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 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_/-; (//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,'.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 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});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!), 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 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 ' 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