure holds her midnight reign, Here, richly deck'd, admits the gorgeotis train ; 320 Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square, The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy ! Sure these denote one universal joy ! Are these thy serious thoughts? — Ah ! turn thine eyes 325 Where the poor houseless shivering female lies. She once, perhaps, in village plenty blest, Has wept at tales of innocence distrest ; Her modest looks the cottage might adorn. Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the tliorn ; 330 Now lost to all, her friends, her virtue fled. Near her betrayer's door she lays her head, And pinch'd with cold, and shriiiking from the shower. With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour. When idly first, ambitious of the town, 335 She left her wheel and robes of country brown. THE POOR AllE OOMPELLED TO EMIGRATP. Do thino, sweet Auburn, thine, tlie loveliest train. Do thy fair tribes participate her pain ? E'en now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led. 345 350 355 THE DHSERIKI) VII.I.AOK. 69 At proud men's doors they ask a little bread ! 340 Ah ! no. To distant climes, a dreary scene, Where half the convex world intrudes between, Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go. Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. Far different there from all that charm'd before, The various terrors of that horrid shore ; Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray, And fiercely shed intolerable day ; Those matted woods where birds forget to sii.g, But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling ; Those poisonous fields with rank luxuriance crown M, Where the dark scorpion gathers death around ; Where at each step the stranger fears to wake The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake ; Where crouching tigers wait their liapless prey, And savage men more murderous still than they ; Where oft in whirls the mad tornado flies, Mingling the ravag'd landscape with the skies. Far ditl'erent these from every for uei scene, The cooling brook, the grassy vestc' f^reen, The breezy covert of the warbling grove, Thut only shelter'd thefts of harmless love. riCTURK OF THE EMIUKANTS LEAVING U03IE. I Good Heaven ! what sorrows gloom'd that parting day, That call'd them from their native walks away ; \viien the poor exiles, every pleasure past, 3G5 Hung round the bowers, and fondly look'd their last, And took a long farewell, and wish'd in vain For seats like these beyond the western main ; And shu.ldering still to face the distant deep, lletnrn'd and wopt, and still return'd t«> weep, 370 The good old sire, the lirst prepar d to go 300 '■'i\ :;ia 70 THE nESKRlDI) VILLAGE, To iiew-fuuud worlds, and wopt for othev'i wot\ ; But for hiinaolf, in consciovia vivU\v> bi\iVo, He only wish'd for vvorUU beyond the grax*^ His lovely daughter, KneHer in her tears, 37B Tho fond companion of his lielploss years, Silent wont next, neglectful of her charms, And loft a lover's for a father's arms. With loader plaints the mother apoke her woes, Anlitaiy pride : Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe, That found'st me poor at tirst, and keep'st me so ; 'J'hou guide, by which the nobler arts excel, 115 Thou nurse of, every virtue, fare thee veil ! Farewell, and oh ! v^licre'er thy voice be tried, On Torno'a cliffa, or Pumbainiuca's side. Whether where equinoctial fervours glow, Or winter wraps the pf)lar world in snow, 420 Still let thy voice, prevailing over time, Redress the rigours of th' inclement clime ; Aid slighted Truth, with thy persuasive strain ; Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain ; Teach him^ thnt states of native strength possest, 425 Though veiy poor, may still be very blest ; That trade's j)roud empire hastes to swift decay, As ocean sweeps the labour 'd mole away ; While self-dependent power can time defy, As rocks resist the billows and the aky. 430 ''X\ 1 I m A i' .^,^^. Ks) PRELIMINARY REMARKS. -o- THE DESERTED VILLAGE. -o Published 1770. "This day at 12," said the Public Ad- z^.v/'/.vv;- of May 2*>th, of that year, "will be*])iibh'.>3hcd, price two shillings, tlie D;serUd Village, a poem ; by Doctor Goldsmith. Printed for W. Grillin, at Garrick'a Head iii Catharine Street, Strand.'' The leading iilca had already beojn thrown out in certain lines of tlie Traveller : "Have we not seen, round Britain's peopled shore, Her useful sous exchanged for useless ore ?" &c. And (dsuwliere, in recorded conversations of the author we find he had regarded wealth as the »)arcnt of all evils, in- cluding depopulation. A second edition was published June 7th; a third, June 14th; a fourih, carefully revised, June 2Sth ; and a fifth, August IGth. Such was its popularity ; and Gray on hearing it read to him by his friend Nicholls. exclaimed, "This man is a poet." Epitome. The poet apostrophizes his native \ illage, and reviews his recollections of old scenes and amusements. The accumulation of money, and consequently of land, leads to the ejectment of the native tenants iind a reign of desolation. The ostent s^. ^ y 7 /^ Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WIST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14S80 (716) 872-4303 ^ ^\^ ^A^ ^ ell. His False Political Economy. "Here as in his other poem, Goldsmith entertained not only artistic but also a didactic purpose. He wished to set forth the evils of the Luxury that was prevailing more and more widely in his day. This is a thrice old theme ; but indeed what theme is not so ? 'm MI ^:i ■'X 7'- ,: W-'-'^ V-f jf 76 PRKT.IMINARY REMARK^,. No doubt the vast growth of our commerce and increase Oi wealth in the middle and latter part of the last century, especially suggested it in Goldsmith's time. Possibly enough in handling it Goldsmith made some blunders ; the work could scarcely be his, if it were free from blunders. He has often been taunted by later critics with his false political economy ; and it has been pointed out how he was propagating his errors at the very time when Adam Smith was first preaching the truths of that great science. Errors he un- doubtedly commits — errors of fact and errors of interpreta- tion. He was wrong in his belief that England was at the time of his writing rapidly depopulating. In the dedication of his poem to Sir Joshua Reynolds, he admits that the objection Mdll be made by him and several of our best and wisest friends,' that the depopulation it deplores is nowhere to be steen, and the disorders it laments are only to be found in the poet's own imagination. To this he says : 'I can scarcely make any other answer than that I sincerely believe what I have written ; that I have taken all possible paint in my country excursions, for these four or five years past, to be ccitain of what I allege, and that all my views and enquiries have led me to believe those miseries real, which I here attempt to display.' But it certainly was not the case. He was obviously wrong in ascribing this supposed depopu- lation to the great commercial prosperity of the time. Whatever sentimental, whatever real objections may be urged against Trade, it cannot be denied that it multiplies and widens fields of labour, and so creates a population. Large towns with their myriad inhabitants are the offspring of commerce. Goldsmith an«l his age disbelieved in large towns ; they thought such unions of men were conspiracies of vice ; they held to invert the text, that wheresoever the eagles were gathered together, there the carcase would be. And large towns do include great and wide miseries ; but to say tliat they are signs of present depopulation is to contradict their very definition. Goldsmith's fallacy lies in identifying Trade PRKT.IMINARY REMARKS. 77 I ! •mJ Luxiiry ; see the poem Passim. Observe the mere phrase ' Trade's unfeeling; train.' Aqjuu, the picture drawn of the emigrants in their new land is certainly much exaggerated. Such experience as befalls the hero of Margin Cfuiz'.kwit '\% very mucli what Goldsmith conceives to await all emigrants. He sees the tears and the agf^nies of the leave-taking ; and surely no one can make light of these sorrows ; but he sees nothing of the hope and confidence that lie beneath such distress, however severe and temporarily overwhelming. He forgets that even those earliest and saddest of emigrants, though 'some natural tears they shetl, yet wiped them soon.' He knows not, or he ignores, the happier side of the exile's prospects. He cannot fancy his hearth blazing as brightly on the other shore of the Atlantic as in the old country, or picture any 'smiling village' there with gay swains and coy-glancing maidens. He imagi les only swamps and whirlwinds, and sunstrokes, and wild beasts, and wor:3e wild men, and shrieks and despair. " — Hales. But he is not always wrong. ** His attacks on Luxury, when he really means Luxury, and not something else in some way associated Avith that cardinal pest, are well- deserved and often vigorously made. And when he deplores the accumulation of land under one ownership — liow *one only master grasps the whole domain' — and how consequently the old race of small proprietors is exterminated — hew 'a bold peasantry, their country';^ pride' is perishing, he certainly cannot be laughed down as a maintariner of mere idle grievances. One may agree with him in this view of the matter, or one may disagree ; but it cannot be denied that here he has a right to his view — that this is a question open to sorious doubt and difficulty. I .suppose there are few persons who will not allow there is something to regret in the almost total disappearance of the class of small free- holders, however much that something may seem to be compensated fo^' by what has come in their place. The present experience or Belgium, of Switzerland, of certain parts of Oennany, .' ' • . A 78 PRELIMINARY REMARKS. certainly says much in tlieir favour. (See MHVb ^olit. Eton. Book II, Chaps. VII and VIII. ) As the question is gencrall\ discussed by Political Economists, it Les between small farms and largo farms — between la petite culture and la grande cultm-e ; most English writers, with one most distinguished exception, till lately, at least, declaring for the latter. — Hales. Mow far true.^ "We visit the clergyman's cheerful fireside, and look in on the noisy school, and sit in the evening in the ale-house to listen to the profound politics talked there. But the crisis comes, Auburn delenda est. Here, no doubt, occurs the least probable part of the poem. Poverty of soil is a common cause of emigration ; land that produces oats (when it can produce oats at all) three-fourths mixed with weeds, and hay chiefly consisting of rushes, naturally discharges its surplus population as families increase ; and though the wrench of parting is painful enough, the usual result is a change from starvation to competence. It more rarely happens that a district of peace and plenty, such as Auburn was supposed to see around it, is depopulated to add to a great man's wealth This (the removal of Auburn) seldom happens ; but it does happen ; and it has happened, in our own day, in England. It is within the last twenty years that an English landlord, having faith in liis riches, had a village removed and cast elsewhere, so that it should no longer l)e visible from his windows ; and it was forthwith removed. But any solitary instance l?l;.3 this is not sufficient to support the theory that wealth and luxury are inimical to the existence of a hardy peasantry ; and so we must admit, after all, that it is poetical exigency rather than political economy that has decreed the destruction of the loveliest village of the plain. "—5/^^^', Enoiish Men of Letters. Its Pathetic Tone. ** It^ best passages are learned in youth, and never quit the jnemory. Its delineations of rustic life accord with those ideas of romantic purity, seclusion and happiness, which the young mind associates with the country L Tiih PRELIMINARY REMARKS. 79 '■N! and all its charms, before modern maiinors and oppression had driven them away — 'To pamper luxury, and thin mankind.* Political econoioists may dispute the axiom that luxury ia hurtful to nations ; and curious speculators, like Mandeville, may even iirgue that private vices are public benefits ; but Goldsmith has a surer advocate in the feelings of the heart, which yield a spontaneous assf^rt to the principles he inculcates, when teaching by examples, with all the efforts of apparent truth, and all the effect of poetical beauty and excellence." — Chamber's Cyc. of English Literature. "It is from this sincere sympathy, apart from all theories and theorizings, that the force and beauty, of this poem spring. When Goldsmith thinks of the decay or destruction of those scenes he prized so highly, a genuine sorrow penetrates him, and he gives it tongue as in thig poem ; he becomes the loving cle;jist of the old yeomanry." — Ilaiss* I , is n4 '-m !!i 1.' :-Wi-\n NOTES ..6 THE DESERTED VILLAGE. -o- 1. Anbnm is usually identified with Lissoy or Lishoy, near BaJlymahon, Ireland. Here the poet's brother, the Eev. Henry Goldsmith, liwd as rector for several years. " The church" says Sir Walter Scott, "which tops the neighbouring hill, the mill, and the brook, are still poiutr^d out; and a hawthorn has suffered penalty of poetical celebrity, being cut to pieces by those ad- mirers of the bard who desired +o have classical tooth-pick cases and tobacco stoppers, iiiuch of this supposed locality may be fanciful, but it is a pleasing tribute to the poet in the land of his fathers." Hewitt (Homes and Haunts of British Poets) remarks that " Lissoy consists of a few common cottages by the roadside, on a flat and by rio means particularly interesting scene." The village of Albourtie in Wiltshire has been regarded by some gazet- teers as the scene of the poem. Village. Through the French vill'^ from Latin villa ; probably from viciis a hamlet. 2. Healtli. A. S. haelan. The proposition " where health" &c., completes '* plain." See Mason's Grammar, par., 408. Plenty, Latin plenitas. Swnin, vaguely and somewhat affectedly used by the poets of the last century to mean " a shepherd," " a lover" " a peasant" " a prrvant." Of, NOTES TO DESERTED VIIJ.AGE. »1 " The conscious stvaina rejoicing in the sight Eye the bhio vault, and bless the useful light." — Fopa. and The Traveller, 1. i8— ** Yo bending swains that dress the flowery vale." ' 8. SmiHiig Spring. An ex&uiiple oi persoidficaiion. 4. Purting. "Departing." Cf. 171 ''parting life." Also Gray's Elegy, ; " partitig d&y" and 89 '^parting soul," Milton's Hymn on Nativ. 186; "The parting Genius,'' Shak. Cor. ^.6: "When I j;ar^e(Z heufo," &c. On the olher hand, rZe;;a,r^ vvaH formerly used in the sense orf part, Chaucer in the Knight's Tale, 1136. " Til that the dette departen ahal us tweine." Bloom. Goth, bloma, A. S. hlosma, German hlunie. " Bloom, is a finer and and more delicate efflorescence even than blossom.'^ — Trench. D(4ayed. Used intransitively. French delai, Latin dilatio fi©m differo. 5. Bowers. A. S. hur a chamber or private rooi i, and later a cottage. Cf. Milton : " Hand in hand alone they passed. " On to their hlissful bower." and Scott: " The Lady had gone to her secret bower." Initocence. In not and noceo I hurt. 6. Seats of my youth— where I a youth sat. "Seats" in ap- position with " bowers." "When every &c. An adjectival proposition completing " youth." Cf, Pope, Essay on Man, II. "Behold the child, l)y nature's kindly law Pleased with a rattle, ticlded with a straw." 7. Ho^iv often &c. An exclamatory proposition. Principal. Thy. Auburn. 8. Humble. Lat. humilis low, from humus the ground. Happiness. From hap, luck or fortune. Scene. Latin Scena. 9. Paused. Gr. pauo to pause. Charm. Fr. char me. Latin carmen a song modified to mean a "spell." Cf. Ijafcin incantare, enchanting and incantation. XO. <^o'-- A. S. cote. "Cot," "farm," "brook," "mill,' '• fi fi',-' ■;|^J^, ■ M^lf ' '" TO i' i: mW. ' l> II?'!*' i'ra§Jj' ■ / rnj ''^ ■ .:-|: BE,' f* , * HpB^) n" ■t, 'f t M'fl' 89 NOTES TO DESERTED VIL»,AGE. " church" and " bur " are in apposition to " charm.** 11. BMiny, A. S. beaig. 12. Decent. Latin decens. Cf. Milton, lis Pens. 86. ** thy decent shoulders" where we have as here the primary meaning. Topt. Cf. " dcokt," " crept," " dreamt," " blest," &c. And con- sult Mason's Grammar, par., 222. IVeiglibuurliig. A. S. nohgbur. The ur termination was chaii;,'ed to our in conformity to those oi favour^ honour^ &c. 13. The hawtliorii bu'tU. Cf. Burns, Cotter's Saturday Night ; *' Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair In other's arms breathe out the tender tale Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the gale." 14. Talking Age. The talk of old persons; the abstract for the concrete, an example of Synecdoche. "WUispering* An example of ofiomatopceia where the sound expresses the thing signified. Made agrees with " seats." 1,5. Coming day. A saint's day, which afforded the Irish peasantry a holiday. 16. Wlien toil &c. By the remission of toil, time was allowed for play. Remitting. Used intransitively. Its refers to " toil." 17. All the Village. Village for villagers. Train is frequently used very vaguely by Goldsmith. 18. lied up. Arranged the players in order. 19. Many a. Many as an adjective refers to "a pastime" or as an adverb modifies the adjective " a." See Mason's G7:.,par.,93. Pastime. Cf. Shakespeare's Bichard III. — " Why I in this weak piping time of peace Have no delight to pass away the time." Circled. Like " went round" in 1. 22. 20. The young contending. An absolute clause forming an adverbial complement to " went." See Mason's par., 272-5. Surveyed. Lat. Supervideo, 21. Gambol. From the French gamhiller to frisk about. "'Gambling' may be, as with a fearful irony it is called play, but it is nearly as distant from " gamboling' as heli is from 1. 2S. Frol 22. exce •'dis (( (( /" NOTES TO DESERTED VILLAGE. 83 from hea,ven."— Trench. Gambol frolick'd. Cf. *' laughter titter'd" I 23. Frolf'-ked. Of. Q&r. frolich and Eng. "free" and '•like." 22. Slelglit* of art. Feata of dexterity. Now almost obsolete except in the phrase " sleight of hand." Cf. Macbeth III, 6 ; " distilled by magic sleijhts" and Henry VI. IV, 2. — "As Ulysses and stout Diomede With sleight and manhood stole to llhoesus' tents." Feats. From French /ai<, JjaXinfcctum. • Went round. Of. Thompson's seasons — spring 1. 249. — " Meantime the song went round." " Often Goldsmith joined in the rustic sports of the vill agora, and became adroit at throwing the sledge." — Washington Irving^ 23. A» eacli &c. An adverbial complement of time to " inspired." 24. Mirthful. Of. A. S. "myrth." 2r. simply. Artlessly. 26. To tire. The gerundial infinitive forming an adverbial complement to " holding out." (See Mason's Grammar, page Gl.) 27. Mistrustless. Unconscious. 28. Tittered. An example of onomatopcBia Cf. " giggle." 29. Bashful. From "abash." Fr. ebahir. Sidelong. "Probably the long m a corruption of the adverbiaj termination ling, which yet survives in groveling and darkling." (Hales). Consult Mason's par., 267. Shakespeare has " flatlong.'t Cf. Thomson's Seasons — Summer — " In sidelong glances from her down cast eye." and Longfellow's Beware, " She gives a sido-glance, and looks down, Beware ! beware ! " 31. Tlie«ie. In apposition with " pair," " swain," " looks" and "glance." 32. Taught e'en toll to please. A life of labor became enjoy- able by being accompanied with sports. 38. Influence. "Whenever the word influence occurs in our English poetry, down to comparatively a modern dato, there is always more or less remote allusion to the skyey or planetary in- fluences supposed to be exercised by the heavenly bodies on men." '•'Trench. Cf. Paradise Lost, II, 1034. "But now at last the sacred infliwnce of Ught appears." i Hr.i*l m, "J 84 NOTKS TO DHSERTED VIILAGK. JaU xxxviii, 31; "Caust thon hind the aweo*. in;?u«nccs o< the Ploiades." Ki>\,(j Lear I, TI, 135. "Planotary mfl'"?ncos." Cf. alno " disastroua," '• riscendcncy,' " jovial," " saturnine," " niercurinl" as astrological torms still surviving. 3r,. Smiling village. Hero as in \. 40, 2;)',), the author attri- butes his own feelings to the ohjects observed. Cf. Addison's version of rsalm xxiii : "The barren wilderness shall smile." Tennyson, Sir Lancdat and Qii.ceyi Guinevere " Blue isles of heaven laughed between." And Ovid, Met, 201.— "Florumque coloribus nimus Bidet ager." r,a-»vn.---«« plain" ; an open grassy space, akin to -lane" and "land." Paru(hy;e Lost IV, 252. "Betwixt tliera Zaw/is or level downs." "Interspersed in lawns and opening glades." — Pope. 37. Are fled—" have fled." Consult Mason's par., 187. Tyrant. (Gr. Turannos). The term was originally applied to usurpers in Greece but from the way they generally exercised tlieir power it oajne to be used in a reproachful sense (See Liddel (fe Scott). Goldsmith is supposed to have in view General Napier, an English gentleman, who purchased the estate of Lissoy and ejected many of the tenants for non-payment of rent. (1. 276-278.) 38. Green. Cf. " Lawn" 1. iio. 39. Only. An Adjective. See Mason's Grammar, par., 90, note. Master— the tyrant. Domain. L. Dominium, Fr. domaine. " The large domain his greedy sons divide." — Pope. 40. Haifa tillage. Cf. The Traveller, 1. 391, " half a patriot." And consult Mason's par., 91. The land is represented as only half cultivated. Stints— "Deprives thy plain of the beauty and luxuriance that once characterized it" (Hales). Cf. "stunts." The comparative advantages of large and small farms have long been'discussed by political economists. Pliny considered large farms as the bane of Italy— " Latifimdia perdidere Italiam." The present attitude of the " Irish question" gives importance to tlie subject Observe 42. (t NOTES TO DESERTED VlIJ.AGE. 8s the eflPects in Enf];land and also in the Wontem States. 41. Glawy. Cf. Horace, Odes, rU, XIIT. 1.— '• O fons Bandiisia, splendidior vitro." 42. "Work* tf« -weecly ^vay. Cf. as examples of "alliteration's artful aid: — " *' Deep in a rilnn^oon Avas the oar)tive cast." deprived of rFaj', and held in /etters /ast. — Drt/dfin. "And /teals with morals what it Jnivt with wit." — Pope. "Sonorous metal hlowing wartial sounds." — Milton. "Our (Zreadfnl marches to delightful measures." — Shakespeare. "The Zeague-Zong ro/?er thundering on the reef.* — Tennyson. 43. Glades. Properly an open space in the woods through wliich the light shines. Cf. "glitter," "glimmer." Oa«)iit. A. S. gcst. Distinguish from " visitor." 44. Bittern. A bird with long logs and long hill that lives con- stantly near the water and feeds on fish, reptiles, small birds &c., and said to derive its name from the resemblance of its cry to the lowing of an ox (Fr. hutor). "There is no sound so dismally hollow as the booming of a bittern" (Goldsmith's Animated Nature). See Isaiah XIV, 23, XXXIV, 2. The epithet is well chosen by the poet. 45. liapvi'lng, or flapnnng=rthe peetoit which frequents solitary places on the borders of rivers, lakes and marshy spots, and utters peewit, peewit with "iinvaried cries." 47. Sunk. Notice the effect of the transposition. 48. O'ertops. By 8yncoj)e for "overtops." 49. Spoiler, The tyrant. 50. Far, far. An example of epizcuxis where the same word is repeated for emphasis. 61. Ill* The repetition of ill is probably as Hales suggests, one of the " negligences of style," common in Goldsmith's writings. Cf. in The Traveller, "realms" in lines 7, 20, 34. " stranger" in lines IG, 21, and " bend" in 48, 62. and also 1. 178 of the same poem : " He sees his Httle lot the lot of all." Fares. A. S. faran to go. Give other meanings. 62. An increase of we'Slth is represented as causing a decrease in the population. i ■''I t ■'■/ii ' ■ ''( ■■- '■ ; r r ■ - m <',4 ■■■I : t. m 86 NOTES TO DESERTED VILLAGE. 64. Cf. BrrnB, Cotter's Sat. Night 165. " Princes e ords arc but the breath of kiugs." and For a' that ani^ a' that : " A prince can mak a belted knip^ht A marquis, duke, and a' that, But an honest man's aboon his might, Guid faith, be mauna fa' that." also Gower, couf. am. "A kynge may make a lorde a knave; And of a knave a lorde also." 55. Peasantry. Fr. paysan, from pays, Lat. pagus. 56. The poet regards all artificial means to supply the country with a peasantry as ineffectual. Such efforts Mill only produce a population void of patriotism and that attachmejit to th<» institu- tions of ohe country, which are the growth of time. Ccusi^er this view as regards Canada and the United States. 57. Difficult to fix the date, but probably the 15th and 16th cen- turies give the nearest approach. 58. Rood. Metonomy. ** Kood" and " rod" are from the same root. Cf . " Holyrood," " rood-loft." ■ 59. Cf. Virgil's Georgics, 11, 459, 4C0 and 467-470. Her. "Labor" is singularly personified here as feminine. (Consult Mason's Grammar, page 17) . 60. AVhat life requirM. A noun proposition object of " gave" or adjectival comijleting the antecedent of " what." See Mason's Grammar par, 409. 61. Companions. Lat. Con and panis "bread." Some give con and paganus a "villager." This 'egret for the past is common to pessimists of our day whc ...o perpetually lamenting national and social degeneracy. The laboring classes in England are far happier and more com- fortable than they were formerly. (See Green's History of Eng land) . 63. Tv.aln. See note on 17 and Cf . 81. 64. Usurp. Why plural ? 05. Ijawn, See note on 35. Humlets. A. S. ham, home. Cf. Twickenham, Birmingham. Fakenham, kc. • 66. Cumbrous. Pomp, excessive display. NOTES TO DESERTED VILLAGE. 87 Pomp. Gr. pempo, I send. Unwieldy. " Wieldy" is now obsolete. 67. Opulence. The first edition has "luxury." "Wealth created wants which it cannot satisfy. 68. The foolish slaves of fashion suffer maiiy troubles and dis- appointments. In analysing " every want (being; allied to opulence" may be taken as an absolute clause forming an adverbial complement to " repose," or " is" or '" exists" may be supplied to " want" and " pang." Since " repose" will not answer as the verb we have what is termed a zeugma. 69. A forced metaphor But. A. S. buta7i. Consult Mason's G-rammar, page, 108, 114 and 161. 71. Grac'd. Cf. " Crowns were reserved ix) grace the soldiers too." — Pope. " Grace with a nod, and ruin with a frown." — Dryden. " Please your highness " To grace us with your royal company." — Shakespeetre. 72. Their looks even reflected their associations. Cf. Carew, Disdain returned : — " Gentle thoughts and calm desires." Liv'd. «• Hours," " desires" and " sports" are the nominatives. 73. Cf . The Traveller, 1. 238. 74. lIanners=Lat. mores. Cf. Wordsworth, Sonr^Mt to Mil- ton. "And give UR manners virtue, freedom, power." 75. Parent. A strong metaphor. 76. Forlorn, "lorn" is derived from "lose." Cf. "forgive," forswear," " forsake," " forget" &e. 77. As I take &c. An adverbial complement of time tf, " wakes." For this and the three following lines the first edition has the couplet : " Here as with doubtful, pensive steps T range, Trace every scene, and wonder at the change." 78. Tangling. By the briers growing over the path. RuinM. Through neglect. 79. Many a year elapsed. An absolute clause. <( ... ' J ; .'-■ '" m ■ '■■ ' 'f pp... ! i ' ^ 'I'll 1 ■■'I .«; 88 NOTES TO DESERTED VILLAGE. Return. " As I return &c," co-ordiuate with the preceding pro position. 81. Remembrance. Used for nioiwry which denotes the power while the former rather refers to the art. The term is here personified. 82. Swell. A. S. Swellan. Cf. Shakespeare : ^ "Between these swelling^ wrong-incensed peers." " Then, swollen with pride, into the snare I fell." — Milton, Tarns &c. The past heconies sad when contrasted with the present. 83. Irving says : — " We shall not dwell upon the peculiar merits of this poem ; we cannot help notirdng, however, how truly it is a mirror of the author's heart, and of all the fond pictures of early friends and early life forever present there. It ssems to us as if the very last accounts received from home, of his * shattered family' and the desolation that seemed to have settled upon the haunts of his childhood, had cut to the roots one feebly cherished hope, and produced the following' exquisitely tender and mournful lines." 84. Share. A. S. Scearan "to divide." Cf. "Shire," " shear." 85. Latest.r=" last." See Mason's Gram. par. 114. Crown. Cf. The Traveller 1. 17, and the Latin expression, " Finis coronat opus." Also Shakespeare : "Led on by Heaven, and crowned with joy at last." 86. Me. The simple pronoun used reflexively. See Mason's Gram. par. 177. Cf . The Traveller, 1. 32 ; "I sit me down." Milton, Paradise Lost IX, 1121 ; " They sat them down to weep." Shakespeare, Jiilius Ccesar: " He plucked me ope his doublet." and the French " S'asseoir." Hales regards the pronoun in such cases the ethic dative. 87. Husband. "To economize." A metaphor Cf. Macbeth 11,1- " There's Jmshandry iu heaveu." A. S. hiisbonda •e NOTES TO DESERTED VILIAGE. 89 Taper. (Ji. the expression *' To burn th.e candle at both ends." 88. Flam©. The metaphor continued. 89. For. In such constructions '* for," though really a preposi- tion with the proposition following as its object, is generally re- garded as a conjunction. The proposition introduced will then be taken as adverbial. See Mason's Gram. par. 423. 92. Saw. The rhyme does not allow " had seen." Cf. The Traveller, 1. 72. 93. As an Iiare. A simile. On this use of " an" Hales remarks '• — " Our present rule that a rather than an is to be used before a word beginning with a consonant or a sounded h is of comparative- ly modern date. In Oldest English (what is commonly caUed A. S.) the shortened form does not occur. In Medieval writer an is a more common form ; thus in the Ormulum we find, an man, in Mandeville's Travels, an hors, &c., (Stratmann) ; but a also is found. The distinction between the numeral and the article was only then completely forming. In Chaucer's writings it seems fairly- formed." In the Bible we have "an house," "an habita- tion," " an hymn," " an host." This use in early English was per- haps due to French influence. Shakespeare's usage is pretty much the same as our own. See Mason's Gram, page, 41. Whom. For "which." 94. Pants—" goes panting." From whence. "From" is superfluous. Pleonasm. Consult Mason's Grammar page 103. She flew. In some modern editions we have " he" used errone- ously for " she." 95. I still. The repetition of this phrase in lines 86, 89, 95 forms what is called an anaphora. My long vexatious past. Cf. 1. 79. In Latin the ablative would be used and in Greek the genitive, 95, 96. This thought Goldsmith frequently entertained. Cf. Citizen of the world. " Whatever vicissitudes we experience in life, however we toil, or wheresoever we wander, our fatigued wishes still recur to home for tranquillity." The poet Waller, also, desired to die " like the stag where he was roused." 97. " How touchingly expressive are the succeeding lines, wrung from a heart which, doomed to struggle on to the last amidst the ■■:\mi i:-^: V ■'1 ., ■V: T ■;-?,ffi 90 NOTES TO DESERTED VILLAGE. din and turmoil o* the metropolis, had ever been cheating itself with a dream of rt^al quiet and seclusion." — Wasliington Irving. y^Q have in the lines 97-112 an apostroplie. 98. That. Antecedent "retreats." Mine. See Mason's Grammar, page 44. 99. Crowns. Cf. 1. 85. The first edition has; "How blest is he who crowns, in shades like these." 100. Age. "Old age." 101. Temptations. To resist temptations was not a prevailing feature in Goldsmith's character. 102. Cf. The Bee. " By struggling with misfortimes we are sure to receive some wound in the conflict ; the only method to come off victorious is by running away." 104. Tempt. A Latinism. Cf. Virgil, Eel. IV, 82. " Tentare Thetim ratibus." , 105. Surly. Akin to " sour-like." Porter. " Porta" a " gate." A " porter," who carries, is derived from porto I bear or cariy. Guilty. Of violating the laws of charity. 106. Spurn. From " spur." Cf . Shakespeare. *' And foot me as you aj^urn a stranger cur, Over your threshold." Imploring famine. An example of synecdoche. 107. His latter end. A common Bible phrase. Of. ;Prov. XIX, 20; Job VIII, 7. 108. Around. An adjective limiting " angels." Befriending. Cf . " bewail," bemoan" &c. 109. Bends. The common readings is "sinks." Cf. Johnson's Vanity of Human Wishes : " An age, which melts with unperceived decay, And glides in modest innocence away." 110. Resignation. Sir Joshua Eeynolds to whom the poem is dedicated, quoted some lines from the D. V. which, as a return for the poet's compliment, he placed under a fin« picture that he painted entitled " Kesignation." 111. 112. Cf. 95, 96 as regards Ayme. 113. Sweet. Notice the effect of the order 114. Murmur. Of. " titter" line 23. « NOTES TO DESERTED VILLAGE. 91 ^ H 115. Careless. Lat. Oii/ra. Not " heedless'* but without " anxiety." 116. Mingling. Sometimes printed "mingled." fielo-fv. A noun object of " from." 117. Responsive. " answering." Cf. Tennyson's Aylmer'a Field : " Queenly responsive, whjen the loyal hand," &c. Thomson's Seasons (Sprin^^ : "Lows responsive from the vales." The use of epithets ending in " ive" was common with poets of the last century. 118. Sober. Lat. Sohrius. liO-w'd. Formed from the sound. 119. Gabbled. Cf. "low'd" 1. 118. Notice the alliteratio)^ 121. Bay'd. Cf. Shak. Julius Cresar IV, 3. " I had rather be a dog, and hay the moon." " Bay" is from the old French " abayer." 122. Spoke. "Indicated." Vacant Lat. vacuus^ Cf. Vicar of W. ch. V. " Vacant hilarity.'' And Shak. Henry V. IV, 1 : " Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave Who with a body filled and vacant mind % Gets him to rest." 124. JViglilingale. A. S. niht-gale. *' The nightingale's pausing song would be the proper epithet for the bird's music."- Gold. An. Nat. Holfe say? : " As the nightingale is not found in Ireland, the introduction of the bird here is either a Hibernicisni or a poetic license." Cf. Byron's note on Siege of Corinth; "I believe I have taken a poetic license to transplant the jackal from Asia. In Greece I never saw or heard these animals ; but among the ruins of Ephesus I have heard them by hundreds." 120. Fluctuate. Lat. fiuctus, a wave. 127. Tread. A. S. tredan. 128. Bloomy. Cf. Milton's Ist Sonnet, " O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray." Fiasli. " gaiety." Is fled. " has lied." See Mason's, par. 187. •'I I1 '■X.-i. ''i i . '. 1 ' ■.vfl ga NOTES TO DESERTED VILLAGE. 129 This woman is said to have heen Catherine Giraghty. Thing. This term heightens the picture of her wretched condi- tion. 130. Plashy. Puddle like. Cf. " Splpsh." Shakespeare uses "A shallow Jo7rts7^," and Wordsworth has " the plashy earth." " Old plash of rains, and refuse patched with moss."— Tennyson- 132. Mantling. A. S. mentel. Lat. mantelum. Cf. Shakes- peare. King Lear, III, 2. *' The green mantle of the standing pool." "Whose visages do cream and mantle like a standing pool." Merchant of Venice I, 1. 133. To pick. These gerundial infinitives " to strip," " to pick," " to seek" and to " weep" go with " forc'd." Faggot. Perhaps from /egfaTt to join and akin to "fag." Fr. fagot. 135. She. In apposition with " she," 1. 131. The lines 131-136 form an ahsolute clause. Only. An adjective. Train. Cf. 17. 136. Pensive. Lat. penso, to weigh. '•' The brook and ditches near the spot where her cahin stood still furnish cresses, and several of her descendants were residing in the village in 1837." — Murray's Goldsmith. 137. This description of the " village preacher" hears traces of the poet's grief on hearing of his brother Henry's death. Irving says :- -" To the tender and melancholy recollections of his early days, awakened by the death of this loved companion of his child- hood we may attribute some of the most heartfelt passages in the Deserted Village. Much of that poem we are told was composed this simimer, in the solitary strolls about the green lanes and beautifully rural scenes of the neighborhood ; and thus much Of the softness and sweetness of English landscape became blended . with the ruder features of Lissoy. It was in these lonely and subdued moments, when tender regret was half mingled with self upbraiding, that he poured forth that homage of the heart rendered as it were at the grave of his brother. The picture of the village pastor in this poem, which, we have already hinted) was taken in part frc>m the character of his father, embodied NOTES TO DESERTED Vir^l.ACiJ 93 likewise the recollections of his brother Henry ; for the natures of the father and son seom to have been identical." C*op!«e. Coppice. Fr. confer. Smil»d. Cf. ». 138. "Wild. A predicate adjective. " Behind the ruins of the house there are still the orchard and wild remains of a garden, enclosed with a high stone wall." — Eowitt's Homes of the Englisji Pats. 139. Th^e. Why used ? The place disclose. Marks the spot. Cf . Wordsworth : " These trees — a veil just half withdrawn." 140. Mansion. Lat. maneo, I remain, Cf. " manor." In the introduction to the Traveller, Goldsmith descril)es his brother as "a man who despising fame and fortune, has retired early to happiness and obscurity, with an income of forty poimds a year." Cf. 'Woidsworiih's Excursio7i Ch. V.- " There in his allotted home Abides, from year to year, a genuine priest, The shepherd of his flock ; or as a king Is styled, when most affectionately praised, The father of his people." Cf, The Traveller ,lines 10-20. Dryden's Character of a good Faraon and Chaucer's Prologue, 479-530. The opposite kind of a parson is sketched by Crabbo in his Village, Book I : ** And doth he not, tlie pious man, appear, ^ He passing rich, with forty pounds a year ? Ah ! no ; a shepherd of a differt stock. And far unlike him, feeds this little flock." 141. A man. Cf. 113. 142. Passing, "exceedingly." Cf. "passing strange." Forty pou.n.ds. Not an unusual income for a parson in those days. 148. Ran his godly race. Cf. I, Cor, IX, 24; Phil. H, 13, 14; and Heb. XIII, 1. In chap. XVII of the Vicar of W. occurs:— " In Islington there was a man Of whom the world might say, That still a godly race Jae ran. Where'er he went to pray." Hace. A cognate object. t m :^.[1 |^^ Hi IP \H i ■'.- ( H ; ■ mm , III' w ii i - '■ ■'■■ ' '■ i Mr' ' rmi fill m ■;ft ■i ,.)f, 94 NOTES TO DESERTED VILLAGE. In connection witb. this and the next line Irving remarks >— " To us tlie whole character seems traced as it were in an ex* piatory spirit as if conscious of his own wandering restlessness he sought to humble himself at the shrine of that excellence which he had not been able to practise." 144. Nor. Used for " neither." Plavo "Position." Cf. "place-man," "place-seeker." 145. Unpractised. In the first edition, " unskilfill." To fawn. A Latinism for " in fawning." Cf. 161, 195, 288, &o. 14G. Doctrines faslilonod &c. Like the celebrated Vicar of Bray. 147. Far. An adverb modifying " other." 148. In the first edition, " More bent to raise, etc." 149. Vagrant train. Tramps. Such kind treatment would not be wise in our day. 150. Cliid &c. A. S. "Cidan." Cf. Shakespeare: " Chide him iov his faults and do it reverently." — Milton " And chid her barking waves into attention." 151. liOng-Remembered. Having tramped many years. 152. Cf . Hairs Satires : " Stay till my beard shall sweep mine aged breast." 15t) Spendtlirift. One of a very expressive class of words, most of which are now obsolete : as scapethrift, wastethrift, . diiigthrift. Cf . " turncoat," " skinflint," " spit-fire," "^ lick-spit- tle," "pick-pocket." See Trench, English^ past and present. Now no longer proud. "Why ? 155. Broken. Cf. JEii.. II. 13. " Fracti bello," and XII, 1: "Infractos adverso Marte," and Campbell, Soldier's Dream: " And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay," See also Hor. Sat. 1, c, 5. 156. Niglit. The object of " talked away I " Cf. " Laughed at." 157. Done.=finished. 158. Crutcli. . Lat. " Crux.'* 159. To glov»r=To become animated. 160. "Woe. A. S. wa. TVo is the interjection. 161. Careless. Not inquiring into their characters, Cf. Dry- den, Slef^iea* NOTES TO DESERTED VILLAGfc. 95 ■V t " Want pass'd for merit at her open door." Scan. Lat. scando, I climb. 162. Impelled by pity he gave before his judgment deter- miied that they were deserving of c^iarity. Clio-rity. Gr. Char is. 163. What is the nominative to "was."? IVretclied. A. S. wrecca. 164. E*en. An adjective referring to " failings." Fallings. Perhaps encouraging vagrancy, mendicancy ana imposture. 165. Cf. Dryden : " Yet still he was at hand, without request, To serve the sick, to succour the distressed." 167. Ag a bird, &c. A beautiful Simile. 168. To tli«e skies. An example of metonoTny. 170. Allur'd. Seldom used., as here, in a good sense. 171. Parting. See on 4. 172. DlsHiay'd. Means " deprived of strength," rather tlian " terrified." 173. Reverend. Lat. reverendus. Cliamplon. Campus, a field. JI'L Fled. Cf. Johnson's Vanity of Human Wishes: ^ " Should trembling Novelty thy cell refrain." Tennyson : " Queen Guinevere had fled the court." 175. 'Wretcli, Now used in a bad sense. 176. Faltering. Lat, fallo. Accents. For words. Cf. JjongtelloWf Excelsior : " And like a silver clarion rung The accents of that unknown tongue." Latin, Cano. I sing. 177. Unaffected. Without assumed devotion. 178. Cf. Dryden. Good Parson: "His eyes diffused a venerable grace." 179. Cf. VoTpe'B Eloisa to Abelarcl :— " And truths divine came mended from that tongue.'' 180. Cf. Jasp. Mayne, Mem. of Ben. Johnson : " For thou e'en sin didst in such words array, That some who came bad parts went out good play." Mm t'. ■ - i'il ■ . '■IM ^;k!j 'I - . r I-.: » WM 'hv; \ 90 NOTES TO l)T^«5F,krED VILLAGE. / 181. Tho seiviow past. A11 absolute clause. ' 182. Slearty. Sonin oditions have " ready " but G. probably changed to •* stnady " on account of " ready " in line 185. / 183. "Wile. The saraeVvord as "guile." Cf. "\vard"anA •* guard." Fr. giiariler. The initial English lu, French gu, d- ten marks a word of Fr. origin. 184. PliK'k'tl. The practice of " plucldng," the proctor's goivn at universities, as a sign of vetoing the conferring of the degi'ee gave rise to the application of the term to those who failed at ex- aminations. 185. Paiont's warmth. He was like a father. 186. "Welfare. Cf. "Farewell." 189. Lord Lytton has traced this beautiful simile to a poem by the Abbe de Chaulieu, who lived 1G30 — 1720, and whose verses were popular when G. travelled on the Continent: ** Tel qu' un rocher dont la tete Egalant le Mont Athoa, Voit a ses pieds la temj^ete Troublant le calme dea fiats, La mer autour bruit et gronde : Malgru ses emotions Sur son froi^t eleve r6gne une paix profonde." " Every one," says Lord Lytton, " must own that, in copying, G. wonderfully improved the original, and his application of the image to the Christian preacher gives it a moral sublimity to which it has no pretension in Chaulieu." Cf. Young, Night Thought:): *' As some tall tower, or lofty mountain brow Detains the sun, illustrious from its height, "While rising vapours and descending shades, \Yith damps and darkness down the spacious vale, Philander thus augustly rears his head." The lines 189 — 192 may be transposed as follows : " As eternal sunshine settles on the head of some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, swells from the vale, and leaves the storm midway, though the rolling clouds are spread round its breast, so perpetual happiness marked the highest aspirations of the par- son." The principal proposition is understood, and the proposition \ NOTES TO I'RSKRTED VllJ ACE. 97 '■:\i\ a y s "Ah (in the case '^fl some tall cliff eternal sunshine settles on its lien(]," may he talien as a complement of degree to "bo " which modifies the verb of the principal proposition 103. Straj?'j;»iig.«rUii trimmed. 194. Unprofltably gay. This is scarcely correct, as the young species is used as food for horses and cattle. lOf). Goldsmith is supposed here to have drawn the portrait of his own early teacher of whom Irving writes : " At six years of age he passed into the hands of the village school-master, one Thomas (or, as he was commonly and irrever- ently named, Paddy) Byrne, a capital ti:tor for a poet. He had . been educated for a pedagogue; hut had enlisted in the army, roamed ahroad during the wars of Queen Anne's time, and risen to the ranks of a quartermaster of a regiment in Spain. At the return of peace, having no longer exercise for the sword he re- sumed the fenile, and drilled the urchin populace of Lissoy. There are certain whimsical traits in the character of Byrne, not given in the sketch. He was fond of talking of his vagabond wanderings in foreign lands, and had brought with him from the wars a world of campaigning stories,in which he was generally the hero, and which he would deal forth to his wondering scholars when he ought to have heen teaching them their lessons. These travellers' tales had a powerful effect upon the vivid imagination of Goldsmith, and awakened an unconquerahle passion for wan- dering and seeking adventure. Byrne was, moreover, of a ro- mantic vein, and exceedingly supei'stitious. He was deeply versed in the fairy superstitions which ahound in Ireland, all which he professed implieitly to helieve. Under his tuition Goldsmith soon hecame almost as great a proficient in fairylore. From this hranch of good-for-nothing knowledge, his studies, .by an easy transition, extended to the histories of rohhers, pirates, smugglers, and the whole race of Irish rogues and rapparees. Everything, in short, that savored of romance, fable, and adven- ture was congenial to his poetic mind, and took instant root there ; hut the slow plants of useful knowledge were apt to he overrun, if not choked, hy the weeds of his quick imagination. Another trait of his motley preceptor, Byrne,was a disposition to liahhle in poetry, and this likewise w^as caught hy his pupil. Be- fore he was eight years old, Goldr mith had contracted a hahit of i't ', *w i* t!:,!'C ilifl r.if \'\ i "11 ;i ■; <; ,.i; 98 NOTES TO DESERTED VILLAGE. scribbling versoH on small scraps of paper, which, in a little while, he would throw into the fire. A few of these scribbling leaves, however, were rescued from the flames and conveyed to his mother. The good woman joad them^viih a mother's de- light, and saw at once that her son was a genius and a poet. From that time she beset her hiisband with solicitations to give the boy an education suil-able to liis talents," 197. Stern to view. Cf. " A house to let." For the use of active instead of the passive, see Scott's Lay of the Last Min- strel, Canto I. Stanza 1 : " Word and fi[)ell, dearly to hear and dearly to tell." 198. Truant. Originally "a wanderer." Its present meaning is found in Shakespeare. M. Wives V. 1: " Since I plucked geese, played truant^ and whipped top, I knew not what 'twas to be beaten till lately." 199. Bortlng. " To liode," formerly meant to presage either good or evil but now generally restricted to the latter. Cf. Shakespeare's Tevipest Act. Ill, 1. — " Invest, what best is boded me, to mischief." Macbethf IV, 1. — "Sweet bodements I Goodl** Dryden, " It boded well to you." 201. Counterfeited. From *' contra" and " facio." 203. Circling. Cf. 19. 204. Conveyed. Con and veho. 205. Aught. A S awight. Cf. "Wight." 206. Fault. The imperfect rhyme of " auglit '* and " fault " is similar to that of Pope. " Before his sacred name flies every fault And each exalted stanza teems with thought." We have dropped the French pronunciation {faute) through the influence of spelling. 208. Could. Originally spelled " coud." By association with "would," ''should," the I was inserted. Cipher. Arab sifr; French chiffre. 209. Tei«ns. The sessions of the universities and law courts. Tides. Seasons. Cf. Shakespeare, King Jb/m III. Ij "Among (he high tides the Calender." We have in use, " nooututa. ' 'il NOTES TO DESERTKD VILI.AGF. 99 " Bpringtido," ' Whitsuntide," eto. " Tide " is akin to the Gcr- man " zeit." We have here the usual meaning. • Preaaije. Free and aagio, to perceive. 210. Gauge. French jauger. 212. E'en. This adverb modifiea the adverbial proposition " though (he were) vanquished." VanqulnUed. Latin vanesoo. 218. Forgot. Curtr.iled forms (spoke, broke, forgot, chid, wrote, etc.) ar«» common among earlier writers. Cf. Shakes- peare, Cymb, II, 5 : "Lucius liath wrote already to the Emper- or." King Lear: " He hath wrote this." Tennyson's Two Voices : "And is not our first y cur forgot.** 221. Nut-brown. Cf. Milton, I/'aZfll^rro, 100; " Then to the spicy rvut-hrown ale." The word is also applied to a brunette complexion, as in the old ballad of " The Nut-brown Maid." 222. Mirth and toil are examples of metonymy. 226. Parlour. French ^ar/e/-, to speak. 227. Wall, Floor, Clock &c., are in apposition to " splen- dours " 228 Varnislietl. Low Latin, vernix. Clicked. Cf. 28. 229. Debt— duty. 230. " Goldsmith's chaste pathos makes him an insinuating moralist, and throws a charm of Claudo-like softness over his de- scriptions of homely objects, that would seem only fit to be the subjects of Dutch paintings. But hia quiet enthusiasm leads the affections to humble things without a vulgar association ; and he inspires us with a fondness to trace the simplest recollections of Auburn, till we count the fur?aiture of its ale-house, and listen to the 'varnished clock' tbp.t clicks behind the door." — Camp- helVs British Poets. 231. ^so' Probably to hide defects. 232. Tlie twelve good rules. These were, "1. Urge no no state Make no healths ; 2, Profane no divine ordinances ; 3. Touch matters ; 4. Reveal no secrets ; 5. Pick no quarrels ; 6. comparisons ; 7. Maintain no ill opinions j 8. Keep no bad com panv; 9« Encourage no vice; 10. Make no long meals: 11. Ee i i i.i L :i' .< I i'lj 1 uihiV ' Ev' ■*' S?*' ■' ■■,'•■ «'.■ 'T' 1 ■ ''^^i '1 ; ',; ,i ' 't'S :4:.=> ?' - . i,i.^ \ • ,'ji' 1 • ; '[? \ 'i '.''V, J ' 4w 1 f 4 £ rB fl ■ '»'■ '■ii M 1 ' W^ '''nli 9 TOO NOTES TO DESERTED VILf.AGE. peat no grievances ; 12. Lay no wagers." These rulea were as- cribed to Charles I. Cf. Graibhe'a Parish Begister: " There is king Charles and all his golden nilcs, Who proved Misfortune's was tho ])est of schools." Royal game of Goose. Some have supposed this to be the or. dinary game of " fox and geese," hut it refers to a much more elal)orate pastime. According to Strutt's Sjwrts and Pastimes^ bk. IV. ch. 2, a board was divided into sixty-two compartments, and sixty-three, the winning number, was in the centre. Count- ers or markers were moved on by each plaj^er according to the throw of a pair of dice, and the one who first reached the central number won the game. To pass five where was a bridge a for- feit was necessary ; at nineteen was an ale-house where another forfeit was exacted and tlie player had to stop two throws ; at thirty, a fountain, where pay for washing was required; at forty- two, a labyrinth, that carried him back to twenty- three ; at fifty- two, a prison, where he must remain until another cast the same throw; at fifty-eight, the grave, where he was obliged to begin the game again ; and at sixty-one, the goblet, which he had to pay to taste. It was called the game of goose because at every fourth and fifth compartment in succession a goose was depicted. and if the counter came upon a goose, the player moved forward double the number of his throw. 234. Aspea. A kind of poplar. Cf. Scott, Marmion VI, 30 ' " Variable as the shade By the light quivering as;pen made." Fennel. A strong smelling plant with yellow flowers. Gay. Agrees with " hearth." 235. Oliimney. The fireplace. Cf. Wilion., L' allegro'. "And stretched out all the chimney'a length." Shakespeare, Cymb, II. 4; " The cliimnejj is south the chamber." 236. " An ale-house on the supposed site of this, in the De- serted Village, and with the sign of the * Three Jolly Pig- eons,' (in honor doubtless of Tony Lumpkin) was rebuilt or re- paired by Mr. Hogan, the poet's relative." — Prior's Life. " The pool, the busy mill, the house where ' nut-brown draughts inspired,' are still visited as tiie poetic scene ; and the hawthorn bush growing in an open space in front of the house, which I NOTES TO DESERTED VILLAGE. lOJ knew to have three trunks, is now reduced to one; the other two having jeen cut, from time to timt;, by persons carrying away pieces of it to be made into toys, etc., in honour of the dead, and of the celebrity of his poems." — Letter of Dr. Strean. 237. Transitory. Trails and eo. 238. Reprieve.= respite. The word is generally used with reference to a criminal. Here it means to delay the decay of the mansion. 239. Obscure. Sinks into obscurity. 240. Cf. Burn's, Tarn 0. Shunter : " Things may be bleat but Tam was glorious O'er a' the ills o*life victorious." - And Horace, Odes, III. 21. " Addis cornua pauper i." 241. Peasant. Cf. The Traveller, 83. Repair. Frt^nch repairer, to visit one's native country. Be- pair, to mend, is from the Latin, reparare, literally, to " prepare again." «* 242. Oblivion. Latin oblivio. 243. TUe farmer^s news. Obtained by his visits to the neighboring market. Tlie barber's tale. The barbers formerly practised as surgeons and were noted for their garrulity. Cf . Their character in the Arabian Nights. 244. Wootlman. Formerly applied to a hunter. Cf. Shakes- peare, Merry W. of W. V, 1 : " Am I a woodman, ha ? Speak I like Heme the hunter o>» Ballad. Q-r. hallo, to throw. By the " woodman's ballad " may be meant some tale of Bobin Hood, the hero of foresters. "Bal- lad" was originally applied to a song sung during a dance, but in the last century its present meaning came into use. In Shakes- peare's time it denoted a song of any kind. Of. As you like it: " And then the lover Sighing like furnace with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow." 245. Sniltk. This term was applied to all trades which callecl •;. V S?F« '■'hi IO» NOTKS lO DESERTED VILLAGE. for the u^e of the hammer. It is derived from " smiteth " mean- ing one who beats. 246. Ponderous. Latin pondus. I^ean to lieai*. Cf. Wordsworth: " And she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round." &c. 248. Mantling bliss. The foaming cup. An example of me- , tony my. Cf. Pope : " And the hrain dances to the mantling bowl." And Tennyson, In Memoriam, CIV : " Nor howl of wassail fgnantle warm." 249. Cf. Horace, Odes, I, IX, 24 : •* digito male pertinaci." 250. Kiss tlie ctip, Cf . Ben. Johnson's. " O leave a kiss but in the cup.** And Scott's Marmion, V, 12 : " The bride kissed the goblet, the knight quaffed it np." 252. Train. Cf. 17. « ^ 253. Congenial. Supply " more " before " congenial." 254. Native. Opposed to what is " artificial." Gloss. Akin to "glass." Gloss, an explanatoiy note,is from grZossa the tongue. 255. Spontaneous, Those that are not produced by artificial means. Play. Free action. 256' First-born. Natural, or such as are not the result of art. 257. Vacant. Cf. 122. 258. Cf. Paradise Lost, II. 185 : " Unrespited, unpitied, unrepriev'd." m, 231. " Comes unprevented, uninfplor'd, unsought." V, 899. " Unshaken, unseduc'd, unterrified." Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice, III, 2 : " Is an unlesFon'd girl, unschool'd, unpractis'd." Byron, Childe Harold : " Without a grave, unkneU'd, nncofl&u'd and unknown." Scott, Lay of the Last Minstrel : " Unwept, unhonour'd and unsung." Mi \OTES TO DESERTED VILLAGE. 103 259. Pomp. Originally meant " train " or " procession.** Matiqueracle. Cf. Pope : " In courtly balls and midnight masquerades" 260. Freaks. Tricks of excessive wealth. 261. These. In apposition with " pomp " and " masquerade.'* which are governed by " in. ' Ti-iHers. A. S. trifelan. Latin trivialis. Cf. " trivial." 262. Pleasure with its toil and weariness becomes a pain. 263. E'en. Adverb modifyiifig the following adverbial propos- ition. 265. Survey. = observe. 267. "Wide the limits stand. What a great difference exists. Limit.. Latin limes, a boundary. 268. An liappy land. See on 93. Cf. Citizen of the world, I : " There is a wide difference between a concLuering and a flour- ishing empire." 269. Proud. A predicate adjective. Freighted. Cf. "fraught." 270. Folly, Personification. 271. E'en. Modifying " beyond the miser's wish." 272. The country becomes the centre of the world's wealth and commerce. 273. The amount of money in circulation affects the price of com^raodities. 274. Product. Not " product." 275. Cf. Horace, OdeSy II, 15 : foi a similar complaint. See also Odes, H, 18, 19—28 277. Space. Supply " takes up," or place " space " in apposi- tion with '* space " in 276. 278. Equipage. Latin equus, a horse. Csirriages and retinue are meant. 279. Silken. Notice the transfer from " robe." 280. Half their growth. Cf. 40, The robe is represented as costing half the rent of the neighboring fields. 281. His seat. An example of rnetonymi/ , Solitary. Scarcely so. 282. Indignant. For " indignantly '' by enallage. 283. Goldsmith means that the couutry barters away its useful products for. foreign luxuries. I"!*!;. ^m m f ■1^ / h*> Ug 104 NOTES TO DESERTED VILLAGE. 285. Adorned for pleagnre, all &c. Some editions have the punctuation thus : •♦ Adorn'd for pleasure all," All. An adverb modifying " in barren splendor." With a differ- ent punctuation it would be taken with 'pleasure. 286. Barren. In an economical sense. Tlie fall. Distinguish from " its fall." 287. Female. Modern use woijd expect " woman." Plain. Not " ugly " but " simple in dross." Cf. Horace OcZes, I, V, " simplex munditiis." Cf . Thomson's Autumn : " Veil'd in a simple robe, their best attire, Beyond the pomp of dress ; for loveliness Needs not the foreign aid of ornament, But is when unadorn'd adorn'd the most." 288. Secure to please. Confident of pleasing. Cf. 145. Reif;n. Her sway. 289. With the natural charms of youth she does not need those of dress, and the beauty of her eyes is siifficient of itself to win. 291. Frail. Latin fragilis. 293. Solicitous to bless. Anxious to secure lovers on whom phe may bestow her favors. 294. Glaring impotence. With all her display she cannot make up for the lost charms of youth. 297. Verging. As it verges or tends. 298. Vistas. Views. Lat. video. * Palaces. Cf. Traveller, 179. 299. The peasant is driven away by the scourge from the land which his own labor had made fertile and lovely. In some editions this couplet is punctuated thus : — " While scourg'd by famine, from the smiling land The mournful pejisant leads his humble band." 301. Cf. Roscoe's Nurse. " Sinks the poor babe without a ^ hand to save." 302. To the rich a garden and to the poor a grave. '• Although Goldsmith has not examined all the points ana bearings of the question suggested by the changes in society which were passing before his eyes, he has strongly and affect- iugly pointed out the immediate evils with which those changes were pregnant. Nor, while the picture of Auburn delights the NOTES TO DESERTED VILLAGE. 105 fancy, does it make a useful appeal to our moral sentiments. It may be well sometimes that society, in the very pride and triuni))h of its improvement, should be taught to pause and look back up- on its former steps, to count the virtues that have been lost, or the victims that have been surprised by its changes." — Camp- bell's Lectures. 304. To 8cape. Commonly printed 'scape. Cf. Bacon Adv. of L. II, 14, 9 : " Such as had scaped shipwreck." Shakespeare uses *' scapo " oftener than "escape" Cf. Also "squire" and " esquire," " siiite " and " estate," " spy " and " espy," " stablish " and " establish," etc. Contiguous. Cf. Traveller, 179, and Vicar of W. " The mortification of contiguous tyranny." 805. " The enclosure of commons, a measure by no means al- ways dictated by mere greed, but sometimes in the highest de- gree prudential and considerate, has always been an extreme, popular grievance. See Latimer's Last Ser^non preached before King Edward VI) Ballads on the Condition of Eng. in Henry VIII.s reign, etc. Part I, ed. Furnivall, p. 64, etc., etc. Some IGOO or 1700 Inclosure Acts are said to have been passed before the beginning of the present century. Goldsmith ignores the fact that " half a tillage stinted the plains," where the old commons lay extended. If the enclosure were made without proper com- pensation to the commoners, then assuredly nothing can be more shameful." — Hales. 308. Even. An adjective. When this poem was published (1770) there was a general de- spondency and hopelessness as to the political future of England. The population was said to be rapidly decreasing and bankruptcy was expected by many, owing to the increase of the national debt. The country was, however, extending its commerce and manufactures while the rapid flow of emigration to the American colonies and enclosure of commons were evidences of the in- crease of population and growth of national prosperity. 310. To see profusion &c. Supply " waits." 311. Baneful. "Bane," originally meant "poison." Cf. " henbane," " ratsbane." 312. Pamper. French pamprer, to fill with vine-leaves. Lat. j)ampinus. ■f: ■ Hi! iX2 ^'"L I ; K: ;. I'M ^ ■ 'mi ■ 'Ml io6 NOTES TO DESERTED VILLAGE. 313.' Sons of pleasure. Cf . 807. 314. Extorted. Latin extorqueo. 315. Brocaile. French hrochcr, to ein"boss. 316. Artlst=artisan. The latter was formerly used in the sense of our " artist." Cf . The Guardian : ^ " Best and happiest artisan^ Besi of painters, if you can "With yoia many-colon r'd art Draw the mistress of my heart.** And Waller, To the King : " How to build ships, and dreadful ordnance cast, Instruct the artists^ and reward their haste." Plies. Cf Spectator: *• I have plied my needle these fifty years." 317. Xjong-dra-vi'it pomps. Cf. Gray's Elegy : " The long-drawn aisle." And line 259 above. 318. Gibbet. French, gibet. 319. Dome. Used here in its primary sense. Cf. Traveller, 159. Johnson'ii London, 199. 320. G-orgeoiis. Old French, gorgias. 321. Grandeur. Metonymy. * ' 322. Rattling and Clash. Onomatopoeia. 323. Sure. For "surely," by e^io-ZZa^/e. 325. The thoughtless exclamations in the tw6 previous lines are here questioned. 826, Female. Compare 287. " These poor shivering females have once seen happier days, and been flattered into beauty. . . Perhaps now lying at the doors of their betrayers, they sue to wretches whose hearts are insensible." 328. Innocence. Cf. 321. Distrest=distressed. Cf. 12. 329. Migbt adorn. For " might have once adorned.** 330. Black, in Morley's English Men of Letters series, re- marks : — " Goldsmith wrote in a pre-Wordsworthian age, whf n even in the realms of poetry, a primrose was not much more than a primrose ; but it is doubtful whether, either before, dur- ing, or since Wordsworth's time, the seiitirjientthat the imagina- tion can infuse into the common and familiar things around us, NOTES TO DESERTED VILLAGE. 107 ever received more happy expresBiou than in the folluwiiig well- kuown line, — " Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn." No one has yet succeeded in defining accurately and conciRcly what poetry is ; but at all events this line is surcharged with a certain quality which is conspicuously absent in such a produc- tion as the Essay on Man** The construction of lines 329 and 3fi0 is faulty, " Sweet " is intended to be taken both adverbially and adjectively ; but the transposition would make the couplet read thus : " Her modest looks, which were as sweet as the primrose (is sweet) that peeps beneath the thoin, might once have adorned the cottage." The force of the simile also requires " sweetly " to be taken with " peeps." Primrose. Lat. prima and rosa. " A low perennial plant of the genius primula, bearing flowers in an umbrel." — Gray. 331. liost. Agrees with " she,* in the next lino. 333. Pindi'd. Fr. pinccr. Lat. j^ungo. Siirinkiiig. A. S. Scrincan. Sbo^er. A. S. Scar. 334. Deplores. Lat. de and ploro. 335. Idly. Weary of a dull country life. A^iiEbitious of tlie town. Longing for a city life. 336. IVlieel. The spinning wheel. 337. Brown. Cf. The transfer in 279. Cf. Mrs. Browning'^ A Tear's Spinning f and also Burn's Bessie and her Spinning Wheel. 337. Tlilno. Consult Mason's Grammar, page 44. 338. Tribes— inhabitants. Latin, tres. "Tribes" is in ap- position with " train." Participate is generally followed by the preposition " in." 339. The transition to the subject of emigration is well made by the introduction of this supposition. 341. No. Equivalent to a negative proposition. * Clime. Greek, klino " to slope." Scene. Li apposition to " climes.** 342. Convexa Cf. Virgil .BcZ. iv., 50. . * ! a," .^ io8 NOTES TO DESERTED VILLAGE. •' Nutantem convexo pondere raundum." and JEn. iv., 457. " Tffidet coeli convexa tueri." Tnti'udp. Trudo, I thrust. 348. To"ay. For the heat of the da^, by vietonymy^ Cf. Pope, Messiah : " And on the sightless eyeball pour the y as twenty-four, horny, membraneous cells, articulated one within the other, so that the point of the first ^ell reaches as far as the base of the third ; the inside cells are so loose as to strike against the outer rings and cause a rattling noise. Rattle-snakes are said to have formerly been seen in Canada. 355. " This is a poetical license ; the American tiger, or jaguar, NOTE? TO DESERTED VII [,AOE. 109 being nnkncwn on the banks of the Altamaha." -Mitlbrd. Cf. i'24. The jaguar is fonnd in South America. The pimia, another flpecies of tigor, is found in Noi"th ami South Amoiica. Wall, Used transitively. 35C. Cf. Sir W. Temple, ** To savap:e beasts who on the weaker prey Or human savages more wild than they." 357. Tovuailo, Spanish, torreada, a return. A sudden ana violent storm having a progressive motion and of limited extent. They are frequent in the Wost Indies and ether southern countries. Some have happened in Canada. 368. Cf. Virgil JEn. i., 134. " Jam cffilum terramque meo sine numine, venti. Miscere et tantus audetis tollere moles ?" Lanfl«!cai>e. A. S. " landscipo." Consult Eaile, Philology of the Enqlish Tongue, page 30'> . 360. The contrast between the two regions is very well put by the e|)itliets chosen : the " cooling brook " is opposed to the "wild Altama"; the "grassy vested green "to the scorched and arid plain ; the "breezy covert of the warbling grove" to the " mat- ted woods where birds forget to sing " ; the " thefts of harmless love " to terrors of the venomous reptiles and savage beuats that lurk in the vast forest of Georgia. 361. "Warbling. Tramferred epithet. Cf. " Finny deep." Traveller, 187. 362. Cf. Thomson's Seasons, — Winter: " Snatched hasty from the side-long maid On purpose guardless, or pretending sleep." and Virgil Georg. TV. 345 : "Inter quas curam Clymene narrabg,t inanem Vulcani Martisque dolor et dnlcia, furta." 363 Gloomed. Transitive; qr " day " may be an objective of of time. 364. That = which. Consult Mason's Grammar, page 4b. 365. Plea8UJ.-e. Nom. absolute. 366. Hung. This form of the past tense was common in the last century. Cf. Earle, Philol. page 264. Look'd. Made transitive by means of a cognate object. • V. I 4' I iH i,, ( '■ I'i'i {.' ;■! H!'; l-fm M ill no NOTES TO DESERTED VILLAGE. 868. Main. 371. 873. 874. 376. eaten. 879. 8»1. 884. 867. F«rewell. Cf. Eervry VIII., iii., 2. " Farewell, a long farewell to all my greatness." Seats. Latin, " Sedes." Originally as here, a substantive. Sire. Latin Senior. Old French Sire. Cf. Gold- smith's Threnodia Augustalia. " The good old aire, unconscious of decay." Conscious virtue. Cf. Virgil, Mru. xii., 668. " Et Furiis agitatus amor, et conscia virtus." Only. Modifies " for worlds beyond the grave." Companion. Literally a perBou with, whom bread is Latin, pania, bread. Plaints. French, plaindre. Latin plango. Thoughtless. " Unoonscious." snent manliness.. Manly silence. The first edition has " decent manliiiess." 885. liuxury. An example oiperaonificationtind. apostrophe. 886. liUce These. Eeferring to the innocence and happi- ness of country life. 387. Potions. Latin " potio." From the same root we have through the French "poison." Cf. *• regal" and "royal," "in- cantation" and •* enchantment," "legality" and " loyalty," etc. 890. .Florid. By luxury, kingdoms are represented as obtain- ing a prosperity which is not real. Their condition is compared to that of persons possessing flushed and bright complexions, which are by no means sure signs of good health. 391. Cf . Traveller, 144. Also Citizen of World I: " In short the state resembled one of those bodies bloated with disease, whose bulk is only a symptom of its wretchedness ; their former opulence only rendered them more impotent." 393. Strength. Nom. absolute. Just as a sapper under- mines a wall so luxury eats away their strength. 394. Down. Notice the treble alliteration 897. Methinks. "Me" in this word is the dative and " thinks " (A. S. thincan) is impersonal. In Chaucer we find "himthoughte,""hem thoughte," "itthinketh me," etc. Such verbs as " it rains," " it snows," etc., should properly be styled uniperaonal. Pondering. Latin pondua. NOTES TO DESERTED VILLAGE. II I 896. An example of vision. It was a favourite idea with the ancient poets that virtues de- parted from, and returned to, lands as the conditions were favour- able to their growth or the reverse. Cf. Virgil, Oeorg. ii., 478. " extrema per illos Jnstitia excedens texris vestigia fecit." Eel iv. 6. " Jam redit ; redennt Saturnia regna." So Pope, Messiah. "All crimes shall cease, and ancient fraud shall fail; Beturning Justice lift aloft her scale." 899. Ancliorlng. At anchor. 401. Melanchioly. Greek melas black, and chole bile. This is one of a class of words which arose from the old theory of medicine. According to this theory there were four principal moistures or humours in the body, on the due proportion and combination of which the disposition of both mind and body depended. Consult Trench, Study of Word8,lectare III. 402. " He seems to distinguish between shore and strand^ mak- ing strand mean the beach, the shore in the most limited sense of the worri. Shore and shores are often used very loosely ; as : •*He left his native shore "= he left his native land. There is no etymological reason for any such distinction. Shore is ul- timately connected with shear, shears^ shire j share. Strand is the oldest English. Strand, a margin or border. — ^Hales. " The scene which Goldsmith so pathetically describes, of the poor villagers whose homes had been destroyed, whose native haunts had been made to cast them forth, going on towards the shore seeking for an asylum beyond the ocean, is not a solitary scene. It has been repeated from that hour to this ; and every year, and almost every day, sees sad thousands bidding adieu to their birthplaces." — Howitt. 405. So the Apostle commands, " Set your affections on things above, not on things on the earth." — Col. iii., 2. 407. Cf. 386. For the gender of "poetry" consult Mason's Grammar, page 17. 408. Fly = shun. 409. Unlit. " XJnsuited ; not from any fault or defect in her- self, bat because the times are degenerate." — Eolfe. :''■ i, ^0 i-,l» J.I A' ' mil- i ■m m m it' ■ m I 12 NOTES TO DLSEKTED VILLAGE, DegoneiAte. Cf. ILorace, Odes, i'li., vi., 46. " -^tas parentuin, pejor avis, tiiii* No9 nequioreH, niox datiiiod Progenium vitioaior^i ui." 411. Cf. Burns. " Hail poesie ! thou nymph reserved !" Xympli. Greek numphe. The name was applied to a nume- rous class of beautiful deities with which the Greeks peopled all tlie regions of earth and water ; as the mountain nymphs, or Oreades ; the dale-nymphs, or Napete ; the water-nymphs, or Naiades ; the wood-nymphs, or Dryades, etc. These female spirits were supposed to preside over all pursuits, and so Gold- smith addresses poetry as " dear charming nymph." CI. Virgil Eel. VII. 21. " NymphsB, noster amor, Libethrides." Decried = cried down. 412. Solitary pride = my pride in solitude. 413. Allmybligg. Cf. Wither's address to the Muee in IA« Shepherd's Hunting : '• And though for her sake I'm crost, Though my best hopes I have lost, And knew she would make my trouble Ten times more than ten times double, I should love and keep her too, Spite of all the world could do. * * * * « She doth tell me where to borrow Comfort in the midst of «orroVi', Makes the desolatest place To her presence be a grace, And the blackest discontents To be pleasing ornaments. Therefore, thou best earthly bliss, I will cherish thee for this — Poesy, thou sweet'st content That e'er heaven to mortals lent." &o. 414. Many pcets in all ages have made the same complaint, NOTES TO DLSERllOL) VIIJ.AGI-:. 113 B- d )r )r il M 416. Painting, Music, eto., aio called " uobler " when cuntrabtr ed with the manual arts. 416. Nurse. Latin nuirio, T nouriHh. Pare thee "well. " Thee " = thou. 4 18. Tori»o'» cllir«. There is a river Tomea forming part of the boundary between Norway and Sweden. In Sweden thire is also a lake of the same name. Cf. Campbell. " Cold as the rccka on Torneo'H hoary brow." Pambaniarca. One of the AndeB near Quito in South America. Height about 13,500 feet. 419. Equinoctial fervours.. Equinoctial heat. 422. Redrei»«. French, dresser. Latin, diriijo. Cf . Traveller ^ 176, and Gray, Froyreaa of Poesy, 54, 62. 423. Strpin. A song is prohably so called from the effort necessary to produce the sound. 424. Kage of gain = rajje for gain = Itiori furor. 426. Very blest. «' Blest " may be regarded as an adjective, "Very" is not joined to participles. 427. The last four lines, Boswell teUs us, were added by Dr. Johnson. 427. Trade. Literally " trodden way." Commerce is meant. 428. Mole. Latin, moles, a mass. A mound or break- water at the mouth of a harbour. Cf. Cicero, De Off. ii., 4. " Moles oppositfiB fluotibus.* Horace, Odes iii., 1 " Jactis in altum molibus." 439. Self -dependent. The popular argur^ent for Protection or a "National Policy " is embodied in this line. 430. Slcy = the weauher, like the Latin caluin. If! t f >fl .1 'I '1 L>:l'^ ^S^ ) >'-^^.-'' c ;'i "li -S>2>J^^ ^^%C^ LIFE OF WILLIAM OOWPER. ♦•»■ The Cowper Family. — Of considerable antiquity and importance was the nobility from which William Cowper came. His first historical ancestor, a certain John Cow- per, was a landholder at Strode, in Sussex, in the fiftei.aith century. Several of John's descendants held the o/Hce of Sheriff of London, and one, William Cowper, nipxle a bar- onet by James I. , suHered imprisonment in the stormy days of the Commonwealth. This royalist's grandson, Sir Wil- liam, had two sons, the elder oi whom, also called William, became the Whig Lord Chancellor of Anue and George L, and first Earl Cowper ; and the younger, rtamed Spencer, was Chief Justice of Chester and a Judge of the Common Pleas. Spencer's second son was the Rev. John Cowper, D.D., chaplain to George IL, rector of Berkhampstead, Hertfordshire, and father of the poet. Dr. Cow[)er mar- ried Anne, daughter of Roger Donne, of the same family as Dr. John Donne, the f.imous poet and Dean of St. Paul's and descended by several lines from Henry III '■' 5 "■? '■■'4 1 I m • ; .'■!(■ H ■ I LIKE OF WILLIAM COWPER. /ith parents of 3uch lofty lineage the sympathetic ten- di'incss, piety and humility of Willian^ Cowper shine with addit:oual grace and lustre. Birth and Childiiood.— William Cowper was born in his father's rectory, Berkhampstead, on the 15th of ISo- veniber, (old style), 1731. He was one of six children, of whom only himself and his brother John, the youngest of the family, grew up to manhood. The birth of the latter cost the life of the mother, and Cowper was left in his sixth year deprived of one who watched over his infancy with untiring tenderness, and whom he remembers through all his life with feelings of undiminished regard and af- fection. The loss which a child sustains by the death of a pious and devoted mother was a more than ordinary mis- fortune to one of his temperament. Had she been spared to guard and nurture his budding childhood, his life mi,tfht have been attended with more happiness and less weak- ness. Fifty years after her death, Cowper does not forget the mother wiiose hand wrapped the little scarlet cloak about him, tilled his little satchel with biscuits and held him by her knee, before the coldness of the world render- ed more melancholy a disposition little adapted by nature to endure the troubles of life. Of her he writes to his fri<^nd Hill, ''lean truly sa,j, that not a week passes, perhaps I might with equal veracity say a day, in which I do not think of her. " The touching and beautiful lines, " On the Receipt of My Mother's Picture," fully attest the strength and permanence of his filial affection. To his cousin, Mrs. Anne Bodham, he wrote in 1790, as she re- called herself to his remembrance by sending the picture of his mother, " Every creature that has any afhnity to my mother is dear to me, and you, the daughter of her brother, are but one remove distant from me ; I love you therefore, .and love you much, both for her sake and for LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. f| j: your own. The world could not have furnished you with a present so acceptable to me as the picture you have so kindly sent me." In the same letter he says, "There is in me more of the Donne than of the Cowper, and though I love all of both names, and have a thousand reasons to love those of my own name, yet I feel the bond of nature draw me vehemently to your side." Attends Market Street School. — That sensibility of nerve and delicacy of sentiment which Cowper inherited from his mother were ill suited to enable a boy of six years of age to endure the hardships and brutality of a large English boarding school. To send a young child from home to such institutions is a great risk now. The risk was far greater in Cowper's time, and to one of his timid nature it was a grave and cruel mistake. No maternal solicitude such as the fragile and affectionate boy needed, was exhibited at Dr. Pitman's school at Market Street, a town on the border of Hertfordshire and Bedfordshire. No wonder that under the organized anarchy of school- boy life he became the butt, the victim, of older and rougher companions. That system of bullying which Can- adian boys regard as the reverse of manly, was sufficient to crush the spirit of one so morbidly shy as Cowper. One in particular treated him with such barbarity that he says he was afraid to lift his eyes upon him higher than hib knees. The recollection of this boarding school doubtless at a later day, inspired the plea for a home education in Tirocinium : — " Then why resign unto a stranger's hand A task so much within your own command. That God and nature, and your interest too, Seem with one voice to delegate to you ? Why hire a lodging in a house unknown For one whose tcnderest thoughts all hover round youv own ?" Westminster School, 1741. — Inflammation of tho • • S! ' ' " ^ ! ^ > ' , I LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. eyes, after two years' residence at Dr. Pitman's School, made it necessary to place him under the treatment of an eminent oculist by whom the progress of the disease was sufficiently checked to enable him to enter Westminster School in the tenth year of his age. Although Westmin- ter must have had in those days many hardships and much suffering for the smaller and younger boys, yet Cowper spent here seven of the happiest years of his life. In spite of his natural diffidence and gentleness of manner, he soon became popular among his fellow-students and earned a reputation with the Masters for scholarship. Cricket and football benefited his delicate constitution, and proficiency in these sports secured friendships amongst his school-fel- lows. Under Vincent Bourne he became well acquainted with Latin and Greek and acquired the literary form and culture which the classical languages so well furnish. Many of his contemporaries at Westminster afterwards rose to eminence — for example, Warren Hastings and Impey, the famous Indian statesmen ; Cumberland and Collins, the dramatists ; Churchill, the satirist, and Lloyd, the litterateur. He did not forget the *' innocent, sweet, simple years " of his school-boy life. Nearly forty years after leaving school he wrote to Unwin, '* I was a school- boy in high favour with my master, received a silver groat for my exercise, and had the pleasure of seeing it sent from form to form for the examination of all who were able to understand it. " In the same letter he says, * * He who cannot look forward with comfort, must find what com- fort he can in looking backward. Upon this principle I, the other day, sent my imagination upon a trip thirty years behind me. She was very obedieixt, and at last set me down in the sixth form at Westminster. I fancied myself once more a schoolboy — a period of life in which, if I had never tasted real happiness, I was at least equally una- LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. quainted with its contrary." Even in Tirocinium ojcui these lines: *• Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise^ We love the play-place of our early days." In the Memoir which he drew up for the private peru- sal of Mrs. Unwin, his impressions of this period of his life appear quite different. It is one of the saddest of Cow- per's productions. Bitter things he writes of himself, and complains of the lack of religious influences in Westmin- ster. He represents himself as "totally depraved" in principles and an "adept in the infernal art of lying." No doubt the Memoir was composed under the influence of religious feelings when the enthusiasm of a sincere con- version caused him to regard his former life as extremely wicked. A Law Student, 1748. — When Cowper reached his eighteenth year he was articled to Mr. Chapman, an attor- ney in London at the Middle Temple. The legal profes- sion was poorly suited to his taste and the choice was determined by family traditions and family influence. He disliked law and made no effort to overcome his aversion to it. His fair cousins Harriet, afterwards Lady Hesketh, and Theodora Jane, obtained more of his attention than his profession. The former was the friend and corres- pondent of Cowper throughout his later years, and to the latter he became bound by still tenderer ties. Their home was the constant resort of the law student, and a fellow-clerk in the oflSce frequently accompanied the em- bryo poet to his uncio's house. This companion, who subsequently became Lord Thurlow, was of a very different character. The story of his life during those days is fairly summed up in his own words to Lady Hesketh, "I did actually live three years with Mr. Chapman, that is to say, I slept three years at his house ; but I lived, that is to !l >-r)!i>M i il •, ' .h\, LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. say, I spoilt my days, in Southampton Row, as you verj well remember. There was I, and the future Lord Chan- cellor, constantly employed from morning to night in giggling and making giggle, instead of studying the law. " Meeting Thurlow several years subsequently he remarks : * ' Thurlow, I am nobody, and shall always be nobody ; and you wlil be Lord Chancellor. You shall provide for me when you are." "I surely will," replied Thurlow. *' These ladies," pursued Cowper, "are witnesses." "Let them be so," Thurlow answered, " for I will certainly do it. " The prediction of Cowper was fulfilled but the pro- mise of Thurlow was forgotten. They continued intimate, however, and Cowper received advice from the Chancellor in his translation of ETShier. Cowi)er having attained his majority in 1752 quitted Mr. Chapman's office and took chambers in the Middle, from which he subsequently re- moved to the Inner Temple; " He gave almost as little attention to law in the Temple as he had in the attorney's office. Of the Temple he speaks as being * ' stocked with its peculiar beaux, wits, poets, and every character in the gay world. " He further remarks, " It is a thousand pities that so pretty a society should be disgraced with a few dull fellows who can submit to puzzle themselves with cases and reports, and have not taste enough to follow the genteel method of studying the law." First attack of despondency, 1753 .—Either in this, or the following year, when Cowper was called to the bar, he first came under the power of that tendency to de- pression of spirits which assumed afterwards such a fearful shape. Various causes have been assigned for his madness. HI. usage at his first school and griet at the loss of his mother have been mentioned ; but Cowper appears to have been happy while attending Westminster. The loose principlcB of some of his associates while pursuing hia LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 7 )> professional studies, gave rise to the supposition that evil habits of youth brought on the disease. His confessions after conversion furnish no evideuce to sustain the charge. Some have supposed that the frustration of his hopes of marrying his cousin Theodora upset his mind. It is more likely that the malady had something to do with breaking off the match, though his uncle's consent was formally re- fused on the ground of the consanguinity between them. Theodora remained single all her life, surviving the poet twenty -four years. Her sincere affection may be imagined from the manner in which she treasured up the poems which Cowper had addressed to her, and also from the secret interest which she constantly manifested in his welfare. They never met again after her father's decision, but there is no proof that his mind was injuriously affected by this sudden termination of his courtshij). Some years after the separation he wrote to Lady Hesketh : "I still look baclSI'^to the memory of your sister, and regret her ; but how strange it is if we were to meet now, we should not have known each other !" When he became afterwards dependent on his family, an anonymous friend informed him that " whatever re- duction of his income might happen, it should be supplied him." Even the intimation that the writer is ** a person who loved him tenderly " did not suggest the author's name. Subsequently he receives several presents, but appears quite unconscious of the fact that the friendly donor was a woman who found no room for any one but her cousin in the recesses of her heart. " Fixed in her choice and faithful — ^but in vain." Religious influences have often been ascribed as the cause of Cowper's malady. Insinuations of similar charac- ter have more than once been unjustly made. There is conclusive evidence that the cliarge in this case is ground- ■ -'•■-(■ -I'Mf ■ >■■ r 8 ^ LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. less. His first attack was before he led a religions life, and while his associations were those of the Temple which were far from being evangelical. The truth is the disease was constitutional. The taint was in the family. In his last addresss to *' Delia," and in his poem on ** Disappoint- ment," in which he takes his farewell of Theodora, there are no indications of religious despair among the sources which he gives of his despondency. Most likely despair of success in his profession just after losing his father, his home, and a dear friend was the immediate cause, but the root of the disease was physical. Had he received a different training and experienced more sunshine and less shade the result might have been otherwise. Inclined naturally to look too much on the dark side, he had neither cheerful society nor congenial occupation to hold him up in a period of great despondency. Literary pursuits. — After removing to the Inner Temple in 1759, Cowper spent considerable of his time in classical pursuits, especially in the study of Homer. He be- came a member of the " Nonsense Club," which was com- posed of seven Westminster men who dined together every Thursday. Several had been his school associates of whom some have already been mentioned. He became a contri- butor to the Connoisseur J of which Bonnell Thornton and Colman were editors, and also sent occasional articles to to the St. James's Ghronicle, edited by Lloyd. Of Church- hill's verses he conceived an extravagant admiration al- though the vices of the author would have shocked a less delicate and scrupulous conscience than Cowper's. Both were Whigs ; and the severity with which his school-fel- lows lashed the * ' flagitious profligacy " of certain public personages appealed to the poet's sympathy. The only lasting friendship he formed with any of the members was that with Joseph Hill, the solicitor. He translated four LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. books of Voltaire's Henriade for his brother John. He had translated an elegy of Tibullus when he was fourteen, and while yet at Westminster had written a version of the L37th Psalm and an imitation of Philip's Splendid Shillhig. Suicide Attempted in 1764. — Cowper's professional prospects wore but slim and his slender finances were ra- pidly disappearing. The joint offices of Keading Clerk and Olerk of Committees to the House of Commons became vacant in 1763. Major Oowper, his kinsman, patentei^ of these appointments oifered them to the poet, who at once accepted them. Immediately, his inveterate diffidence in- duced a dread of an official position to which publicity was necessarily attached. He dreaded opposition to the appointment in the House of Lords and the terrors of an examination which was demanded to determine his fitness for the post. Horrible imaginings drove him to distrac- tion and he became quite mad, which led to an attempt to commit suicide. He has left us a painfully minute ac- count of his attempts to kill himself. A treatise in favor of suicide given to him by his father had been read in his 3'outh. Silent reasonings on the subject, he informs us, had made him think self-destruction was lawful. Lau- danum was bought but the love of life interposed, as it also did when he was about to throw himself into the Thames. The night before the day fixed for the examination before the House of Lords, *he lay with the point of his pen- kjiife pressed against his heart but his courage failed. A mere accident rendered his last attempt unsuccessful. The garter broke by which he had attempted to hang him- self, and the fall brought in the laundress. His brother was called to his assistance. The first words of the wretch- ed poet were, *'0, brother, I am damned." He was placed under the care of Dr. Cotton, of St. Albans. For ihe first five months his intellect was apparently destroy- v<,« 'M f J V ' I '\ ill ■I m r 'i^' ^■.t W mm TO LIFE OF WJLMAM COWl^LR. y ed. Gradually the soothing influence of the pio'js physi- cian had its eftbct. Of his recovery we have a full account from Cowper himself. We are informed that the cure was Jittended by a burst of religious faith and hope, but the medical treatment of a man of cultivated mind, liter- ary tastes and strong Christian principles was no doubt the means. By turning one day to a verse in the Epistle to the Romans he was able to state — "Immediately I re- ceived strength to believe, and the beams of the Sun of Righteousness shone upon me." With an experience of this character we cjin well understand how Cowper wrote at a later date : •* But, Jesus, 'tis thy light alone Can shine upon the heart." Instead of religion driving Cowper to madness it would be nearer the truth to say that it restored him from madness. At Huntingdon — The Unwins, 1765. — After a re- sidence of eighteen months at St. Albans, he went to live at Huntingdon, a quiet place within easy reach of Cam- bridge, where his brother was residing. A great part of his scanty fortune was gone, and a return to his profession was, of course, out of the question. His relatives agreed to provide him with a moderate income. It was accepted with becoming thankfulness. Cheerfulness and content- ment mark his disposition, but a nature so emotional as that of Cowper's required companionship. That spiritual ecstasy and heartfelt joy which the young convert expe- rienced rendered him hapj)y at iirst as an inhabitant of the quiet little town of Huntingdon. No one was less fitted than he to live the life of a recluse. To continue a lonely life would have brought on his malady. He required a home and cheerful friends, and the Unwins, with whom he soon became acquainted, furnished both. A family better fitted for an invalid like Cowper could not have been found. LIKK OK WILLIAM COWlMi:k. IT ,.ll Ho is never woary of expatiating on their virtues, Tije family consisted of tlie llev. Willijun Unwin, a wife niucl) younger than her hviaband, and a son and daughter. Old Mr. Unwin is described by Cowper as a "man of learning and good sense and as simple as parson Adams." His wife (the " Mary " of Cowper's poems) "hns avery uncoui- mon understanding, has read much to excellent ijurpose, and is more polite than a duchess." Young Mr. Unwin, who was a student ol Cambridge and preparing for holy orders, he regards as a " most amiable young man," and the daughter ** quite of a piece with the rest of the fami- ly." The religious revival of tho last century had been felt by the Un^vins. To one in Cowper's frame of mind they proved a great blessing. A vacancy having occurred by the departure of one of the clergynian's pupils the poet became a boarder in the house. On economical, as well as on religious grounds, it was a happy relief from the ex- •pensiveness and loneliness of bachelor housekeeping. Their society gave free play to his naturally amiable af- fections and spread a silver lining over the sable cloud of his misfortunes. Mrs. Unwin, especially, was the guardiaii angel of the troubled invalid. *' That v^oman," lie writeS; ** is a blessing to me, and I nevov see her with- out being the better for her company." Life in his new home is thus described : — " As to amusements — I mean what the woild calls such— "Wri have none. The place indeed swarms Avith tliem; and cards and dancing are the professional business of al- most all the gentle inhabitants of Huntingdon. Vv'^e refuse to take part in them, or to be accessaries to this way of murdering our time, and, by so doing, have acquired the name of Methodists. Having told you how we do not spend our time, I will next say how we do. We breaktast com- monly between eight and nine ; till oluveu, we reau either 12 LIFE OF VVH.MAM COWPKR. tho Scriptures or the sermons of some fuithf ul preacher oi those holy mysteries ; at eleven wo attend divine service, which is porformed here twice every day ; and from twelve to three we separate, and amuse ourselves as we please. During the interval, I either read in my own apart- ment, or walk, or ride, or work in the garden. We sel- dom sit an hour after dinner, but if tho weather permits, adjourn to the gurdon, where, with Mrs. Unwin and her son, I have generally the pleasure of religious conversa- tion till tea time. " A walk was generally taken during some part of tho day, and the evening finished with hymns, or a sermon and family prayer. At Olney— Mr. Newton, 1767.— The death of Mr. Unwin, who wjis killed by a fall from his horse, broke up a home at which Cowper had spent eighteen months of peace and tranquillity. Mr. Unwin had desired that in case of his death the poet should continue to live with hi^ widow. An indi soluble tie had been formed be- tween them, and were it not for a return of his malady, their meditated marriage would, in all probability, have subsequently taken place. A new dwelling-place was ren- dered necessary, but their companionship was unbroken through life. Olney, in Buckinghamshire, was chosen as their place of abode. Few places would have presented less attractions to ordinary persons. The country around was flat and marshy and liable to inundations of the Ouse during the winter months. Its inhabitants were not noted for , >S'A '\ 1 ■■■■' Si -I i8 LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. published the author was regarded as the greatest and most original poet of his age. The numerous congratula- tions received filled him with delight. Frionds who had taken little notice of him during his long season of ad- versity were now ready to renew acquaintance. Relatives were not ashamed to acknowledge him, Coleman writes to him " like a brother, " and even Thurlow is anxious to resume correspondence with him. Poems were submitted to his judgment, his company desired by literary men, and his portrait sought by famous painters. ^ Friendship with Lady Austen broken.—The love of retirement and industry in his literary works did not suit the ** worldly gaiety" of Lady Austen, and it is not surprising that a ** fracas " occurred between the two. To William XJnwin, Cow^Der gave an account of the trouble, but his statement is not sufficiently specific to enable a satisfactory opinion to be formed. A reconciliation took place, but a final rupture, in 1784, ended Lady Austen's 'riendship with her Olney friends. To Lady Hesketh the poet complained that he found his leisure for study and composition constantly interrupted. He had to neglect the Task to attend upon the Muse who had inspired the subject. It is more than probable that jealousy had something to do with the matter. She had regarded Cowper with feelings of tenderness which were not fully reciprocated. His attachment to "Sister Anne" may have been only brotherly. She may have thought other- wise. It has been said that a disagreement was quite natural where two women were continually in the society of one man. When we consider what care Mrs. Unwin had taken of the jjoet, it is not unpardonable on her part to have shown some feelings of jealousy. Lady Austen may also be pardoned if she failed to understand his Pla tonic friendships. In a poem to her he sang :— LIKE OF WILLIAM COWPER. *' The heart that beats beneath that breast Is William's, well I know ; A nobler prize, and richer far Than India could bestow." When it became a question with him whether he should give her up, or the one to whom he was bound by ties Oi deeper gratitude and affection, his decision was sucli as does him credit. Lady Austen had, during their ac- quaintp.nce, dissipated hift melancholy, stimulated his genius, and contributed new charms to his life, but *' Mary " had been to him a mother, who understood his religious emotions, sacrificed her own happiness for his comfort and safety, and even in his '* darkest shades" never neglected what she regarded as a sacred and Chris tian duty. Removal to Weston, 1786.— In the summer of 178G Lady Hesketh visited her cousin at Olney, and not being satisfied with the uncomfortable house where he lived, made arrangements for his removal to Weston in the autumn of the same year. For her kindness he expressed his " Gratitude " in the poem of that name. With her who had now been for nineteen years his constant partner he was transferred to *' The LodgeJ" owned by Mrs. Throck- morton, a Roman Catholic, with whose family Cowper had become intimate. Of the proprietor and Mr. Throckmor- ton, Cowper wrote to Mrs, UnwiUj ' * it is not possible to conceive a more engaging and agreeable character than the gentleman's or a more consummate assemblage of all that is called good-nature, complaisance, and innocent cheerfulness, than is to be seen in the lady." He was probably drawn to the family by their being Koman Catholics, and having sufl:ered no very kind treatment from some of their Protestant neighbors. His regard went so far that some linos in Expostulaticn containing an attack ; 11 32 COWPER'S task. — BOOK III. Was mark'd and shunn'd as odious. He that sold His country, or was slack when she required His ev'ry nerve in action and at stretch, 90 Paid with the blood that he had basely spared The price of his default. But now, — yes, now, We are become so candid and so fair, So lib'ral in construction and so rich In Christian charity, (good-natured age j) Tliat they are safe, sinners of either sex. Transgress what laws they may. Well dress'd, well bred. Well, equipagod, is ticket good enough To pass us readily through ev'ry door. ^ Hypocrisy, detest her as we may, 100 (And no man's hatred ever wrong'd her yet) May claim this merit still — that she admits The worth of whsit she mimics with such care. And thus gives virtue indirect applause ; But she has burnt her mask, not needed here, Where vice has such allowance, that her shifts And spacious semblances have lost their use. I was a stricken deer that left the herd Long since ; with many an arrow deep infixt My panting side was charged, when I withdrew 110 To seek a tranquil death in distant shades. There was I found by one who had himself Been hurt by th' archers* In his side he bore, And in his hands and feet, the cruel scars. With gentle force soliciting the darts He drew them forth, and heal'd and bade me live. Since then, with few associates, in remote And silent woods I wander, far from those My former partners of the peopled scene, With few associates, and not wishing mora 120 '%: COWPER'S TASK. — BOOK IJI, 33 Here much I ruminate^ as much I may, With other views of men and manners uomt Than once, and others of a life to como, I see that all are wand'rers, gone astray Each in his own delusions ; they are lost In chase of fancied happiness, still woo'd And never won. Dream after dreum ensues, And still they dream that they shall still succeed, And still are disappointed ; rings the world With the vain stir. I sum up half m.inkind 130 And add two-thirds of the remaining half, And find the total of their hopes and fears Dreams, empty dreams. The million flit as gay, As if created only like the liy That spreads his motley wino^s in th' eye of noon. To sport their season and be seen no more. The rest are sober dreamers, grave and wise, And pregnant with discov'ries new and rare. Some write a narrative of wars, and feats Of heroes little known, and call the rant 140 A history ; describe the man, of whom His own coevals took but little note, And paint his person, character, and views, As they had known him from his mother's womb. They disentangle from the puzzled skein, In which obscurity has wrapp'd them up, The threads of politic and shrewd design That ran through all his purposes, and charge His mind with meanings that he never had, Or having, kept conceal'd. Some drill and boro 150 The solid earth, and from the strata there Extract a register, by which we learn That He, who made it and reveal'd its date To Moses, was mistaken in its age. •M r'tf., - ' '■:■/*,■ r'-l '^-"•Jji':: J Mm mi 11 34 COWPER'S TASK. — BOOK III. I> I Some, more acute and more industrious still, Contrive creation ; travel nature up To the sharp peak of her sublimost height, And tell us whence the stars ; why some are fixt, And planetary some ; what gave them first Rotation, fr(jm what fountain flow'd their light. 160 Great contest follows, and much learned dust Involves the combatants, each claiming truth. And truth disclaiming both. And thus they spend The little wick of life's poor shallow lamp In playing tricks with nature, giving laws To distant worlds, and trifling in their own. Is't not a pity now, that tickling rheums Should ever tease the lungs, and blear the sight Of oracles like these ? Great pity too, That having wielded th' elements, and built 170 A thousand systems, each in his own way, They should go out in fume and be foriijot ? Ah ! what is life thus spent ? and what are they But frantic who thus spend it ? all for smoke — Eternity for bubbles proves at hist A senseless bargain. When I see such games Play'd by the creatures of a Pow'r who swears That he will judge the earth, and call the fool To a sharp reck'ning that has lived in vain. And when I weigh this seeming wisdom well, 180 And prove it in th' infallible result So hollow and so false — I feel my heart Dissolve in pity, and account the learn'd, If this be learning, most of all deceived. Great crimes alarm the conscience, but it sleeps . While thoughtful man is plausibly amused. Defend me therefore common sense, say 1, From reveries so airy, from the toil COWPER'S TASK. — BOOK III. 35 Of dropping buckets into empty wells, And growing old in drawing nothing up ! 190 ; '*i ii 'Twere well, says one sage erudite, profound, Terribly arch'd and aquiline his nose, And overbuilt with most impending brows, 'Twere well could you permit the world to live As the world pleases. What's the world to you ? — Much. I was born of woman, and drew milk As sweet as charity from human breasts. I think, articulate, I laugh and weep And exercise all functions of a man. How then should I and any man tliat lives 200 Be strangers to each other ? Pierce my vein Take of the crimson stream meandrinu; tliere. And catechise it well. Apply your glass. Search it, and prove now if it be not blood Congenial with thine own ; and if it be, What edge of subtlety canst th(m suppose Keen enough, wise and skilful as thou art. To cut the link of brotherhood, by which One common Maker bound me to the kind ? True ; I am no proficient, I confess, 210 In arts like yours I cannot call the swift And periloiif; lightnings from the angry clouds, And bid them hide themselves in th' earth beneath ; I cannot analyse tne air, nor catch The parallaii of yonder luminous point Tliat seems half quench' d in the immense aby;z3 ; Such pow'rs I boast not — neither can 1 rest A silent witness of the headlong rage, Or heedless folly by which thousands die, Bone of my bone, and kindred SDuh* to mine. 220 .;ii;i?,1 V- t ■ ■n>i«; j6 COWPER'S task. — BOOK ill. God never moaut that man ehould scale the heav'ns By stride«i of human wisdom. In his works, Though wondrous, he commands us in his word To seek him rather where his mercy shines. The mind indeed, enlighten'd from above, Views him in all ; ascribes to the grand cause The grand effect ; acknowledges with joy His manner, and with rapture tastes his style. But never yet did philosophic tube, That brings the planets home into the eye 230 Of observati 1, ar"? lis covers, jlse Not vi:.ible, m^ lav nly of worlds. Discover hii i tl n-i i u. 3S them : such a veil Hangs over mortal eym, blind from the bi.th, And dark in things divine. Full often Loo Our wayward intellect, the more we learn Of nature, overlooks her Author more ; From instrumental causes proud to draw Conclusions retrograde, and mad mistake. But if his word once teach us, shoot a ray 240 Through all the heart's dark chambers, and reveal , Truths undiscern'd but by that holy light, Then all is plain. Philosophy, baptized In the pure fountain of eternal love, Has eyes indeed ; and, viewing all she sees As meant to indicate a God to man. Gives him his praise, and forfeits not her own, ^ Learning has borne such fruit in other days On all her branches. Piety has found Friends in the frionds of science, and true prayV 250 Has flow'd from lips wet with Castalian dews. Such was thy wisdom, Newton, childlike sage ! Sagacious reader of the works of God, And in his word sacjacious. Such too thine, COWPEK'S TASK. — BOOK III. 37 I ,^0 240 Milton, whose genius had angelic wings, And fed on manna. And such thine, in whom Our British Themis gloried with just cause, Immortal Hale i for deep discernment praised, And sound integrity not more, than famed For canctit^ of mann'jrs undefilod. *2{)0 All jflesh is grass, a^id all its glory fades Like the fair flow 'r dishevcll'd in the wind , R*'5b'' have wings, and grandeur is a dream; The man we celebrate must find a tomb. And we that worship him, ignoble graves. Nothing is proof against the gon'rai curse Of vanity, that seizes all below. The only amaranthine flow'r on earth Is virtue ; th' only lasting treasure, tru = Is But what is truth 'i 'twas Pilate's qucL • t a >ut 270 To truth itself, thab deign'd him no reply. And wherefore ? will not God impart If; light To them that ask it ? — Freely — 'tis his joy, His glory, and his nature to impart. But to the proud, uncandid, insincere, Or negligent inquirer, not a spark. What's that which brings contempt upon a book And him that writes it, though the style be neat. The method clear, and argume.it exact ? That makes a minister in holy things 280 The joy of many, and the dread of more. His name a theme for praise and for reproach ? — That, while it gives us worth in God's account. Depreciates and undoes us in our ovv^ii ? What pearl is it that rich men cannot buy, That learning is too proud to gather up, Bm which the poor and the despised of all I' ) :;,^;\_ifc! tiM y^ COVVPEK'S TASK. — HOOK III. Seek and obtain, and often find unsought ? Tell nr^, anluble and restless earth 490 ^-ipin round upon hor axle ere the warmth Slow gathering in the midst, through the square mass Diffused, attain the surface. When behold ! A pestilent and most corrosive steam, Like a gross tog Boeotian, rising fast, And fast condensed upon the dewy sash, Asks egress ; which obtain'd, the overcharged And drench'd conservatoiy breathes abroad, In volumes wheeling slow, the vapour dank, And puritied, rejoices t« have losfi 600 Its foul inhabitant. But to assuage Th' impatient fervour which it tirst conceives Within its reeking bosom, threat'ning death To his young hopes, requires discreet delay. Experience, slow preceptress, teaching oft The way to glory by miscarriage foul, Must prompt him, and admonish how to catch Th' auspicious moment, when the temper'd heat Friendly to vital motion, may afford Soft fei.nentation, and invite the seed. 510 The seed selected wisely, plump and smooth And glossy, he commits to pots of size Diminutive, well filled with well-prepared And fruitful soil, that has been treasured long. And drunk no moisture from the dripping clouds : Tliese on the warm and genial earth that hides The smoking manure, and o'erspreads it all, He places lightly, and, as time subdues The rage of fermentation, plunges deep In the soft medium, till they stand immersed. 520 I COWPER^S TASK. — BOOK HI. 45 Then rise thi tender germs up starlmg tiiiick And spreading wide their spongy lobes ; at tirst Pale, wan, and livid ; but assuming soon, If fann'd by palmy and nutritious air Strain'd through the friendly mats, a vivid green. Two leaves produced, two rough indented leaves, Cautious he pinches from the second stalk A pimple, that portends a future sprout, And interdicts its growth. Thence straight succeed The branches, sturdy to his utmost wish, Prolific all, and harbingers of more. The crowded roots demand enlargement now And transplantation in an ampler space. Indulged in what they wish, they soon supp"'y Large foliage, overshadowing golden liow'rs, Blown on the summit of th' apparent fruit. These have their sexes, and when summer shiuee The bee transports the fertilizing meal From, flow'r to flow'r, and ev'ii the breatliing air Wafts the rich prize to its appointi^d use. Not so when winter scowls. Assista nt art Then acts in nature's office, brings to paa« The glad espousals and eueiurea the crop. 530 54U '■ -ii,' Grudge not, ye rich (since !uxury must have His dainties, and the world's more num'rous hall Lives by contriving delicates for you), Grudge not the cost. Ye little know tlie cares, The vigilance, the labour, and the skill That day and night are exercised, and hang Upon the ticklish balance of 8ns|)ense, That ye may garnish your profuse regales With summer fruits, brouf^ht forth by wintry s'.nis. Ten thousand dangers lie in v ait to thwart 550 . 'i,' , I "^j',; H- ¥ 46 COVVPER'S task. — BOOK III. The process. Heat and cold, and wind and steam, Moisture and drouglit, mice, worms, and swarming flies Minute as dust and numberless, oft work Dire disappointment that admits no cure. And wliioh no care can obviate. It were long, Too long to tell th' expedients and the shiftb Which he, that fights a season so severe, 560 Devises, while he guards his tender trust. And oft, at last, in vain. The learn 'd and wise Sarcastic would exclaim, and judge the song Cold as its theme, and, like its theme, the fruit Of too much labour, worthless when produced. Who loves a garden, loves a greenhouse too. (Jnconscious of a less propitious clime There blooms exotic beauty, warm and snug, While the winds whistle and the snows descend. The spiry myrtle with unwith'ring leaf 570 Shines there and flourishes. * The golden boast Of Portugal and Western India there, The ruddier orange and the paler lime, Peep through their polisli'd foliage at the storm, And seem to smile at what they need not fear. Til' amomum there with intermingling flow'rs And cherries hangs her twigs. Geranium boasts Her crimson honours, and the spangled beau, Ficoides, glitters bright the winter long. All plants, of evry leaf, that can endure 680 The winters frown if scrc^n'd from his shrewd bite, Live there and prosper. Those Ausonia claims, Levantine regions these ; th' Azores send Their jessan ine ; her jessamine remote C »f^V.iric< foreigners from many lands, Tufcv form one social shade, as if convened % COWPER'S TASK. — BOOK III. 47 By magic suT»imon8 of th' Orphean iyre, Yet just arrangoment, rarely brought to pass But by a master's hand, disposing well The gay diversities of leaf and flow'r, 590 Must lend its aid t' illustrate all their charms, And dress the regular yet various scene. Plant behind plant aspiring, in the van The dwarfish, in the rear retired but still Sublime above the rest, the statelier stand. So once were ranged the sons of ancient Rome, A noble show ! while Koiscius trod the stage ; And so, while Garrick as renown 'd as he, The sons of Albion, fearing each to lose Some note of Nature's music from his lipj, COO And covetous of Shakspeare'i? beauty, seen In ev'ry flash of his far-bcanmg eye. Nor taste alone and well contrived display Suffice to give the maishall'd I'anks the gr-ica Of their complete effect. Much yet remains Unsung, and many cp.res are yet behind And more laborious. Cares on which dcpeucla Their vigour, injured soon, not soo i restored. The soil must be renew'd, which often wash'J Loses its treasure of salubrious salts, • 610 And disappoints the roots ; the slender roots, Close interwoven where they meet the ^ ae, Must smooth be shorn away ; the saplr branch Must fly before the knife ; the wither leaf Must be detach'd, and where it strews the floor Swept with a woman's neatness, breo ig else r Contagion, and disseminating deatl Discharge but these kind offices, (a 1 who Would spare, that loves them, offices like these T) Well they rewar'l^ the toil. The 8ii:hr is pleased, 620 m . V if V 11 M ', Li i'. ■|1 1-^' 48 COWPER'S task. — BOOK III. The scent regaled, each odorif rous le«^f, Each op'ning blossom freely breathes abroad Its gratitude, and thanks him with its sweets. So manifold , all pleasing in their kind, All healthfnl, are th' employs of rural life, Reiterated as the wheel of time Runs round, still ending, and beginning still. Nor are these all. To deck the shapely knoll That, softly swell'd and gaily dress'd, appears A flow'ry island from the dark green lawn 630 Emerging, must be deem'd a labour due To no mean hand, and asks the touch of taste. Hero also grateful mixture of well match'd And sorted hues (each giving each relief, And by contrasted beauty shining more) Is needful. Strength may wield the pond'rous spade. May turn the clod, and wheel the compost home, But elegance, chief grace the garden shows And most attractive, is tlie fair result Of thought, the creature of a polish'd mind, 640 Without it, all is Gothic as the scene To which th' insipid citizen resorts Near yonder heath ; where industry misspent, But proud of his uncouth, ill-chosen task. Has made a heaven on earth ; with suns and moons Of close-ramm'd stones has charged th' encumber'd soil, And fairly laid the zodiac in the dust. He, therefore, who would see his fiow'rs disposed Slightly and in just order, ere he gives The beds the trusted treasure of their seeds, 650 Forecasts the future whole , that when the scene Shall break into its preconceived display. Each for itself, and all as withi)ne voice COWPER'S TASK. — BOOK 111. I Conspiring, »'nay attest his brijijht design. Nor even then, djismissing as perform'd His pleasant work may he suppose it dona Few self-supported tiow'rs endure the wind U«ninjured, but expect th' ui^holding aid Of the smooth-shaven prop, and neatly tied Are wedded thus, like beauty to old age, 660 For interest sake, the living to the dead. Some clothe the soil that feeds them, far diflfused And lowly creeping, modest and yet fair ; Like virtue, thriving most where little seen. Some, more aspiring, catch the neighbour shrub With clasping tendrils, and invest his branch, Else unadorn'd, with many a gay festoon And fragrant chaplet, recompensing well The strength they borrow with the grace they lend. All hate the rank society of weeds, C70 Noisome, and ever greedy to exhaust Th' inipoverish'd earth ; an ovferbe'-ring race, That, like the multitude made fac.it -nad, Disturb good order, and degrade true worth. r Oh blest seclusion from a jarring world, Wliich he, thus occupied, enjoys ! Retreat Cannot, indeed, to guilty man restore Lost innocence, or cancel follies past ; But it has peace, and much secures the mind From all assaults of evil ; proving still A faithful barrier, not o'erleap'd with ease By vicious custom, raging uncontroll'd Abroad, and desolating public life. When fierce temptation, seconded within By traitor appetite, and arm'd with darts Temper'd in hell, invades the throbbing breast, it' 6CD ^ H t-M so COWPER'S TASK. — BOOK lU. t'i'iou8, (v\\v\ a\v\*.cesa Perhaps may crown us, but to fly is safo. Had 1 the choice of sublunary good, What could I wish that I possess not hero ? 690 Health, leisure, mean* t' improve it, friendship, peace, No loose or wanton, though a wand'ring muse, And constant occupation without care. Thus blest, I draw a picture of that bliss ; Hopeless, indeed, that dissipated minds, And profligate abusers oi a world Created fair so much in vain for thtm, Should seek the guiltless joys thiit 1 describe, Allured by my re].)ort ; but fiure iio less That, self-condemn'd, they nmst ntgjlcct the prize, 700 And what they will not taste, must yet approve. What we admire we praise ; and when we praise Advance it into notice, that, its worth Acknowledged, others maj' admire it too. I therefore recommend, though at the risk Of popular disgust, yet boldly still The cause of piety and sacred truth And virtue, and those scenes which God ordain'd, Shouii best secure them and promote them most ; Scenes chat I love, and with regret perceive 710 Forsaken, or through folly not enjoy 'd. Pure is the nymph, though lib'ral of her smiles, And chaste, though unconfined, whom I extol. Not as the prince in Shushan, when he call'd, Vain-glorious of her charms, his Vashti forth, To grace the full pavilion. His design Was but to boast his own peculiav good, Which all might view with envy, none partako. My charmer is not mine alone ; m/ sweets. And she that sweetens all my bitters, too, 720 i 1 P'! 1* r COWPKK S TASK. — LOOK III. 51 Nature, enchanting Nature, in whose form And liiioauiunts divine I trace a hand That errs not, and find raptures still rencw'd Is free to all men, — universal prize. Strange tliat so fair a creature should yet want Admirers, and bo destined to divide With meaner objects ev'n the few she finds. Stript of her ornaments, her leaves andflow'rs, She loses all her influence. Cities then Attract us, and neglected Nature pines 730 Abandon'd, as unworthy of our love. But are not wholesome airs though unperfumed By roses, and clear suns, though scarcely felt, And groves, if unharmonious, yet secure From clamour, and whose very silence charms, To be preferr'd to smoke, — to the eclipse "* That metropolitan volcanoes make, Wliose Si-ygian throats breathe darkness all day long, And to the stir of commerce, driving slow, And thund'ring loud, with his ten thousand w heels ? 740 They would be, were not madness in the head And folly in the heart ; were England now What England was, plain, hospitable, kind, And undebauch'd. But we have bid farewell To all the virtues of those better days, And all their honest pleasures. Mansions once Knew their own masters, and laborioris hands That had survived the father, served the son. Now the legitimate and rightful lord Is but a transient guest, newly arrived 750 And soon, to be supplanted. He that saw His patrimonial timber cast its leaf. Sells the last scantling, and transfers the price To some shrewd sharper, ere it buds again. M 'M 11 m 1. ,V&' 52 cowper's task.- book hi. r! fr Estates are landscapes, gazed u[)oii awhile, Then advertised, and auctioneer'd away. The country starves, .and they that feed th* o'ercharged And surfeited lewd town witli lier fair dues. By a just judgment strip and starve theinselvoa. The wings that waft our ricJies «3ut of sight Grow on the gamester's elb(jws, and th' alei t And nimble motion of those restless joints, That never tire, soon fans tlieni all away. , Improvement too, the idol of the age, Is fed with many a victim. Lo ! he conies - The omnipotent magician. Brown, ap])ears. Down falls tlie venerable pile, th' abode Of our forefathers, a grave whisker'd race, But tasteless. J^prings a palace in its st(jad, ]Jut in a distant spot ; whore more exposed It may enjoy th' advantage of the Nortli And aguish East, tiJl time shall have transform 'd Those naked sicjoa to a slielt'ring grove. lies[]icaks. The lake in front becomes a lawn, AVoods vaniali, hills subside, and valleys rise, And streams, as if created for its use, Pursue tlie track of his directing wand, Sinuous or straight, now rapid and now slow. Now tnurm'ring soft,- now roaring in cascades, Ev'n as he bids. Th' enraptured owner smiles. 'Tis finished. And yet, tinish'd as it seems, Still wants a grace, the loveliest it could sliow, A mine to satisfy the enormous cost, Drain'd to the last poor item of his wealth. He sighs, departs, and leaves the accomplish'd plan That he has touch'd, retouch'd, many a day Labour'd. and many a night pursued in dreams, Just when it meets his hopes, and proves the heaven T60 770 80 COWPER's task. — BOOK MI. 53 He wanted, for a wealthier to etijoy. And now perhaps the glorious hour is come, 7D0 When having no stake left, no pledge t* endear Her interests, or that gives her sacred cause A moment's operation on his love, He bums with most intense and flagrant zeal To serve his country. Ministerial grace Deals him out money from the pubL o chest. Or, if that mine be shut, some private puise Supplies his need with an usurious loan, To be refunded duly, when his vote, Well -managed, shall have eavn'd its worthy price, 800 Oh, innocent compared with arts like tliese, Crape and cock'd piatoi and the whistling ball Sent through the traveler's temples ! He that finds One drop of heav'n's sweet mercy in his cup, Can dig, beg, rot, and perisH well content, So he may wrap himself in honest rags At his last gasp ; but could not for a world Fish up his dirty and dependent bread From pools and ditches of tha connnonwealth, Sordid and sick'ning at his own success. 810 Ambition, av'rice, penury incurr'd By endless riot, vanity, the lust Of pleasure and variety, despatch. As duly as the swallows disappear. The world of wand'ring knights and squires to town ; London ingulfs them all. The shark is there. And the shark's prey ; the spnd thrift, and the leech That sucks him. There the sycophant, and he That with bare-headed and obsequious bowa Begs a warm office, doom'd to a cold jail 820 The groat per diem if his patron frown. ^ ''-f 'I ■ <■ 'I r m. f^' ■!)^' 'if m if ii • \} '^ I ; ^^.V^a. *^.^a IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I La 128 ■50 ~^™ ^ 1^ ■2.5 ■ 2.2 1^ b£ 12.0 I ||l.25 III 1.4 III 1.6 ^ 6" ► (^ /] f> ^. ^^^ '^J" V o >% /J ^ "^^J / Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 iL 54 COWPER'S task, — BOOK III, ^ The levee swarms, as if in golden pomp Were character'd on ev'ry statesman's door, " BaTTER'd and BANKRUl^T 'FORTUNES MENDED TiEllE." These are the charms that sully and eclipse The charms of nature. 'Tis the cruel gripe That lean hard-handed poverty inflicts, The hope of better things, the chance to win, The wish to shine, the thirst to be amused, That, at the sound of Winter's hoary wing, Unpeople all our counties of such herds Of flutt'ring, loit'ring, cringing, begging, loose And wanton vagrants, as make London, vast And boundless as it is, a crowded coop. Oh thou resort and mart of all the earth, Chequer'd with all complexions of mankind. And spotted with all crimes ; in whom I soo Much that I love, and more that I admire, And all that I abhor ; thou freckled fair, That pleases and yet shocks me, I can laugh And I car weep, can hope, and can despond, Feel wrath and pity when I think on thee ! Ten righteous would have saved a city once, And thou hast many righteous. — Well for tlioo— That salt preserves thee ; more corrupted else, And therefore more obnoxious at this hour, Than Sodom in her day had pow'r to be, For whom God heard his Abr'ain plead in vain. ^^ 830 840 "2?^^%.. PRELIMINARY REMARKS. -0- THE TASK. -BOOK IIL -o- Published 1785. — Both the subject and metre of the poem were suggested by Lady Austen, and Cowper undertook ''his task " in June or July 1783, and fiiiiahcd it in August or Sep- tember of the following year. It was offered to J. Johnson for publication in October, 1 784, but was not published till July, 1785. ** It does not appear to me," wrote the author to Newton, ** that because I performed more than my task there- fore T/ie Task is not a suitable title. A house would still be a house though the builder of it sliould make it ten times as bis as he at first intended." The Sofa. — The subject which was playfully given by ''The Fair," forms the tlieme of the first book. From a hu- morous historical sketch of the gradual improvements of seats, the softly cushioned sofa growing out of the three-legged stool, he glides into the pleasures of a walk in the country and pro- ceeds to draw a strong contrast between rural and city life, bestowing loving praise on the former. The second book, en- titled T/ie Time-piece^ opens with a powerful denunciation of slavery, and declares the blessings and need of peace among nations. Then follow The Garden^ The Winter Evening, The Winter Mcrning Walk, and The Winter at Noon, which, with extjLiisite description and tender feeling, mirror the peaceful • '. f > n ^6 PRELIMINARY REMARKS. i ■!f5 !»i i' .:*.1 'i? ••|i t recreations and the gentle nature of the amiable, afflicted author. Book III — Epitome. — After the reflections which form the subjects treated of in the latter part of Book II., the poet returns to softer and more familiar scenes better suited to the original topic. After an invocation to domestic happiness he gives us a charming account of his religious life. Away from the stir and turmoil of the world he moralizes upon the vain efforts of the philosopher and the useless aspirations of the crowd. He regards Newton, Milton and Hales as evidences that learning and piety can be combined. The advantages of the solitary man surpass those of men in public life. The cul- tivation of the garden affords much enjoyment. The poem becomes didactic in consisting of parts, such as directions for raising cucumbers, and this minuteness detracts from its true poetical value. The author closes by again referring in strong terms to the follies and extravagances of city life. Versification. — The Task is written in blank verse of Iam- bic Pentameter measure. This metre which had previously been used by Italian and Spanish writers was first employed in England in 1547 by tho Earl of Surrey, Avho translated, in blank verse, the Second and Fourth Books of Virgil's ^neid. It soon became the predominant measure for the drama al- though Dryden desired a return to rhymed plays. It took root in England after the j)ublication of Paradise Lost, Cow- per avails himself fully of the resources of a composite lan- guage like that of Milton, whose music he compares in a rapturous passage in one of his letters, to that of a fine organ. With a judicious use of short Anglo-Saxon words and those of classical origin, he produces that niclody and variety for wJiich the great epic poet is so famous. In his earlier poems there is a ruggedness of style and expression which he purposely used to avoid the polished uniformity of Pope and his imita- tors. The Task was made to unite strength and freedom with elegance and harmony. In the amount of idiomatic expres- sion introduced into a grave poem of blank verse he is ec^ualled PRELIMINARY REMARKS. SJ by no poet "but the higher passages are carefully finis acd, and rise and fall according to the nature of the subject, with inimitable grace an^ perpetual refrain of The Task^ if not its definite theme. Fro/ ' ':i% ^-it' ,: ;:;.fl 1 ■ <■'.' ii. J,' I*;:,: 5- PRELIMINARY REMARKS. this idea immediately flow the best and most popular pas- sages ; those which please, apart from anything peculiar to a religious school , those which keep the poem alive ; those which have found their way into the heart of the nation, and intensified the taste for rural and domestic happiness, to which they most winningly appeal. In these Cowper pours out his inmost f elii^r^s with the liveliness of exhilaration, enhanced by contrast with previous misery. The pleasure of the coun- try and home — the walk, the garden, but above all the 'ihtim- ate delights * of the winter evening, the snug parlour, with its cIose-d?'awn curtains shutting out the stormy night, the steam- ing and bubbling tea-urn, tl^e cheerful circle, the book read aloud, the newspaper through which we look out into the un- quiet world — are painted by the writer with a heartfelt enjoy- ment which infects the reader. "•-« Gold win Smith. " The very rapidity of his transitions, where things light and sportive are drawn up with the most solemn truths; and satire, pathos, and reproof alternately mingle or repel each other, are characteristic of his mind and temperament in ordinary life. This inimitable ease and colloquial freedom, whicli lends such a charm to his letters, is never long ab.<3ent from his poetry ; and his peculiar tastes, as seen in that somewhat grandiloquent line • Who loves a ffardert. loves a frreenhonse too.' are all pictured in the pure and lucid pages of The Task. It cannot be said that Cowper ever abandoned his sectarian religi- ous tenets, yet they are little seen in his great work. His piety is that whicli all should feel and venerate ; and if his sad experience of the world had tinged the prospect of life 'its fluctu9i-ions and its vast concerns,' wiili a deeper shade than seems consonant with the general welfare and happiness, it also imparted a higher authority and more impressive wisdom to his earnest and solemn appeals. He w.is ' a stricken deer that left the herd,' conscious of the follies and Avants of those he left behind, and inspired with power to minister to the de- PRELIMINARY REMARKS. 59 light and the instruction of the whole race," — Chambers' Cyc. of Ent;. Literature. '*It is mainly a description of himself and his life in the country, his home, his friends, his thoughts as he walks, the quiet landscape of Olney, the life of the poor people about him, mixed up with disquisitions on political and social subjects, and, at the end, a prophecy of the victory of the Kingdom of God." — Brooke's Primer of En g. Literature. Its Irregular Plan.— **A regular plan, assuredly, The Task has not. It rambles through a vast variety of subjects, religious, political, social, philosophical and horticultural, with as little of method as its autlior used in taking his morning walks. Nor, as Mr. Benham has shown, are the reflections, as a rule, virtually suggested by the preceding passage. From the use of the sofa by the gouty, to those who, being free from gout, do not need sofas — and so to country walks and country life, is hardly. a natural transition. It is hardly a natural transition from the ice palace built by a Russian despot, to despotism and polftics in general. But if Cowper deceives himself in fancying that there is a plan or a close connection of parts, he is right as to tho existence of a pervading tend- ency." — Goldwin Smith. Its Subjectivity. — The Task is a transparent medium through which you look into a human spirit at once gentle and lovable. You come to know the author almost a,s well as if you lived in the same house with him ; accompanied him in his walks, his musings and his garden operations ; saw his kind regard for his tamed hares ; enjoyed by his side "the cup that cheers but not enebriates," and became filled with the indignation he feels against slavery and other forms of wrong and oppression. Whether he gives his reflections on social or political questions ; weeps over human w^oe ; wanders among common things , paints the sofa, gout, youth, age ; celebrato.3 the fertility of nature ; or gives expression to the deep religious feelings of his heart, the Task becomes a clear and faithful account of himself. iM J :' !. ii-il h 1^^ ■)' ■r. f 6o PRELIMINARY REMARKS. " The most popular of his poems, and also certainly tk\e moat elaborate, is his Tas^ ; it abounds in that delineation of domestic and every-day life which interests everybody, in descriptions of incidents and natural appearances with which all are familiar, in the expression of sentiments and convic- tions to which most hearts readily respond ; it is a poem, therefore, in which the greatest number of readers find the greatest number of things to attract and attach them. Besides, both in the form and in the matter, it has less of what is felt to be strange and sometimes repulsive by the generality ; the verso flows, for the most part, smoothly enough, if not with much variety of music ; the diction is, as usual with Cowper, clear, manly and expressive, but at the same time, from being looser and more diffuse, is seldomcr harsh or difficult than it is in some of his other compositions ; above all, the doctrinal strain is pitched upon a lower key, and, without any essential point being given up, both mv^rality and religion assume a countenance and voice considerably less rueful and vindic- tive. " — Craik, The Religious tone of the poem is manifest throughout. Burns says its religion is * * the religion of God and nature ; the religion that exalts SivA ''unoblcd man." Probably its popular- ity was due to the religious spirit that pervaded it rather than to the facile rhythm, and freshness, and healthiness of the author's feeling for nature. Poetry that is serious, moral or pious, and especially poetry expressing clear biblical views finds a ready response among a people in sympathy with "evangelical prin- ciples." No one has written more forcibly or frequently against the follies and vices of his countrymen. In the style of an eloquent preacher he denounces the slave-trade, gin-drinking, cock-fighting, dancing, theatres, card-playing and other prac- tices against which his converted nature had revolted. Prac- tical in what he says and thoroughly in earnest his common- sense, gravity and seriousness are calculated, even if regarded as extreme, to command respect and win approval. NOTES ON THE TASK. BOOK III— THE GARDEN. 1. As. Correlative of " So " in 11. The proposition may be regarded as a complement of degree to " so," which 1 3gins the first principal proposition. See Mason's Grammar, par. 631. One. Pronounced as written until about the 16th century,when its present sound ('«;zin.j which had previously been provincial, became standard English. Supply " rambles." Long. Modifies "entangled." Thickets. Give a list of affixes forming diminutives. Brakes. Low German brake^ brushwood. Of. W. Scott, Lady of the Lake : " The deer has sought the brake." In My Mother's Picture, 6G, it is used in the sense of a preci- pice. " Ne'er roughened by those cataracts and brakes." Give other uses of the word. 2. Entangled. Fr. en for L. in, and A. S. tian, to tie. "Words derived from more than one language are called hybrid [mongrel) words. Cf. Matthew xxii. 15, " The Pharisees took counsel how they might erJangle him in his talk." ^Vinds. Cf. Wend and went. Way. See Mason's Grammar, par. 372-3. {J. Dovious. L. de and via. Cf. Kowe ; ** The devious paths where wnsiton fancy leads." r,:1 #*:.^'' 1 • ', 62 NOTES TO COWPER'S TASK. — BOOK III. Courfle. Object of " wind:^ " Seo Mason's Grammar, par. 372, 4. Uucertuiii. Agrees with courHe." Iloiue. A favourite theme with Covvpor. He rojoioes at the prospect of returning to his original topic after engaf^'ing in sub- jei!ts I oi:4 congenial to his inclinations, and comi)are8 h in posi- tion to that of a traveller who, having wandered from known ways, regains the high-road. 4. Or. Connects the adjectival propositions. Foiled. Vr. fouler. 6. Dlscoinlited. L. clis. and configo. Sluugli. A. S. slog. Cf. " Slougk of despond " -Bunyan. The "slough" in the author's case (consisted of the degres- sion on political evils and social vices with which he deals in Book IL 6. Escape. Fr. echapper. L. ex and capio. 7. Cliauce. An adverb modifying "find." Flucl. For use of the subjunctive mood consult Mason's Gram- mar, pages 62 and 168. 8. PaithfHl|to t.lio foot. Upon wh ich he can travel with safety. Cf. Shakespeare, " Stubborn to Jadtice," and " A will most in- correct to heaven.'* 9. Cliirrups. The same word as chirp or chi/rup. For the transitive use of the word in this sentence Cf. " To bay the moon." To sine/ the child to sleep." " To whistle a dog olf." Brisk. By enallage for " briskly." Adjectives used as adverbs are called Flat adverbs. Bar-«recting. An example of prolepsis, a figure where tb'j result is anticipated. Cf. " indebted eye." Book II. 452. 10. "Witli pleasure. Since he finds the waj secure. 11. So. Modifies " have wandered." Notice the increased, force whicli the simile ga.ins by being ex- pressed in a reversed order. De«iigning. L. designo. Tlieine. Fr. the^me, L. thema. 12. To adorn. For the origin of the gerundial infinitive see Mason's Grammar, page 61. Sofa, The proposed subject of the poem. e:ulogiuin. lj;ulogy. Gr. eu and logos. Eulogy is used with NOTES TO COWPLR'S TASK. — BOOK III. «>3 t the I Hub- pOHl- JiOVVU e tb'j ^ reference to persons, while encomium is ax)plied to things. Tbo flofa is here personified. 13. !♦"<. The personification would sijfTfi^ost a different pro- noun. " His originally served for both the maHciiline and ixv.xx- ter genders. Wlieu the old geudor system decayed, and it be- came usual to decide on a word's gender by its sense not by its form, or by sonxo tradition of the language, then this his was felt to be inadequate. It was sometimes used in its pjace. But it - was objectionable that the nominative andthe positive should not differ in form ; hence arose the form its. This form was in Milton's time struggling for admission into the written language. Fe hved to see it 08tal)lished in it; but in his earlier days that e/ent seemed dubious. From this unsettled state of things arose confusions. Men were not content with Ma as a neuter ; they did not 5''ftt accept its" — Hales. Slmw^ers. Cf. Book I. 41, " Kestless was the chair." Where we also have the objective rather than the subjective sense implied. 14. MTlde. Cf. "Brisk." 9. We have in this rather difficult sentence an example of what is called in Greek, Anacoluthon, where one member of a sen- tence does not grammatically correspond with another. Lines 7 10 might still be analyzed with the rest of the sentence by chang- ing " his spirits rise" to ^^ whose spirits rise," and " he chirrups " to '* who chirrups."- 15. Academic. Grr. akademia, the nam > of the garden near Athens where Plato taught. 16. Held. Supply "was." Disengaged, dis, en and gager. 17. Pace. Fr. paSy L. passus. Cleanlier. The affix ly, A. S. liCy was at the same time a noun meaning bodyy as it still is in German leich. Notice the double form in likely. 18. At large. One of the numerous phrasal adverbs formed by the preposition at (Fr. a) with nouns. Cf. at last, at odds, at length, at most, etc, Here at large is an adjective. Cf. " The robber is still at large." See Mason's Grammar, par. 8G2, 4. CouruaseoHs. Fr. couraae. L. cor, ,1 " -'il i:f ': if 64 NOTES TO COWPER'S TASK. — BOOK IIL 20. Await, i^^ur uae of sabjuuctivo uue Mason's Qramxnar, paj^'e 101. 21. Pulpits. L. jnilpitiim. Metonymy. Souudin;^ buardit. The term souniUng board is applied to the structure over a pulpit made for the purpose of difhising the rtound of the speaker's voice through different parts of the room. Ueflect. Gatachrasis, a lit^'ure where words properly relating to fmo sense are used with reference to another. Cf. Dent. xxii. 14, •' The pure blood of tUo grapo." And Milton, " L'ar oil their coming sJione." 22. MoMt part. Cf. " maximam partem." The limited results of the j)reac]iing of the Gospel have often been deplored. In Cowper's time the pulpit was largely respon- 8i])le for what he so much laments. The church was th^n little better than a political agency, cultivated and manipulated by the party leaders for their own aggrandizement. Many of the clergy, including several bishops, wore often more anxious to gain vic- tories in theological contests than to gain souls. The cold, formal and rationalistic style of preaching could scarcely be anything but "empty" and "ineffectual," when those who employed it came /ar short in character of the standard requisite to make a minister a power in his community. 23. Cliance. Object of " has" (understood) which has for its subject the noun proposition beginning with " that." That. Consult Mason's Grammar, par. 233. Fame. Cf. Gray's Elegy, 118. 24. Conversant. L. con and verto. 26. To purpose. The article is commonly omitted in ad- at » « verbial phrases of this kind. Cf. " To use," " in season home." Hope. Of success. 26. Crack the satiric thong. A common metaphor for satire. Cf . Horace, Satires I. 3, 129 ; " Nee scutica dignum horribili sectere flagello." 'Twere wiser far. Cf. Milton's Lycidas.QT : " Were it not better done, as others use, To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair ?" If the quiet life of Milton at Horton presents "some resem- NOTES TO COWPKR's TASK. — BOOK III. 65 blan^fi to that of Cowper in weavinjij in rhoirost vorso th« de- li^flitful " llowera of fragrant nuiadown," \w was far from al)- staimng in later writings, liiio tiie autiior of the Task, from '• ro- ma-ks that gall so Uiany." Wl»«»»r. Supply the comploment of comjvqri^^on. fl7, Se ■< 1 i' i '9 'C >',"' i 72 NOTES TO COWPER'S TASK. — BOOK III. I ■ «, 115. Soliciting. A Latinism, imitated from Virgil, ^n. XII, 404: "Nequidquam trepidat, neqiiiaqnam spicula dextra Sollicitat, prensatque tenaci forcipe ferrum." 116. The strong faith of Cowper in the Saviour is shown. 117. Since then. Cf. till now. Pew Associates. Consult Life. 118. "Wander. For have wandered. Consult Mason's Gram. mar, page 66. Par= An adverh mod. from those. 119. Former partners. Those from whom he withdrew. Scene, A metaphor. 120. Wltli few associates. An example of anaphora. 121. Ruminate, Fr. ruTfiiner, L. rumino to ruminate or chew the cud ; also to ponder or examine. 122. IN'OW. Relation? 123. Than. See Mason's Grammar, page 100, note. Here it is the correlative of " other." 123. To come. See Mason's Grammar, page 142. 124. Cf. Isaiah liii., 6, " All we like sheep have gone astray ; we have turned every one to his own way ; and the Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all." Astray. A. S. stroigan, to stray ; estray, from Old F., estrayer^ to stray. Astray is used only as an adverb ; estray as a verb and noun. 125. EacH. In apposition with wanderers, . 126. Woofr^d. A. S. wogan. 127. Never won, Even when the object is attained it does not furnish the happiness anticipated. 128. Still. The first still means continually, the second yet The use of this word with a verb of motion would be a pure stul- tification if still where taken in its original and presentive sig- nification of motionless stillness. It affords a good illustration of the change in meaning which a word undergoes when its forceis simply symbolical. Notice the anaphora. Cf. Gold- smith, Deserted Village, 51. 129. Rings the world. Observe the hyperhaton. 130. Vain. As regards results. 181. Remainder. Cf. Shak., " The remainder biscuit after a NOTES TO COWPER'S TASK. — BOOK 111. 73 voyage." This form of the adjective has been superseded by re- maining. Notice the frequent use of Synecdoche. 132. Neither their hopes nor their fears show wisdom. 133. Dreams, empty dreams. Epizeuxis. Tlie miUion flit. Cf . Gray, Ode on the Spring : " To contemplation's sober eye Such is the race of Man, And they tliat creep and they that fly Shall end where they began. Alike the busy and the gay But flutter through life's little day, In Fortune's varying colours drest ; Brushed by the hand of rude Mischance Or chill'd by age, their airy dance They leave, in dust to rest* Of. also Pope : " Changed to a bird and sent to flit in air." The use of flit in connection with the movements of the gay crowd is very appropriate. 134. As if. For analysis supply the ellipsis thus : " The million flit as gay to sport their season and be seen no more — as they would flit — if they were created only like the fly — that spreads his motley wings in the eye of noon." See Mason's Grammar, par. 563. Only. An adjective referring to " fly.'* 135. Motley. Welsh, ysmot, a shot. Cf. Eng. mote. Shakespeare uses the term for a fool on account of the many coloured dresses worn by clowns. Eye of noon. Cf. ' blaze of day," " peep of dawn." 137. Sober dreamers. Having well regulated aims though visionary and speculative. Distinguish beteen dreams and reveries. Change the meta- phor to a simile. 138. Pregnant. Fr. pregnant. L. prce-gen-ans. 139. When Cowper deals with domestic happiness and moral and religious questions he is at his best. When he presumes to criticise the work of the historian or scientist, he enters ground with which he is ill acquainted by education. Xiis viows are 1' ■•1 .■•■v? V. rx^ ,.- 0, • wf ;i it -. ».^^. :H 74 NOTES 10 COWPER'S TASK. — BOOK III. .J 9 I: ! h t ^11 narrovv and his inferencea unfair and unreasonable. Hifitovian are represented em evolving history from their own conscience«. No doubt the Buhjeot had scarcely yet assumed the dignity of a Bcience. To " write a narrative of wars " does not constitute the province of history. When its philosophy is wanting its highest objects are also absent. What comes within the scope of th'. historian is well put by Macaiday in the introductory chap- ter of his History of England. That brilliant writer, and such as Hallam, May, Mowelsworth, Green and others, have made the subject one of the most interesting and profitable departments of literature. 140. Ilereos little known. Satirists such as Pope may more justly be charged with giving notoriety to obscure persons. Rant. German, raiizen, to make a noise, Gael, rant or ran, a noise. 141. Coevals. L. co-oevum, living in the same period. But. See Mason's Grammar, page 181. 144. As. Supply the ellipsi3 "As they would paint him if they had known," etc. 145. Disentangle. Well suiued to the metaphor in skein. Puzzlcc'. Cf. puddled, and notice Shak, Othello : " Soi lething sure of state had iJ addled his fair spirit*" 146. Notice the continuation of the metaphor in wrapped and threads. 149. There is some truth in the statement. Meanings are also assigned to author's writings which they probably never intended to convey. 151. There. An adjective or an adverb if we supply found. See Mason s Grammar, page 142. 152. Register. The study of the different strata of the earth's crust enables the geologist to form valuable conclusions regarding the mode and time of their formation. 1.53. fCcvealed its tlate. Not so stated in Scripture. 154. Mistaken. In Cowper's time geology was still in its in- . fancy. The advancement of the science has rather confirmed the truth of the Bible view of creation. A better knowledge of the objects and aims of Script'.'rv has also removed many impres- sions of antagonism between natural, science and revelation. (Consult The Origin of the World, by Dr. J. W. Dawson.) NOTES TO COWPER'S TASK. — BOOK ill. 75 M 156. Contrive Creation. Invent a scheme by which they contend the world was created. Cf. Book VI. 198—210 : " Some say that in the origin of things, Wlien all creation started into birth, The infant elements received a law From which they swerve not since. That under force Of that controlling ordinance they move, And need not His immediate hand, who first Prescribed their course, to regulate it now. Thus dream they, and contrive to save a God The encumbrance of His own concerns, and spare The Great Artificer of all f . ,t moves The stress of continual act, the pain Of unremitted vigilance and care, As too laborious and severe a task." Travf 1 nature up. The world's phenomena regarded as a moun- tain to be ascended. Up is one of that class of adverbs or pre- positions that attach themselves so closely to the verb in certain constructions that they may be taken with it. Compare " to laugh at," " to despair of," *• to patch up," and the expressions " a break up," " a stand by," etc. 157. He who gains the summit of his ascent in scientific in- vestigation, becomes the perfect philosopher. Her. Why femi- nine? Notice the double reference of height. 158. Fixed. The fixed stars are those that always retain the same apparent position with reference to one another, and are supposed to be the suns of other systems. 1.59. Planetary. L. planeta, Gr. planetes. The name was given to this class of heavenly bodies because they constantly change their relative situation in the heavens, and thus appear to ivander among the constellations. They receive their light from the sun, about which they revolve in orbits not widely dif- fering from circles. Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn have been known from the earliest ages. Uranus was discover- ed, 1781 ; Neptune, 1846. Between Mars and Jupiter is a group of minor planets, or asteroids. Mercury and Venus which re- volve in orbits interior to that of the Earth (also one of the planets) are called Inferior planets, and the others Superior "in 1 :«,;;,. * ■■Mt i1 i 1 I I! 76 NOTEa TO C0W1»ER'S TAS"' —BOOK III. planets. The term primary is applied to those planets that re volvo only about the sun, iu disliuction from secondary planets satellites or rnooua, which revolve also about their primaiies. 15i). What gave, etc. Notice the several propositious that form the object of "tell." 100. Uotalioa. Besides moving in their orbits around the 8UU each of the planets turns like the earth on its axis. Fuuiita.ii. What figure? IGl. Leariietl dust. Cf. the expression of Quiutilian " for- ensis pulvia " and the vulgarism " to kick up a dust." 162. Combatants. The advocates of the different theories. 163. Dinclainiiiig. Truth, which is here personified, refuses to recognize such claimants. 164. Wick and I^auip. Metonytny. Cf. Lucretius : "Et quasi cursorea vital lampada tradunt." 165. Playing trick.s witli Nature. They look on nature as a child looks on a toy which it pulls to pieces. Cf. Meaa^ire for Measurey II. 2 : "But man, proud man, Drest in a little brief authority, Most ignorau of what he's most assured His glassy essence — like an angiy ape, Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, As make the angels weeiJ." Laws. By which their movement and relations are regulated. 166. Instead of emi^loying his limited knowledge in attending to what should be his immediate concern, he occupies himself with what is remote and unnecessaiy. 167. Cf . Horace, Ep. I. 1, 303 : " Liber honoratus, pulcher, rex deniqiie regum, Prajcipue sanus, nisi cum pituiba molesta est." Also Cf. : "A king an' a' that, save w^hen he's got a cold in his head." IMieuins. Any thin, watery discharge from the mucous mem- branes or skin, as the thin discharge from the air passage arising from cold. L. liheuina. 168. Blear. To dim with rheum. NOTES TO COWPER'S TASK. — BOOK III. 77 169. Or«rl««. Metonymy. Cf. Merchant of Venice I., 1 : \ " I am Sir Oracle, Ami when I opo my lips, lot no dog bark !" Tjie term oracle [U. oracnluin, oro, I spoak) ^ras appHod totlie responno delivered by a lieathcn divinity or l)y supernatural wisdom ; alao to the divinity froui whom the response was sup- posed to proceed ; to the pla(?e where tlie revelations were given ; and, as here, to one famed for wisdom. What was the Delphic oracle ? Notice the sarcasm.. 170. Klements. Still in popular lanf^iape, enrth, air, wafer and fire, are called the four elevicnts, ])eraiise they M'ere for- merly deemed first principles. The first or constituent princi pies of any tiling are styled its elements. 171. Tkousantl. Synecdoche. 172. Oooat In fume. Cf. " End in smoke." The searcher after truth in science benefits his fellow-man. 174. Frantic. Gr. Pkren, the mind. Cf. The liape of Lit erece, 213 : " What win T if T gain the thing T seek? A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy; Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week ? Or sells eternity to get a toy ?" 175. To sacrifice the prospects of eternal life f(>r what have as little substance as bubbles is a senseless bargain. 176. Games. A metaphor. 178. Judge. Cf . 2 Tim. iv. 1 : "Who shfdljudgo the quick and the dead." Faol. Synecdoche 179. To a strict reckoning. To a strict acrcunt of the use he has made of his time and talents. 180. Seeming wisdom. Wisdom is knowledge in the high- est and best sense of the term, and implies the right use of the powers which the latter gives. Tried by such a test the wisdom referred to is regarded " hollow " and " false." 181; Infallible. L. in snidfallo. 183. Dissolve in pity. To be filled with compassion. 184. Most of all deceived. By reasoning from false premises, 186. Conscience. The moral faculty, or tiiat which tells us Hi ... , ,, ( ; '■■- \ 'S' 78 NOTES TO COVVPER's TASK. — «00K III. I h -ir whether what we do is right or wrong, as jndgi^d by some Btiuulard. A ('(wording to Cowper tho pliiloaophtr id bo absorbed that ho is not conHcioua tliat he is sinning. 18n. PlmiHlhly atnuMefl. They are arniiHed in a way that secures unmerited approbation. Cf. Book II., 301: "That lost in liis ov,'n musings happy man." 187. Common fiense. «' Common sense, as it is generally un- derstood, is nearly synonymous with mother wit." — Dugald Stewart. » 188. Rev*»rle«. " A walcing dream." Fr. revcr, to muse. 189. Cf. Matthew Green, The Spleen, 15 . '* Nor vainly buys what Gildon sells, — Poetic buckets for dry wells. " 191. Erncllte. Learned. L. erudio, I intruct. 192. Aquiline. L. aquiUnus, nqniln, an eagle, henoe hnohed. 199. Overbuilt. Cf. Upturned, overthrown, underrated, etc. Impendinja;. L. impendeo to liang over. Cf. Tennyson, Merlin and Vivien : ** He dragged his eyebrow bushes down, and made A snowy penthouse for his hollow eyes." 196. The sage might bid mc mind my own affairs, but as I am human I have an interest in my fellow-mon. Cf. Terence, Heantont, I, 1 : "Homo sum, humnni nihil a me alienum puto." Cf. Also Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice HI. 1 : " Hath not a Jew eyes ? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimen- sions, senses, affections, passions, fed wi+h the same food, hurt vjith the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is ? If you prick us do we not bleed?" etc. With CoAvper the sentiment is made to exhibit the broad Christian principle of love to our feliow-man. 201. Vein. How do the veins differ from the arteries ? 202. Streatn. A onetaphor. Meandering. From Meander, a river in Phryg^a, noted for ita windings. Describe the circulation. 203. Catechise. Gr. Catechizo^ to instruct by asking ques- tions and receiving answers. We would expect this word to be NOTES TO COWPEr's TASK. — tJOOK III. 79 I flprllpd caterJii.ee from its hpinff derivrd from a Gr, vprh in i«o, yet in nearly all recent dictionuriea, it is Rpelt as liere. Glass. The Microscope. 205. Cou'^onlal. Taken in its literal sense. L. ron anc! genun. '200. Sul»Ue. iii. " Immortal Amaranth, a flower v/hich once In Paradise, fast by the tree of life, Began to bloom ; but soon for man's offence To heaven removed where first it grew, there grows And flowers aloft shading the fount of life, And where the river of bliss through midst of heaven Bolls o'er Elysian flowers her amber stream ; With these that never fade the spirits elect Bind their resplendent locks inwreathid with beams." Shirley's contention of Ajax and Ulysses, ii : " Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in the dust." Cf .. aUo Cicero, De Senect., 19. Notice the numerous meta* phors. 270. See Bacon's Essays I, note 1 ; St. John xviii. 38. 271. See St. John xiv. 6. 272. Pilate's question was not asked with the proper object. 275. Sincere. Lat. si^id and cera wax, and first applied to pur« bouey. NOTES TC COWPER'S TASK. — BOOK III. 83 277. An adherence to truth will not gain favour among the se who do not appreciate it« value. 280. Supply " What is that? " and also in 283. 282. Reproacli. Cf. Hebrews xi. 26. 284. Undoes. Faithfulness and honesty make us acknowledge our own shortoomings. 285. Cf. Matthew xiii., 46. 33Q. Lieaviiiug. Synecdoche. The abstract for the concrete. 290. Domestic happiness is again invoked. (See 41.) 293. The joys are not properly appreciated. 296. Forgoos. Cf. forbear, forbid, /or get, forgive, forsake, forswear. Cf. also German ver. 297. ESven* Modiiios the adverbial prop. " As his first," &c. Progenitor. L. progigno. 299. Youtlifal beauty. Thai which she had at the time of our first parents. 300. Instead of pursuing what gives substantial and lasting happiness, " foolish man" is taken up with what is transient. 301. Scenes. Object of *' to fill " and " to defile." Nurse. L. nutrio. 802. Seeds. A meta/phor. Change to a simile. 304. Eeflections such as (those are that) "meliorate," &o. Meliorate. Notice the prepositional prefix a dropped. Its use with this and many words (especially of Anglo-Saxon origin) in- tensifies the meaning. Fr. meliorer. 308. Scenes. In oymosition with scenes 1., 801. Anaphora. 307. "Willi blood. In the barbarous pleasuies of the ohase. Metonymy. 808. Contagion. L. contagio, con and tango. 311. Rai>t. Cf. "rapt with joy," "the rapt bard."' Distin- guish from wrapt. Away. Eelation? 812. Game-fowl. In Cowper's time cock-fighting was a uni- versal sport. It was made illegal early in the present century. We have traces of it inmany ph^'ases such as *' cockof the walk," " crest-fallen." It is said to have originated with the Athenians about the time of the Persian wars. 314. Could. Such amusements might be quelled by an exer- cise of authoiity. Could was originally spelled coud (past tense I - 'i> H\-r ^^3 )««!. 84 NOTES TO COWPERS TASK. — BOOK III. !| i of can), and acquired the I bv the force of association -with would and should. Mason's Grammar, page 82, note. Pageantry. A. S, poecaTij to deceive. A pageant originally meant an exhibition in the public streets, on some festive occa- sion, containing, among other objects, marked figures repre- senting allegorical personages, with appropriate scenery. Mas- querades were suppressed by law, 1724, but soon revived again. What figures in this line ? 316. Self-deliideil. They imagine themselves real rustics. Cf . Book IV. 20. 318. Spleen. Melancholy, ennui, low spirits, hypochondria, iU-humour,or what is vulgarly called "the blues " or " the dismals." A number of the Spectator speaks of "the spleert so frequent in studious men," and " the vapours to which the other sex are so often subject." Pope couples " spleen, vapours, and small-pox." Swift has : " You humour me when I am sick, "Why not when I am splenetic ?" Cf. " a spleeny Lutheran," Shakespeare, and "Our country must be confessed to be what a great foreign physician called it, the region of spleen" &c. — Sir W. Temple. This organ is a gland in shape like an egg, situated to the left of the stomach and under the ribs. 319. They love the country only for such sinful amusements while its real lovers are attracted by its silence and shade. 820. Else. A. S. elles. Here an adjective. 322. "WTiicli. This use of the relative is a Latinism. In older English we often find " the which," where modern style would suggest the demonstrative. 323. Susceptible of pity. For the suffering of animals. 324. Kindness to animals is a mark of civilization. For man to inflict needless pain on them shows a lack of that sympathy which is a feature of Christianity. Cruelty to animals is an offence against the criminal law. Societies have been formed for the purpose of preventing such cruelty. Cf. Book VI. 660: " I would not enter on my list of friends (Though graced with polished manners and fine senea Yet wanting sensibility) the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm." NOTES TO COWPER'S TASK. — BOOK III. 85 "In his writings genernTly, Imt especially in The Tn^tk, Cow- per, besides being an apostle of virtuous retirement and evangeli- cal piety, is, by his general tone, an apostle of sensibility. The TasJe is a perpetual protest, not only against the fashionable vices and the irreligion, but against the hardness of the world; in a world whi(*h worshipped Chesterfield the protest was not need- less, nor was it ineffective. Among the most tangible character- istics of this special sensibility is the tendency of its brimming love of humankind to overflow upon animals; and of this there are marked instances in The Task.** — Goldwin Smith. 325. For. Relation " leave for din." Savage. A sport more adapted to'the nature of savages. Pack. Cf . swa'nn, shoal, herd, flock, drove, &o. 826. Detested sport. The chase. 328. Providing the enjoyment in this way. 330. Agony. Gr. agonia, a struggle. 831. Heart-distemling. Cf. heart-brenh'vn, Ipnrf rrvding, 833. Jovial. « We speak of a person as jovial, saturnine or mercurial. Jovial, as being born under the planet Jupiter or Jove, which was the joyfullest star, and the happiest augury of all. A gloomy person is said to be saturnine, as being born un- der the planet Saturn, who was oonsidered to make those that owned his influence, and were born when he was in the as- cendency, grave and stern as himself. Another we call mercurial, that i^, light-hearted, as those born under the planet Mercury were accounted to be." — Trench. 334. One sheltered liare. Cowper's favourite " Puss." 885. Sanguinary. L. sanguis, blood. Account for the se- condary meaning (hopeful). Cf. sanguine. 838. The poet's favourite hare, " Puss," was given to him in 1774, and died March 9, 1786, " aged eleven years and eleven months, — of mere old age." Notice the apostrophe. 343. Frolic, Cf. Deserted Village, 21. 846. Have pledged. If I fail to treat thee kindly I will forfeit my claim to the name of man. 349. Grave. A. S. grcef. grave, solemn from L. gravia, Tieavy. 351. Cowper, according to Hayley, had ** acnuiied considerable applause, as a child, in the recital of Gay's popular fable — * The Hare and many Friends.' Cf. Byron's epitaph on his dog; '1- iil I 'I. .- T? i m 'A ,1 ■M '■■% .\' >•)'' 86 NOTES rO GOWPER*S TASK. — ROOK IIL " To mark a friend's romains, these stones arise, I never knew Imt one, and here he lies." 852. Wliom. Referring to " his." " The employment of him, whom," &c. 353. A life of retirement should not necessarily be an idle life. 355. Friends, books, garden and jf;c.»i are in apposition with "these," (369.; 356. Industry. In apposition with " pen." 867. The construction is harsh in this Hne. Cowper wrote "Nature inviting " as a nominative absolute, and then altered the construction of the sentence making "Nature " in apposition with " these." Trim. A. S. trunij to make firm. The word is used as a noun, adjective and verb. Cf . Milton, Ode on the Nativity, 333 : " Nature, in awe to him, Had dofC'd her gaudy trim.** H Penseroso, 60 : " That in trim gardens takes his pleasure." 361. Me. Object of " finds," 366. JTiaunrious ease. An oxymoron, or seeming contradiction of terms. Cf. " Cruel kindness," "pious fraud," "strenua inertia" (Horace). "No fatigue but that of idleness." Book I., 755. 362. To deceive tlie time. Cf. " To while away the time." 364. Loam. A metaphor. Cf. Lucretius : " Vitaffae mancipio nuUi datur omnibus usu," S65. Cf. the parable of the talents. 367. Sedulous. L. sedulus, fond of sitting, hence perseverin^^. Cf. Bishop Taylor, "Be sedulous to discharge thy trust." 371. A touching allusion to the author's fits of insanity. 385^. Its Just point. Observe the confusion of metaphors in " driving," " slack," " point." Tlie service of mankind. A truly Christian sentiment. 373. Interior self. The mind. 375. Tliat hungers. The natural tendency of the mind. 376. Too often then as now the two went together. 877. Business. Fr. beaogne. NOTES TO COWPER'S TASK. — BOOK III. 87 37.). A qniot lifo may be none tbe less useful. 381. Wisdom is a pea-rl. A metaphor. Pearl. A small, hard, smooth, Rilvory-vvhite substance found in the interior of many species of mollusks, particularly the pearl oyster, appiirently resulting from deposits around a nucleus of the same nature. Hence a precious substance or a gem. 381. As pearls are sought with most success in still water, so wisdom may be found most readily in the quiet walks of life. 383. Observe the inetaphor continued. 384. Or dives. For " either dives." 386. Self-sequestered. Cf. 27. 387. Intend what tasK lie may, A noun prop, in apposition with " task." 390. Witli her. Mrs. TJnwin is meant. 391. Fragrant Lympli. The use of such weak periphrases was quite common among the artificial school that preceded Cowper. Cf. *' Confectionery plum." LympU (L. lijmpha} is clear water, Cowper was a confirmed tea-drinker. Sec Book IV. 38. 393. Sullenly. L. sulus, alone. 394. Cf. Life, 397. Or. Correlative of " whether," 388. 400. Lubbard. "Lob, looby, lubber and Zzi&6ar^ appear to be merely worJ.s of consequential usage from the verb to lob." — Richardson. Cf. Milton, L' Allegro, 110 : " Then lies him down the lubbar fiend." liabonr. Personification. The labourer requires, according to Cowper, the watchful eye^i a skilled master. Eye. What figure ? 405. The successful gardener requires skill, taste and pleasure in his work. 408. "WeU-spread. Cf. 97. 409. Interval. Nominative absolute. 410. More. Agrees with " pleasure." 411. Save. Originally a verb in the imperative mood, bui now usually taken ay «i preposition. Cf. except. See Mason's Gram- mar, par. 282. 412. Peculiar. L.j;ecwiiam,^dcwZmm, private property. lit M 1 r ). V'^ Vr.', •■*;■•», ■ >I i 1 88 NOTES TO COWPER'S TASK. — BOOK ill. m 413. The shoots like children require discijpliiio* 415. Distempered. L. dis and temjjero. Prolific. Productive. 416. Impaired. Fr. empirer, pire. L. pejor. Unrelenting. Cruel, merciless, unsparing. 418. Succulent. L. siLCCuLoitus, succiis, juice. Feeds. Referring to one branch, and therefore singular. 419. In pruning, large branches must often be cut off, to give promising twigs a chance. 420. Ostentatious. Ostendo, to show. 421. Portion. Nom. absolute. 423. Neat. An adjective referring to " rest." 424. That air and sun, etc. Complement of purpose, to " disposes." See Mason's Grammar, par. 529. 427. Hence. As a result of the gardener's care. 428. IVitliered hiaud. Metonomy, Notice the gender of Siimmtr and Winter. 429. Cf . Virgil, Georgics II. 82. " Miraturque novos fructus et non sua poma." 430. Recompense. Predicate nominative. 432. Child. A metaphor. 433. Cliurlish. A. S. ceorl, a husbandman. Fo* chano-e ot meaning Cf. boor, villain. Forward=from-ward. 434. Sire. Winter. A metaphor. 435. The proposition introduced by " for " may be taken as an adverbial complement of cause to the verb of a princii)al proposi- tion understood as," "Such is the case." Reversed its course. Instead of projecting her ofTspring she de- stroys them. 438. Frown. Contrasted with " smiles " 439. Himself. Emphatic. In apposition with " he " (the gar- dener). • 441. Spring winds are often destructive to th^- blossoms of fruit trees. 444. Tlie fence withdrawn. An absolute phrase 445. His hopes. Cf. Spes agricolae. 446. Gourd. The cucumber, cucumis sativus. 448. Some value fruit very highly when it is out of season, NOTES TO COWPIiRS TASK. — BOOK III. 89 Dlsesteeiit has becume almost obsolete. 450. Tolling; ages. Transferred epithet. Those w'lo have toiled through ages. 451. Not made the subject of any poem. 452. Gnats. The Culex, an early poem gf Virgil. Fro{|;8 and Mice. The Batrachomyomachia (battle of the Frogs and Mice), attributed to Homer. 453. Mantttan bard. Virgil, born at Andes, near Mantua, B. C, 70. Next to Homer the greatest epic poet of antiquity Wrote the Eclogues, Georgics and Mneid. 454. The Grecian. Homer, born about 850 B.C. Wrote the Iliad and Odyssey. Phillips Jolin, cih. Oxford (1676—1708), published in 1703 " The Splendid Shilling," a parody on the style of John Milton. In his seventeenth year Cowper wrote a poem, in imitation of Phillips, viz. " Verses written at Bath, on finding the heel of a shoe, in 1748." It is the earliest piece of Cowper's that has come down to us. 455. Aye. A. S. awa, always. Aye^ yes, from L. aio, I say, Fr. out, yes. 457. Distinguishod poets. 458. One. Himself. 459. Presnniing. Cf. Shakespeare : " Do not presiitne too much upon my love." 460. Dressing. Describing in poetry the process. 462. Cncwnftber. Fr. coucomhre, L. cucumis. 463. StercoraceoTis. L. stercus, dung. Cowper is fond of Latinisms and would appear to have been reading a translation of the Georgics. 464. Salts. Principally ammoniacal as the carbonate and sul» phate. Also phosphates and alkaline salts. 467. Deciduons, L. decido, to fall off. The term in botany i& used in contradistinction to evergreen. 468. Torpid. L. torpeo, to be numb. 472. Agglomerated. L. agglomero, glomws, a ball of thread* Cf . Young : " In one agglomerated cluster hung." 473. Snn's meridian disk. So as to rec^ve full advantages of the sun at noon. ^il 1 m ■■ -n -.". \ ■^ '!%'■>[ 90 NOTES TO COWPER S TASK. — BOOK III. 475. Imp«rvlo«)i. Jj, in, per Mxd. via. 470. Pern. A wild flowerless plant or weed of many species constituting the tril'e or family of Felices. They liave a wide geographical distribution, the horhaccons and shruhhy kind being found towards the poles, while the tree-fernR rival the gigantic palms in the forest of tr()j)ical countries, 477. Dumps. Many nouns are formed by plurali/i ng adjec- tives. Cf. goods, bluea, lielsurely. With care. [mpose. Taken in primary sense. 478. Agile. L. cujilis, brisk. 479. Saturated. L. saturo, satu.r, filled, Cf, Thompson : "And sntiirafrd earth Awaits the morning beam." 480. "Wliat longexit. Thai which is longest. 483. Projertefl. Projecting. ^ EJaves. A. S. yfes, efese, margin. The plural was fsen, or efesen. The finals has caused it to he mistaken for plural. Cf. riches, alms. 485. Transilncent. L. transJnreo, transparent. Generally p,pplied to what is seTvi-fransparent. 48G. Mount. In miniature. The hot-bed is meant. 487. AVhos^j. Fgrmp'-ly used for persona only, 488. Daslied. Rain-beaten. Deluge. Cf. " mount," 486. 490. Voluble. L. volvo, to roll, taken literally as in Milton, P, L., 504. 494, Pestilent. L, pesiilis, noxious, Corroai-ve. L. corrodo, eating away, and especially applied to the action of gases on metals, 495, The atmosphere of Boootia was proverbially thick and foggy, owing to its numerous lakes and rivers. Its inhabitants were regarded as lacking intelligence. 496, " Above al]^ things as much air as possible ought to ne given; for there is alwoys a steam or reck in a hot-bed ; and if this be not let out, it destroys the stems of the plants, and they very quickly perish. "r—Col^bett's English Gardener. Sasli, Fr. chdsses. Sash, an article of dress, is from Persian ihash, a turban. KOTES TO COWPKR's TASK. — BOOK 111. 91 497. Wliicli obtained. A. Latin ism. 498. Consei'^'afory. Now used only of a gi'eeu-houae, but for. niorly applied also to an ine-honRe. Cf. Bacon : "A conservatory of snow and ice, such as they use for delicacy to cool wine in summer." 400. Dank. Damp. 501. InliabKant. A metaphor, 602. The quickly generated must he kept under control. G04. Hopes. Cf. line 445. Wliat is the suhject of " requires." 606. Cf. Virgil, Georgics I. 133 :— " Ut varias usus meditando extunderet artca, Paulatim." By experience the gardener discovers the hest time for planting. Notice the free use of metaphors. 508. Ansplclons. L. auspiciiim, avis and apecioj from the practice of divination from the flight and singing of birds. 609. Favourable for growth. Notice the liberal use of meta- phors. — attributing personal relations to inanimate objects. 610. Pomeiitaiion. J j. foment atio. lavUe tlie seed. Show that tlie time is favourable. 612. Glossy. Akin to |7Z^'?.9. A. S. glamt. GZo.s.?. an ©irplftna- tion, is derived from Gr. glossa. Commits. The use of vision adds force to the description. 515. The salts mentioned in 464 would be weakened by rain. 519. Manure. Fr. mancBuvre. The term was first applied to the act of working -with the hand and then to tilling the ground. In this sense it is used by Milton, P. L., TV. 626. " Yonder alleys green with branches overgrown that mock our scant manuring." Subsequently it was applied to one particular branch of tillage. 519, Rage of fermentation. The tendency to fermentation. This is a spontaneous change which takes place in certain or- ganic substances under the influence of water, air and warmth. "It is caused by the entire decomposition of the proximate prin- ciples (sugar, starch, gluten, &c.) of the substances fermented, and the recombination of their ultima,te principles (oxygen, hydrogen, nitrogen, carbon, &c.) in new proportions, by which various new compounds are formed. Fermentation is of various kinds : the ,'TiJ 1 .»! •11 !4l 1 ^^ i; 1 ' ill* ■ifi' •g; t'' m [r ^u. 99 NOTES TO COWPER'S TASK. — BOOK IH. aarrJiarinr, prodnoinp fltipar from starch iirul gum ; the vinoua j)rochu;ing vinegar from alcohol and sugar; the acetous, produc. ing vinegar from alcohol ; and the putrefactive, which character. iz«'9 the decomposition of organic substances containing nitrogen in various fcetid products." — Ure. Kecent and careful inyestiga- tions have shown that fermentation entirely depends on the pre- sence and growth of certain living organisms forming the ferment. The spurules or seeds of those living bodies always float about in the air, and on dropping into such substances as wine, beer, milk, (fee, begin to propagate themselves, and spontaneous fermentation is produced. Most of the ferments are of vegetable origin, but one, the entyric It of animal growth. Late classifications give the following kinds of fermentation ; alcoholic, acetous^ lactic, brutyric, mttnous. (See Roacoe's Chemistry, pfege 370. • 621. Upstarting. Cf. Dryden. " Upstarting from his throne." 522. I/obes. The cotyledons, the first leaves of the plantlet. With one lobe the plant is called Monocotyledonous, with two Dicotyledonous, with many, FolycotyledonouSf and with none, Acotyledonous. 523. lilvid. L. lividus. Of a lead colour. The seven pris. matic colours are red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and vio- let. Of these red, bine and yellow are called primary, and the others secondary. The different colours were shown by Newton to arise from the different degrees of refrangibility of light, and the different colours of bodies may be attributed to the power which bodies have of absorbing some shades and reflecting others. 526. Two leaves. In the case of the cucumber and other dicotyledonoiis plants. 527. Second stallt. After the appearance of the cotyledons a little bud of undeveloped leaves is noticed between them. This is called the plumule, and soon becomes a second pair of leaves, rising on a second sialic. 628. A pimple. " From between the seed-leaves there will come out a shoot, which will presently have one rough leaf on each side of it ; then, between these rough leaves yon will set; a shoot rising. The moment this is clearly distinguishable, pinch it clean out with yonr fore-finger and thumb, and this wiU cause shoots to come out on both sides, from the socket of the two rough leaves which have been left."— Cobbett's Erigi Ji Qwrden. V" J NOTES TO COWPER*S TASK. — BOOK III. 93 )tnou» roduo. racter- itroRpn estiga- he pre- (rmont. bout in r, milk, ntation ;iTi, T)ut na give , lactic, ;hroTie." jlantlet. th two h none, BTi pris. and vio- and the Newton ght, and power y others, d other ledons a This ; leaves, ere will leaf on ill see a e, pinch ill cause the two Oiirden. 629. Int«rrtlct«. To prohibit. L. interdico. StrulgUt. C£. for use as adverb, Shakespeare : " I will after atraufht." 631. Harbinger. Literally one sent to provide n, harbour (German herhimjer) or resting place. Applied to an otticu'r in tlie royal houHohold, whose duty it was to allot and mark the lodgings of all the king's attendants iu a pLogress. Keuce a iorurunuur or messenger. 636. Apparent. Already visible. 637. Tholr sexea. Some flowers have stamens which consist of the Filament, or stalk, and the Anther. The Afither (the es- sential part) is a case commonly with two lobes or cells, each opening lengthwise by a slit, at the proper time, and diHcharging a powder called pollen, usually of a yellow colour. Other flowers have pistils, which consist of three parts — the ovary, the sti/le and the stigma. The ovary is the hollow case or young pod, containing rudimentary seeds, called ovules. The style is a tapering part rising from the ovary. The stigma is the top of the style. The flowers which have the stamens (male flowers) supply the pollen which falls upon th"! stigmas of the pistils (fe- males), and the result is that the ovules contained in the ovary are fertilized, and become seeds. The pollen is conveyed some- times by wind, birds, bees, &c. 638. Meal. The pollen, which is the Latin for meal. 540. Assistant art. By rubbing the pistillate flowers with the staminate. 643. Espou»al8« Between the male and female flowers. L. sponsalia, spondeo, Fr. epouser. Old Fr. espouser. It is quite probable that Cowper learnt his knowledge of Bot- any from Erasmus Darwin, who popularized these facts in his Botanical Garden, which was published 1781, a poem in glitter- ing, polished and heroic verse, designed to describe, adorn and allegorize the system of Botany of Linnaeus. In 1789 he pub- lished the second part of the poem, entitled Loves of the Plants. 544. The luxury of the rich, by creating labour, gives employ- ment to the poor. By political economists Labour is divided into two kinds, Productive and Unproductive — the latter being ap- plied to that which- does not terminate in the creation of material wealth. A large amount of labour is complex iu itb ierdency, ' i <'• I m I 94 NOTES TO COWPER'S TASK. — BOOK III. hi''! I! i and to draw tVie line between what produces luxuries and what produces necessaries is difficult. Many luxuries have heneiicial influences. A cultivated community will look for many things not essential to its existence. The rich are not always the most extravagant. The poorer " half " also spend much in ohtaining what is useless. (Consult John Stuart Mill's Foiitical Economy , Book I., chapter III.) 545. Ills dainties. The gender of abstract nouns when per- sonified is generally determined by the gender of the words from which derived, or by their significations, those having sterner or manlier qualities being taken as masculine and the opposite feminine. Half. Part. 54G. Delicates. Cf 477. 647. Ye. See Mason's Grammar, par. 133, note. 550. Tielilisli. A. S. tinclaii, L. titiUo. '* A diminutive from to touchy by an attenujition of tlie vowel like sijj from sup^ click from clack, tip from tap. The interchange of ch and k is com- mon in the language." — ^Barclay. It probably comes directly from tick. 551. Gariiisli, To furnish. Fr. garnir. Cf. Scott. Lady of the Lake. Canto VI., 12. Usually a verb. Ten tliousand. Cf. 171. Regales. 663. 654. Steam. Fogs. 655. Some years the injuries inflicted to wheat, corn, fruit, furnips, &c., have been most serious. The study of Entomology has done much to mitigate the ravages of locusts, caterpillars, and other tribes of insects. 550. l^ong. Epizeuxls. Cf. Book II., 286. 561. Season. A cognate object. 562. licavnea ami wise. Synecdoche. 5G3. "WouW exclaim. May perhaps exclaim. 6G6. He fears his poem may, like the products of the garden, be a thankless task. "Who. Used indefinitely. 6G7. Unconscious. Eeferring to " beauty.** 568. Exotic. Fr. exotique^ Gr. exotUion, . Beauty. Synecdoche, NOTES TO COWPER'S TASK. — BOOK III. 95 snicr or 570. The myrtle is a native of southern Europe, and has long been a favourite for elegance and sweet evergreen leavea. Among the ancients it was sacred to Venus. Myrtle wreaths adorned the hrows of bloodless victors, and w.ere the ayiubols of authority for magistrates at Athens. 572. Various kinds of semi-tropical fruits and vegetahles are found in Portugal, such as dates, lemons, oranges, tl^ vine, &c. Western India. The West India Islands. 573. PiLier'lIme. The fruit of a species of Citrus {Citrus limetta) resembling the lemon, but much smaller, and more highly acid. Notice the free use of personal 7netap)ior. ,,76. Amontum. Q-r. amomon, a large genus of the Ginger Order, bearing seeds which are aromatic. Probably the Myrius pimota, or Jamaica Pepper is meant. 677. Geranium. A genus of exogenous plants abounding par- ticularly around the Cape of Good Hope. Our garden gera- niums, more properly Pelargoniums, are among our most fragrant flowers. The •maoulatmriy a North American species, witli flow- ers of considerable beauty, is the most ■'' duable medical plant of the order. Its root, called Alum Boot, is extremely astringent, «»andisused for gargles, and as a medicine in various diseases. The name geranium (Gr. geranos, a crane) and the popular Eng- lish liame Crane's-bill both refer to the beaked fruit. 679. Ficoldes. The Mesemhryanthemum, crystallinum, or ice plant, one of a genus of succulent plants, mopUy growing at the Cape, thf; flowers of which usua^'y expand at midday (Gr. mesos, middle, and fi^mera, day). Briglit. A predicate adjective. 582. Ausonia. Italy. 583. Levantine. The parts of Asi* Minor, Syria and Egypt that border on the Levant Sep . Axorc** About 800 miles due west of Portugal, of which they furm a dependence ; 7 in number, St. Mary, St. Michael, Terceira, Graciosa, St. Jorgo, Pico, Fayal, Flores, and Corvo ; ])opulation about 350,000 ; capital Angra ; the soil is fortile, and the climate healthy. 584. tlessanilne r= jasmine, a plant of th 3 genus jasminum, which iududes several species, mostly twining shrubs, as %\\^ ■rM •1^ '! ' »'J i 11 ^'^■m y.i, '^ t % \-\ I • if 1. w i 'I •'•'. 96 NOTES TO COWPER*S TASK. — BOOK III. ' I if Irljlli. Arabian jasmine, tke white or common jasmine, the yellow jas mine, &c. ' • 686. CalTreia. KafEraria, a country of South Africa, part ol which has been under British rule since 1847. The Kaffirs are a brave people, and the recent wars with the Zulu tribes have dis- played their love for independence. The population is roughly estimated at 300,000. 687. Or^liean. Orpheus was a mythical personage, wl: o hved before the time of Homer. Presented with the lyre of Apollo' and instructed by the Muses, he left his native Thrace with the Argonauts on their expedition. He enchanted with his music not only the wild beasts but also the trees and rocks of Olympus so that they moved from their places to foUow the sound of his golden harp. 688. Arrangement. A skilful arrangement of the plants and flowers is necessary to give their charms effect. 691. In scanning read, " t' illustrate." 693. Aspiring. Eising. 697. Roscins. Q. Boscius Gallus, B. C. 129—62, perhaps the most famous of Roman actors. He taught Cicero elocution, and was defended by the great orator in a speech against 0. Fannius- 598. Garrick, David (1716—1779) has often been called th% British Eoscius. He " trod the stage," from 1741 to 1776. He was a pupil of the famous Dr. Johnson, and a friend of Goldsmith, who hits off his character happily in the poem, Betaliation. As an actor he exhibited a Shakesperian universality in tragic and comic repreticntation. As a dramatic author he does not rank high, and the naturalness which so wonderfully marked him on the stage often forsook him in real hfe, where he was jealous and fond of flattery. The simile suits so far as the Roman theatre is concerned, but the construction of our English theatre does not help the com- parison. The Romans adorned the rear of the 8t^^ge with trees. , 603, The labour of the gardener does not end with a " weli-con- trived display " of the plants in the green-houso, 610. Salutorious Salts. Cf. 464. 617. Disseminating. Scattering secdg. 621. Rej^aled. Cf . 561. Otlorifeious. L. odor and fero. NOTES TO COWPER*S TASK. — BOOK lil. 97 Hi 625. Mmploya. Fr. emploi. Cf. Pope : '* The whole employ of body and of mind." Knd Addison : " They have always a foreigner for this employ.''* 626. Cf. Book I., 368 : " Constant rotation of tb' unwearied wheel That Nature rides upon, maintains her health, Her beauty, her fertility." 629. Swelled. Cf. "projected," 483. 631. Must toe deemed. Subject " to deok," &c. 633. Here. Modifies " needful." 637. Compogt. Any composition used as a fertilizer. Home. An adverb. Cf. Shakespeare, " Satisfy me home." 639. Attractive. Qualifies "grace." For order of words Cf. 656. 640. Creature- creation. 641. Gothiicrrr 3avage. Probably from the fear which the Goths struck into the Eomau empire. 642. Insipid. Tasteless or spiritless. Cf. Canning : " Insipid uniformity of goodness." 643. Yonder heatli. Any place of amusement near London, or probably Hamstead Heath. 644. Uncouth. From un and couth. Couth, couthe, or cowthe occurs as a pres., as a pret., and as a part. As a pret. we still retain it in could. It comes from the A. S. cunnan. Cf. canning. The primary meaning is unknown, but now it is gen- erally used in the sense of illiterate, "We have uncouth surviv- ing in the Scotch unco. 646. Scan. G47. Zmliac. An imaginary zoixs in the heavens, v/ithin which the sun, moon, and all the larger planets appear to perform their annual revolutions. It extends about eight or nine degrees on each side of the ecliptic, contains twelve constellations, and is divided into twelve equal parts called signs, which anciently coincided with the conetellations, but now occupy very difi'erent positions. The twelve signs &ro, Aries (the ram), Ta?/rws (the bull), Gem,ini (the twins), Cancer (the crab), Leo (the lion), Vinjo f(the virgin). Libra [the hala-nce), Scorpio (the scorpion), fi'a^ 1 V I t t wm\ !■ ^01 NOTES TO COWPER^S TASK. — DOOK III. • lower world. Name the others. Darkness. By Act of Parliament manufactories in London are now compelled to consume their own smoke. In all invcniiona for consuming the smoke the main principle is to keep the interior of the furnace as hot as possible and secured from un- necessary intrusion of cold air, and to insure a gradual supply of fuel. A simple method is to have hroad grates with the draft at the back, so that there may always be a mass of glowing coals over which the smoke passes. 739. Commevce. The rapid settlement of the American colonies developed an extensive trade and the building up in the poet's time of several commercial and manufacturing centres. The cotton factories in particular had their rise in the latter imrt of last century. The patents of Wyatt (spinning by rollers, 1738) , Arkwright (water-frame, 1769), Hargreaves (jenny, 1770), Cromp- ton (mule, 1779), and Carlwright (loom, 1785), set in motion " ten thousand wheels." 741. To live in city idleness is " madness " and " folly," but to be usefully occupied is not. 743. W^liat Gngland was. The moral degeneracy to which Cowper refers, was due rather to political than to commercitil causes. It has been the custom with a great number of moralists to proclaim in a loose declamatory way, that national wealth is morally mischievous, that it introduces luxury (in the worst sense of the term,) effeminacy, profligacy of manners, and depra- vation of principle. They depict in glowing colours the amiable simplicity of character, the manly firmness, and the purity of conduct, to be met with in nations that continue in primitive proverty ; and the degeneracy that has ensued in those that have emerged from this state into one of comparative wealth. It should be recollected that poetical, and other vivid description of the virtues of early society, contribute much towards such im- pressions. The evils of civilized life are much better known to us than those which existed in former periods. There is a mis" take in not taking into account m such calculations IKe great in- crease in population. The facilities for receiving intelligence re- garding^rime are much greater than in uncivilized communities. It should also be remembered that civilization nowhere is com- plete, and us " tho Tvlost Hi^li lias cvidciiUy fuiu.eJ SMcieiy with NOTES TO COWPER's TASK. — BOOK III. 103 ten a tendency to advancement in National Wealth, ao, He has de- signed and fitted us to advance, by means of that, in Virtue, and true Wisdom, and Happiness." ' 744. rmlebaucheel. Fr. dehancher, " 745. Mansions. Cf. The account of Sir Eoger de Coverley's household, from Addison's Spectator. 747. Hinds. A. S. hine, a domestic. Cf. Johnson's Vanity of Human Wishes, 33; Milton's Comus, 174. 748. The servants continued in the family. 740. liegitlmate and righitfial lord. The owner legally and morally. 750. Transient. Instead of permanent occupier. Guest. A. S. gest. 751. Supplanted. Superseded by another. 752. Patrimonial. Fr. patrimonial, lu. jjatrimonialia, patri- monium. Cast its leaf. He sells the estate before a year. 753. Scantling. Fr. ichantillon, Danish, sJcnane. 7.54. Sharper. A cheat. What is the original meaning of shrewd ? 755. Estates and landscapes. Pictures seen and then for- gotten. Landscapes. Formerly landscipe. Probably the word is bor- rowed from the Dutch artists*. Cf. Dutch, landschaj?, German, landschaft, and scapan, to shape, and its cognates, shape, ship, scoop, skiff, and the Gr. sJcapto. 756. Auctioneered, For the formation of a verb from a noun. Cf. " hackneyed." IE. 652, "equipaged" of this Book, and the modern " telescoped." 758. Surfeited. Fr. surfaire, L. auper-facio, liewd. A. S. loewd, belonging to the laity. " That lewd, which meant at one time no more than lay or un- learned (the lewd people, the lay people), should come to signify, the sinful or vicious, is not a little worthy of note." — Trench. The word is also given as the past participle of loewan, to delude. Pair dues. Fair, not as regards the town, but the spend- thrifts who desei've to pay for their luxuries. 759. Just. Because of misapplied kindness. 7G0. Cf. 263. The metaphor is oonfusing. Instead of the ' •! \ W\^-' ,.. 1 ., ..'■"■.. vlr" 'f j I04 NOTES TO COWPER'S TASK. — BOOK III. m: I ■ i ' " wings " which " waft " riches, belonging to riches, as Cowper would seem to have intended, in the beginning of the line they belong to the " gamester." 761. The Romans had laws to prevent gambling, and numerous statutes have been made by the British parliament for the same object. The keepers of gambling houses have been rendered liable to heavy penalties. In Germany gaming ia allowed and is practised to a great extent at watering places. A.lert. Fr. alerte, It. all 'erta. 762. Motion. That of the gamester in playing cards, dice, balls, &o. 764. Idol. A metaphor. 765. Many a, victim. Those extravagant in making improve- ments. 766. Brown. Lancelot Brown, a famous landscape gardener (1716 — 1773), who was called " Capability Brown " from his favour- ite phrase about " great capability of improvement. " He laid out the grounds and park at Weston, for Sir Robert Throckmorton, the grandfather of Cowper's " Benevolus." 767. Venerable pile. The old homestead. 768. 'Wliislcered race. Beards in England declined with the Commonwealth. After the restoration whiskers and moustaches were worn but the rest of the face was shaven. Subsequently it became fashionable to have the whole face bare. Since the Rus- sian war of 1854-5 beards have again become common. 769. Tasteless. With respect to building costly residences. 771. I* "aa-y «nJoy» &c. As if for that purpose. ^ 772. Anguish. Fr. aigu, L acutum, A. S. ege. 774. He speaks. This alone being necessary. La-wn. An open grassy space. Formerly it meant a clear space where the view was unobstructed. Cf. lane, and Milton, P. L, IV. 252 : " Betwixt them lawns or level downs, and flocks Grazing the tender herb, were interposed." and Pope : " Interspersed in lawns and opening glades, Thin trees arise that shun each other's shades. " 775. For use of present tense consult Mason's Grammar. 777. IVand. A rod of authority. Metonymy. NOTES TO COWPER*S TASIC — DOOK III. 105 778. Slnnottg. L. sinus, a bay. 779. Soft. For"mmy"hyenaUag5, 780. Ever.. Modifies " as he bids." Cascades. Fr. cascade. E:nrapture.t1. With delight of his place. 783. Further expenditure must be made " to keep up style.** 784. Iteim. L. item, a new article or entry. 786. Many a long clay. Many grammarians regard a in such an expression as this as a corruption for of. It is more hkely that the position of the adjectives in such phrases as " many a man," " such a person," ** what a fine book," &c. , has arisen from the practice in early English of giving emphasis in this way. Shakespeare has : " a many of our bodies." Many-a is taken by some as a compound adjective in "many a man." Better- co take many as an adverb modifying a, or ai? an adjective referring to "a man." See Mason's Grammar, par. 93, and Abbott's Shakes- perian Grammar par. 85. 787. L.al>oured. For transitive use Cf. "RTilton : " Labouring the soil," and Dryden : " To labour arms for Troy." 788. J«st. Modifies " when it meets his hopes." 790. Is come. See Mason's Grammar par. 187. 791. Stake. Cf. " at stake." A man is said to have no stake in the country when he is without property. It is wrong ty the cons- titu- entK thoy represented. Before the paRsmg of the great Reform Bill of 1832, '• rotten horoughii" had made corniption rampant. A large nmnher of the electors could then, and even now, T)o pur- chased. Candidates have frequently expended on a single con- tost irom ^10,000 to ^50,000, and upwards. Even the use of tlio ballot has not prevented the most lavish expenditure of money, and the man who does not stoop to " buy " his seat receives little favour from certain classes. Nor is the crime confined to the ig- noiant, if we are to judge from revelations made after the election of 1880. Even the most stringent election laws have not pro- vented certain kinds of corrui)tion on the part of caiulitates. 802.. Crape. L. crispus. Aland of gauze made of raw sill: woven without crossing and stiffened with gum-water. It formed the highwayman's mask. Pistol. Fr. pistulet, from Pistole or Pistoja in Tuscany, where it was first made. The term was first applied to a dagger and subsequently used for small, concealed fire-arms. 803. In the first half of the 18th century >n*ghwaymen rendered it dangerous to travel at night without being armed. Jack Shej)- herd, Jonathan Wild, and Dick Turpin flourished and were hanged during that time. 804. Clip. Used here as in Scripture to designate that which is allotted by Providence. Cf. Psalm xxiii. 5, " My cup run- neth over/ and Matthew xxvi. S9« 805. Notice the force of monosyllables and Cf. Milton's famous line : " Books, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of death." 806. 1^0, On these conditicus. Cf. the Latin use of ita, re- strictive, followed by ut. IVrap. Cf. Deserted Village, 279. Rags* Metonymy. Cf. Horace, Odes iii, 2D, 54 . " Mea virtute involvo," and Dryden's translation : " Content with poverty and soul I am ; And virtue, though in rags will keep me warm." 807. I^»st gftap. Metonymy. 808. The righteous man, according to Cowper, might despair of NOTES TO COWl'ER'S TASK.. — BOOK III. 107 acquiring the comforts of this life. To gain them required an anioutit of dcgradsition that sickened the one who stooped to the low niotliodrt by which they could bo obt:uned. Tiio reward of the Chribtian who would not doscoud to " finh up " success from ** pools and ditches " consisted in the iiii^hex le .. 1.1 ds which a liie of honesty secured at death. 811. Pt'nury. L. ptimcria. 812. KiuUosa riots. Cowper looked upon luxurious livhig as one of the great sources of pov 'rty. Lu»*t. A debire for ploasm-e and change p.lso drives many- to town. 813. DIspaccli. Fr. ddspfcher. The word is often spplled with e, despatch,whiGh would appear to be more in ht" rmony with the derivation. 814. Swallows in England usually dc^uirt alout the lii jt of Oc- tober. 815. Knight. A. S. cniht. Squires. Originally the shield-bearer \Ij. scutum) of a knight. The title of esquire dates back to Uie time of the Conqueror, its present application arose about tlio reign of licury IV. 816. Engulplis. Absorbs. Sliark. A. S. scearan, to sheer or cut, applied to the fish from its voracity, and to the person from possessing like qualilios. 817. Spendtlirift. Cf. Deserted Village, 153. I^ecch. A. S. laece, a genus of red-blooded a(iuatic worms. The noun,almost obsolete,meaning a, physician is from the same root. 818. Sycopliant. Gr. sukophantes. The word was probably first applied to one who informed against persons exporting figs (sukon) from Africa, and subsequently used with reference to any informer, a parasite, and hence, a flatterer. 819. The Bestoration period, and indeed the greater part of the last century might well be characterized as an age of servility. The cringing to those in authority necessary to secure a i)osition or advancement in a public capacity depressed a 8pi..IL uf aiaiili- ness which would despise flatteiy and toadyi:im. 820. "Warm olHce. Cf . " fat office." Cold .tail. Notice the antithesis. 821. Uroat. An old Engii;ia coin ol the value of four-pence, ■ ■ 1 t.f io8 NOTES TO COWPER'S TASK. — BOOK III. H I coined first about the time of Edward III., and probably so called from being great in size. Patron. The one whose favour he seeks. Failure may bring on debt and imprisonment in the Fleet. 822. Itevee. In Cowper s time noblemen held their levees. The term is now usually a^jplied to occasions when Her Majesty or her repiesentative receives visits from those to whom the honour is given. Gentlemen alone are presented, while at a reception or drawing-room, ladies also are admitted. See Spectator, No. 193. Golfleis. pomp. ' Great splendour. 823. Cliaracterecl. Engraved. Cf. Shakespeare : " Show me one sear charactered on skin. 824. Banki'iipt. It. banco, a bench and rotto {ruptus), broken* in allusion to the custom during the middle ages of breaking the money table of those who became insolvent. 825. SuUy. Fr. souiUer, to soil. 828. Again are enumerated the causes which drive the inhabi- tants ci the country into the city. 830. That. Eeferring to "gripe," "hope," "chaucc," "wish" and " thirst." Hoary win^. With its frost and snow. 834. Coop. L. cupa, a tub. 835. Cf . Johnson's London, 93 . " London, the needy villain's* gen'ral home, The comrion sewer of Paris and of Bome, "With oager thirst, by folly or by fate, Sucka in the dregs of eacn corrupted state." 836. Complexions. Used here for " dispositions, tempera- ments," and not in its usual sense of colour or aspect. Cf. Shakes- peare, Hamlet i. 4, 27 : " By the o'ergrowth of some cottiplexion. Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason." and Coriolannus, ii. 1, 301 : " Eidges horsed With variable complexions.'* 1 here wore four complexions in the language of old medical MTiters, the sanguine, melanclwly, choleric and phlegmatic. ^7. Notice the several antitheses. 83'.K Freckled. Ger. fleck, a spot, or probably from L. frico. 843. Cf . Genesis xviii. 22, 23. 845. Cf. Matthew v. 13. 847. Tlian Sodom. Why ? S48. Wliom. Notice the i;o^«on^ca^ft09t. \ -Km THE BISE OF PEKIODICAL IiITERATtJRE. Origin of Newspapers. — Among the ancient Ro- mans, reports — Danied Acta Diurnici — of what was done in the Senate were frequently published. The Venetian Government were, in the sixteenth century, in the habit of communicating to the public information regarding the v/ar then going on with the Turks. The written sheets containing the news were read in particular places, and those desirous to hear paid for the privilege a coin called gazetta — a name subsequently transferred to the paper itself. About the same time the publication of advei-tise- ments in France gave rise to the term affiches — the con- tents being at first fixed up as placards. In England, as early as the reign of Elizabeth packets of news were pub- lished to inform the people regarding important events, such as the defeat of the Spanish Armada. Durinfjf the Thirty Years' War The Weekly News, edited by Nathaniel Butter, became a regular publication, the first number ap- pearing the 23rd of May, 1622. To get news, Macau- lay sj-ys, **Tbe news writer rambled from coflfee-room to ■'-i: ^4 m ■ 'i • A. Vi \ fl 2 THE RISE OF PERIODICAL LITERATURE. coffee-room, collecting reports ; squeezed himself into the Sessions House at the Old Bailey, if there was an in- teresting trinl ; nay, perhaps obtained admission to the gallery of Whitehall, and noticed how the king and duke (Charles II. and the Duke of York) looked." Party Organs. — The contest between Charles and his Parliament gave a political tone to this infant journal- ism. Diurnah and Mercuries, in small quarto, began to be disseminated by the different parties into which the State was divided. While the war was at its height, in 1643, nearly a score are said to have been started. The names of several are quite suggestive of the bitterness of Cavaliers and Roundheads. Once, twice, or thrice a week came out a host of malicious pamphlets bearing such titles as, The Scofs Dove, The Dutch Spy, The Parliament Kite, The Secret Owl, Netvs from Hell, &c. So important an auxiliary was the press considered that each of the rival armies had a printer along with it. After the Restoration the press was put under a license. No man, not author- ized by the Crown, had a right to publish political news. Many newspapers of small size, and most of them short- lived, appeared during the reigns of Charles IT. and James n. In 1709 the first morning paper appeared, under the title of the Daily Courant. Of that period Hallam says : ** I find very little expression of political feeling till 1710, a.fter the trial of Sacheverell and change of ministry. The Daily Courant and Fostr.ian then begin to attack the Ja- cobites, and the Postboy the Dissenters. But these news- papers were less important than the periodical sheets, such as the En'aminer and the Medley, which were solely devot- ed to party controversy." Among the writers for these periodicals were Swift and Bolingbroke. The Review. — The age of Queen Anno marks a new gtyle of composition in our language. The lustre which \ \ THE RISE OF PERIODICAL LITERATURE, 3 that period derives from its poets and comic dramatists ip equalled by that obtained from its distinguished essayists. France had already the delightful Essays of Montaigne, and more recently the Characters of La Bruyere, in which the artificial life of the court of Louis XIV. was hit off with satirical humour. It was not until the eighteenth century that any writer ventured to undertake a periodical work in which he should, thrice a week, give to the public a pa- per exposing some fashionable folly, or insinuating instruc- tion in the form of story, allegory, or anecdote. The pioneer in this department was Daniel DeFoe, who, in 1704, while a political victim in Newgate prison, started tlu* Review. It was published thrice a week, on poHt nights, Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, and continued nine years. The author aimed at being a censor of manners. Be laslied the vices of the age, but alsowi-ote light papers on cnrront events and discoursed on trade and commerce. In a section of the paper entitled the Mercure iSca,ndale, Dc Foe noticed with keen irony current scaiidals, tried ofi'end- ers, and through n tribunal passed sentence upon them. In the serious part, of the Beziew he showed most of his genius. The design wa? to give a true picture, drawn with "an impartial and exact historical pen," of the do- mestic and foreign aflairs of all the European States. The periodical, which was something between the old essay and the modern newspaper, secured considerable popu- larity. The Tatler. — Although De Foe's Review was, strictly speaking, the first English serial, it was not until Richard Steele and Joseph Addison began to write those pleaso.nt papers for the Tatler that the foundation of periodical literature was firmly laid. Steele's office of Gazetteer gave him command of early foreign intelligence, and following up the desisfn of De Foe, he started the Tatler as a thrice- ' Viin I'M '•'■ 1: rr 4 I' 1 r-l rr m .r"*-:*' THE RISE OF PERIODICAL LITERATURE. a-week journal. He adopted the nom de plume of Isaac BickerstaflF, a name which Swift had already made familifir in his ridicule of Partridge, the master of almanacs. Thus, as he said, he "gained an audience of all who had anj taste of wit, while the addition of the ordinary occur rences of common journals of news brought in a multitude of readers." Addison had no previous knowledge of the scheme, but he determined to help it. Some of the most charming of Addison's essays appear in the Tatler, but Steele stamped his character on the work as *' a gentle censor of manners and morals " and as a charming expo- nent of English life and English feeling. His aim was high — "to expose the false arts of life, to pull off the dis- guises of cunning, vanity and affectation, and to recom- mend a general simplicity in our dress and discourse, and our behaviour." That the careless and jovial *'Dicl{ Steele " should have such objects in view is another proof of the contradictions and incongruities of his character. ** If we consider the invention of Stcjle, as discoverable in the scheme and conduct of the Tatter, if we reflect upon the finely drawn and highly finished character of Bicker- stafl", in his varied offices of philosopher, humourist, astrolo- ger, and censor, the vast number of his <»wn oJegauti and use- ful papers, and the beauty and value of th«»se which, through his means, saw the light, we cannot hesitate in honouring him with the appellation of The Father of I'eriod- ical Writing." — {Drake's Essays.) TheTatler was publisli- ed eveiy Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, from the 12tli of Ai)ril, 1707, to the 2nd of January, 1711. When the sixth number appeared Addison knew that the author wds his friend, Sir Richard Steele, from a critical remark made to him alone, regarding a passage of Virgil. Ho there- fore immediately took an active part in the conduct of the periodical. Of the 271 papers, Steele wrote 188 ; Ad- THE RISE OF PERIODICAL LITERATURE. dison, 42 ; Steele and Addison jointly, 36; Swift and Ad- dison, 1 ; Hughes, 2 ; Swift, 1 ; Fuller, 1. The price was one penny each number. By the triumph of the Tories Steele lost his appointment as Gazetteer, and the Tatler wt it down, but its success warranted the issue in a few months afterwards of what proved a more famous venture. The Spectator was begun on the Istof March, 1711, and appeared every week-day till the 'Jth of December, 1712. It had then completed the 555 numbers usually col- lected in the first seven volumes. Its leading contributors were Addison, Steele and Hughes. Its character was at first slightly political, but Addisoti saw before him a higher aim. Politic* depended too much on the passions and interests of the actors, and he resolved to deal with other questions. He saw that true literature was degraded, and that even the English language was for the time in danger of becoming a mere ofifshoot of the French. The immoral effects of the Restora*>ion still existed. The public taste in Art and the Drama had scarcely begun to thiow off the poison of the last fifty years. Private peace was ruined by the slander of anonymous writers. Satire was the high- est channel in which were displayed the talents of literary men, who too often only aided in propagating vice and ir- religion. It was a time that needed reform, and Addison had qualifications that eminently fitted him for the task. Emboldened by the success of their former effort, Addison and Steele devoted their whole space to the es- says of the new periodical. "They relied, with a confidence which the extraordi- nary popularity of the work fully justified, on their power of exciting the interest of a wide audience by pictures and reflections drawn from a field which embraced the whole compass of ordinary life and ordinary knowledge, no kind of practical theories being positively excluded except such SkA were political, and all literary topics being admissible >m '^ 'I ■ 'n ! ■ iJ Urn 'm^ Wrh i'M f' THE RISE OF PERIODICAL LITERATURE. for which it seemed possible to command attention from persons of average taste and information. A seeming unity was given to the undertaKing, and a curiosity and interest awakened on behalf of the conductors, by the happy invention of the Spectator's Club, in which Steele is be- lieved to have drawn all the characters. The figure of Sir Roger de Coverley, however, the best, even in the opening group, is the only one that was afterwards elabor- ately delineated. To him, also, the Spectator owed a very large share of its highest excellencies. His were many, and these the most natural and elegant, if not the most original, of its humourous sketches of human character and social eccentricities, its good-humoured satires on ridiculous features in manners, and on corrupt symptoms in public taste ; these topics, however, making up a de- partment in which Steele was fairly on a level with his more famous coadjutor." (Spalding, in Encyc. Brit.) Each number contained an essay on some important topic ; generally a subject of a moral character was con- sidered, but occasionally a disquisition on the principles of criticism appeared. Works of literature and art passed under review, and with an object in the highest degree laudable and excellent. **I shall endeavour," says Steele " to enliven morality with wit, and to temper wit with morality ; that my readers may, if possible, both ways find their account in the speculations of the day. It was said of Socrates, that he brought philosophy down from heaven to inhabit among men ; I shall be ambitious to have it said of me, that I have brought philosophy out of closets and libraries, schools and colleges, to dwell in clubs and assemblies, at tea-tables, and in coffee-houses. " The trite and commonplace tone of many of these essays may appear rather amusing in our day. The slender parade of scholarship, in the shape of little scraps of Latin or Greek prefixed to them as a motto, would look pedantic on the part of a writer of this ago. But tli2 tiTue value of those papers must be TIIK RISE OF PERIODICAL LITERATURE. looked for in their high moral tone, in the useful principles of a social character which they advocate, and in the " Christian and gentle spirit which they inculcate." They were the first popular essays in English that dealt with questions of an aesthetic character. In the celebrated and agreeable criticism on Paradise Lody and of the old ballad Chevy Chase, and in the essays On the Pleasures of the Imaginationy we find the author's natural and delicate sense of the beautiful and subline triumphing ovfer the accumulated errors and corrupt taste of his own artificial age. The plan which was concei7ed and drawn up by Addison was carried out with immense popularity, as many as 20,000 copies of a number being sold in a day. In its most prosperous period, when Bolingbroke thought to crufih the press by the imposition of the Stamp Act, tlie Rjjectator doubled its price, still maintained its popularity, and paid government, on account of the half -penny stamp, a sum of £29 each week. It had besides a circulation ot about 10,000 in volumes. In 1714 the Spedatory which had ceased with the 555th number, was resumed, and the eighty numbers forming the eighth volume were issued. For this volume Steele does not appear to have written at all, and Addison contributed twenty-four of the thirty numbers, many of them being the finest of his essays. Of the 635 numbers forming the eight volumes, Ad- dison wrote 274 ; Steele, 240 ; Budgell, 37 ; Hughes, 11 ; Grove, 4 ; Pope, Pamell, Pearce, Martyn, Byrom, 2 each ; Swift, Brown, Francham, Dunlop, Hardwicke, Fleetwood, 1 each ; and 53 were anonymous. Addison's papers are designated by the letters of the word Clio. Among the finest specimens from his graceful pen may be mentioned the Essays on Miltony Vision of Mirza, Rejlec- tions in Westmifister Abbey , Essays on the Pleasures of the Imagination, and Sir Roger de Coverley. ' * MB • -11 "ulif ^I ■•I i v.. : : r 'il 8 THE RISE OF PLRIODICAL LITERATURii. i i!> Ihl k ^•^■. The Guardian followed. It was issued as a daily in March, 1713, and reached 175 numbers, forming two vol- umes. Addison became a frequent contributor to this series during the latter half of its progress. Macaulay says : " The Guardian was unfortunate, both in its birth and in its death. It began in dullness and disappeared in a tempest of faction. The original plan was bad. Ad- dison contributed nothing till sixty- six numbers had ap- peared ; and it was then impossible to make the Guardian what the Spectator had been. " None of Addison's essays here aim so high as the best of those in the Spectator ; but 8i;iU he furnished many, both serious .and coiriic, that rank well among that class of productions the objeci; of wliich is to inculcate sound principles of literary judgment. The Guxirdian did not give sufficient attention to literary speculations, and its character was lowered by its attempts at " merriment and burlesque." It misRod in its manage- ment the cool judgment of Addison ; and when " some unlucky sparkle from a Tory paper set Steele's politics on fire," his wit at once ** blazed into faction ; " and it came to an end in October, 1713. For the Guardian^ Steele wrote 82 papers ; Addison, 53 ; Berkeley, 14 ; Pope, 8 ; Tickell, 7 ; Budgell, Hughes, and Pamell, 2 each ; and single papers were contributed by Gay, Young, Philips, and others. The Influence of the Spectator, the TatUr and the Guardian was gieat on the intellectual and moral progress of the community. They cultivated a taste for agreeable and healthful literature, and perhaps in that way did more than by their direct attacks upon vice and folly. Macaulay regards Addison as the *' forerunner of the great English novelists." ** No novel, giv* ng a lively and poTverful picture of the common life and nuinners of England, had appeared before the time of the Spectator. ii THE RISE OF PERIODICAL LITERLTURE. 9 That craving for fiction, which is perhaps stronger among the imperfectly educated classes than among the more refined, was partly met by the delightful productions of Addison and Steele." It was felt that roughness did not go to make up a "gentleman ; " that Whigs and Tories, churchmen and dissenters, might hold different views and not act in such a manner as to "sow the seeds of civil war ; " and that no "such a spirit of dissension " should be shown as rendered them * * in a manner barbarous toward one another. " Frivolity was attacked, not by open scoii- ing, or by the use of violent or abusive language, but by gentle and pleasing words, and with a smile. The lady who had her mind occupied with a " new head-dress," a gossiping visit, some cracked china, or an affectation of learning, read through an essay at breakfast, and was charmed with its quaint humour before she recognized that it was a " satire on her pet folly." As the Earl of Mul- grave, one of the poets of the time, remarks — " Satyr well writ has most successful proved. And cured, because the remedy is loved." At a time when the nonsense or indecency of the Wycher- lys began to pall upon English taete, the glorious roll of Milton's verse and the spirit of English ballads are offered. A people who had almost forgotten the noble literature of a centuiy earlier, felt as if new fountains of learning were opened up for their use. By an imaginary letter from a friend, by some eastern fable, by some well con- structed allegory, or by a fictitious dream, hypocrisy is Vl)buked, prejudices are removed, or some absurd fashion ridiculed. " We find, also," saysTaine, " lectures on masquerades which end with a rendezvous ; precepts on the number of glasses people might drink, and the dislies of which th^y might eat ; condemnations of licentious professors of 1 h% , j.i 1' rx 4 ;: lO THE RISE OP PKRIODICAL T.ITERATURR. irreligion and immovality ; all maxims now Bomcwhat stale, but then new and useful ; because Wycherly and Rochester had put into practice and made popular the opposite maxims. Debauchery passed for French and fashionable ; this is why Addison proscribes in addition all French frivolities : the laughs of women who receive visitors in their dressing-rooms, and speak loud at the theatre. * There is nothing which exposes a woman to greater dangers than that gaiety and airiness of temper which are natural to most of the sex. It should be, there- fore, the concern of every wise and virtuous woman to keep this sprightliness from degenerating into levity. On the contrary, the whole discourse and behaviour of the French is to make the sex more fantastical, or (as they are pleased to term it) more awakened, than is consistent either with virtue or discretion. ' We see already in these strictures the portrait of the sensible housewife, the modest English woman, domestic and grave, wholly taken up with her husband and children. Addison returns a score of times the artifices, the pretty, affected babyisms, the coquetry, the futilities of women. He cannot suffer languishing or lazy habits. He is full of epigrams against flirtations, ex- travagant toilets, useless visits. He writes a satirical journal of a man who goes to his club, learns the news, yawns, studies the barometer, and thinks his time well occupied. He considers that time is capital, business duty, and life a task He gives useful advice, clear instruction, justified by what happened yesterday, useful for to-morrow. He observes that fathers must not bo in- flexible, and that they often repent driving their children to despair. He finds uLat bad books are pernicious, be- cause their durability carries their poison to future ages. " Spalding remarks : "To the mere literary lounger, their comic sketches of society, their whimsical autobiographies, their exposuresof social weaknesses and follies, in petitions, letters, or skilful allegories, offered themselves as supplying the place of the worn-out comic stage, and as supplying that place not only purely but instructively. It might indeed be said, with yet greater aptness, that the Spectator of- fered itself also to the novel-reader. It is full of little novels, or of fragments of such ; if we ta^ke consecutively the scattered sketches telling the history of Sir Roger de THE RISE OF PERIODICAL LITERATURE. IX Coverley, we sliall find them to coiiBtitute a novel as pro- perly as any work openly bearing the name. ' For those who were something more than idlers, there were held out objects much higher ; objects of contemplation which lead us to think better of the age than we could if we had only Pope or Swift to look to as expositors. Of this more am- biti(3U8 and serious character are many single papers of Addison's, and several j^roups of papera, in each of which he carried out a ttj'abumutic Uiiiii ul thought." ex- *,C , ' :i i -Vp^^' P^^kS^ LIFE OF JOSEPH ADDISON. ni ■ r Birth, 1672.— At Mils'. 3n, Wiltshire, on the first of May, 1672, was bom Joseph Addison, eldest son of the Rev. Lancelot Addison, dean of Lichfield. After gaining the rudiments of learning at schools in the neighbourhood of his father's rectory, he was sent to the Charter House in London. The anecdotes which are popularly related about his boyish pranks do not harmonize well with what is known of his riper yearn. At the Charter House, where his studies, vigorously and successfully pursued, gave promise of a brilliant university career, he made the ac- quaintance of Dick Steele, a good -hearted, witty Irish youth. Their early friendship, which was renewed at col- lege, produced an intimacy between them, one of the most memorable in literature. At the age of fifteen, with a classical taste, and a stock of learning v;hich would have done honour to a university graduate, he entered Queen's College, Oxford. Two years later he was elected a scholar of Magdalen College, where his skill in Latin versification LIFE OF JOSEPH ADDISON. 13 won for him oonsiderable renown. Here he was dis- tinguished among his fellow-students for the sliyness of his manners, the delicacy of his feelings, and liis applica* tion to study. Graduated, 1693. — After taking his master's degree, in 1693, his regular habits, his orthodox opinions, his col- legiate training, and the expectations of his friends, seemed to point his course to th(» clerical profession. A. variety of circumstances turned his attention from the church to literature and politics. In 1694, an Address to Dryden^ his first flight in English verse, gained the friendship of that distinguished writer, who introduced him to Con- greve. The latter presented him to Montague, who sub- sequently became Earl of Halifax, and who was then Chancellor of the Exchequer and leader of the Whig party in the House of Commons. The favour of Lord Somers he gained by dedicating a poem to him on one of King Wil- liam's cair^paigns. This, like many other productions of that period, had little merit apart from skilful mechanical execution. Fortunately for himself and for his country, Addison early quitted poetry and directed his attention to official and parliamentary business. The time was favour- able. The Revolution had changed the whole system of government. The press was no longer controlled by cen- sors. Literaiy and oratorical talents rose in value. Ability could not be neglected by party leaders. Mon- tague and Somers showed, therefore, a profound and en- lightened policy in attacliing to the Whig party the re- cognized talents of such men as Addison. Travels, 1699. — Besides his Address to Dryden^ he had written a translation of part of Virgil's Fourth Georgic, an Essay mi VirgiVs GeorgicSj an Account of the (rreatest English Foets, and his verses addressed To tJiA Kiiig. Hif patrons not yet hu .ng any office to spare for him, he ob I .1'' r ' \ :i'- 1 1 '; ';; ■ ■> ■ ■ r- 'r 'i- 1 >■■ J i 1 ' 1 if ,' ii ' •''\ i 1 ri' !tJ 14 LIFE OF JOSEPH ADDISON. tained, on the recommendation of Lord Somers, a pension of £300 a year, designed to enable him "to travel, and qualify liimself to serve His Majesty." He departed to France, where, chiefly for the purpose of learning the langiiage, he remained from the summer of 1699 till the end of the following year. After spending a year in Italy he visited Switzerland, and on his way home he learned of his appointment as envoy to Prince Eugeno, then en- gaged in the war in Italy. But his Whig friends were tottering, and the death of William, in March, 1702, drove them from power and put an end to his pension. While in Italy he wrote a poetical Letter' to Lord Halifax, which is regarded his finest work in verse. The classic ruins of Rome, the River Tiber, the " heavenly figures " of Ra- phael, and all the golden groves and flowery meadows of Italy, seem ** to have raised his fancy and heightened his expressions.** Enters Political Life, 1704.— The personal, politi- cal, and religious aversion of Anne to the Whig party could not keep tho Tories long in power. Lord Godolphin found that the public interests and his own interests de- manded that the late foreign policy of his opponents should be continued. The great victory of Blenhcinn was won by Captain -General Marlborough, ^ho prime minister de- sired to huva the glory of the conqueror celebrated in verse. Though fonder of the card-table than literature he was not iiidifiorent to poetry, and was mortified by the exceeding badness of the pieces which appeared in honour of the battle. To negrtiate a loan, to remit a subsidy, or to uncleratand the history of " running horses or fighting cocks, " Godolphin was competent, but to seloct a writer for his purpose he knew his unfitness. He consulted Halifax, who suggested Addison, and the result was ThA Campaign, This poem, though falling short of tho LffE Oli' JOSEPH ADDISON. «5 fiery spirit of Dryden in pieces of the kind, and of the high polish which Pope could have employed, is pleasing in details, and in the passage where Marlborough is com- pared to an angel guiding the whirlwind took the whole town by storm. Before it was completed he was appointed a Commissioner of Appeals, and was subsequently made Under-Secretary of State. This office he held first in a Tory Administration, and afterwards under Sutherland, a zealous follower of Addison's early patron, Somers. In 1707 he accompanied Halifax on a mission to Hanover, and in the following year saw the Whigg once more controlling the House of Commons. Enters Parliament, 1708. — At the general election of this year the Tories were unable to resist the stl-ength of their opponents, and Soiners was made Lord President of the Council. Addison was elected for Malmesbury, but in the House of Commons he was not a success. Only once did ho attempt to speak, and then he sat down in confu- sion. In 1709, Wharton, father of the notorious duke, having been appointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, Addi- son accompanied him as secretary. There he also ob- tained the office of Keeper of the Records, worth £300 a year. In this year he commt need to write for The TatJer^ a weekly sheet started by Steele. While in Ireland he made himself acceptable to many of the best and most distinguished persons of Dublin. He not only escaped without having a quarrel with Swift, but even held through life the esteem of that bitterest of misanthropes, and most deadly enemy of Addison's party. He served ill the Irish parliament, and even overcame his diffidence so far as to make speeches. During seven years of offi- cial service his literary history is not important. He de- fended the gOvernmeiib in an anonymous pamphlet on The present State of the War; with indifferent attempts at : (?•■ :-!il '! \M , i-r ^- 11 ■' •( \ i 16 LIFE OF JOSEPH ADDISON, I m lyrical poetry in his opera of Rosamond^ he united compli- ments to the all-powerful Marlborough ; and besides his contributions to The Tatlery wrote a prologue to Steele's comedy of The Tentler Husband. In the meantime, even the coalition-ministry of Godolphin was too Whiggish for Queen Anne, and by a combination of lucky accidents, dexterous management, and divisions among their adver- saries, the Tories gained immensely in popularity. The real failure of the prosecution of Sacheverell completed the ruin of the Whigs, and, in 1710, an entire revolution in the ministry was effected. The Tory administration which succeeded kept its place till the death of Anne, in 1714, and thus Addison was left to devote four of the best years of his life to occupations less lucrative but more conducive to his literary fame than those he had frittered away as a servant of the crown. None of the Whigs sustained greater pecuniary losses in the general wreck than Addison. But he shared little of the unpopu- larity 'ivhich his friends incurred. He was returned to parliament by acclaTnation, and the esteem in which he was held caused Swift to write to Stella in these words : '* The Tories carry it among the new members six to one. Mr. Addison's election has passed easy and undisputed ; and I believe if he had a mind to be king he would hardly be refused." This good-will of the Tories was purchased by no abandonment of principles on the part of Addison. He contributed five numbers to the Whig Excmiiner, a paper set up in opposition to a Tory periodical of the same name, and did what he could by his favour with his op- ponents to save Steele, Philips, and more of his friends from the general ruin of his party. The Tatler, 1109.— The Tatler, begun by Steele in 1709, consisted of essays on a variety of subjects, litera- ture, religion, satires on fashion, the gossip of the clubs, LIFE OF JOSEPH ADDISON 17 foreign news and criticisms of the theatres. When it was started Addison Was in Dublin, and though the design was exactly suited to his taste, it was one upon which he would probably have never entered had he not been urged to it by his impulsive friend. Steele, " a rake among scholars, and a scholar among rakes," by his general intelligence and facilities for gaining information, as well as by the force of his gay animal spirits, gave to his compositions a simplicity of style and an air of vivacity which made the experiment a success. Of the 271 essays, Addison contri- buted 42. "I owe," said Steele, "everything to Mr. Addison— but the world owes Mr. Addison to me," and in acknowledging the assistance of his friend he remarks : — " I fared like a distressed prince who calls in a powerful neighbour to assist him. I was undone by my auxiliary. When I had once called him in I could not subsist without dependence upon him. " Political papers had been pub- lished in London during many years, and had sometimes given attention to questions of morality, taste and fashion, but they were small and largely made up of advertise- ments. The popularity of the TatleVf publlslied tri- week- ly, was soon established, but its success was principally oAving to the contributions of Addison, its most famous writer. The Spectator, 1711. — As soon as the turmoil of the general election was over it was decided to start a new periodical called the Spectator y to be written by Addison, Steele, Hughes and others. Addison's aim was to reform society. He was well qualified for the task. He had travelled much and had extensive experience in active and professional life. His mind was stored with an immense amount of quaint and valuable information. He under- stood society, its whims, its follies and its wants. Though an ardent supporter of his own political party, and ©x- t, ■■' CI 'r*>;; I- ''•'mJ'I 1'. t^ ■i\ i8 LIFE OF JOSEPH ADDISON. ji«'] pected to employ his talents for the interests of that party, ho was so devoid of political prejudice that he was regarded by his bitterest opponents as one who never calumniated, and who brought himself unscathed through the thickest of party warfare. Under such a refined and polished writer, who possessed an inexhaustible fund of humour, genial though sly, and sparkling though quiet, the success of the Spectator was unprecedented. It was found in ev -.ry part of the kingdom, and was alike the recreation of the learned, the busy and the idle. Its plan was original and eminently happy. The great novelists had not yet made their appearance. The Spectator presented a suc- cession of essays which possessed the charm of fiction. Its readers were numbered by thousands, even after the stamp tax was imposed. Its sale was marked by such eagerness as that which attended in subsequent periods the works of Sir Walter Scott or Mr. Charles Dickens. The Specta- tor, which had been first issued in March, 1711, ceased to appear at the close of 1712. Cato, 1713. — On the cessation of the Spectator, Steele set on foot the Guardian, which was first issued March, 1713, and continued till it reached the 175th number. Addison contributed 53 of its later papers. In the mean- time he was engaged in completing a Roman drama, four acts of which had remained unfinished since his return from Italy. His retiring and modest nature caused him to feel reluctant to bring it forward. At length, after the earnest solicitations of his political friends, he gave the play to the managers of Drury Lane theatre. Pope had written the prologue, a dignified and spirited composition. Booth excellently played the part of the hero. Steele un- dertook to secure a packed house. The ** Peers of Opposi- tion " filled the boxes, and the pit was crowded with atten- tive and friendly listeners. Its success was dazzling. The LIFE OF JOSFPH ADDISON. T9 Whigs liailed it as a brilliant manifesto in favour of consti- tutional liberty. The Tories echoed the applause, profess- ing to find a resemblance between Julius Caesar and Marl- borough, and regarding themselves as the true foes of despotism. All Addison's friends were in ecstacies. Dur- ing a whole month Gato was performed to overflowing houses. Its success was, doubtless, largely due to the fame of the author, and to the character of the age in which it was brought forward. It was a period when dramatic power and insight were almost extinct. Party feeling ran high; and both Whigs and Tories appropriated to themselves the sentiments of the play. But even in its poetical elements it is poor, and is redeemed only by the finely solemn tone of its moral reflections and by the singular refinement and smoothness of its diction. Though deficient in passion and natural emotion, it contains pas- sages of great dignity and lofty patriotism. Its author received poetical eulogiums from contemporary writers, including Steele, Hughes, Young, Tickell and Ambrose Philips. It was translated into various languages of Eu- rope. Voltaire placed it above any of Shakespeare's plays ; but time has effectually dispelled such delusions as capti- vated the public at its introduction. Re-enters Public Life, 1714. — About this time Ad- dison had reached the height of his literary fame. He now conceived the idea of adding an eighth volume to the Spectator. In June, 1714, the first number of the new series appeared, and for about six months three papers were published weekly. In this volume are found, perhaps, the finest essays in the English language. In the mean- time the death of Anne produced an entire change in the administration of public affairs. A coalition of the friends of the Protestant succession placed the power in the hands o{ lading Whi^s, The general election which followed Ill ' ■ '"HI ■ ''Mi m .■ ^■l: I. ,* ^ ' 20 LIFE OF JOSEPH APDISON. m IW the accession of the House of Ha' pver routed the Tories. Sunderland was appointed Lo> i-Lieutenant of Ireland, and Addiaon got his old position as Secretary at Dublin. There he met Swift, and the two great satirists renewed their habits of friendly intercourse. In 1715 he resigned his position for a seat at the Board of Trade, and the same year his comedy of the Drummer was brought upon the stage. He also published the first number of the Freeholder^ which is not surpassed by any of his political works. . Quarrel with Pope, 1716»— Now occurred the fa- mous quarrel between Addison ai»d Pope. Only three years before. Pope had received Addison's friendly re- marks on his Essay on Criticism. Though still very young, he was already very famous, and beginning to show in- cessantly his literary jealousies ; and the prudent, good- tempered, and modest Addison did not escape his personal and party hatreds. Pope had written the Rape of the Loch in two cantos, which had been applauded, and by none more loudly than by Addison. The author thought of amending the poem and asked Addison's advice. He entreated Pope not to run the risk of marring what was so excellent, in trying to mend it. The advice was ill- received and not forgotten. This, and other misunder- standings paved the way for a breach which occurred when the first volume of Pope's Hiad was published. A translation of the first book of the poem appeared at the same time, bearing the name of Tickell, who was a good Greek scholar and a dangerous rival. Addison preferred Tickell's version to that of Pope. As the author was Ad- dison's under-Secrotary and confidential friend. Pope resented the recommendation as a personal insult. He wrote his memorable satire on Atticvs, in which there is less truth than bitterness or maligiuty^ The charge that LIFE OF JOSEPH ADUISON. 21 Addison ccuid " bear no rival near the throne " may have some found j-tion, but as regards Pope's insinuations agamst his illustrious comtemporary, recent investigations have considerably shaken that poet's character for vera- city. Though Afticuft was circulated among his friends, and though the satirist sent a copy to Addison himself, the latter conducted himself throughout as a good man and a sincere Christian. Even in his paper, the Freeholder , he expressed high approbation of the Iliad of Pope, who, on the contrary, after the death of Addison, did not restrain his pen from witing malignant lines against the distin- guished essayist. Marriage, 1716. — In this year Addison married the Countess-Dowager of Warwick, a widow of fifteen years' standing. The alliance proved an unhappy one, like that of Dryden with Lady Elizabeth Howard. He is said to have *' married discord in a noble vdfe," the countess being proud and violent, and supposing she had conferred honour instead of receiving it. Some have supposed that the uneasiness caused by domestic discomfort had much to do with those habits of intemperance which are said to have grown upon him in his later years. Sobriety was not a virtue of those times. The constant frequenting of coffee-houses, which figures so often in the Spectator and elsewhere, and which was a common practice among liter- ary men and others, cannot have had good effects. Addi- son does not appear to have had much relish for this mode of life, and it has been shown that he had, before his marriage, lodgings out of town to which he retired for study and composition. Secretary of State, 1717.- Soon after his marriage Addison reached the height of civil greatness. The Whig party had been torn by dissensions. A section whicli was led by Lord Sunderland triumphed, and Townshend and ik V i'il 1 ' , ; ' !; m V- . I '»::- :! 'i ;i' 'Jin "in ;i;> '■1 ' as LIFE OF JOSEPH ADDISON. Walpole retired from office. Addison was appointed Sec- retaiy of State. Uis popularity, his stainless probity and his literary fame, secured his appointment. His owd re- fusal, it is said, prevented his elevation to such a post before, and his acceptance now was owing, as Pope as- serted, to the influence of his wife. His unfitness for such an office was undeniable and glaring under the cir- cumstances. A government with a Secretary of State who could not open his lips in debate was ill-suited to face an opposition headed by Robert Walpole. The decay of Addison's health was now ( ing r.^. ra >idly. We may readily conjecture that "ixie^v pcii-aning to official life, if not troubles of a domestic ci racte):, precipitated his resignation. His retirement took placo In March, 1718, and he was granted a pension of £1,500 a year. Not lonf: afterwards, divisions in the Whig party alienated him from his oldest friends. The Peerage Bill was attacked on behalf of the opposition by Steele, in the Plebeian, Addison answered it temperately in the Old Whig. Pro vocation from the Plebeian brought forth angry retort from the Whig. Hard words were used, both in stylo, in wit, and in politeness. Addison shows more to advantage than his opponent. How Addison regarded the quarrel may be inferred from the absence of the Old Whig from that posthumous collection of his works for which his ex- ecutor, Tickell, had received from him authority and direction. Hit. last literary effort was a work on the Evi- dences of the Ghrisiian Peligion. Death, 1719. — Addison hfid long been afflicted with asthma. After retirement from office the disease was ac- companied by dropsy. His death-bed was the triumph of religion and virtue. He sent a message to Gay desiring ';0 see him. Gay obeyed the summons^ and Addison beg- ged his forgiveness for an injury he had done him, for LIFE OF JOSKPH ADDISON. »3 which, he said, he would recompense him if he recovered. What the injury was is not known, but Gay supposed it referred to his having prevented him from getting some advantage from the government. Conscious of a life well spent in Oie service of his fpllow-'^rcatures, and "repos- ing on e merits of his K:;doomer/* he waited with tranquilii.y and resignation the moment of departure. Anxioup o reclaim Lord Warwick, an amiable but dissi- pated y -ng nobleman, he called him to his bed-side. Life was now firlimiri-^riv^^ in the socket as his son-in-law stood before him. Addison had often, though in vain, endeavoured to correct his principles and to curb the im- petuosity of his passions. After a proper pause the youth said, " Eear sir, you sent for me ; I believe, I hope you have some commands ; I shall hold them most sacred. " Forcibly grasping the youth's hand, he softly said, *' Sep in what peace a Christian can die. " He soon after ei.- pired, on the 17th of June, 1719, i ■:i ■';><■ I ■iij '^M V it ^ ; ->. .J it 'Vt. ik m n ^^^ ADDISON'S LITERARY CHARACTER.. -o- As a Dramatist. — The genius of Addison was not adapted to the drama. The opera of Bosamond was scarcely a success. The story of fair Rosamond would seem well suited for representation on the stage, and the ** bowers and shades of Woodstock " supplied good ma- terials for scenic description and display. Being written wholly in rhyme and confined in action, it has not much to render it popular. His comedy, the Drummer ^ con- tains a fund of quiet, natural humour, but has not suffi- cient strength or breadth of character to take a high rank. Cj.to owed its success to the intense party feeling at the time. The strictest rules of the classical school are fol- lowed. " The three Unities " are preserved with care, but the opinion of Pope, that it was deficient in dramatic interest, ha& been confirmed by the judgment of later critics. The sentiments and language are studiously elevat- ed and imposing, but it has too much coldness. The author sacrifices probability, both real and dramatic, to presdrve the ' ' unity of time and place. " The famous soliloquy is grand and imposing, but borrowed and almost translated from Plato. Many of the passages have great dignity and ftonorous diction. It abounds in generous and patriotic sentiments, but it fails to unlock the sources of passion and emotion. It exhibits the grace and majesty, but at ADDISON'S LITERARY CHARACTER. 25 the same time the lifelensneBs and frigidness, of a " noble antique Btatue. " As a Poet. — Addison, though not taking a very high rank, has written much that would bo more valued had it not been thrown into the shade by the comparative brilliancy of his prose. The paraphrase of Psalm xxiii., l.ie Lord my pasture ahaU prepare , and auch odes as The ispaci(m8 firmament on highy and How are thy servants hlestf Lord ! hold a permanent place among religious poems. The Campaign, Dr. Warton termed a ** Gazette in Rhyme," and it has beon regarded by some critics as showing ail Mie " stiffness, artifice and effort," which marked the style of Boileau. Addison may, however, be excused for exhibiting, during the predominance of the critical school, a splendid and animated style. Even in the panegyric on Dryden^ his first appearance in English literature, we notice that neatness of versification for which his contemporary. Pope, is distinguished. John- son regards the censure of Warton as too severe, and remarks that "Many of our writers tried their powers upon this year of victory ; yet Addison's is confessedly the beat performance ; his poem is the work of a man not blinded by the dust of learning ; his images are not bor- rowed merely from books. " The famous comparison of Marlborough to an angel guiding the whirlwind, which the Tatler considered '* one of the noblest thoughts that ever entered into the heart of man," is justly praised by the same critic, who regards the author's " rejection and contempt of fiction," in the description of a war- like scene, as ** rational and manly." The touch- ing ballad of Southey's on the same subject sur- pas3es it in moral tone, pathos and true poetry. One of his best pieces is his Ldter from Italy , to Lord Halifax. Of this Drake thus speaks :— " Had he writtep 1 h *^i •-i, :■ 96 ADDISON S LITERARY CHARACTER. nothing else, this epistle ought to have acquired for him the repufation of a good poet. Its versification is remark- ably sweet and polished, its vein of description usually ricli ami clear, and its sentiments often pathetic, and sometimes even sublime. We see Addison with the ar- dent entliusiasm of a mind fresh from the study of the classics, explaining with unwearied fondness and assiduity the neglected relics of antiquity, and tracing every stieam and mountain recorded in the songs of the Bard. His praises of liberty break forth with uncommon warmth and beauty, with that energy of phrase and thought which only genuine emotion can supply." Johnson also remarks,** his poetry is polished and pure ; the i)roduct of a mind too judicious to commit faults, but not sufKciently vigorous to attain excellence. He has some- times a striking line, or a shining paragraph ; but, in the whole, he is warm rather than fervid, and shows more dex- terity than strength. Ho was, however, one of our earliest ex- amples of correctness. The versification which he had learn- ed from Dryden he debased rather than refined. His rhymes are often dissonant ; in his Georgic he admits broken lines. He uses both triplets and Alexandrines, but triplets more frequently in his translation than in his other works. The mere structure of his verses seems never to have engaged much of his care. But his lines are very smooth in Mosamondy and too smooth iii Caio. " Prose Style.—** His prose is the model of the middle style; on grave subjects not formal, on light occasions not grovelling ; pure without scrupulosity, and exact without apparent elaboration ; always equable and always easy, without glowing words or pointed sentences. A ddison never deviates from his track to snatch a grace ; he seeks no ambitious ornaments, and tries no hazardous innova- tions. His page is always luminous, but never blazes in unexpected splendour. It was, apparently, his principal endeavour to avoid all harshness and severity of diction ; he is, therefore, sometimes verbose in his transitions and con- nections, but sometimes descends too much to the language of conversation ; yet, if his language had been less idiom- atical, it might have lost somewhat of its genuine Angli- cism. What he attempted he performed ; he is never ADDISON'S LITKRARY CHARACTER. •7 1 'd feeble, and lie did not wish to bo energetic ; he is never rabid, and he never stagnates. His sentences have neither studied amplitude nor affected brevity ; his periods though not diligently rounded, are voluble and easy. Whoever wishes to attain an English style, familiar ])ut not coarse, elegant but not ostentatious, must give his days and nights to the volumes of Addison." — Johnson. Orthographical features. —The orthography of Addison, as found in the Spectator, is unsettled, irregular, and in a variety of words different from the modern standard. The k is used after e final unaccented, as ap- pears in puhlick, domestlckSf politicks, &c. The u is ob- served in colour, endeavour, &c., but omitted in inferior, humorist, &g. Wo have judgment, and also judgement. Such words as easie, tryal, satyr (satire), show that the distinct uses of y and i were not fully settled ; and the same is true regarding the Latin in and the French en, as prefixes in enquiries, enclose, &c. The use of s (sibilant) and its cognate z, are variously represented, as in cxpence, practised, surprize, &c. We have chearfvhiess, compleat, shews, flurts, chusing, deposite, dependant, dazle. Hill. The syllabication was unsettled and without law. We find such anomalies as infi-nity, pre -sent, omniscience, imia-gine, e-ver, ve-ry, distance, cJui-racter, posterity. The use of capitals is frequent, and guided principally by emphasis. Graminatical features.— The style of Addison is very accurate. The prevalent style of the period is loose. Tliat of Steele is in many instances even slovenly. Many of Addison's expressions would not appear creditable in com- positions of our day. This proves not his negligence, but rather the progress of i ste in matters of style. The use of an before h aspirate is found in sucli expressions as an hundred, an hare, &c. The use of the gerund is very com- mon where now would be employed the participle, the infinitive, or an adverbial proposition. We find the ar- * ' r J "f 28 ADDISON'S LITERARY CHARACTER. «.ii m m J ■ tide more frequently placed before it than in ooniposition of a later period. Sometimes it is preceded by a posses- sive, and it is often the object of a verb or prep( Ition. Addison almost invariably puts the preposition last in such expressions as ** To be come at," " Which I should have been troubled for," "The gentleman I have been speaking of." But is often used after com- paratives, and there is less importance attached to the position of relatives, complements, and subordinate pro- positions, than in modem usage. Rhetorical features. — Rhetorically the style of Ad- dison may be regarded f emarkably easy and natural. He employs the loose sentence as a rule in preference to the period. His sentences are short, but little involved, and direct, with few inversions. In the oral properties his style excels. It is melodious, rhythmical, and so far as the simple and direct construction of the sentences ad- mits, it shows much harmony. It exhibits quite a con- trast to the full, round periodical style of Edmund Burke, and also that of previous great writers of proso, like Lord Bacon. It shows an abse^ise of those ponderous forms of expression of Dr. Johnson. There is a noticeable use of words of Anglo-Saxon origin when a comparison is made with the works of the latter. It is a style that appears to have served as a model for most cf modem great prose writera. It is that style which, when employed by Ma- caulay with the addition of his brilliant rhetoric, so cap- tivates by its naturalness, simplicity, clearness and grace. His prose may, in the proper sense of the term, be re- garded as highly poetical. His periods are musical, meas- ured, and refined. Some of his essays are real odes, lyrics to virtue and religion. As a humourist.— In refined and delicate humour Addison has no superior. It flows in an inexhaustible sup- m ADDISON'S LITERARY CHARACTER. 29 ply. It'was that which made him the best conversationalist among his friends ; and which made Pope regard him as — " Blest with each talent and each art to please, And bom to write, converse, and live with ease." and caused Chesterfield to exclaim, "Rather with Pope and Addison than with all the princes in Europe." He gave to the world, in the tipectatovy something of that pleasantry "which only a privileged few hud before gained from him, when the anecdotes, jests and good- natured repartees flowed from his lips at the Kitcat, or at the table of Halifax, Swift or Chesterfield. " In the dis- play of his humour, Dr. Johnson says : " He never out- steps the modesty of nature, or raises merriment or wonder by the violation of truth. His figures never divert by distortion, nor amuse by aggravation. He copies life with so much fidelity that he can never be said to invent, yet his exhibitions have an air so much original that it is diflicult t suppose them not merely the product of the Imagination. " Macaulay thus compares Addison's pleasantry with that of Swift and Voltaire. "Voltaire is the prince of butfoons. His merriment is without disguise or re- straint. He gambols ; he grins ; he shakes his sides ; he points the finger ; he turns up the nose ; he shoots out the tongue. The manner of Swift is the very opposite of this. He moves laughter but never joins in it. He appears in his works such as he appeared in society. All the C( m- pany are convulsed with merriment ; while the dean, the author of all the mirth, preserves an invincible gi-avity and even sourness of aspect." Addison's dift'eis from both. ' ' He neither laughs out like the Fsench wit, nor, like the Irish wit, throws a double portion of severity ii^to his countenance while laughing inly ; but preserves a look peculiarly his own — a look of demure severity, disturbed only by an arch sparkle of the eye, an almost impercep- tible elevation of the brow, an almost imperceptible curl of the lip. We own that the linmour of Addison is, in our opinion, of a more delicious flavour than the humour of either Swift or Voltaire. Thus much, at least, is cer- i-3(; t ',.f m i'M*- 30 ADDISON'S LITERARY CHARACIER. tain, that both Swift and Voltaire have been successfully mimicked, and that no man has yet been able to mimic Addison. " The mirth of Addison is that of one who felt that there wa'^ much to be admired in human character. He aimed to cure without inflicting pain ; to use ridic ile without abusing it ; to advance virtue without uniting it with fanaticism ; and to draw attention to human foDies by "a mirth consistent with tender compassion for all 1 hat is frail, and with profound reference for all that is sublin e. " As a Teacher of Morality. — "It is no small tl.ing» to make morality fashionable. Addison did it ; and ii re- mained in fashion. Formeiiy honest men were not polis/ led, and polished men were not honest ; piety was fanatica / and urbanity depraved ; in manners, as in literature, a man could meet only Puritans o " libertines. For the firs* lime Addison reconciled virtue with elegance, taught duty la an accomplished style, and made pleasure subservient to rea- son." — Taine. '* On education and the domestic virtues, on the duties incumbent on father, husband, wife and child, ) ic pre- cepts are just and cogent, and delivered in thp* sweet, insinuating style and manner which have renc' lU d him beyond comparison the most useful moralist t) uu o juntry ever produced." — Cleveland. "And in our own (excuse some courtlj' strains^ No whiter pajje than Addison's remains. He from the taste obscene reclaims our youtl- And sets the passion on the side of truth, Forma the soft bosom with the gentlest art, And pours each human virtue in the heart."- ope. " Britain's Spctatora shall their force combin To mend our morals and our taste refine. Fight Vrtue's cause, stand up in Wit's defer, ?, Win us from vice, and laugh us into sense." • Landsdowne, The Old and the Ne-w Paths of L terature.— "There were two paths in life open to an Eiiglish WTiter. One was the smooth and level way of patron ;ge ; the other a rough up-hill track for men who struggler in the service of the people. The way of patronage wis honourable. The age had been made so very discerning by the Komans and the French, that a true understanding of the beauties of literature was confined to the select fo r who had been taught what to admire. Fine writing was beyond the rude appreciation of the multitude. Had, theiefore, the read- ADDISON S UTERARY CMARAcrTER. 3' !i ing public been much larger than it was, men of fastidious taste, who paid as much deference to polite opinion as Addison did in his youth, could have expected only audience fit but few, and would have been without en- couragement to the pursuit of letters, unless patronage re- warded merit. The other way had charms only for the stout-hearted pioneer who foresaw where the road was to be made that now is the great highway of our literature. Addison went out into the world by the way of his time ; Steele by the way of ours." — Morlei/s Spectator. "Oxford, in times not long past, had inclined to faith in divine right of kings. Addison's father, a church dig- nitary, who had been a Royalist during the Civil War, laid stress upon obedience to authority in Church and State. When modern literature was discussed or studied at Oxford, there would be the strongest disposition to maintain the commonly accepted authority of French critics, who were really men of great ability, correcting bad taste in their predecessors, and conciliating scholars by their own devout acceptance of the purest Latin authors as the types of a good style or proper method in the treatment of a subject. Young Addison found notliing new to him in the temper of his University, and was intiiienced, as in his youth every one must and should be, by the prevalent tone of opinion in cultivated men. But he had, and frit that he had, wit and genius of his own. His sensitive mind was simply and thoroughly religious ; generous in its in- stincts, and strengthened in its noble part by close com- munion with the mind of his friend Steele. May we not think of the two friends together in a college chamber ? Addison of slender frame, with features wanting neither in dignity nor in refinement. Steele of robust make, with the radiant ' short face ' of the Spe tator^ by right of which he claimed for that worthy his admission to the Ugly Club. Addison reads Dryden, in praise of whom he WTota his earliest known verse ; or reads endeavours of his own, which his friend Steele warmly applauds. They dream together of the future ; Addison sage but speculative, and Steele practical, if rash. Each is disposed to find God in the ways of life, and both avoid the outward show of irre- ligion, which, after the recent civil wars, remains yet com- mon in the country, as reaction frori an ostentatious piety :'■!; .1 1- 1- 3* Addison's literary character. which laid on burdens of restraint ; a natural reaction which had been intensified by the base influence of a pro- fligate king. Addison, bred among the preachers, has little of the preacher's abstract tone, when talk between the friends draws them into direct expression of the sacred sense of life which made thein one. Apart also from the mere accidents of childhood, a spe»^ulative turn in Addison is naturally stronger than in Steele. He relishes analysis of thought. Steele came as a boy from the rough world of shame and sorrow ; his great, kindly heart is most open to the realities of life, the state and prospects of his country, direct personal sympathies ; actual wrongs, actual reme- dies. Addison is sensitive, and has among strangers the reserve of speech and aspect which will pass often for coldness and pride, but is, indeed, the shape taken by modesty in thoughtful men, whoso instinct it is to specu- late and analyze, and who became self-conscious, not through deceit, but because they cannot help turning their speculation also on themselves. Steele wholly comes out of himself as his heai't hastens to meet his friend. He lives in his surroundings, and, in friendly intercourse, fixes his whole thought on the worth of his companion. Never abating a jot of his ideal of a true and perfect life, or ceasing to uphold the good because he cannot live to the full height of his own argument, he is too frank to conceal the least or greatest of his own shortcomings. Delight and strength (jf a friendship like that between Steele and Addison are to be found, as many find them, in the charm and use of a compact where characters difier so much that one lays open as it were a fresh world to the other, and each draws from the other aid of forces which the friend- ship makes his own. But the deep foundations of this friendship were laid in the religious earnestness that was alike in both ; and in religious earnestness are laid also the foundations of this book, its monument."— -iior/e7/'s Spectator. Addison and Steele compared.— "While, in a word, the Spectator^ if Addison had not taken part in it, would prob^My have been as lively and humorous as it was, and not, i^sv ['upu-'ar in its own day, it would have wanted some of i*? stroii-^est claims on the respect of pos- terity, by bfUU'j* '-i^ OD/^e I'^wer iu Ha uxoral tone, far less ADDISON'S LITERARY CHARACTER, 33 abundant in literary knowledge, and much less vigorous and expanded in thinking. In point of style, again, the two friends resemble each other so closely as to be hardly distinguishable, when both are dealing with familiar ob- jects, and writing in a key not rising above that of conversa- tion. But in the higher tones of thought and composition, Addison showed a mastery of language raising him very decisively, not above Steele only, but above all his con- temporaries. Indeed, it may safely be said, that no one, in any age of our literature, has united so strikingly as he did, the colloquial grace and ease which marks the style of an accomplished gentleman, with a power of soaring into a strain of expression nobly and eloquently dignified." — Encydopcedia Britannica. Two Types of Literature.— "Addison's quietness with strangers was against a rapid widening of his circle of familiar friends, and must have made tlie great-] learted friendship of Steele as much to him as his cou^i be to Steele. In very truth it * doubled all his store. ' »^teele's heart was open to enjoyment of all kindly in':ercourh^e with men. In after years, as expression of thougiit in thv> lit- erature of nations gained freedom and sincerity, two types of literature were tormed from the types of mind which Addison and Steele may be said to have in some measure represented- Each souglit advance towards a better light, one part by dwelling on the individual duties and respon- sibilities of man, and his relation to the infinite ; the otlior by especial study of man's social ties and liberties, and hi? relation to the commonwealth of which he is a member. Goethe, for instance, inclined to one study ; Schiller to the other ; and every free mind will incline to one or other of these centres of opinion. Addison was a cold politician, because he was most himself when analyzing principles of thought, and humours, passions, duties of the individual. Steele, on the contrary, braved ruin for his convictions as a politician, because his social nature turned his earnest- ness into concern for the well-being of his country, and he lived in times when it was not yet certain that the newly- secured liberties were also finally secured. The party was strong that desired to re-establish ancient tyrannies, and the Queen herself was hardly on the side of freedom. " — Morley's Spectator, .i.if *v ■• II i **l m ADDISON'S SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. I. sitt rodokr's country residence and friends. TTAVING often receivec" an invitation from my friend Sir ■'' ''■ Roger de Coverley to pass away a month with him in the country, I last week accompanied him thither, and am set- tled with him for some time at his country-house, where I intend to form several of my ensuing speculations. Sir Roger, who is very well acquainted with my humour, lets me rise and go to bed when I please^ dine at his own table or in my own chamber as I think fit, sit still and say nothing without bidding me be merry. When the gentlemen of the county come to see him, he only shews me at a distance. As I have been Talk- ing in his fields, I have observed them stealing a sight ol "j-o over an hedge, and have heard the knight desiring them not to let me see them, for that I hated to be stared at. I am the more at ease in Sir Roger's family, because it con- sists of sober and staid persons ; for as the knight is the best master in the world, he seldom changes his servants ; and as he is beloved by all about him, his servants never care for leaving him ; by this means his domestics are all in years, and grown old with their master. You would take hiavalet-de-chambre for his brother, his butler is gray-headed, hii groom is one of the gravest men that I have ever seen, and his coachman has the looks of a pri^T^-councillor. You see the goodness of the master even in the old house-dog, and in a gray pad that is kept in the stable with great care and tenderness out of regard to hifl past services, though he has been uselss for several years. I!: i:^ if ■ I: am ROGER DS COVERX.lt> I could not but observe with a great deal v>f pK^asure the jo> that appeared in the countenances of these ancieni domestics, upon my friend's arrival at his country-seat. Some of them could not refrain from tears at the sight of their old master ; every one of tJKem pressed forward to do 3omething for him, and seemed discouraged if they were not employed. At the same time, the good old knight, with a mixture of che father and master of the family, tempered the enquiries after his own affairs with several kind questions relating to themsblves. This humanity and good nature engages everybody to him, so that when he is pleasant upon any of them, all his family are in good humour, and none so much as the person -^vhom hedivert? him- self with ; on the contrary, if he coughs, or betrays any infirmity of old age» it is easy for a stander-by to observe a. secret con- cern in the looks of all his servants. My worthy friend has put me under the particular care of his butler, who is a very prudent man, and, as well as the rest of his f*" '^ >w-servant8, wonderfully desirous of pleasin,^; me, becausv-^ thy iiuvo often h^ird their ma^er talk of me as of iiis particular friend. My chief companion, when Sir Boger is diverting himself in the woods or the fields, is a very venerable man, who is ever wi'^h Sir Roger, and has li^"'?d at his house in the nature of a chaplain above thirty year:^ This gentleman is a person of good sense and some learning, of a very regular life and oblig- ing conversation. He heartily loves Sir Roger, and knows that he is very much in the old knight's esteem, so that he lives in the family rather as a relation than a dependant. I have observed in several of my papers, that my friend Sir floger, amidst all his good qualities, is something of an humor- ist ; and that his virtues, as well as imperfections, are as it were tinged by a certain extravagance, which makes them pt.rticu- larly bis, and distinguishee them from those of other men. SIR ROGER DR nOVEHTiEY. 3 This caiN of mind, as H is generally very innocent in itself, >»o it renders bis conversation highly agreeable, and more deVifth^ fill tlian the same degree of sonae and virtue would appear in their common and ordinary colours. As I was walkinj? with him last night, he asked me how I liked the good man wnom 1 have just now mentioned ; and without staying for my answer, told me tha>af] to the people. n. WILL WIMBLE, A GUEST. As I was yesterday morning walking with Sir Rodger before hig house, a country fellow brought him a huge fish, which, he told him, Mr. William Wimble had caught that very morning ; and that he presented it, with his service to him, and intended to come and dine with him. At the same time he delivered a let- ter, which my frend read to me as soon as the messenger left him. • Sir Rogeij — I desire you to accept of a jack, which in the best I have caught this season. I intend to come and stay with you a week, and seo how the perch bite in the Black Biver. I RIR ROOFR HE COVKRT.KT. observed with some concern, the last time I saw you npon the bowling-green, that yov'r whip wanted a lash to it ; I will bring half a dozen with me that I twisted last week, which I hope will serve you all the time you are in the country. I have not been out of the saddle for six days last past, having been at Eton with Sir John's eldest son. He takes to his leaminc hugely. I am, Sir, your humble servant, 'Will Wimble.' This extraordinary letter, and message that accompanied it, made me very curious to know the character and quality of the gentleman who sent them, which I found to be as follows : — Will Wimble is younger brother to a baronet, and descended of the ancient family of the Wimbles. He is now between forty and fifty, but being bred to no business, and born to no estate, he generally lives with his elder brother as superintendent of his game. He hunts a pack of dogs better than any man in the country, and is very famous for finding out a hare. He is ex- tremely well versed in all the little handicrafts of an idle man. He makes a May-fly to j, miracle, and furnishes the whole coun- try' with angle-rods. As he is a good-natured officious fellow, and very much est eemed on accouni; of his family, he is a wel- come guest at every house, and keeps up a good correspondence among all the gentlemen about him. He carries a lulip-root in his pocket from one to another, or exchanges a puppy between a couple of friends that live perhaps in the opposite sides of the county. Will is a particular favourite of all the young heirs, whom, he frequently obliges with a net that he has weaved, oi a setting dog that he has made himself. He now and then pre- sents a pair of garters of h'S own knittfng to their mothers or Bisters, and raises a great deal of mirth among them, by inqrir- ing as often as he meets them how they wear. These gentle- man-like manufactures and obliging little humours make Will the darling of the countrj'. Sir Boger was proceeding in the character of him, when we m \ i IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) k // -O ^• r/. 1.0 1.1 I^|2j8 |2.5 ^ m ^ ti£, 12.0 I 11.25 IIIU 6" 7 7] ^>> f 7 Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WIST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. MS«0 (716) 872-4503 ^z^ ^A- l/.A 6 8IR ROGER DE COVERLET. saw him make up to US with two or three hazel -twigs inhii hand that he had cut in Sir Roger's woods, as he came through them, in his way to the house. I was very much pleased to oh- serve on one si 1e the hearty and sincere welcome with which Sii Roger received him, and on the other, the secret joy which his gaest discovered at sight of the good old knight. After the first salutes were over, Will desired Sir Roger to lend him one of his servants to carry a set of shuttlecocks he had with him in a little box, to a lady that lived about a mile off, to whom it seems he had promised such a present for above this half-year. Sir Roger's back was no sooner turned but honest "Will began to tell me of a large cock-pheasant that he had sprung in one of the neighboring woods, with two or three other adventures oi the same nature. Odd and uncommon characters are the game that I look for, and most delight in ; for which reason I was as much pleased with the novelty of the person that talked to me, as he could be for his life with the springing of a pheasant, and therefore listened to him with more than ordinary attention. In the midst of this discourse the bell rang to dinner, where the gentleman I have been speaking of had the pleasure of seeing the huge jack he had caught served up for the first dish in a most sumptuous manner. Upon our sitting iown to it, ho gave us a long account how he had hooked it, played with it, foiled it, and at length drew it out upon the bank, with several other particularities that lasted all the first course. A dish of wild-fowl that came afterwards, furnished conversation for the rest of the dinner, which concluded with a late invention of Will's for improving the quail-pipe. Upon withdrawing into my room after dinner, I was secretly touched with compassion towards the honest gentleman that had dined with us ; and could not hut consider, with a great deal of concern, how so good a heart and such busy hands were wholly. employed in trifles, that so much humanity should be Bo little beneficial to others, and so much industry so little ad- 8 mhig through id to ob- hich Sii hich his the first ne of his n a little leems he ar. Sir began to n one of itnres oi he game I was as i to me, int, and ticn. r, where isure of irst dish to it, h8 w'ith it, I several . dish of I for the ition of secretly an that a great ds were ould be btle ad- SIR ROGER DE COVERLET. 7 vantageous to himself. The same temper of mind and appUca tion to affairs might have recommended him to the public es teem, and have raised his fortune in another station of life What good to his country or himself might not a trader or mer chnnt have done with such useful though ordinary qualifications Will Wimble's is the case of many a younger brother of a great family, who had rather see their children starve like gentlemen, than thrive in a trade or profession that is beneath their quality. This humour fills several parts of Europe with pride and beggary. It is the happiness of a u aiding nation like ours that the younger sons, though incapable of any liberal art or profession, may be placed in such a way of life as may perhaps enable them to vie with the best of their family. Ac- cordingly, we find several citizens that were launched into the world with narrow fortunes, rising by an honest industry to greater estates than those of their elder brothers. It is not im- probable but Will was formerly tried at divinity, law, or physic; and that, finding his genius did not lie that way, his pare»ts gave him up at length to his own inventions. But certainly, however improper he might have been for studies of a higher nature, he was perfectly well turned for the occupation of trade and commerce. . m. THE COVERLEY QHOST. At a little distance from Sir Eoger's house, among the ruins of an old abbey, there is a long walk of aged elms, which are shot up so very high, that when one passes under them, the rooks and crows that rect upon the top of them seem to be cawing in another region. I am very much delighted with this sort of noise, which I consider as a kind of natural prayer to that Being who supplies the wants of the whole creation, and who, in the beautiful language of the Psalms, feedeth tne young ravens that* eall upon him. I like thxd retirement the batter, because of an ''v*^' ''.•'■ •I '!■ ,t' m M 8 blli ROGER D£ COV£RL£Y. ill report it lies under of being haunted ; for which reason (as ] have been told in the family) no living creature ever walks in it besides the chaplain. My good friend the butler desired me with a very grave face not to venture myself in it after sunset, for that one of the footmen had been almost frighted out of his wits by a spirit that appeared to him in the shape of a black horse without an head, to which he added, that about a month ago one of the maids coming home late that way with a pail of milk upon her head, heard such a rustling among the busheg that she let it fall. I was taking a walk in this place last night between tha hours of nine and ten, and could not but fancy it one of the most proper scenes in the world for a ghost to appear in. The ruins of the abbey are scattered up and down on every side, and half covered with ivy and elder bushes, the harbours of several solitary birds, which seldom make their appearance till the dusk of the evening. The place was formerly a churchyard, and has still several marks in it of graves and burying-places. There is such an echo among the old ruins and vaults, that if you stamp but a little louder than ordinary, you hear the sound repeated. At the same time, the walk of elms? with the croaking of the ravens, which, from time to time, are heard from the tops of them, looks exceedingly solemn and venerable. These objects naturally raise seriousness and attention ; and when night heightens the awfulness of the place, and pours out her super- numerary horrors upon everything in it, I do not at all wonder that weak minds fill it with spectres and apparitioiis. Mr. Locke, in his chapter of the Association of Ideas, has very curious remarks to show how by the prejudice of education one idea often introduces into the mind a whole set that bear no resemblance to one another in the nature of things. Among several examples of this kind, he produces the following instance : • The ideas of goblins and sprites have really no more to do with darkness than light ; yet let but a foolish maid inculcate these SIR ROGER' DE COVERLET. 9 often on the mind of a child, and raise them there toj^ether, possibly he shall never be able to separate them again so long as he lives, but darkness shall ever afterwards bring with it those frightful ideas, and they shall be so joined that he can no more bear the one than the other.' As I was walking in this solitude, where the dusk of the even- ing conspired with so many other occasions of terror, I observed a cow grazing not far from me, which an imagination that is apt to startle might easily have construed into a black horse without a head ; and I dare say the poor footman lost his wits upon some such trivial occasion. My friend Sir Roger has often told me, with a great deal of mirth, that at his first coming to his estate he found three parts of his house altogether useless ; that tbn best room in it had the reputation of being haunted, and by that means was locked up ; that noises had been heard in his long gallery, so that he could not get a servant to enter it after eight o'clock at night ; that the door of one of his chambers was nailed up, because there went a story in the family that a butler had formerly hanged himself in it ; and that his mother, who lived to a great age, had shut up half the rooms, in the house, iu which either her husband, a son, or daughter, had died. The knight seeing his habitation reduced to so small a compass, and himself in a man- ner shut out of his own house, upon the death of his mother ordered all the apartments to be flung open, and exorcised by his chaplain, who lay in every room one after another, and by that means dissipated the fears which had so long reigned in the family. S . ■ 1 rV. A SUNDAY AT SIR EOGER DE COVERLET's. I AM always very well pleased with a country Sunday, and think, if keeping holy the seventh day were only a human institutici, it would be the best method that could have been thought of for ml 10 SIB ROGER DE COVERLET. i » the polishing and civilizing of mankind. It is certain the country people would soon degenerate into a kind of savage? and barbarians, were there not such frequent returns of a stated time, in which the whole village meet together with their best faces, and in their cleanliest habits, to converse with one another upon indifferent subjects, hear their duties explained to them, and join together in adoration of the Su preme Being. Sunday clears away the rust of the whole week, not only as it refreshes in their minds the notions of religion, but an* it i3uts both the sexes upon appearing in their most agreeable forms, and exerting all such qualities as are apt to give them a figure in the eye of the village. A country fellow distinguishes himself as much in the churchyard as a citizen does upon the 'Change, the whole parish politics being generally discussed in that place either after sennon or before the b'sU rings. My friend Sir Ecger being a good churchman, has beautified the inside of his church with several texts of his own choosing. He has likewise given a handsome pulpit-cloth, and railed in the communion table at his own expense. He hr%t often told me that at his coming to his estate he found his parishioners very irregular ; and that in order to make them kneel and join in the responses, he gave every one of them a hassock and a Com- mon Prayer-Book, and at the same time employed an itinerant singing master, who goes about the country for that purpose, to instruct them rightly in the tunes of the psalms ; upon which they now very much value themselves, and, indeed, outdo most of the country churches that I have ever heard. As Sir Koger is landlord to the whole congregation, he keeps them 'n very good order, and will suiler nobody to sleep in it besides himself ; for if by chance he has been surprised into a short nap at sermon, upon recovering out of it he stands up and looks about him, and if he sees anybody else nodding, either wakes them himself, or sends his servant to them. Hoveral SIR ROQER DE OOVERLEY. 11 other of the old knight's peculiarities break out upon these oc casions. Sometimes he will be lengthening out a verse in the singing psalms, half a minute after the rest of the congregation have done with it; sometimes, when he is pleased with the matter of his devotion, he pronounces Amen three or four times to the same prayer, and sometimes stands up when everybody else is upon their knees, to count the congregation, or see if any of his tenants are missing. I was yesterday verj' much surprised to hear my old friend, in the midst of the service, calling out to one John Matthews to mind what he was about, and not disturb the congregation. This John Matthews, it seems,'^s remarkable for being an idle fellow, and at that time was kicking his heels for his diversion. The authority of the knight, though exerted in that odd manner which accompanies him in all circumstances of life, has a very good effect upon the parish, who are not polite enough to see anything ridiculous in his behaviour ; besides that the general gcvod sfinse and worthiness of his character make his friends observe these little singularities as foils that rather set off than blemish his good qualities. As soon as the sermon is finished, nobody presumes to stir till Sir Roger is gone out of the church. The knight walks down from his seat in the chancel, between a double row of hia tenants, that stand bowing to him on each side ; and every now and then inquires how such an one's wife, or mother, or son, or father, does, whom he does not see at church ; which is understood as a secret reprimand to the person that is absent. The chaplain has often told me, that upon a catechising day, when Sir Roger has been pleased with a boy that answers well, he has ordered a Bible to be given him next day for his encour- agement ; and sometimes accompanies it with a flitch of bacon to his mother. Sir Roger has likewise added five pounds a year to the clerk's place ; and that he may encourage the young fellows to make themselves perfect in th', church-service, has ■i'l ^m m 12 SIR ROGRK D£ OOVERLEY. promised, upon the death of the present incumbent, who ii very old, to bestow it according to merit. The fair understanding between Sir Boger and his chaplain, and iheir mutual concurrence in doing good, is the more re- markable, because the very next village is famous for the differ- ances and contentions that rise between the parson and the •quire, who live in a perpetual state of war. The parson is al ways preaching at the squire ; and the squire, to be revenged on the parson, never comes to church. The squire has made all his tenants atheists and tithe-stealers ; while the parson in- structs them every Sunday in the dignity of his order, and in- sinuates to them, in almost every sermon, that he is a better man than his patron. In short, matters are come to such an extremity, that the squire has not said his prayers either in public or private this half-year ; rnd that the parson threatens him, if he does not mend his manners, to pray for him in the face of the whole congregation. Feuds of this nature, though too frequent in the country, are very fatal to the ordinary people; who are so used to be dazzled with riches, that they pay as much deference to fkb understand- ing of a man of an estate u"^ oi a man of learning ; and are very hardly brought to regard any truth, how important soever it may be, that is preached to them, when they know there ai6 several men of five hundred a ^car who do not believe it. V. ON EXERCISE — SIR ROGER' S HUNTING TROPHIES. Had not exercise been absolutely necessary for our well-being, nature would not have made the body so proper for it, by giving such an activity to the limbs, and such a pUancy to every part, as necessarily produce those compresssions, extensions, contor- tions, dilatations, and all other kinds of motions that ere neces- sary for the preservation of such a system of tubes and glands as has been before mentioned. And that we might not want in- StR ROOKR 1>E OOVERLEY. 18 duoements to T. rOVKRr.EY. 17 hear there is scarce a village in England that han not a Moll White in it. When an old woman bcgiiiH to dote, and grow chargeable to a parish, she is generally turned into a witch, and fills the whole country with extravagant fancies, imaginary dia- tempors, and terrifying dreams. In the meantime, the poor wretch that is the innocent occasion of so many evils begins to bo frighted at herself, and sometimes confesfacs secret commerces and familiarities that her imagination forms in a delirious old age. This frequently cuts off charity from the greatest objects of compassion, and inspires people with a malevolence towards those poor decrepid parts of our species, in whom human nature 18 defaced by infirmity and dotage. VII. SIR ROGER AT THE ASSIZTEfl. A MAN*8 first care should be to avoid the reproaches of his own heart ; his next, to escape the censures of the world. If the last interferes with the former, it ought to be entirely neg- lected ; but otherwise there cannot bo a greater satisfaction to an honest mind, than to see those approbations which it gives itself seconded by the applauses of the public. A man is more sure of his conduct, when the verdict which he passes upon his own behaviour is thus warranted and confiimed by the opinion of all that know him. My worthy friend Sir Roger is one of those who is not only at peace within himself, but beloved and esteemed by all about him. He receives a suitable tribute for his universal benevo- lence to mankind, in the returns of affection and good-will which are paid him by every one that lives within his neighborhood. I lately met with two or three odd instances of that general respect which is shewn to the good old knight. He would needs carry Will Wimble and myself with him to the country assizes. As we were upon the road. Will Wimble joined a couple of plain men who rid before us, and conversed with them for soindging. For these reasons, all the while I was upon the road SIB ROOER DE COVERLET. 28 I dreaded entering into the house of any one that Sir Eoger had applauded for an honest man. bince my stay at Sir Roger's in the country, I daily find more instances of this narrow party humour. Being upon the bowling- green at a neighboring market town the other day (for that is the place where the gentleman of one side meet once a week,) I observed a stranger among them, of a better presence and genteeler behav- iour than ordinary ; but was much surprised that, notwithstand- ing he was a very fair bettor, nobody would take him up. But upon enquiry I found that he was one who had given a disagree- able vote in a former parliament, for which reason there was not a man upon the bowling green who would have so much correspondence with him as to win his money off him. Among other instances of this nature, I must not omit one which concerns myself. Will Wimble was the other day relat- ftig several strange stories that he had picked up, nobody knows where, of a certain great man ; and upon my staring at him, as one that was surprised to hear such things in the country, which had never been so much as whispered in the town. Will stopped short in the thread of Ins discourse, and after dinner asked my friend Sir Roger in his ear if he was sure that I was not .h fanatic. It gives me a serious concern to see such a spirit of dissension in the country, not only as it destroys viitue and common-sense,' and renders us in a manner barbarians towards one another, but as it perpetuates our animosities, widens our breaches, and transmits our present passions and prejudices to our pos- terity. For my own part, I am sometimes afraid that I discover the seeds of a civil war in these our divisions, and therefore cannot but bewail, as in then' first principles, the miseries and calamities of our children. IX. SIB BOGEB AKU THE GIPSIES. As I was yesterday riding out in the fields with my friend Sir Roger, we saw, at a little distance from us a troop of gipsies. vm ;■<« mi m m i '■ :< 4 24 SIR ROGER DB f'oVERLEY. Upon the first discovery of ther» my friend was in some doubl whether he should not exert th« justice of peace upon such a band of lawless vagrants ; but not having his clerk with him, who is a necessary counsellor on these occasions, and fearing that his poultry might fare the worse for it, he let the thought drop ; but, at the same time, gave me a particular account of the mischiefs they do in the country, in stealing people's goods, and spoiling their servants. ' If a stray piece of linen hangs upon a hedge,' says Sir Boger, ' they are sure to have it ; if a hog loses his way in the fields, it is ten to one but he becomes their prey ; our geese cannot live in jieace for them ; if a man prosecutes them with severity his hen-roost is sure to pay for it. They generally straggle into these parts about this time of the year, and set the heads of our servant-maids so agog for husbands that we do not expect to have any business done as it should be, whilst they are in the country. I have an honett dairy-maid who crosses taeir hands with a piece of silver every :mmmer, and never fails being promised the handsomest young fellow in the parish for her pains. Your friend th^ butler has been fool enough to be seduced by them ; and though he is sure to lose a knife, a fork, or a spoon every time his fortune is told him, generally shuts himself up in the pantry with an old gipsey for about half an hour once in a twelvemonth. Sweethearts are the things they live upon, which they bestow very plentifully upon all those that apply themselves to them. You see now and then some handsome young jades among them ; the sluts have very often white teeth and black eyes." Sir Eoger observing that I listened with great attention to his account of a people who were so entirely new to me, told me, that if I would, they should tell us our fortunes, As I was very well pleased with the knight's proposal, we rid up and communicated our hands to them. A Cassandra of the crew, after having examined my lines very diligently, told me some particulars which I do not think proper to relate. My friend SIR ROGER DE OOVERLEY. 26 iSir Koger alighted from his horse, and exposing his palm to two or three that stood hy him, they crmnpled it into all shapes, and diligently scanned every wrinkle that could be made in it, when one of them, who was older and more sunburnt than the rest, told him, that he had a widow in his line of life. Upon which the knight cried : ' Go, go, you are an idle baggage ; ' and at the same time smiled upon me. The gipsy, finding he was not displeased in his heart, +old him, after a further inquiry into his hand, that his true love was constant, and that she should dream of him to-night. My old friend cried 'Pish I' and hid her go on. The gipsy told him that he was a bachelor, but would not be so long; and that he was dearer to somebody than he thought. The knight still repeated, she was an idle baggage, and bid her go on. ' Ah, master,' says the gipsy, 'that roguish leer of yours makes a pretty woman's heart ache ; you ha'n't not that simper about tho mouth for nothing.' The uncouth gibberish with which ali this was ut- tered, like the darkness of an oracle, made us the more atten- tive to it. To be short, the knight left the money with her that he had crossed her hand with, and got up again on his horse. As we were riding away, Sir Eoger told me that he knew se-veral sensible people who believed these gipsies now and then foretold very strange things ; and for half an hour together ap- peared more jocund than ordinary. In the height of his good humour, meeting a f^ommon beggar upon the road, who was no conjurer, as he went to relieve him, he found his pocket was picked — that being a kind of palmistry at which this race of vermin are very dexterous. I might here entertain my readers with historical remarks on this idle profligate people, who infest all the countries of Europe, and live in the midst of governments in a kind of commonwealth by themselves. But instead of entering into' observations of this nature, I shall fill the remaming part of m\ j; ' I 26 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET. my paper with a story, which is still fresh in Holland, and waa printed in f\ne of our monthly accounts about twenty years ago. * As the trekscLuyt, or hackney-boat, which carries passengers from Leyden to Amsterdam, was putting off, a boy runnir;, along the side of the canal desired to be taken in, which the master of the boat refused, because the lad had not money enough to pay the usual fare. An eminent merchant being pleased with the looks of the boy, and secretly touched with co^npassion towards him, paid the money for him, and ordered him to be taken on board. Upon talking with him afterward.^, he found that he could speak readily in three or four languages, and learned upon further examination that he had been stolen away when he was a child by a gipsy, and had ramblfed ever since with a gang of those strollers up and down several parts of Europe. It happened that the merchanti whose heart ceems to have inclined towards the boy by a secret kind of instinct, had himself lost a child some years before. The parents, after a long search for him, gave him for drowned in one of the canals with which that country abounds ; and the mother was so afflicted at the loss of a fine boy, who was her only son, that she died for grief of it. Upon laying together all particulars, and examining the several moles and marks by which the mother used to describe the child when he was l?~st missing, the boy proved to be the son of the merchant whose heart had so unaccountably melted at the sight of him. The lad was very well pleased to find a father who was so rich, and likely to leave him a good estate; the father, on the other hand, was not a little delighted to see a son return to him whom he had given up for lost, with such a strength of consti- tution, sharpness of understanding, and skill in languages.' Here the printed story leaves off ; but if I may give credit to re- ports, our linguist having received such extraordinary rudiments towards a good education, was afterwards trained up in every SIR RO(JER DE OOVERLEY. 27 thing that becomes a gentleman ; wearing off by little and little all the vicious habits and practices that he had been used to in the course of his peregrinations. Nay, it is said that he has since been employed in foreign courts upon national business, with great reputation to himself and honor to those who sent him, and that he has visited several countries as a public minister in which he formerly wandered as a gipsy. S. OPINIONS ENTERTAINED OF * THE k:.j?ECTATOR ' IN THE COUNTRY. It is usual for a man who loves country sport to preserve the game in his own grounds, and divert himself upon those that bdong k) his neighbour. My friend Sir Eoger generally goes two or three miles from his house and gets into the frontiers of his estate, before he beats about in search of a hare or partridge, on purpose to spare his own fields, where he is always sure of finding diversion, when the worst comes to the worst. By this means the breed about his house has time to increase and multiply, besides that the sport is the more agreeable when the game is harder to come at, and where it does not lie so thick as to produce any perplexity or confusion in the pursuit. For these reasons, the country gentleman, like the fox, seldom preys near his own home. In the same manner I have made a month's excursion out of the town, which is the great field of game for sportsmen of my species, to try my fortune in the country, where I have started several subjects, and hunted them down with some pleasure to myself, and I hope to others. I am here forced to use '.^. great deal of diligence before I can spring anything to my mind, whereas in town, whilst I am following one character, it is ten to one but I am crossed in my way by another, and put up such a variety of old creatures in both sexes, that they foil the scent of one another, and puzzle the chase. My greatest difficulty in 4 j^ I, J1:, i.f.:l iiii ■^ 28 SIR B0O£R DB OOVERLET. t ) ■»' the country is to find sport, and in town to choose it. In the meantime, as I have given a whole month's rest to the cities of London and Westminster, I promise myself abundance of new game upon my return thither. It is indeed high time for me to leave the country, since I find the whole neighbourhood begin to grow very inquisitive after my name and character : my love of solitude, taciturnity, and particular way of life, having raised a great curiosity in all these parts. The notions which have been framed of me are various ; some look upon me as very proud, some as very modest, and some as very melancholy. Will Wimble, as my friend the butler tells me, observing me very much alone, and extremely silent when I am in company, is afraid I have killed a man. The country people seem to suspect me for a conjurer ; and some of them, hearing of the visit which I made to Moll White, will needs have it that Sir Boger has brought down a cunning man with him, to cure the old woman, and free the country from her charms. So that the character which I go under in part of the neighbour- hood is what they here call a white witch. A justice of the peace, who lives about five miles off, and is not of Sir Koger's party, has, it seems, said twice or thrice at his table, that he wishes Sir Koger does not harbour a Jesuit in his house, and that he thinks the gentlemen of the country would do very well to make me give some account of myself. On the other side, some of Sir Roger's friends are afraid the old knight is imposed upon by a designing fellow ; and as they have heard that he converses very promiscuously when he is in town, do not know but he has brought down with him some discarded Whig, that is sullen, and says nothing because he is out of place. Such is the variety of opinions which are here entertained of me, so that 1 pass among some for a disaffected p'erson, and among others for a popish priest ; among some for a wizard ' s ; some SIR ROGER DE COVERLET. 29 ani! ainong others for a murderer ; and all this for no other reason thai I ca** imagine, but because I do not hoot and hal- loo, and make a noise. It is true my friend Sir Roger tells them that it is my way, and that I am only a philosopher ; but this will not satisfy them. Thoy think there is more in me than he discovers, and that I do not hold my tongue for nothing. For these and other reasons I shall set out for Loudon to- morrow, having found by experience that the country is not a place for a person of my temper, who does ijot love jollity, and what they call good nei,(,'hborhood. A man that is out of hu- mour when an unexpected guest breaks in upon him, and does not care for sacrificing an afternoon to every chance-comer, that will be the master of his own time, and the pursuer of his own inclinq^OAS, makes but a very unsociable figure in this kind of life. I shall therefore retire into the town, if I may make use of that phrase, and get into the crowd again as fast as I can, in order to be alone. I can there raise what speculations I please upon others, without being observed myself, and at the same tiiae enjoy all the advantages of company with all the privileges of solitude. In the meanwhile, to finish the month, and con- chide these my rural speculations, I shaU here insert a letter frtim my friend Will Honeycomb, who has not lived a month foir these forty years out of the smoke of London, and rallies me niter his way upon my cc mtry life. .♦ Dear Spec. — I suppose this letter will find thee picking of daisies, or smelling to a lock of hay, or passing away thy time in some innocent country diversion of the like nature. I have, however, orders from the club to summon thee up to town, being all of us cursedly afraid thou wilt not be able to relish our com- pany after thy convfjrsations with Moll White and Will Win) hie. Pr'ythee don't send us up any more stories of a cock and a bull. nor frighten the town with spirits and witches. Thy specula- tions begin to smell confoundedly of woods and mendows. If thou dost not come up quickly, we shall conclude that thou art If '■tji ■t-r its 1 K ''it' /. 80 SIR ROOElt DE COVER f-f-^Y. in lovo with one of Sir EoRor's dairy-maide. Service to the knight. Sir Andrew is grown tlie coclt of the cluu binco luj left us, and if ho does not return quickly, will make every niothcr'a Bon of us cjuimonwealth's men. Deau Spkc., thitie eternally, Will Honkycomd.' XI. SIU KOGER IN LONDON. I was this mor/iing surprised with a great knocking at the door, when my landlady's daughter came up to me, and told me there was a man below whc desired to speak with me. Upon my asking her who it was, she told me it was a very grave elderly per- son, but tliat she did not know his name. I immediately went down to him, and found him to be the coachman of n^ worthy friend. Sir llogor de Coverley. He told me that his master came to town last night, and would be glad to take a turn with me in Gray's Inn walks. As I was wondering in myself what had brought Sir Roger to town, not having lately received any letter from him, he told me that his master was come up to get a sight of Prince Eugene, and that he desired I would immediately meet him. I was not a little pleased with the curiosity of the old knight, though I did not much wonder at it, having heard him say more than onco, in private discourse, that he looked upon Prince Eugenio (for so the knight always calls him) to be a grea<«r man than Scanderbeg. I was no sooner come into Gray's inn walks but I heard my friend upon the terrace hemming twice or thrice to himself with great vigor ; for he loves to clear his pipes in good air (to make use of hisjDwn phrase), and is not a little pleasea with anyone wno takes notice of the strength which he still exerts in his morning hems. I was touched with a secret joy at the sight of the good old man, who, before he saw me, was engaged in convexsation with a h 'I SIR ROCEH DR COVERLEY. 81 bepgar-nian that liad asked an almn of him. I could Iiear my friend chide him for not finding out Rome work ; but at the same time saw him put his hand in his pookct, and give him sixpence. Our salutations were very hearty on both sidos, consisting o! many kind shakes of the hand, and several affccLionate looks which wo cast up on one another. After whidi the knight told me my good friend the chaplain was very well, and much at my service ; and that the Sunday before he had made a most incom- parable sermon out of Dr. Barrow. • I have left,' says he ' all my affairs in his hands ; and being willing to lay an obligation upon him, have deposited with him thirty merks, to be distri- buted among his poor parishoners.' He then proceeded to acquaint me with the welfare of Will Wimble. Upon which he put his hand into his fob and presented Die in his name with a tobacco-stopper, telling me that Will had been busy all the beginning of the winter in burning great quan- tities of them ; and that he made a present of one to every gentleman in the country who has good principles, and smokes. He added that poor Will was at present under great tribulation ; for that Tom Touchy had taken the law of him for cutting some hazel sticks out of one of his hedges. Among other pieces of news which the knight brought from his country seat, he informed me that Moll White was dead ; and that about a month after her death the wind was so very high that it blew down the end of one of his barns. ' But for my own part ' says Sir Roger, ' I do not think the old woman had any hand in it.' He afterwards fell into an account of the diversions which had passed in his house during the holidays; forSirEoger, after the laudable custom of his ancestors, always keeps open hou.o at Christmas. I learned from him that he had killed eight fat hogs for this season ; that he had dealt about his chines very liberally amongst his neighbours ; and that in particular he bad sent a string of hog's puddings, with a pack of cards, to M :ll : I f 82 SIH ROaER DE COVERLET. ■:i 'L everj' poor family in the parish. ' I have often thought*, ^ayi Sir Boger, ' it happens very well that Christmas should fall out in the middle of winter. It is the most dead, uncomfortable time of the year, when the poor people would suffer very much from their poverty and cold, if they had not good cheer, warm fires, and Christmas gambols to support them. I love to rejoice their poor hearts at this season, and to see the whole village merry in my great hall. I allow a double quantity of malt to my small beer, and set it a-running for twelve days to every one that calls for it. I have always a piece of cold beef and a mince pie on the table, and am wonderfully pleased to see my tenants pass away a whole evening in playing their innocent tricks, and smutting one anotlier. Cm- friend Will Wimble is as merry as any of them, and shews a thousand roguish tricks upon those occasions.' I was very much delighted with the reflection of my old friend, which carried so much goodness in it. He then launched out into the praise of the late act of parliament for securing the Church of England, and told me, with great satisfaction, that he believed it already began to take effect ; for that a rigid dis- senter who chanced to dine at his house on Christmas day, had been observed to eat very plentifully of his plum porridge. After having despatched all our country mat*?rs. Sir Eoger made several inquiries concerning the club, ana particularly of his old antagonist, Sir Andrew Freeport. He asl^ed me, with a kind of smile, whether Sir Andrew had not taken the advantage of his absence to vent among them some of his republican doc- trines; but soon after, gnthering up his countenance into a more than ordinary seriousness, * Tell me truly,' says he, * don't you think Sir Andrew had a hand in the pope's procession ? ' But without giving me time to answer him, * Well, well,' says he, ' I know you are a wary man, and do not care to talk of public matters.' The knight then asked me if I had seen Prince Eugenio, and / / 81B ROGER DE COVERLEY. 88 made me promise to get him a »taud in some convenient place, where he might have a full sight of that extraordinary man, whose presence does so much honour to the British nation. He dwelt verj- long on the praises of this great general; and 1 fomd that since I was with him in the country, he had drawn many observations together out of his reeding in Baker's Chronicle, and other authors, who always lie in his hall win- dow, which very much redound to the honour of this prince. Having passed away the greatest part of the morning in hearing the knight's reflections, which were partly private and partly political, he asked me if I would smoke a pipe with him over a dish of coffee at Squire's. As I love the old man, I take delight in complying in everything that is agreeable to him, and accordingly waited on him to the coffee house, where his vener- able figure drew upon lis the eyes of the whole room. He had •no sooner seated himself at the upper end of the high table, but he called for a clean pipfe, a paper of tobacco, a dish of coffee, a wax candle, and the Supplement, with such an air of cheer- fulness and good-humour, that all the boys in. the coffee-room (who seemed to take pleasure in serving him) were at once employed on his several errands; insomuch that nobody else could come at a dish of tea, until the knight had got all his conveniences about him. ■:if U' XII. SIB Roger's visit to Westminster abbey. M J- friend Sir Koger de Coverley told me the other night tha the had been reading my paper upon Westminster Abbey, 'in which,' says he, * there are a great many ingenious fancies.' He told me, at the same time, that he observed I had promised another paper upon the tombs, and that he should be glad to go and see them with me, not having visited them since he had read history. I could not at first imagine Low this came into the knights'b head, till I recollected that he hafl been very busy all •^!.; if ■{,' f' 84 SIR ROGER DB COVERLET. m i In lU f^., last summer upon Baker's Chronicle, which he has quoted ser* eral times in his diputes with Sir Andrew Freeport since his last coming to town. Accordingly, I promised to call upon him the next morning, that we might go together to the Abbey. I found the knight under the butler's hands, who always shaves him. He was no sooner dressed, than he called for a glass of the Widow Trueby's water, which he told me he always drank before he went abroad. He recommended to me a dram of it at the same time, with so much heartiness that I could not forbear drinking it. As soon as I had got it down, I found it very unpalatable ; upon which the knight, observing that I had made several wry faces, told me that he knew I should not like it at first, but that it was the best thing in the world against tL'.e stone or gravel. I could have wished, indeed, that he had acquainted me with the virtues of it sooner ; but it was too late to complain, and. I knew what he had done was out of good- will. Sir Eoger told me further, that he looked upon it to be very good for a man whilst he staid in town, to keep off infection, and that he got together a quantity of it upon the first news of the sickness being at Dantzick : when of a sudden, turning short to one of his ser- vants, who stood behind him, he bid him call a hackney-coach, and take care it was an elderly man that drove it. He then resumed his discourse upon Mrs. Trueby's water, tell- ing me that the Widow Trueby was one who did more good than all the doctors and apothecaries in the county : that she distilled every poppy that grew within five miles of her ; that she distri- buted her medicine gratis among all sorts of people ; to which the knight added, that she had a very great jointure, and that the whole country would fain have it a match between him and her ; ' and truly,' says Sir Roger, * if I had not been engaged, perhaps I could not have done better.' His discourse wap' broken off by his man's telling him he had called a coach. Upon our going to it, after having cast his SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. 85 eye upon the wheels, he asked the coachman if his axletree was good. Upon the fellow's telliug him he would warrant it, the knight turned to me, told mo he looked like an honest man, and went in without further ceremony. We had not gone far, when Sir Koger, pojiping out his head, called the coachman down from his box, and upon presenting himself at the window, asked him if he smoked. As I was con- sidering what this would end in, he bid him stop by the way at any good tobacconist's, and take in a roll of their best Virginia. Nothing material happened in the remaining part of our jour- ney, till we were set down at the west end of the Abbey. As we went up the body of the church, the knight pointed at the trophes upon one of the new monuments, and cried out : 'A brave man, I warrant him!' Passing afterwards by Sir Cloudesley Shovel, he flung his hand that way, and cried: 'Sir Cloudesley Shovel I a very gallant man ! ' As we stood before Busby's tomb, the knight uttered himself again after the same manner: 'Dr. Basbyl a great man! he whipped my grandfather; a very great man ! I should have gone to him myself, if I had not been a blockhead ; a very great man I ' We were immediately conducted into the little chapel on the rij-ht hand. Sir Eoger, planting himself at our historian's ell]iow,was very attentive to eveiything he said, particularly to the account he gave us of the lord who had cut oU the king of Morocco's head. Among several other figures, he was very well ploased to see the statesman Cecil upon his knees; and conclud- ing them all to be -great men, was conducted to the figure which represents that martyr to good housewifery who died by the prick of a needle. Upon our interpreter's telling us that she was a maid of honour to Queen Elizabeth, the knight was very inquisitive into her name and family ; and after having regarded her finger for some time, * I wonder,* says he, ' that Sir Eichard Baker has said nothing of her in his Chronicle.^ V/e woAie then conveyed to the two coronation chairs, where 4ii m 'i (ji t,.' r\ 36 SIR ROGER DE COVERLBY. my old friend, after having heard that the stone underneath the most ancient of them, which was brought from Scotland, was called Jacob's pillar, sat himself down in the chair ; and looldng like the figure of an old Gothic king, asked our inter- preter: ' What authority they had to say that Jacob had ever been in Scotland?' The fellow, instead of returning him an answer, told him 'that he hoped his honour would pay his forfeit.* I could observe Sir Boger a little ru£fled upon being thus trepanned; but our guide not insisting upon his demand, the knight soon recovered his good humour, and whispered in my ear, that if Will Wimble were with us, and saw those two chairs, it would go hard but he would get a tobacco-stopper out of one or t'other of them. Sir Eoger, in the next place, laid his hand upon Edward III.'s sword, and leaning upon the pummel of it, gave us the whole history of the Black Prince; concluding, that in Sir Bichard Baker's opinion, Edward III. was one of the greatest princes that ever sat upon the English throne. We were then shewn Edward the Confessor's tomb; upon which Sir Boger acquainted us, that he was the first that touched for the evil : and afterwards Henry IV.'s, upon which he shook his head, and told us there was fine reading of the casualties of that reign. . Our conductor then pointed to that monument where there is the figure of one of our English kings without an head ; and upon giving us to know that the head, which was of beaten silver, had been stole away several years since ; ' Some Whig, I'll waiTant you,' says Sir Boger; *you ought to lock up your kings better; they will carry off the body too, if you do not take care.' The glorious names of Henry V. and Queen Elizabeth gave the knight great opportunities of shining, and of doing justice to Sir Bichard Bakei, 'who,' as our knight observed with some V »1R ROGER DK COVERLEY. 87 surprise, • had a great many kings in him, whose monuments he had not seen in the Abbey.' For my own part, 1 could not but be pleased to see the kitight shew such an honest passion for the glory of his country, and such a respectful gratitude to the memory of its princes. I must not omit that the benevolence of my good old friend, which flows out towards every one he converses with, made him very kind to our interpreter, whom he looked upon as an extra- ordinary man, for which reason he shook him by the hand at parting, telling hiri, that he should be very glad to see him at his lodgings in Norfolk Buildings, and talk over these matters with him more at leisure. IP i isi XIII. SIR RCOER AT THK THKATRE. My friend Sir Eoger de Coverley, when we last met together at the club, told me that he had a great mind to see the new tragedy with me, assuring me, at the same time, that he had not been at a play these twenty years. ' The last I saw,' said Sir Eoger, ' was The Covimittee, which I shoald not have gone to neither, had not I been told beforehand that it was a good Church-of- England comedy.' He then proceeded to inquire of me who this Distressed Mother was ; and upon hearing that she was Hector's widow, he told me that her husbond was a brave man ; and that when he was a school-boy, he had read his life at the end of the Dictionary. My friend asked me, in the next place, if there would not be some danger in coming home late, in case the Mohocks should be abroad. ' I assure you,' said he, * I thought I had fallen into their hands last night ; for I observed two or three lusty black men that followed me half-way up Fleet Street, and mended their pace behind me in proportion as I put on to go away from them. You must know,' continued the knight, with a smile, ' I fancied they had a mind to hunt me ; r i ;■■»:■? V H I 38 SIR ROOKR DE OOVERLEY, m 1 for I remember an honest gentleman in my neighbourhood who was served such a trick in King Charles II. 's time, lor which reason he has not ventured himself in town ever since I might ha^e shown them very good sport, had this been their design ; for as I am an old fox-hunter, I should have turned and dodged, and have played them a thousand tricks they had never seen in their lives before.' Sir Koger added, that if these gentlemen had any such intention, they did not succeed very well in it ; ' for I threw them out,' says he, * at the end of Norfolk Street, where I doubled the corner, and got shelter in my lodgings before they could imagine what had become of me. However,' says the knight, * if Captain Sentry will make one with us to- morrow night, and if you will both of you call upon me about four o'clock, that we may be at the house before it is full, I will have my coach in readiness to attend you ; for John tells me he has got the fore- wheels mended.' The captain, who did not fail to meet me there at the ap- pointed hour, bid Sir Eoger fear nothing, for that he had put on the same sword which he made use of at the battle of Steenkirk. Sir Roger's servants, and among the rest my old friend the butler, had, I found, provided themselves with good oaken plants to attend their master upon this occasion. When we had placed him in his coach, with myself at his left hand, the captain before him, and his butler at the head of his foot- men in the rear, we convoyed him in safety to the playhouse, where, after having marched up the entry in good order, the captain and I went in with him, and seated him betwixt us in the pit. As soon as the house was full, and the cancrcs lighted, my old friciid stood up and looked about him with thuo pleasure which a mind seasoned with humanity naturally feels in itself at the sight of a multitude of people who seem pleased with one another, and partake of the same common entertainment. I could not but fancy to myself, as the old man stood up in the miadle of the pit, that he made a very proper centre to a tra* SIR ROGER 1)K COVE RLE Y. 39 I til gio audience. Upon the entering of Pyrrhus, the knight told me that he did not believe the king of France himself had a better strut. I was, indeed, very attentive to my old friend's remarks, because I looked upon them as a piece of natural criti- cism, and was well pleased to hear him, at the conclusion of almost every scene, telling me that he could not imagine how the play would end. One while he appeared much concerned for Andromache, and a little while after as much for Hermione, and was extremely puzzled to think what would become of Pyrrhus. When Sir Eoger saw Andromache's obstinate refusal to her lover's importunities, he whispered me in the ear, that he was sure she would never have him ; to which he added, with a more than ordinary vehemence : ' You can't imagine, sir, what it is to have to do with a widow.' Upon Pyrrhus his threaten- ing afterwards to leave her, the Imight shook his head, and muttered to himself : * Ay, do if you can.' This part dwelt so much upon my friend's imagination, that, at the close of the third act, as I was thinking of something else, he whispered me in my ear : * Theue widows, sir, are the most perverse crea- tures in the world. But pray,' says he, * you that are a critic, is the play according to your dramatic rules, as you call them ? Should your people in tragedy always talk to be understood? Why, there is not a single sentence in this play that I. do not know tlie meaning of.' The fourth act very luckily began before I had time to give the old gentleman an answer. ' Well,' says the knight, sitting down with great satisfaction, * I suppose we are now to see Hector's ghost.' He then renewed his attention, and from time to time fell a-praising the widow He made, indeed, a little mistake as to one of her pages, whom, at his first entering, he took for Astyanax ; but quickly set himself right in that par- ticular, although he admitted that he should have been very glad to have seen the little boy ; * who,' says he, ' must needs be r :i i;; ■■ "I' ■i i' ■ Ik' 40 SIR ROGER DB COVERLEY. a very fine child, by the account that is given of him.' Upon Hermione'« going off with a menace tr Pyrrhus, the audience gave a loud clap, to which Sir Eoger added : ' On my word, a notable young baggage I ' As there was a very remarkable silence and stillness in the audience during the whole action, it was natural for them to take the opportunity of the intervals between the acts to ex- press their opinion of the players, and of Iheir respective parts Sir Roger, hearing a cluster of them praise Orestes, struck in with them, and told them, that ho thought his friend Pylades was a very sensible man. As they were afterwards applaud- ing Pyrrhus, Sir Roger put in a second time ; ' and ict me tell you,' says he, 'though he speaks but little, I like the old fellow in whiskers as well as any of them.' Cap- tain Sentry, seeing two or three wags who sat near us, lean with an attentive ear towards Sir Roger, and fearing lest they should smoke the knight, plucked him by the elbow, and whispered something in his ear, that lasted till the opening of the fifth act. The knight was wonderfully attentive to the account which Orestes gives of Pyrrhus his death ; and at the conclusion of it, told me it was such a bloody piece of work, that he was glad it was not done upon the stage. Seeing afterwards Orestes in his raving fit, he grew more than ordinarily serious, and took occa- sion to moralise (in his way) upon an evil conscience, adding, that Orestes in his madness looked as if he saw something. As we were the first that came into the house, so we were the last that went out of it, being resolved to have a clear passage for our old friend, whom we did not care to venture among the justling of the crowd. Sir Roger went out fully satisfied with his entertainment, and we guarded him to his lodgings in the same manner that we guarded him to the plr /house ; being highly pleased, for my own part, not only with the performance of the excellent piece which had been presented, but with the satisfaction it had given to the old man. SIR KOGEK DE COVERLRY. 41 XIV. SIR ROGER AT VAUXHALL. - As I was sitting in my chamber, and thinking on a subject for my next Spectator^ I heard two or three irregular bounces at my landlady's door ; and upon the opening of it, a loud cheerful voice inquiring whether the philospher was at home. The child who went to the door answered very innocently that he did not lodge there. I immediately recollected that it was my good friend Sir Roger's voice, and that I had promised to go with him on the Vater to Spring Garden, in case it proved a good evening. The knight put me in mind of my promise from the staircase ; but told me that if I was speculating, he would stay below till I had done. Upon my coming down, I found all the children of the family got about my old friend, and my landlady herself, who was a notable prating gossip, engaged in' a conference with him ; being mightily pleased with his stroking her little boy on the head, and bidding him be a good child and mind his book. ■ We were no sooner come to the Temple stairs, but we were surrounded with a crowd of watermen, offering their respective services. Sir Roger, after having looked about him very atten-. tively, spied one with a wooden leg, and immediately gave him orders to get his boat ready. As we were walking towards it, ' You must know,' says Sir Roger, ' I never make use of anybody to row me that has not either lost a leg or an arm. I would rather bate him a few strokes oH his oar than not employ an honest man that has been wounded in the queen's service. If I was a lord or a bishop, and kept a barge, I would not put a fel- low in my livery that had not a wooden leg!' My old friend, after having seated himself, and trimmed the boat with his coachman, who being a very sober man, always serves for ballast on these occasions, we made the best of our way for Foxhall. Sir Roger obliged the watcrvan to give us the history of his right leg ; and hearing that he had left it at La Hogue, with many particulars which pasa- .ill i: (■■;. ! ,l\. I ■ -'< ii! '^ f! r ■ 42 BIB rogp:r de coverley. ed in that glorious action, the knight, in the triumph of his heart, made several reflections on the greatness of the British nation ; as that one Englishman could beat three Frenchman ; that we could never be in 'danger of popery so long as we took care of our fleet ; that the Thames was the noblest river in Europe ; that London bridge was a greater piece of work than any of the seven wonders of the world ; with many other honest prejudices which naturally cleave to the heart of a true English- man. After some short pause, the old knight turning about his head twice or thrice to take a survey of this great metropolis, bid me observe how thick the city was set with churches, and that there was scarce a single steeple on this side Temple Bar. ' A most heathenish sight I ' says Sir Roger ; 'there is no religion in this end of the town. The fifty new churches will very much mend the prospect ; but church work is slow, church work is slow 1' I do not remember I have anywhere mentioned in Sir Roger's character, his custom of saluting everyone that passes by him with a good morrow, or a good-night. This the old man does out of the overflowings of his humanity, though at the same time it renders him so popular among his country neighbors, that it is thought to have gone a good way in making him once or twice knight of the shire. He cannot forbear this exercise of benevolence even in town, when he meets with anyone in his morning or evening walk. It broke from him to several boats that passed by us upon the water ; but, to the knight's great surprise, as he gave the good-night to two or three young fellows a little before our landing, one of them, instead of twturning the civility, asked us what queer old put we had in the boat, and whether he was not ashamed to go out at night at his years ? with a good deal of the like Thames ribaldry. Sir Roger seemed a little shocked at first ; but at length, assuming a face of mag- istracy, told us, ' that if he were a Middlesex justice, he would ki ^ V Bin ROGER DE COVP.RLEY. <8 - make such vagrants know tliat her majesty's subjects were no more to be abused by water than by land.' We were now arrived at Spring Garden, which is exquisitely pleasant at this time of year. When I considered thefrngruncy of the walks and bowers, with the choirs of birds that sung upo| the trees, and the loose tribe of people that walked under theii shades, I could not but look upon the place as a kind of Maho- metan paradise. Sir Roger told me it put him in mind of a little coppice by hishouse in the country, which his chaplain used to call an aviary of nightingales. ' You must understand,'8ays the knight, 'there is nothing in the world that pleases a man in love so much as your nightingale. Ah, Mr. Spectator 1 the many moonlight nights that I have walked by myself, and thought on the widow by the music of the nightingale !' He here fetched a deep sigh, and was falling into a tit of musing, when a mask, which came behind him, gave him a gentle tap upon the shoulder, and asked liitn if he would drink a bottle of mead with her ? But the knight, being startled at so unexpected familiarity, and displeased to be interrupted in his thoughts of the widow, told her that slie was a wanton baggage, and bid her go about her business. We concluded our walk with a glass of Burton ale and a slice of hung beef. When we had done eating, ourselves, the knight called a waiter to him, and bid him carry the remainder to the waterman that had but one leg. I perceived the fellow stared upon him at the oddness of the message, and was going to be saucy ; upon which I ratified the knight's commands with a peremptory look. As we were going out of the garden, my old friend thinking himself obliged, as a member of the quorum, to animadvert upon the morals of the place, told the mistress of the house, who sat at the bar, that he should be a better customer to her garden, if there were more nightingales and fewer bad characters. ■..' :il M' I. • ' W w •81 44 Bin ROGER 1>E COVKRLB'.Y. XV. DEATH OP SIR ROGER. We last night received a piece of ill news at our club, which very senaibly afflicted every one of us. I qncHtion not but my readers themselves will be troubled at the hearing of it. To keep them no longer in suspense, Sir Roger de Coverley is dead. He departed this life at hia house in the country, after a few weeks' sickness. Sir Andrew Freeport has a letter from one of his correspondents in those parts, that informs him the old man caught a cold at the county-sessions, as he was very warmly pro- moting an address of his own penning, in which he succeeded ac- cording to his wishes. But this particular comes from a Whig justice of the peace, who was always Sir Roger's niouiy and an- tagonist. I have letters both from the chaplain and Captjiin Sentry, wliich mention nothing of it, but are filled with many particulars to the honour of the good old man. I have like- wise a letter from the butler, who took so much care of me last summer when I was at the knight's house. As my friend the butler mentions, in the simplicity of his heart, several circum- stances the others have passed over in silence, I shall give my reader a copy of his letter, without any alteration or diminution. 'HoNOUKED Sir — Knowing that you was my old master's good friend, I could not forbear sending you the melancholy news of his death, which has afflicted the whole country as well as his poor servants, who loved him, I may say, better than we did our lives. I am afraid he caught his death at the last county- sessions, where he would go to see justice done to a poor v/idow woman and her fatherless children, that had been wronged by a neighbouring gentleman ; for you know, my good master was always the poor man's friend. Upon his coming home, the first complaint he made was, that he had lost his roast-beef stomach, not being able to touch a sirloin which was served up according to custom ; and you know he used to take great delight in it. From that time forward he grew worse and worse, but still kept a good heart to the last. Indeed, we were once in great hope SIR ROGER DR COVERLRY. 46 o< hia recovery, upori a kind meRsaRe that was sent him from the widow lady whom ho had made love to the forty last yiMirs of his life : hut this only proved a lightening- before his death. He has hetjiicathed to this lady, as a lokon of his love, a great pearl nef'klace, and a couple of silver bracelets set with jewels, which belonged to my good old lady his mother. He has be- quea I <\ •f'i 46 SIR ROGER DB COVERLEY. him joy of the estate that was falling to him, desiring hhn only to make a good use of it, and to pay the several legacies and the gifts of charity, which he told me he had left as quit-rents upon the estate. The Captain truly seems a courteous man, though he says hut little. He makes much of those whom my master loved, and shews great kindness to the old house-dog that you know my poor master was so fond of. It would have gone to your heart to have heard the moans the dumb creature made on the day of my master's death. He has never, joyed himself since ; no more has any of us. It was the melancholiest day for the poor people that ever happened in Worcestershire. This is all from, honoured sir, your most sorrowful servant, Edwaud Biscuit. P.S. — My master desired, some weeks before he died, that a book, which comes up to you by the carrier, should be given to Sir Andrew Freeport in his name.' This letter, notwithstanding the poorbutlei*3 manner of writing it, gave us such an idea of our good old friend, that upon read- ing it there was not a dry eye in the club. Sir Andrew opening the book, found it to be a collection of acts of parliament. There was in particular tlie Act of Uniformity, with some pass- ages in it marked by Sir Koger's own hand. Sir Andrew found that they related to two or three points which he had disputed with Sir Koger the last time he appeared at the club. Sir Andrew, who would have been merry at such an incident on another occasion, at the sight of tl^jB old man's writing burst into tears, and put the book in his pocket. Captain Sentry in- forms me that the knight has left rings and mourning for every one in the club. ■■r!1 PRELIMINARY REMARKS. -0- Sm ROGER DE COVERLEY. o The Club. — The famous Club of the Spectator was, in its original features, the invention of Steele, but its most refined delineations of chaDu'ter were worked out by Addison. The varioi;s fictitious persons introduced are friends of the sup- posed editor, who employs them partly for amusement and partly for the purpose of quoting them on occasions where their opinions are regarded appropriate. They are "repre- sentatives of the various classes of society whose faults and absurdities rendered them most in need of pertinent admoni- tion." The members of the C^ud were sketched in a paper ( Spectator i No. 2,) written by Steele, and here we have the first outline of Sir Roger. •* Addison took the rude outlines into his own hands, retouched them, coloured them, and is, in truth, the creator of Sir Roger de Coverly and the Will Hon e^ comb with whom we f i*e all familiar." Thirty of the Spcdaicr^s papers refei to the adventures, opinions and conver- sations of Sir Jloger. Of these Addison wrote twenty, Bud gell two and Steele eight, Mr. Sy^ectator.— "The Spectator himself was conceived aTid drawn by Addison ; and it is not easy to doubt that the portrait was meant to be in some features a likeness of th« i (•!i i8 PREUMINARV REMARKS. ' ™i ik/-^ painter. The Spectator is a gentleman who, after passing a studious youth at the university, has travelled on classic ground, and has bestowed much attention on curious points of antiquity. He has, on his return, fixed his residence in Lon- don, and has observed all the forms of life which are to be found in that great city ; has listened to the wits of Wills' ; has smoked with the philosophers of the Grecian, and has mingled with the parsons at Childs', and with the politicians at the St. James's. . In the morning he often listens to the hum of the Exchange ; in the evening his face is constantly to be seen in the pit of Drury Lane Theatre. But an unsur- mountable l)ashfulness prevents him from opening his mouth except in a small circle of intimate friends." — Macaulay. Sir Roger is represented as a ** gentleman of Worcester- shire, of ancient descent, a Baronet," whose "great-grand- fmther was the inventor of that famous country-dance which is called after him." The Knight is singular in behaviour, has neither "sourness nor obstinacy," and consequently " no ene- mies." When in London he resides in Soho Square, but is found generally in the country, where his fine characteristics appear to most advantage. He remains a bachelor in conse- quence of having been ** crossed in love by a perverse beauti- ful widow of the next county to him. " He is now no longer the "fine gentleman" he was before his disappointment, when he "had often supped with my Lord Rochester and Sir George Etherage, fought a duel upon his first coming to town, and kicked bully Dawson in a public cofiee-house for calling him youngster." He dresses carelessly ; keeT)s a good house ; treats his tenants well ; delights his servants ; gains the affection of the young women, though in his fifty -sixth year ; and as a "justice of the quorum" and a "good churchman" his im- portance and worth are fully recognized by the county and parish. He is a Tory; but his Toryism, painted with the mojit delicate art, is not even made ridiculous. His prejudices are so natural that they secure respect. He is a much stronger Tory in the country than m the town. Addison mitigatnl PREr.rMINARY REMARKS. 40 passing a on classic s po'nts of ce in Lon. are to be of Wills'; 1, and has politicians 3ns to the istantly to an unsur- lis mouth iday, iVorcester- eat-gra,nd- 36 which is Lvioiir, has ' "no ene- are, but is acteristics • in conse- se beauti- no longer ent, when Sir George town, and ailing him se ; treats ffection of and as a " his im- )unty and 1 the mosit iidices are stronger mitigatcrl some of the coarser features of this favourite of mankind. He leaves out in his picture t)f the so styled "gentleman" of the period of William III. and Anne, those descriptions which often paint his class as "steeped in ignorance and debauchery." Numerous conjectures were afloat as to the original of Sir Roger at the time and long after the Spectator's papers were in circulation. By a passage in the preface of Budgell's Thco- phrasttiSy in which it was asserted in general terms that most of the characters were conspicuously known, these conjectures were revived. In 1783 Tyers named Sir John Pakington, a Tory of Worcestershire — wl '-e name, family and politics are repre- sented by a statesman of the present time — as the prototype of Sir Roger. Wills regards the assertion of Tyers as unten- able. He says the Tory baronets had few points of similitude. Sir John was twice married, sat long in parliament, was a bar- rister, and differed in many other respects from Sir Roger. It is most likely, he says, that each member of the Club was fic- titious, and that the jDrecaution of keeping free from such per- sonalities as had injured the Tailer was kept in view. The Templar. — The next gentleman in esteem is a member of the Inner Temple, and is also a bachelor. He has great "probity, wit and understanding," but gives more of his time to the study of the laws of the "stage" than those of the land. He studies the '^passions" when he should be enquiring into " the debates among men which arise from them." He knows the arguments found in the "orations of Demosthenes and TuUy " better than those in the law reports of his own time. Seldom taken "for a fool," but not regarded as possessing a "great deal of wit," he makes himself agreeable in conversa- tion. Knowing the "customs, manners, actions and writings of the ancients," he becomes a "delicate observer of what occurs to him in the present world." He is an excellent critic, and the actors having an ambition to please him, his presence is gratifying to the audience. Sir Andrew Freeport is a "mo-chant of great eiT-.inence \(\ the City of London." Representing the commercial iuter- 'VH H r: li . ■I 1 ll 1 1 1 Wr SO PRFUMINARY REMARKS. ests, and a Whig, he is opposed to Sir Roger, who is zealous as a Tory for the landed interests. He calls the sea the '* British Common," and has high and generous notions of trade. He favours industry and the arts, and looks upon it as a "stupid and barbarous way to extend dominion by arms." Having become wealthy by the many ships "in which heisano"WTier," he considers that England also may become rich by extending her trade relations with all parts of the world. Being a "gen- eral trader of good sense," he is "pleasanter company than a general scholar," and having a "natural unaffected eloquence," there is given in his conversation the " same pleasure that wit would in another man." No originals have been mentioned either for the Templar or Sir Andrew Freeport. Captain Sentrey is a "gentleman of great courage, good understandii>g, but invincible modesty. " He had " behaved himself with great gallantry in several engagements and sev- eral sieges," but being "next heir to Sir Roger," and having a ' ' small estate of his own, "he " quitted a way of life in which no man can rise suitably to his merit who is not something of a coiu'tier as well as a soldier." He laments that " impudence should get the better of modesty ; " regrets that "strict hon- esty" should be an obstacle to advancement, and concludes that to make progress in a "military way" it is necessary to "get over all false modesty." The Captain is frank in his manner and very agreeable in company. "He is never over- bearing, though accustomed to command men in the utmost aegree below him ; nor ever so obaequious from a habit of obeying men highly above him." "This character (Wills remarks), heir to Sir Roger, 's said — with no more probability than attaches to the imagined ori- gin of the others — to have been copied from Col. Kempenf eidt, father of the Admiral who was drowned in the Royal George, when it went down at Spithead, in 1782. The conjecture pro- bably had no other foundation — a very frail one — than a eulo- fjium on the colonel's character in Captain Sentrey 's letler PRELIMINARY REMARKS. to the Club annoiinoing his introduction into Sir Roger's es- tate, which forms the last of the Coverley papers." Will Honeycombe is "well acquainted with *;he gallnnt- rics and pl««dsures of the age." Though advancerh ja years, the good care he has taken of his person makes him ttppear young. His form is prepossessing, and his faculty of entertaining women in conversation good. All through his life he is well dressed, knows the history of every mode, and is proud to have "re- ceived a timid glance or a blow of a fan from some celebrated beauty, -mother of the present Lord Such-a-one." He passes among the club as a "well-bred fine gentlemen," and his loose way of talking "enlivens the conversation" of the "more se- date " members. Col. Cleland, of the Life-guards, has been named as the real person described, but the supposition, as in the other instances, is ill supported. Tho Clergyman closes the number of Mr. Spectator's "ordinary companions." He is a "very philosophic man, of general learning, great sanctity of life, and the most exact good-breeding." He seldom comes to the club, "but when he does, it adds to every man else a new enjoyment of himself." His probity of mind and integrity of life create followers. His health is too weak to accept preferment ; but without ob- truding serious reflections, excites in his associates "an ear- nestness to have him fall on some divine topic." He appears as one "who has no interest in this world," but "who is hastening to the object of all his wishes, and conceives hope from his decays and infirmities." I ■I:': . 1 if II: NOTES SIB ROGEK DE COVEHLEY. -0- V^Z^X- I. NO. IOC. MONDAY, JULY 2nD, 1711. -Having rccoived. For construction see Mason's Grammar, par. 3G'2, 1. Coverley. Spelt Coverly on first appearance. Pass. Cf. Daniel vi. 18, ^'passed the night fasting," and Addi- son " A lady who had passed the winter at London." 'Wliere I intend. Mason, par. 408. finsuing. Latin, sequor. Speculations. L. speculaiio. Meditations. Cf. Milton: ** Thenceforth to speculations high or deep I turned my thoughts." Give other meanings. Ilnniour. According to an ancient theory lieie are four prin- cipal humours in the body: — phlegm, blood, choler and mel- ancholy. Ah one of these predominates it determines the temper of mind and body. Cf. Ben Jonson, " Every Man Out of his HnTnour." There it means disposition. Cl&uiuber. Fr. chambre, L. camera. Sliews. In the dictionaries that preceded Johnson we usually find this word written shew instead of show. Stealing a siglit. Cf, '* to get a glimpse." An liedge. The use of an before h sounded is common with Addison. 'I NOTES TO SIR ROGER DE COVER LEY. 53 Mason's id Addi- on: nr prin- nd mel- temper li of his usually )Ti with Features." Modern atyle The knfgHi. Sir Eoger. For. A preposition. Arconnt for its use as a conjunction. Stared at. See remarks on the " Grammatical Features," of 'Addisv)n'a Literary Cliaracter," and Cf. " to Le run over " " to be laughed at," " to be troubled for." Tlie more. See Mason, par. 270. Sober. Sedate. Tlie best. Hyperbole. For leavini;. See *' Grammatical would expect the gerundial infinitive •• to leave." Domestics. Written domesticks. Distinguish from "servants." lu years. Old. Grown. Supply the ellipsis. Valet de eUambre* An attendant—anglicised and shortened into valet. Butler. Fr. bouieille, a bottle, and hence the primary mean- ing, a servant who has the care of wine and liquors, and other supplies for the table. Groom. A. S. ffUTna, a man. Looks. Give Tjatin synonym. Privy-councillor. A member of the Privy Council or Cabinet, which consists of the Boyal Family, the two primates, the Bishop of London, the officers of State, the Lord Chancellor and Judi,'e8 of the Courts of Equity, the Chief Justices, the Judge Advocate, some of the Puisne Judges, the Speaker of the House of Com- mons, the Ambassadors, Governors of Colonies, different raem- l)er8 of the Ministry proper, &c. The number is not fixed, but the Cabinet generally consists of about fifteen or sixteen. Even, Modifies •* in the old house-dog." Pad. An easy paced horse. A. S. paeth or paad. Give other meanings. What traits of character are here attributed to Sir Roger? Page 2. — But. See Mason, par. 505. Ancient domestics. Give synonyms. Refrain. Desist. Give other meanings. Discouras^ed. Give A. S. synonym. Tliey. Grammar rerxuires he as " one ' is the antecedent. What defect does this show in the English language ? Fatber and Master. The good qualities of both are shown. H t ■' 54 NOTES TO SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. 3^ ; ; '■ ^t II; ii Temr»er«Ml, L. tfiinpero, gently mingled. Hiimanhy. Benevolence. Give different meanings. Engages. Why singular ? So that. Soe Mason, pars. 28C, .528, 529. Upon, "^'^ith " would now be used. Diverts. Amuses. "With. The " Addisonian termination," — putting the proposi. tion last. Stander.by. Now written bystander. Concern. Anxiety or grief. My Worthy, (fee. Addison generally cjiploys the loose sen- tence in preference to the period. As well as. See Mason, par. .557. . Ajb. " As he would talk of his particular friend." Particular. The repetition of this word in the the same sen- tence is unhappy. Companion. L. con and pants, "bread. At his house. For " m his house. In the nature of. In the character of. Chaplain. Fr. chapelain, from L. capeUanv^, from cnpella, a hood, sacred vessel, chapel. The kings of France carried to but- tle St. Martin's hat, which was kept in a tent as a precious rel c, whence the place was called Capella, a little hat, and the priest who had the custody of the hat oapellanus or chaplain. This gentleman, &G. Use a different construction. The old knight's esteem. Put in the Norman possessive. Huntourist. Distinguish from modem meaning. Tinged. L. tingo. Extravagance. Going beyond prescribed limits. His. His own. Page 3. — So it. Notice the pleonasm. Correct the fault. liatin and Greek. The literary acquirements of the " line old English gentleman " of Sir Soger's era were few. "An esquire," according to Macaulay, ** passed for a great scholar if Hudibras and Baker's Chronicle, Tarleton's Jests, and the Seven Champions of Christendom lay in his hall window among angling rodn and fishing-Unes." Sir Roger appears better learned than others of the Squirearchy. His library iH rich in " divinity and MS. house- holct receipts." In love and friendship he has strong literary ifil IF ■ NOTES TO SIR ROGER DK CCVERLEY. 55 sympathies. The "perverse widow" was a "ren(^ing lady," a 'desperate scholar," and in argument, "as lean. J as the best philosopher in Europe." Besides heqiioathing his books to the " Spectator " he had a Platonic admiration for Leonora, a lovely woman, who "turned all the passion of her sex into a love of books and retirement." Unlrcr»lty. Where otudents were preparing to enter the ministry. Aspect. Accented in Addison's time on the second syllable. BackKammou. A. S. bac and gamen (back game). my Adend, &c. Change to the passive. See Mason, par. 372, 4. They tell. Cf. Fr. on dit. PanonaKe. Not the residence but the benefice of parson is meant. Parson^ says Blackstone, is " persona ecclesia, one that hath full rights of the parochial church." Gr. paroikos, a parish. Others derive from the German pfarre, a benofice. Sir Eoger, as knight of the shire, was one of the "patrons " who had the right of appointing to church benefices. Annuity. A yearly allowance. Outliveit. Why not the subjunctive ? See Mason, par. 432. Soliciting me, &c. Compare the chaplain's character Mdth that of Goldsmith's "village preacher." I\ot been a la-^nuit. Cf. Pope's lines in his description of the Man of Moss : "And since his coming, lawyers fled the place, And vile attorneys, now a useless race." \rhich. See Mason, par. 413. At his first Mettling -»vitli me. A common constniotion with Addison. Modern style would suggest "When he first settled with me." Crood sermontf*. Since the religious revival of the last century extempore prc^aching has become more fashionable. Digested. Used literally. Divinity. Give Greek synonym. Page 4.— K-uight'*. aHkin;s. On the use of the gerund and parti- ciple, see Mason, par. 470, note. l¥lio preached. What mistake in tense. IRSiMhop of !«ii. Ai^nph. St. Asaph is a cathedral city on a small ];i!l ; rt^vcon the rivers Clwyd and Elwy, iii ^^^ north-west of s« NOTES TO SIR ROGER DE COVER LEY. Flintshire, Wales. The population is hetween 2,000 and 3,000. The revenue of the bishrtp who is patron of a diocese of 148 hene- ficra is i'4,200. The Bishop alluded to here was Dr. "VVilliiuii Fleetwood (1650 — 1723); published four sermons with a preface that Johnson said "overflowed with whiggish principles." I>r. ^outh. Eohort South, D.D. (1633—1716) ; son of a London merchant, attended Westminster School under Dr. Busby, and subsequently Christchurch, Oxford. Graduated 1655; appointed University Orator, 1600; D.D., 1803; Canon of Christchurch, 1070; chaplain-in -ordinary to Charles II. ; declines a bishopric; though opposed to the designs of James II., he declines to favour his overthrow ; a staunch and bigoted adherent of the Chuicli he strongly opposes Puritanism. His character was sound and estimable. He is remembered for his sermons which are master- pieces of vigorous sense and good English. Archbiiihop Tillotson, &c. Their names. Metonomy. TlllotMOUf John, Archbishop of Canterbury, son of a clothier, of Yorkshire (1030—1604.) His father was an ardent Puritan. He took his B.A. from Clare Hall, Cambridge, in 1650; a pi*eacher in 1001, attached to the Presbyterian Section in the Church of England ; submitted to the Act of Uniformity in 10()2, and succeeds Edmund Calamy when the latter was deprived of his church; D.D., 1006; prebend of Ca^Herbury, 1070; deanery, 1072; rose rapidly after the ascension of A\ illiam in. ; archbishop, 1001. His sermons wore long popular for their clear, solid and refined thought. Saundvrnon, Eobert, a friend of Laud, and chaplain to Charles I.; made Regius Professor of Divinity at Oxford. At the Re- storation he was made Bishop of Lincoln. His fame was high for piety and learning. IIo died in 1GG3. His sermons were pub- lished I>r. ISarroir, Isaac (1630 — 1677). Attends the Charter-house; Peter-house, Cambridge, 1643, under his uncle, Isaac Barrow, then a fellow of that coller 3 and afterwards Bishop of St. Asaph. Takes his degree from Trinity College, Cambridge, 1048 ; fellow, 1040 ; studies mathematics and classics with great success ; tra- vels through Europe, visiting Smyrna ; appointed professor of Greek; professor of mathematics; Newton, one of hia pupiltt: wrote several mathematical works and sermons. I>r. Cnlamy, Edmund, (1600—1666); born at London; studied at Pembroke Hall, Cambridge ; sides with the Calvinistic party ; a Non-conformist ; had a principal share in the composition of Smectymnus ; opposed the execution of Charles I. ; aided in bringing around the Restoration ; chaplain to Charles It. ; secedes m consequence of the Act of Uniformity. His name added to the other three shows the breadth of the or- thodoxy of Sir Roger. 57 NOTi:S TO SIR ROGER DK COVKRI.EY. But. Modtuu style would suggest "than" after the com- [)arative. Frlriurs ln«liitln«(. A common use of the gerund with AddiHon. Thni I think, (Kcc. Complement of d<»gree to "bo." See Mason, pai'. 424. Tiik<^ f ho componitlon. Is this a simile ? Spirits. Energies. li:ii«loaYoiir nft<5r. Strive after. Endeavour is now generally followed by the infinitive. ]?Iorc cosy. Easier. Notice the humour exhibited by Addisoa in hia wishes for the country clergy. . II n. No. 108. Wednesday, July 4Tn, 1711. will ^Vimblc. This delineation of Will Wimble, remarks Wills— " Like the rest of the " Spectator's " prominent characters, is too like life to have escaped the imputation of liaving been drawn from it. The received story is that Will Wiml)le was a Mr. Thomas Morecraft, youngest son of a Yorkshire baronet, wiiom Steele knew in early life and introduced to Addison, by wljose bounty he was for some time supported. Though excelling in such small and profitless arts as are attributed to Will Wimble, Mr. Morecraft had not the ingenuity to gain his own livelihood. When Addison died he went to Ireland to his friend the Bishop of Kildare, at whose house, in Fish Street, Dublin, he died in 1741." In the TatleVy No. 256, Mr. Thomas Gules, who indicted Peter Plum, has been recognized by Wills as the prototype of Will Wimble. " The prosecut-^r alleged that he was the cadet of a very ancient family, and that according to the principles of all the younger brothers of the said family, he had. never sullied himself with business, but had chosen rather to starve like a man of honour than to do anything beneath his quality." Service. Bespect or homage. Cf. Shak, — " Pray do my service to his majesty." Jack. An old English name for pike. Page 5.— "Which, The use of " that " and " which "is objection- able. Bettei wiite ''which I twisted last week and which," &c. Six dayH la«t pant. For the last six days. i\ 1^1 t I p. I I- !' li t 5» NOTES TO SIR KOGER DE COVERLEY. flton. A town between 8,000 and 4,000 inhahitaiitfl, sitMatod in BnckiugharaHhiie, on the left })ank of the ThameH, opi)OHite to Windsor, and tWenty-two miles from London. The celchrat^^d College was foimded by Henry VI. in 1440. It has educated a great many dlMtinguinhed men. (Massicfl and matljomatioH are the princijlal Hubjeotw taught, but of late years modern languages rjceive attention. There is an •'ui)i)er" and a "lower" school, managed by a head-master and a large staff of assistants. Ilniioly. Now this expression would be slang. UnroiM^t. A title instituted by James I., in 1611. It is next below a baron and above a Knight, and the lowest which is heredi- tory in England. Deitcended of. Descended from. Ilia game. What ambiguity ? lliintM. He directs in the chas«. •IniKllcraflM. MaTiual occupations. Iflny-fly. For finhing. OAiciouii. Not meddlesome, but anxious to perform good offlee>j for others. Corrvnpondrncc. Cf. Bacon, " holding also good correspond- ence with the other great men of the state. " Tulip-root. Alluding to the mania for tulips. See Life of Goldsmith. Settinfi; dosf. The setter i nnis index). " The setter is evidently the spaniel improved to his peculiar size and beauty, and taught another way of marking his gome, viz., by setting or crouching." — Youatt. Humours. Features of character. IVaa procd catod a icH are ignagGR school, is next heredi- 59 offlrei^ ^spond- Life of >ecti]iar I game, rs and is pur- 3d and But. See note in I. C;ork.plien«niii. The pheasant la said to have been brought from the banks o* the Phasis, in Colchis. Hence the name (Gr. phananos). Arv the Knitir). A tnetaphor. I^or fiiM life. Cf. " He could not stir for hin life." To ircd, Sec. Concurred. Cf. Johnson : "All things conspired to make him happy." ^Flilch an Imngiuation. For the use of the relative, see Mason, par. 413. Reputation. Distinguish from " character." Notice the numerous noun propositions forming the direct ob- ject of " has told." Went a storf. Cf. fama vagatur. Had sINnt up. This foolish practice was quite prevalent even in the present century, and especially among ignorant clfl«be3 in Ireland. Kxorcised. To have the evil spirits driven away by certain forms of conjuration. IV. No. 112. Monday, July 9th, 1711. This exquisite picture of a rural Sabbath may have had some of its traits supplied by the church close to which Addison was born and where his father ministered. — " The parish church of Milston is a modest edifice, situated in a combe or hollow of the Wiltshire downs, about two miles north- west of Amesbury. In the parsonage house — now an honoured ruin — on the 1st of May, 1672, Joseph Addisor v/as born. It is only separated from the graveyard by a hawthoi:- fence, a .d must have been, when inhabited, the beau ideal of a country parsonage. It has a spacious garden, ricli glebe, and commands a pretty view, bounded by the hill on which stands the church of Dur- rington. " Milston church remains nearly in the same state as during the first twelve years oi Ms life which Addison passed under its shadow. As no benevolent parishioner took the hint conveyed in Sir Roger's will it is still without tower or steeple ; the belfry being nothing more than a small louvered shed. "Within, the church is partitioned oil by tall worm-eaten pews, and is scarcely capable of holding a hundred persons. At the east end stands the communion table, ' railed in.' It was once liglited by a stained-glass window ; but of this it was deprived by the cupidity of a deceased incumbent. The same person was guilty of a wo»-se act ; to oblige a friend—* a collectior '—he actually tore out the leaf of the parish register which contained the eutiy of Joseph Addison's birth. ■M\ *f'",l 6« KOTES TO SIR ROGER DE COVERLEV. II " Milston church does not display the texts of Scripture attri- huted to the Coverley edifice. If auy existed when Addison wrote, they must have been since effaced by whitewash." — Wills. Only a liuman institution. A mere human, &c. Page 10— Tlie polishing of. See Mason, par. 470. Civilizing of mankind. Where the Christian Sabbath is carefully ol)served the influence is quite apparent on the family and on the community. A nation that disregards the sanctity of this day " degenerates." To make it a day of pleasure tends to destroy its valne as a •* day of rest." In Canada the practice of running Sunday excursion trains, boats, &c., in the presumed interest of the " working man " has been discouraged. ViUage. Cf. The Deserted Village, 17. Habits. Clothes. Fr. habit. Indifferent. Ordinary. Cf. DrydeUf '' Indifferent writing." Patg . . . upon. Induces. Figure. Appearance. 'Change. Exchange. Churchman. A devoted member of the church. The term is sometimes applied 1o an Episcox>alian as distinguished from a Presbyterian, Methodist, &c. Politics. Sin i; Ilia r. See Mason, par. 463. Several texts. To ornament churches with " texts " has not died out yet. A I his coming. When he came, IiTeguIar. Not observing the rules during the service. Hassock. A. S. JiSsg and saeck, (a sack of hedge) a thick mat to kneel on at church. Cf. Cowper : " The knees and hassocks are weil-nigh divorced." Itinerant. Travelling. Value. Pride. Out of it. From it. Wakes them. The antecedent ** anybody " would require him. Page 11.— "IVill be lengthening. Will lengthen. The siu^.ing psalms. The geiTind when preceded by "the' should be followed by '* of." Have done. Has done. Tlieir knees. His knees. Polite. Polished. NOTES TO SIR rogp:r de coverley. 63 I B«sf des tliat. " That " wonld now be omitted. Slngnlartties. Peculiarities. Ag foils. The redundancy is removed hy omitting these word??. Is gone. " In Shakespeare's time (as also long alterwardn) the compound tenses of verbs of motion were generally formed with the auxiliary to he, and not as now with, to have." — Swinton. Chancel means a Aattice-screen. In the Roman law-courts the lawyers v/^ere cut off [cancellus) from the public by such a screen- The term is applied to the part of a church in which the altar or communion table is placed, and which is usually divided from the rest by a railing. An one's. A one's. Or father, do. Does would be required. Catechising. Gr. catechizo. Flitch. The side of a hog salted and cured. Cleric. Since in ancient times the clergyman was about the only person who could read and write, the word clerical, as " olericai error," came to mean an error in spelling. As the re- spondent in church was able to read, he was styled the clerk. (L» clericufi, a clergyman.) Page 12. — Incumbent. The clerk. The teiTn was at one time applied to those now legally termed vicars. Atheists. Those who deny the existence of God. Tithe-stealers. (A. S. teotha), L. decima, or a tenth part of the produce of the land which, by ancient usage and law is set aside for the support of the clergy and other religious purj)0Rea. It was observed among the Jftws and early Christians, aiid the Principle was extended to the different countries of Eurojie. n England it existed during the Saxon period. Tithes are of three kinds : — -pi'oedal, the immediate products of the earth, mix- ed, from what is nourished by the earth as calves, lambs, eggs,, milk, &c., and personal, or those from personal industry in a trade or profession. Tithes were originally paid "in kind," Imt subsequently a tax was substituted. Numerous exemptions were _ allowed, resulting in the principle of, " exemption from taxa- tions." Organized resistance to the payment of tithes arose in Ireland, and other places. Various laws have been passed regu- lating the payment of tithes, in England and Ireland. In the latter coimtry disestablishment has taken place, and in England the most obnoxious features of the principle have been abolislied. In Canada the settlemenii of the Clergy Reserves (question gave Ontaiio the voluntary system. In Quebec the principle still ex- ists. Are come. Have come* 64 NOTES TO SIR ROGER DE COVERI.EY. s To thk. understand fng. Express according to modern twage Very Uardly. With difficulty. flow important soever. An example of tmesis. Preached to thein. Then (as now) the consistent life of th« professing christian was the most effectual sermon. V. Nos. 1J5 AXD 110. Friday, Juj.y 13th, and Saturday 14th, 1711. Hunting has been, as far back as the time of William I., a popular sport with the English nobility. The game-laws had their origin with the forest-laws. Blackstone lays down the doc- trine that the sole right of hunting and killing game belongs to the crown, but this view has been shown to be erroneous. The common law gives the owner of the soil or tenant (unless the right is reserved) the power to catch and kill every wild animal on the place. During certain seasons no one has the right to catch or kill game. Poaching is punished, and at one time the penalties for trespass were exceedingly severe. Through the influence of Mr. Bright and others (1845) many stringent laws were modified and the season for hunting limited. Proper. L. proprius. Compressions, &c, Addison uses classical words when dealing, with science. , , Tubes and glands, &c. In the previous part of this paper as it appears in the Spectator, the author says : " I consider the body as a system of tubes and glands ; or, to use a more rustic phrase, a bundle of pipes and strainers, fitted to one another af- ter so wonderful a manner as to make a proper engine for the soul to work with." Page 13. — N^ot to ntentlon, &c. Faraleipsis or omission. To be come at. The " Addisonian termination." Laboured. Worked. Labour is not now taken transitively. See note on Task 1. 787. How many bauds. &c. See Adam Smith on the "Division of Labour." Indulge tneiustoives. The reflexive pronoun is unnecessary, "Although the Spectator advocated in this and other pages mod- NOTES TO SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. 6.5 th« erate indulgenrp in the sports of the field, the erressive passion of country gentlem;;n for them, to the exclusion of more intellec- tual pastimes, he elsewhere deplores. In a later volume he quotes a saying that the curse fulminated hy Goliah having missed David, had rested on the modern squire : * I will give thee to the fowls of the air, and to the heasts of the field. ' The country gen- tleman was respected by his neighbours less for morality or in- V llect than for the number of -foxes' noses he could show nailed to his stables and barns." — Wills. Even the queen followed the hounds in a chase, and Swift re- marks, " she drives herself ; and drives furiously, like Jehu ; and is a mighty hunter li?ie Nimrod." Wills says, " She was, if Stella's journalist did not exaggerate, quite equal to runs even longer than those performed by the Coverley hounds ; for, on the 7th August, 1711, she drove, before dinner, five-and-forty miles after a stag." Trophies. Gr. tropaion, a monument of an enemy's defeat ( trope, a turning) ; a pile of arms taken from a vanquished foe, rai^d on the field of battle by the conquerors, or the representa- tion^f such a pile in marble, and the like. Otter. An aquatic quadruped of the genus Lu\ra, and the family of lueasels (mustelidae). It has a large flat head, thick body, short legs, webbed feet, a flat tail, and is essentially an aquatic animal. Stuifed Avitli hay. By the art of taxidevviy. Ills dog killed him. Improve the construction. Adjoining to tlie hall. Notice the pleonasm. Arsenal. (Low L. arsena). A magazine of arms. Partridges, Birds of the genns perdix. Woodcocks. Grallatoi'ial, nocturnal birds allied to the snipe. Of the kniglits, &c. Which the knight himself hunted down. For distinction's sake. For the sake of distinction. J'rom the days of Elizabeth to those of George III. the squire- archy of England were not under the same restrictions from " sporting-laws," as at present. They even hunted in summer, and galloped down the ripening grain of harvest as ruthlessly as the c:avairy of an invading army. Farmers com))lained bitterly in Anne's reign, and i^amphlets were written, but to no pui7)08e. AL length when the " farmers' friend," George III., came to pow- er, the " bloods " were limited to the " hunting months." »l 66 NOTES TO SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. VT. No. 117. Saturday, July 14th, 1711. Page 14. — \eutoi-. Neutral. To give wp. " Up " would now "be plnred after " oiirselves.' "Witchcraft, The power Hupposed to be possessed by witches, (formerly applied to persons of either sex) and the rites and in- cantations by which they acquired those powers were substanti- ally the same as belonged to the devotees of the Greek Hecate, the Striga and Venefica of the Komans, and the Vala, or Wise Wo- men, of the Teutonic pagans. Witches were sup})osed to have sold themselves to the devil, and to have renounced God and the true faith. The Catholic, and also the Protestant clergy favour- ed the punishment of those believed to practice witchcraft. Among the llomans, as well as among the Hebrews, stringent laws were directed against such crimes. The statute of .Elizabeth, in 1562, first made witchcraft in itself, a crime of the first mag- nitude, and in the next reign, anyone who should " consult, or covenant with, entertain or employ, feed or reward any evil or wicked one, to or for any purpose, &c., such offenders, duly and lawfully convicted and attainted, shall suffer death." The poor creatures who suffered are thus described by an observer : " An old woman with a wrinkled face, a furred brow, a hairy lip, a gobber tooth, a squint eye, a squeaking voice, or scolding tongue, having a ragged coat on her back, a spindle in her hand, and a dog by her side, a wretched, infirm and impotent creature, pelted and persecuted by all the aeighbourhoodjbecause tlie farmer's cart had stuck in the gate- way, or some idle boy had pretended to s^.it needles and pins, for the sake of a holiday from school or ^^ork." Such were the unfortunates that suffered the penalties of the law when they were unable to establish their innocence by means of tests in themselves abominable. Witch-finders became a pro- fessional class. With Matthew Hopkins at their head, they ex- acted in the 17th century, a fee of 20s. to clear each town of witches. They stripped the poor wretches, sliaved them, thiuT^t pins into their bodies to discover supposed witch signs ; wrapped them in sheets with the toes and thumbs tied together ; dragged them to ponds or rivers, when, if they sank, it was held a sign tha,t the baptismal element did not reject theni, and they wei'e cleared; but if they floated they were set down as guilty and doomed. The witch that could not shed tears at will, or repeat the Lord's prayer without the least hesitation, was in league with the Evil One. After hundreds were murdered in this way, Hop- kins was si;bjected by an indignant people to his own test of swimming. During the era of the Long Parliament 3,000 are said to have suffered execution for witchcraft, A notal)le case occured in 1664, when the enlightened and just Sir Mattliew Hale con- demned two women, Amy Dunny and Rose Callender, for be- witching children, and the learned Sir Thomaa Browne declared NOTES TO SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. 67 Ivps." witches, and in- ihstanti- f'.ate, the ise Wo- to have and the favour- chcraft. tringent izabeth, Ht mag- isult, or ' evil or lily and he poor : "An y lip, a tongue, i, and a , pelted er's cart I to spit ^^■ork. " tlie law leauH of a pro- hey ex- own of , thiiD^t rapped b-agged I a sign ;y were Ity and repeat lie with /, Hop- test of re said iccured le con- fer be- sclared that they were truly bewitched, Bnpporting this view by long and weighty arguments, theological and metaphysical. Chief-justices Holt and North were the first distinguished judges that had the good sense and courage to set their faces against such delusions (16.H). In 1716, a Mrs. Hicks and her daughter, aged nine, were hanged at Huntingdon for selling their souls, and raising a storm by pulling off their stockings and making a lather of soap (See Chambers' Eticyclopcediu). With thi3 crowning atrocity the catalogue of murders of this kind closes. By 1736 the supersti- tions abated and the Witch Act became dormant, and in the tenth year of the reign of George II. when some one had attempted to enforce the law in the case of an oM woman of Surrey, it was re- pealed. In Now ETicrJand the i lania for punishing witches has 'oorio the names of lievs. Cotton Mather and Samuel Parris, famous. But wlien I consider, 4&c* An adverbial proposition comple- ment of time to " endeavour." Wlxetlier tliere are, t&c. A noun prop, in apposition with " question." To speak, «bc. An absolute construction. Page 15— Applied lier^elf. The rellexive would now be omitted. Otway. (1651-1685). Bom at Trotting, in Sussex ; son of a clergyman; educated at Winchester School and Oxford; wrote tragedies, Alcibiades, Don Carlos, Titus and Berenice, the Or- phan, and Venice Preserved. He lived in great want and died in poverty. The verses here quoted are from Ac* II. of the Orphan which, owing to its inherent indelicacy and painml associations, has been driven from the theatres. As a poet Otway's genius shines in his delineation of the passions of the heart, the ardour of love and the excess of misery and despair. lllieitin. L. rheuTna, a thia, waltiy discharge from the mu- cous membranes or skin. "Weeds. Now obsolete as applied to dress, and seldom used ex- cept in tile seusb ol a monrniug-dress for women, as — " A widow's weeds." Moll White " When this essay was written charges were be- ing laid against one old \yoman, Jane Weiiham, of Walkerne, a Utile village north of Hertford, which led to lier trial for witch- craft at assizes held in the following year, 1712, Avlien she was found guilty, and became memorable as the last person who, in - this country, was condemned to capital punishment for that im- possible offence. The jndge got fij-st a reprieve and then n pardon. The lawyerb had relubed to diavv up an indictment against the •rU 68 NO'ri:s TO ciR hogf.r dh cover'ley. /-•■, -p- poor old creattire, except in mockery, for * conversing fan\ liarly with the devil in the form of a cat.' But of that oiToiice she was found guilty upon the testimony of sixt' a witnesses, three of whom were clergymen. One witness, Anne Thoriie, testified that every night the pins went from her pincushion into her mouth. Others gave evidence that they had seen pins come jumjjing through the air into Anne Thome's mouth. Two swore that they liad heard the prisoner, in the shape of a cat, converse with the devil, he being also in the form of a cat. Anne Thorne swore tliat she was tormented exceedingly with cats, and that all the cats had the face and voice of the witch." — Idoilcy's S^icctO' tor. Riiig. Cf. Milton : "Liberty 's defence, my noble ta«k, Of which all Europe rings from side to side.*' P.ige IG. — Me In the ear. In my ear. Tabby, a cat. Sti'icily the silke:^ creature. F'-. tabis, Italian, tabi, Persian, retabi, a rich figured silk. Njghtinai'e. ♦' A sensation of a distressing weight on the chest and of impossibility of motion, speech or respiration — commonly caused by indigestion, or by an uneasy poi.ture of the body, but sometimes by severe emotions." — Dunglison. Page 17. — Dole. To become iijifirm. Coiunierces. Intercourses. Belief in witches, prodigies, omens from little incidents, and the like, doubtless, in many imitances, had their origin from ignor- ance of natural (far.ses of various results, and from the tendency in the mind of people to ascribe to supernatural agencies what th 3y caunot understand. " When Cfesar in the Senate fell. Did not the sun's eclipse foretell? Augustus, having by oversight, Put on the left shoe before the right, Was like to have been slain next day By troops who inutinied for pa\ . Are there not myriads of this s(jrt, Which stories of all times repo :t ? Is it not ominous in all countiios When C10W8 and ravens croak upon treps." Butler's Iludibraa. VII. No. 122. Friday, July 20th, 1711. IVould needs csvrry. '* N*:eds arises from a contraction oi fani liarly e she was , three of ', testified 1 into her )in8 conie \vo swore , converse le Thorne id that all "8 SiCCtOf 's, ItallaLi, the chest ommoniy body, but 3, and the ni ijLjnor- tendenoy ies what iihras. NOTES TO SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. 69 otion of need is, u^ed parenthetically." — Smart. Assizt^s. L. (issideo, to ait near; applied now to the periodical Bession I mid b/ the judges of the superior courts in the v;iriou.s counties for tlie purpose of trying issues at nisi^rius&mldeliyev in J,' the jails. Page 18. — Yeoman. A. S. t/eon<7, young, or perhaps from Goth, gumu, a man. A farmer or commoner. \irithiu the game act. '« The 3rd of James I., chap. 14, clause v., provides that if any person who has not real property pro- ducing forty pounds per annum, or who has not two hundred ]>oiinds' worth of goods and chattels, shall presume to shoot game, * Then any person having lands, tenements or heredita- ments of the clear yearly value of one liundred pounds a year may take from the jjcrson or possession of such malefactor or malefactors, and to his own use forever, keep such guns, bows, cross-bows, buckstalls, engiue-btgs, nets, ferrets and coney dogs, &c.' This amiable enactment — which permitted a one-hundred pound freeholder to becomeoin his single person accuser, witness, judge, jury and executioner; and which made an equally respect- able but poorer man who shot a hare a * malefactor ' — was the law of the land even so lately as 1827, for it was only repealed by the 7th and 8th Geo. IV., chap. 27."— Wills. Petty jtivy. The Petit Jury,v/hich numbers twelve,is required to bring in a verdict according to the evidence of the witnesses examined. The Grand Jury, which numbers not less than twelve or more than twenty-three, decides whether there is sufiicient evidence to have the case brought before tlie court. Q,uarter>se8sion!3. A com't (in England) held by at least two justices, one of whom must be of the quorum, in every county, once in every quarter of the year. Cast. Defeated. Fisliing. The laws of England at that time and even now are very stringent in this matter. Page 19. — Accompanes.i Is this coirreet? Intrepidity. Courage. His courage. The courage of him. "Were arrivefl. Had arrived. Page 20. — Pwt him up. Put up his picture. Saracen. A name adopted by the Arabs or Mahometans after taking possession of the Holy Land. It is most likely derived horn the Arab Sharkeyu, " the eastern people." Conjuring;. Calling upon with solemnity. \ 70 NOTES TO SIR ROGKR DE COVERLEY. vm. Nos. 125 AND 126. Wednesday and Thursday, Jt^lt 26th and 26th, 1711. Pago 21— Il«w»<'J^ead8. A uame applied to the Puritans be- cause they wore their hair short wliile the Royalists wore long hair covering their shoulders. Cavaliers. — The adherents of Charles I. The word is derived from L. caballua, a horse. Hence a horseman or knight. Of. the Latin equitea. Stiipliiig. Dim. of atrip— a, small atrip from the main stock or stem. St. Anne*s Iiane. " There were two St. Anne's Lanes which mip:hthave cost Sir Roger trouble to find ; one *on the north side of St. Martin's-le-Graud, just within Aldersgate Street' (Stow); and the other — which it requires sharp eyes to find in Stryph's iua]> — turmng out of Great Peter Street, "Westminster. Mr. Peter Cunningham, in his admirable Hand-book for London, prefers supposing Sir Roger inquiring his way in Westminster." — Willa. Tlie inlscl&lef, &c. During the publication of the Spectator party feeling was very high. A few months previously Dr. Sac- heverell and the " bed-chamber cabal " of Mrs. Masham, over- turned the government of Godolphiu. The Tory party became triumi)hant with Harley at its head, although in the House of Lords the factions were so evenly balanced that twelve new Tory peers had to be created to carry the peace project ending in the tieaty of Utrecht. Even Marlborough with all his laui-els suffered from the intense party strife. The battles were carried into private life. Families were estranged and friendi.''^.p destroyed. The softening influence of literature formed a link of union to such opponents as Swift on the Tory, and Addison and Steele on the Whig side. In other classes of Society the bitterness was very gi-eat. The lower grades became violent. The poison tainted trade. Inn-keepers and tradesmen looked for support from their political friends. The ladies became conspicuous partizans and exhibited their feelings by petty expedients which were ridiculed in varioua parts of the Spectator. Land-tax. In which Sir Roger was interested. Judgment. Misfortune. NOTES TO SIR ROGER DE COVER LEY. 71 Yy Jx IT itans be- t'ore long 3 derived . Clthe stock or iS which )rth side ' (Stow); Strvph's Ir. Peter , prefers -Wills. pectator Dr. Sac- m, over- became [0U86 uf Ive new I ending I lauiels 38 were lence of wif t on n other J lower ieepers rieuds. i their Onvernmenf . A nation. Such a. (liviHluii. Consult May's Constitutional Uistory of .Ew,7/an/J regarding political paities. Page 22. — Civil war. Ab in the reign of Charles T. Spleen was at one time believed to be the seat of ill-hmroiu' and melancholy, and the herb spleen-wort was supposed to re- move these splenetic disorders. The club. The Spectator club. The clnbs in Englnnd and France were a protest against, and an evasion of the barriers of rank. Men of intellect, of the higher and middle classes, desired to meet together. Hence arose clubs for physicians, lawyers, scholars, &c. There were a few purely political clubs in England and France. Mr. Maurice, in his Friendship of Books, remarks (after showing that Johnson, as well as Addison, belonged to the " club " period of English literature) : — " I dn not suppose that any one will be bold enough to vi'nfUeate that name, be it good or evil, for our day, merely because gen Lie- men ara now able to eat solitary dinners, hear news, and sleep over newspapers and magazines, in very magnifi(;ent houses in Pall Mall. The genuine club, though its lo(!tility uiight he in some dark alley out of Fleet Street, was surely that in which men of dilTereut occupations, after the toil of the day, met to exchange thoughts." Tory. De Foe derive*! the word from tin Irish toritiqh, u^^ed in the rejgn of Queen Elizabeth, to signify a hand of IriBli robbers. Macaulay says : " The name was first given to those who refused to concur in excluding James from the throne ;" and he further says : " The bogs of Ireland afforded a refuge tc popish outlaws called tories*'*' Tory hunting was a pastime which even has a place in nursery rhymes — " I went to the wood and killed a tory. '" "Wltig. Whig gam was a word used by drivers in the south and west of Scotland to encourage their horses. Hence they were called Whigamores, and as they belonged to the Covenanters, the name became an appellation for that party. De Foe and others derive the word from the term whig or whey (sour milk), a drink consisting of water and sour milk, drunk by the Covenanters. An one. Onf^ was formerly pronounced as written almost like the preposition on. Its jjvesent pronunei'ition arose from a vve-.- country habit, which eveutuaily became standard £nglisl|« (See Earle, page 162J ja NOTES TO SIR ROC.KR Dii COVIlRLEY. Page 23. Fiinatlc. Puritan. Afraid that 1 clI«cover. See Mason, par. 4C3. IX. No. 130. Monday, July 30t:i, I'/ll. Gipsies or iiyp»iett. Said to be a co._niption of Egyptian, and BO called becauBe, in 1418, a band of them appeared in Europe, commanded by a leader named Duke Michael, of " Little Egypt.'' It is now generally agreed that the gipsies originally emigrated from India at the time of the Mohammedan invasion of Timour Beg. Their language, though split into different dialects, is allied to the Sanscrit. Cowardly, revengeful and treacherous, they have generally been regarded as thieves, and for their presumed intercourse with demons, numbers of them were formerly put to cruel deaths. They are dirty, lazy, and fond of drinking and enioking ; passionatclj' attached to their relations ; fatalists and believers in metemi)hycho8i8. About five millions of them are scattered through different c. im tries of Europe and America. Page 24. — '^S«S. A. S. ganrjan^ to go, and the prefix a or rd. some derive from Liow Fr. a gogOy to one's wish. Rid up. This form of the past tense is still heard in some parts of England, Cassandra. A daughter of Priam, king of Troy Apollo who was attracted by her beauty gave her the gift of prophecy, but as she refused his suit he placed lier under the curse of not having her revelations believed. Accordingly, the predictions regarding tlie treachery of the Grecian horse and the destruction of Troy, were unheeded. Pago 25. — I^cer. A. S. hleor. A side look. Cf. Shak. — " The leer of invitation.'' And Pope — " The conscious simper, and the jealous leer*** Olliberlsli. A. S. gabban. Diii-kness of an oracle. The Oracle gave its utterances in ambigiaous terms. To be sliort. Absolute construction. Conjurer. An enchanter or juggler. Page 26. — I^eydem. The oldest city in Holland, situated on the NOTES TO SIR rogp:r de covkrley. 73 Old Rlilne, twenty-two milpa from Amsterclam. Tho population was oncn 100,000, but the decrease in trade roducod it to about one-third that number. Its chief {,'lory is its University. Aiitsiei'flam. The chief city of Holland ; population about 270,- 000 ; has extensive manufactures and considerable foreij::fn trade ; its public buildings are fine and streets well laid out; literature and science are well cultivated. The city in situated on au arm of the Zuider Zee, and has numerous canals. WUiclt the muster, &<;. See Mason, par. 413. Return to Kim whom, &c. Improve the order. Page 27.— I*«»^«g»'l •»»**«««. Wauderiiigs. That he has, &c. " As a public minister he has, &c." X. No. 131. Tuesday, July 31st, 1711. Harder to come at. The " Addisonian termination. " lilke the fox. According to the old proverb, he does not prey near home for fear of being found out. Several subjects. Cf. chap. ii. "Odd and uncommon charac- ters are the game." Page 28. — l^ility in public, and, as Burnet says, he had, " a most unaf- fected modesty." The Tories to whom " his popularity was gall," took revenge by showering libels upon him. Disgusted and dis- appointed he retired from the country, the 17th of March, his disapy>ointment being slightly tempered by the kindness of the Queen, who gave him her portrait on departing. " A running fire of squibs and pamphlets was kept up against the Tories, on account of their cringing reception, and spiteful dismissal of tlit illustrious visitor." (WiUs). Scmiclei-beg. (Properly IsJcancfer-hf^g, "the Prince Alexan- der,*' the name given him by the Turks,) born in Epirus, 1414. His real name was George Castriota. Became a hostage for the obedience of the Albanian Chiefs, 1423 ; Amurath II, brought him up in Islamism ; a distinguished Turkish pasha (1433,) in Asia ; deserted to Epirus ; a Turkish army of 40,000 sent against him is defeated (1444) ; other victories over Amuratli ; congi-a- tulated by the Pope and sovereigns of Italy and Aragon ; refused Proposals of [)eace and carried on war against Mohammed II He ied in 14G7 and soon the Turkish standard floated over Epirus. Gray^s Inn "wallts. A fashionable promenade at the time. Willb saya : "Gray's Inn Gardens were resorted to by less reput- able characters than the beggar whom goods Sir Eoger scolded 76 NOTES TO SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. and relieved. Expert pick-pockets and plansihle rinp^-droppers found easy prey there on crowtlfd days. In thp plays of the period, Gray's Inn Gardens are repeatedly mentioned as a place of assignation for clandestine lovers." Page 31. — On© aiiotlier. Each other. Tliijiy inerks. The merk was an old English coin valued at about 13s. 4d. (^3.21\) Page 32.— Re.1*>ic« tli« P««r lieartc Cf Prov. xxiv. 3 : " Wlioso loveth wisdom rejoiceth his father." Small beer. A weak kind of beer. Smutting. Chaffing. Act of Parliament. Popularly known SA the Act of " Occft. sional Conformity." * The Pope's pvooes^ion. CeleVated for m7ny y^ars on the anniversary of Elizaheth's accession (Nov, 17th) to express the citizens' detestation of the Church of liome. An effigy of •* The Pope, that pagan full of pride," was carried through the principal streets and adorned with robes and a tiara. A train of Cardinals and Jesuits followed and at the " pope's " ear stood a buffoon in the likeness of a horned devil. " After having lieen paraded through divers streets, his holiness wa- exultingly burned opposite to the Whig Club, near the Temple gate, in Fleet Street. After the discovery of the Bye-house Plot, the Pope's Procession was discontinued, but was resuscitated on the acquittal of the seven bishops of James II. Sacheverell's trial had added a new interest to the ceremony ; and on the oc- casion referred to by Sir Roger, besides a popular dread of the church being — from the listlessness of the ministers and the in- clinations of the Pretender — in danger, there was a very general opposition to the peace with France, for which the Tories were inti'iguing. The party cry of 'No i>eace' was shouted in the some breath with * No popery.' The "Whigs were determined, it was said, to give significance and force to these watchwords by getting up tJie anniversary show of 1711, with unprecedented splendour. No good Protestant, no honest hater of the French, could refuse to subscribe his guinea for such an object; and it was said upwards of a thousand pounds were collected for the effigies and their dresses and dec- orations alone, independent of a large fund for incidental expen- ses. The Pope, the devil, and the Pretender were, it was assert- ed, fashioned in the likeness of the obnoxious cabinet ministers. The procession was to take place at night, and * a thousand mob ' were to be hired to cai-ry llamboanx, at a '^rown a jjiece, and as much beer and brandy as would inilame tLem for mischief. The pageant was to open with twenty-four bag-pipes, marching four and four, and playing the memorable tune, ' Lillibullero. ' Presently was to come, a figure representing Cardinal Gaulteri, (lately made NOTES TO SIR ROGER Dii '"OVKKLEY. 77 by the Pretender protector of the English nation), looTdng down on the ground in sorrowful posture ; his train supi)i)rt( d by two mis- sionaries from Kome, supposed to he now in England '^— ' Two pages throwing beads, bulls, pardons and indulgences.' — 'Two jack- puddings sprinkling holy-water.' — ' Twelve hautboys playing the Greenwood-tree.' Then were to succeed 'six beadles with pro- testant flails ; ' and after a variety of other satirical mummies, the grand centre-piece was to show itself. ' Tlie Pope, under a magnificent canopy, with a light silver fringe, accompanied by the Chevalier St. George on the left, and his councillor, the devil, on his right.' The whole procession was to close with twenty streamers, displaying this couplet wrought on each : — * God bless Queen Anne, the nation's great defender, Keep out the French, the Pope, and the Pretender.' " — Wills. A bonfire was to be made, the " Pretender and Gaulteri " being " committed to the flames " after absolution, and then the devil was to jump into the fire with the Pope in his arms. Mock copies of the preliminary articles of peace were to be burned while the crowd should exclaim " No peace," and the victorious Marlborough was to receive an ovation. Certain houses were to be fired and " Harley himself was to have been torn to pieces." The Tories spoiled the grand show. At midnight a posse of constables seized the waxen images, " The Pope, the Pretender, the cardinals, the devil and all his works, a chariot to have been drawn by six of his imps, the canonies, the bag-pipes, the bulls, the pardons, the Protestant flails, the streamers — in short, the entire* parapherna- lia." The whole collection was carried off to the priv\'-council office. Adisnlav was made of part of the group to satisfy city apprentices in their desire for a " treat" and thus ended the pro- cession. Page 33. — ^Baker's Chrontcle. This book, written by Sir Bichard Baker, who was born 1568, is entitled Chronicle of the. Kings of England. It was exceedingly popular with the squires of the school of Sir Eoger. S*|uIro's. A coffee-house in Fulwood's Bents leading from Hol- born into Gray's Inn Gardens. The place, which was called after Squire, a "noted coffee-man," was much frequented by bench- ers and students of Gray's Inn. Bcspecting coffee-houses Wills remarks .—"The chief jjlaces of restn-t were coffee and chocolate houses, in which some men lived almost, insomuch that whoever wished to find a gentleman com- monly asked, not were he resided, but which coffee-house he frequented. No decently attired idler was excluded provided he laid down his penny at the bar; but this lie could seldom do without struggling "througli the crowd of beaux wl)o fluttered round the lovely bar-maid. Here the proud nobleman or coun- try squire was not to he distinguished from the gentle thief and 78 NOTES TO SIR ROGER DE COVERT.EV. daring highway man." " ColTee-housea, from the time of thei; commencement In l(j52, served instead of newspapers — they were •are« which was let out for hire for short journeys. Apotbecarles. L. apotheca. Jointnre. An estate in 'ands Kud tenements settled on a wo- man, in consideration of marriage, to be enjoyed after her hus- band's decease. Page 35. — Vlrjaflnla. Sir Walter Raleigh, who was deeply interested in colonizing " Virginia," had first introduced the to- bacco plant into England. Sir Clonilesley Shovel, whose monument is in the south side of the choir, was born in 1050 ; rose from a ca>)in boy to be an admiral, and distinguished himself in several navftl engagements in Anne's time ; his vessel was wrecked off the Scilly Isles (1707). NOTES TO SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. 79 Dr. Busby, Eichard (1606-1695) ; Iwrn at Sutton, Northamp tonshire ; educated at Westmiuster school and Oxford ; appointed head-master of Westminster school, 1640, and held the position till death; remarkable for his learning, assiduity, and the a))pli- catioa of the birch. At one time he coidd point to no less than sixteen bishops who attended his school, and he is said to have "bred up the greatest number of learned scholars that ever adorned any age or nation." Published several school books. His monument, sculptmed by Bird, is a short distance from that of Sir C. Shovel. The little Chapel. That of St. Edmund. Historian. The attendant who conducts visitors through the abbey. Cecil, Bobert (1550-1612,) son of William Cecil (Lord Bur- leigh) ; succeeded his father to the premiership ; a statesman of great energy and sagacity but unscrupulous ; held of&ce under Elizabeth and James. His monument is in the Chapel of St. Nicholas. The tomb was erected by hif father, the great Lord Burleigh. " At the base of the monument, within Corinthian columns, are kneeling figures of Sir Robert Cecil, their son, and three grand-daughters. The inscription is in Latin, very long and very tiresome." — Cunningham's Westminster Abbey. The martyr to good housewifery. An alabaster statue of Ehzabeth Russell, of the Bedford family — foolishly shown for many years as the lady who died by the prick of a needle. "-—Mur- ray's London. " The figure is melancholily inclining her cheek to her right hand, and with the forefinger of her left directing us to behold the death's-head placed at her feet."— Keepe, Mon. Westminster. Goldsmith states the story was one of the " hun- dred lies " which, in his day, the attendant was in the habit of telling '* without blushing." The t'wo coronation chairs. In the chapel of 'Edward the Confessor, and still used as the coronation chairs. The most ancient contains the famous " stone of Scone.*' " This is the stone or ' marble fatal chair ' which Gathelus, son of Secrops, king of Athens, is said to have sent from Spain with his son when he invaded Ireland; and which Fergus, son of Gyric won there and conveyed to Cove. The stone was set into a chair in wliich the kings of Scotland were (jrowned, till Edward the First oiiHred it, with other portions of the Scottish regatta, at the shrine of Edward the Confessor as an evidence of his absolute conquest of Scotland A Tioonine couplet was cut in the stou© which has been thus translated : 8o NOTES TO SIR ROGER DE COVER LEY. ' The Scots shall hrook that realm as native ground (If weirds fail not) where'er this stone is found. ' Thin prophecy was fullilled, to the satisfaction of the believers, in prophecy, by the accession of James the Sixth to the English Crown. How it got the name of Jacob's Pillow is difficult to trace. It is a piece of common, rough, Scotch sandstone ; and Sir Roger's question was extremely pertinent. The other oorouatiou chair was placed in the Abbey, in the reign of William and. Mary."— T^iZ^s. Page 36. — His fbrfeit. For having sat down on the chair. Tr«.*imnnecl. Ensnared. But lie would &c. " But " is a preposition. There is an allu- sion to Will Wimble's fondness for whittling. See chapter II. EtUvard the Third^s sword. This sword, " the monumentti] sword that conquered France," is seven feet long, and is placed near the tomb of Edward. It weighs 18 lbs. Black Prince. Son of Edward III. Froissart says he was " styled black by terror of his arms," which Strutt confirms, say- ing that he was "for his martial deeds surnamed Black the Prince." Meyrick says there is not the slightest proof that he ever wore black armour. Edward tlie Confessor. (1041—1065), enlarged Westminster Abbey. Tlie evil. The " king's evil," a scrofulous disease, formerly supposed to be cured by the touch of the king. The prayer-book, as late as Queen Anne's time, contained a special service for this purpose. Pine reading. See Shakespeare's Henry IV. IVitliout a liead. The effigy of Henry V, which was plated with silver, except the head, and that was of solid metal. During the Reformation, the figure was stjcipped of its plating, and the head stolen. Page 37.— The glory of his country. As a representative Tory Squire Sir Roger's character is brought out. XIII. o. 335. Tuesday, March 25th, 1712. The Contmittee, or thfi Faithful Irishman, was written soon after the Restoration by Sir Robert Howard. The play regarded by Pepys as " indifferent," kept possession of the stage until very NOTES TO SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. 8x ieliever8> Euglish Qc'ult to and Sir ouatiou im and. iir. au allu- sr II. imeutn] placed he was ns, say- .ck the ihat he ninster rmerly r-book, 'or this plated During nd the itative n soon ,'arded il very lately. Much of its earlier celebrity, was, no doubt, due to its political allusions. As " a good church of England comedy " it satirized " in the character of Obadiah, the proceedings of the Roundheads." It had caused considerable excitement during the time of James 11, and whenever religious feeling ran high, as in the reign of Anne its performance drew a crowded house. Di.ttressed Mother. Written by Ambrose Philips, otherwise, "Pastoral" Philips, an intimate friend of Addison's. It was a tragedy adapted from Racine's Andromaque, and had great suc- cess. In this number of the Spectator it was advertised to be performed for the sixth time. In a previous number of the paper (290), the play is puffed thus :— '* I must confess, though some days are passed since I enjoyed that entertainment, the passions of the several characters dwell strongly upon my imagination, and I congratulate the age that they are at last to see truth and human life represented in the incidents which concern heroes and heroines. The style of the play is such as becomes those of the first education, and the sentiments worthy those of the high- est figure. " Some of its success was occasioned by the epilogue as delivered by Mrs. Oldfield, which Johnson pronounced " the most successful composition of the kind ever yet spoken on the English theatre." The reputed author was Budgell, but it wap written by Steele. Hector's wiutionB on important Educational topics; Ueloctions- Ueadings for the School Room ; and Notes and News from each Province. PRACTICAIi DEPARTMP'.NT will always contain useful hints en methods of teaching different subjects. MATHEMATICAL DEPARTMENT gives solutions to dif- ficult problems also on Examination Papers. OFPICIiVL DEPARTMENT contains such regulations as may be issued from time to time. Subscription. $1.00 per anmim, strictly in advance. A Olub of 1,000 Subscribers from Nova Scotia. EDUCATION OFFICE, (Copy) Halifax, N.S., Nov. 16, 1878. Messrs. ADAM MILLER CO., Toronto, Ont. Deab Sirs,— In order to moet the wishes of our teacd- ers in various parts of the Province, and to secure for them the advantage of your excellent periodical, I hereby sub- scribe in their behalf for one thousand (1,000) copies at club rates mentioned in your recent esteemed favor. Subscrip- tions will J ^gin with January issue, and lists will be for- warded to yo ar office in a few days. Yours truly, < DAVID ALIilSON, Chief Supt. of Ednication, "■V"<**""'WW«BP"iB»!lf*"*<*"' ■ ■■ ' - — ' • ■ . ■ ■ . .» ■ ■ ■ » I K .» I I II . II . * ' > "• W Jf. (Sage ^ dLo'is. jletn dEbttcationai (itorkd. HAMBLIN SMITH'S MATHEMATICAL WORKS. 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These elementarv ideas ai» reduced to regular form by means of careful definitions and {riafn rules, illustrated by abundant and varied examples tor practice. The learner is mode fu^quaintcd, in moderate measure, with tiie most important of the older forms of English, with the way in which words are constructed, aud with the elements of wliich modem English is made up. Analysis is treated- so far as to give the power of dealing with sen- tences of plain construction and moderate dificulty. In the English Grammar the same subjects are presented with much greater fulness, and carried to a more advanced and difficult stagv . Tiio work contains ample materials for the requirements of Competitive Examinations reaching at least the standard of the Matriculation Examination of the University of London. 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