THI.
RUMINATOR:
CONTAINING
A SERIES OF MORAL, CRITICAL,
AND
SENTIMENTAL ESSAYS.
BY
SIR EGERTON BRYDGES, K.J. M.P.
IN TWO Y O L U M E ii .
VOL. I.
LONDON
PRINTED FOK LONGMAN, HURST, REEi, OJIME, AKU
BUOWN, FATFRNOSTEK-EOW.
181';.
T. Bei'.stfy, Printer.
T'oUCouit, Utet SUtct, London.
PREFACE.
"^ The major part of these Essays, as far
as No. LXXIII, were first printed in
the Cerisura Literaria, having been com-
N menced in the fourth vohime of that
i, work, in Jan. 1807, and continued to
' the tenth and last, in June 1 809. The
rest are principally by the author's
J friend, R. P. Gillies, Esq. the author
\ of " Childe Alarique," except two, for
\ which he is indebted to the eloquent
(_^ pen of a very learned writer well known
to the world, the Rev. Francis Wrang-
ham; and two others, for which he here
acknowledges his obligations to his
PUErACK.
kind tViciid, the Kcv. Montagu Pcn-
nino'ton, whose valuable contributions
he had already received in tbe former
part : in which also he here begs leave
to repeat his warm thanks for the pa-
pers furnished to him by Capel Lofft,
Esq. whose reputation is too far ex-
tended to require any eulogy from the
author.
Octohtr JO, IS 1:3.
CONTENTS AND MOTTOS.
VOL I.
No.
1 . ON the Consequences of War; with a Poem in com-
mendation of the Feudal Times.
2. On the Effects of llmal Scenery.
" These are thy glorious works, Parent of good!" Milton,
2. On the different Taste of Virgil and Horace ivith
respect to Rural Seeiiery.
" Flumina amatn,sylvasque inglorius." ^"^S'
A. On the State best adapted to Human Happiness.
.). Literature the only permanent Vehicle of Fame.
Ignotique longa
Nocte, carent quia vate sacro." Hor.
i). On Scott's Lay.
" Of ancient deeds so long forgot,
Of feuds, whose memory was not." Scoff's Lay,
'i . On the proper Objects of Biograplty.
" Nee ea solum in claris et lionoratis viris, sed in vita etiair-
privata, et quiete." Cic. de i>c/ifc;.
-!. On Ron: ley and Ossia?i.
" Amovitque sinus, et gentes maluit ortus
Mliari, quam nosse, tuos." Lucan.
IV. CONTENTS.
No.
9. On the Belief of Supernulural Beings.
" Nee me solum ratio ac dijputatio Lmpulit ut ita crederem;
sed nobilitas etiam suminorum philosoi)horuni et aucto-
ritas.'' Cic. de Senect.
10. Hoiv fur Genius, when properly exerted, brings its
own Reward with it.
" Rectius occupat
Nomen Beati, qui Deorum
Muneribus sapienter iiti." Hor.
1 1. Hints for the Ruminator, and remarks on his style,
and gravity and candour of manner and senti-
ment.
" Virum volitare per ora." ^'rg-
12. On the Scenic Representation of the Tragedy of
Macheth.
" Ita vertere seria ludo." Hor.
13. To the Rummalor.
" Ita facillime
Sine invidia laudem iiwenias ct amicos pares." Tfr.
14. On the Traits and Concoinitunts <f Poetical Genivs\
" Sic animis natum inveiitumqiie poema juvandis,
bi iMulum a snmmo discossir, vcrj^it ad imurn." Hor.
15. JJarry Ruinhjins Second Letter to the Runiinntor.
" Quid octernis rninorem
Consiliis animuin fatigai? Hor.
16. RefecLinns arising from, the Season of the Vear,
" The dark and pillowy cloud ; the sallow trees,
Seem o'er the ruins of the year to mourn;
And cold, and hollow the inconstant breeze
Sobs thro' the falling leaves, and wither'd fern."
C/j. Smith.
CONTENTS. V
No. r '' '
17. On some Passages of Pope's Translation of Homer.
" Qui quid sit pukhrum, quid turpe, quid utile, quid nbn,
Plenius ac melius Chrysippo et Crantore dicil." Hor.
18. On the ancient English Families.
" Stat magni nominis umbra." Liican.
ig. On the conduct of the Censura Liter aria.
" Jactat inasqualem Matho rae fecisse libellum.
Si verum est, laudat carmina nostra Matho." Mart.
20. On the Sonnets of Milton, with a Translation of
one of his Jtaliati Sonnets.
u Sed ille
Si foret hoc nostrum fato dJlatus in svum,
Detereret sibi multa." Hor,
21. On Dreams.
" Observe you not sometimes, that you wake out of quite a
different sort of world from that to which your days are
accustomed ^. On your efforts to grasp them by recol-
lection the thin ideas shrink away, and in a few mo-
ments are quite vanished.'' JVLiss Talbet's Essays.
22. On Books.
" Qua; sunt igitur epularum, aut ludorum aut scortorura
voluptates cum his voluptatibus comparandas ?" Cic.
23. On Mrs. Carter s Letters.
" Sermo oritur non de villis domibusve alienis ;
Nee mell necne lejios saltet ; sed quid magis ad nos
Pertinet, et nescire malum est, agitamus." Hor,
24. On the Pleasures of Reading.
" While fancy, like the finger of a clock,
Runs the great circuit, and is still at home." Coivper.
25. How far History is true.
" History is philosophy, teaching by example."
Bolingbroke, from Dion. HalK
VI CONTENTS.
No.
C'G. On Imprisonynent for Debt.
" Hither then.
Ye sons of pity, and ye sons of thought,
WJiether by public zeal, and patriot love,
Or by compassion's gentle stirring wrought,
O hkhcr come!" Dcdfs TLoughts in Pn,u,i.
27. On modern Poetry, and parliculurly on Seutt'>
Komance of Marmion.
" Stans pede in uno." ILr.
28. Genius incomputU-lc wilh a narrow Taste.
" Many people have been employed in finding out clj-f.u^;
and refined beauties, in what appear to oidin..ry oi;se.-
vation his very defects." Alijs Baillic.
29. Trails in the character of Gray the Poet.
" We poets are, upon a poet's word,
Of all mankind the creatures most absurd."
30. On the Severity of Fashionable Critieishi.
" Let no unworthy mien her form debase,
But let her smile, and let her frown with ?race."
Ij! O-U K,
31. Ok Adulation of the Great.
' Principibus placuisse viris non ultima laus est. //(.;.
32. Charaeler of, and c.vtraits from, Ilabinc,(lon' f
Gas tar a.
" To virtue only and her frir nds a fri(?nd,
"i'he world beside may murmur or commend." J'oj-f.
33. Bank, and Hie/ir^, and Ease rf Jlenrf, not faiaui -
nlle l(> Intellectual Krrrlion.
" Sed (]ii;e Tibur ;r:]ii,T fertile pcrfluunt,
F.t spissa: nemorum c(ini;e
rinzent JiioWo carn-.nii' nobik-tr..'" If .-
CONTENTS. VU
No.
34. Epistle to a Friend.
" He gain'd from Heav'n, 'twas all he wish'd, a friend."
35. Epistle to another Friend.
" On cares like these, if length of days attend.
May Heav'n, to bless those days, preserve my friend."
Fofe.
36. On the Theological Writings' of Grotius.
" Fama, malum." ^'rg.
37. Story of an Eccentric Character.
" A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown
And melancholy mark'd him for her own." Gray.
38 The same story continued.
" La Virginella, come la rosa,
Scopuir non osa il primo ardore.'* Ar'toito,
39. The same.
" Like, one ordain'd to swell the vulgar throng,
As tho' the Virtues had not warm'd his breast,
As tho' the Muses not inspired his tongue." Shenstone,
40. The same.
" 'Twas strange they said, a wonderful discovery,
And ever and anon they vow'd revenge." Home,
41. The same.
" Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself,
She turns to favour, and to prettiness. Shakespiare.
42. Complaint of a Literary Man.
" Illi mors gravis incubat
Qui notus nimis omnibus,
Ignotus moritur sibi.'' Seen.
43. Poetical Fragments.
" Minuentur atrs
Carmine curs. Hr"
VUl CONTENTS.
No.
44. On the Lalin Poems of Cowley.
" Quod dedisti
Viventi decus, atque sentienti
Rari post cineres habent poets." Mart-
45. The same siilject continued.
" A nostris procul est omnis vesica libellis,
. Musa nee insano syrraate nostra tumeu" Mart.
46. Extracts from Kirke White.
" Heu pietas, heu prisca fides." ^'T-
47. On the Imperfect Morality of the Heathens, com-
pared with that of Christianity.
" Talk they of morals .'
As wise as Socrates mijht justly seem
The definition of a modern fool." Toung.
48. Jfliat is Light Beading? Poetry, a gift.
".Poeta nascitur non fii;."
Corrigenda to Mr. LoffVs Greek Ode on Eton,
Vol. 11. No, XLIX.
Stanza 1, line 4. for E A0APA02 r. EAOAPAOS.
St, 4, 1. 1. for Amucrls r. Ai-ktio-Is. St. 7, 1. 1. for
s^iv r, so'tiv, St. 8^ 1. 1. for afj^riKOcvsi r. af/.rjXMvsi.
St. 9, 1. 2. for Utv^a^i kov r. Uiv^aoixov. St. 10,
1. 4. for AISXIGEION r. AIEXTAEION. St, 13,
1.2. for Mx^vij.alvjv r. Ma^YjfjiaVjov. St. 14, 1. 4.
for '^Mcri -moKsiU r. 'S.ojcn'oroXsih . St. l6, 1. 3. for
E^sya,u.^s r. E^sXa^/Z'^g, St. I/, ! 4. for fsp; r.
isijA^. at the end, for Ma(,aiZH7ufla>yof r. Mi|aa)c7ij-
rUE RUMINATOR.
CONTAINING
A SERIES OF MORAL AND SENTIMENTAL
ESSAYS.
" Meditation here
May think duvvn hours to moments. Here the heart
May give an useful lesson to the head."
CoWPER.
No I.
On the Consequences of War ; with a Poem in colU'
viendation of the Feudal Times.
In' the multiplicity of subjects that offer them-
selves to a contemplative mind for consideration, I
hav experienced the common consequence of ful-
ness of choice 3 I have deferred it till it is too late
to do justice to any. But I will wave the formality
of an introduction, which, from the practice of for-
mer essayists, is becomie too trite to interest ; and
proceed to make use of such materials, as are read}'
at my call; trusting to futurity to develope my
plans, and bestow strength on my progress.
E
2 THE RUMINATOR.
It is too well known, that refinement and luxury
in all nations, at all times, have gone hand in hand ;
and that with wealth and prosperity have been sown
the seeds of corruption, decline, and ruin. Some
fluctuations there will be in all states 3 wars and
even misfortunes may call forth a temporary energy,
even after the commencement of a fall ; and I am
not sure that even those scenes of peculiar and un-
exampled distress and danger, which the Continent
of Europe has experienced for the last fifteen years,
may not procrastinate the total predominance of
barbarism, and for a little while prolong some of
the institutions of social order.
The amiable and enlightened Cowper now and
then suflfered under a passing cloud of narrow pre-
judice. He has said, that
*' War is a game, whicli, were their subjects wise.
Kings would not play at."
I take for granted, that he does not mean to allude
merely to particular instances of a wanton exercise
of prerogative in a sovereign, by engaging in a \\ ar
from motives of personal ambition, contrary to the
wishes of his people, (cases that do perhaps occur,
yet not very often,) but to war in general, which
he assumes to originate in this way.
Now I do not believe that wars in general are
principally attributable to kings ; still less do I
THE RUMINATOR. 3
believe that kings have entered uito them for their
own amusement 5 and least of all, that their conse-
quences are so mischievous as the passage cited frorh
Cowper seems to insinuate. The horrors of a field
of battle, scenes of bloodshed, and devastation, and
famine, are apt subjects for the powerful descrip-
tions of a poet ; and from such, results the moral (a
little too encouraging to popular prejudices) of the
affecting work of a living poet, one of the most
beautiful writers ^ perhaps, which this nation ever
produced ; I mean, of the Joan of Arc of Southey !
Eut from these partial evils, deep as they often are,
I am convinced that there springs a great deal of
good. They awaken a nation from that state of
stupefaction, sensuality, and effeminacy, which are
its worst and most fatal disease : they dispel apathy,
foster a generous and energetic spirit, accustom the
body to wholesome exercise and toil, and nerve the
mind against the hour of adversity and privation.
It is well remembered that, when, at the close
of the late reign, the celebrated Dr. Brown, in his
" Estimate," represented this nation, as sunk into
the lowest state of feminine debility, the energy of
Lord Chatham's administration, and the vigorous
war which he carried on, electrified the kingdom,
and raised it In a short period to a point of unex-
a I must except his Thalaba.
4 THE RUMINATOR.
ampled glory and renown, both for its wisdom and'
its heroism. Have we not seen similar effects from
the late war ? Compare the energy of the present
race of males in all ranks of society, with the habits
of those who predominated in society, during the
peace, which followed the American contest ! There
is a vigour and hardihood in the rising generation,
worthy of less luxurious times !
But how long we shall keep off the baneful
effects, which commerce never fails at last to j)ro-
duce, I dare not inquire ! ]\Iy imagination at least
will never fail to be best pleased with the manners
of ages approaching nearer to those of chivalrv !
For this reason I shall here venture to iiisert a
poem, congenial to these sentiments, which iia:;
hitherto lain unnoticed among my papers.
THE KUMINATOR, 5
Lines on the Figure of a JVarrior, dressed in Feudal
uirmour, his shield adorned with an ancient heral-
dric coat ; a Baronial castle in the hack ground, on
the highest tower of which is displayed a banner,
hearing the same insignia; drawn and presented to
the author by the Rev. C. JF. ^
" So shone th' heroic chief in days of old;
Fierce was his mien; his limbs of giant mould ;
Eeneath the load of cumbrovis armour light.
Active he bounded to th' infuriate fight;
Broad was his shield, with bold device imprest;
And on his helmet frown'd the grimly crest :
Yon moated castle's massy walls uprose
To frown defiance on his vassals' foes;
And o'er that shadowy forest's wide domains.
O'er these blue hills, and those extended plains, 10
O'er many a scatter'd vill, and many a town.
He rul'd by right, by favour, or renown.
Ferocious days, and days of wild alarm,
Yet chear'd by many a joy, and many a charm.
Which these degenerate times have lost ! For Power
Dwelt with the chief, who own'd the Feudal Tower !
b One, who after one and thirty years of uninterrupted
friendship, and after having buffeted with tb.e rage of the yellow
fever in the Atlantic, and having afterwards visited all rhe shores
of the Mediterranean, and witnessed the horrors and the glories
of the tremendous night which was illuminated by the battle of
the Nile, is returned safe to form one of the few props and com-
forts of the author's life.
5 THE RUMINATOR.
Lord of the generous arts, that win command.
By noble counsel, or by valorous liand,
He knew no rivals in the dastard knaves,
Whospring to weallli from Lucre's base-born slaves ; 20
Who gain rich lands, and feed luxurious boards.
By the vile modes, which groveling Trade aflbrds !
Perchance some Knight of more advent' rous name
His spirit's generous envy might cnflame ;
One, on whose breast with more rcsplei)d'."nt fire
Beam'd the red cross, or growl'd the lion's ire ;
Who rode with statelier grace the prancing horse.
Or couch'd his quivering lance with mightier force !
E'en tho' his heaving bosom swell'd with pain,
Aspiring wreaths of equal worth to gain.
Still in the grateful strife was glory mix'd.
And Virtue's wishes in his heart were fix'd ;
No wealthy son of Commerce bade him hide
Before superior pomp his lessen'd pride.
Nor call'd him with insulting sneers to vie
In the mean race of arts he ^corn'd to try :
Honour and rank and wealth he saw await
Toils of the wise, and actions of the great ;
Nor mark'd, where'er before his aching eyes
Halls, mansions, castles, palaces, arise, 40
Wretches usurp them, who in darksome cells
Won their base spoils by Traffic's hated spells !
Rude was the pile, that from th' impending brow
Of some steep rock upon the wave below
Oft look'd with fearful grandeur ; loud the blast
Bav'd on its walls, and thro' its turrets pastj
THE RUMINATOR. 7
Chill were its sunless rooms, and drear the aisles
Along whose length the night-hreeze told her tales;
Massive the walls, thro' Avhich the genial day-
Strove with warm hrcath in vain to win its way; 50
15at jocund was its hall ; and gay the feast
That spoke the genuine gladness of the breast.
When rang'd its hospitable boards along.
The warlike bands renew' d th' heroic song ;
Or told wild tales, or drank with greedy ear
Romantic ditties which the Minstrel-Seer
Tun'd to his harp, while, as with bolder fire
He threw his raptur'd hand across the wire.
With visions of new glory bcana'd each eye.
And loud the gathering chorus rose on high ; fiO
Till shook the rafter'd roof, and every bound
Of the wide castle trembled with the sound.
Rough were the scenes, as was the master's mind.
Which Nature, bordering on th' abode, design'd ;
Forests of age untold, whose unpierc'd wood
Ne'er to the labourer's echoing ax had bow'd ;
Soft lawns, which mid surrounding coverts spread.
By the wild tenants of the scene were fed ;
Deep dells, with fern, and brake, and twisted thorn
Thick-matted, whence the hunter's shrill-ton'd horn 70
Started th' elastic deer, which, stung with fright.
Swift as the viewless winds, pursued their flight j
Loud torrents, rumbling as they won their course
Thro' fretted rocks and winding banks by force j
Or rills, that murmur'd music, as their race
Thro' flowery vales they ran with even pace.
8 THE RUMINATOR.
When War's alarms no more around him rag'd.
In sports amid these scenes the Chief engag'd ;
Sport?, that became his hardy form ! When Light
First 'gan to streak the flying mists of Niglit, 80
From his rough couch he sprung ; his bugle blew.
And round him each impatient hunter drew;
Then forth the steed of wondrous swiftness came.
And. thro' the woods he sought th' affrighted game;
From morn to eve, woods, plains, and vales, and hills
With the loud echo of his voice he fills ;
Ko toil taiigues him, and no danger stays;
Perils the zest of his amusoncnt raise !
Then home to gorgeous halls and blazing fires.
Weary, -yet pleas'd with exercise, retires : 90
The feast is spread ; the war-clad walls along
Rings the glad converse, and rebounding song;
And when again the sable-mantled Night
Far o'er the sky has urg'd her heavy flight,
On the hard bed his giant limbs he throws.
And sinks serenely into deep repose !
O age of luxury ! O days of ease !
The restless, vigorous, soid ye ne'er can please!
Within your stagnant lakes Corruption breeds,
And on your flowers vile sensual Meanness feeds ! 100
As when foul pests have gathcr'd in the sky.
And o'er the globe the death-charg'd vapours fly.
Soon as the mighty Tempest drives his blasts.
And thro' the lurid gloom hi^ lightning casts.
Vanish the congregated brood of ills,
Aiid heath and sunshine all the landscape fills ;
THE KUMINATOR. Q
So, when wan Indolence and timid Joy,
The native spirit of the mind destroy.
And fiends of hell, and sprites of loathsome Pain,
Self-love, Lust, Gkittony, and Hate, enchain ; 111)
The toils of war, the battle's thundering storm.
The sleepy current of the soul reform ;
The loaded bosom purge, and bid it flame
^^"ith the pure throbbings of a generous fame ;
And light with hope, and airy with the fire
Qf blest Ambition, up to Heaven aspire!" <=
c I had just finished this F?sav, when I received the twa
following from a most valuable and respected Correspondent.
Feb. 2, 1807.
10
N" II.
On the Effects of Rural Scenery.
" These are thy glorious works, Parent of good!''
Milt. Par. Lost.
The pride and vanity of man, in order to dis-
tinguish him from the inferior animals of the crea-
tion, instead of having recourse to that reason by
which he alone was formed " after the image" and
" in the likeness" of his Maker, has led him to
imagine a thousand frivolous and trifling marks of
difference. Hence one philosopher defines him to*
be a laughing, and another a weeping, animal.
One makes the chief criterion between him and
brutes, to be, that he walks upon two legs, and is
not covered with feathers ; and another, with an
affectation of piety, that he walks upon two legs,
and looks up to heaven ; " Os Hominis sublime
dedit, coolumque tucri jussit." One, that he is the
inost perfect of creatures ; and another, that be is
the most helpless. So tliat, in short, the most in-
considerable varieties of form and manners have
served them as sufficient foundations on which to
build the most important of all generic distinctions ;,
THE FvUMINATOR. 11
although ui reality a negro, from under the equator,
differs more ia mere external appearance from a
Greenlandei-, or an inhabitant of Terra del Fuego,
than either of them does from several other animals.
But thongh it may be very truly asserted, and
few persons will now be disposed to contradict it,
that the only real and certain difference between us
and all other creatures, consists in the inestimable
gift of reason ; still this does not completely solve
the difficulty ; for beasts also have some degree of
understanding ; and the wisest of men have never
yet been able to explain the exact analogy which
the internal faculties of the " half reasoning ele-
phant," and the acute instinct of the dog, bear to
our boasted understanding.
There is however one faculty of man, con-
nected indeed with reason ; but wholly independent
of the exercise of its higher powers ; which has, I
believe, been entirely overlooked in all the various
speculations upon this subject, and which yet seems
to form a very marked ground of distinction between
the human race and brutes. This is the delight
occasioned to the mind by rural scenery j so that I
would define man as an " animal capable of receiv-
ing pleasure from the beauties of Nature." Of
this there is not the least ground for supposing that
other creatures are at all susceptible. No horse, or
dog, has ever been observed to stop to enjoy the
12 THE RUMINATOR.
view from a hill : to admire the rlsinsf or settin>r
san ; or to choose to repose in a shady valley unless
from the want of its shelter from the heat. A doo
indeed will frisk in the snow, and, as Cowper says^
wiU
" Shake his povdei'd coat, and bark for joy i"
but he is never seen to admire the frozen fog which
hangs on the tree, nor the glitter of the sunbeams
on the icicle which is suspended from the roof;
and the horse bounds over the verdant mead, with
as much pleasure in a dreary marsh as on the moun-
tain's top.
But if this be greater, still perhaps it may be
said that this is an enjoyment not natural, but ac-
quired, and therefore no distinction of man with
respect to his genus ; but either a natural taste in
some individuals, or else dependant wholly upon
the improvement of the mind. If this be so, my
argimient is certainly illfoundcd j but I believe the
very reverse to be the fact ; I believe the m.ost
stupid and ignorant peasant receives as much tem-
porary gratification by a view from a hill, or in a
pleasant dale, as Gilpin himself ever did. Po.'sibly
indeed much more; for he has no power of Irit-
tering away his feelin s by the exercise of his judg-
ment in classing and analysir.g the objects befure
him^ and thus finding a mountain too pointed^ or a
THE EUMINATOH. 13
dale too circular, and its edges too strongly defined
for picturesque beauty.
See the countryman upon a hill which com-
mands what is commonly called a fine view. He
opens his eyes, and stares around him with a grin
of exquisite delight "What avast fine prospect
here be ! What a power of churches ! and look,
here's the river, and there's the wood ! Sure 'tis a
noble view, what a mort of miles one can see!"
Place him in a deep valley, a Vaucluse if you will,
and he exclaims, " What a vast pleasant place, so
shady like, so green, and the water so clear ! and
then it is so lonesome Why, a body may think
here, without nobody's coming to interrupt him."
Now in both these cases who will venture to
say that the rude and uninformed peasant does not
feel as much delight as a RadclifFe, or a Charlotte
Smith, would do in similar situations. Trne it is,
that the artless and honest expressions of his feelings
are not clothed in the glowing colours of the one,
or the natural yet elegant language of the other.
But the internal sensation is the same, and the only
difference iS; that he has no power of imparting the
pleasure he has experienced to others, in that ex-
quisite manner which the two above-mentioned
celebrated and rival ladies can.
i call them rivals, because they were both at
the same time aspiring to fame by similar pursuits.
14 THE RUMINATOR.
though in writings composed in a very difFerent
style, and therefoie not to be judged by the same
rule. For the one is a novelist, but of the highest
class, whose great merit is her delineation of cha-
racter, and her vitws of life and manners, in which
she is almost unequalled; while the works of the
other are really romances as they are properly
called ; and the most striking circumstrmce which
distinguislies them from other first-rate producuons
of the same kind, is the rich tiiough somciimcs
gaudy colouring, v^hich she lluows over tlie vivid
scenery that she so much dcliglits to describe, and
of wliich the imagery is such as belongs only to a
warm country, and the most sublime objects of
nature.
In Mr:;. Radcliffe's works therefore the narrative
is often of little use but to introduce the description
to which it is subservient ; in jNIrs. Smith's, the
description is only used to illustrate the su^ry, and
never forced into the service: it is always natural,
and such as every reader of taste tliinks he should
feel himself in similar situations. Of this there are
some striking instances in Ethclinde, in Desmond,
and in the Old Manor House.
Although it may not be strictly pertinei\t to the
subject of this Ess:iy, yet I cannot resist the temp-
tation of saying a few Mords concerning tliis last
iinf'orttjnate lady;, N^hosc sorrows and niiilorlunes
THE RUMINiATOR. 15
are now closed by the hand of death. It has been
objected to her, and perhaps not without some
foundation, that she has not paid so much attention
to morality and rehgion in her various publications,
as she might have done ^ that she has not assisted
her readers to draw the proper inferences fi-om her
characters, and the situations in which she has placed
them ; and therefore that the enjoyment of harm-
less pleasure and some improvement of our mental
faculties, are the only advantages to be derived from
the perusal of her works. Admitting the fact,
much may be said in her excuse ; disappointed in,
and made wretched by, the tenderest connection of
human life, she was left to struggle for herself and
family, against every species of treachery and op-
pression, that the chicanery of law, directed by bad
hands, could exercise against her :
" The world was not her friend, nor the world's law."
She found no helping hand to rescue her from the
grasp of poverty, and bid her freely exercise the
pov.'ers of her genius without being dependant on
tliem for bread. Ill educated (that is, with respect
to the most important point of education) and worse
married ; neglected by this world, and never taught
to look up with earnest, though " trembling hope"
to another, it is no wonder that she did not incul-
cate more strongly principles of which she knew
l6 THE RUMINATOR-
not the value. It is no smiall merit that neither irl
her language nor her sentiments she has strength-
ened bad ones ; and in the only work which may
be deemed of a contrary tendency, the errors both
moral and political st-em to have proceeded from
the head rather than from the heart.
Peb. 2, 1807.
THE RUiMINATOR.
N III.
On the different Taste of Firgil and Horace with
respect to Rural Scenery.
It has been observed long since^ that no man
can be a poet without beuig sensible of the charms
of the country. " Scriptorum chorus omnis amat
nemus, et fugit urbes j" that is, in theory : for in
fact it is not absolutely the case. And the reason
of this supposed preference is not so much on
account of the undisturbed quiet of rural retire-
ment, (for that may be had, as to all the purposes
of writing and reflection, in Fleet Street, as well as
in Johnny Grote's house) but because the sublime
and beautiful of nature so much assists, invigorates,
and inspires a poetic imagination. To the moral
and didactic muse indeed " crowded cities" and
" the busy hum of men" may be useful in furnish-
ing materials ; and for that reason, perliaps, among
others, Johnson, Goldsmitli, and many more, have
preferred London to any retirement, however beau-
tiful ; but in the higher walks of poetry the tumult
of a crowded city can only serve to confuse and
derange the ideas. Amidst the " fumum et opes
18 THE RUMIN.VTOR.
strepitumque Romae/' on what objects can the
" fine frenzy" of a '' poet's eye" delight to glance j
with what views of nature can he assist his fancy ?'^
Hence we find, that however poets may in other
respects difl^er from each other, they all agree in
celebrating the praises of the country. Even those
who as men could hardly exist out of the atmosphere
of Rome or London, as poets have not dared to
avow a predilection so disgraceful and almost unna-
tural almost impious indeed, if the strong and ner-
vous expression of Cowper, in his truly original style,
" God made the country, but man n-.ade the town,"e
could be understood in its literal sense.
But however poets may agree in this gencial
principle, they vary greatly in the application of it,
and in their preference of particular scenery are by
no means guided by the same taste.
A remarkable instance of this (v.liich as far as I
know has not been noticed before) apj)e:!rs in die
two most celebrated poets of the A'.igu>lan age,
Virgil and Horace. Though born in dltlcrent paits
of Italy, Rome was tliL'ir conuuou centre, and
though both of them speak in raptures of runll
d " Mac rabiosa ruit canis, hac liitulenta ruit sus.
I nunc, et versus tecum ineditare canci.':." Hob.
< This howuver is the remark, and I lehev,- tlse Lnjuare, of
Co.dey.
THE RUMINATOR. 1^
scenery and the magnilicence of nature, they place
tlie greatest perfection of it in countries very dif-
ferent from each other as well as distant. It is
worthy of notice also, that each of them had travel-
led through the same parts, that is, all over Italy,
Greece, and the intervening country, and neither
of them fixes on his own natal soil. Virgil indeed
was so partial to his, that he wishes there to enjoy
his fame, and end his days. He was born near
JMantua, and he promises to build a temple on the
lake through which th.e slow and reedy Mincius
takes its wandering course. '^ He praises the fertility
of the soil, and asserts that Iraly is superior to the
riche.it parts of Asia. But this asseitiun is made,
not with regard to the beauties of its scenery, but
the usefulness of its productions, and its freedom
from noxious animals.
Not however that the elegant poet was insensi-
ble to the rharms of Natiue ; for, in perhaps the
most highly finished and admirable passage which
all antiquity can furnish, he has given tlie reins to
liis fancy in the praise of the country and of a
f See Georg. II. v. 136, &c. and Gsorg. lit. 13. The
exactness of the poet's description is admirable. The ATiiicius
slowly winding through a flat ricii country forms a lake at Man-
tin; there he promises to build his temple, propter aquar.ty
\\\i\c\\ ought to be rendered near the lake; a nicety passed ovt-i,
I be!i',v-;-, by his commentatr^rs and translators,
20 THE RUMINATOR.
country life. But in this delicious and glowing de-
scription, it is observable that no part of the scenery
which he apostrophizes by name belongs to his own
country. It is all Grecian ; s his fields, his moun-
tains, his rivers, and his woods are all found in
Thessaly, Laconia, and Thrace.
Horace is so far like Virgil, that neitlier does
iie derive his ideas of rural beauty from the country
of which he was a native ; but, unlike him in other
respects, gives the palm to some parts of Italy over
all the rest of the world. In particular, he prefcis
it to the most admired scenery of Greece, even by
name, in the strongest terms. In his ode to Plancus
(Lib. I. Ode 7), he tells him liiat he ihall leave to
others the oflice of celebrating the beauties both oi
art and nature to be found in G.'^ccce ; for that
neither Laconia itself'^' (w hich country was expressly
g Goorg. II. V. 'ISC, et seq.
O Libi Campi
Si)erchiusque, et virijinihus Vacchata I.scxnis
Tav^eta! O qui mo yeliJis in va libus H;cini
Siitat, et ingcii'i raniurum I'ro.tcjat u;r.hia!
Ttim pdiieiii I..i::d.iio!i cannot itfjr to ti.e tvVy, hecr.uJf
that couid be no ob'ctt ot ccnii-.'.nsoti with the groves and rivcr
tji 'I'iber. Larissa was seated or. the river Pcneus, which also
ran through the vale of Tempe; and, no du.ibr, i to be under-
stood as referring to that valley which nii^iht well be compared
to Tiber, though the_/-; (//<r LarLta in the strict and literal ierue
t'JuJd not.
THE KUMINATOR. 21
included in Virgil's praises) nor even the boasted
vale of Tempe was equal in his estimation to the
scenery round Tiber; in which neighbourhood his
own villa was seated. Ujion the same principle we
hnd the poet earnestly wishing at anotlier time (Lib,
II. Ode 6) that he may pass the evening of his days
at Tiber^ and that if this prayer be denied him, he
may be allowed to settle in the soft and genial cli-
mate of Tarentum, in the south-ta,t of Italy.
This difference of opinion, or taste, in two poets,
contemporaries and friends, is very striking. To
which the suffrage was given by the Emperor who
loved them both, and (I am sorr}' to add) was flattered
by both, it would now be iiseless to inquire ; but
it is curious to observe in how different a light the
same objects appear to minds of perhaps equal
powers, of equally cultivated understandings, and
having an equal taste for the enchanting scenery
which abounds in both those countries.
Admirable indeed is the variety of tlie powers
of Nature, and their influence on the minds of men j
and the different manner in which they aflect dif-
ferent dispositions, so that \\ hat is to one a beauty,
to another appears a deformity, is not one of the
least instances of the bounty of Providence towards
us. Extensive as their variety seems in combina-
tion, the works of Nature (like Q\ery thing that is
truly great) are simple. Water, hill, plain, and
22 THE RUMINATOR.
wood, form all her materials; but these are subdi-
vided, modelled, classed, and mixed together, in so
many forms of beauty, as to prove to a well regu-
lated mind one of the purest as well as highest
sources of innocent and intellectual pleasure
Feb. 2d, '807.
THE RUMINATOR.
N^ IV.
On the Slale lest adapted to Human Happiness.
" J'itam qucefaciunf Icatiornn,
Jucundlssime Marticdis, htvc sunt;
Res noil parta lahore, sed rclicta ;
Non ingratus ager ; focus perennis ;
Lis nunquam, toga rara ; mens qidita ;
litres ingcnuce, saluirc corpus;
Prudcns simpticifas ; pares ainici;
Convictus facUis, sine arte mensa:
Kox non fl'ria, scd soluta curis ;
^on friif/s torus, altamen pudicus ;
Somnus quifaciat hrcics tcnclras ;
Quod sis, esse vclis, rnhilque maiis ;
Suramum ncc mctuas diem, nee optes."
Martial, x. 47-
Translation ly Coivley.
" Since, dearest friend, 'tis yonr desire to see
A true receipt of happiness from me ;
Tiiese are the chief ingredients, if not all :
Take an estate neither too great, nor small.
Which quantum sujjicit the doctors call.
24 THE KUMIN'ATOR.
Let this estate from parent's care descend ;
The getting it too much of Hfe docs spend.
Take such a ground, whose gratitude may be
A fair encouragement for industry.
Let constant fires the Winter's fury tamej
And kt thy kitchen he a vestal Hame.
Thee to the town let never suit at law.
And rarely, very rarely, business dra\'i'.
Thy active mind in equal tcmjicr keep,
In undisturbed peace, yet not in sleep.
Let exercise a vigorous health maintain,
Witluvat which all the composition's vain.
in the same weight prudence and innocence take .
Jlrju of each does the just mixture make.
But a few friendships wear, .'uid let them be
By nature and by fortune fit fur thee. '
Instead of art and luxury in food.
Let mirth and freedom make thy table good ;
If any cares into the day time creep.
At night, without wine's opium, let them ^^lerp.
Let rest, which Nature doe^ to darkness wed.
And not lust, recommend to tliee thy bed ;
B'^ satisfied, and pleased, w ii'i what thou art;
Act chearfully and well tlit- alK.lted part;
Enjoy t!ie present hour, be thiinkful for the past,
And neither fear, nor wish liie approaches of the last."
THE RUMTNATOR. 25
I have often and deeply reflected how far this
state of .existence is in right of itself capable of hap-
piness ; and what are the circumstances which
atTord the best chance of attaining it; and I am
firmly convinced that the description given by Mar-
tial of the ingredients most conducive to it, is
founded not merely in the dreams of a poet's fancy,
but in solid and unalterable truth.
The great ditficulty is the concurrence of the
ingredient, which is least likely to be combined with
the rest, but without which all the rest are vain :
" Quod sis, esse veils; nihilque mails."
Unless a man knows how to value such a lot;
unless he is thoroughly aware of the emptiness or
the perplexities of wealth, and grandeur, and rank,
and povv'er ; as long as he is dazzled by show, or
sighs after distinction ; the moderate pleasures with-
in his reach will appear insipid and dull.
To see so large a portion of mankind pass by,
unheeded, the very exquisite enjoyments, which
offer themselves to their embrace, in pursuit of the
most delusive phantoms, which they are seeking at
the expense of ease, virtue, health, fortune, and
reputation, is indeed amongst the most deplorable
proofs of our fallen nature. To rise of a morning
with a head unburthened with perplexing business.
26 THE KUMIVATOR. '
and a heart unclouded with care ; to behold, as tlir
sun pierces through the mistiness of the dawn, the
scenes of nature ojiening before us in dewy bril-
liance; to be at liberty to wander uncontrolled
amid this beautiful landscape, and, wliile exercise
strengthens and braces the body, to inhale freshness
and exquisite odours, and exhilarating spirits, from
the pure airs of lieaven, is not mere negative happi-
ness, but rapture and enchantment ! From hence
to return home, even to a straw-roofed cottage,
where there is neatness, and competence, and
peace} and a book, and a virtuous friend, of a cul-
tivated mind, to meet one ; is only a variety, and
not a diminution, of the day's pleasure. The sacred
charm of innocence, instead of lea\ing the sting of
regret in the recollection of the past, adds, on re-
flection, to the poignancy of tlie enjoyment -, and
the corporeal frame, healthy from its own habits,
and untouched by mental uneasiness, becomes at-
tnned to sensations of happiness, such as almost lift
it above humanity 1
I am as sure, as I am of any human truth, that
grandeur and ambition at the very momeiu of at-
taining their utmost wishes, never felt pleasures,
which, even in a worldly point of view, could bear
a comparison with these cheap and innocent occu-
jrations ! Occupations, in tlie power of thousands.
TUB RUMINATOR. 2/
and tens of thousands, who desert them for the
paths of bitterness, disappohitment, disgrace, crime,
and eternal misery !
But, alas ! the rarest of all earthly attainments
is content ! It seems to be one of the most radical
defects- of our frail namre. We cannot bear to see
our neighbours mounted over our heads ; we can-
not bear to see bloated Greatness look down upon us
with neglect and scorn ; when we ought to consider
the robe of office that covers the insignificant, and
the coronet which encircles the brows of the weak,
as nothing more than the fool's cloak and cap,
which point him out more distinctly to the con-
tempt of the world- It must be confessed, indeed,
that there are times, when the best regulated minds
cannot entirely restrain their indignation on this
subject. Never perhaps did the period exist in this
country, when these abuses were carried so far, as
tliey have lately been. Upstarts of the most offen-
sive sort have been obtruded into too many high
offices, and decked out with too many unmerited
distinctions, which have enabled them to insult
men, their superiors as well in all the gifts of nature,
as in all those artiiicial claims which have hitherto
been recognised by the wisdom of human institu-
tions. These men, even where they have been
blessed with native genius, have uniformly been in-
ebriated with the fumes of sudden prosperity, and
28 THE RU.MIVA7 OR.
belied the honourable expectations, which they had
raised. In truth, they are so engrossed with them-
selves, that they have no conception of any preten-
sions but their own. Fnit these circumstances,
though they may palliate, can by no means jastity,
the disturbance of that peace of miiid, which be-
comes true wisdom, aild true virtue !
There is, however, a sjiccics of celebrity, which
it is not unbccoining a well-attempered disposition
to seek. I mean the lame, which is merited by emi-
nence in literature; more especially by the sublime
efforts of poetiy. 1 his pursuit is not inconsistent
with that station and those habits, which Martial
describes as affording the best probability of happi-
ness here; but, on the contrary, would be most
rheri>hed by them. Anxieties never cease to em-
bitter the pillow o{ greatness ; a large retinue, a
crowd of dependants, surround It with intrigues
and troubles; calumny, envy, and malice are con-
stantly at work; luxury enfeebles the constitution;
idleness \\-eakens the mind; and while all in this
world appears but the ^anity of vanities, the hopes
of the next grow fainter and fainter, for the sake
of delusions, from which the unhappy victim is yet
too feeble to extricate himself".
() liow I sigh for the enviable state, so beauti-
fully delineated by the poet ; and in the first place
" Lis nunquam, to^a rsra, mens qu'cta;"
THE RUMIXATSR. 2^
that tngu, from which I turn with such unfeigned
abhorrence ; which covers a heart, so restless, so
feverish, so artificial ; and is surmounted by a head
so full of quips, and quirks, and sophistry, and so
occupied in groveling labours, when it might aspire
to speculations which would exalt it in the ranks of
iiittllectual existence! To behold a crowd of law-
yets, in a narrow and heated court breatliing pesti-
lence and poison, with wan looks, sallow cheeks,
and distracted countenances, insisting with artificial
energy on some technical nonsense subversive of
wisdom, justice, and equity, is a spectacle, from
which I early fled with unconquerable disgust,
AMiat wise man would for a moment exchange for
it the lot of the poor and uncultivated ploughman,
whom I have heard, in the exuberance of his heart-
felt joy, make the echoes rebound with his voice,
as I have seen him, in a cold drizzling morning of
December, striking his furrow in distant fields, far
amid solitary woodlands, and remote from all that
is deemed the gaiety of life !
Tiie heart, that has lost its zest for the scenery
of Nature, that is untouched by the simplest plea-
sures, however harsh the designation may seem, is
depraved ! A walk, a ride, in the open air, at a dis-
tance from towns, -and a return to the most unos-
tentatious cottage, where only competence, and
cleanliness, and peace preside, olTers to a virtuous
30 THK RUMINATOn.
bosom tlie utmost giatillcation of which we are
capable, except what may arise from the retrospect
of a duty performed, or a benefit conferred.
If these sentiments are faintly, or imperfectly
expressed, the reader is entreated to notice, that
they have been dictated from the couch of debility
:iiid sickness.
March Q, 1807.
THE RUMINATOR. 31
N" V.
Literature the only permanent Vehicle of Fame.
Feb. 14, 1807.
I HAVE often been struck at the extreme indif-
ference and ignorance of men, who appear to be
acting a conspicuous part in the world, in every
tiling except that which concerns their own imme-
diate line of action. Men, of whom better things
might have been expected, have been so engrossed
with their own pecuhar views of private ambition,
that they have been found totally uninformed in
matters, which it behoves every liberal mind to be
in some degree acquainted with.
The late Mr. Pitt, whose exalted character I
contemplate with due reverence, had defects of
wliich his various splendid qualities ought not to
obliterate the disapprobation. He seems to have
imagined, that the temper of the public mind mifht
be, not only best, but exclusively, influenced throuo-h
tlie channel of parliamentary oratory. A more
narrow, and dangerous mistake has seldom been
entertained. With all proper respect for tiie
32 THE KUMINATOB.
powers of oral eloquence, it is impossible to con-
template its deliciencies, compared with written
compositions, (more especially as conveyed to the
public by means ot" hired reporters of debates,)
without astonishment at the error of such an opinion
entertained by a strong understanding !
Alas ! his own fame is now suflering through
the consequences of this mistake ! He did not know
the value of literature ; and he never drew its mas-
ters around him.' His reputation therefore begins
to be eclipsed, in the eye of the nation, by that of
the great rival, who soon followed him to the
grave ; and who, having adorned his brilliant talents
with this kind of ciillivalion, now cnjnyi the effect
of it in the adulation paid to his memory.
In truth, in what other way can the credit now
given to Mr. Fox, for superiority in certain points,
as a statesman, to which lie has no fair pretension,
be accounted for? The j)anegyri.->ts of tliat lUnstrious
senator seem to take for granted, that bernuse the
meiJsures of Mr. Pitt failed to rescue the ('ontinent
of Europe from the grasp of France, the opinions
and predictions of his ojiponent have been veriiied
by time, and would have ])r(Hiuced b(jtli tlie pre-
s'Tvation of the nations which h.ive fillen, and the
, A sensihlc pnniplilet on tiiis sulij.-'-t v. j p'.ibli,'; d .ibout
THE RUMINATOR. 33
peace and security and prosperity of Great Britain !
An illegitimate inference, which were the friends
of the departed premier as zealous, and as active,
in the fair means of regulating the public sentiment,
as they ought to be, would have been long ago
exposed ! I conceive, on the contrary, no mathe-
matical demonstration more certain, than that,
whatever may be the event of the present struggle,
if we had merely stood upon the defensive, nursed
our resources, cultivated our commerce, and hugged
the blessings of peace in a delusive safety till we were
attacked, while France was cheiishing her strength
her ferocity and her skill in arms by the difficulties
and dangers of warfare, our fate would have been,
on the first onset, to have fallen, in all the debility
of ease wealth and luxury, even without a blow.
So much for the wise opinions, which have lately
obtained uncontradicted applause for Mr, Fox, who,
if he had put the principles, which he promulgated
vvhen in opposition, into executic^ji on the attain-
ment of power, (a folly of which I do not for a
moment suspect him,) would have brought his
country to irreparable ruin !
But such is the predominance, and in many
respects the merited predominance, of l)lm, who
has courted the fevour of the Muses !
34 THE RUMINATOK.
" Vixere fortes ante Agamemnona
Multi : scd omnes illachryuiabiles
Urgcntur, ignotI(|ue longa.
Nocte, careiil quia vatc sacro.
Paulum sepultae distat Inertur
Celata virtus : non ego te iiicis
Chartis Inoniatiun silebo.
Totve tuos ])atiar lahorcs
Jmpune, LoUi, carpere lividas
Oblivioncs." ^
That they, ^\ho adored the son of Chatham
when living, would desert his nicniorj when dead,
ought to have been within his contemplation, if he
had exercised his sagacity on the characters of those,
whom for the most part lie suffered to surrour.d
him.
" lie rests amons; the dead!
The swarm, il)at in thy noon-tide beam were born.
Gone to saliile the rising morn!"
For nie, who never received fivour or notice
from him when alive, and w ho am j)recladed from
any ("fu'ctual co-operation in t,he principles by which
he \v,is actuati.;d, ii'om th'- cMuness and ilrange in-
d'if. n.M'.x 'jf 'Lose wht- Ij.t,, assumed tl'.e name of
- 7i.T. 0;i. 9. Iwb. iv.
THE RUMINATOR. 3.3
his surviving friends, I will not lightly be driven
from the office of strewing his grave with flowers !
Yet how ungrateful a task I perform^ how
litlle I have been " fed with the fostering dew of
praise," it would seem querulous to detail. But I
will not be deterred from recording the following
i.wo sonnets, which a late occasion drew forth.
SONNET I.
Composed at Midnight, Feb. 1\, 1S()7.
Amid these sylvan shades I live unknown
To the coarse spirit, who with public brawls
Shakes in false fury Senatorial walls;
And, vainly claiming to himself alone
All worth, importance, talent, and renown.
Deems him, who, list'ning to the ]\Iuse's calls.
Spends his calm life in distant rural halls,
A cvpher, whom his rolls of Fame disown!
Poor, narrow-minded, groveling, base-soul'd knave!
When all the frothy torrents of thv tongue
Sink, like thyself, forgotten In the grave.
Still fresh shall flourish what the bard has sungj
And future Wisdom shall record his praise ,
And unborn Beauty tremble o'er his lay^!
36 THE RUMINATOR.
SONNET II.
Written, Feb. 12, I8O7,
Tho' in my veins the blood of monarclis flow,
Plantagenet and Tudor ! not for these
With empty boasts my Hfted mind I please ;
But rather that my heart's emotions glow
With the pure flame, the Muse's gifts bestow ;
Nor would it my aspiring soul appease,
In rank, birth, wealth, to loll at sensual ease;
And none but Folly's stupid flattery know I
But vet when upstart Greatness turns an eye
Of scorn and insult on my modest fame,
And on descent's pretensions vain would try
To build the honours of a nobler name ;
With pride defensive swelling, I exclaim,
" Base one, e'en there with me thou dar'st not s ie !
' This is a fact, which may easily be ascertained by obvious
iuthoriiies, of whicli it is unnecessary to mention any otl;ei
than SandforJ, or Slabbing. The sentiments are exactly those
which the author feels, and lias ever felt, on the subject of
descent. He would never oppose it but to those who assuiut
airs on that pretence.
Mar^h '2, 1807.
THE RUMINATOR. 37
N VI.
Scott's Lay.
TO THE KUMIN'ATOR.
SIR,
Upon reading the poem called " The Lay of
the Last Minstrel," a few obsen'ations have sug-
gested themselves to me^ which, if they fall within
the compass of your plan, are at your service.
Although this delightful work does not rise to
the sublime heights of epic poetry, yet it is never
disgraced by the absurdities which are to be met
with in most of those which affect that name.
Even Homer himself, to whom nothing has ap-
peared as yet aut simile aut secundum, has puerilities
"which are only to be excused, as Horace says, by
supposing him sometimes to nod. Virgil, more
equal throughout, is less sublime ; but was so blind
an idolater of his great master that, notwithstanding
the judgment for which all ages have given him
credit, he even copied some of his most glaring
faults. Every schoolboy can point out the bombast
and feeblenesses of Lucan, StatiuSj andSilius Italicus,
t
ri
JS THE RUMIN'ATOR.
notwithstanding the fine and even sublime passages
which are to be found in them all, especially iu
the first.
Of the modern Italian poets, Boiardo and
Ariosto were writers of romance in verse, and as
such, however engaging, are hardly subject to the
rules of criticism. Tasso's Glerusalemme I/ibcrata
is more regular, and has many beautiful and alTect-
ing passages, but seldom rises to sublimity. The
same may be said of the Portuguese Camoens,
wliose subject indeed is less generally interesting
than the others. Voltaire's Henriade is more ap-
proved by the judgment than the fancy. It is
<()ldly correct, and though it cannot be denied to
have beauties, few persons are tempted to search
for them a second time.
In our own country the attempts in this ditficult
line of writing have not been fortunate, always ex-
cepted the noble poem of Milton, which shines,
among all which have appeared since Homer, velut
inter i^nes Luna Minores.
Yi:t it is far from being free from defects, both
in the design and execution of it ; and like Homer,
alifjuando dormitat. Cowley failed both in his
choice of a subject, and in his manner of treating
it. To have read Blackmore recpiires more patience
"' Snhjccts t.iken from Scripture have always failed in the
fxec'.itioii; v.-.tiiess the Davidci.s Mrs. Rowe's Joseph, Di;ck's
THE RUMINATOR. 30
and perseverance than I am master of. Spenser's
iustly celebrated Faliy Queen, with infinite detached
beauties, is merely an allegorical romance, and can
hardly be considered as a whole. Leonidas, and
the Epigoniad, proximus sed longo proximus inter-
vallo, are now but little known and seldom read :
a sure proof of want of interest and merit." So that
a perfect epic poem is still, and probably always
will be, a desideratum in that fascinating art.
Now the work which gave rise to these desul-
tory observations, though it does not arrogate to
itself that lofty name; has perhaps as good a claim
to it as many that have had more j^resumption. As
the author however has not thought proper so to
call it, I have no right to name it for him, but shall
proceed to point out some of its most striking
beauties and defects.
Shunamite, Cumberland's Clvary, and many others. The
venerable and interesting simplicity of the narrative must be
lost. Any thintr taken from it leaves the story imperfect; any
tiling added to it dis_zuts, and almost shocks us as impious. As
Omar said of the Alexandrian Library, we may say of such
v.'ritinjs, if tiiey contain only what is in the Scriptures, they are
superfluous; if what is not in them, they are false.
n The epic poems of Southey, Pye, Hole, and others, are
purposely omitted, as they are fresh in the minds of the public,
which has properly appreciated their merit. Oh that poetj
would recollect that not to excel is to fail! This does not apply
to Joan of Arc, or tu Madoc.
' 40 THE KUMIN-ATOR.
Nothing can be more engaging than the intro-
duction and close of every book ; and no reader, I
believe, would wish these to be either shortened or
altered. B')th ilic thouglits and the versitication
are equally tine; and the art of the old bard in his
applieaiions of the narrative to his hearers is very
pleasing and well imagined. The hero of the story
itself appears to be Sir William of Deloraiiie, though
he acts only a subordinate part in the conduct of it ;
and this j)erhaps may be deemed a fault," but some
amends tor it are made by the exquisite delineation
of his character, and the admirable manner in which
it is supported throughout. He is precisely the
Fcrrau of Italian and French romance, excepiing in
the brutality of that giant; for the Scotch marau-
der could mourn over a fallen enemy ; and though
he
" ITarric'd the l:;nfis of Rlc-hard Mus^irave,
And slew his brother hv dint of ;^laive,'*
he lamented the death of an honourable foe, and
would have given iiis lands to liave redeemed his
life. The whole of his character is pourtraycd with
a masierly hand, and the contrast between him
and Craustoun, the exact counterpart of ihc gallant
* It is however siicli a fault as is imputed to Milton, who in
the oijinion of many Me critics has erred in m<ikiiig Satan his
hero, ];..-:ta,l of Acl.ini.
THE RUMINATOE, 41
and courtly Knight of Charlemagne, or the Round
Table, is drawn with great skill. When they en-
gage, the one thinks of his mistress, and ejaculates
a prayer; the other has no mistress, and knows no
praj'er ; ' but,
" He stoop'd his head and he concii'd his lance,"
as the only preparations necessary for the combat.
The most interesting and highly-wrought pas-
sage of the whole poem is Deloraine's journey to
Meiross Abbey and the visit to Michael Scott's
tomb there. The whole description of the abbey,
of the wizard himself, (who seems to exist in a state
somewhat similar to that of the Vampyres in Hun-
gary,) and of Deloraine's aged conductor, is superior
to any thing of the kind that has appeared in modern
poems, and perhaps would not lose by a comparison
with many of those which are most esteemed
among the ancients. It forms several separate pic-
tures adorned with the most vivid and biilliant
colouring ; and they are so put together as to form
a well-blended whole, in which all the parts unite,
P His ignorance, \v]io could not read, and knew no prayer
" Save to patter an Ave Mary,"
reminds me of one cf the Montmorencis (I think Anne tl^.e
Constable) who used to make his mark on'y ; " attendu," says
Biantomc, " qui! ne scavo't ni lire n; ecrire."
42 THE RUMINATOR.
and without any one of which it would be hicom-
plete.
TJius, Ibr instance^ their progress ihrouji the
cloisters, where
" The pilbir'd arches were over his head,
And under his feet were the bones of tlic dead,"
however common the fact may be to every ancient
church, shews the author to have possessed a truly
poetic genius; of which one great part is the being
enabled to seize tipon striking and alFecting images,
drawn from common occunences or objects tJiat
may be seen every day, and }et are passed unno-
ticed by vulgar minds.
The beauties of this poem are to be seen in
almost every page, while its faults, ^,for it is not
Avholly exempt iVom defects,) are thinly scattered
over the surface, rari nantes in gurgite vasto, neither
glaring nor olTensive. It is the part of just ( riticism
]iowe\er, tlinugh its least pleasing utiice, 1o notice'
them as well as its excellencies. 'I'he most impor-
tant of them relates to the machinery j and here a
\iolarK)n of the v.cll-kn<n\ii rule of Horace, Ncc
])eus iiitersit, cVc. is btit too apparent. The
dialogui' {)\ei'heard bv tlie (jramiiivrvd Countess
Ijctween the wso i"i\er sprite?, cuncerniiig IVLirgaret's
marriage, is needless, because the inlwrmation might
h.!\e been c(/n\L'\ed both to her and the reader bv
THE KUMINATOR. 43
more obvious means ; and it is unpoetical, because
it is a violent use of supernatural assistance (not to
be resorted to without necessity,) and even such as,
1 believe, forms no part of the local superstition of
the Lowlands.
In the tragedy of Douglas, Home, in his fine
description of the storm, introduces a similar super-
natural being to heighten the horrors of it.
" And loud and shrill.
The angrv spirit of the water shrieli'd."
But I doubt whether there be any authority for
supposing that the river spirits meddle in the
domestic concerns of the mansions on their banks,
or meet to gossip about the intermarriages of the
families which inhabit them. And the same learn-
ing that enabled the Countess to interpret their
conversation, ^\ould have assisted her also to gain
the requisite information without their help.
Eut the machinery of the greatest length, ai
well as consequence, is that of the magic book.
This is so well described; its consequences are so
striking and v^onderfu! ; tlie purport of it is con-
cealed bcn.eath a veil so thick, and its mystic con-
tents are so darkly alluded to, and still left in that
state of unexplained horror which so powerfully
affects the mind, that few readers of taste will be
inclined to object to the introduction of it. Yet it
44 THE KUMIN'ATOK.
has been observed that it is not of use towards the
conduct of the story, adequate to the eagerness of
the Countess to possess it. And so far as to the
furtherance of her sclieines only, this is true; for
th.e elTect it produces is directly contrary to what
she wislicd. Eul that magic art should deceive its
votaries is very consonant to poetical justice ; and
it was only by the agency of the book that the
catastrophe of tlie narrative, viz. the marriage of
Cranstoun and JVIargaret is produced. For it was
througli the power of the book that the " young
Heir of Branksome" was stolen, and that Cranstoun
was enabled to personate Deloraine, conquer Mus-
grave, and redeem the boy ; which was th*; only
way of inducing the Countess !o consent to the
marriage.
And here it ought to be pointed out, with re-
spect to the moral conduct of the piece, how- inge-
niously it is contrived that the violent passioris of
the Countess, which led hr to have recourse to
those dark arts, which must not even be named,
snd f(;r which the monk was to do a treble penance
for having only " thought them his heart within,"
had the unlooked-for etlect of completely defeating
her own ])urposes.
In this re->,'.cct therefore here was dignus vindice
nodus for the use of machinery ; no common means,
no human i)ei-sua3ions could have induced her to
THE RUMINATOR. 45
consent to resign her hatred to the family of Crans-
toun. The end of the drama could not have been
attained but by the aid of magic.
The conduct of the dwarf, which has also been
objected to, is to be defended upon the same princi-
ple. The hook without him would have been use-
less ; and he, though far from intending it, was a
principal agent in conducting the poem to its
destined conclusion. The dark obscurity in which
his story is involved, both when he was lost and
found, is highly poetical, and affords a delighful
scope for the imagination.
As a minor blemish it may be observed, that
the character of Margaret is not sutliciently promi-
nent to excite much interest. There is nothing to
distinguish it from any otlierj and therefore to most
readers the recovery of the " young Heir" will
seem an event of more consequence than her mar-
riage.
It has also been mentioned as a fault, that there
are no similies throughout the poem ; but whether
that can be so deemed, in a work M'hich lays claim
to no higher rank than that of a Minstrel's Song is,
I think, at least doubtful. If the objection be well
founded, it is one which only the judgment makes
on retlection : and which the imagination, warmed
with the beauty of the piece, and deeply engaged
40 THE RUMINATOR.
by the attention wliich it excites^ can hardly stop
to discover.
But there is another light in which this work
has a claim to be considered, which is that of a nar-
rative, meant to exemplify the curious system of
Border manners. In this respect it is unrivalled :
no history has yet appeared which gives so just an
account, so interesting a picture of the lawless
ravages of the Borders, which were equally a dis-
grace to both nations. With regard to these the
romance has the singular advantage of being a true
history as to the general facts, and the usual conduct
of the Moss Troopers ; and the characters of the
two English leaders, Howard "^ antl Dacre, are ad-
mirably discriniinated, and evidently drawn from
the most authentic sources of information.
1 Of the singul.tr clnrattcr of l.urd V\'illiarn Howard there
jrc some curious traits recorded by Gilpin, in his Toi.r to the
Lakes. There is a history of t'r.c Borders, bv Ridpatii, in 4to.
jnd an account of the "Ancient .State of the Borders" in Burn's
;;;id Nicolson's Hist, of Westmorland and Cumberland; but a
more complete account of them would be very acceptable to
the lovers of history, and there are abundr.nt materials for that
purpose.
Aj-ril 1, 1807
THE RUMINATOK. 4/
W VII.
On the proper Objects of Biography.
It is a palpable, but a very common, error, that
lives of activity and adventure only can afford proper
materials for biography. " What interest/' it is
asked, "can the Memoirs of ** *^^* exhibit?
That person passed through the world, in peace,
leisure, and retirement, without encountering any
extraordinary events !" "Is it possible," I answer,
" that this remark can be made on a character of
transcendent talent, erudition, and virtue; whose
writings have illuminated more than half a century,
and whose labours in the closet were calculated to
produce effects a thousand tiiiies more extensive,
than all the busy results of the most practical
industry ?"
Pictures of tiie mind, delineations of the move-
ments of the heart, the records of the pi'ivate and
undisguised opinions of those, who have been dis-
ti:')gai>hed for their intellectual endowments, arc
the ingredients which a culiivated reader mc'st
valuer in {.-ersonal history. " Hair-breadth csca-ies,
and perilous accidents by sea and land," are cilcvi-
laied pv:;'.c;pally to interest a vulgar curiosity, Th^
48 THE EUMINATOR.
relation of the ramble of a man of genius in a field
of daisies, or along banks scented with tlie early
primrose, if it desciibes his sensations, or any of the
visions that floated across his fancy, is more affect-
ing and more instructive, than the account of the
most surprising actions, in which a man of a com-
mon understanding has been engaged.
If these observations are just, the memoir of
one, whose life has been employed in exercising
and improving the best faculties of the soul, is of
all others, when properly executed, the most at-
tractive, and the most important 3 even though it
should have been spent in the most unvaried soli-
tude, or the most equable course of outward cir-
cumstances. We are anxious to know the confi-
dential thoughts of those, on whom Nature has
bestowed the pov/er of deeper insight into human
affairs, on those points of our existence which
come most home to our bosoms, and on \\iiich
uvery reflecting mind must occasionally ruminate.
Sometimes perhaps we are pleased to find in them
weaknesses congei'iial with our own; and we are
consoled with this sympathy, which makes us
appear less despicable to ourselves,
I'he great characteristic of persons of genius
seems to be, not that they feel differently from
others, but that they feel more acutely, and with
more distinctness, and aie capal.ile th.crefore ot
THE RUMINATOR. 49
clearly and forcibly delineating what tbcy feel. Thus
the sentiments contained in Gray's Elegy, " find,"
as Johnson says, " an echo in every bosom ;" they
are instantly acknowledged to be such, as its readers
have continually experienced; but uhich they
could not before analyse, or perceive with sufficient
vividness to be expressed by them. Wlien the
picture is thus brought before tlieni, they are sur-
prised that they never produced such an one them-
selves; and, while they admit its truth, think they
hereafter could paint like it with the greatest
facility. We hear much, among the critics, about
Invention as the first characteristic of poetry:
but is not this Invention'?
Endued as they arc with powers of tliis kind,
we peruse with eagerness all the private letters, the
careless sketches, and retired ;md unambitious me-
morials of those, who have been thus dibliiiguished
for mental superiority. We delight to ^ee tlic
-fleeting visions of the head, or the heart, emboditrd
in langufigCj and tixed before us for leisurely con-
templation. Vv'liar avails the oj)portunity of having
seen " many n:en and many cities," unless the
traveller, like Ulysses, has the talent to make ob-
servations and profit by the experience! What sig-
nifies, to have beheld all the sublime scenery of
Salvntor Rosa, unless lie, who h;; \'iev\'ed it, h:;s
the pencil able to paint', or tlie pe.i fo describe it !
50 THE RUMIVATOR.
Bloomfield, in the early confinement to a poor
\ illage in the most flat and unpicturesque part of
Suffolk/ could produce descriptions full of a com-
bination of images so brilliant, and so touching, as
he, Avho has been all his life familiar with the
richest scenes of Nature, can never, with inferior
v'lfti, produce by any effort !
I'he mind is surely the scene of action, which
we are most interested in studying. When r<e
compare its capacities with those of material power ;
\\ hen wc know that in one minute it can perform
journies and gain victories, which it would consume
the whole lives of the most active travellers, and
the most able generals to execute, what more
copious, what more important theme for delineation
can we require? It is this consideration which ele-
vates the study of ethics among the first in the
scale of human knowledge ; and as long as intellect
is superior to matter, it must be classed in the
liighest rank of philosopliy. Its nice and evanescent
colours, wiiich, seeming to leave much to conjec-
ture, give to dull faculties an opportunity to call it
shadowy and unsubstantial, are the very character-
istics, which stamp its \alue.
Never then let it be said, that the lite of a pcr-
r See a most interesting volume of Scenery, illustrative of
Uloonitield's poeiiu, juiblishcd by Mr. Bravlcy.
THE RUMINATOR. 51
son of genius affords no materials for biography,
because it was passed in retirement and inaction.
If there remain records of his mental occupations,
if his opinions, his feelings, and the rainbow-like
colours of his fancy can be remembered, and pro-
perly told, they will contribute essentially to the
best and most interesting department of human
intelligence.
Alarch 21, 1807.
52 THE RUMINATOK,
N. VIII.
Rowley and Ossian.
TO THE KUMIN'ATOR.
SIR,
I.v this r\2;e of critical inquiry, of patient, ac-
curate, and laborious investigation, it might be sup-
posed that no author would be so hardy as to
attempt to deceive the \vorld j it might be thouglit
that no literary imposture could be so well carried
on, as to escape discovery from the lynx-like eves
of the %<. ise and learned, or the acute discernment
of the readers of the works of otlier times. Yet
in point of fact, this dcjes not apiiear to be ih.c
case; deceits of this kind arc often attempted, ar.d
not alwavs, at least satisfactorily, discovered. Tliough
that ingenious young gentleman. Master Ireland.
made a t'ul! confession (but not till it was too late)
and even had tl;e hardiness to "' glory in his shame,"
the fountains olotiKT works of me.cii greater merit
are slill a,> much concealed as tj-.i.se (-f the Nile ;
an.l Oihcr authors, translators, or ej.itors of mneh
holier gcifius and ])reten3ions have ([uioily stolen
THE KUMINATOK. 53
out of the world (or like poor misguided Chatter-
ton indignantly " rushed out of it), leaving posterity
to settle the matter among themselves, and assign
them their proper place nt their leisure.
This however has not always been done in a
manner perfectly convincing. Attempts have lately
been made to shew that even the forgeries of
Lauder were not wholly without foundation. There
are still persons who are not entirely convinced that
the youth of Chatterton was able to produce those
noble poems, which he chose to ascribe to the ma-
turcr age of Rowley ; and there are many more,
\\-ho find it difficult to believe that Macpherson was
the sole author of the poems published under the
name of Ossian. ^
Concerning these last, the investigation seems
not to have been very fairly and impartially con-
ducted. On the one hand, there was great national
and perhaps personal, pride, which would not deign
to give such information as the public had a right
to expect 3 on the other, a captious unwillingness
lo give way to pretensions to such remote antiquity,
" Vitique cum getnitu fugit indignata sub umbras.
Virg. L. XII. 9J-2.
I have not read the report of the Committee of the High-
land Society upon this subject, nor have learnt what has bceri
ihe result of tlieir inquiries.
54 THE RUMTNATOR.
which must of course be veiy little capable of beinf
sup})ortcd by external j:)roof.
It seems to be allowed by all, that the Erse, as
it is commonly called, has not been a written lan-
guage till within, comparatively, a very few years ;
and it is contended, that the changes which take
place in language, and the well-known inaccuracy
of oral tradition, must have prevented such long
and regular poems as I'eniora and Fingal, from
being thus handed down during so many centuries.
But to this it may be replied that, in a country so
remote as the Highlands of Scotland, and so little
visited by strangers as they were during the dark
ages, their language, like their local superstitions,
probably remained nearly the same. And with
respect to tradition, in countries where there are no
v\ iiticn records, it is more likely to be preserved in
tolerable puiity and correctness than where there
are. It may also be urged, that till the time when
they were collected by Pisistratus, even the works
of Homer were recited only in detached parts ; and
the acts of Diomede, the parting of Hector and
Andromache, the death of Patroclus, kc. &c. were
known by the pcoph? in general, only as so many
detached ballads, (jr rhapsodies, and not as parts of
the noblest whole ever produced by human genius.
The art of book-makini: does not then seem to have
THE RUMINATOR. 55
been known ; and there is no reason to suppose
that after the parts had been arranged in their
proper order, any doubts arose in Athens as to the
genuineness of the work. Yet even then the history
of the author was so obscure, that it could not be
determined whether he was born in Asia or Europe;
in one of the Grecian islands or on the Continent;
and it is thought doubtful at this day, by very emi-
nent scholars, as it was also in ditferent periods of
antiquity, whether the whole subject of his narra-
tive be or be not fabulous, and whether, if founded
on truth, the event was as he has represented it.
This seems therefore to be an argument on
which Dr. Johnson, and other writers on that side
of the question, have dwelt too strongly. The
prejudices of that distinguished scholar certainly
operated upon this, as well as many other occasions,
and his tour in Scotland did not tend to lessen them.
He had no taste for the rude, wild, and naked
scenery of the Western Isles, and the absence of
written documents seemed to him convincing proof
against the alleged antiquity of the lays of Ossian ;
and he refused to receive the testimony of those in-
habitants who were most competent to give it, be-
cause he chose illiberally to fancy that they would
prefer the credit of their country to truth. Yet I have
been told, by a lady, now deceased, of high literary
reputation^ that the late Sir James Macdonald^ elder
5S THE lifMIXATOR.
brother of the Chief Baron, assured her, that he
could repeat, whvn a lad, many of the poemj
iranslated by Macpherson in their original Erse.
A similar assurance 1 received also myself from a
surgwjn in the navy, a native of the isle of Mull,
\vho loLl me not only that he could repeat many of
those poems, but that Macpherson had not selected,
fV jicrhajis met with, some of the finest of tliemj
in 'particnia;- one which is a tlialosrue between Ossian
and a missionary, who was preaching the Christian
religion in the Highhinds, which he said was thii
nob!.. .1 poem he had ever known >
Wjien I was in Scotland, about fourteen years
since, I was in the boat of a highland lisherman,
upon J.och Lomond, who appeared so inielligent
that I was induced to ask him some questions upon
this subject. He told me that he could sing a great
many of the songs of Ossian, bul added, that they
were old la-.liioned things, and he would sing me a
modern Krse song upon the present Duke of Mon-
trose's patriotism in being the means of restoring to
thcni the ancient highland dress. He said that he
t Po5sibIy this may be the poem mentioned by Alits 0'cn-
11 in her novel of" The Wikl Irish Girl;" and tlie missionary
i;rove to l)e St. Patrick. It nrast be (nvned that there is gre^t
Weight in that huly's arguments lo prove that Ossian was a
n.nive of Ireland, and that Morven is to be found in th;'
''.in try.
THE KUMIN'ATOil, 5^
Isad never heard that the poems of Ossian had been
translated into Enghsh, and seemed much suiprised
that I should know any thing about ihem.
With respect to the internal evidence which
these celebrated poems ailbrd, neither party seem
to have considered ii v/ith sufficient accuracy.
Youne persons are struck with the wild and ro-
mantic splendour Kji the imagery, with the bravery
of the heroes, and the beauty of the women. Those
of a more advanced age are tired with the perpetual
recurrence of the same images : Bran bounding ovei'
the heath ; the gray rock j the thin and shadowy
lorms of departed \alour appearing in a cloud ; and
even the white arms and bosoms of female loveli-
ness, are so little varied and so generally prominent,
that neither the young nor the old are tempted to
penetrate deeper than the language, to discover the
real merits of the composition. If the}" did, a dis-
crimination of cliaracter, a strength of colouring,
even a variety of incident might be observed, which
escape the notice of inattentive readers. In proof
of this, let the affecting intercourse of Ossian and
Malvina, of v.hlch there is no parallel in any ancient
writer, be observed ; let the nervous and original
character of Oscar, and the striking circumstances
of his death, be considered. " Add to these the
u What reader of t.Tste and fee'ing but must shudder v/hen
:'.;;-haired Olia raises ihe song of death on the distant heath!
58 THE KUMINATOR.
contrast between the generous Cairbar and his
ferocious brother, and that between the two Irish
warriors P'oldath and Malthos, both in the field and
council; the beautiful episode of Sulmalhi; tlie
awful introduction of the venerable and unconquered
Fingal to the war (though that seems less original
than most other parts of the poems), and the dis-
tinction between the characters of his sons, as well
as of the manner of their deaths.
If these poems be impartially considered there-
fore, with no reference to the beauty or singularity
of the language, surely it will hardly be supposed
that the whole of them can be due to Macpherson's
invention ; or indeed, that he, or any well-educated
man, could so totally unlearn all his classical
acquirements, as to produce a work betraying so
little, if any, imitation of those great excmplar'm
Grccca, with which the mind of every scholar must
be filled. Probably in this, as in most things, the
truth may lie in the middle. He found these songs
voUtantcs per nra vlruin, defective and imperfect.
He supplied those parts which were wanting, added,
omitted, and tilled up as he thought necessary, and
has thus given a work to the world, of the merit of
which no greater proof can be required, than that
it has been translated into every modern language,
and i:i athuired and beautiful in them all.
Muy 1, 180V. I am^ Sir, ifcc. &c.
THE RUMINATOR. 50
N" IX.
On the Belief of Supernatural: Beings.
TO THE RUMINATOR.
SIR,
Is the course of your deep speculations on
men and things ; in the varied reflections of a poetic as
well as philosophic mind, you must sometimes pro-
bably have thought on what will be, as well as on
that which has been. Some of your ruminations
no doubt have turned on subjects of higher and
more lasting importance than political, and, of
course, temporary concerns; than the far more
engaging pursuits of philosophy, or even of tiiat
divine art, which, beyond all others, ensures the
immortality of this world. '^
" Witness the assertion of Horace, that his fame would last
as long as the Vestal Virgin should offer sacrifice on the Capitol.
The Pagan Priest, the Vestal Virgin have served for cenfj; ics,
only
" To point a moral or adorn a tale,"
.Tnd the Capitol itself, the residence of the contemptible repre-
sentative of the Conscript Fath'.-rs, the Senator f Rome, " stat
riisjni nominis umbra;" h-.:t the poet's lays still survive ai;J
Co THE RUMINATOR.
SpeciiIntion-> oi' this nature have indeed engaged
the attention of tlie wise and learned in every age 3
and, perhaps, in exact proportion to the excellency
of those mental faculties, by which they frit a con-
sciousness of excelling the brute creation, attended
bv an inward assurance that it was therefore impro-
bable that they slioiild cease, like them, to exist.
Hence (not to allude at all 10 the ine^iiniable
advantages of that revelation which " has brouglit
life and immortality to light" through the gospel)
the most interesting inquiries of those who have
thought deeply and abstrusely, have been directed
to the nature of that future state, of which almost
every sage, in every period of the world, has
asserted the probability, if not the certainty.
For this reason, perhaps, it is, that in all ages
the belief of supernatural beings, or appearances,
seems to have jircvailed; the persuasion of some-
thing, neither defined nor understood, forming, as
it were, a link, a connexion, or bond of union,
betv\een this world and th.e next.*' Modern phi-
shine wit!i undimiaij'aed spVndoiir, after the lapse of eighteen
hundred years.
> I: it be said that tliis idea loses ground in proportion to the
spreading of eiviliza/ion, still it keejJS p.ice exactly with leligion;
a lukev.arniness, or indifference towards which, is also found iin-
fortun.-itely to increase as soon as civilization degenerates into
luxury, towards wliich it makes a continual and sometimes rapid
5>rogress.
THE RUMINATOR. 6l
losophers, indeed, cut the gordian knot at once, by
denying the truth of every relation that tends to
establish such belief j without deigning to inquire
or scrutinize, they assume the impossibility of them
as an incontrovertible axiom, and scorn to use any
other argument but that powerful, though some-
what uncivil one, ad stultitiam. The ancients did
not so ; but they, perhaps, erred as much on the
other side, by receiving indlfterendy, as true, all
sorts of idle stories, however improbable or ill sup-
ported.
1 was led into these reflections by reading an
account of the most ancient apparition mentioned
either in history or poetry, which is told in these
words : " Wlien deep sleep falleth upon men, fear
came upon me, and trembling, which made all my
bones to shake. Then a spirit passed before my
face, the hair of my flesh stood up. It stood still,
but I could not discern the form thereof: an image
was before mine eyes, there was silence, and I
iieard a voice." '
There are not, perhaps, many instances of rela-
tions delivered in language more truly sublime as
well as ])oeiic. The fear and trembling of limbs,
and horror of something unknown, which was the
2 Job iv. 13, &c. This book was written, in the ouinion of
the most learned commentators, before tlie Israc'itrs came out
of Egypt; consequently nviny ages before any other records,
but those which are to be found in the same volume.
62 THE RUMINATOR.
foreranner of the spectre ; the dark veil of im-
penetrable mystery thrown over the form of the
appearance ; the undefined outline of the vision
which was before his eyes ; and the dread silence
which preceded its speech, are an assemblage of
images hardly surpassed by any writer in a more
polished age.
But with the language in which the stoiy is
clothed, we have, at present, no concern; it is
only brought as a proof of the very early belief of
the reality of supernatural appearances: and this
persuasion seems so rooted in the mind of man,
that Dr. Jtjhnson even ventured to assert, that,
though all argument is against it, all belief is for it.
But /(ace tanti vir'i, that expression, so often quoted,
does not pioperly apply to the case. The question
is not whether all the popular tales of absurd fear
and superstition be true; whether ghosts meet the
trembling wanderer in every lone church-yard;
whether forsaken maidens leave their graves to
terrify their inconstant and conscience-smitten
swains ; and misers return to the upper regions to
brood over concealed treasures, or point out the
spot where they have buried them; but whether
there are, or not, multitudes of" ministring angels" *
who execute the conunaiuls of tlie Almighty on
* Hebrews i. 13. Milton and Young arc not quoted as
authorities, lest it should be i.iid that ihey wrote as poets, and
not as philosopher?.
THE RUMINATOR. 63
earth ; and whether these may not at times be per-
mitted to assume bodily shapes, for purposes con-
sistent with his general government of his creatures,
though not always perhaps obvious to our limited
understandings.
If it be said that there are no accounts of such
visions in ancient or modern history so authenticated
as to leave no room for doubt concerning tliem, it
may be replied, that in both there are relations of
this kind, as well attested as most other historical
facts which are generally believed. ^ If it be
affirmed, that no adequate consequences have ever
been produced by such supernatural appearances ;
that no example is on record of misfortune having
been prevented by them, or of the wicked having
been persuaded or terrified into virtue; this is beg-
ging the question, and taking that for granted which
remains to be proved. Though we may know
what has been the consequence when such warn-
ings have been slighted, we cannot possibly tell
what might have happened had they not been
attended to, nor how often they may have had an
influence on the conduct ; for the altered intention
in this case can be known only to the person who
b Such, for instance, as the appearance of his evil genius to
Brutus; of Sir George Villiers, previous to the murder of the
Duke of Buckingham; of tlie vision which announced his ap-
proaching death to Thomas, Lord Lyttelton, and many others
which might be enumerated.
64 THE RU.MIXATOR.
had orlginnlly formed it. And, indeed^ he alone
v.ho made the heart can judge of the alteration of
it ; and the impressive circumstance of a warnin<y,
which he thinks out of tlie common course of
human events, m:iy have produced in the mind of
tiie person who has CKperunced it, a conviction
salutary to himself and beneiicial to others, thor.gli
the eftect may not have been so sudden as to be
noticed by the world. -
We should be careful therefore not to affirm
too rashly, either that such tli'ngs arc not, or that
they are locless. In the bounced stale of our pre-
sent faculties, manv events in this world may be
brought about by an agency of which we lia\'' as
vet no conception. For my own part, such an
idea, instead of being terrific, is rather deligh.tful.
I know that sucli things cannot h.appen but by the
permission of the Fatiiei and Creator of all ; and,
if they ever do, it is a still more con\inci!ig and
affecting proof of his tender (::'re of his creatures.
It is a lort of aj>});ox'm;!t'i)n to n !>!.! ler world ; a:ul
l!ie 'ih'.i ihai; sacli r;e{)c;lc.;- i;'._ing- are apju/mted to
wntcli over us, seems lo give us an additional s.il'ety
in this. I am, ^cc, Tv-c.
S 'c tlio roir. .1;..' 1'. ccc\:r:'jv.\- '.w lb.'/ last century, k;iow:i
V :lr/ numr ,',' CL'-:.:ei (i.-irir::!'.2's c..iivcu:o:i.
J: r, 1, ]' -.
THE KUMINATOn. 65
N'' X.
How far Genius, when properly exerted, Iring^
its own Reward with it.
It is a subject of curious meditation;, to consi-
der how far genius, if properly regulated, is, like
virtue, its own reward. Riches, and power^ and
rank, too frequently fall on the meanest and most
stupid and profligate of mankind. These beings,
who turn into curses the blessings which have been
conferred upon them, are perfectly insensible to
tlic charms of literature ; or if they know any thing
of it, know it only to hate those who excel in it.
In their coarser minds a dilTorent estimate of emi-
nence is encouraged 3 skill in ii-Jtrigue, an oil)
toi'.gue, a power of suppressing aixl concealing all
emotions, wli'ch it is contrary to a selfish interest
to betrav; a conscience, A\']iich no nice scruples
perplex; a brazen countenance, and an unfeeling
heart ! these are the qualities, which are acceptable
to vulgar greatness. Of men, whose whole live;
have been spent in schemes of ordinary ambition,
the mere puppets of tbrtune, such are the only traits
which excite the notid^, or the comprehension.
If these observalions ])e jr.st^ genius vviil he
J
66 i;he ruminatok.
rr^iserably disappointed in the expectation of worldly
favour or advancement; and must turn inward, and
look to itself for i^s principal, if not only, gratifica-
tions. It must elevate its sentiments " above this
visible diurnal sphere j" it must learn to despise
those gew-gaws and baubles, which corrupt and
undiscerning Power heaps upon the unworthy; and
which the foolish multitude pursues and worships
with a base idolatry; it must learn to bear with
fortitude the neglects and insults of those, whose
heads are overset by prosperity and upstart com-
mand ; and retire with a smile of placid or indig-
nant contempt from the half-witted dispensers of
political frnsi, or honour, or emolument.
But is it in the power of minds thus endowed
with a keener sensibility, to tranquillize, at all
limes, their emotions, and extract a balm for their
wounded spirits, from a due estimate of their own
dignity.' lam fearful that, in the frailty of poor
human nature, it is not! Much may undoubtedly
be done by a virtuous exertion; low and degrading
desires may gradually Ije nearly extinguished ; and
a calm loftiness of thought succeeding, may he-
come habitual, and at last lift the possessor, as it
were, into a higher order of existence,
A head and a heart thus modified, may in truth
tmd an ample fund of satisfaction in their own re-
sourcfs. For t!:em {he mornins: unbars her e;at(s.
THE RUMfNATOR. Qf
and opens all the glories of nature to their view,
unalloyed by the folly and wickedness, which are
prevalent in the principal haunts of human life ; at
such prospects their bosoms expand, and their
fancies glow with unutterable pleasure ; they sec
not, or see with pity, the major part of mankind
grovelling at a distance from them in paths of dirt
and danger, actuated by restless and disgraceful
passions, and sinking at last, without even momen-
tary enjoyment, into quagmires, and irrecoverable
pits. At the same time, ''their" own "minds
are kingdoms to themselves;"'* and kingdoms not
only of power, bvit of virtuous power. Time and
<;pace are at their command ; the pomp of thrones,
and the most ingenious splendour of human hands,
are insignificant, compared with the creations of
ihcir ideas ; they can call forth a paradise in a
desert with the wand of a magician ; and people
the earth with angelic beauty and wisdom.
If such be the powers of genius when rightly
directed, do its operations produce no recompense
to itself? The sensual wretch, whose whole soul is
imbruted, will deem these shadowy enjoyments
worse than insi])id : he will consider them as the
play-things of insanity ; and behold with ignorant
contempt, or arlected pity, the unhappiness of iiim,
'' Alluding to the beautiful words of the old soii^, " My
1 I'd to me a kingdom is.'*
68 THE RUMINATOR.
whom he will denominate a moon-struck visionary.
Far different will be the opinion of the man of
taste, and the sound philosopher. They well know,
that " to advance ourselves in the order of intellec-
tual beings" is, next to virtue^ probably one of the
first purposes for which we are destined to a trial
in this state of existence; and is indeed itself a very
high degree of virtue. I have heard that a cele-
brated poet, now living, lately said, that " the only
things he values in this world are virtue and
genius;" and, giving credit to the report, I have
admitted him to a still higher rank (if possible) in
my admiration than before.
He who imagines that the best proof of talent
is the wordly fruit it brings /orth; and that our
mental faculties are only given us for the purpose
of accumulating wealth tind titles, and carrying on
with acuteness and success the ordinary business of
society, must behold the frequent failure of genius
in these points with wonder. He must hear the
evideiice of fame with doubt ; and refuse convic-
tion to his own observaii(jris ; because he will
generally see men of the n"io-:t brilliant cajjacilics
not only unwiliing but unable to do the diiulirory
ot' practical aflairs ; bccar.se he will lind men <'.'
snborJ.inate auil j/lodding parts, and not lliose ul^';
iia\c p-,\'ten-,;oiis t!) crei'.t intellectual preeuiiiu-nce,
li iht' head <>: .sf'.'.iitis aivl councils; and nc 'Iim '
THE RUMINATOH. 6g
and insult pursue those of splendid endowments,
even when they descend to a contest in these am-
bitious paths.
There is nothing, therefore, more necessary to
be impressed on Genius, than to know how to set
a proper estimate on Itself. Till it can survey the
objects of vulgar flattery with a calm and dignified
scorn J till it can raise itself above a competition for
those distinctions, which coarse minds are better
qualified to obtain ; till a rivalry of its sharp and
delicate-edged wit with heads of block and hearts
of stone can be withdrawn, it will, it must be
miserable. Defeated by those it despises, its irri-
table feelings generate poisonous vapours, which
envelop in clouds of gloom and dissatisfaction ail its
golden visions.
Let the poet "^ reverence the lyre," to which
his propitious nativity has consecrated him. Let
liim look to its charms to sooth away his angry
passions : or to strike from its chords the loiies of
indignation, by which mean-spirited, or stupid
greatness is held up,
" Fit g:irbar;e for the hell-hound Infl^myl"
The scenery of inanimate creation is at his com-
mand 3 "the breath of heaven, fiesh-blowingj"
meadows, and hills, and vallies, and woods, and
streams, are open to his rambles, v.'h.cre vanity and
70 THT RUMINATOR.
ostentation will seldom insult him, and the drunk-
enness of puft-up prosperity will have little oppor-
tunity to spit her loathsome jokes on his humble
fortune !
Such are the firm convictions of the present
writeri and, if he does not always act up to these
sentiments^ let no one question his sincerity. There
are those who too well know that his ardent pas-
sions sometimes mislead him ; and that he cannot
always suppress the seduction of views of ambition,
which, he trusts, are far below him. These delu-
.sive flames, which occasionally emit their dancing
lights to draw him over quagmires and precipices,
he has too mucli reason to dread and abhor. p]vcry
step thus set is accompanied by anxiety and toil,
and followed by regret and disappointment.
Miy '.'2, ISO".
THE RUMINATOK. ^l
N XI.
Ulnts fur the Ruminator, and remarhs on his style,
and gravity and candour of manner and sentiment .
I HAVE had some doubt whether it would be
prudent to print the following paper of my new
correspondent, JVIr. Random, who seems to have
some knowledge of my personal history. But as
my impartiality is to depend on the test of its
insertion^ I have at last determined to publish it ;
since its allusions seem harmless ; but if there should
be any thing in it at all pointed, no one has so much
reason to complain as myself. The post-mark is
Bath; but this circumstance gives no clue to guess
at the author from that place of migratory inhabi-
tants. One reason which has accelerated my deci-
sion to give it insertion, I must not conceal. It
saves me from writing a paper myself at a moment
of much hurry, and many other engagements.
June i;?, 1807,
THE RUMINATOK.
TO THE KUMINATOr.
Heke, Sir, have I been ruminating for tlieie
three mornings to produce a paper for you, and not
one sentence up to this verj' moment have I ad-
vanced. As thinking, I find, does no good, I will
see how I can get on without thinking ; and thus.
Sir, will I have at vou. A random shot, perhaps,
may kill the most game. And game enough, no
doubt, there is in the field of literature. I am sure
the Edinburgh Reviewers fimd enough 3 and kill
enough too ! But they are excellent shot, and
nobody will accuse them of not taking aim. ^Vhy,
Sir, they never miss; and wlien they do not kill,
they are sure to mangle ! There is another Review
too, which they say, has tried to catch their knack ;
yet, at present, it is reported, it is but a bungler ;
but there is little doubt it v, ill soon learn it; for
[he art is not half so diilirultas some folks think it.
Let us see ! \Vliat mu.it come next ? Why, as
1 do not possess All The Talents, (though I hope I
am rather better otf than the man who celebrates
ilicm,) I am in a little bit of a quandary ; but as
stoppini;- to tliink does iiarm, I must rush on again,
,iiid 1 dare -;;} I sliall drop upon scmething. Ah !
it just comes intu my head to ask you, why you
TfiE KUMINATOR. 7^
snppose a book, that was good for nothing two
hundred years ago, becomes good for a great deal
now ; for what every body will allow a great deal
a great deal of money ! You seem. Sir, not a little
infected with this mania yourself. I do not know
whether you give great prices, but I am certain
you give a great many pages to extracts, which
were very base ore at the time they were written ; '
and I defy the power of time to transmute them
into genuine metal. Somebody, however, whis-
pers me, that they shew the progress of language,
and tlie state of manners ; and I do not know how
to answer that : indeed, I am not bound to str.y to
vinswer any body. If I stop for one moment, I
shall be fixed, and never move again.
To come then. Sir, to your lives, and essays I
confess, I wish they had a little more fun in them !
Cannot you write currenle calamo, as I do ? and
then I think you would now and then catch a jest
by the bye. It would even fix itself in spite of
you ; and you would not have time to strike it off
with your pen. For my own part, I always thought
the world was a jest, and that jesting therefore was
the best mode of treating every thing that belongs
to it. But )ou have told us, that you hate jests ;
and, therefore, I am determined to try your impar-
tiality by sending you this. I know that your
enemies (and you have many) will triumph, and
74 THE RUMINATOR.
enjoy the laugh. But never mind j it will prove
that you can keep your temper, and are not to be
put aside from your purpose by a joke.
But your lives, Sir, are too panegyrical. Your
heroes and heroines are inspired with nothing but
genius and virtue you are the very milk of human
kindness ; and your heart seems to glow with con-
linued admiration. Why, Sir, 1 had heard a \Q.xy
different character of you ; that you was bitter and
censorious ; ditflcultly pleased ; ingenious in finding
fault ; and fertile in the language of satire. I had
heard that you had written a novel full of severity
and sarcasm, that had made a Lord Mayor take the
Attorney General's opinion whether he might chal-
lenge you ; a Lady Mayoress fret herself sick ; and
a country Baronet never speak for a month ! What
is become of all this gall ? I wish you would put a
little of it into your modern biography. What !
be all benevolence and respect to a poor devil of a
poet, and hate a Lord Mayor, and his tashionable
wife, regardless of all the sprigs of fasliion belong-
ing to her 5 and expose to cruel ridicule a man of
fonune and title ! For shame, Mr. Ruininator, i
must request you to turn the tables upon these
people.
And now for your essays ! They are to be sure
as grave as a serniun, But I am not quite so much
.urprised about them ; for I once heard that cele-
THE RUMINATOR. 75
brated nomenclator, Mr. Tyson, speak of your
Spanish gravity ; and it seems he was right with a
vengeance. Is it not possible for you to strike out
a casual spark of vivacity ? You are even more
solemn than The Rambler, of which old Will.
Duncombe, that runner to the wits, used to com-
plain so much, when it was first published ; but I
hope, if you hereafter make an attempt to gambol
a little, you will not be as awkward in your gam-
bols as the Doctor was. Perhaps, however, I am
very mischievous in urging you to that, in which
you will probably fail. I doubt if you can be
merry ; and I am sure you cannot be witty : bitter
I know you can be ; a little spice of it would give
a zest to your future ruminations.
Do you not tliink a few caustic touches on some
of your cotemporaries would be as interesting as
the nauseating sweets of perpetual praise ? Some
variety I know you are capable of. Grave as Is
your present morality, I remember, not more than
fifteen years ago, you could produce a love-tale,
over which young girls and love-sick swains have
ever since hung enamoured! Try another chord of
your many-stringed harp ; and prove, whether you
cannot sound the notes of censure and shame !
Has every writer of verses merit ? And are
literati always wise and good ? Savage, and Boyse,
and Deriuody, and perhaps Chatterton^ will exhibit
76 THE RUMINATOK.
a different story. If Johnson could cover over
with the thin disguise of apologies the profligate
habits, and boisterous temper of Savage, you must
not ! But I am growing serious like yourself. Let
me proceed upon my rambles.
Cannot you cut up poor Beattie like some of
your brother critics, and prove that he was a veiy
vapid and mediocre poet, and a very weak philoso-
pher ? That he was stained with the crime of cor-
responding with learned bishops, and learned ladies J
and still more with the audacious guiii of despising
the metaphysics of David Hume r Cannot you con-
vict him of flattering a Duchess, and from the
recluse habits of an academic life and a shy temper,
of being not a little dazzled with her rank r Can-
i^ot you shew Roscoe to be a book-making drudge,
and Hayley a man incapable of elegant and instruc-
tive composition ? Mrs. Carter vastly learned, but
vastly dull ; and Tom Warton a diligent antiquar}-,
but totally incapable of making a luminous use of
his materials ?
You may hence, if you will, turii to politics,
and shew Pitt to have been a rash, ignorant and
despicable statc^mnn ; and ]>ord Henry i'etty l!v.^
"reafest of flnanciers. But be sure yon do not
a1)use liis worthy successor Spencer Perceval, who
has learned so ])erfectly how to calculate tor our
pockets by his adroitness in crown-iirosccutions :
THE RUMIJJATOB. 77
and cnn terrify his adversaries into instant silence by
a threat of the secrets he acqui-red in his late office
of Attorney Genera]. And do not reproach Can-
ning for his apostacy from the Muses, or for his dis-
respect to those qualities, on which his own claims
to notice were founded : make some allowances
for the frailties of poor human nature, and yield
something to the fumes of sudden elevation ! Be
respectful to birth and rank ; touch not the foibles
of a worn-out nobility ; tear not off the ancient
mantle, that covers a Howard ; and let the bright
ermine of a new Peer continue to hide his history
and his origin !
Proceed, good Sirj fly along the surface, as I
do, scratching some, wounding others ; and you
will be infinitely more entertaining to many, as
well as to your humble servant, and constant
reader, Harry R.\xdom,
June 4, 1807.
THE RUMINATOR.
N^ XII.
On the Scenic Representation of the Tragedij
of Macbeth.
TO THE RUMINATOR.
Much as has been written concerning the
mighty powers of Shakespeare, the subject is even
now hardly to be considered as exhausted. Lives
of that extraordinary author, new cditio'.is of his
works, with copious and even voluminous commen-
taries upon them, continue to be published almost
in every year ; and new matter and new illustra-
tions are received by the public with such avidity,
to use his o\\ n words,
" As if increase of appclilc iiad grown
liy what it fed on."
Far be it from me to dissent from the gcner;.!
opiriidh; on the contrary, my admiration of tlu
bard, the pride of my countiy, and perhaps, all
circumstances considered, her most original genius,
jncre.ises with my years. It has gro'.vn with mv
TUB RUMINATOK. 79
growth ; and those humourous, moral, and pathe-
tic scenes which were the delight of my youth,
form one of the greatest charms and most attrac-
tive pleasures of a time of life not far distant from
old age.
It has always appeared to me peculiar to Shak-
speare, and a marked distinction between him and
all other dramatic writers, that those scenes which
appear the finest, and give the highest gratification
in the closet, fall short of, and disappoint the ex-
pectation on the stage, sometimes even to disgust.
Whether the remark has been made before I know
not, but probably the sensation must have been
often experienced. Other plays, both ancient and
modem, are sometimes well represented through-
out, and with appropriate scenes and decorations ;
but I never yet saw a play of ^akspeare, of either
muse, which appeared to me to answer the design
of the author, or give a just representation of his
characters, situations, and scenery. The characters
are often ill drest, the situations and scenery mis-
understood, the comic parts made serious, and the
serious comic.
This was, I presume, tlje reason v, >,y in tlie
lioble undertaking of Messrs. Boydell, the painters
v.ere directed to divest their minds carefully of
every impression left on them, by the representa-
tion on the stai::e of the iccncs allcttr-d them to
so THE RUMINATOK.
^ delineate, and to attend to the text of their author
only; and, in most instances, they did this ve.-y
successfully. In general they did not disgrace their
pieces by the puerile absurdities which on the stage
please the upper liallcry only. '^
Certainly it must be allo^ved that the good
sense and classic imagination of Mr. Kemble has
reformed many of the most striking abuses in the
manner in which the plays of Shakspearo used to
be represented ; yet still it seems to me that much
remains to be done, and many alterations to be
made, before some of the finest dramas of our
favourite author can be seen without disgust.
In the tragedy of Macbeth, for instance, (the
finest of all Shakspeare's plays, in the opinion of
Dr. Farmer, 'Mv. Stcevens, and, perhaps, of all
good judges) some of the most striking scenes arc
so represented as to produce an elTect directly the
reverse of the author's meaning. In the closet
V. Iiat can be more awfully im.pressive than the ap-
pearance and predictions of the witches? But v. Itat
's the elTecl of it on the stage ? A parcel of disgusL-
"g olil women are seen, with long beards, and
'^ Yet thr.t grer.t painter, Sir Joshun Reynolds, in his cck-
ijratcd picture of the death of Cardinal Bcaiifo) t, has enibociicd
;/jc' L.wjy mi:d.!Ht::'fund on the Cardinnl's pillow. A useful hiiit
') manariTi, ns it would have a j-rctty as well as novel effect t';i
THE RUMINATOK. 81
making grimaces like the clown in a pantomime ;
and instead of producing horror, or the weighty
impression which made Macbeth start, and seem
to fear, they excite no sensation but bursts of
laughter from the galleries, and indignant contempt
from all the spectators who have common sense.
Surely this might be managed better. Rites sup-
posed to be supernatural should not be brought
forward in too strong a light. Let the witches
and their cauldron be at the bottom of the stage,
and be just visible through a mist or cloud. Let
their voices be heard, but their forms only dimJy
and imperfectly seen ; there will then be some
scope for the imagination, and the scenic allusion
will not be so violently destroyed.
The same observations are applicable to the dif-
ferent apparitions which they shew to Macbetli, all
which, to produce any effect on the mind, should
be seen only in an imperfect and undefined man-
ner : such, for instance, as the view of the liaunted
chamber in the popular opera of Bluebeard.
But still worse is the appearance of the ghost of
Banquo managed. No stretch or power of fancy
can raake it seem supernatural. Brought forv.-ard
in all the glare of light on the very Iront of the
SLiige, with his whitened face, staring eyes, and
bloody throat, it is impossible to suppose that tlie
other guests do not see it as well as Macbetii.
82 IHE RtMINATOi;.
The good sense of Garrick, I think, banished the
airy dagger; and is not the ghost of Banquo the
same ? Had the poet any other meaning than to
shew the power and influence of conscience on tlie
mind ? Why then should one be represented to
the spectators more than tlie other ? Surely the
effect would be much more striking, if the chair
which Macbeth fancies full were in reality left
empty; for it would then plainly appear to be the
effect only of his wounded conscience, which would
give, as the poet designed, an awful and affecting
lesson ; whereas now the ghost excites more laugh-
ter than terror. If he must appear, let him at
least be exiled to the bottom of the stage, and be
hid in some degree by the table and the guests.
Unless I mistake, his appearance was once omitted,
and the gallery critics insisted on seeing their fa-
vourite again. Something must certainly be al-
lowed to the populace ; but Mr. Kemble's character
is so high that he might resist such a disgrace to
our national taste ; and I think it also so firm that
[ may apply to him the lines of Horace,
" Nee sumit aut jwiiil secures
Arbitrio popularis aunt."
J am, A:c. Sec
Xugiiit 1, KS07.
THE RUMINATOR. 83
N XIII.
TO THE KUMINATOR.
SIR,
Emboldened by the example of your inge-
nious friend Mr. Random in a former Number of
your Lucubrations, and still more by the candour
which led you to insert his half serious, half ironical ad-
dress, I too venture to offer you my advice. It will
not be conveyed in terms of equal wit and humour,
for I am, alas ! the dullest of the dull, a prosing
matter of-fact fellow of the old school. Wit and
humour are, indeed, fascinating and most engaging
qualities^ but tliey are neither in the pov/er of every
man, nor are they equally delightful to all. That
ridicule is the test of truth, though long a flivouiite
maxim, is at length completely exploded by the
much more unerring test of good sense. Who
now would wish to see it applied either to books or
their authors ? Who would desire to see an Addison
changed to a Sterne, or the author of the Rambler
even to " old Will Buncombe" himself, though
certainly that respectable gentleman must be con-
fessed to have been as perfectly innocent with re-
gard to wit, as the flicetious steward in the ' Drum-
mer or the Haunted House."
84 THt KUMINATOR.
But you are accused by your demo-critic cori'e-
spondent of not abusing, or not pointing out the
failings of those, of whose lives you give sketches.
Now to apologise for vice, as Jolmson did for the
unfortunate Savage, is surely unbecoming a philo-
sopher or a good man; but it cannot be necessary
to display that vice to the world. Yourself an
author and (not ''' a writer of verses," but which
IS very different) a poet, in you it would seem like
envy to disturb the ashes of the dead in search of
their private faults, when your business with ihein,
like ours, is only as public characters. The world
13 connected with an author only by his works :
and, as you justly observe in your criticism on the
Memoirs of Mrs. Carter, it is unworthy of a strong
mind to be biassed in the opinion of a work by the
private character, or rather what you conceive to
be so, of the author. Arni this, Sir, naturally leads
me to advise you fur Vviiat claim liave \',)u to
p-^capc the fate of your brother essayists? rather
;o fnii-)h some of those poems which vou have
jh'eady begun, and of which parts are published in
^our Cl-nsuka. V>y what right (if I may a^surne
that ari^^ry tone) do you s;) tantalize the expecta-
'ions of vour readers ? IVI<jnlh after montli have we
been expecting the conclusion of Rf,tiiu;mi;nt,
and the remaining \'i.srrs of yoi;r \\'izAr>!), ti;
."icals in your own comity, con-ccraie-l by the hi.--
THE RUMIN.\TOR. 85
toiic Muse. If the bent of your genius does not
at present take that direction, " try," to use your
ingenious correspondent's words, " another chord
of your many-stringed hai-p j" yet still exert your
own talents, and instead of depending on such
casual communications as the lively essay of Mr.
Random, or the present contrast to it, give us more
of your own original comf>ositions. Strike the harp
again, (though not in praise of Bragela:) unmask
pretended patriotism j detect the empiricism of
ministers ; unlock the treasures of historic lore ;
pour out, on any subject, the fruits of a well-stored
mind, and as your great predecessor says, write
yourself out before you die.
Your Bath correspondent alludes to your juve-
nile production of Mary de ClitTord. I have read
that elegant and affecting tale more than once with
renewed pleasure ; but though I can say w'nh
Dry den,
" Old as I am, for ladies' love unfit.
The power of beauty I remember yet,'
still I cannot wish that you should now employ
your powers on a similar work. " To every thing,'
said the wisest of men, " there is a season," and
that which became you in youth and was creditabh^
to your early genius, would be a waste of th;^
strength of your mind in maturity.
86 THE RUMIN-AtOR.
From you, Sir, we now expect something of more
consequence ; something which, while it may de-
light }'our equals, may! help to form the minds of
the youthful ; something which may lead to the
important conviction, that morality is not necessarily
dulness, nor instruction tediousness. Hac itur ad
astra this is the road to that double immortality,
to which both as an author and as a man you must,
and ought to aspire j that you may in neither re-
spect be disappointed is the sincere wish of
Your unknown friend,
LONDINENSIS.
Sept. 1,1807.
THB aUMINATOR. 8?
N"* XIV.
On the Trails and Concomitants of Poetical Genius,
It has seldom happened that a man has finally
obtained the fame of a poet, whose hfe has not
exhibited some traits in coincidence with the cha-
racter of his ait. The Muse is a jealous mistress,
that will scarcely ever suffer any other to divide the
attentions she considers due to her. And whoever
is devoted to her alone, must necessarily possess
many peculiarities.
There have been some poets indeed, who hvA-o
held forth, that their productions were the nicic
amusement of a few leisure hours. But such asser-
tions originated from a silly and unbecoming affec-
tation. To have a taste for poelry, and to read ii
with delight, even though it be only occasional! v
and accidentally indulged, is very conimon ; but to
create it, requires a veiy different sort of po\\er
and habit.
If therefore we examine info the biography of
those, who have aspired to this highest rank of
authors, we shall find that those, who did not make
it the principal, if net exclusive, obicct of their
88 THE KUMINATOK.
ambition, were either mere versifiers, deticient in
all the main distinctions of this celestial art or so
weak in execution, that all their struggles tell lite-
less in the attempt.
iVnsty, and Cambridge, and Graves, might
write doggrel verses ; and John Hoole, and Potter,
and Murphy, and Carlyle, might translate j but I
can scarcely allow them the character of poets.
The Wartons, Mason, Burns, Bampfylde, Cowper,
Hurdis, Darwin, Beattie, Mrs. Carter, Mrs. Smith,
and Kirke White, &c. exhibit a very difierent pic-
ture. In each of these will be found many promi-
nent and striking features. It will be perceived
that those of them especially, who have most the
power of affecting the heart, were themselves the
victims of extreme sensibility. Something roman-
tic and uncongenial with the ordinary routine of
life, marks the whole progress of their existence.
Their lot, as far as wealth and honours are con-
cerned, is obscure ; and their efforts are unattended
with the smallest success. Some of them abso-
lutely incapable, and others enabled with great dif-
ficulty, to emerge from the gripe of poverty itself,
they seem almost to prove, that the smile of the
Muse is a signal for being condemned to pecuniary
t'mbarrassment, or anxiety.
The abstraclion of mind, which generates and
r.ourishes poetical excelleacc, is inconsistent with
THE RUMINATOR. 89
those minute attentions, by which people make
their way in the world. Liberal sentiments, an m-
dignant spirit, and a tender heart are all constantly
checking the progress of such a journey. But
these are the very fountains, from whence the bard
draws the living colours of his song.
Hence the mere harmonious rhymer, the lively
delineator of familiar manners, the writer of dry
ethical precepts, which address the understanding
only, even in verse the most musical, and diction
the most correct, may, perhaps, assort more advan-
tageously with worldlings, and succeed as they do.
But he is not a poet ; he is deficient in the soul of
poetry. If the composition neither furnishes food
to the fancy, nor elevates or softens the heart, the
very essence of the Muse is wanting.
Nothing disgusts me more than the vulgar habit
of confounding the versifier with the poet. The
versifier is a very common kind of being ; the gift
of poetry is among the rarest of Nature's endow-
ments. It requires no waste of the spirits; no
exhausting thrills of the bosom ; no world-forget-
ting excursions of the imagination to produce thou-
sands of the most melodious rhymes. But the
temperament of a poet is that of passion.
Perhaps of all the lately deceased poets the two
most poj3ular have been Burns and Cowper. And
never was populaiity more justly bestowed. They
go THE EUMINATOR.
had both of them been steeped in the stream ot
Parnassus. They lived, as well as wrote, wiih
every mark, of the Muse upon their daily habits.
They were the children of sensibility, which was
the bane, as well as the source, of their happiness.
Had they deadened this sensibility, by giving up
their talents to worldly pursuits, they might have
been lawyers, or statesmen, or heroes, but the
well-fount of poetry would have been dried up.
It seems extraordinary that the Muse should be
able to exert herself with success in the midst of
anxieties, sorrows, and sutlerings; but experience
furnishes per{->etual instances of it. The " p'airy
Queen" must have been composed amidst perpetual
alarms, in a country of barbarous rebels, impelled
by want, revenge, and despair; in momentary in-
security, when a successful incursion of the threat-
ening hordes who surrounded the author, would,
even if he could save himself and his lamilv from
murder, condemn the remainder of his days to
poverty and ruin. The " Paradise Lost" was dic-
tated by the sublime and inspired Bard, under the
clouds of proscription and disgrace, with the sword
of state dangling, almost by a hair, over his head.
It is probable that their deep afflictions heightened
the strong colours with which Nature had imbued
the materials of their rich minds.
'I'hese peculiar faculty's therefore are, bevonci
THE RUMINATOR. Qt
doubt, a dangerous and fearful gift ; and we may
forgive, though we may sometimes indulge a smile
of contempt at, the cold and prudential, who shake
their heads and bless themselves for having escaped
it. But he, who is so stupid and so brutal -hearted
as not to behold it with pity and reverence, even
in its errors and Its misfortunes, is a wretch who
scarcely deserves the name of an intellectual being.
I never contemplate the fate of poor Collins with-
out a mixture of indescribable grief, and awe, and
admiration. How eloquently and affectingly has
Johnson said, " How little can we venture to exult
in any intellectual powers, or literary attainments,
when we consider the condition of poor Collins ! I
knew him a few years ago, full of hopes and full
of projects, versed in many languages, high in
fancy, and strong in retention. This busy and
forcible mind is now under the government of those
who lately would not have been able to compre-
hend the least and most narrow of its designs."
" That man is no common loss. The moralists
all talk of the uncertainty of fortune, and the tran-
sitorlness of beauty ; but It is yet more dreadful to
consider, that the powers of the mind are equally
liable to change; that understanding may make its
appearance and depart; that it may blaze and
expire'" ''
* See Cens. Lit. III. p. 194.
92 THB RUMIMATOH.
It cannot be denied that this excessive sensibility
is a blessing or a curse according to its direction.
But the good and the evil are so nicely and imper-
ceptibly intermixed, that rash or at least ver}'' bold
is the hand, that will venture to attempt the sepa-
ration of them, without fearing to destroy the good
and the evil together.
Of our old poets the minuter shades of charac-
ter have not been preserved. Of those of our
days, of most of whom the curiosity of modern
literature has drawn forth a more familiar and pri-
vate account, all the existing memorials furnish
ample demonstration of the truth of my remarks.
I have learned from several who knev/ him inti-
mately, that the sensibility of Gray was even mor-
bid ; and often very fastidious, and troublesome to
his friends. He seemed frequently overwhelmed
by the ordinary intercourse, and ordinary affairs of
life. Coarse manners, and vulgar or unrefined sen-
timents overset him; and it is probable that the
keenness of his sensations embittered the evils of
his frame, and aggravated tlie hereditary gout which
terminated his life at a middle age. He pcrhap>N
q;ave his feelings too little vent through the channels
of composition, and brooded in too much indolence
over the unan'csted workings of his mind.
The sensibility of Rousseau was indulged to a
selfish and vicious -^xre^v I'ut still it would be a
THE RUMINATOK. - gS
oartow and despicable prejudice to deny, that it
exhibited in its ebullitions a high degree of genius.
Burke, flaming with resentment at the political
evils produced by this eloquent writer's delusive
lights, has drawn a just but most severe character
of him. Yet Burke himself, whose radiant mind
was illuminated by all the rich colours of the rain-
bow, had nerves tremulous at every point with
uicontrolable irritability.
There are many, who require to be convinced
of these important truths ; who ought to be shamed
out of their mean censures of the singularities or
the weaknesses of genius; and who should learn,
if they draw comfort, to suppress their triumph,
at the mingled qualities of the most exalted of
human beings!
August S, 1807.
()4 THE KUMINATOR.
N" XV.
Harry Random's Second Letter to the Ruminator.
TO THE RUMINATOR.
SIR,
You have shewn both courage and good
sense by the insertion of my former letter j and I
trust you will not lose your credit with me by
refusing admission to this. Though my pace is
not always equally rapid, you must allow me to be
excursive and superficial. 1 laugh sometimes in
bitterness of heart; but I will never expose myself
to the accusation of weepinr^, when I ought to
laugh. I leave it to you to be angry with those at
whom you ought to smile ; and to be indignant
where you should despise. You remember that
extraordinary passage in the epitaph wliich Swift
wrote for l-.imself :
" Uli sccva ifidignatio iilterius cor lacerarc ncqu'it !"
But yet I will do you the justice to say, that you
have not the spleen and misanthropy of Swift :
witness those glowing passages of praise vvhicli often
appear upon your pages; and which, in my opinion.
would frequently admit of some abatement.
THE RUMINATOH. Q5
For me, who wander over the wide world with
a determination to let nothing dwell seriously on
my mind ; but skimming the surface of every thing,
to enjoy its sweets, and lightly reject its bitters;
for me, the world appears a comedy; and, to own
the truth, too much of a comedy ! If it does not
call forth my resentment, alas ! it too little gene-
rates my love. You haters have the advantage of
us there: I perceive you can love too, with vio-
lence ! You remind me too acutely of the words of
a common song :
' A o-enerous friendship no cold medium knows;
Glows with one love, with one resentment glows!"
Haruy Random, with all his carelessness and
<i,aiety, and all his attempts to " set the table in a
roar," knows not these gratifying extremes!
Look, however, around you on the world ; or
if you must confine yourself to literature, look on
your brother authors, and observe how little there
is worthy either of affection or disgust. I wish,
therefore, you would learn to treat your subjects
with a little more complacency; with a little more
of that playfulness of ideas, which generates ease
and cheerfulness ; instead of assuming the character
of
g6 THE RUMlNATOn.
" Wisdom in sable garb array'd,
Irnmers'd in rapturous thought profound ;
And Melancholy, silent Maid,
With leaden eye, that loves the ground V
I had written thus far, when your two last
numbers reached mej havin^r been for sometime
absent from this place on a tour. Your last proves
to me how little you are affected by my advice 5
or, perhaps, how little capable you are of variation !
O Sir, do not, I beseech you, indulge so mtich in
these dull sermonizing essays! You infect even me
with your gravity ! Instead of moving with my,
wonted elasticity, I shall become as soporitic as
yourself!
Why should you argue with such solemn
earnestness t'or ilie privileges of poets I do not
know in wliat they differ from other men, unless
in their imprudence and their folly! If an author
makes me laugh, I am grateful to him; but I can-
not i'orgive his troublesome eccentricities, because,
f(;rs(JOth, he makes not oijlv liimsclf, but his read-
ers, 7nisi'rrJ:/e ! It is said that Didcc est dcci/wre
in bico ; and v.hat is the ])laci.', in which tliis is not
.Ir.irable!
THV. RUMIJJATOR. 97
You are told by your correspondent, Londinen-
sis, " to unmask pretended patriotism, and detect
the empiricism of ministers." Do it then with a
playful hand, if you can ; gently and smilingly draw
off the disguise ; but tear it not open with rude
indignation, jeaving wounds by the violence of the
rent ; nor probe the sore to the bottom with a
rough and unsparing lancet. The man, who makes
us smile is forgiven even while he exposes us ; but
severity, harshness, and insult no one ever forgets.
And are you in such conscious security yourself, as
undauntedly to incur the hazard of revenge? I
have heard that you have enemies enough without
wantonly provoking morej or whetting the appe-
tites of those, to whose malice you have been
already exposed ! You have been g^ailty of unpar-
donable offences among your neighbouring squires :
" Fame in the shape of one Sir Harry
(By this time all the parish know it)
Had told, that thereabouts did tarry
A wicked imp, they call a poet :
Who prowl'd the country far and near,
Bewitch'd the children of the peasants.
Dried up the cows, and lam'd the deer.
And suck'd the eggs and kill'd the pheasants." s
e See Gray's Long Story.
H
()8 THE HUMINATOR.
** For something he was heard to mutter.
How in the park beneath an old tree
(Without design to hurt the butter.
Or any malice to the poultry,)
He once or twice had penn'd a sonnet;
Yet hop'd that he might save his bacon ;
Numbers would give their oaths upon it.
He ne'er was for a conjurer taken." ''
No, Sir! Yourneighbours will not forgive you,
even if you can justly plead the excuse contained
in this quotation ! Why then urge them to load
you with still heavier calumny ? You trust to the
rectitude of your intentions, and the openness of
your conduct ! Alas ! what a dupe are you then to
the folly which you despise ! These are not the
weapons with which your opponents will fight.
They will never meet you in the field face to face.
They will way-lay you in the darkj their poison
will be concealed; but it will be sure. Your repu-
tation will secretly moulder away ; your anxieties
will increase; and mortification and neglect will
bring your grey hairs to the grave before their
time.
" Vive la bagatelle !" but let us have no more
of this " sober sadness !"
Harry Random.
Bath, Sept, 5, 1807.
See Gray's Long Story,
THE RUMINATOR. QQ
N XVI.
Reflections arising from the Season of the Year.
I AM afraid Mr. Random will give nie up as in-
capable of amendment, when he reads the present
paper. He will find me still in my old melancholy
track. Alas ! though he guesses well at some of
my grievances, he knows not half the causes I have
for gravity.
There is something in the fall of the leaf, which
always overcomes m.e with a pensive turn of mind.
It is a cast of frame, v/hich is most beautiful!}''
described by Thomson in his enchanting delineation
of this season of the year. When he speaks of the
" faint gleams" of the autumn, and " the fading
many-coloured M-oods," what poet can equal him?
The foliage eddying from the trees, and choking
up the forest walks, is a circumstance which touches
the heart with an indescribable kind of sensation !
All Mr. Random's raillery cannot dissipate the
sombre hue of my thoughts at such a sight. My
bosom is then filled with a thousand tender and
solemn reflections j and sometimes they will, in
spite of me, clothe themselves in verse.
100 THE RUMINATOR.
Thus it happened the other morning, when, on
rising, and looking from my window, I saw that
the season had already begun its devastations in the
shades whic.'i surround me.
Sonnet suggested ly the approach of Autumn.
Another fall of leaf! And yet am I
No nearer to those sweet rewards of toil.
The praise of Learning and the good man's smile !
Year follows year, and age approaches nigh.
But still I linger in obscurity:
My painful days no sounds of fame beguile ;
But Calumny, instead, would fain defile
The rhymes I build with many a tear and sigli.
Perchance ere yet another Autumn throws
The faded foliage from the mourning trees.
My vain presumptuous hojics may find repose :
And all these empty wishes Death appease!
Beneath the turf my weary bones be prcst;
And the cold earth lie on this beating breast '
Having thtis transcribed this sonnet, I hesitate
to let it stand here, lest it should seem ungrateful
to some respected friends, froiti whom, within the
last year, I have received unmerited encouragement.
But I am sure their candour will not interpret my
THE RUMINATOR. 101
expressions too strictly. From their praise I have
felt a cheering consolation, which, though I have
little reason to be in good humour with the world,
has given in my sight new colours to existence here.
I know, indeed, that I am too anxious to possess,
as well as to deserve, their favourable opinion.
And that he who thinks me careless of a good
name, or not morbidly alive even to the whispers
of calumny, is marvellously ignorant of the nature
of my irritable disposition.
It has been my lot, if not innocently, at least
by a very pai'donable indiscretion of pen, to make
enemies 5 of whose life, it has, in return, become
the future business to traduce and blacken me.
Lost in my books, or in distant speculations, I live
in hourly danger ; unprotected, and undefended ;
while these wretches are always at their post, and
working in the mine. In this gloom the praise of
more impartial and more intelligent judges is all I
have to lighten me ; and to give me a chance of
counteracting these deeds of darkness. I cannot
conceal how anxious I am to retain this consolation.
Sept, 21,1807.
102 THE EUMINATO?
N^ XVII.
to THE RUMIN'ATOR.
SIR,
Wh!iX the concurrent opinion of all ages,
ancient as well as modern, concerning the merits of
Homer, are considered, I trust I shall not be
deemed to have merely had recourse to a school-
boy's common-place-book, in venturing to express
my admiration of hhn. If he was in the opinion
of Horace (jud'ice te non sordldus auclor natiuw
veriqtiej as great in morals and pliilosophy, as he is
universally allowed to be in poetry ; if as an histo-
rian, a geographer, a soldier, and even a physician, '
no succeeding writer in the most improved and
polished age, has equalled his fame; and what the
Roman poet said of his Ju}ntcr may justly be applied
to him, nee viget qu'icquam shiiilc ant secundum;
surely any dissertation whicli may tend to make
him better understood, can hardly be thought
foreign from the purpose of a literary work. Per-
haps, therefore, you will not consider that portion
In the original and jiroper sense of the word, 'lolfo; in-
cluded every branch of the art of heaLn?.
THE RUMINATOR. 103
of your Censura, which is appropriated to rumi-
iiation, disgraced by the admission of an attempt to
elucidate the meaning of a passage of the ancient
bard, whicii still remains doubtful and obscure,
though it has been explained in several different
ways.
In the third volume of Harmer's " Observations
on Scripture," the ingenious and learned author
gives some few specimens of his manner of applying
to the classics, as well as to sacred history, illustra-
tions taken from travels into the countries where
the scene of action lay. In one of these he endea-
vours to explain the meaning of a part of Hector's
soliloquy in the twenty-second Ihad, line 126. &c.
Hector has been deliberating whether he should
meet Achilles unarmed, and olfer him terms of
peace ; but suddenly recollecting the ferocity of his
temper, and his implacable hatred, he exclaims,
" but why do I employ my mind upon such
thoughts, for he would kill me even though un-
armed."
IlaiScvo; 7;i5soj r' 'ixoi^slov aXXr^XoKri'/.
In these lines is the difficulty; their literal
translation is this. " For it is not possible now to
converse with this man from an oak or from a rock.
104 THE RUMINATOR.
as a maiden and youth, a^i a maiden and youth con-
verse with each other."
Now it is certainly not very easy to compre-
hend what is meant by conversing from an oak or
a rock, since young men and maidens are not wont
to " breathe out the tender talc" from oaks or
rocks : nor does it seem to apply well to mere
friendly intercourse. The Latin version is the
same, and exactly literal, both in Didymus's, and
in Clarke's Homer, and therefore tl.rows no light
on the subject. The old Greek scholiast in that
edition which bears the name of Didymus, has a
long note upon it to this effect: " There is no
using such language towards Achilles, says Hector,
as young men and women use in their conversation.
'Jhe ancients when they found children who had
been exposed near oaks or rocks, thought they
were produced from them, and this gave rise to
that opinion. For the ancients lived chiefly in the
lields, and rarely possessed houses, so that the
women who brought f)rlh their cliildren in the
mountains, lodged them in the hollovis of the oaks
or rocks. In them they were sometimes found,
and then supposed to have been produced from
them. This is the account given by Didymus."
Clarke has copied this note without making
any addition to it; and Eustathius, as quoted by
J^npe_, explains the passage in the same manner^
THE RUMINATOR. 105
and supposes it to have been a common proverbial
expression for an idle old tale, and to have been
used by Hector in this manner, " Achilles will not
listen to such tales as may pass with youths and
maidens."
Pope himself renders the passage with his usual
diffiisenessj aut viam iiivenit aut facit ; wheie the
sense is not obvious, he uses no ceremony towards
poor Homer, but gives a paraphrase of what appears
to him to be the general meaning. In his version
he glides smoothly over the difficulty, takes no
notice of the repetition of TrapOevo; ijiJfo; r", trans-
lates the preposition dito at, (a sense of which I
believe it is incapable) and with the utmost sang
froid, by one stroke of his magic pen levels the
rock into a plain. ^
Harmer, with his accustomed copiousness of
quotation, ^ has brought together a variety of pas-
it " What hope of mercy from this vengeful foe.
But womanlike to fail, and fa 1 without a blow?
We greet not hero, as man conversing man,
Met at an oak, or journeying o'er a plain;
No season now for calm familiar talk,
Like youths and maidens in an ev'ning walk. *
Pope's Homek.
1 No disrespect is here meant to Mr. Harmer, to whose
diligent researches the Christian world is much obliged, and
* It is indeed impossible for four more contemptible verses
to have proceeded from a bellman. Editor,
106 THE RUMINATOR.
sages from difierent authors, to shew, what would
be sutficiently proved by common sense only,
tl)at it is usual in hot countries to sit in the
shade J and that Homer tlierefore meant to allude
to the meeting of persons on account of some
rock or tree whose shade invites them to repose
under it.
Harmer's interpre'ation depends upon the pro-
priety of translatiug ktto under, or on account of.
Of the former meaning I doubt if there be any
example; of tlie latter there are many, some of
which, in the New Testament, he has pointed out.
Yet still the obscurity of the passage seems to me
to remain the same. A young man and maiden
may very naturally converse under an oak, but I
am utterly at a loss to C()mj)rchend how they can
converse upon account of it, or indeed how such a
simile could apply to the meeting of Hector and
Achilles.
But in reality it appears to me that Hector's
meaning is totally difierent from any of these sup-
positions, and that the oak and the roch are men-
tioned only as conveying an idea of security. He
considers his antagonist as so entirely under the
many of whose explanations of the Scriptures, drawn from
Eastern maiitu rs and custLms, are net only probable, but carry
the moit ccin.kte conviction v.ith them.
THE RUMINATOR, 10/
government of passion, '" that he would be capable
of killing him though a suppliant, " and unarmed.
Achilles is to him as a wild beast, from whom he
could not be safe unless he could converse with
him from the top of an oah, or the summit of a
rock. " I will not take off my armour then,"
says he, " for he would kill me though unarmed,
for there is no possibility of conversing widi him
from an oak or a rock (that is, in perfect safety) as
a young man and maiden converse with each
other," (that is, amicably and without fear.)
If this conjecture be well founded, the difficulty
vanishes at once : dito is translated according to its
usual meaning, yro??? ; the sense is clear, and there
is no need of having recourse to the far-fetched
explanation of Eustathius, which even darkens
obscurity itself. The oak and rock are ideas almost
unconnected with the youth and maiden, and should
be separated by a comma at least, if not by a
parenthesis. Still, however, the grammatical con-
struction must be deemed harsh and the transition
"^ Impigcr, iraciindus, inexoiabilis acer,
Jura neget sibi nata, iiiliil non arroget armis.
Hor. de Ait. Poet. f. 121, &c.
" Ov osli fx aihailiti xlsiesi h fxt yvij-vcv i<i\la,
For the ancients esteemed the character of a suppliant as sacred.
See the conduct of the same Achilles to rriam, iu the twenty-
fourth book.
108 THE RUMIXATOR.
too sudden , and this explanation is offered rather
as an endeavour to dear up this obscure passage,
than as proceeding from a complete conviction,
that it has succeeded in giving the true sense of the
autlior. "
Additional Observations by the Editor,
The Editor has inserted with niucli pleasure the
ingenious criticism, contained in his learned corre-
spondent's communication. But he knows the
accomplished u'riter's liberal mind too well, to fear
that he shall displease him by frankly owning, that
on the present occasion he differs very strongly from
him. - There appears to the Editor no difficulty in
the simple and obvious construction of the passage.
He conceives that it is perfectly in tlie spirit and
letter of the Greek and I,atin poetry to describe
youths and maids as " breathing out the tender
tale //om oaks and rocks." He thinks, therefore,
" There is no nore upon this ]>assagc hy Stcplier.s; but in
the Greek MS. notes, hy Aloy>ijs, to the FKireiitine Homer
in 15 8, appended to Didymus's edition, is the following sup-
position. " That the heart of Achil cs ser;ncd so hard that he
must have been produced from an oik or a rock," Ace; rdi:i5
TEE EUMINATOR. IQ^
that Homer means, to make Hector say, " It is
not possible now to converse with the same gentle-
ness and carelessness, as a maiden and youth do,
whose soft love-tales issue from an oak, and a
rock." Cowper seems to have understood it in
the same way :
" It is no time from oak or hollow rock
With him to parley, as a nymph and swain,
A nymph and swain soft parley mutual hold.
But rather to (
Incontinent. "-
That this is one of the most usual senses of cctto
may be exemplified by innumerable passages. Thu9
Theocritus, in his first Idylllum, V. 7, 8.
Actc/v, iv roiy^av, ro rsov ^sXog, >; ro v.xro.yj^
Tr// ktTO toii; irsr^a; -KarscXsi^zrcci v^pohv vSxo.
to this the passage may be thus rendered: " There is no possi-
biiity of conversing with him, who must have sprung from aa
oak or a rock, as a young man and maiden converse with each
other." This is certainly a happy and ingenious conjecture;
and it is much strengthened by part of the upbraiding speech
of Patroclus to Achilles, B. xvi- 1. 34 and 25, to which possibly
the poet meant to allude.
Ovii '^iT.q H-^^'^'?' y>^avnn os hlnCls SaXajra,
Xltl^ai r' ijXiCalsf oil rci voof 'ts-Tiy a''rr;;r!j.
And 30 Virgil, Lib. iv. L 365, &c.
Duris genuit te cautibus hcrrens
Caucasus, HyrcanKque admorunt ubera tij^r<;s.
110 THK RUMINATOR.
Again, in the twenty-sixth Idyllium, V. 10.
Hey^sv; S' aXibarw ifsrpy.g aiTo Tfoivr' kSsujosi.
And thus M. Green, in his Grotto,
" While insects y/o;/! the threshold preach."
With regard to rocks being the scenes of love-
tales, the following from the same poet, Idyllium
II. V. 17, 18, is decisive.
And in Virgil the rock occurs among images ihe
most delightful and soothing in riiral scenery.
" Mine tlbi, qure semper viclno ah liii/iic H-pc-,
Hyblsis apibus florem c'epasta sallcti,
Srepe levi somnum suadebit inire iii^urio.
Hiric alta sub nipc canetfrciidafcr ad auras :
Ncc tamen inlcrca rancs, tua ciir;', ])aUimbcf,
Noc gemere aciiu cesoa!)it turti;v ab u'li.o."
T A' 1,0c;. \. \. b'k, vC).
Nov. 2, 18.7.
THE RUMINATOR. IH
N XVIII.
On the ancient English Families.
I CONCEIVE I shall give some variety to my
pages, by inserling here a paper, which was Iain by
me for some years, and which was originally in-
tended to be carried to a much greater lensfth.
The minds of men seem to be recovering from
the confusion and poison with which the sliallow
and vulgar doctrines of equality preached by Tom
Paine and his half-witted but base followers, had
overset them. It is found that from the unalterable
nature of things, distinctions will exist. To modify
them, therefore, in a n:!anner most agreeable to the
passions and experience of mankind, is a point of
the highest wisdom, bc-cause it is essentially condu-
cive to the peace and happiness of society.
In the beautifully-mixed constitution of this
country, where the principle of privileged ranks
forms an essential part, yet under such limitations,
as in general to correct all the abuses to which it
may ^be liable, the study of its practical operations
112 THE RUMIHiATOK.
in the history of the rise, prosperity, and decay of*
the aristocratical branches of our government, is
often entertaining, and surely not altogether unim-
portant. Nor will cursory remarks drawn from a
wide, as well as close aiid continued, reflection upon
the subject, be considered, perhaps, as totally devoid
of interest.
Such remarks will probably remind us pf some
cautions, which ought never to be forgotten by those
who have die distribution of honours. The neg-
lect of them is said to have fomented the rising
flames of revolution in France; and Sir Edward
Walker testifies, that it added not a htde to the
cause of similar horrors In tills country in the un-
fortunate reign of Chailts I.
While the kingdom continues to grow every
day more and more commercial, and sudden wealth
falls to the lot of the lowest and most uneducated
individuals, it becomes doubly necessary to guard
the avenues of distinction, and counteract that
powerful influence which gold will always too
much command. If all respect be engrossed by
riches, who will long pursue the toilsome and un-
gainful labours of the mind, or the dangerous and
empty laurels of tlie lield ?
Records and oilier authentic documents tell us,
that there are many families who for centuries
have presinved their names in aflluence and honour
THE KUMINATOH. 113
unsullied by any mean occupation. Have they
not been preserved by the wise reverence that the
custom of the country has hitherto paid to such
advantages of birth ? And shall we now laugh at
this distinction as a prejudice in favour of a shadow?
But it seems a strange contradiction in the
existing age, that while these distinctions are most
scoffed at, a spirit of curiosity and inquiry regard-
ing them peculiarly characterizes the present day.
County-histories are publishing in every quarter of
the kingdom. And even the gorgeous nabob, who
bought his mansion but yesterday, accompanies its
history with a pompous pedigree. While others,
arguing from such abuses, treat every pretension to
illustrious birth, as fabulous.
But they, who have examined the subject with
a critical and penetrating eye, that can pierce the
fabulous dresses, in which vanity or adulation have
clothed too many families, must yet have disco-^
vred in every part of the kingdom, no small num-
ber, who can boast both antiquity and splendour;
of descent demonstrable by the clearest proofs.
Perhaps our nobility, by their elevated situation,
have been more exposed to ruin, than those in a
more private and retired situation.
" Saepius ventis agitator iiigens
Pinus J et celsae graviore casu
I
1^4 THE RUMINATOR.
Decidunt turrcs ; feriuntxiue summos
Fulmina niontes. P
Dugdale, in the preface to his Baronage pub-
lished in 1075, says, that " of the two hundred
and seventy-five famihes [^vho had their first ad-
vancements to the peerage before the end of Henry
the Third's reign] " touching which the first
volume doth take notice; there will hardly be
found above eight, which do to this day continue ;
and of those not any whose estates (compared with
"vvhat their ancestors enjoyed) are not a little dimi-
nished. Nor of that number (I mean 2/0) above
twenty-four, who are by any younger male branch
descended from them, for aught I can discover."
Dugdale has not named the families to which
he alluded, but the following are probably the
eight, whom he considered to be remaining in the
chlef-rtnc in his time,
I. Percy Earl of Northumberland, since extinct,
II. Vere Earl of Oxford, since extinct.
III. Talbot Earl of Shrcwsbur}'. v."' ''-"'''
IV. Grey Earl of Kent, ^^iiice extinct.
V. Clinton Earl of Lincoln.
\'I. E.crkelcy Lord Berkeley.
W\ . Ne\ile Lor.l Abi.'ri;avcnny.
f n r. 01 B. ii. OJ. 10.
THB RUMINATOR. 115-
VIII. Hastings Earl of Huntingdon, since ex-
tinct.
Of whom it appears that ope half have already
expired. The twenty- four younger branches then
existing I presume to be the following.
I. Ferrers of Tamworth, and of Baddesley, Co.
Warw. since extinct.
II. Courtnay of Powderham, in Devonshire,
now Peers.
HI. Byron of Nottinghamshire, now Peers.
IV. Astley of Patshull, in Staffordshire, since
extinct ; and of Norfolk, now flourish-
ing there. Baronets.
V. Berkeley of Stoke-GifFord, Co. Glouc. and
Bruton, Co. Som. both extinct, and of
Cotheridge, Co. Wore, since extinct in
the male hne.
VI. Clavering of Northumberland, now Baro-
nets.
VII. Clifford of Chudleigh, Co. Dev. now
Lords Clifford.
VIII. Chaworth of Nottinghamshire, since
extinct.
IX. Blount of Sodington, Co. Wore, now
Baronets.
X. De Courcy, ancient Irish Peers.
XI. Scrope of Wiltshire, &c. now (I believe) of
Castlecomb.
llO THE KUMINATOR.
XII. Strange of Hunstanton in Ncwfolk, since
extinct.
XIII. Molmn, of Boconnoc in Cornwall, now
extinct.
XIV. St. John 'I of Bletso, Co. Bedf. and
Lydiard-Tregoz, Co. \Viits. both now
Peers, by the titles of St. Jolin and Bo-
lingbroke.
XV. Wake of Blisworth in Nortliamptonshire,
now Baronets.
XVI. D'Arcy, Earls of Holdernesse, since ex-
tinct.
XVII. Grey of Pirgo, now Earls of Stamford.
XVIII. Corbet of Shropshire; of which name
there are some families still subsisting
in that county, but whether genuine
branches of this noble family I know not.
XIX. Gresley, now Baronets, of Drakelow, in
Derbyshire; descended from Nigel de
Stafford younger son, as supposed, of
Robert Baron Stafford, which Nigel
held Drakelow at the time of Domes-
day-Book.
XX. Burgh, who have long been Earls of
Clanrickard in Ireland.
5 Descended from the St. Johns of Stanton, "as I^uets"
says Dugd.ile, but it seems clear they were derived from the St.
Johns of Basin?,
THE BUMINATOR". 117
XXI. Luttrel of Dunster-Castle, Co. Som.
now extinct in the male line, but the
heir of the female line has taken the
name.
XXII. Warren of Poynton in Cheshire, stated
by Dugdale to have been an illegitimate
branch, lately extinct. "
XXIII. Stafford of Blatherwick, in Northamp-
tonshire, soon after extinct in the male
line, the coheiress mairying Lord Car-
berry of Ireland.
XXIV. Fitzgerald, now Duke of Leinster,
derived from Robert, a younger son of
Walter Fitzother, or Windsor, from
which stock the Gerards of Lancashire,
Gerard's Bromley, and Brandon, are
also derived, and as it seems the Carews,
and by a natural son the Fitzmaurlces
Earls of Kerry. '
But Admiral Sir J. B. Warren stated to be a collateral
branch.
' Dugdale in his account of the Despensers, Earls of Glou-
cester, &c. and the Montacutes, Earls of Salisbury, in his first
volume of the Baronage, gives no hint of the Earls of Sunder-
land and Manciiester, &c. being derived from younger branches
of those great houses. I have not therefore placed them among
the twenty-four in the text. Yet it would be injustice to omit
the words, with which he prefaces their respective article* in
118 THE RU^Il'NAtOS.
Subsequent investigations can add something to
this list upon certain evidence ; and more upon
his third vohime ; though I think this mode of treating them
was a gentle intimation of his opinion, or his doubts.
XXV. Under Spencer Earl of Sunderland he says, " Of
this family, which do derive their descent from a younger branch
of the antient Barons Spenser, of whom 1 have in the first
Yolume of this work already spoke, was John Spencer, Esq. (son
to John Spencer of Hodenhull, in Co. Warw. as it seems)
which John having purchased that great lordship of Wormleigh-
ton, situate on the southern part of that county, began the
structure of a fair manor-house there in 22 Hen. VII."
XXVI. Under Lord Montague of Boughton, he says,
** Touching that branch of the antient family of Mountagu,
whence those who were long since Earls of Salisbury did spring;
and which determined in one sole daughter and heir female,
having in the first volume of this work already spoke; I come
to Edward Mountagu of Hemington, Co. Northampt. Esq. a
descendant of another branch thereof; for so it is generally
esteemed to be." This Edward was knighted and made Chief
Justice of the Court of King's Bench 30 Hen. VIII.
Collins, in his Peerage, following such pedigrees as were
drawn subsequent to Sir Edward's elevation, mnkes him the
descendant of Simon, youngest brother to John the third Earl
of Salisbury. But there has been no authentic proof offered of
such a descent. And there is a curious passage in Thorpe's
Custumale RoflFense, p. 125, under the account of the church of
l.udsdowne in Kent. " In the south-chancel of that church is
an altar tomb of Caen-stono, or brown marble, on which were
the effigies and arms of James (whom Dugdale by mistake rjllt
J'jhn) Montaciite, natural son of Thomas the fourth and last
Earl of Salisbury, to whom his father left the manor of Luds-
'-'iiwae. The arms are quarterly 1st and 4th 8 lozenges in fe
THE KUMINATOR. lip
very Strong probabilities. I am not sure that every
younger branch of the once- illustrious family of
Zouch was extinct in Dugdale's time. ' The
for Montacute; 2d and 3d an eagle displayed for Monthermer;
over all, a battoon dexter. The battoon, according to Sir John
Feme, Leigh, and other old writers on heraldry, signifies a
fourth part of a bend, and was the most ancient and usual mark
of illegitimacy. It is even at this day borne by soma of the
nobility; though afterwards, from the Marshal's Court not
being so strict in heraldic matters, and to palliate this mark, a
border was substituted in its stead. My father once acquainted
his friend John Anstis, Esq. Garter principal king at arms, who
was a most excellent genealogist, at the time he was composing
his History of the Order of the Garter, of the said tomb and
arms; and that the then Duke of Montague could be descended
from no other person of the family but the above James. Mr.
Anstis was convinced of it, but said the Duke was his very
good friend; therefore it would be improper of him to take
notice of it in his work. The family now bear the above arnjs
quarterly within a border."
t XXVII. The Percevals claim to be descended from the
great House of I^ovel : with what truth, I know not.
XXVIII. 1'lie royal family of Bruce in Scotland sprung
from the baronial family of that name in England, and it seems
that the house of Clackmannan, Elgin, &c. in Scotland, are
derived from this regal branch, though, according to Crawford's
Peerage, antiquaries differ as to the exact mode. Sir Edward
Bruce, Earl of Carrick, younger brother of Robert King of
Scotland, left only a natural son, on whom the King bestowed
the Earldom of Carrick; but this latter also left only a daugh-
ter and heir Helen, who married Sir William Cunningham, &c.
but died S. P. Yet Crawford says that the family of Clac'Kman-
120 THE NOMINATOR.
Spensers, Montagues, Braces, Finches, Herberts,
Bagots, Herons, Mallets, Sackvilles, Tracys, are
also deserving of notice. ^
nan are l>ranched from the Earls of Carrick. Certain it k, that
King David II. made a grant of the castle and barony of Clack-
manan, to Robert Bruce, " dilecto consanguineo suo." There
seems no sufficient evidence of the existence of John Bruce, a
younger uncle of King Robert, from whom Collins deduces the
Resent family.
;V XXIX. There seems to be a considerable probability that
the Finches are descended from the baronial family of Fitzher-
bert, recorded by Dugdale, who slightly mentions the report
that the Herberts, Earls of Pembroke, are also so descended.
XXX. The family of Bagot, now peers, do not come strictly
within this line; but Hervei Bagot, a younger branch of this
family, was of sufficient consequence in the reign of Hen. III.
to have married the heiress of Robert Lord Stafford, which
name his posterity took, and continued that illustrious famil}',
. who became afterwards Dukes of Buckingham, &c.
XXXI. The family of Heron of Chipchase in Northum-
berland, made Baronets in 1662, and but lately extinct, seem t.i
have been an undoubted branch of the family recorded by
Dugdale.
XXXII. The Mallets of Enmore in Somersetshire (w)io;,e
coheiress married John Wilmot, the celebrated Earl ot Roches.
ter, in the time of Charles II.) were undoubtedly of the same
family with William Mallet, Baron of Eye, Co. Suff". &c. Ant!
if Colhnson, in his History of Somersetshire, be accurate, (is
he appears in this case to be) from hence is derived Sir C'liarlcs
Warre Mallet, lately resident in India, created a Baronet Feb.
12, 1"91, being sou of the Rev. Alexander Mallet, Rector ot
Combc-Fiory, aud Preb. of GlouccstL-r, who is stated to be
'Tirfc" RU M I N ATOX . 121
,?>-ir-(Biit though SO few have continued m an un-
" ibroken male suGcession to the present, or even to
Dugdale's days, yet many more have, through heirs
female, laid the foundation of that greatness which
:>feraiUe8 d^ved from them enjoy. Thus the ac-
cumulated honours and property of the great houses
'of Albini, Moubray, Fitzalan, Warren, &c. have
been derived to the splendid family of Howard.
Upon the vast feudal property, and noble family,
of the families of Tony and Ros, are founded the
ducal family of Manners. Through the Ferrerses
and Greys of Groby, the great family of Devereux
rose into such importance and through the De-
vereuxes the Shirleys through the Neviles, the
the direct descendant of Richard Malet of St. Audries, by
Joane daughter of Richard Warre of Hestercotnbe, grandson of
Baldwin Malet of Curry. poole, solicitor to Hen. VIII. 2d son
of Thomas Malet of Enmore, 1498. (Coll. Hist. Som. I. 93.)
XXXIII. According to Collins, Jordan de Sauckville,
(collateral ancestor to the Dorset family) is mentioned in a
charter of Rich. I. in the Cotton Collections, to be a Baron;
and his brother Richard the same. They were at any rate a
very considerable family at this time, as the iBlack Book of the
Exchequer, and other cotemporary evidences prove. They
occur in Ordericus Vitalis, as of consequence in Normandy,
before the conquest.
XXXIV. Tracy of Todirigton, Co. Glouc. who, it seems
satisfactorily proved, were derived from a younger son of
Sudeley of Sudely. They were Irish Viscounts, and are very
lately extinct.
122 THE XUMINATOlt.
Fanes through tlie family of Chandos, that of
Bridges through the Beauchamps, the Grf-eviles
through ihe Audleys, the Touchets through the
Someries, the Suttons, Dudleys, and Wards
through the St. Johns (or Ports) the Powlets of
Hampshire ^^throngh the Despencers, and Neviles,
Sir Thomas Stapleton, now a Peer through the
Clintons, Trefusis, now a Peer through the Clif-
fords, the Southwells through the Greys of Wil-
ton, Sir Thomas Egerton, now a peer, by creation.
And the Stanleys were augmented by the Stranges
of Knockyn- while a great proportion of the
estates and some of the honours of the powerful
family of Percy are inherited by the heir general,
the present Duke of Northumberland: and the
"blood (and sometimes even part of the property) of
by much the largest number of these families,
whom Dugdale has recorded in his first volume,
has descended by the female line among our nobility
and most ancient gentry.
Nov. 2,1807.
On Me conduct cf the Censura Literaria.
TO THE RUMINATOR.
srR,
As I have never yet corresponded with
you, I ought perhaps still to have waited till I had
something more important to communicate. But
as there is no end to procrastination, I embrace the
impulse of the moment to send you a paper of
scraps and miscellaneous remarks. When a man
wanders about in the circles of literature vi'ithout
design, or particular occupation, he hears such
jarring opinions, and contradictory dogmas,, as to
.produce nothing but confusion in a mind that is not
well-poised. I have for instance heard such oppo-
site judgments regarding the line of conduct which
your work ought to pursue, that, if I had not
habituated myself to a slow admission of the most
plausible sentiments, I should have changed my
ideas almost every day. I shall not give way to
the observations I could make either on those who
would admit nothing but black-letter, and the
rarest books ; or on those who will endure nothing
biit modern matter. It M'ould b^'Msj ^"InBuIg*
sc^me jUst sarrcasra on both; but I forbear. The
truth is, Sir, that wisdom and genius depend not
on ancient or modern phraseology. The narrow
mind, which confines them to eitlier, deserves '^a
name, which' I will hot give it.
All the fashionable artifices of writing, which
the mob catiftot distinguish from real merit, are
the meteors of a day. Genius shines with a steady
light through the mists and disguises of time. Con-
versant as yodr pursuits must make you, not only
with those productions which have survi\ed the
wreck of ages, but with those works, which,
though now forgotten, possessed a temporary repu-
tation, you would do well to exert those critical
powers, which 'I fear you are too apt to neglect, in
analysing the qualities, which have tended to insure
a permanent favour. Do not put yourself on a par
with collectors, who waste their time and money
in running after what is merely rare! You well
knrtw, that, in nine cases out often, ifs rarity arises
from its want of merit !
With regard to your Essays, I hear it remarked,
that they are not sufficiently confined to subjects of
literature ; or of a nature sufliciently consonant
with the primary purpose of your work. And I
mvist admit that there is some justice in the remark.
Yet I endeavour to plead for you, that tlw^se cen-
!^ersr are ^flUtl&f too severe. I, asjt if,fq)f,.^iQgjrf
which aiterapts txj develope the niceties, ff..^;fe^
poetical character can be deemed foreign to, th*i
views of such a publication. I ask them, to poi^t^
out to me more than two papers in gllyour Rumif.
nators, which do not involve sopie literary topic;s
And when I press them hard, I find tliat their
main objections are founded on a misconception, <^
your original plan. .?;;}
I have no hesitation to say, that whenever ysop,
have departed from that plan it has been for t}iSi
worse. You began with criticism, and CQmposition,if
and a rational mixture of English literature, ,botI>
ancient and modern. You ought never to- IjaV^^
descended to rival mere collectors, and makers of
catalogues! The contempt between you will 1^,
mutual. You may rely on it, tliat, if you canq(^|
trace the history of some black-letter penny .pana-j?
phlet as well as they can, till it ends in some lucky;-
possessor at the price of ten guineas, they will fed.
a sovereign scorn both for your ktiowledge an4;
your genius ; they will every where express their
wonder at the impudence of a man,. who has not
been seen bidding madly for rare articles at every^
book sale for the last five years, presuming to\vri,t^
on subjects of our ancient literature.
And do you suppose that, if you plead your love
of the Muse, it will avail you at all? What signifiejr
k,ito UmhUj if .you lose, the long day in woodland
lolitudea, dreaming of the splendour of past ages,
realising in your fancy all the glories of the times
<^ ehivalryv aad- marshalling the faiiy knights of
Spenser in goU^n visions r These occupations will
not enable you to tell tlie peculiar marks, or minute
variations-of a Liber rariss. or help you in the won-
derl^ discovery of an unknown Caxton! Do not
give heed to the exploded doctrine, that to criticijie
a poet requires something of congenial feeling j a
collecicrj it seems, can do it weUj but, no doubt,
a maker of catalogues can do it best of all ! !
But still. Sir, you must not be dismayed. They,
who are not within the reach of this sale-mania,
have other rules of judging ; tliey expect occasional
remarks on the intrinsic merits of the pieces regis-
tered, whch you perhaps may be a little better
qualified for, than some of these title-page dealers !
but which I am sorry to say that you yourself,
either from indolence, or some other cause, which
you ought not to indulge, too much neglect. You
appear to have given way to many things contrary
to your better taste ; and to have suflered yourself
to be led out of the path, of which you had the
command, into others, where you have many
superiors, and still more rivals.
Consider no origiual remarks on any part of
literature foreign to your purpose j exercise tliose
arts^ of c6rai}d^ti(*> for whkh ';^our nature ani^
habits have qvialiffed you 5 and do not lower your-?
self to a level With- transcribers and mere bibliograiJ
phers. Though a fevr London book -worms ma;f
not like your work sb 'weH; be'a^s^ined the pebl|i>
w^ill likeit nruch better. :~;
While I thus indulge in unsought advice to yoai'
I' eariiS^t ^b^frSib^ fl-otii tbUChi^g'^ii '^ofh^r pt^nt.
Among Jill the peilodicAl pubticafioni; Which haxis
any cbhcern witli criticism, thel-e is one whi<:lt
chafi"acteri-zes yours, and which I warn you tftpr^'
serve. You stand independent 5 yon afc known K*
be actuated only by a pure and disinterested love of
your subject ; and you stand free tlw^refOfe ffonS all
suspicion of sophistry, and corrupt praise or blanffeV
If you take a single step, or enter into a single con-
nection, which will destroy that confidence, youi^
w-brk is lost. Whoever differs from you now,.
knows at least that the opinions you convey to the'
public are honest. ..t -:
Since the days of Ritson, there has been "a
fashion of admitting claims to a high reputation oh
the mere grounds of industry, without a particle of
taste, or feeling ; and still less of genius! Were' the
materials of Ritson transferred to another work,
every thing would be transferred: transfer all the
materials of Warton, and the best part of him- still
remains 1 Do not therefore rurir a race with svich
128 THE RUMINATOK.
men as Ritson ; but exert your own faculties ; and
we care not whether the book you write upon, is
thirty or three hundred years old! But you are
Kile, very idle ! You seem never to write, except
when your feelings are touched :
** Facit indignatio versum !"
It has been often observed, that there are many
little functions in literature level to very common
capacities, and acquirements ; but of which the pub-
lic will not easily endure the performance by any
but those who are qualified to do better things. It
will not easily suffer persons to enter the domains
of Parnassus, and adorn themselves with faded
flowers, which have been reared, and cropped, and
thrown away by their superiors ! It generally turns
with neglect from such pretenders ! Let me entreat
you then to rely upon yourself 3 move " right
onward," unfatigued and undismayed; throw your
mind upon your page ; give us more such articles
as those on the Douglas cause; and do not be per-
suaded that it is a mere question relative to a single
family, of which all the interest has long since
faded away. As long as it is curious to balance
moral probabilities, and develope the hidden move-
ments of human conduct ; as long as it is instruc-
tive to study the display of all the powers of many
strong and cultivated minds on those principles of
THE RUMINATOR. '129
evidence, which have been among the primary
objects of their professional labours, such discussioqs
must abound both with amusement ancl infor-
mation ! Senex.
'. -"*'
P. S, As this is a miscellaneons paper, permit
me to enclose the following lines by a young friend,
for insertion in your pages. ' ' " "^ *" "^
Jf^riiten at Barnard Castle, Co. Durham, f)? '^
B^cev2her,1803. "'^
" The rising sun for me in vain
Arrays in gold the mountain's crest ;
And gleaming o'er the humid plain
With crimson tinges ocean's breast :
His spreading beams, though rob'd in light,
No more their wonted joys bestow ;
They cannot chace the eternal night,'
That clouds my soul with endless woe.
'V.', \
1' #
A
The promise of my vouth is fled ;
The life-blood curdles round my^cart _
The opening buds of hope are shed, ' >" * b-'t^dl
And dcruh alone can ease impart. .''-i U! = .' "^
Ah! why did Heaven impress my nutido ,. ";i n
With feelings still to rapture itdo ;. ; i / . ? ;v.it
Vet leave unpitj'ing fate to bind, ,,, , j, , _ , .,(.
Affoction'^ ticrnis witii funeral \c-v
K
130 THE KUMINATOR,
The starry eve, the new-born day.
Alike have lost their power to charm ;
Nor can e'en Beauty's proud display
Again this frozen bosom warm.
Clos'd is my heart to all but her.
Who first awoke its slumb'ring fires3
Whose image all my thoughts prefer.
And will, till life itself expires."
To this the Editor takes the opportunity of
adding the following sonnet by a friend, written
immediately after reading " The Wild Irish Girl."
" Oh ! had my soul, when first with wild hnpc fiil'd
And love's delusions danc'd my awakcu'd heart.
As Beauty's witchery did its spells impart ;
Oh ! had my soul, when every feeling thrill'd
With new-born joys that fate too quickly kill'd.
Met thee, Glon'ina, and with thee been blest!
My days had flown caressing and caress'd,
And every anxious throb been sweetly still'd.
Thine airy harp had sooth'd my bosom's woe ;
And as thy wild notes swell'd the trembling' strings,
Rapture's full chord had taught my heart to i;li)\v
With grateful Incense to the Kinji of ktirj^s I
But Hcav'n forbade ! and soon mubt sorrow's gloom
Enshroud its victim in the silent tomb."
Octolier .^0, 1807.
THE RUMINATOR. 131
N^ XX.
On the Sonnets of Milton, n'lfh a Translation of
one of his Italian Sonnets.
There are few persons, I presume, among those
who are in the habits of exercising their mental
faciiities, exempt from occasionally suffering an
unconquerable lassitude and imbecility, the effect
perhaps of over exertion, and often of great anxiety
and fatigue. On such occasions the assistance of
eminent friends, which is at all times highly accept-
able, becomes doubly gratifying. It is therefore
with more than common satisfaction, that at a
moment when my spirits are low, and mv humble
talents more than commonly weak, I am enabled
to communicate a very excellent translation of an
Italian Sonnet of Milton by the learned and poetic
editor of that poet's Paradise Regained.
Milton's Fourth SonJiet, " Diodati, io te'l
diro is'c.'"
Translated from iJic Italian.
' Yes, Diodali, wor.ilerful to ifli,
Ev'n I ili'j stubli'un v.-!etcli, whi. cxs\ i\<-i\:h'd
132 THE RUMIKATOE.
The god of love, and laugh'd his chains to scorn.
Am fall'n, where oft the brave have captur'd been.
Nor golden tresses, nor the vermeil cheek.
Are my resistless victors. A new form
Of foreign beauty fascinates my soul ;
That nobly graceful portance ; those smooth brows
Arch'd with the lustrous gloss of loveliest black ;
That converse sweet, with various tongues adorn'd ;
Tliat song, whose charming potency might well
Draw down the labouring moon from her high path,
But 'gainst whose magic strains to close the ear
Avail? not, while those radiant eyes beam fire." ''
There seems to my ear a kind of stately Mil-
tonic movement in these verses, which makes tiie
want of rhyme unperceived.
In my humble judgment, the sonnets of Milton,
however condemned by the malignant sarcasms of
Johnson, though I will not say they are among the
best of his compositions, partake almost every where
<^f the majestic plainness of his loftv genius. For
seven and twenty years they have been the objects
of my admiration; and I do not like then^i the less
because they are deficient in all the liiiical jiretli-
u This wns v.'ritteii near two ) c;irs <i_:;o, uii:lci" mi iden that
in translating a sonnet from the Itilia:;, if you keep pretty close
to the original thoughts and expressions, it may be made more
readable in blank verse than by cramping it into the cone-
^.'jndin:: lines of the leeal soin^r, C" IJ*.
THE RUMINATOR. 133
nesses of modern poetry. When I hear of their
harsh and bald deformities, I only smile with scorn
at the tasteless inability to discern in ihem the spirit
of an exalted mind above the artifices of a tinsel
dress.
I have already given my opinion in the me-
moir of Dr. Darwin, and elsewhere, of those nar-
row notions of poetry, which too many indulge.
They seem to think it confined to sparkling images,
to pointed expressions, and harmonious rhymes.
Even the best of these ingredients is of very inferior
importance to that sublimity or tenderness of soul^
which has the power of communicating Its own
strong impressions to the reader. He who busies
himself with the tricks of language, is never hurried
away by the fire of natural thoughts.
A manly mind hates all the minor machinery
of poetical composition, though it be the only part
which a feeble or vitiated critic comprehends or
relishes. But yet how contemptible is he, who in
the boundless varieties of the human intellect, and
the boundless space over which it may travel, M'ould
confine our judgments to one or two models of
excellence ! If Spenser, and Shakspeare, and Mil-
ton were poets, so were Cowley and Drydenj yet
how unlike ! Where tlien is to be found the defini-
tion of poetry large enough to compiehend its
powers .-
134 THE RUMINATOK.
Of all the sonnets of Milton, I am almost in-
clined to prefer the nineteenth, on his llindness.
It has, to my weak taste, such various excellencies,
as I am unequal to praise sufficiently. It breathes
doctrines at once so sublime and consolatory, as to
gild the gloomy paths of our existence here with a
new and singular light. Of Milton's harshness,
may it not be observed, that original iii/ often appears
like harshness? Commonplace phrases seem smooth,
because we are habituated to ihem, while a new
combination of words .sounds rough to our ears.
How far from harsh are those fine lines in the
fourteenth .sonnet to the memory of rvIrs.Thomson^
where he says,
" Thy \vorks and alms
Staid not behind, nor in the ^rave were trod;
Love led thcin on, and Faith who l<new them best,
Thv liandmaids, cLjcI them o'er witli purple beams
And azure wings "
And then closes by saying that
" The Judge
llicnccforth bid thee rest.
And drink thy fdl of pure inunortal streams !'*
How majestic is the flow of those vigorous lines
in his address to Cromwell, when he speaks of him
as *' the chief of men," who
THE RUMINATOR. 135
" To peace and truth thy glorious way hast plough'd.
And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud
Hast rear'd God's trophies, and his works pursued.
While Darwen stream with blood of Scots imbrued.
And Dunbar field resounds thy praises loud.
And Worcester's laureat wreath."
The study of these sonnets would suggest a
chaster and more classical style to our modern
poetasters and critics. But perhaps without his
strength of thought such plainness would not be
endured.
Dec. 20, 1807.
135 THE RUMINATOR.
N- XXI.
On Dreams.
The operations of the mind in sleep have never
yet been explained in any manner the least satisfac-
tory. Numerous have been the disquisitions '*^ on
the .subject; but none seem to approach to a clear
elucidation oi it. Our dreams are sometimes made
lip of materials, which have employed our waking
thoughts; but they are frequently compounded of
ideas and images which have no apparent connec-
tion with the previous occupations of the brain.
But the degree of vividness with which objects
impress themselves on the intellect during slumber
seems so far beyond the powers of memory or
fancy, as to be ahno-:l of a ditTerent kind. No
v(;luntary etTort of tliC iiiTaginalion in its most bril-
liant moments can bring beture its \ lew forms and
scenes so distinct and lorciijle as a dream constantly
produces.
X l}a.;ter's Theory is very interesting nid at: least jilniilblc.
!5cattie's Essay on the subject has, I think, been more cum-
m?aded than it deserves.
THE RUMINATOK. 137
No part of this astonishing power of the human
faculties is more extraordinary than the alternate
character which the same mind can thus take on
tliose occasions J when it can carry on a dialogue or
argument between contending parties, and assume
successively the strength of each, with no more
power of anticipating the other's reply than would
happen in reahty. How this rapid shifting of cha-
racter, so much more full of life, than any waking
talent can etfect, is caused, must be left for our
dim knowledge to wonder at in vain !
What scenes of stupendous splendour have I
seen in my dreams ! what more than mortal music
has thrilled on my senses ! My sluggish fancy can-
not even catch a glimpse of these visions by dayj
and I trv in vain to recall the tones of the heavenly
harmony that I have thus heard.
Perhaps it is owing to this acute employment of
the intellect in sleep, that its sensibility seems more
tender at first waking, tlian when the body, worn
out with fatigue, was consigned to rest. Subjects
of regret and sorrow, which had been quieted
before we closed our eyes at night, return, as the
morninc: rouses us, with a double sting. When I
go to sleep with an aching heart, the moment of
my grief that I most dread is when I first wake.
Then it is that the painful object of my sutTcring
138 THE BUMINATOR.
or my fears shews itself to my tremulous nerves in
all its horrors.
It was thus that I suddenly waked in the depth
of night, not long ago, with the impression of
poignant regret at having neglected to make proper
returns to the flattering attention of a friend. How
my conscience had thus worked, while my body
was reposing, I know not 3 but I endeavoured to
soothe myself to quiet again by recording tlie oc-
currence in the following sonnet.
SONNET TO A FRIEND.
Written at Midnight, Dec. 13. I8O7.
Methought I heard thy voice, when sunk in sleep.
High sounding thio' still midnight's silence drear,
* Why mute, thou son of song? Why meets my car
* No effort of that tongue, which wont to keep
" Its airy course, o'er every bar and steep,
" Thro' intellectual realms? No more I hear
** Thy plaintive notes, to feeling bosoms dear,
* Nor indignation pour his tones more deep !"
Thereat 1 trembling woke ; and still the sound
Quiver'd upon my nerves ; I sciz'd the lyre.
And strove to mnke its untun'd strings rebound
With strains congenial to its former fire!
But thus I prove by these insipid lays
The object worthless of thy generous praise '
THE KUMINATOR. 139
It must not be admitted then that the hours spent
in sleep are all lost ; it is at those times that the
mind is often employed with the most activity j
and I do not doubt that many im.portant hints and
bright inventions have first arisen^ when the body
was in that state of quiescence.
Jan. 1,180S.
i40 THE RUMINATOR,
N XXII.
On Books.
Are books, in truth, a dead letter? To those
who have no bright mirror in their own bosoms to
reflect their images, they are! but the lively and
active scenes, which they call forth in well-framed
minds, exceed the liveliness of reality. Heads and
hearts of a coarser grain require the substance of
material objects to put them in motion.
Books instruct us calmly, and without inter-
mingling with their instruction any of those painful
impressions of superiority, which we must neces-
sarily feel from a living instructor. They wait the
pace of each man's capacity ; stay for his want of
perception, without reproach; go backward and
forward with him at his wish 3 and furnish inex-
haustible repetitions.
How is it possible to express what we owe, as
intellectual beings, to the art of printing : When
a man sits in a well furnished library, iui rounded
by the collected wisdom of thousands oi" the best
endowed minds,, of various ages and countries.
THE KUMINATOR. 141
what an amazing extent of mental range does he
command !
Eveiy age, and every language, has some advan-
tages, some excellencies peculiar to itself. I am
not sure, that skill in a variety of tongues is always
wisdom J but an acquaintance with various forms of
expression, and the operations and results of minds
at various times, and under various circumstances
of climate manners and government, must neces-
sarily enrich and strengthen our opinions.
A person, who is only conversant with the
literature of his own country, and that during only
the last ten or twenty years, contracts so narrow a
taste, that every other form of phrase, or mode of
composition, every other fashion of sentiment, or
intellectual process, appears to him repulsive, dull
and worthless. He reads Spenser, and Milton, if
he reads them at all, only as a task ; and he turn&
with disgust from the eloquence of Sydney, Hooker,
and Jeremy Taylor. The black-letter, and coarse
and dingy paper, are forbidding ; and he flies
from the amusing detail, and interesting naivete of
Lord Berners, and the copious particulars of Holin-
shead, to the vapid translations of Voltaire, and the
more light and airy pages of Hume,
The weakly appetites of these literary flies
*"xcite contempt, I'he sterling sense of our ances-
142 THE RUMINATOR.
tors is reviving; Elizabethan libraries >' are forming ;
old books are rescued from the stalls, and the
pastry-cooks, to be preserved for the inspection of a
liberal curiosity; and the booksellers have with
praise-worthy enterprize begun to reprint Holin-
shead, and others of our ancient historians. Mr.
Walter Scott, by a singularly happy- talent of ex-
tracting lively and entertaining matter even from
the dullest volumes, has materially contributed to
this growing fashion.
They, whose reading has been confined to the
productions of their own day, consider the language
of Lord Clarendon, with his " periods of a mile,"
to eclipse the excellence of his niatter; they can-
not seek information through so disagreeable and
tedious a medium. To those whose acquaintance
with books is more extensive, his style is as familiar
as that of Robertson, Gibbon, or even Hume; and
of inlinitely more interest and eloquence, than any
of those historians ever reached.
1 Among the fust of tiiese is Air. Heber of Hodnet in
Shropshire, and Marton H;iil in Yorkshire, a man of an.ient
family and lari;e fortune, w iiose s; i;lt and industry in collecti;i^
deserves national ])raise; and \vho';e truly biilli.int taknts and
incredible extent of knowlede,?, which enable him to pinetrata
and devour the books which i;e collects, niust nt cu-^saiily cxtuit
the unbounded admirstion oftvcry one who has the o^iportunitv
of conversing with him.
THE RUMINATOE. 143
Perhaps the best prose writer in the English
tongue lived in the reigns of Charles I. and Charles
II. This wds Cowley, the poet. And I am inclined
to place another poet next to him ; the immortal
Dryden ! I would give the third place to Addison ;
and the fourth to Burke ; whose similarity, in some
points, to Dryden, has been well remarked by
Malone. ^
Were it not for the opposition of lights drawn
from diiferent ages, the human mind would yield
itself to temporary errors of the most alarming
nature. Absurdities would be repeated through
folly or interest, till, if nothing stood upon record
to detect them, they would be believed; and the
deviation from sound taste and sound sense, not
only in language but opinion, would be inlinite.
Above all, there is this value in books, that
they enable us to converse with the dead. There
is something in this beyond the mere intrinsic
worth of what they have left us. When a person's
body is mouldering, cold and insensible, in the
grave, we feel a sacred sentiment of veneration for
the living memorials of his mind.
z Scotland must forgive me for agreeing with Cqwper, and
Sir William Jones, about Robertson. The prose of Bufns is
often excellent.
Jan. 22, 1803.
144 THE RUMINATOR.
N" XXIII.
On Mrs. Curler's Letters.
The collections of letters of eminent literary
characters, which have been given to the public
within the last ten years, ha\e added materially to
the stock of innocent and instructive amusement.
An accession to this stock has just been announced,
by a notice of the publication* of Select Parts of the
Correspondence of Mrs. Elizabeth Carter. The
world, if I mistake not, will be as much delighted
by her eloquence and beauty of language, as by
her strength of mind and fervour of piety 5 while
those who admire a more playful mamier, joined to
an equal waimth of religion and purity of conduct,
will perhaps be still more pleased with those of her
correspondent, Airs. Katherine Talbot, which will
appear with them. In the latter years of Mrs.
Carter's life, the colour of her pen became still
more uniformly serious, as is proved by her letters
lo Mrs. Vesey. I could not refrain from soliciting
the permission, wliich a spare hour would allow me
to embrace, of making the following extracts from
the MSS. in the hands of my dear friend the
^ Thoy liave since been puM'uheJ; nnd I will maintain thai
tliey fully ji'stify this character.
THE RUMINATOR. 145
Editor : conceiving I should gratify the public by
this slight anticipation.
Extracts from Mrs. Carter s Litters to Mrs. Vesey.
Aug. 21, 1776,
"" We were both exceedingly disappointed at
your rejection of our darling scheme of Walmer
Castle. But I suspect it is Mrs. H 's fault : she
probably represented it to you merely as a pleasant
dwelling; where you might eat your dinner/' and
drink your tea and coffee, like the fashion of any
modern house. If she had told you that some dis-
contented spectre walked its melancholy round
every night along the grass-grown platform^ the
attraction would have been irresistible to your
curiosity. I think she might possibly have suc-
ceeded even if she had been contented to describe
(he operations of elementary beings upon the ancient
structure. She might have told you how the spirits
of the air talk in whistling winds through its battle-
inents, and how the angel of the waters dashes the
roaring billows at its foot. Instead of alluring you
by these sublime ideas, I suspect she dwelt chiefly
en the pleasure you would confer upon a cjuple of
146 THE RUMIN'ATOH.
mere two-legged human creatures; upon which
you turned about and said, ' Why, Mrs. Handcock,
we can meet enough of these upon the pantiles,'
and so the die turned up for Tunbridge ; for which
we are very sorry that your vixen countrywoman
did not beat you."
Oct. 13, 1176.
" Though I cannot claim even an acquaintance
with Mr. S. Jenyns, I must defend him, though I
had much rather he ^'ould have prevented any
attack, by such an explication as would have ren-
dered it less possible to mistake his meaning ; yet
even as it now stands, he seems to have sufficiently
discovered that he cashiers no other valour than
that \\hich from filse and wicked ideas of honour
and glory, stabs individually and desolates whole
nations : no other friendship but such an exclusive
'affectation as subverts general benevolence; and no
other patriotism but such as serves for a mask to
ambition, and from the influence of private passions
tends to throw the state into discord and confusion.
Mr. Jenyns in the consideration of not loading the
attention of those, whom he chiefly meant to
benefit by his book, has too often expressed himself
with a conciseness whirh lenders his meaning
(^bsrv.re,"
THE RUMINATOR. \47
Deal, Dec. 2, i776'.
" I am obliged to you for the concern you ex-
press on the subject of our late shock. Perhaps
you may have felt an earthquake : if not, I am not
inchned to wish for one a voire intention; but as
it past happily over, I have often wished you had
been with Monty ^ and me on Thursday morning.
I have felt one before; but it was nothing com-
pared to this. Never did I experience so sublime
an effect of the voice of the hand of Omni})otence.
This awful exertion was mercifully checked witiiin
the boundary that marks destruction : but I should
think its continuance for a few more seconds must
have produced fatal effects. It seemed as if the
pillars of heaven, and foundations of earth were all
convulsed. The \\ iid tumult and hurry of the ele-
ments were as much beyond all description as the
confusion of my thoughts ; for I had no explicit
idea till I was awakened to a more distinct scn=e
by Monty's hastily uttering " an earthquake !"
'' Her Nephew Montagu Pennington.
'J^8 THE AUMINATO*.
Dec. 4, 1777.
' It did indeed give me all the pleasure you
could wish or suppose, my dear Mrs. Vesey, to
receive a letter from you in such a style of cheerful
tranquillity and comfortable hopes. My heart must
and will feel your absence with many a tender
regret this winter : but it would be much less sup-
portable, if I had not the happiness to consider it
as a consequence of your acting in a manner con-
formable to your obligations. On tliis solid rock
we may stand, and look forward with unallayed
pleasure to the prospect of our next meeting, when
I trust we shall enjoy our delightful parties with a
spirit unclouded by any of those uneasy reflections
which must cast a gloom over the brighest sunshine
of life, whenever inclination is preferred to duty.
En attendant the more active pleasures of our social
Jiours, may the best and most important reflections
tranquillize your mind, the happiest recollections
of friendship soothe your heart, and the brightest
visions of poetical imagination vary and enliven
your solitude; and give spirit as well as sentiment
to your tele a tetes with dear Mrs. Handcock !
" Miss Sharpe commissions me to assure you
both of her love; and I know very few people
wiiosc love L> less lightly given, We wished for
THE RDMIXATOR. 14
you extremely last night in my little airy abode,
round which all the elements play with the most
uninterrupted liberty : for happily I am not in a
town, but at the end of it. You would have
enjoyed the solemn concert ; to which by a cheer-
ful fire we listened -wdth so much rapture. The
whistling wind, the beating rain, and dashing waves,
ushered in that winter, which has been so long
delayed: for November has been gilded by the
smiles of May. There has scarcely been a day in
which the airings we have taken did not furnish us
with some beautiful view. I wish you could ac-
company us. I think 3'ou would be pleased with
the country. It has one advantage beyond any I
ever recollect to have seen ; the charming variety
of the ground, and the intersection of the hills,
sometimes opening a view to the sea ; sometimes
to a shaded village, and sometimes a solitary cottage,
which seems retired to an infinite distance from the
vest of the habitable world !"
Deal, June T, 1777.
'' It is quite uncomfortable to me, my dear
Mrs. Vesey, to find yon are still detained in Lon-
Icn, which In its present desertion must appear
150 THE KUMINATOK.
like a solitude havinted by the ghosts of all your
departed friends. The misfortune too is, that
amidst the avocations of disagreeable mere mortal
business of preparing for a journey, they can only
just glide by you, and give you no idea but of their
loss. When you are quietly reposing in the shades
of Lucan, your imagination will be at full leisure
to stop the fleeting phantoms, and converse with
them at your ease.
You say that Mr. Vesey still talks of returning
after Christmas. If he should continue in this
determination, I hope you will not put any discou-
ragement on this near hope, for the sake of a more
distant prospect. Consider, ray dear friend, that at
your age and mine, the more immediate good is the
most Aaliiable; and we can reasonably place but
liule dependance on any remote hopes, except
lliose which extend beyond the circuit of the sun.
I take it for granted that by after Christmas
Mr. \'esey means immediately after; for your
fr: 'lids \\ould think themselves grievously defnuulcd,
il" you did not vi<it them till spring. Xo : I niusi
hf)pe, mv dear ]Mrs. ^'esey, that we shall cr,i(iy tlie
delightful social hours of winter together j not like
the soi disant philosophers whom you mention,
puzzling plain truth by the vanity of perplexed
.system, but c(;nversing with the simplicity of an
TUB RUMINATOK. 151
lionest heart, regulated by rigid principles, and
enlivened by the playfulness of an innocent imagi-
nation.
I am flattered to find that I agree with Mr.
Burke. Yes : ask your own heart ; and it will tell
you, what is the rule of life that best directs it to
grow wise and good. Be thankful for this gracious
guidance, and ne\'er listen to the half learn'mg, tlie
perverted understanding, and pert ridicule of French
pliilosophers, and beaux esprits, who would per-
suade you it is best to wander over a wide stormy
ocean, without a pilot, and without a leading star!''
152 rur. ruminatok.
N XXIV.
On the Pleasures of Reading.
The contempt of many of the innocent trifles
of life, which the generality of the world betray,
arises fiom the weakness and narrowness, and not
from the superiority, of their understandings. Most
of the empty baubles, which mankind pursue as
objects of high consideration, arc suffered to eclipse
those simple amusements which are in no respect
less important, and which arc so far more valuable
as they are more compatible with purity of heart
and conduct !
It is from an undue estimate of the points of
ordinary ambition, that health, liberty, carelessness
of mind, and ra'^e of conscience are saciificed to the
attainment of di.'-tiiictions, wliich in the opinion of
the truly wise are mere vanity. A just appreciation
on the contrary will deem every pursuit, that affords
.nnusemenl without derogating from virtue, praise-
worthy.
Of all the humnn relaxations which are fiec
iiom guilt, perhaps there is none so dignified as
rendiri:;. It is no little good to while away the
tcdiuusucis of existence in a ccntle and hnr.'nies'
THE EUMINATOR. 15S
exercise of the intellectual faculties. If we build
castles in the air tliat vanish as quickly as the passing
clouds, still some beneficial result has been obtained ;
some hours of weariness have been stolen from usj
and probably some cares have been robbed of their
sting.
I do not here mean to discuss the scale of
excellence among the various studies that books
aftbrd. It is my purpose to shew that even the
most trifling books, which give harmless pleasure,
produce a good far exceeding what the world
ascribes to more high-sounding occupations.
When we recollect of how many it is the lot,
even against choice, to pass their days in solitude,
how admirable is the substitute for conversation,
which the powers of genius and arts of printing
bestow !
I have made these observations for the purpose
of introducing the following very excellent Letter
of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu to her daughter.
Lady Bute.
" Louvre, Sept. 30. 1757.
"Daughter! Daughter! don't call names 3 you
arc always abusing my pleasures, which is what no
niortal w ill bear. Trash, lumber, sad stuff, are the
titles you give to my fiivourite amusement. If I
'ailed a white staff a stick of v/ood, a gold key
154 tHE RUMINATOK.
gilded brass, and the ensigns of illustrious orders
coloured strings, this may be philosophically true,
but would be very ill received. We have all our
playthings ; happy are they that can be contented
with those they can obtain : those hours are spent
in the wisest manner that can easiest shade the ills
of life, and arc the least productive of ill conse-
quences. I think my time better employed in
reading the adventures of imaginary people, than
the Duchess of Marlborough, who passed the latter
years of her life in paddling with her will, and con-
triving schemes of plaguing some, and extracting
praise from others to no purpose ; eternally disap-
pointed, and eternally fretting. The active scenes
are over at my age. I indulge, with all the art I
can, my taste for reading. If I could confine it to
valuable books, they are almost as rare as valuable
men. I must be content with what I can find. As
I approach a second childhood, I endeavour to enter
into the pleasures of it. Your youngest son is,
perhaps, at this very moment riding on a poker
with great delight, not at all regretting that It Is
not a gold one, and much less wishing it an Arabian
horse, whicli he could not know how to manage ;
I am reading an idle tale, not expecting wit or
truth in it, and am very glad It Is not metaphysics
to puzzle my judgment, or hislory to mislead my
opinion : he fortifies his health by exercise ; I calm
tHE RUMINATOR. 155
my cares by oblivion. The methods may appear
low to busy people ; but if he improves his strength,
and I forget my infirmities, we both attain very
desirable ends."
In a prior letter, 1752, Lady Mary says, " I yet
retain, and carefully cherish my love of reading.
If relays of eyes were to be hired like post-horses,
I would never admit any but silent companions :
they atlbrd a constant variety of entertainment,
which is almost the only one pleasing in the enjoy-
ment, and inoffensive in the consequence."
Again, 1/53. "Every woman endeavours to
breed her daughter a fine lady, qualifying her for a
station in vv'hich she will never appear: and at the
same time incapacitating her fur that retirement, to
which she is destined. Learning, if she has a real
taste for it, will not only make her contented, but
happy in it. No entertainment is so cheap as read-
ing, nor any pleasure so lasting. She will not want
new fashions, nor regret the loss of expensive
diversions, or variety of company, if she can be
amused with an author in her closet."
I am well aware that a rigid censor may blame
this view of things exhibited by Lady Mary as too
156 THE RUMINATOR.
limited, and exclaim, in tlie beautiful words of
Mrs. Carter, addressed to another of her own name:
*' How short a period, liow confin'd a space
Must bound thy shining course beneatli the skies !
For wider glories, for immortal fame
Were all tliose talents, all those graces given !"
But let it be remembered, that I have not
compared the occupations of idle j'eading with the
duties pointed out by religion ; but only with the
pursuits of worldly ambition. And surely of tho?c
who thus employ themselves it may well l)e said,
with Gray ;
** Beneath the good how far, yet far above the great !" '^
e We may perhaps apply to idle reading what Lord Claren-
don records as the opinion of James Hay, Earl of Carlisle, as to
a life of pleasure in opposition to a life of business. " He was,"
says the noble historian, " a man of the greatest expeiis.^ in liis
own person of any in the age he lived; and introduced more of
that expense in the excess of clothes and diet, than any other
man; and was indtcd the original of all these inventions, from
which others did but transcribe copies. 1 Ic liad a great univer-
sal understanding, and could have taken as much deliglit m any
Other way, if he had thought any other as ])leasant and vvorti:
)lis care. But Is fjund hushiess ivas att-nJc! ifilh more rivals
and i-cxatinns ; and be though', ivith n:uch less jlcasun, and not
riore innocctice."
AyrW 1, ]60S.
THE RUMINATOR. 15/
No XXV.
How far History is true.
Sir Robert Walpole said to his son HoracCj,
who, with a view to amuse him, w^as preparing to
read some historical jjertbrmance, " O, do not read
history, for that I know must be false !" This is a
most extraordinary assertion, which exhibits the
narrowness of the minister's mind in very glaring
colours. Coxe says he had little taste for literary
occupations, and was not a patron of the Muses.
He employed low persons to write for government,
in consequence of which the political pamphlets in
his defence are far inferior to the productions of his
adversaries. Hence his administration often suf-
fered in the public opinion, when, as has happened
since to others, his measures only wanted an able
exposition to make them popular.
All that Walpole knew of history w^ere the
lying party productions of the day ; for which he-
knew that the materials v/ere garbled or false, and
the reasonings fallacious. But Time draws away
tlic veil, that conceals the form of Truth ; and it is
probable that we have nov/ a more perfect and
158 THK RX7MINAT0R.
comprehensive view of public affairs in the reigns
of Queen Elizabeth, James the First, and Charles
the First, than the most able and best informed
actors in those scenes ever possessed. We are more
minutely and more correctly acquainted with them
than Burleigh, or Salisbury, or Clarendon. The
secrets of cabinets are laid open ; the private objects
of both sides are exposed ; .and the hidden springs
of action are discovered.
But it h a strong argument in favour of the
credit due to the historian of integrity and talents,
even when he has ])erforired his task without all
these aids, that the subsequent publicalion of State
Papers has seldom materially varied the main
features of his work. Thus the general fidelity of
Camden's account of the reign of Queen Elizabeih
remains unimpeached. And this is the case also
with Lord Heibert's History of Henry VIII.
The portraits of individuals, drawn by the pens
of these ^vriters, have seldom been proved by future
lights to be essentially erroneous. I'he capricicrns
tyranny of Henrj- ; the unfeminine strength and
heroism of his daughter j the unprincijjled tanning
and artifices of Leicester; the imprudent and too
confident impetuo:i:ty of I^sncs; and the wary and
laborious wi-doin (-f Burleigh, lia\e never l;ocn
more truly di'iiucatet!. Even those wlio have
looked t!ir'/tii;!i iLe ;i:cd;uni of Qppo^ite pulilit.'.l
THE KUMINATOR. ISQ
principles, have agreed in the same great outlines
of portraits ; and Arthur Wilson, the puritan, paints
his principal characters in colours not inconsistent
with those of Clareixlon. The noble limner indeed
makes his touches with a far finer and more exqui^
site pencil ; and exhibits all the foldings and wind-
ings of his subject with inexpressible skill and hap-
piness ; but we plainly see the same figure before
both draughtsmen, and are therefore sure that it is
accurate.
It ought to be an incentive to virtue in public
men, that neither tilles nor power will long be able
to disguise the truth. A lucky and undeserved
elevation will only expose a man more obviously to
the scrutiny of impartial posterity. Sir Robert
Walpole now holds the exact place in history,
which he merits : he is no longer injured by the
discredit or the weakness of his defenders ; nor
depressed by the brilliant eloquence or splendid
stations of his opponents. His practical wisdom j
his strong, though coarse, understanding ) his dex-
terity in tlie management of business, and in allay-
ing the heats of party ; his firmness in cultivating
the arts of peace, and benefits of commerce, in
defiance of clamour, at a critical period when the
exigencies of the kingdom in the state of European
politics made such a line of conduct a choice of real
l60 THE RUMINATOR.
wisdom, have been justly eulogized by Burke, and
detailed by the eminently useful labours of Coxe.
It may seem of little consequence to usj what
is said when our mortal relics are sleeping in the
grave. But, though " flatter}'" cannot " soothe
the dull cold ear of death," the report of the truth
may perhaps delight or torment our departed spirits,
accordingly as it is good or evil.
Yet whatever be the import to the dead, to the
living the knowledge of the truth is certainly of
consequence. All the wisdom, which is supposed
to be built on experience, stands on a rotten foun-
dation, if the pages of history are falsified. If the
real state of facts be mistaken or concealed, what
certainty is there in the deductions which are ex-
tracted from 'them ?
It becomes a matter therefore of a very serious
nature, to those who study the actions and progress
of mankind in society, to vindicate the integrity
and accuracy of history.
April l,!fi08.
THE KUMINATOR. i.6l
N^ XXVI.
On Imprisonment for Debt.
The short debate, which took place on Friday
the 1 1th of March on Lord Moira's Motion for the
Second Reading of the Debtor and Creditor Bill,
forces from me a few observations, which, though
they will contain nothing new, cannot be too often
repeated. Lord Moira deserves the thanks of every
lover of philanthropy and extended policy, and will,
I trust, persevere with a continuance of hope,
" even though hope be lost." It is a bad symptom
of the times, that such arguments, as were used
against him, should prevail. Though it be dan-
gerous to level to the ground, and build anew, and
though rash innovation ought to be avoided, yet it
is a contemptible narrowness to go to the conaary
extreme, and refuse every amelioration.
It would be presumptuous to attempt to add
new force to the arguments of Dr. Johnson, to
which Lord Holland so handsomely referred. The
Idler is a work of too general circulation to require
a reference to the subject which the great moralist
lias discussed, or to copy many of its passages. But
M
162 THE RUMINATOIt.
there is a part so directly applicable as a reply to
the arguments of a noble Lord, that even from this
common book I cannot refrain from repeating a
few sentences of such inexpressible importance.
" To the relief of this distress, no other objec-
tion can be made, but that by an easy dissolution
of debts, fraud will be left without punishment and
imprudence without awe, and that, when insol-
vency shall be no longer punishable, credit will
cease.
''The motive to credit is the liope of advantage.
Commerce can never be at a stop, while one man
wants what another can supply j and credit will
never be denied, while it is likely to be repaid v ith
profit. He, that trusts one, whom he designs to
sue, is criminal by the act of trust; the cessation
of such insidious traflic is to be desired, and no
reason can be given, why a change of the law
should impair any other. We see nation trade
with nation, where no jrayment can be compelled.
Mutual convenience produces mutual confidence;
and the merchants continue to satisfy the demands
of each other, though they have nothing to dread
but the loss of trade. It is vain to continue an in-
stitution, which experience shews to be ineflectual.
We have now imprisoned one generation of dcbtoi>.
after another, but we do not iind that their numberi
lessen. We have now leained that rashness and
THE RUMINATOR. l63
imprudence will not be deterred from taking credit !
Let us try, whether fraud and avarice may be more
easily restrained from giving it!" *=
It has been often observed, that the same
violence, the same indiscriminate view of things,
which, when out of power, attacks every thing,
when in power, defends any thing. The philoso-
phy of legislation is indeed a far different and loftier
attainment, than that technical skill which applies
with tolerable correctness that which has been
enacted. How wofully do men expose the narrow-
ness of their intellectual faculties and acquirements,
when they venture beyond the file of authorities,
into the expanded field of principles ! It belongs to
the {qw, to whom nature has been more prodigal,
to unite the mastery of both.
Many things, which have been long established,
are indeed founded on better reasons than we may
at first perceive: and the annihilation of them
would perhaps create chasms and inconveniencies,
not foreseen. But, on the other hand, it is per-
fectly ludicrous to suppose that every thing has
arrived at perfection, and that no amelioration in
any part of our ancient institutions is requisite.
Many corruptions have gradually grown up with
the progress of time : and many provisions have
c See the Idler, No. '12 and No, 3k
164 THE RUMINATOR.
long outlasted their causes and though originalfy
wise, are become, by change of circumstances,
highly injurious. Are we to be such bigotted
admirers of antiquity, as to endure them all with-
out an attempt at amendment ? But when the cause
of humanity is at stake j when liberty, the most
precious of our natural and civil rights is in question,
we cannot hear without horror obsolete arguments
and pedantic authorities pleaded as reasons for con-
tinuing a cruel, senseless, and in toIeral)Ie grievance;
which puts the thoughtless and unsuspicious in the
power of the revengeful, the avaricious, and the
extortionate ; which has the most direct tendency
to defeat the purpose it pretends to have in view ;
wiiich malces poverty a crime, and places the
unfortunate in the society of the felon ; which feeds
the worst passions of the relentless creditor; and
hardens the tender heart of adversity into wretched-
ness or despair !
Better were it a thousand times that credit
should be annihilated, and commerce itself perish,
than be encouraged by means like these ! The
debtors who encumber our prisons arc the disgrace
of our police. The abuses by \\ bich their debts
have been swelled, and the inexpressibly detestable
practices by which their confinement is aggravated,
nuist fill every feeling mind with a degree of indig-
nation above the power of lain^uag^Mo paiut. J'^
THE RUMINATOR. l65
Lord Moira had no other claims to public approba-
tion, this alone would stamp his merit. He is too
noble to be discouraged in his honourable under-
taking by temporary opposition. And let the
virtuous spirit of Lord Holland recollect that he
will add new laurels, to those acquired by his
honourable pursuits, by this new effort of his culti-
vated mind. It becomes a man like him, who
adorns his station with the flowers of literary genius,
thus to tread in the steps of his great uncle ! These
are the most gratefiil offerings, which he can strew
on his mighty relative's grave ! I am not ashamed
to say this, in defiance of the opposition I feel to
his political attachments,
March 17, 1808.
166
THE RUMINATOR.
N" XXVII.
On modern Poetry ; and particularly Scott's
Romance of Makmion.
While a wanton departure from ancient models
is liable to just censure, a servile adherence to them
is still more offensive. On one hand a grace may
be snatched beyond the reach of art ; on the other,
every thing must be dull and creeping. We are
apt to think highly of the ages that are past, and to
complain mechanically of the dearth of genius in
our own. In the poetical world seldom has the
complaint been more ill founded than at present.
As I would scorn to let envy suppress the praise of
my cotemporaries, so would I scorn to sacrifice my
sincerity for the purpose of flattering any one.
From my heart I believe, that, though in these
days we neither possess a Shakespeare, a Spenser,
nor a Milton, yet seldom have we had such a galaxy
of genuine poets as at present adorn this country.
A due regard to delicacy, and the just feelings of
individuals, precludes me from a regular enumera-
tion of them.
But a poem, which has been published in the
THE RtJMINATOR. 16/
present month, has filled me with delight so singu-
lar in its kindj and so high in its degree, that I will
not suppress the generous emotion of gratitude that
impels me to record my pleasure, Mr. Walter
Scott's Romance of Marmion, a Tale of Flodden
Field, contains a series of Introductory Epistles,
novel in their kind, and as highly poetical and
attractive as they are new.
The author has given its free and natural range
to a mind most richly and exquisitely adorned with
all the feelings and images of genuine poetry. How
enchanting]}', and with what ease and grace he
exercises the wiind of the magician, and brings
before us the varied and changing creations of a
moral, sentimental, and picturesque fancy, will be
better felt than expressed by every reader of taste
and sensibility ! Poetry here appears in its natural
shape, uncramped by rules, and unfettered by
proto-types.
Mason, I think, somewhere says, that what is
easy reading is not easy writing. The remark has
always struck me as singularly unhappy. Studied
wi-itings never pursue the natural association of
ideas, and are therefore seldom perused without
labour, and deliberate attention. The intermediate
links are imperceptibly dropped by the painful
composer; and all that freshness and raciness,
which finds an instant mirror in every mind, is
lOS THE UUMINATOR.
gone. Dr. Warton records a curious anecdote of
Dryden's noble Ode on Alexander's Feast, which
he says was composed at a sitting, and which
accounts for that irresistible charm of vigour and
brilliance, that penades the whole of it.
Let not idleness and imbecility lake advantage
of these remarks. Faculties of an ordinary cast
must not presume to shew their nakedness. It is
only for heads and hearts highly endowed to pour
forth their stores without premeditatioii. Others
must be left to the humbler kind of merit, that i*
attainable by study and toil. From the sacred
paths of poetry, from all that is to hurry away the
mind into scenes of imaginary splendour, they
would do well to abstain. The frigid labour of
forcing words into^rhythm, of seeking for figures in
which to invest trite thoughts, will never succeed
in producing the effects of genuine poetry. The
infatuated operator may have the luck of procuring
the praise of the mechanical critic, who judges by
rules; but the public will sleep over his work, and
then quit it for more rational prose, which has all
its merit without any of its defects.
What a contrast are the efiusions of Walter
Scott! He seizes the lyre^ and scatters about his
w ild strains at every careless touch ! His notes
THE RUMINATOK. I69
" sweet music breathe
. Above, about, or underneath.
Sent by some spirit to mortal's good.
Or th' unseen genius of the wood." **
His six epistles are addressed to 1. William
Stewart Hose, Esq. 2, The Rev. John Marriot. 3,
William Erskine, Esq. 4. James Skene, Esq. 5
George Ellis, Esq. 6. Richard Heber, Esq. The
lirst opens thus :
" Ashesteel, Ettricke Forest,
" November's sky is chill and drear,
November's leaf is red and sear :
Late, gazing down the steepy linn.
That hems our little garden in ;
Low In its dark and narrow glen
You scarce the rivulet might ken.
So thick the tangled greenwood grew.
So feeble trill'd the streamlet through :
Now murmuring hoarse and frequent seen
Through bush and brier, no longer green.
An angry brook. It sweeps the glade.
Brawls over brook and wild cascade.
And, foaming brown with doubled speed.
Hurries its waters to the Tweed.
No longer Autumn's glowing red
Upon our forest hills is shed 3
No more beneath the evening beam.
Fair Tweed reflects their purple gleam ;
f L' Allegro.
J 70 THE RUMINATOK.
Away hath pass'd the heather-bell.
That bloom'd so rich on Need-path fell.
Sallow his brows, and russet bare
Are now the sister heights of Yair.
The sheep, before the pinching heaven.
To shelter'd dale and down are driven.
Where yet some faded herbage pines.
And yet a watery sunbeam shines :
In meek despondency they eye
The withered sward and wintry skv.
And far beneath their summer hill
Stray sadly by Glcnkinnon's rill :
The shepherd shifts his mantle's fold.
And wraps him closer from the cold;
His dogs no merry circles wheel.
But, shivering, follow at his heel;
A cowering glance they often cast.
As deeper moans the gathering blast."
I cannot refrain from giving one more specimen,
taken from the Tliird Epistle.
" Thus while I ape the measure wild
Of tales that charni'd me yet a child.
Rude though they be, still with the chime
Return the thoughts of early time :
And feelings rous'd in life's first day
Glow in the line, and prompt the lay.
Then rise those crags, that niountain tower.
Which charm'd my fancy's wakening hour :
THE RUMINATOK. 1"1
Though no broad river swept along
To claim perchance heroic song ;
Though sigh'd no groves in summQr gale.
To prompt of love a softer talc ;
Though scarce a puny streamlet's speed
Claimed homage from a shepherd's reed ;
Yet was poetic impulse given
By the green hill and clear blue heaven.
It was a barren scene and wild,
Where naked cliffs were rudely pil'd;
But ever and anon between
Lay velvet tufts of loveliest green;
And well the lonely infant knew
Recesses where the wall-flower grew.
And honey-suckle loved to crawl
Up the low crag and ruined wall.
I decm'd such nooks the sweetest shade.
The sun ia all his round surveyed ;
And still I thought that shattered tower
The mightiest work of human power ;
And marvell'd, as the aged hind
With some strange tale bewitched my mind
Of Forayers, who, with headlong force,
Down from that strength had spurr'd their horse,
Tiicir southern rapine to renew.
Far in the distant Cheviots blue.
And, home returning, filled the hall
With revel, wassell, rout, and brawl.
Methought that still with tramp and clang
Tlie gate-way's broken arches rang;
1/2 THE nUMINATOR.
Methought grim features, seam'd with scars,
Glar'd through the window's rusty bars.
And ever by the winter hearth.
Old tales I heard of woe or mirth.
Of lover's sleights, of ladies' charms.
Of witch's spells, of warriors' armsj
Of patriot battles, won of old
By Wallace wight and Bruce the bold;
Of later fields of feud and sleiglit.
When pouring from their Highland height.
The Scottish clans, in headlong sway.
Had swept the scarlet ranks away.
While stretch'd at length ujwn tlie floor,
Again 1 fought each combat o'er.
Pebbles and shells, in order laid.
The mimic ranks of war displayed ;
And onward still the Scottish lion bore.
And still the scatter'd Southron fled before,"
March 17, 180S.
THE RUMINATOH. 173
It.
N XXVIII.
Genius incompatille with a narrow Taste.
That mighty gift of the Deity, which enables
mankind to cast a glance over the whole surface of
creation^ and even to penetrate occasionally with
some success into its internal movements^ is sadly
limited in its faculties by the exclusive contempla-
tion of individual excellence, even though the most
wonderful and super-eminent in the annals of
human existence.
I have therefore always thought, that the sort
of idolatry, which for nearly half a century we have
been called on to pay even to Shakspeare himself,
has been carried a little too far to be consistent
with a due expansion of our intellects, A sound
candour must admit that the words bigotry and
idolatry are indeed literally applicable to this con-
fined occupation of our taste and pleasures. Lord
Grey, on Tuesday last,"^ applied the terms besotted
bigotry to another occasion; and, whether appli-
cable ^ or not, described the evils of bigotry with
e March 15, 1808, in the House of Lords, on the Rever-
s:on Bill.
'' I do not mean to insinuate that the application was just.
On that I give no opinion. I allude to his positions as genera!
:r'.;tli-, well expressed.
1/4 THE HUMINATOK.
great force and animation of language, and a poig-.
nant acuteness of discrimination.
Warton in his account of Sackville's Gorlodiic
remarks that such has been the undistinguishing or
ill-placed fondness for the bard of Avon, that some
of his worst and most tinsel passages, and surely a
more unequal poet never wrote, have been admired
the most.
The diversities of mental excellence are endless ;
and never did Providence, in its most lavoured pro-
ductions, unite all the varied powers, of whicli the
progress of time is continually develoi)ing new
hues, lb bind ourselves fearfully to models is the
mark of a secondary genius.
When I perceive a man incapable of deriving
pleasure from more tlian one style of comjiosilion,
and dogmatising on its exclusive merit, I pit}- liis
weakness, and despise his prcsumi-tii-'ii. ^\'hen he-
narrows his curiosity cither to wliai i^ (lid or \\'hat
is new, when he confuies his praise to the dead, or
to the living, tlunigh in both case;; he is ridiculous,
perhaps his follv is more venial in the Lis(.
Why should one man of genius be envious or
jealous of another ? There is room enough iiir all.
Another thousand years may roll o\ er us without
encumbering the stores of intellectual delight, or
exhausting the topics of intellectual attention !
Even in a selfish point of view, such envy or
THE RUMINATOR. 1^5
jealousy is absurd. Can any individual, could even
the richness of Shakspeare's vein, find food enough
to satisfy the public mind ? That mind grows
voracious with indulgence 5 and the more it is
exercised, the more quantity, and the greater
variety, it requires. By the collision of intellects,
new lights are struck out, and mutual assistance is
derived for the new combinations of each. The
most happy faculties require the infusion of new
materials, which give new colours to the fancy, and
resuscitate its creations.
We talk of Shakspeare's originality. He is
original in the proper and best sense. But it is
evident that all the literature and all the topics of
his day contributed to his materials. There had
been no Shakspeare, such as he now iSj but for his
predecessors and cotemporaries.
If we speak of a more modern author, who,
however beautiful, cannot be put in the same class
witli Shakspeare, we shall be able to trace almost
all the ingredients of his pathetic and sublime com-
positions home to their sources: yet without de-
tracting much in my opinion from their merit, or
even their invention. The poet I mean is Gray.
The particles of thought, and even expressions in
numerous instances, belong to others : the comhi-
7iation is his own. His exquisite productions could
not have existed, such as they are, without the
1/6 THE KUMINATOR.
previous operation of other minds. Yet who but
Gray could have formed tliem into so new and
perfect a whole ? Let it not be supposed that he
sought these artificial aids at the hour of composi-
tion ; they had already been gradually amalgamated
in his mind ; and when the moment of inspiration
came, tliey involuntarily sprung up into their pre-
sent sliape. The Elegy, the Ode to Spring, the
Ode on Eton College, and ihe Hymn to Adversity,
seem to have been all written under one impression
of feelings. The same affecting and sublime melan-
choly pervades the whole.
Unhappy indeed is the author in whom there is
no good J from whom there is no pleasure or infor-
mation to be gleaned. E\en a slight ray of genius
will add some value to a composition. We daily
meet with readers who confine themselves to a
few authors, by whom they consider all excellence
to be engrossed. They pride themselves on the
thoiceness of their judgment; and hang over the
same strains till almost superhuman merit would
tire. When all the numeious, and varying colours
of the rainbow are displayed to our bight, shall we
content ourselves with preferring one or two simple
tints, however beautiful '
March 18, 1808.
THE KUMINATOR. 177
N XXIX.
Traits in the character of Gray the Poet.
Can we judge of a man's actions by the hues of
Ills mind? I am afraid that we cannot with any
reasonable certainty. They who are bold in intel-
lect are often timid in conduct ; and imbecility, or,
at least, a morbid delicacy, marks the personal
character of many, whose abstract sentiments arc
constantly distinguished by vigour and energy. In-
stead of withdrawing on this account our admiration
from individuals, we must only lament the incon-
sistencies of our weak and imperfect nature !
These remarks have immediately resulted from
contemplating the mental and moral trsits of Gray,
the poet. His faculties were endowed with un-
common strength ; he thought with a manly ner-
vousness ; and he penetrated forcibly to the bottotn
of every subject, which engaged his attention. But
his petty manners were disagreeably effeminate and
fastidious ; his habits wanted courage and hardiness ;
and his temper and spirits were a prey to feebleness,
indolence, and trivial derangements. His heart
r/as pure ; and his conduct, I lirmly believe, stained
178 THB BUMINATOE.
with no crime. He loved virtue for its own sake,
and felt a just, and never slackened indignation at
vice. But the little irritations of his dally temper
were too much affected by trifles; he loved to
assume the character of the fine gentleman ; a mean
and odious ambition in any one ; but scarcely to be
forgiven in a man of genius. He would shrug his
shoulders, and distort his voice into fastidious tones ;
and take upon him the airs of what folly is pleased
to call high company.
High company ! What is it ? By whom is the
name so impudently engrossed? Perhaps in any
country it is a distinction of little value ; at least it
is beneath a man of genius ; but in this country, in
the sense which it is meant to convey, it docs not
exist ! Mere wealth, however got, has been so long
allowed to obtain admission, and to form a large
portion among the upper orders of society, that it
does not even imply a prevalence of well-educated,
and early polished manners! From the changes
produced by commerce, the revenues of the old
and permanent families are inadequate to the pur-
poses of luxuries; and adventurers and placemen
enjoy, for the most part, the preeminence derived
from the splendour of money.
Gray in early hfe had lived much, and travelled,
with his intimate friend and school-fellow, Horace
Walpole; and I am afraid that there was some
THE RUMINATOR. 179
little tinge of adulation in his manners towards
him ; notwithstanding Gray's love of independence
triumphed, and separated them abroad. It was
Walpole's misfortune to be a coxcomb 5 and though
brought up under a father, who, whatever were
his merits and importance, had certainly no preten-
sions to refined and polished manners, he much
affected, as new nobility are apt to do, what is vul-
garly called the haut ton: his love of literature and
his talents (for his talents were of no mean orJer)
were constantly teaching him a better lesson ; the
whispers of authorship at times soothed him with
the hopes of a more honourable distinction ; but
his struggles are apparent, and often ridiculous j
and he could never separate the claims of the man
of fashion from those of the writer ; nor of the
writer from those of the man of fashion.
But Gray, as Mason well observes, had no pre-
tensions to the paltry superiority either of birth or
fortune; in him therefore it was a still more
lamentable foible to indulge any vanity of this kind.
Or rather to assume the first appearance of such a
weakness ; for his friends who knew him intimately,
say that on a nearer inspection it wore otF! He
was excessively shy and reseneJ ; and was content
to let it take the dress of pride and reserve.
We expect in one whose '' mind is his king-
dom," a manner careless of little observances.
180 THE RUMINATOR
absent, silent or talkative by fits, indifferent to petty
distinctions, scorning puffed-up rank, ardent in
opinion, and eloquent and forcible, if unequal, in
language. Too vehement for affectation or preci-
sion, we expect to see him with a neglected person,
and eyes beaming an irregular and fearful fire. If
there should enter one in a habit neat and studied,
with a formal and '* travelled" and artificial address ;
an effeminate voice; and looks rolling warily, as if
to catch minute breaches of form; hould we
believe that man to be a poet?
In the freedom of the closet, in the houis of
unrestrained soHtude, the little vile passions of arti-
ficial society never mingled themselves with the
purity of Gray's thoughts. There his expanded
soul contemplated nature in its general operations ;
and studied the movements of the human bosom
independent of the casual effects of particular
seasons and places. The sentiments of the Elegy
in the Churchyard must be delightful to all ranks
and conditions, in every country, and in every
state of our civilized nature.
It seems extraordinary that one, who could
write so well, should have written so little : nor
am I sure that he can be quite acquitted of having
hidden that talent, which is not given to be hidden.
" Of him to wliom much is given, much shall be
required." The larger portion, and the best, of his
THE RUMINATOH. 181
poems, were composed in the year^ in which he
lost his friend West, Did low spirits suppress his
future efforts? Or were his powers paralyzed by
too anxious a desire to preserve rather than hazard
his established fame ? Such an anxiety would prove
that timid weakness, which seems to me the main
defect in the poet's character.
Facility is acquired by practice ; and ease and
simplicity of manner, which are among the greatest
charms of composition, are the probable result.
Gray therefore might even have improved his
powers by further exercise. But even if he had
not, it becomes a manly mind not to be too fearful
of fame : we should endeavour to deserve it by
rational means j and have the fortitude to endure
the consequences, if we fail. A petty solicitude
never yet obtained its end.
It is not sufficient to feel and think poetically;
before any one can win the wreath of a poet, he
must be able to arrest, clothe in language, and
communicate to others, his thoughts. Tliis is, in
truth, the very difficulty and essence of the art ;
our ideas are so transient and fugitive, (and they
are generally so in proportion to the richness and
variety of the mind, which produces them,) that it
requires great happiness, great practice, and a great
and rapid command of words to seize and delineate
them. If they are not thus seized, if the produc-
182 TUB RUMIVATOB.
tion is the result of slow thoughts, and forced con-
ceptions, they may wear the outward form of
poetry, and obtain the praise of a cold-hearted
critic who judges by rule j but they will never ex-
hibit the ckarms of true poetry, nor be permanently
popular.
Gray therefore would have deserved still better
of posterity, if he had exerci>ed the wonderful
faculties given him by Nature more frequently.
Aprils, 1808.
TH RUUINATOR. 183
N XXX.
On the Severity of Fashionable Criticism.
Indiscriminate praise is nauseous ; but thera
Is a fashion, lately grown up, still more disgusting
than indiscriminate praise. The public is now to
be gratified by malignant criticism, exercised upon
all occasions at the expense of justice and truth.
It is a bad trait of the age, that it can be grati-
fied at such an abuse of the powers of argument
and wit. Ill temper may, no doubt, be connected
with acute discrimination and admirable faculties of
taste. But when we know that writers are actuated
by mercenary motives to feed a depravity of public
appetite, we are so far from feeling the motive to
be an apology, that we think it less excusable, than
if they were impelled by the spleen of a bitter
judgment.
To turn the tide of fashion, to counteract that
extreme to which the popular rage is always
verging, may indeed admit of some excuse, and
deserve even some praise. An insipid style of
criticism may gradually lose all the wholesome
powers of correction, which are necessary to be
18-1 THE KUMIMATOR.'
exercised by the public censors. But it is at least
equally injurious, and far more unamiable, to be
unitbim in the use of the rod ! False praise never
yet exalted the undeserving into permanent popu-
larity j false abuse has nipped the bud of many a
rising genius, and silenced many an inspired tongue
for e\'cr.
The exquisite and almost angelic strains of Kirke
White, emanating from the lips of a boy, -were
nearly extinguished by the stupid, ignorant, and
insolent sarcasms of a tasteless and presunijjtuous
reviewer ; and Cowper was told, on the publication
of his first volume, that he had not a spark of
genius, or poetical fuicy. When Charlotte Smith
first published her Sonnets, some of the hireling
critics spoke of her, as one of whom motives of
charity might induce them to speak leniently, but
who scarcely deserved a place among the meanest
of our versifiers.
lliey, who know how our \vorks of periodical
criticism are manufactured, will not wonder at
this 5 but it would be vain to dcuy tiiat they have
a temporary and wide ellect on the public. When
a certain Review came out, and I liolired it in the
possession of one, who I thought cared little about
literature, " Yes," said he, " I can take but onej
and I am determined that that shall be pujuant!"
But will not high-seasoning at last lose its effect?
THE RUMINATOR. 185
Dram-drinkers in the end lose all the pleasure of
the taste, but feel the result in the decay of their
bodily and mental faculties.
While the public keenness is thus gratified only
to have its sense of enjoyment palled, what possible
good can arise from thus damping all energy, and
even annihilating hope in the candidates for honour-
able fame ? The pretender is not deterred ; he is
too presumptuous and unfeeling ; the well-qualified
aspirer to intellectual honours shrinks like the sen-
sitive plant at the touch, and perhaps closes his
leaves, and shuts his bosom for ever!
There is no work which may not be made
ridiculous, if the sole object be to find fault j there
is none perhaps, to which ingenuity may not disco-
ver well-founded objections. Were the Paradise
Lost to be now given to the world for the first
time, how practicable it would be, according to the
modern system of criticism, to convince those who
had not seen it, that it was a work dull, prosaic,
tedious, and without a spark of genius !
April 8, ISOS.
18(5 THE AUMINATOa.
N XXXI.
On adulation rf the Great.
There is nothing so disgusting in a character
which has pretensions of its own to notice, as a
mean admiration of rank or wealth. Jt is impossible
to deny that it is a foible, which has sometimes
accompanied great abilities. Dr. Johnson had this
weakness: " His respect," says Boswell, " for the
hierarchy, and particularly for dignitaries of the
church, has been more than once exliibited in the
course of this work. Mr. Seward saw him once
presented to the Archbishop of York, and described
his bow to an Archbishop, as such a studied
elaboration of homage, such an extension of limb,
such a fle.\ion of body, as have seldom or ever been
equalled."
If genius and literature do not exalt our minds
above the influence of this vulgar kind of greatness,
how little of real dignity do they produce ! A
froward insolence to superior station arises often
from a selh.-.]i and uneducated temper ; but a com-
placent indifference to those beams of false splen-
dour, by which it too frequently attempts to dazzle
our eyes, is among the most enviable traits of a
cultivated and enlarged understanding.
Thii was one of the most prominent and admi-
THE KUMINATOR. 18/
rable of the many prominent and admirable features
of Burns the poet. No contrast between the
meanness of his own birth and early habits, and the
glare of titles and riches, overset his manly and
powerful mind. Yet he is said to have marked
well the shades between the aristocracy of rank
and the aristocracy of genius, and to have properly
allowed to each the due portion of respect.
Swift seems to have betrayed a pettish and un-
measured disregard of those, who were lifted above
him by the adventitious qualities of artificial society.
By this very sort of disregard he gave proof of the
violence of their operation on him. Had Swift
been placed by birth or fortune in the highest class,
his pride and haughtiness would have been insuffer-
able.
I despise neither titles nor wealth; I am an
aristocrat, convinced of the wisdom and necessity
of the subordination of ranks ; and by no means
unwilling to concede proper civility and precedence
to them. I would have no man, to wliom they
belong, forego them ; nor can I contemplate with
apathy the blood of illustrious ancestors flowing in
any one's veins. But when these claims of supe-
riority are put in competition with moral and intel-
lectual qualities, I feel indignant, and cannot sup-
press my contempt for the person in whose mind
they are not eclipsed.
188 THE RUMINATOR.
It has sometimes been the hard lot of men of
strong endowments to be dependents at the tables
of nobility. What can we expect from them in
this situation that is not servile and mean ?
A head and heart purged from all vain influences,
and neither cringing or insolent to the high, nor
supercilious to the low, are what we demand from
a due cultivation of the seeds of intellectual ex-
cellence.
Never was there a time when a solid under-
standing was in so little danger from the bewitching
brilliance of power, and honours, and money, as at
present. The age of the splendour of statesmen
and peers is past j we have few men of independent
estates and ancient titles ; and still fewer whose
personal qualities invest them with gioiy and com-
mand. All, or almost all, is heavy, dull, unge-
nerous, creeping, selhsh, and narrow. No Hbera)
regard to genius, no feeling of the enthusiasms of
eloquence, no sense of the splendour of the past,
no conception of " the sI:adowy tribes of mhid ;"
no conscientious delicacy towards ancient preten-
sions j but a sad and low submission to the opera-
tion of shillings and pence, covered over with new
or half-old titles, obtained by servility and corrup-
tion in othce, and considered as grounds of mono-
poly and exclusion of all but themselves !
How very short a space has elapsed, since we
THE RUM I NAT OK. 180
were illuminated by the radiant talents of Burke,
Fox and Pitt together ; and we had shining in the
same sphere many other men, great by nature, who
are all now silent in the grave ! A dull and fearful
calm has succeeded the bright storms of their
amazing powers.
In the annals of human nature, Plutus has been,
a god always too much worshipped, and generally
from the most sordid motives. Hateful dispositions,
which esteem every thing attractive and amiable in
the rich, and every thing wrong or unworthy of
notice in the poor and the humble ! Which can
find wit in the silly jests of the purse-laden fool ;
and cannot listen to wisdom itself from the lips of
one who possesses neither fortune nor rank !
To weak minds there is much in the show of
equipages and attendants, and gaudy houses, and
splendid dress ; to the sensual there is much in the
loxury of well-covered tables ; and to the interested
there are attractions hi the spoils of patronage.-
We see these delusions operating on understandings,-
from which nature had promised better things.
But all I shall say further at present of any one,
under such influence is the following citation :
" Hie niger est : hunc tu, Romane, caveto !"
. Aprils, 1808.
IPO THE RUMINATOR.
N XXXII.
Character of, and Extracts, from HalingdoTis
Castara.
As it has been insinuated, I think a httle hardly,
that my essays, having httle relation to ancient
literature, are not sufficiently connected with the
prirrjary object of the Censura," I shall fill the present
paper with extracts from an old poet, whose com-
positions appear to me to have been most unjustly
neglected.
William Habingdon, a Worcestershire gentle-
man, of noble alliances, flourished in the reign of
Charles I. He was born at Hendlip, Nov. 4,
l605. His mother was Mary sister to William
Parker, Lord Morley and Monteagle ; and is sup-
posed to be the person who wrote the warning
letter to her brother, which led to the discovery of
the Gun-powder Plot. Her husband, and son, were
bigoted Catholics. William married Lucy daugh-
ter of William Herbert, Lord Powis, \\ hose mother
was a Percy ; and this Lady, under the cliaracter
of Castaka, formed the principal subject of his
poems, which were first published in 1635, Svo.
s la which these Essays first appeareJ.
THE RUMINATOR. IQI
and again under the title of Castara; and had a
third edition under the last title, l640, 12mo.
They possess much elegance, much poetical
fancy, and are almost every where tinged with a
deep moral cast, which ought to have made their
fame permanent. Indeed I cannot easily account
for the neglect of them. I do not mean that they
are not very commonly known among collectors ;
but the public is little acquainted with them.
The following extracts have not hitherto, I
believe, been offered to the notice of modern
readers. They are replete with those ethical charms
which make them not ill-placed in a Ruminator.
" To my ivortliy Cousin Mr, E. C. In praise
of the City Life in the long Vacation,
" I like the green plubh whicli jour meadows wear,
I praise your pregnant fields, which dulv bear
Their wealthy burden to th' industrious boor;
Nor do I disallow that who are poor
In mind and fortune, thither should retire;
But hate that he, who's warm with holy fire
Of any knowledge, and 'mong us may feobt
On nectar'd wit, should turn himself to a beast.
And graze i' th' country. Why did Nature wrong
So much her pains, as to give you a tongue
And fluent language; if converse you hold
With oxen in the stall, and sheep i' 'th' fold?
192 THB RUMINATOR.
But now it's long vacation, vou will say ;
The town is empty ; and whoever may
To th' pleasure of his country home repair,
Fiies from th' infection of our London air.
In this your error. Now's the time alone
To live here, when the City Dame is gone
T" her house at Brentford ; for beyond that, she
Imagines, there's no land but Barbary,
Where lies her husband's factor. When from hence
Rid' is the Country Justice, whose non-sense
Corrupted had the language of the iim,
Where he and his horse litter'd; we begin
Tu live in silence, when the noise of th' Bench
Not deafens Westminster, nor corrupt French
Walks Fleetstreet in her gown. Ruffs of the Bar,
By the Vacation's power, translated are
To cut-work bands. And who were busy here.
Are gone to sow sedition in the Shire.
The air by this is purg'd, and the Term's strife
Thu.i fled the city, we the civil life
Lead happily. When in the gentle way
Of noble mirth I have the live-long day
Contracted to a moment, I retire
To my Castara ; and meet such a fire
Of mutual love; that if the city were
Infected, tliat would purify the air."
THE KUMINATOR. I(l3
" To my noblest Friend I. C. Esq.
SIR,
" I hate the countrj''s dirt and manners, yet
I love the silence ; I embrace the wit
And courtship, flowing here in a full tide.
But loath the expense, the vanity, and pride.
No place each way is happy. Here I hold
Commerce with some, who to my ear unfold,
(After a due oath minister'd) the height
And greatness of each star shines in the state ;
The brightness, the eclipse, the influence.
With others 1 commune, who tell me whence
The torrent doth of foreign discord flow ;
llelate each skirmish, battle, overthrow.
Soon as they happen ; and by rote can tell
Those German towns, e'en puzzle me to spell.
The cross or prosperous fate of Princes they
Ascribe to rashnes, cunning, or delay ;
And on each action comment with more skill.
Than upon Livy did old Machiavil.
O busy folly! Why do I my brain
Perplex with the dull policies of Spain,
Or quick designs of France? Why not repair
To t'.ie pure innocence o' th' country air ;
And neighbour thee, dear friend ; who so dost give
Thy thoughts to worth and virtue, that to live
Blest is to trace thy ways ? There might not we
Arm against passion with philosophy;
o
igA THE RUMINATOR.
And by the aid of leisure so controul
Whate'er is earth in us, to grow all soul ?
Knowledge doth ignorance engender, when
We study mysteries of other men.
And foreign plots. Do but in thy own shade,
(Thy head upon some flowery pillow laid
Kind Nature's housewifery) contemplate all
His stratagems, who labours to enthrall
The world to his great master ; and you'll find
Ambition mocks itself and grasps the wind.
Not conquest makes us great. Blood is too dear
A price for glory : Honour doth appear
To statesmen like a vision in the night;
And juggler-like works o' th' deluded sight:
The unbusied only wise; for no respect
Endangers them to error; they affect
Truth in her naked beauty, and behold
Man with an equal eye ; not fraught in gold
Or tall in title : so much him they weigh.
As virtue raiseth him above his clay.
Thus let us value things ; and since we find
Time bends us towards death, let's in our mind
Create new youth, and arm against the rude
Assaults of age; that no dull solitude
Of ih' country dead our thoughts ; nor busy care
O' tb' town make us not think, where now we are.
And wliithex we are bound. Time ne'er forgot
His journey, though his steps we number'd nor. "
THB EUMINATOR. "igS
'* To the Rt. Honourable Archibald Earl of Argyle.
" If your example be obey'd.
The serious few will live i' th' silent shade;
And not eiidanger by the wind,
Or sunshine, the complexion of their mind :
Whose beauty wears so clear a skin.
That it decays with the least taint of sin.
Vice grows by custom, nor dare we
Reject it as a slave, where it breathes free ;
And is no privilege denied;
Nor, if advanced to higher place, envied.
Wherefore your Lordship in yourself
(Nor launch'd far in the main, nor nigh the shelf
Of humbler fortune) lives at ease.
Safe from the rocks o' the shore, and stars o' th' seas.
Your soul's a well-built city, where
There's such munitions, that no war breeds fear:
No rebels wild distractions move;
For you the heads have crush'd ; Rage, Envy, Love;
And therefore you defiance bid
To open enmity, or mischief hid
In fawning hate and supple pride,
W ho are on every corner fortified.
Your youth, not rudely led by rage
Of bloo.l, is now the story of your age.
Which without boast you may aver,
'Fore blackest danger glory did prefer;
igO THE EUMINATOR.
Glory, not purchas'd by the breath
Of sycophants, but by encountering death.
Yet wildness, nor the fear of laws
Did make you fight, but justice of the cause;
For but mad prodigals they are
Of fortitude, who for itself love war.
When well-made peace h,nd clos'd the ej'ei
Of Discord, Sloth did not your youth surprise.
Your life as well as power did awe
The bad, and to the good was the best law ;
When most men virtue did pursue.
In hope by it to grow in fame like you.
Nor when you did to court repair.
Did you your manners alter with the air.
You did your modesty retain.
Your faithful dealing, the same tongue and brain.
Nor did all the soft flattery there
Inchant vou so, but still you truth could hear.
And though your roofs were richly gilt
The basis was on no ward's ruin built.
Nor were your vassals made a prey.
And forc'd to curse the coronation day.
And though no bravery was known
To outshine yours, you only spent your own.
For 'twas the indulgence of fate
To give y' a moderate mind and bounteous state.
But I, my Lord, who have no friend
Of fortune, must begin where you do end.
'Tis dang'rous to approach the fire
Of action, nor is't safe fur to riiirc :
THE KUMIWATOR. 1Q7
Yet better lost i' th' multitude
Of private men, than on the state t' intrude.
And hazard for a doubtful smile
My stock of fame, and inward peace to spoil.
I'll therefore nigh some murmuring brook.
That wantons thro' my meadows, with a book ;
With my Castara, or some friend,
My youth not guilty of ambition spend!
To my own shade, if Fate permit,
I'll whisper some soft music of my wit j
And flatter so mvself, I'll see
By that, strange motion steal into the tree.
But still my first and chiefest care
Shall be t' appease offended heaven with prayer ;
And in such mould my thoughts to cast.
That each day shall be spent as 'twere my last,
How'er its sweet lust to obey.
Virtue, tho' rugged, is the safest way." '^
April 10, 1S08.
^ A very different character of Lord Argyle is insinusted
in this poem, from that which has been drawn by Lord
Ciarendon.
IflB THE EUMINATOU,
N" XXXIII.
Fian/i, and Riches, and Ease of Heart, not favour-
aide to Intellectual Exertion.
It seems as if prosperity, rank, and riches have
not been well calculated to produce energetic exer-
tions of the mind. The number of peers in this
country who hav-e aspired to the fame of poets has
been very small. The list may be almost limited
to the following. The Earl of Surrey, Lords Vaux
and Rochford, Lord Buckhurst, Lord Brooke, the
Earls of Rochester and Roscommon, the Duke of
Buckinghamshire, Lord Halifax, Lord Lansdowne,
and Lord Lyitelton.' It appears that beds of roses,
and adventitious distinctions keep our imperfect
nature, which requires violent stimulants, in a state
of too much languor and indolence.
Of the noble authors whom I have named,
there ^e but three who deserve extraordinary praise.
Lord Surrey and Lord Buckhurst will always stand
preeminent in tlie annals of Engllsii literature for
their genius, without reference to tlieir station ;
and their works have to this day lost little <if theii
attraction in the judgment of any who can feel the
' How prnisc-wort'-y t!icn a:e tli': (.xert'KJiis of :\ living
]'oct J.L-ni liyron' IHIJ.
THE RUMINATOK. 1^9
force of true poetry. They would form an excep-
tion to my position, if we did not recollect the
times in which they wrote. Lord Surrey almost
from his cradle to his death must have been subject,
not merely to all the fatigues and dangers of adven-
trous warfare, but to the anxieties and insecurities
arising as well from the yet unsubsided effects of
bloody civil commotions, and of the animosity of
rival parties, as from the caprices of a jealous,
despotic, and unrelenting monarch. Perils and
"^ hair-breadth 'scapes;" the alternations of hope
and fear, kept all his faculties in motion ; and gave
a vivid colouring to his sentiments. He " dipped
his pencil in the living hues of nature," and his
tints are not yet faded.
But Lord Euckhurst lived something later. He
saw indeed his latter days crowned with peace, and
riches, and titles. And then, alas ! the lyre was
mute. It was in the blood-thirsty reign of Mary,
when the axe was lifted, and the stake blazed
through the kingdom, that his agitated powers
brought forth the Legend of the Duke of Bucking-
ham ; and its sublime and picturesque Induction.
J>ord Lyttelton, whose genius cannot be put in
the same class with that of either of these great
bards, but who, among the present list, stands next
to them in merit, lived in a more caln:i and luxurious
200 THK- RUMINATOR,
age. But they, who knew him best, have re-
corded that his hfe was a life of domestic affliction.
His adversity might perhaps be salutary to the
vigour of his intellect ; and bring forth some of
those tender fruits which all good and feeling minds
mnst venerate. Nature had given him talents more
elegant than forcible ; more plaintive than sublime.
But he, who is incapable of admiring the purity,
sweetness, and benevolence of his character, his
virtuous affections, and great acquirements, has a
head and heart not to be envii^^d. If we cast our
eyes attentively through the registers of the English
Peerage, we shall find i'cw, whose memories are on
the whole entitled to so much love and esteem as
that of George Lord Lyttelton !
We all wish for leisure, and silence, and exemp-
tion from biting cares, to enable us to execute those
fond schemes, which our hopes flatter us we are
capable, under better opportunities, of realising.
jNlilton in his youth hinted at tlie future glories he
should beam forth, when at his ease, and " not in
these nijises !" The hour of silence indeed came;
the silence of poverty and neglect ; but neither
carelessness of mind, nor exemption even from dark
and almost overwhelming anxieties. Blind, poor,
exposed to insult, and threatened with frightful
d..ngers, he seemed to call forth a double portion
THE EUMINATOR. 201
of Strength ; he threw off the hicumbent weight
like a giant, and behold ! the Paradise Lost broke
out in all its splendour !
The vuihappiness of poets is proverbial, and the
malignity of the world is fond of attributing it to
their own imprudences. But from \\ hat causes do
those imprudences arise ? From directing their minds
into excursions beyond themselves ; from not con-
fining their attention and talents to lay plots for,
and watch ovei', their own selfish interests ! Perhaps
however even this unhappiness, though it be a sad
price to pay for the favours of the Muse, tends,
for the reasons I have given, to invigorate their
faculties, and give more alfecting tones to the effu-
sions of their lyre ! Yet let not their persecutors
thus satisfy their consciences; in them the crime
becomes not only cruel, but brutal; and they must
only expect to be held up, as they deserve, accord-
ing to a favourite quotation,
" Fit garbage for the hell-hound Infamy!"
/.pn! 11, 180b,
202 THE RUMINATOR.
N XXXIV.
A familiar poetical Epistle to n Friend, expressive
of private Melancholy .
BT A CORRESPONDENT.
TO THE RUMINATOR.
tiRy May 10, ISCS.
As you seem inclined to vary your papers
by a mixture of poetry with your prose, I solicit
admission for the following familiar Epistle, written
literally currente calamo, by a very dear friend.
As it contains some moral touches, I hope ii will
not dishonour your ruinviations . To secure its in-
sertion, I leave the name of the person, who is
responsible for it, with your Printer. L. L. Z.
Familiar Epistle to the Rev. M P
April 13, 1803.
Dear P*nn***'*'*n, whose full-stor"d miud
Is with all varied wealth refin'd.
Permit me thus to scrawl at case^
Without e'en the attempt to please \
Thy mighty intellect can spy
In rudest scrawls ability j
THE RUMINATOR. 203
And can with kindest candour sigh
O'er casual imbecility !
Born of a race, whose mighty powers
O'er Europe's wide domains are known,^ 10
Thy judgments no vile envy sours.
Thy censure takes no petty tone.
Learning and taste alike combine
The fiat of thy thoughts to sign ;
And Genius, fairest of the three,
Is proud to own her strains in thee.
How oft with rapture do I hear
The enlighten'd words thy lips endear;
Oft on thy heart's decrees repose.
Whence goodness as from fountains flows ! 20
To me in candour wilt thou listen,
Tho' in my strains no genius glisten ?
Alas ! thou know'st not, how distracted
The cares that on my brain have acted;.
My spirits low, my body weak,
I scarce in languid tone can speak.
Unless with agonized eyes
Loud indignation's tones arise.
Then leave me once again to languor.
Forgot the very sighs of anger ! 30
Ah ! thy more placid bosom knows
Not the wild rage, in me that glows;
'* This alluc'es to the fame of the learned Mri. E. C .
304 THE RUMINATOR.
Nor aught of the untam'd emotions,
That agitate my ill-starr'd notions :
But thou the tumult wilt forgive.
In which by fate's decree I live !
When night's black shades invest the sky.
Doubtful of rest, iho' tir'd, I fly
To bed, where sleep my frame may bless
With transient forgetfulness ! 40
But all the horrid thoughts of day
Come in a doubly-dark array ;
And tear my bosom, and affright
My fancy with their glaring light !
O whence these tumults of my breast,
why, when other bosoms rest.
Should thus my ease of mind be crost ?
Should thus my life in cares be lost?
What special crimes have cast their stain.
Unworn by years of grief and pain ? 60
1 wander thro' the fields of morn,
I strive my temples to adorn
With all the simplest flowers, that grow
Beneath, the spring's first genial glow j
I dress my humble mental powers
With learning's gems, and fancy's flowers ;
I strive my heart to raise above
The selfish wordling's grovelling love.
And lift its bold aflections high
On mighty views beyond the sky. 6o
THE RUMINATOB. 205
But traverst still, and still opprest,
I never know an hour of rest ;
Some insult breaks my wise resolves ;
Some new injustice, that involves
My tinder passions in a flame.
Rises my dying strength to claim.
There are, my friend, who still survey
My irritations as their prey ;
Who see indignant bursts, with joy.
My vital energy destroy ; J(t
And laugh to view th' exhausting pains
I feel, in struggling with my chains.
" He whom the world a prophet deem.
In his own land has small esteem :"
Ah ! friend, I own it with a sigh.
Nor prophet nor yet bard am I !
But still if they, as well they may.
Refuse such praise as this to pay,
The good denied, they might as well
Leave me without the attendant ill ! 80
I've often heard it said, there is
In the mind's own exertions bliss;
And bliss there is; for were there not.
The bard's would be a hapless lot.
God help him ! how would he endure
The laugli of the conceited boor.
The coxcomb's sneer, the cynic's frown,
I'he giggle of the senseless town.
206 THE RUMIXATOR.
The tieach'rous critic's cover'd guile.
And yellow Envy's pallid smile. (JO
Bursting with undiminished fires.
To his own mind the bard retires :
Within himself the kingdom lies.
Which moves his heart and feasts his eyes :
Umbrageous groves around him spring,
Sweet birds within their coverts sing,
Streams murmur, meadows smile^ fair maids
Dance or breathe love within the shades.
And harps from fairy castles sound.
Where feast and revelry abound. 100
Alas ! too soon the vision flies ;
In distant air the music dies,
And leaves him with exhausted frame
To mourn the void of phantom Fame '
E'en now I sit with aching head.
And limbs in listless languor spread.
While trembling hand can scarce impart
The dictates of a sinking heart :
Yet thus I cheat the weary hours.
While sable Care incumbent lours; 1 10
And bring my life's o'erwhelming woes
A little nearer to the close.
The mark of Calumny and Wrong,
I stand Unkindncss' sons among ;
And they, who dare not insult shov',
Whc]-e prosperous Fortune knits Iier brow,
THE RUMINATOE. 207
Dare heap, as with impunity.
Their contumelious wrongs on me;
120
..... the ties of blood undone !
Paternal acres, lov'd, ador'd.
That could my infant days afford
Such pure delights, is rise again.
With rapture that amounts to oain^
Is there
}
Full many a year of blackest grief
I still have nurs'd the fond belief, 130
The time at last would come, when I,
Repaid for all my agony.
In age's hour should sit at ease
Beneath hereditary trees.
And calmly should descend to death,
"Where first I drew this hapless breath !
The stormy noon, when from the wave
I scarce the batter'd bark could save,
Tims by the contrast might diffuse
O'er my life's evening brighter hues, 140
O fond delusion ! sabler spread
The shades that thicken round my head ;
And, dark as was the storm of noon.
Still heavier may the tempest soon
208 THE RUMINATOR.
The vessel's weaken'd powers assail.
And whelm me headlong in the gale :
Youth's vigour lost, Hope's anchor gone,
Then Fate itself must cry, " undone."
" There is a home," my friend will say,
" Shining beyond yon milky way, 150
Where, (if on earth no peace abound,)
Nor storms molest, nor cares si;rround ;
There point thy hopes, and strive to win.
By that true monitor within.
Yon seat of rest, where seraphs blaze ;
Encircled with perennial rays !"
'Tis true, dear friend ; then I must close
This lengthen'd dreaming, feverish prose.
And you'll believe me, &c. &c. 159
THE RUMIN'ATOK. 20g
N XXXV.
A Second Familiar Epistle to afwther Friend.
By THE SAME CORRESPONDENT.
To the Rev. C W s.
April 18f 1803.
" Complain ; for ever still complain !
O cease, my friend, the doleful strain !
No ills beyond the common fate
The future years, thou dread'^t, await !
Then let your fancy dwell no more
On joys you never can restore.
Or storms, that in your fancy's eye
Are gathering in the distant sky!"
Well dost thou say : perchance no good
It is, o'er coming glooms to brood : 10
Then let me strive to while away
In present good the careless day.
Walk, ride, dig, saunter in the shade.
Or stray, where bards before have stray'd,
Along the meads, whose emerald green
To glow with new-sprung tints is seen ;
Or sit at ease, and pour along
My unpremeditated song,
p
210 THE RUMINATOR.
While varied visions play about
My mind in strange and motley rout. 20
They all are cheats, these charms of life
For which we make such fretful strife ;
Wealth, honours, fame, and gaudy show, .
Empty as bubbles that we blow ;
And he who can, the easiest way.
With innocence beguile the day.
And soonest reach life's feverish close.
Where all our passions will repose.
Is, after all, in reason's eyes.
The best, the happiest, and most wise. 30
Why should I vex my morbid frame
With thoughts, that put me in a flame ?
With anger at the scoundrel's wiles.
Whose infamy my pen defiles ?
With scorn, that breaks its just control.
At the poor insults of a fool ?
With Treachery's trick, and'Faiseliood's vow.
And chang'd Affection's alter'd brow t
While Competence will yet bestow 40
The little that we want below.
The frugal meal, the simple vest.
The roof, tho' straw-built ; what's the rest ?
Superfluous luxury, that ne'er
Could lull to sleep a single care !
Fortune, that jade, may on us frown,
And think to keep our spirits down ;
THE KUMINATOR. 5H,1
But can she bar the morning's gate.
When she comes dancing forth in state.
And throws her orient beams around.
With dew-drops spangHng all the ground ? 50
Can she suppress the gales that bring
Delightful odours on their wing?
Can she, when Evening sails along,
JLed by the nightingale's sweet song.
And murmuring sounds and dying wind
Soothe to deep peace the pensive mind.
And the Muse whispers in the ear
Notes, it is ecstasy to hear 5
Can she affright the Nymph away ;
Or rudely tear her mantle grey ? 60
Ah ! can she rob us of the lore.
That Genius treasures in h^ store ?
The glowing thought, the golden forms.
Which into life rich Fancy warms ?
The heart that /trembles, or that fires.
With all that Love or Fame inspires ?
The soul, above the ills of fate.
Within itself sublimely great ?
Avaunt then to these low-born cares.
Beneath whose power my manhood wears ! yo
And different be the star, that guides
My tossing vessel o'er the tides !
To Ease and Mirth I'll give the sway 3
And while my thoughtless life away.
Reckless Qf its concluding day 5
212 THE RUMINATOR.
Whether its sand be ebbing fast ;
Or dim and distant be its last !
Methinks, this beauteous orb can show
Much for pure Admiration's glow ;
The laughing earth ; the radiant bow
That shines above, what time the Morn
Begins this scene of things adorn ;
Or when at Night the planets vie
With radiant blaze amid the sky :
And e'en the human tribe among,
Tho' much abounds for Satire's song,
Tho' vile Self-Interest far prevails.
And Scandal tells her poison'd tales j
Tho' Malice grins, and Cruelty " 9^)
Inflicts her blood-stain'd agony ;
Yet he, who looks with eye inclin'd
Pleasure and love alone to find.
Perchance may see, in most he meets.
Something, his better hope that greets !
To smile at wrong ; but when we^iew
An honest heart, believe it true ;
Cherish the treasure, and requite
Its kindling movements with delight !
Of Nature's ever-varying hues
Not beauty in a tint to lose, iOO
Is that divine philosophy.
Which best becomes the wise to try !
Sorrow may for a casual hour
The sinking spirits still o'erpowcr ;
THE RUMINATOR. ,213
Disease may still the frame torment j
And Spleen her transient sourness ventj
Injustice may thy claims withhold.
And prosperous Wealth reign uncontroll'd ;
And Fiends, as Indignation boils.
Have a brief triumph in their wiles ! 110
But Cheerfulness will soon resume
Her light, the brow to re-illume.
And the calm sunshine of the breast .\
Will sooth uneasy cares to rest !
Sure Nature never could design
This earthly frame, (tho' sparks divine
Are with its grosser matter mix'd,)
On constant thinking to be fix'd !
The mind, intensely thus employ'd.
By its own etfbrts is destroy'd ; 120
And feebly sinks the body's power,
Which the brain's fevers soon devour.
Some mortal pleasure we require
IMingled with inttllectual fire ;
For here, alas ! the embodied soul
Struggles in vain against control ;
And best its happier weapon wields.
When to its fate it sometimes yields.
Be mine th.en in my future days
Not to such heights my thoughts to raise ; 130
Nor seek, since I m.ust seek in vain,
Realms of such shadowy light to gain ;
214 THE Kt^MINATOR.
But play, like those of humbler aim.
And liumour this imperfect frame ;
And walk, and ride, and talk, and smile.
Like those whom no jjroud hopes b.guile j
And, loit'ring in heaven's freshest air.
Its balmy bracing blessings share !
For shattered now is every nerve ;
And my limbs from their duty swerve j 1-10
And aching head and trembling hand
Will soon refuse my mind's command.
Yet if like others I had sought
In fields and woods for health unbought,
Perchance this form, mid squires and boors.
In pastimes rude liad shewn its po\\ers ;
And sinewy arm and ruddy mien
Had laugh'd to scorn Disease and Spleen.
If in my head, in varied maze,
^\'ilh fire unquench'd idens blaze j 150
\i in my heart sad tenderness
Incessant rules to wild excess ;
Can these the loss of liealih requite,
The careless day, th.e sUimbrous night.
The body, thro' whose purple veins
Strength, freedom, ease, and pleasure reigns?
I'hen thoughts that breathe, and words that warm.
Which no pale agonies deloim,
(While ^oi:'e of music plays it part,)
Send their full rai^tures to the heart ! \ 60
TIIE RUMINATOR. 215,
But ah! while pines this mould of clay
Discordant to the mental ray.
Upon the altar of the mind
Vain burns the inward fire enshrin'd, l64
2l6 THE RUMINATOR.
N XXXVI.
On the Thiological JVritings of Grotlus.
FOR THE RUMIX.VTOR.
CIR,
You may, perhaps, remember to have
heard, in your earlier days, the vulgar proverb,
" give a dog an ill name and hang him." lAke
mo.it other popular maxims it has its foundation iu
truth J and the qualities imputed to men as well as
dogs do not, in general, so mueh depend upon
realities, as upon casual report ; or, according to the
elegant expre^^ion of Horace, arl-'itilu [xipularis
aurce. The converse also of this propcj^ition is
equally true, and it is usuaily found that when a
man has acquired a great reputation the world is
Fuiliciently disposed to acquiesce in it, and not onlv
to allow him the merit which he really has, biTt to
ascribe to him also that w hich he has not. The
tnngni iininhiis uniira, (if I may so apj'lv it)
becomes a covering for ignorance and presiunption,
and sometimes even l()r folly ; for the gixMter part
of the world are not cai)able of distinguishing be-
twd-cn false and true pretensioa--^ ; and those who
THE RUMINATOn. 21/
are, e'lther are. afraid of popular clamour, or think
that error will at length be discovered without their
assistance.
I am almost afraid to usher in by these observa-
tions the venerable name of Grotius. " Is Grotius,"
it will be said, " liable to these imputations ;
Grotius to whom all Europe is so indebted, to^
whom the cause of revealed religion owes so much ;
Grotius, the statesman, the soldier, the ci\ ilian, and
the theologian ?" Had he not been a theologian,
there would have been no cause for this caution
concerning him ; but notwithstanding the depth of
his learning, the excellency of his moral character,
and the sincerity of his belief, of which I am firmly
persuaded, I cannot help thinking that it will admit
of a doubt whether he has not done more harm
than o'ood to the Christian relii'^ion. So o;reat is
the authoritvof iiis name, and so high his character,
tlial even among divines there is scarcely allowed an
appeal trom his tlccision ; aiid there is hardly to be
found a single work, relating to scriptural subjects,
in which Grotius is not quoted. One reason for
this high opinion of his judgment is, that he was
not of the cleiical order ; for, strange as it may
seem., there exists a strcng prejudice in the world
in favour of lay writers on divinity. Yet would a
commentary on the laws carry more weight with
it because written by a clergyman, or a treatise on
218 THE HUMINATOK.
physic because written by a lawyer' If not, why
should it be supposed that a layman can write, in a
more instructive and convincing manner than a
clergyman can do, upon the very subject which he
has made the chief study of his life ?
The principal, if not the only theological works
of Grotius, are his voluminous commentaries on the
Old and New Testaments, and a small treatise
" On the Truth of the Cliristian Religion." Both
these are written in good Latin, but the former is
liable to many objections. One of the greatest of
these arises from the too great regard w hich he pays
to Talniudic fables and Talmuuic interpretations,
which may be productive of very bad consequences
to the incautious. It was obviously the view of
the later Jews to insert in their I'almuds such in-
terpretations of the scriptures as might justliy their
rejection of Jesus as the promised Mess. ah. For
this reason they appropriated a great number of l]ie
most striking prophecies wliich were lulfilled h/
different circumstances of the life of Jesus, to David,
Hezekiah, Zerubbabel, Judas iMaccab-tus, r.r.d
others, rejecting, for tlie most part, all typical and
secondary applications. And in tliis unfair and
erroneous manner of interpreting prophecy, Grotii's
generally agrees with them, and quotes these writ-
ings as authority J although none of tiiem wcie
extant prior to the dcsnuction of Jeiu.->y-Lin, and
THE RUMINATOR. 21p
some of them even disagree with their oldest Tar-
gums, of which that of Jonathan, at least, was pub-
lished before the coming of Christ.
Misled in this manner, even one of the clearest
as well as most celebrated prophecies, contained in
the tifty-second and fifty-third chapters of Isaiah,
Grotius applies almost wholly to the prophet Jere-
miah ; nor does he ever mention the name of Christ
in his notes on it, but in the first verse of the fifty-
third chapter, v.hen he says " Hae notae in Jere-
miam cougruunt prius, sed potius in Christum,"
and then proceeds to explain the whole chapter as
relating to Jeremiah. And this is the more extra-
ordinary, as in his book on the Truth of the Christian
Religion, published afterwards, he expressly affirms
that this prophecy can agree to no one but to
Christ.'
But the limits of this pnpcr will not admit of all
the passages being pointed out in which this eminent
scholar contradicts himself His work on the Truth
of the Christian Religion, ^\ hich was written sub-
sequent to his Commentaries, is much more valu-
able tlian they aie. It ha.j always been much and
deservedly esteemed as an excellent manual, urging
in a clear, forcible, easy, and popular st}le, the
' Quis potest nominari aut regiirn, z\.\X. prof hf.'aruTji in qv.cr*
hsec conjruuui? Nemo sane, De Viuitat. Lib. V. 19.
220 THE KUMINATOR.
principal arguments which establish the certaintj
of the divine origin of the religion of Christ ; and
many of these are such as he does not allow in his
Cominentanes to relate to him. In the fifth book
of this work he mentions a very remarkable anec-
dote which has puzzled all his various editors, as he
quotes no authority for it. He says, in speaking of
the time foretold by Daniel, for the appearance of
the Messiah, that it agreed so exactly with the
coming of Christ, that a Jewish doctor, named
Nehumias, who lived about fifty years before the
birth of our Lord, said that it was impossible that
the coming of the Messiah could be delayed more
than fifty years from that time. Leclerc observes,
in a note, that Grotius ought to have mentioried
from wiience he had tliis story ; but he thinks,
that in one of his letters to his brother, he says,
that he was told it by a Jew. Dr. Jenkins, how-
ever, in his book " On the Reasonableness and
Certainty of the Christian Religion," fifth edition,
says, that Grotius took it from the Talmud, and he
also refers for it to " Siirrao. Epist." a work with
which I am entirely unacquainted. If, however,
it had been in either of the I'almuds, it would
hardly have escaped the researches of the learned
as well as industrious Dr. Lighifi)ot, who makes no
allusion to it. Yet it is surprising that neither I.e-
clerc^ nor his translator. Dr. Clark, should know
THE RUMINATOR. 221
that this circumstance is to be found at length in
Purchas's Pilgrimage, p. 144, first edition, who
quotes for it the authority of Petrus Galatinus, a
Franciscan monk, who wrote a book against the
Jews in 1520, " De Arcanis Catholicse veritatis."
But Galatinus himself is said by Moreri to have
been indebted for the substance of his work to
Porchet, who also borrowed it from Raymond
Martin.
I have never been able to meet with any of
these three last mentioned works, and shall think
myself much indebted to any of your learned
readers who can tell me, through you, what autho-
rity any of them give for this curious and interesting
anecdote. Your deep -read correspondent who
writes under the signature of 5. may, possibly, be
able to atibrd me this satisfaction ; which would be
very gratifying to many others as well as to myself.
As a conclusion I send you Grotlus's Epitaph,
which I copied in l/Ql from his tomb at Delft,
and which, I believe, has never been in print.
" This venerable Correspondent accordingly answered the
inquiry, in Censura Literaria, vol. viii. p. 173, 303, 333, to
which it is necess;:ry to refer, as too long for insertion here.
It seems that the work of Galatinus was first published in 1515,
and Porchet's in 1520; but that the work of Martini, who died
abcut 1^:84, remained in MS. till it was published at Paris in
1651.
222 I'HE RUMINATOR,
" Epitaph on Grotius, at Delft, in the New Church.
*' Prodigium Europa?, docti stupor unlcus orbis.
Naturae augustum se superantis opas,
Ingenii coelestis apex, virtutis imago,
Celsius humana conditione decus ;
Cui peperit Libani lectos de vertice cedros
Defensus verae religionis honor ;
Ouein lauru Mavors, Pallas decoravit olivA,
Quum bello et paci publica jura daret ;
Queni Tamesis Batavai miraclum & sequana terris
Vidit, & adscrivit Sueonis aula sibi,
Grotius hie situs C5t tumulo di^cedite, quos nou
!Musarum & Patriae; fervidus urit amor."
June 1, 1808.
THE RUMINATOR. 223
N" XXXVII.
Story of an Eccentric Character.
TO THE RUMINATOR.
SIR,
As you love to ruminate on the energies
and varieties of the human character, you will not
perhaps dislike the account of a very extraordinary
one, that came v/ithin my observation a few years
ago, of which I shall be glad if this communication
draws forth any further intelligence.
In the skirts of one of our few remaining ancient
forests, near which however were several venerable
mansions still inhabited by respectable families,
stands in a recluse dingle a solitary cottage, which
yet exhibits marks of neatness and elegance superior
to its rank. I never pas-i this cottage without many
mingled emotions of anxiety and respect. I think
ten years have elapsed ihis very spring, since I was
in the habits of meeting almost daily in its environs
a young man of most interesting but neglected
appearance, whose air had every appearance of
education and high birth. He seemed reserved,
and desirous to avoid notice ; but my curiosity .was
awaPcened, and I traced him, without being seen, to
224 THK RUMIN'ATOR.
this cottage, where I soon learned that he had taken
up his abode.
I gradually insinuated mj'self into his acquaint-
ance ; and in some degree won his confidence,
though there were many parts of his story, which
I never could penetrate. The name he assumed
was Longford ; but that undoubtedly was not his
real name. His countenance was uncommonly
handsome, except that it was somewhat severe and
" Sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought."
His eyes, though generally gloomy, reflected at
times every variation of the soul. He was dark,
tall, muscular, but rather thin ; and, if his mien
was too often languid, it occasionally displayed
vigour and activity.
For what purpose he had sought this retreat,
and whence he had immediately come, I never
coujd entirely satisfy myself. He discovered at
times the strongest marks of pride and ambition of
any man with whom I have ever conversed. In-
deed the fragments of mysterious story, which I
gradually extracted from him, would, if true,
account for these strong traits of character.
He appeared to be labouring under some vehe-
ment disappointment ; and struggling with terrific
difficulties. His melancholy, th.ongh interesting,
was generally painful j and seeir.ed to depress hij^
THE RinilNATOR. 225
faculties. I have met him day after day, when he
scarce spoke. Then all at once the vein of elo-
quence would seem to flow upon him ; and he
would pour forth the treasures of. a mind full of
sentiment and imagery with such a fehcity of ex-
pression and sweetness of voice as seemed to be
little short of inspiration.
It was on one of these occasions that by good
luck a friend was with me^ whose prejudices had
hitherto resisted all belief in my account of this
wonderful young man. He was absolutely over-
powered with astonishment; but, before we parted,
invited him to his house with such a mixture of
awe and kindness in his manner, as won its way at
once to Longford's proud but grateful heart, and in-
duced him to embrace an offer of hospitality, which
in common cases he would sullenly have rejected.
At the table of this friend I first saw him in
mixed society. He did not then equal the expec-
tations which had been formed of him : he was
silent, shy, nervous, and almost awkward : in
answering questions he was confused and deficient
in language ; and my friend almost relapsed into
his former scepticism. Even his eyes lost their
fire ; and he looked mortified and unlike himself.
Towards the close of the evening however he re-
covered a little ; and one or two flashes restored
him to my friend's good opinion,
a
220 THE RUMINATOR.
We knew not how lie employed himself in his
cottage : it was provable that he read ; but there
were no signs of any great number of books about
bim. Somewhere he had certainly had an oppor-
tunity of reading; for his memory was most richly
stored, particularly with history. If he had not
much opportunity of reading, he certainly wrote a
great deal j and I suspect was occupied in digesting
some mighty plan of which his head seemed full.
The common people called him " the crazy man 3"
and after a little while took very slight notice of
his peculiarities. A villager and his wife lived
under the same roof j and these appeared to be his
only attendants. He was inditferent to show and
luxury, and so engrossed by the internal operations
of the mind, that all trivial outward circumstances
were utteily unheeded by him.
But yet he was not inattentive to objects of
beauty and sublimity. I never saw an eye which
glowed with more fire and admiration at the scenery
of Nature. His heart and fancy seemed as tremu-
lous as the strings of the iEolian harp ; and to
vibrate with responsive harmony. His tongue in-
deed often died away in murmurs, but his counte-
nance spoke the intensencss of his pleasure. It
was generally of a solemn tone, but it now and
then relaxed into a heavenly smile. He has leaned
against an old tree or thrown himself on the gra'^s
THE EUMINATOK. 22/
for an hour together with such a radiation of face
as I have no language to describe.
Though his powers seemed better adapted to a
speculative than an active life, there was reason to
believe that he had been engaged in enterprises
which required not a little practical exertion. He
sometimes let drop expressions which implied that
he had been a soldier in services of adventure and
hazard. The minutiae of the profession he despised ;
but he talked with fire of its greater movements 5
and seemed to have some project of this kind fre-
quently floating in his head. When he talked of
leading armies, and regaining kingdoms, the dark
flashes of his countenance were almost frightful.
There happened to be present at one of the
visits to my friend's house, a neighbour who loved
to tell wonders; and who soon raised the curiosity
of several of the families within his reach. By
degrees most of their tables became open to Long-
ford ; but it was extremely difficult to induce him
to accept invitations ; and no one could ever rely
on his attendance. There were people, whom no
one could prevail on him to meet, and from whom,
if lie accidentally encountered them in a room, he
instantly retired. As long as it was the fashion to
have him of a party, all this was endured. He
still continued, next to myself, most attached to
my fiiend, who had an amiable fnmilvof danirhters,
228 THE RUMINATOR.
in whose presence his frequent returns of cloudiness
and depression seemed in some degree to give way.
Yet it was seldom that he spoke to them ; nor
would a common observer have perceived that they
had any effect on his manners or his thoughts. },
who had watched him incessantly, knew better the
changes of his looks, and the tones of his voice. I
have seen occasionally what animation their com-
pany gave to his conversation, even in arguments
and on subjects which appeared entirely addressed
to their father ; and when they left the room, he
has become languid j his attention lost, and his
manner confused.
He had not been long known in our neighbour-
hood before many stories were circulated to his
prejudice. He was called an adventurer ; an im-
postor; a low fellow 5 a beggar; a madman, &c.
Some of these things reached his ears ; the words
" low fellow," raised his indignation most. " \
suppose," said he, " I am called low fellow by some
East-Indian cut-throat, or some mongrel nobleman,
whose pedigree has been sewed together from
shreds of parchment by a little tailor, turned herald ;
who however would have got a more honest, if
not a more productive livelihood by never quitting
his board ! I scorn to tell what I am, in oppusitlon
to such despicable insults as these!" Sometimes
however I expected that these provocations would
THE RtrMINATOll. 22Q
have drawn out his real history j but they never
extorted more than broken and imperfect hints.
Yet I g-athered that he considered himself of Blood-
Royal 3 and that there was something very romantic
in the history of his descent.
There were moments when his temper had the
appearance of great harshness^ and even ferocity :
his resentments were strongs and his indignation
was too much alive. But, after long and studious
investigation, I was convinced that the excessive
tenderness of his feelings was his main defect ; and
the source of ebullitions of temper which had the
very contrary hue. Had he exercised a more con-
stant and severe controul over himself, he might
have been happier ; he might have been better ;
but all the striking traits of his character would
have been deadened.
It was almost a misfortune, that he could not
at all coalesce with common minds. Animal spirits,
and the liveliness of ordinary conversation overcame
him so as to close his mouth, and even damp his
faculties. In ordinary society indeed he seemed so
far from being superior, that he rather appeared
like a cypher. Smart men, jesters, and bucks of
infinite humour, asked, '' What dull foolish fellow
is that ?" When they withdrew, lie seemed to rise
^s from an oppressive weight ; his po\vers expanded.
230 THE RUMINATOK.
and he often poured forth the golden tonents c.
his impetuous mind.
Then it was that I observed the eyes ot the
gentle Ellen M , rny friend's second daugh-
ter, first fixed with an inexpressible kind of atten-
tion on Longford. She said nothing; she did not
interrupt him by a remark, or a word ; but I per-
ceived she was intensely drinking poison to her
future peace. I was alarmed ; but knew not what
to do. Had I had more firmness, I should instantly
have communicated my observation to her father.
I endeavoured to withdraw Longford as much
as possible from the house ; but he liad now con-
tracted a fondness for the society of Mr. M ,
who was equally fond of him 3 and I had not loso-
lution to break this mutual enjoyment. I Jiad
formed a warm friendship for him; and as I feared
the solitude of his own cottage was too much cal-
culated to foster his alarming melancholy, I could
not bring my heart to shut him out from an hos-
pitality, which seemed to give him such keen
pleasure.
The autumn was now at its most delightful
point. The forest displayed all that variety of lints
from pale green to the brightest gold, which renders
this the most picturesque of all the seasons. There
is something in the softened gleams of the sun.
THE RUMINATOR. 231
and the commencing decay of vegetation peculiarly
suited to a pensive turn of disposition. It added (o
tlie disease of Ellen's heart ; and it was dangerous
to the violent sensibility of Longford. I saw that
he was now more thoughtful than usual, and loved
to wander alone in the woods more than ever. He
talked lessj and his sentiments betrayed less fire
and energy. He sighed more ; and his spirit of
adventure seeined softened.
But it is become necessary to close this letter,
and continue my story in another.
232 THE RUMINATOR.
N" XXXVIII.
The same Story continued.
TO THE RUMINATOR.
SIR,
I AM not sure that Longford was a poet ;
but I strongly suspect that he was. He often coni-
municated to me small poetical pieces^ which^
though he would not own them^ I have liitle doubt
were written by himself. They were more re-
markable for a certain natural wildness of sentiment
and fancy than for correctness. The introduction
of those moral touches, which, springing from the
fulness of a simple and unsophisticated heart raise
instantaneous sympathy, gave most o'i them very
attractive charms.
Though Longford was at this time more than
commonly affected by tenderness and anxiety, I
do not think he was equally unhappy as I had seen
him. His melancholy was softer and more com-
posed. The books he borrowed of me were of a
different cast, and he was more contented with his
cottage, and his humble station. " I have seen
the four parts of the world/' said hc^ "'and been
THE RUMINATOR, 285"
'n\ the most lively and bustling scenes ; but I am
most coptent with my present humble station !"
" Are you, indeed," I answered, " satisfied with
this obscure seclusion?" "It is the whim," he
rephed, " of a mind tired of show and restless
action ; and that prefers solitary quiet to anxious
ambition and greatness !"
I am a single manj and live in a moderate
sized retreat with all the conveniencies of a compe-
tent fortune. j\Iy lodge stands on a most romantic
knell of the forest ; encircled by a mixture of deep
foliage, and opening glades. A little lawn spreads
before my windows ; and through one of the vistas
dimly peeps a branch of the blue sea. As the
rapid decline of the year brought longer evenings,
and more uncertain days, I had the happiness of
Longford's company more frequently by my fire-
side, and found him more continual occupation in
my library. I had a tolerable collection of black-
letter books ; and more particularly a copy of Lord
Berners's Froissart. This was his favourite volume,
over which he iiung day after day, completely
absorbed, and forgetful of all around him. His
next favourite was Philip De Commines. All the
minutioe of the court of the Plantagencts from the
time of Edward IIL to their extinction in Richard
JIL he seemed to study with enthusiastic attention.
At other times he would sit for hours at the
234 THE RUMINATOR.
window contemplating with apparent earnestness
the golden views around him ; or watching the
wild deer at a distance, who grazed calmly within
his sight, or darted in picturesque forms through
the trees. But the coming on of twilight appeared
to be his favourite hour : as evening drew its shades
over the forest-scenery, the landscape inspired him
with a rapturous kind of melancholy, such as I have
never seen exhibited by any other human being.
At the close of one of these fits of abstraction, I
heard a deep sigh, and saw a tear streaming down
his cheek. "Had I never," said he "^ been de-
luded by the false fire of ambition ; had I never
admitted those grovelling desires of worldly distinc-
tion, I might have been happy ; my mind might
have been pure enough to foster these raptures
without reproach or alloy I Alas ! it is far otherwise
now. I have been hurried into pursuits "
Here he paused, as if he recollected himselt", and
after two or three efl'orts dropped the conversation.
My curiosity was inilarncd ! but delicacy restrained
me from nrging him further.
I will confess that, as his story was obscure,
these accidental hints did not leave iv,c' at entire
case. But there w;:s something altogether so inge-
nuous in his manner, and so pure in his sentiments,
that I could not finaily withhold my conlidcnce
fiom him. Yet there were m<;mcnts when it wa.i
THE KUMINATOR. 235
impossible to prevent the intrusion of an idea, that
I might perhaps be cherishing a man stained with
some great crime, who had fled from justice, and
whose conscience sometimes goaded him into these
involuntary exclamations. Then I said to myself,
" he is afraid of nobody; and his opinions are too
upright and bold, and his countenance too full of
sensibility and virtue for such base suspicions 3"
and I loved him the more for the injury I had done
him.
But whatever uneasiness occasionally arose froni
the remarks I made at my own house, I found
cause for much more at many little occuiTences at
the house of my friend M . My friend was
fitally blind to the thoirsand nameless looks and
tones of voice between Longford and his daughter.
It is true they never appeared to engage in regular
conversation 5 nor were their addresses to each
other as direct or as frequent even as to the rest of
the company. This very circumstance, which set
the caution of my friend asleep, rendered the mat-
ter in my judgment more serious,
Ellen M was then eighteen, with n
beautiful person, and most intelligent and thought-
ful countenance. She had always been remarkable
for a grave turn, and great softness of disposition.
Her love for reading had been quietly cultivated,
and was much more ardent than any of her family
236 THE KUMINATOK,
were aware of. She was silent almost to a fault ^
and her diffidence entirely concealed the delightful
powers of her mind. I had often suspected that
beneath those pensive looks, and that unbroken
reserve, there were treasures of no ordinary kind.
I drew these inferences from the wonderful varieties
of expression in her face 3 from the fixed attention
with which I observed her listen to rational and
interesting conversation, and from certain silent
and unassuming acts of sweetness to those whom
she had an opportunity of obliging. But two of
her more talkative sisters, who were yet good girls,
had hitherto run away with all the credit from her.
Her cheeks had yet been adorned with a most
beautiful colour; I observed that she now grew
pale, and still more thoughtful than usual. Her
voice, which had always been plaintive, became
even tremulously low; and the tears were often
rising in her eyes. She had often a book in her
hand; but I saw that her thoughts were generally
wandering, and thar she was inattentive to the page
before her. Whenever I came to the house, I had
not been long arrived before Ellen entered the
room ; but if Longford was not witli me, she sofm
retired; and J saw evident disajipoin'ment in ho:
looks.
I discovered equal impatience in I.c.ngford when
she was absent, and many little coniiivanas in the
THE RUMINATOR, 237
direction of his walks, of which perhaps he ahnost
disguised the source from himself, did not escape
my notice. I do not think they ever met each
other by themselves ; for Ellen was too delicate
and fearful ; she did not appear to have even hinted
her attachment to Longford: but
She " let concealment, like a worm i'Uie bud.
Prey on her damask cheek."
A little incident however took place soon after-
wards, which seemed to give a more explicit turn
to this affair. One evening, towards the end of
October, when we had hxAh dined at M 's,
something or other called us all out of the room
except Ellen and Longford. By some singular'
luck they were left together nearly half an hour.
When I returned, I found her in tears ; and she
instantly quitted us, and ran up stairs. I endea-
voured to rally Longford a little ; but found him
gloomy and irritable.
Cards were called for in the evening ; ami
RUen, who was now at the tea-table, seemed to
have recovered her composure. She excused her-
self however from cards, and placed herself at a
little table in the corner of the room. After some
time I observed her deeply engaged hi a book,
over which she hung as if anxious to conceal its
title. My curiosity was av/akenedj and makiny;
238 Till; RUMIN'ATOli.
some pretence to speak to her, I discovered it to
be Walpoles Historic Doubts. I believe she did
not know that I had seen it 5 but it was a book I
was so well acquainted with, that the fragment of
a page betrayed it to me. I frctjucntly saw her
afterwards with this book, and could not have a
doubt that her curiosity regarding it rose out of her
conversation with Longford.
Ellen now for the first time began to open to
me the stores of her rich mind. I found her asto-
nishingly well read in the English history, as well
as in books of taste and fancy; but more particu-
larly inquisitive about that period, to which the
Historic Doults relate. The quarrels of the Houses
of York and Lancaster, with their various preten-
sions and connections, she was accurately skilled
in; and talked with an indignation totally unlike
her gentle temper against Henry the Seventh : she
loaded him with the names of Usurper, and even
murderer; but would not go as iVir as Walpole in
exculpation of Richard the Th.ird.
lyongford meanwhile seemed to sink almosr.
uniformly into a tender mclai^choly: and his s])irits
to be softened into a sort of laniruor very inconsis-
tent with the natural energv of his mind. His
pride was not lessened; but it tc^ok a nev,' turn;
it made h'm rather waste his time in unavailing
regrets at his fallen fortune, than in indignant reso-
Till?. RUMINATOR. 239'
lutions to counteract it^ and restore himself to his
due place in society. He sometimes even wept,
and seemed melted into feminine tenderness.
He never owned his attachment to me, but it
was now so obvious that he could no longer flatter
himself that I was ignorant of it. I endeavoured to
discover the nature of his fortune, and expectations ;
but on this subject, to me at least, he preserved
impenetrable secrecy. I found that at one time he
had fought in the Austrian army^ and was well
acquainted with the military tactics of that nation ;
and that he seemed to have a familiar local know-
ledge both of Xorth and South America, particu-
larly the former. Indeed I still suspect that thf?
former was the place of his nativity. I think, it
he had himself been born in England, as there is
every reason to believe his ancestors were of high
birth in this countr}', I should by some means have
discovered it. I once saw in his hands the outside
of a MS. history of his family, which I give him
tail credit for being genuine ; and which he assured
me, if the time ever arrived for its being laid open,
would astonish both me, and the world. Some
p:irticuh!r3, of which he gave hints, I shall ha^-c
'-ccaeion to tell, before I close tliis storv.
240 THE RUxMlXATOK.
N" XXXIX.
The same Story conthiued.
TO THE RUMINATOK.
SIR,
,.When we see a man whose talents are
fitted to adorn and enlighten society, pining in soli-
tude, obscurity and grief", we cannot, if we are
capable of feeling or reiiection, but be touched
with poignant regret.
I saw during tJie following winter the brilliant
faculties of Longford clouded with a hopeless affec^
lion, which, if it sometimes gave a grace to hi^
melancholy, rendered him altogether languid, indo-
lent, and almost useless. Day aftcw day he hung
immoveably over my fire imnn^rsed in thought
which was only interrupted by his sighs.
When a girl is in love, and e^>peciall}' if she
liave fancy and sentiment, any thing romanlic in
the history oi her lover add* food to her Hame.
The mysteries regarding Longford seemed to
fieighten Ellen's attachment: and Vvhen these were
added to (jualities in themselves very striking and
attractive, the excess of her pa-.^ion can be more
THE RUMIN-ATOn. 2'n
easily conceived tlian described. Mr. M at
length took the alarm; but the affair had now gone
too far to be violently broken oif. It became the
painful task of a parent to inquire more minutely
into the circumstances of a man who aspired to his
daughter. That man was his friend; liis delight as
a companion ; his admiration as a genius. But
these were qualities which did not necessarily secure
his consent to him as the husband of his child.
Longford could not bear to be (juestioned, or
even suspected as to his story. On this subject he
was so proud and indignant that it did not seem to
bend even to his attachment. It often drew tears
fiom Ellen; ai.d lie was infected with her grief,
and shed- tears in return. But his spirit soon rose
again, and he scorned to have his tale extorted
from him. " If," said he, " you can suspect me
of imposition, or that I am unworthy of you, painful
as it is to withdraw myself from your house, let me
go ! Scruples and hesitations insult me, and are
unmanly in you ! You may guess that the fortune
of myself, and my immediate ancestors, has been
under some cloud; but there is no one whom our
alliance v.-ould disgrace," At this his eyes flashed
hre ; and he muttered in half- suppressed sentences
allusions to the blood in his veins, and the cruel
fate wJiich had obscured his rights.
'"' My aacestor.," said he, *' di^.laining to use
242 THE KUMINATOK.
their real name without being admitted to the dis-
tinctions attached to it, have long concealed their
lustre under that of Longford, by which you at
present know me. But I am not without hope
that the time may yet arrive, when I may win my
way nearer to the station that belongs to me I"
Here he burst into tears ; and there was something
so ingenuous and so much beyond the power of
disguise in his manner, as rendered it impossible
for M to doubt him, however strange his
reserve might appear. Of the following hasty lines
I received the copy from one of Ellen's sisters.
They of course speak for themselves as the produc-
tion of Longford.
" Song.
1.
" When cross the Atlantic's roaring wave
I pass from Ellen far away,
How shall this beating bosom brave
The memory of a softer day,
As in these lovely shades I -igh.
And watch the tear of Ellen's eye?
My sterner heart could once delight
In scenes of danger and of storm;
And in my country's cause to tight
Could all my j)roudea wi'-hca warm ;
THE RUMINATOK. 21:;
But now no charm can joy siip|)ly.
Save the sweet ;;iaile of Ellen's eve.
As fades dear Albion's chalky shore
Before inv sorrow-clouded view^
What manic spell can e'er restore
Hours that with dove-wing'd motion flew ?
Breezes, that into music die,
Can ne'er with Ellen's whispers vie.
By Scsquehana'b distant stream.
Or wild Ohio's waters lone.
How sad to Vv-aken from the dream
Of tender pleasures that are flown
Then 'twill unman my soul to spy
Tiiro' fancy's beams fair Ellen's eye.
In absence be the lovelv ni::id
True to her I'.uinnnd's pliG;hte(i \(av,
And in the forest's peaceful shade
On him a dailv thou-^ht bestow,
\ ill on his di-tatit ohscquy
!-'j|i the b!e-t tc.ir from Ellen"', eve !
244 THE RUMINATOR.
6.
Alas ! and shall on shores remote
This sad yet kindling breast expire.
With none, to pour the funeral note.
Of those that rais'd its former fire?
In savage lands his bones must lie.
Far from his long-lov'd Ellen's eye!"
I am sorry, Mr, Ruminator, after having gone
thus far, to be necessitated to defer to another
montli the conclusion of my story ; but the truth
is that I have been most unexpectedly intenxipted.
I remain. Sir,
Your constant Reader,
H. S'. F.
June 22, 1608.
THE RUMINATOR. 245
N XL.
The same Story' continued.
TO THE RUMINATOR.
SIR,
Longford told me one day, with eyes of
fiery agony, the scandalous rumours which were
abroad regarding him. He possessed in the latter
period of his residence amoug us a horse of uncom-
mon power and beauty; and he rode him with
admirable skill and boldness. He knew all the
purlieus and intricacies of the forest ; and was
often seen glancing with rapidity along its bye-
paths to the surprise and consternation of those in-
habitants, to whose occupjitions obscurity and con-
cealment were necessary. The love of adventure,
the movements of an active spirit, and a fondness
for the wild scenery of Nature, were the probable
causes of these excursions. Even the night did
not restrain him ; and moonlight rides were not
unfrequent. Well aware that lie might meet
hardy vagabonds, on whose employments he might
intrude unwelcomely, and whose resentment he
might incur, he went armed with a sword and
24^ THr. nUMINATOR.
pistols, which he wielded with such a fearless dex-
terity as overawed tliosc, who were otherwise in-
clined to disturb him,
Several daring robberies had been at this time
committed in the district by a person unknown.
Vulgar report soon afterwards fixed them on Lorig-
ford. He communicated the dreadful calumny to
me with a degree of agitation which alarmed me
for his intellects. To me assurances of his inno-
cence of crimes so shocking and degrading were
utterly superfluous. Yet I could not conceal from
him that his mysterious history would give colour
to such an idea with others. Even this did not
wring his secret from him. His bosom swelled 5
and the flame of indignation darted from his eyes.
" Am I indeed sunk so low as this r" said he : and
a flood of tears relieved him. " ISIy enemies," he
continued, in a more plaintive tone, '' may now
triumph indeed ! and as I have been long sur-
rounded by spies ; and have several times nearly
fallen a sacrifice to tlieir machinations, they may
now perhaps succeed in getting possession of my
person, and even taking my life. My father fell a
victim to thoir contrivan.ces ; and nothing would
gratify them like extinguishing me, the la.>it rem-
nant (;f a race, whose storv is a blot on the pagt's
of liistory, and the just succession of lawful govern-
ments !"
THE RUMINTATOR. 247
I heard these indistinct allusions with interest
and awe. They were strange and wonderful. But
I will confess that with all my partiality for Long-
ford there was one suspicion which I could not
entirely subdue. I doubted whether there was
not in his character a mixture of insanity; and
whether this was not the prevalent topic on which
it hinged. It is often on one single subject that
this disorder betrays itself; and there is no fancy so
common in a disordered brain as its riglits to a
princely rank. His hints however were so rational,
even on this point, that on the whole my opinion
preponderated in favour of his soundness of mind.
Great inquiries about him were now made by
distant emissaries ; and savage-looking runners evi-
dently dogged his rides and walks. He saw them
himself 3 and I saw them still oftener than lie did.
He felt the insult; but he was undaunted. His
dauntless state of mind did not arise from ignorance
of his danger: he knew it well ; and was perfectly
convinced that any slight colour for destroying his
liberiy or even his existence would be embraced.
It was only when he looked on Ellen, that his
heart was softened, and he wept. Neither Mr.
M nor Ellen gave a moment's credit to the
cruel aUack on his character : but it materially
aggravated the difficulty of a parent's determination ;
246 THE UUMINATOK.
and wounded the delicate feelings of tlie daughter
without diminibhing her atVection.
" The world," said Longford, " will smile at
the assertion that there is a conspiracy carrying on
against my person ; and that my life is aimed at ;
they will consider it the whim of a heated h(^ad, or
a perverse temper. I repeat tlie accusation 3 and
ran prove it by incontrovertible facts. You will
too soon, I fear, have proofs before you, as I have
bad. But when I am seen here no more ; \\ hen I
fly from hence as tlie only mode of securing my
freedom, and a painful existence which my duty
rather than my inclination impels me to presciTe ;
retain your conlidcnce in me, protect my reputation,
and be kind to my memory ! Time w ill, I trust,
unveil this melancholy mystery, and shew what I
have been 3 what I am 3 and what I ought to be !"
He left us on the evening on which this con-
versation happened with more than uuial gloc/Ui.
His eyeii had long been fixed on Ellen wluie his
lips refused to utter a word. When he rose to
take leave, the agitations of his countenance were
dreadful; he cast on Ellen a look almost of despair, .
he pressed my hand with a tremulous I'ervour which
I shall never forget 3 and he tore himself away.
We heard nothing of him for three days 3 on
tlie fourth ue were all looking just before the com-
THE EUMINATOR. 249
mencement of twilight on Ihe openings of the forest
from the drawing-room window, \A'hen we saw a
horseman at full speed, with his sword drawn,
pursued by four others ; and the instant he reached
some high pales that separate two divisions, and
seemed an insurmountable barrier to his escape, he
spurred his horse, who w 1th a tremendous spring
cleared his leap, and escaped his pursuers. Our
eyes were all fixed 'on him; and we could hardly
breathe during the tremendous suspence. Ellen,
\\ ho had been gazing without the utterance of a
word, screamed and fainted. And in less than ten
minutes Longford, in the very dress of the horse-
man whom ^^ e had seen, burst into the room, and
fell almost senseless into my arms.
As buon as he breathed again, he cried wildly,
" Am I safe? "Where is Ellen ? Protect me, till I
have taken my last leave of her: Give me fair
play : let me light the assassins : but do not allow
tiieUi to come four upon me at once I" His coun-
tenance shot tire ; and his teeth gnashed with
agoiiv. He relapsed for a few minutes inco insen-
iiLii'i'.y, but gradually recovered his composure.
He told us his attackers were known despera-
does, often employed in the most daring functions
ii the police, but as often colouring under this mask
acts of private revenge and murder, for u liich they
arc hired by enormous bribes. It is their practice
250 THE RUMIInATOR.
to get false Information lodged against the persons
intended to be attacked ; and thus they proceed
armed with a distortion of the powers of the law.
They had now been sent do\^n from London, at
an incredible expense, to take advantage of the
reports of robI?erics C(;nuiiitted in this neiglibour-
hood. The same men, -for they in vain attempted
to disguise ihck persons, had orce committed an
assault upon him before ; and had k?pt him in
cvistody for six weeks, Mhen he escajied from them
by a miracle. As Mr. M \\ as an intelligent,
firm, and active magistrate, il was probable tliey
might not ivnniediatcly venture into his house for
their pr.rj)0:-j : but Longford h.ad no doubt they
vould w:)v-l;.v him in some way, fiom wliich it
MT/ald be scarce possible linally 1(; protect himself.
He liiHcd th..U persons in power were his decided
enemies : ar.d u ouid wink at no light stretch of
aeth.orit)- to obu.in the command of his p.-.^rson.
M , v> !'.) lUitl termed a higli idea of the pairitv
of aJ.mini-lr. iior.s, and of the exercise ot laws and
ins:i!u*i.'r.-i, \v{>i:!J have blamed Longford for tliese
in-'i,u;!tlons, luidcr less provocation. He still
thoogiit him mj,-.;aken, tlnragli he did not add to
his suP.cring= by contradicting him.
For more tr.an a weclc Lcnigt'ord was kept (p.iiet
in ]\i 's Jnuse. Duiing tljis iime he siill
made ma..y allii-jiGns ti; his stor;,- witliout explaining
THE ruminator; 251
it, and persisted in his certainty of a conspiracy
against him, of which there were indeed too many
confirmations without doors. Wretches in disguise
haunted the avenues to the house, and beset the
servants and visitors. But liitherto in vain.
In the mean time Ellen's anxiety grew with
her attachment : her health suifered ; and even her
beauty declined. She spent however those precious
days principally in the company of I^ongford, in
whose interesting manner, rich stores of knowledge,
and affecting eloquence, she found new objects of
admiration. With a wild fancy and an agitated
heart even his confusion was frequently eloquent !
the various scenes in which he had been engaged
gave a romantic colour to all his allusions; and
sentiment of the noblest and most glowing hues
f:0'.\cd from him as from a Ibuntain. Indignant,
irascible, yet instanily relenting ; impetuous ; daring,
yet in a moment melted with tenderness; ac-
qnaiuicd with the diversified tints of " many-
colour'd life," having learned to weep " at the woe
of (itliers by his own;" and deeply touched with
tlie sotiest of human passions, he had within him
all the ingredients that gave interest and delight to
the powers of conversation. Not indeed those
powers which are pleasing to dsiU men, and mere
men of business, who stared at him with a stupid
wontler; and onlv ])iued his ebullitions as the
252 THE RUMINATOK.
symptoms of insanity : but such as are admired by
people of cultivated minds and refined dispositions.
I compassionated the situation of sweet Ellen
from the bottom of my heart. Her attachment
became too like idolatry ; and her sublime atfec-
tions irradiated, yet wore her beautilnl person. To
her Longford, no doubt, communicated many par-
ticulars of his life, which he concealed from others ;
but I do not yet know that he gave her a perfect
explanation. Her virtue was too great to permit
her to fly with him, and be the partaker of his
adventures 3 nor did he wish it. He had too many
hardships and dangers to encounter to desire that
she should be a sharer of them. And he seemed
perfectly convinced of the impossibility of long re-
maining in safety in his present situation. 'J 'he
idea of the separation was inexpressibly dreadlul to
both.
I have recovered one of his poetical addresses
to Ellen on this occasion, which I will insert.
" To E. M.
" Soft is the fairy beam that plays
Within that cye'.s ton iiournrul sight ;
Yft (lariLrcrous is it -lili to fi;;)/e
Till inv soul niclts in fond d(.liii!it.
THE RUMINATOR. 253
O hiilc that lovely face.
In which entranc'd I trace
An angel's goodness with an angel's grace!
Tear the delusion from my view ;
Soften no more my yielding heart j
Those features of celestial hue
Raptures too high fur earth impart!
For this shall 1 adore
A few short hours ; and then deplore
Thro' all my darkening days the transient pleasure o'er I
^
Vet cast that heavenly ray again
Upon my languishing desire ;
And tho' the bliss be mix'd with pain.
Once more relume the rapturous fire !
The memory still
Of that delight will fill
My years of future gloom with many a melting thrill.
4.
O why, adown that lovely cheek.
Steals, Ellen, the contagious tear ?
Does it a doubt of Longford speak ?
Is it the mark of love or fear ?
O let me drink those drops divine,
And, as the compact thus I sign,
l-'.'cn tho' the poison kill?, a moment think thee mine I
254 THE RUMINATOK.
5.
Ui~;on my ravlsh'd car bestow
The tones of that enchanting voice.
And from thy bosom's fountain llirow
The treasures that my soul rejoice :
For the' thy beauty charm.
Yet, loveher than thy form.
Do gems of mental light thine inward spirit warm
(i.
O let me fold thee in mine arms,
And press thee to this last embrace ;
Forget one moment all alarm?.
And ages in that moment trace ;
Then if my destiny
For ever bids me fly.
The point of earthly bliss 1 taste bci'ore I die 1"
THE BUMINA.TOR. 255
N" XLI.
The same Story continued.
TO THE RUMINATOR.
SIR,
Longford at lengrti ventured to Ins own
cottage, whence he dispatched a note to ]M
the next morning to announce his safe arrival.
Another day passed ; and a third ; and all was well.
On the fourth he was expected again to visit
^,1 's house ; but he came not. Uneasiness
and alarm pervaded the family : night arrived 3 and
brought no intelligence of him. A servant was
dispatched to him ; and returned with an account,
that he had left his home in the ninrning to dine at
M 's ; and they had not since heard of him.
Day followed day ; but no information of him
could be procured. Every rap at tlie door, every
tread of a horse was listened to, with a sick and
fearful trembling. Ellen very soon sunk into silent
and almost motionless despair.
.Vt last a note without a postmark, and by wliat
conveyance is unknovv'n, readied tlie house. It
contained these few lines in a hiuTi.Hl hand, and on
a torn scrap of paper :
256 the kumixatok.
" My Dear Friend,
*' I have been trepanned, imprisoneti, and all
but murdered: I do not yet despair : I may escape;
if I do not, death will be a grateful release ; tell
Ellen to pray for me ; and then we may both be
happy : cherish my memory, my dear friends ; and
if you hear no more, remember that the last dregs
of the house of have expired !"
From that hour no further intelligence was
received of the amiable, highly-endowed, and un-
fortunate Longford. For a little while Ellen's
gloom seemed to yield to the illusions of a fond
imagination. She. wandered in the wood- walks,
and sat for hours in the melancholy stillness of the
churchyard, talking to herself, and apostrophizing
Longford's absent spirit. It was deemed most
prudent to indulge her in her affecting occupations.
She gathered turf, and reared a liitle heap which
she called his grave ; and steejjed it continually
with her tears. She decorated it almost daily with
some wild poetical address, of which the Ibllowing
is at least rational and simple.
THE RUMINATOR. 25?
Poetical Address to a Turf, raised as a memorial
of the Grave of Longford.
1.
*' 'O humid Turf, didst thou indeed
Tiie form of him I love enshroud.
Then every flower, that decks the mead.
Should of thy sacred soil be proud.
2.
And I would sit from morn till night.
And dew with tears thy fragrant heap.
And invocate each holy sprite.
Round thee eternal watch to keep.
3.
Then that illumln'd restless frame
My heart would know to be at peace.
And his glad soul's immortal flame
Would from its earthly turmoils cease.
4.
Now wears away my sinking mind
Beneath Conjecture's wearying pain ;
While, if to certain woe resign'd,
I could the weight of grief sustain.
5.
O Turf! on thee with fervent prayer
1 kneel ! if freed from human ohairfs
My Longford's spirit roves in air,
let him listen to my strains !
258 THE BUMINATOR.
6.
Let him before my tranced sight
Some vision of his fate impart ;
Tho' mix'd with trembhng and affright,
'Twill comfort still my aching heart!
7.
Then I will soothe this feverish brain
With memory of his former love;
And calm this bosom till again
I meet him in yon realms above!"
These temporary rays of Ellen's mind however
gradually faded away, and her intellects sunk into a
frightful and unchanging darkness. I remember
her when her wild fancy subdued by tenderness
was in one of its sweetest humours. It was by far
the most atfecling sight I ever beheld : yet it ap-
proached the nearest in some of its traits to my
ideas of a superior order of beings. To those who
can admit beauty to be consistent with a ceitaiii
degree of paleness and languor, she was more
beautiful than painter ever drew. Her brown hair
fell negligently over her face and shouldersj and
her wild eyt's, gazing by fits as if she saw not ;
and then lighting up into an Inelfable kind of
sweetness as some soothing image crossed her mind,
filled one with a mixture of love, pity, admiration,
and awe, which overcame and electrified the soul.
As the friend of Longford she often threw herself
tllE RUMINATOR. 259"
on my protection with such powerful appeals to
my heart, that I have wept with her for hours.
Then her eloquence was so touching, and the play
of her ideas so unexpected and brilliant at those
short periods, when the beams of hope gave elasti-
city to her spirits, that one was carried away into a
kind of fairy-land, and listened to her, as if she
was inspired.
But these bright days, as I have said, lasted only
a little while : the period of impenetrable gloom
came, and soon ended in decay and death, before
she had completed her twentieth year. I visit hei'
grave continually ; and never cease to consecrate
it with my tears. My heart thrills whenever I
think of her j and willingly would I suffer agairi
the agonies I have often endured at the si^t of
her disorder, for the delight of hearing her voice,
and beholding the charms of her inexpressibly inte-
resting countenance. But this is a selfish wish !
The dear angel is at rest ; or rather enjoying that
superior order of existence, for which liex exqui-
sitely fine faculties and pure heart were better
adapted !
' But my readers will be Impatient to hear the
fate of Longford ! Alas ! I cannot entirely satisfy
them. That the same assassins, who pursued him
in the forest, bore him away by stratagem or by
force cannot be doubted. Xliat he had no meaijft
2fl0 THE RUMINATOR.
of extricating himself; or even of applying for a
Habeas Corpus, supposing the arrest to have taken
place under the colour of some legal process, shews
the extent of the conspiracy, and the power exerted
in it ; and gives suspicion that persons of no mean
station or opportunity were concerned in it.
It is not easy to guess how an individual, with
means of worldly offence so apparently inadequate,
could be an object of such strange jealousy any
where. But, in all nations, there are some, whose
love of revenge the laws of their country cannot
restrain, or vihose officiousness mistakes opportunity
for right.
Longford at any rate has not yet been heard of j
and I cannot tlatter myself that he is any longer iu
existence. Jf he lives, it is in some remote land,
where he can find no means of communication with
his European friends j and where he must have
endured hardships too shocking to be contemplated,
if tliey could prevent him from writing to those
who certainly possessed his highest love and esteem.
It was my intention to have closed this letter
with an account of the discoveries I had made, or
the suppositions I had formed regarding his earlier
Jiistory. But IJiavejust obtained important addi-
tional clues from sone papers, which he had left in
the hands of Ellen M , and which have now
been commiiied to my care and uispection. It
THE RUMINATOR. 26l
"WDuld be impossible^ without more brevity than is
proper, to include what it may be interesting to
relate from them in the present letter : and I have
no choice therefore but to resei-ve the termination
of my story for another ; which the lateness of the
present month will not allow me time to write.
H. S\ F.
Ju'y 18,1808.
262 THE liUMlXATOK.
N^ XLir.
Complaint of a Literary Man.
TO THE EUMINATOE.
ilR,
To a mind like yours, constantly rumi-
nating on the diversified and contradictory moral
traits of our species, and touciied with a keen sen-
sibility at its failings and misfortunes, I feel an in-
surmountable impulse to open the anxieties of a
melancholy and overloaded heart. If you cannot
speak comfort to me, methinks" the mere act of
pouring out the fulness of my mind \\ill give me
relief.
I am a man who have given up the principal
part of ray life to literature, which however I have
done rather as an amusement than a business. I
have read and written as whim directed, witliout
any <jther view than that of a pleasing occupation
of my time, unless perhaps it was mingled with
the hope of a reward in the acquisition of literary
fime. Thus have I whilcd away the vigour of
n I am happy to sec this word justified in 'Jamicscn's Ety-
m'jioj^ival .Sci'tch Diciiuiiary. .lit',r.
THE RUMINATOR. 263
my youth and my manhood j and the hour is
arrived, when I look back on the precious tinis
thus lost, with hesitation, regret, and a mixture
even of awe and trepidation! For what are our
faculties given us ? Are they to end in their em-
ployment here, or in the worldly reputation they
procure ? These are questions which more than
startle me at periods of serious thought !
I look upon the great mass of mankind, and
imagine that I see them employed still more un-
profitably than I am. Their amusements are more
sensual ; and ai'e productive of iit least as little
benefit to their fellow-creatures. If it be pleaded
that their habits are less solitary, they still may be
more selfish. The productions of the study are
capable of a wider communication, than the exer-
tions of conversation ; and surely are in general of
a more refined and improving nature. These
thoughts intermix some rays of comfort at such
hours of gloom !
But, alas! the clouds close together again ; and
at moments I seem involved in impenetrable dark-
ness. The acquisition of all I had sought for, books,
knowledge, fame, I feel, like Solomon, to be 7}iere
vanity ! The objects of my earthly idolatry, the
greaL meteors of human genius, fade before my
sight. They appear insignificant, and vapid, like
myself 3 their tal-ents wasted 3 and the monument
264 THE RUMINATOR.
of their works unworthy of the labour which it cost.
Does this proceed from the disease of my mind ;
or from a just sense of the misapplication of its
powers ? Does it not whisper views of fame, and
reward, beyond this world ? and employments
directed to effects of a higher kind, as the means ?
When the utmost purpose resulting from the
employment of those mental faculties witii which
Providence has endowed us, is a barren exercise of
the understanding or the fancy of others, how far
short do they fall of their capabilities ? They might
at the same time instruct, refine, and exalt ; direct
the head ; and elevate the heart !
Had I, instead of wasting my life in idle in-
quiries on trifling subjects, and idle excursions of
the imagination, bent my humble talents to acquire
and convey solid knowledge, and delineate the
visions of a better order of existence, perhaps even
I might have secured a renown, which while it
never ceased to gratify me here, might have soothed
tny spirit hereafter !
It is past : the flight of Time is irrevocable ;
books lose their zest ; the charms of learning have
vitnished; and fame, could I grasp it, is not worth
the embrace ! Such at least is the present uiihappy
state of my mind. Can you give me peace, Mr.
Ruminator? Can you dissipate these clouds? And
ire you subject to no similar dejections ? You seem
THE RUMINATOR. 265
to pursue your course without interraption through
fair weather and foul ! But perhaps I know not
yotir difficulties. Like me, you may feel languor,
disgust, despondence ! O Sir, how much luckier
than I, are you then, who do not stop as I have
done !
*^ Tu ne cede malis ; sed contra audentior ito !"
I am. Sir,,
Your constant Reader,
HOMUNCIO LlTERABIUS.
August, 8, 1808.
To a mind in the state of my Correspondent's,
it would be presumption in nie to enlarge on the
obvious and only topics of consolation. I leave it
to the accomplished and eloquent divine, to delineate
in their full force the comforts of religion ; to point
out the views, which never lose their lustre, and
the wreath of which the flowers never fade. These
and these alone will be powerful enougli to coun-
teract the disease, which the present letter so
pathetically delineates ; and which I myself, alas !
have felt too deeply to be insensible to the sufferings
of my Correspondent.
Aug, 11, 180*.
266 THE RUMINATOB.
N XLIII.
Poetical Fragments.
The following poetical fragments, found among
the papers of an eminent literary person, lately
deceased," may for once be allowed in combination
to form a paper of the Ruminator.
I w'.ll not venture to say that they have never
been printed before, though I do not recollect to
have met with them.
*' Thoughts occttsiovcd ly the Funeral of the Earl
and Countess of Sutherland, 1/66, at the Abley
of Holy-rood House. By the late Sir Gilbert
Eliotl, Bart.
See where the Forth, by many a winding shore.
Still undiminish'd, liojds his way, and see
Yon mountain hoar, a stranger to decay.
Still as of old, o'erlooks the walled city.
Her dwellings, spires, and rocky battlement ;
E'en that proud palace, rear'd by human toil.
Still braves the stroke of lime, though long untrod
The paved court, and silent be the hall.
These all remain : yet in the mouldering vault
Mrs. . C.
THE RUMINA.TOR, 26?
Sleep Scotland's boasted kings, their ancient line
Extinct, Jind all their long-descended sway
Shrunk to th's little measure. O ! farewel,
Farewei, ye mighty names, for high exploit
And warlike prowess fam'd : entieated oft.
And oft assaii'd by French or English monarch.
Such are thy triumphs, and thy victory such,
O Death, relentless ! whom no charm can sooth I
Thy valour, Bruce, nor all the civil lore
Of the first James, nor Mary's matchless bloom !
Ill-fated Queen ! Then wipe your tears away :
ril weep no more : let the long funeral pass.
And darken all around : Fll weep no more
True, they were young; and noble was thy birth;,
O Sutherland ! and in thy manly mind.
An inmate there, was sealed sweet affection.
Yet wherefore mourn ? In pity heav'n bestow'd
An early doom : lo on the self-same bier
A fairer form, cold by her husband's side.
And faded every charm, she died for thee.
For thee, her only love. In beauty's prime.
In youth's triumphant hour, she died for thee.
Bring water from the brook, and roses spread
O'er their pale limbs : for ne'er did wedded love
To one sad grave consign a lovelier pair.
Of manners gentler, or of purer heart !
Nor man alone decays : this antique tomb.
Where, mix'd with kings^ they lie, yon mountain hoar.
268 THE RUMINATOR.
And rocky battlement, one awful day.
Shall give to ruin ; while alone sunives.
Bright and unquenchable, the vital flame.
Portion of Heaven's own fire, which once illum'd
High-minded virtue, or with milder glow
Warmd the pure breast of lovers aiid of friends."
" The Ballad of Shinkin, with a Lalin and Greek
Translation.
'^ Of a noble race was Shinkin,
Of the line of Owen Tudor ;
But hur renown is fled and gone.
Since cruel love pursued hur.
Fair Winny's eyes bright shining.
And lily-breasts alluring,
Poor Shinkin's heart with fatal dart
Have wounded past all curing.
Hur was the prettiest fellow
At stool-ball and at cricket j
At hunting-race, or foot-bnil chace
Cots splut, how hur could kick it !
But now all j(yys are flying.
All pale and wan hur cheeks too;
Hur heart so akos, hur quite forsakes
Hur herrings and hur Iccks too.
THE RUMINATOR. 26Q
No more shall sweet Metheglin
Be drank at good Montgommery ;
And if love's sore last six days more.
Adieu, cream cheese and flummery !"
'' Prseclarug ortu Shenkin
E Stirpe Theodorl ;
Sed cessit a Me Splendor Famae
Venereo Furori.
Splendentis Winifridae
Ocelli perculcre ;
Cor (heu !) crudeli ictu tell
Desperat Ars mederi.
Tarn clarus erat nemo
Seu Pili, seu Bacilli ;
Cursu pedestri, aut equestri,
Haud quisquam compar iUi.
Sed gau4ia fugerunt,
Emaciantur Gens ;
Cor (beu) sic dolet, non, ut solet,
Jam cepe olet bene.
Non posthac deglutienda
Promulsis de Montgomery ;
Si desit quies plus sex dies,
CEternum valeat Flummery ''
270 THE EUMIN'ATOR.
" riEpfxAfjry^ TJV Xr/Kiv,
O'J ysv, 8$' sy.st aevo;.
KaX>.i(m;; Ovyi<pcior^
'Of^XAtj^M tjs-.cog user:/;,
u:riiXri avrjKSC-rui.
UaXai r/.'jjv / ayxa-i
-njotyr c//jAX X3ib = !v cr/.r,
rx yap rpey^ovri, yj faXAoyr*,
aBt uTSf.pr^v Ti vfKrj.
"Niiv o'f/ airs uyapsixis
ii'd 'to y>jxp'jy roos.
Kap'^i a'/.yei, rirov [jao-h,
KpOU^IMX, O'S'K S'JXirj.
cTJEiTai v Mv/ryyafiJ,
^5 AOir^iy X^'ps, (^Xeu.spi."
THE RUMINATOa. 27t
" Hymn by the late Duchess of Devonshire,
jEt. 13.
" When I behold with wond'ring eyes
The daily blessings God bestows,
A thousand thankful thoughts arise ;
My heart with grateful joy o'erflows.
Each flower, each shrub, conspires to sing
The praises of the God on high ;
The praises of the eternal King,
Who gave each shrub, each flow'r its dye.
Who gave the sun its balmy heat ?
Wlio bids the thunder loudly roll ?
Who made the universe complete.
And form'd the earth from pole to pole ?
With me in Hallehajahs join
To sing our holy Maker's praise ]
In choral hymn, or song divine.
In prayer and thanks our voices raise.''
Sept 1. 1308.
272 THE RUMINATOR.
N XLIV.
On the Latin Poems of Cowley.
The Latin poems of Cowley,P which are not
printed among the common editions of his works,
are not so well known as they ought to be. Dr.
Johnson and T. Warton'i differ in the degree of
their merit ; but it must be admitted that they dis-
cover great skill in the Latin language, as well as
great genius.
I think some of my readers will not be dis-
pleased at having two or tliree of them again
brought into notice. I embrace the opportunity
p First printed lt)68, 8vo. in which are included, Phntarum
.Liiri iJifo, which tiad been printed Lou J. 1662, Svo. The title
of the second edition runs thus: Abrahami Couleii Aiigli,
J'eemata Latiita: in quibus continintur Sex Libri Plantarum, "viz,
Dut Heibantm, Fiorum, Sylvarum ; et unus Mhcelluneoium.
Ilaheo quod carmine iantt Isf herbis. O-vld Alctatr. 10,
Mu'u fdltiuni secundtt accesiit Index: Rerum antchat desideratum,
Londini typis Af. Clarke, Impensis Jt. ATurtyriy ad Insi^ne
Can:pan<z in Ctctnetrlo D. Pauli llJVS, Hvo.
1 See Johnson's Lives of the Poets, snd \Varton' Preface
;.' Milton's Juvenile Pocn-.s.
THE RUMINATOR. 273
more willingly, because I have heard it objected, I
think, with too narrow views, that my nominations
are not sufficiently confined to subjects of literature.
Limits I have always imposed on myself, which
have restrained me from discussing many topics of
life and manners, that would both have been pleas-
ing to myself, and have given a greater diversity to
my pages. But there are tliose who would confine
me within bounds, to which I cannot submit to be
chained.
Cowley is never more eloquent than when he
descants on the pleasures of Solitude, whether in
Latin or English.
" Solitudo.
Rura laudamus merito poetae,
Rure floremus; dominoque laurum
Sole gaudentem necat oppidorum
Nubllus aer.
Nam prius crescet seges in plateis,
Et coronabunt fora densa flores
Sponte nascentes^ prius ipsa civis
Fiet et herba.
2/4 THE RUMINATOR.
Urbe quam surgat media bonoram
Carminum messis ; bona semper nrbem
Carmina oderunt, neque nutrit omnis
Omnia tellus.
Rure, Persaram veluti tyrannus,
Abditus longo maneam recessu,
Saepe legatum satis est ad urbem
Mittere carmen.
Arbores salvete, bonaeque sylvae,
Civitas foelix avium innocentum !
Regna Musarum ! sacra rusticantum
Villa Deorum !
Hie jacens vestris temere sub umbris,
Audiam supra Zephyros volantes,
Cumque faxunclis bene disputantes
Frondibus auras.i
O sacrum risum juvenilis anni !
Cum calor totos penetrans per artns
Fertileni pubem, Veneremquc adukl
Suscitat orbis.
'i This is a translation of some beautiful ]\:\es in his En[;li;
poem on Solitude.
" Here let mc careless and unthoughtful lying,
Hear the soft inds above me fiyiiig,
"With all tliiir w.intoa houghs dispute "
THE KUMINATOR. 1']6
Hie mihi aestivo domus apta sole,
Pulchra naturae domus architectae !
Quis trabem excisam prlus sestimabit
Arbore vivi ? "^
Audiam hie proni per aprica collis
Luce turgentes liquidisque gemmis,
Dulce ridentes properare rivos,
Dulce loquentes.'
Esse qui secum nequit occupatus,
Aut laborabit miser ille vitse
Tsedio, aut caras male collocabife
Pr.odigus horas^
r " Here Nature does a house for me erect,
Nature, the wisest architect,
Who those fond artists does despise,
That can the fair and living trees neglect;
Yet the dead timber prize." Ibid.
' " A silver stream shall roll his waters near,
Gilt with the sunbeams here and there;
On whose enamell'd bank I'll walk,
And see how prettily they smile, and hear
How prettily they talk." Ibid.
' " Ah wretched and too solitary he,
Who loves not his own company!
He'll feel the weight oft many a day,
Unless he call in sin or vanity
To help to bear't away." Ihld.
276 THE RUMINATOR.
Tu Deum longis comitata saeclis
Sola tu rerum, sacra Solitudo,
Antequam trunco numerorum abirct
Arbor ab uno ! "
Impetus mentis nimium evagantes
Instar aurigae cohibes periti,
Et jubes pulchrum breviore gyro
Claudere cursum.'^
Languidos mentis fluidae calores,
Et nimis multum spacii occupantes
Rite constringensque fovensque pulchros
Elicis ignes y
" " Tho' God himself, thro' counties? ages, thee
His sole companion chose to be,
Thee, sacred solitude alone.
Before the branchy head of numbers three
Sprang from the trunk of one." IliJ.
" " Thou, tho' men think thine an unactive part,
Dost break and tame th' unruly henrt,
"Which else would know no settled pace,
Making it move well-manag'd by thy art,
With swiftness and with grace." I! iJ.
y " Thou the faint beams of reason's scatter'd lii:ht
Dost hke a burning glass unite.
Dost multiply the feeble heat.
And fortify the strength, till thou dost btiLht
And noble fires beget." Mid-
TICK HUMINATOR. 277
Quid mihi aetemo populum, fluentem
Fonte, Londinum, nutnerosque jactas ?
Quid mihi ingentes nihil invidenti
Objicis arces ?
Eximam stultos numero tuorum,
Eximam densuin genns improboram,
Vicus obscurus prope, Sohtudo,
Tu quoque fies." ^
The following ode is, with one or two transpo-
sitions, a literal version of the poet's beautiful
English lines in the essay " on the Shortness of Life
and Uncertainty of Riches/' beginning
" IFhy dost thou heap up wealth which thou must
quit?''
" Ode.
" Quid relinquendos, raoriture nummosj
Sarcinas vitse, fugiture, quaeris ?
Si relinquendos ; dominum relinquunt
Saepe priores.
* " Whilst this hard truth I teach, methinks, I see
The monster London laugh at me ;
I should at thee too, foolish city!
Tf it were fit to laugh at miseryj
But thy estate I pity.
2^8 THE RUMINATOR,
Quid struis pulchros tlialaraos in altum.
Membra sub terra positurus ima ?
Conserens hortos, sed in omne tempus
Ipse serendus ?
Nam tuas te res agitare credis ?
Esse te frugalem ? aliis laboras
Servus infoslix, alicna curas
Ardelio ingens.
Longa momento meditantur uno,
Dum senes rebus venientls aevi
Lineae puncto brevis in supremo
Acrlus instant.
Jure formica cumulant acerv'os
Providac, ct brumae memores fulurae,
Sed male aestivas eadem deceret
Cura cicadas.
Gloriae mendax nitor atque honorum
Posset cxcusare suos amantcs.
Si diem vitae valuisset^ uti solj
Pingerc totum.
Let but the wicked men from out thee go,
And all the fools that croud thee so,
E'en thou, who dost thy millions boast,
A village less than Islington wilt grow,
A solitude almost." Jlnd,
THE RUMINATOn. 2/Q
At brevem post se sonitum reliiiquens
Fulguris ritu, simul ac videtur
Transit, illustri loca multa inaurans
Non sine damno.
O radis pulchrae prope contuenti
Scena fortunae ! Mala fastuosa
Ore larvato ! Lachrymaeque pictae
Iridis instar !
Magna contemnens, miseransque magnos,
Invidens nuUo, minimo invidenduSj
Vive Coulei ; lege tuta parva
Littora cymba.
Hospitem coelorum, inaitare alaudam.
Sis licet nubes super ire cantu
Doctusj in terris humilem memento
Ponere niduni."
280 THE RUMINATOJl,
N XLV.
The same subject continued.
Having in my last paper given Cowley's Latin
versions of his odes on Solitude and Riches, I now
proceed to insert his version of his beautiful Hymn
to Light, whence Warton has extracted stanzas,
v\hich furnish him with instances of our poet's
inferiority to INIilton in classical purity. But per-
haps the ingenious critic's zeal for Milton has ren-
dered liim a little too severe on his rival. If he has
made a bold and perhaps rash endeavour to clothe his
metaphysical conceits in the Latin language, and
has sometimes failed accordingly, he has surely
sometimes succeeded beyond all hope. There are
passages, in which his happiness appears to me
really astonishing ; and though Johnson went a
little too far on the occasion, there is certainly great
acuteness in his remarks ; and there is, I think,
iTvorc originality in the Latin poems of Cowley than
of Milton. There are many passages in tlic fol-
lowing ode which affect me with exquisite pleasure.
THE RUMINATOK. 281
" Hymnus, in Lucent.
Pulchra de nigra sobole parente,
Quam Chaos t'ertur peperisse primam,
Cujus ob formam bene risit olira
Massa Severa !
Risus O terioR sacer ct polorum !
Aureus vere pluvius tonantis !
Quseque de cceIo fiuis inquieto
Gloria rivo !
O salus rerum, et decus oranCj salve j
Vita naturee vigil actuosae !
Omnium mater bona cum calore
Juncta marito !
Undo, memento, quibus e pharetris
Tela per totum jacularis orbem ?
PrcKpotens, divesque Deique verbum
Fassa paternum !
Carceres ipsos simul, atque metam
Linquis, attingisque, animi sagittis
Ocyor strictesj rapida angelorum
Ocyor ala.
282 THE RUMINATOR.
Aureo lunae bene Iseta curru
Auream astrorum peragrare sylvam^ ct
Vere nocturno reparata semper
Visere prata,
Regiam gaudens habitare solis
More in aeternum Scylhico vagantem, et
Divitem mundi redeunte gyro
Ducere pompam :
Inter et tantos humilis triumphos
Vermium dignata animare caudas,
Pauperes dignata hilarare parva
Lampede vej)res.
Discolorato glomerans racenio
Turba pictorum vaga somniorum
Avolat ; mixtas sine more formas
Trudit et urget.
Quin ct obscenas repetunt latebras
Soecla serpentum nhle consciorum,
Nee tibi natura pudens sinistrum
Objicit omen.
Ad tuos quondam Dolor ipse vultus
Fertur invitam rccreasse frontem ^
Cura subrisit;, pepulitque rugas
Ore maligno.
THE RUMIKATOR 283
Ad tuos quondam Timor ipse vultus
Exculit turpem genubus tremorem j
Pallor ignescitj capite insolenti
Cornua vibrant.
Inverecundi Dominator oris
Te tamen testem metuit Cupido ;
Flamina cognatis rotat in tenebris
Sordida fumo.
Tu, Dea, Eoi simul atque corH
Exeris pulchrum caput e rosetisj
In tuas laudes volucrum canoris
Personal hymnis.
Aula gaudentis reserata mundi ;
Spectra discedunt, animaeque noctis,
Vana disceduntque tenebrionum
Monstra Deorum.
Te bibens arcus Jovis ebriosus
Mills formosos revomit colores,
Pavo coelestis^ variamque pascit
IvUminc caudam.
In Rosa pallam indueris rubentem.
In Croco auratum indueris lacernam,
Supparum gestas quasi nuda rallum
Lilia complens
284 THE RUMINATOR.
Fertilis Florae sobolem tenellam
Purpura involvis violas honesta
Veste segmentata operis superbas
Larga Tulippas.
Igne concreto fabricata Gemmas
Floreum immisces solidumque fucum ;
Invidet pictus ; fragilesque damnat
Hortus honores.
Parcior fulvis utlnam fuisses
Diva largiri pretium metallis !
Parcior^ quantis hominum allevasses
Pectora curls !
Mi quidem solis nitor, et diei
Innocens fulgor magis allubescit.
Pars quota human i generis sed aurum
Non tibi praefert !
iEtheris gyros per inexplicatos,
Aeris campos per et evolutos,
^quoris per regna laboriosi
Flumine vivo.
Lucidum trudis properanter agmer^,
Sed resistentum super ora rerum
Leniter stagnas^ liquidoque inundas
CuucCa colore.
THE HUMINATOH. 285
At mare immensum, oceanusque lucis
Jugitur coelo fluit empyraeo,
Hinc inexhausto per utrumque mundum
Funditur ore."
It may be acceptable lo some of my readers to
transcribe the poet's epitaph in Westminster Abbey,
as it is not inserted in the common accounts of his
life.
" Epitaphlum
Autoris
Jn Ecclesia D. Petri apud Westmonasterienses
Sepr.Iti.
Abrahamus Couleius,
Anglorum Pindarus, Flaccus, Maro,
Deliciae, Decus, Dejiderium ^vi sui.
Hie juxta situs est.
Aurea dnm volitant late tua scripta per orbem,
Et fama aeternum vivis. Divine Poeta,
Hie placida jaceas requie : Custodiat urnam
Cana Fides, vigilentque perenni lampade Musce;
Sit sacer iste locus ; nee quis lemerarius ausit
Sacrilcga turbare manu venerabile Rustum.
Intacti maneant; nianeant per ssecula dulcis
TouLEii cineres, serventque immobile saxum.
286 THE nUMINATOR,
Sic vovetque,
Volumque suum apuJ Posteros sacratum esse voluit,
Qui viro incomparabili posuit sepulchrale marmor,
Geokgius Dux Buckinghamijk.
Excessit e vita Anno iEtatis suae 4y"et honorifica
pompa elatus ex iEdibus Buckinghamianis, viris
illustribus omnium ordinum exequias celebrantlbus
sepultus est die 3 M. August!^ Anno Domini 1667."
Oct. 1,1808.
THE RUMINATOR. 2ST
No XLVI.
Extracts from Kirke White.
TO THE KUMINATOR.
SIR,
I EARNESTLY entreat for admission among
your Ruminations of a few extracts from Kirke
White.
His Letters (as Mr. Southey well observes),
show him to have possessed " as pure a heart, as
ever it pleased the Almighty to warm with life."
How amiable is the following passage, though for
reasons inscrutable to us, its pleasing anticipation
was not permitted to be realized,
" In contemplating my ministerial career, I
regard myself as the father of a little flock ; I wish
to be happy with my people, like one family, and
to love them as my children. I would strive to
know them all, to deserve their confidence, and to
become their intimate and associate; still I should
wisli to have much time for meditation, and to
perform my duties in that calm and uniform series,
which tranquillizes and lightens the spirit, and
enables it to enjoy a close communion with its God;
288 THE EUMINATOK.
SO that my instrucdons should extend beyond tlie
sound of my voice, and the light of God's especial
grace should be communicated in my writings to
ages yet unborn."
What praiseworthy fortitude is exhibited in the
passage which follows:
"Make me an outcast, a beggar j place me a
barefooted pilgrim on the top of the Alps or the
Pyrennees, and I should have wherewithal to sustain
the spirit within me, in the reflection that all this
was as but for a moment ; that a period would
come, when wrong and injur)-, and. trouble, should
be no more. Are we to be so utterly enslaved by
habit and association, that we shall spend our lives
in anxiety and bitter care, only that we may find a
covering for our bodies, or the means of assuaging
hunger? for what else is an anxiety after the"
world ?"
In his poetical pieces, is the following fine
picture of genius in distress :
Mark his dew'd temples, and his half-sliut eye.
His trembling nostrils, and liis deep-drawn sigh,
His nuitt'ring mouth contorted witli despair,
And ask if genius could inhabit there.
O ves ! tliat sunken eye with fire once gleam'il,
And rays of light from its fidl circle streamed !
Jiuf note 7ief;}rrt has stu?i<^ him to the core.
And Hope's wild raptures thrill his breast no more."
THE RUMINATOR. ^SQ
The penultimate line occurs again in the ode to
Lord Carlisle, and it is to be feared was drawn too
truly from the life.
The following is an extract from the essays
entitled " Melancholy Hours:"
" If I am destined to make any progress in the
world it will be by my own individual exertions.
As I elbow my way through the crowded vale of
life, I will never, in any emergency, call on ray
selfish neighbour for assistance. If my strength
give way beneath the pressure of calamity, I shall
sink without his whine of hyprocritical condolence :
and if I do sink, let him kick me into a ditch, and
go about his business. I asked not his assistance
while living it will be of no service to me when
dead." P. J.
Oct. 1, 1808.
200 THE ftUMINATOn.
N" XLVII.
On the imperfect Morality of the Heathens,
compared with that of Christianity.
I CANNOT occupy the present paper with more
important matter than the follownig unpublished
fragments of Archbishop Seeker, which formed
part of a correspondence with the learned translator
of Epictetus, during the progress of that elaborate
work. They obviously have relation to the topica
discussed in the Introduction.
N" I.
*" I must re-examine the Preface ; and fear I
cannot enter upon it, till after my Visitation, which
ends June 21.
" I approve highly of charity to the poor
heathens. But is it not more charitable to think
that they did not, and could not easily know so
much of moral truth, as some would persuade us,
Both these papers are transcribed from the original MSS.
Id the Arcl.bisliop's own l.and. uhi;ii have been furnished by
in intiuiate fiicnd to whom 1 um under continual obligation.
Eil-Ur.
THE RUMINATOK. 291:
than, that they knew it perfectly^ and yet denied
it, or disregarded it in the degree, which most of
the wisest and best of them, if we are rightly in-
formed who they were, appear to have done. But
however this be, charity must be regulated by fact,
" Not only whores were allowed by law, and
are forbidden by the Mosaic law, which surely is
not in that article abrogated by Christianity, what-
ever indulgences may obtain in some nations pro-
fessing it ; but whoring was held to be innocent by
the generality of the Greeks and Romans : so that
Cicero defies any one to shew, when the contrary
was held. This and more may be seen in Potter s
Greek Antiquities, I. i. c. 12. For what purpose
c. ii. is cited I do not perceive. He doth indeed,
c. xii. agree with Grotius, that only Jewish whores
wei'e forbidden, not foi'eign ones. But Lev. xix,
20, plainly shews, that all "whoredom was accounted
criminal, though this law, as well as others, might
be but imperfectly executed. And foreign idola-
trous whores would be still more dangerous than
Israelitish ones. As to the heathens, though severer
things may be said by them of whores, I doubt,
and I venture to say no more, whether any prohi-
bition of whoredom is to be found in any of them,
before this gentle, rather counsel than precept, of
Epictelus. Nor do I see why it is not fair to quote
both the Old and New Testament, as giving better
2g3l, THE RUMINAT9U.
directions concerjiing this point : or why we are to
supj>ose, til at perhaps good and wise heathens might
be highly oSljnded at the common practice, when
there is nothing-to render the supposition probable.
For., that reason proves it to be unjustitiable, is no
support of the-suppositlon : unless we must suppose
ftirther, that the heathens knew every thing which
rea^joa can teach. Indeed if some heathens did
condemn it, yet if the prevaihng doctrine were in
its favour, the heathen morality must be estimated
by the notions received amongst their moralists :
there being no standard, as amongst Christians, of
Siiperior authority. Their morality ought not indeed
t?)-,be depreciated, tliat is, unjustly. But neither
ought "it to be unjustly extolled as it hath been;
and; particularly with a view of inferring that Chris-
tianity wasiiot wanted for the regulation of man-
nc^^. I; would grant even to these gentlemen every
thing,: whicii they can demand with truth : but I
would grant -them no more, though Christianity
fVoi^Vl liave evei" so many distinguishing advantages
left. >! wpuld insist on all that God hath given it :
and not adventure to say, what in some sense might
be- ^^ -j^l^ajt fewer are enough. Now that the
moial notions, of, the prlncijjal heathen nations and
philosophejCf> in general were wrong and detective
i seyer^l Cf^^fij^ pants, is notorious. Ihat of the
exposition o/;/chiidf;eais a shocking ipstauce. Aji-
THB RUMIICATOK. 2^
Other of lending wives you may see" in PoHer.'
Plato's doctrine on these t^vo pbinl^ is rhomtrous
beyond belief. And sodomy was deemed by hinji
and many others, but a veniat offence at worst.'
One might go on fiirther : but there is no need.
I only add, that why it should scarce ever be of
use to state their mistakes, in order to shew the
happiness of being better taught, I cannot imagine.**
' ' NII.
'^ The reason given Lev, xix. IQ, holds against
the allowance of any prostitutes ; making whore-
dom wickedness, or the cause of wickedness : and
greater mischief was likely to proceed from foreign
than dortiestic prostitutes. The Grecian laws were,
i presume, to preserve the honour of their families.
They express a further view. 'Exod. xxii. 17,
directs, that if a man lie with a single woman, (it
is not limited to a Jewish woman) he shall marry
her ; or by way of penalty give her a portion, if
her father forbids the marriage. Deut. xxi. 10,
kc. supposes even according to our translation, no
other way of a man's gratifying his desire towards
a female captive than by marrying her : that is, I
conceive, as a wife, or concubine, which was an
inferior sort of wife. After a month, and not
before, he might go in unto her, and, which is
294 THE RUMINATOR.
closely connected with it, be her husband. But
probably v. 1 1 should be rendered, and hast a desire
vnto her, then thou shall take her to thy trife. The
next verse directs the method of proceeding for tliis
purpose 5 and thou shalt hr'vig her home, Sec. I
know the Rabbins put a very difierent, and I think
absurd, interpretation upon this passnge. The
penalty of a trespass ofFering appointed Lev. xix. 20,
for lying with a bond maid betrothed to another
man, was no amends to tliat other man, but an
acknowledgment to God for the sin, for which
amends could not be made to her by marriage,
because she was betrothed to another. But indeed
the word here translated IclrotJied signifies nothing
like it elsewhere : the word translated inndmaid is
elsewhere commonly translated handmaid; and
doth not imply a foreigner : ' the word translated
scourged signifies elsewhere only an examination,
which may indeed be made by scourging. And
the Samaritan copy applies this inquiry or scourging
to the man, and goes on he, not they, sliull be [nit
to death, the offence against a servant maid not
being so great. And thus the law will determine
nothing about her; but leave her to be corrected
by her master. Upon the whole I think tiiis to\t
will be of little use in the j)resent question. IXnit.
xxiii. 2, forbids a bastard to enter into the congre-
gation of tiie Lord, i. c. to be deemed a citizen of
the'ruminator. 295
Israel and capable of public offices. 1 Cor. x. S,
mentions fornication as a crime in the Jews, and
doth not mean spiritual fornication, i. e. idolatry,
for tlie preceding verse speaks of that j and the
fornication to which it refers was with foreign
women. Philo the Jew, who lived in Christ's
time, salth in his life of Joseph, that it was peculiar
to the Jews, that they were forbidden all whoredom
by their law. It was reckoned a ground of shame
and contempt before the law; Gen, xxxviii. 23.
Job xxxi. Q 1 1 saith, if muie heart hath leen
deceived ly a woman, ihe doth not confine it to a
married woman) this is a heinous crime, &c. Nay,
V. 1, he goes further still. And# certainly the
Proverbs and the prophets condemn whoredom in
men very strongly. And there is no intimation ia
scripture, that it was permitted the Jews for the
hardness of iheir hearts. It appears indeed from
J Kings, iii. 16, that they did sometimes tolerate
it, as they did many other bad things.
" Now compare with these particulars the
praises given Solon for allowing full hberty to
wdiores at Athens ; the praises given by Cato to a
young fellow coming out of a laivdy house; the
well-known passage of Terence in favour of whor-
ing ; the challenge of Cicero to name any time,
when men were blamed for it, or not countenanced
in it, &c. &c. &c. Pythagoras's verses were not
296 THE BUMINATOR.
written by him, nor is it known when : besides
that his precept, as you observe, is too general to
determine any thing. Learned men have obser%'ed
long ago, that Phocyhdes is interpolated both from
the Old and New Testament, probably after the
days of the early Christian writers : for they do not
produce these places from him. And therefore his
two words, preserve virginity, will be of no use
neither. But, which is very remarkable, several
philosophers after Christ, Mausonius, Dion called
the Golden-mouthed, and Porphyry, speak warmly
against fornication.
" I may as well add here, what will perhaps be
of use to you in another place, as I know not
whether you observed it in reading Brucker, \_I now
see you did] that he extends the life of Epictetus to
Adrian's time, who reigned from A. D. llj, to
138. He would therefore have time, and his
situation both in Rome and Greece would give him
opportunity, not only to converse with many Chris-
tians, but to see the books of the New Testament,
and other writings of theirs. Some think he lived
to the reign of the Antonines : but Fabricius hath
ihewn, that probably they mistake."
Dc. I, 1808.
THE RUMINA.TOR, 2^7
N^XLVIir.
IVliat is light Readijig ; Poetry, a gift.
I PUBLISH the following letter, as I received it.
I think I can guess at the handwriting ; and if my
conjecture is right, I must entreat the author to
throw away some part of the diffidence expressed
in the latter part of the paper.
Poet a nascilur nonjit.
TO THE RUMINATOK.
MR. RUMINATOR,
I am one of those who prefer rambling
effusions, and tlie natural association of ideas, to
formal essays. To you, therefore, who certainly
cannot be blamed for a narrow taste, and seem to
love every species of intellectual effort; who do
not judge by rule, nor repeat hacknied phrases of
mechanical criticism as substitutes for feeling and
thought, I trust I may address a frank and un-
studied letter with the certainty of a candid re-
ception.
Allow me then to say, that among those books
5^ THE KUMIN,VTOn,
which are called lighi reading, it is the fashion to
class many of those productions, which ought to
stand in a high rank, both in point of genius and
usefulness. They who have climbed up to the
chair of criticism, by toil, and an unwearied atten-
tion to those departments in literature which are
attainable rather by patient drudgery than by the
partial endowments of Nature, will of course use
every exertion and artifice to encourage this erro-
neous fashion. I'he ignorant great, as well as
vulgar, are fond of admiring what they do not
understand; and it is necessary that a work should
take a scientific form, and be clothed in outward
pomposity, before it be deemed profound and im-
portant.
But docs it never occur to these wise judges to
listen to the lessons of time, and observe what are
the productions which have retained within them-
selves the seeds of life ? The works of the mere
learned, for the most part, nay the larger part of
the labours of science have been pushed off the
stage by their successors, as wave swallows up
wave. Their materials have been pulled to jiieces,
and worked up afresh; and little but their name,
(if even that) remains. And thus it is with arti-
ficial writers, c\en In tlie Ijellcs Lettres. Simpli-
city, predominant \i;^our of genius, and natural
THK RUMINATOU. 2gff
eloquence alone survive the changes of fashion^ and
lapse of ages.
The tricks of composition, the temporary objects
of admiration in style, sentiment, or form, become
as ridiculous and disgusting in one age, as they were
attractive in another. From the Euphinsm of
Wm. Lilly in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, to the
stiff glitter of Lord Bolingbroke in the last reign,
all is gone by and forgotten. Look at old Reviews
forty years back, and observe the books that they
have commended, and the books that they have
abused. Of the former a large part are now no
longer heard of; many of the latter are among the
most popular and admitted works of genius.
There is an unsophisticated force of intellect ',
the power of a vivid fancy, and a warm and tremu-
lous heart ; which, when it has attained the habit of
expressing itself with facility in apt and unstudied
language, is certain of gaining the interest and
approbation of every reader of pure taste, not at
one period only, but in futurity. I would carefully
preserve the letters, the undisguised thoughts, and
most of the fragments of such a writer.
Half-witted censurers may call such remains^
" light-reading." Do they not remember then,
that
" The proper study of mankind is man?"
300 THE RUMINATOR.
That there is some depth of investigation in tracing
the internal movements of the human head and
heart? If they, who have been highly endowed,
admit ns to the secret recessses of their 'bosoms ; if
they give us pictures of exalted sentiments, of ideas
glowing with reflections and visions which elevate
our nature, and carry us with them into scenes
approaching a higher order of existence 5 if they
warm us with their fire, and impart to usj for a
time, some portion of their imagination ; is this
light reading, because it has not been conv^eyed to
us in the shape of formal compositions? It is the
purity and streng'th of the ore which a true judge
regards J and not the form in which it has been
rnanUfactuVed ; while little technical critics look to
nothing but the mechanism of the workmanship.
What is the chaitn of Cowper ? His first cha-
racteristic isthe power of thinking with easy vigour ;
and delineating with accurate facility. His thoughts
breathe of nature; and find " an echo in every
bosom" Thousand.'? recognise, as tlie figure starts
forth from his pen, the idea which had been dimly
playing within themselves. '
It is the object of no inconsiderable body of
those, who have an infitlence on public opinion, to
suppress and wipe away, if possible, the impression
of native genius. It is probable that this is in great
measure a remnant of the pr(judices of the mate-
THK KUMINATOK. 301
rialists,- of whom Priestley some years back took
the lead ; and who infected tliie cant of a large body
of the Dissenters, who then much more than at
present possessed the command of = most of the
periodical vehicles of literature. How can I read
the Memoirs of Chatterton, of Kirke White, of
Miss Symmons,'' of Miss Smith,"^ and many other
late I/ives, and not feel how much was due to
nature; and how little to art and opportunity!.
When I read thai Miss Smith, with few books and
no instructors, had most of the languages ancient
find modern at her command; that she could think
and write with originality On the most abstruse as
well as on the most poetical subjects ; that she
could translate with congenial spirit, even though
the hand .of death was upon her, in a language
elegant and fowing, from the most difficult authors,
is this the eftect of mere ordinary human labour ;
or is it not rather the inspiration of superior en-
dowments ?
O thou mighty Father, who disposest thy gifts
among us poor mortals, as it seemeth best to thee,
liow undoubtingly am I convinced by my own
deficiencies, that there are beings, on whom thou
hast thought proper to bestow those preeminent
Daughter c^ Dr. Charles Symmons. Editor^
' Of Pierceficld. Editor.
302 THE RUMINATOR.
talents, without which they never could have
effected the things, for which they are so justly
distinguished ! In me it is not the want of toil,
application, and incessant desire, even irom child-
hood, that I cannot succeed, as they have done !
But my fancy is cold, my thoughts are imperfect
and confused ; and I am too conscious tliat from
the defect of nature I labour in vain ! I would have
been a poet, a moralist, if study and elfoit could
liave made me so. But my stars forbid !
'* Sudden they mount; they beckon from the skies j
Clouds interpose, waves roar, and winds arise !"
Yours,
Ocl.'J2, 1808.
EXPES,
END or VOt. I.
Violt Court, rii'et Slrctt, LoiiJon.
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